inside of a hollow sphere, to the man seeking financial aid to
purchase the Peninsula of Lower California for the purpose of
communist colonization. There were letters from women seeking to
know him, and over one such he smiled, for enclosed was her receipt
for pew-rent, sent as evidence of her good faith and as proof of
her respectability.
Editors and publishers contributed to the daily heap of letters,
the former on their knees for his manuscripts, the latter on their
knees for his books – his poor disdained manuscripts that had kept
all he possessed in pawn for so many dreary months in order to find
them in postage. There were unexpected checks for English serial
rights and for advance payments on foreign translations. His
English agent announced the sale of German translation rights in
three of his books, and informed him that Swedish editions, from
which he could expect nothing because Sweden was not a party to the
Berne Convention, were already on the market. Then there was a
nominal request for his permission for a Russian translation, that
country being likewise outside the Berne Convention.
He turned to the huge bundle of clippings which had come in from
his press bureau, and read about himself and his vogue, which had
become a furore. All his creative output had been flung to the
public in one magnificent sweep. That seemed to account for it.
He had taken the public off its feet, the way Kipling had, that
time when he lay near to death and all the mob, animated by a mob-
mind thought, began suddenly to read him. Martin remembered how
that same world-mob, having read him and acclaimed him and not
understood him in the least, had, abruptly, a few months later,
flung itself upon him and torn him to pieces. Martin grinned at
the thought. Who was he that he should not be similarly treated in
a few more months? Well, he would fool the mob. He would be away,
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266
in the South Seas, building his grass house, trading for pearls and
copra, jumping reefs in frail outriggers, catching sharks and
bonitas, hunting wild goats among the cliffs of the valley that lay
next to the valley of Taiohae.
In the moment of that thought the desperateness of his situation
dawned upon him. He saw, cleared eyed, that he was in the Valley
of the Shadow. All the life that was in him was fading, fainting,
making toward death.
He realized how much he slept, and how much he desired to sleep.
Of old, he had hated sleep. It had robbed him of precious moments
of living. Four hours of sleep in the twenty-four had meant being
robbed of four hours of life. How he had grudged sleep! Now it
was life he grudged. Life was not good; its taste in his mouth was
without tang, and bitter. This was his peril. Life that did not
yearn toward life was in fair way toward ceasing. Some remote
instinct for preservation stirred in him, and he knew he must get
away. He glanced about the room, and the thought of packing was
burdensome. Perhaps it would be better to leave that to the last.
In the meantime he might be getting an outfit.
He put on his hat and went out, stopping in at a gun-store, where
he spent the remainder of the morning buying automatic rifles,
ammunition, and fishing tackle. Fashions changed in trading, and
he knew he would have to wait till he reached Tahiti before
ordering his trade-goods. They could come up from Australia,
anyway. This solution was a source of pleasure. He had avoided
doing something, and the doing of anything just now was unpleasant.
He went back to the hotel gladly, with a feeling of satisfaction in
that the comfortable Morris chair was waiting for him; and he
groaned inwardly, on entering his room, at sight of Joe in the
Morris chair.
Joe was delighted with the laundry. Everything was settled, and he
would enter into possession next day. Martin lay on the bed, with
closed eyes, while the other talked on. Martin’s thoughts were far
away – so far away that he was rarely aware that he was thinking.
It was only by an effort that he occasionally responded. And yet
this was Joe, whom he had always liked. But Joe was too keen with
life. The boisterous impact of it on Martin’s jaded mind was a
hurt. It was an aching probe to his tired sensitiveness. When Joe
reminded him that sometime in the future they were going to put on
the gloves together, he could almost have screamed.
“Remember, Joe, you’re to run the laundry according to those old
rules you used to lay down at Shelly Hot Springs,” he said. “No
overworking. No working at night. And no children at the mangles.
No children anywhere. And a fair wage.”
Joe nodded and pulled out a note-book.
“Look at here. I was workin’ out them rules before breakfast this
A.M. What d’ye think of them?”
He read them aloud, and Martin approved, worrying at the same time
as to when Joe would take himself off.
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267
It was late afternoon when he awoke. Slowly the fact of life came
back to him. He glanced about the room. Joe had evidently stolen
away after he had dozed off. That was considerate of Joe, he
thought. Then he closed his eyes and slept again.
In the days that followed Joe was too busy organizing and taking
hold of the laundry to bother him much; and it was not until the
day before sailing that the newspapers made the announcement that
he had taken passage on the Mariposa. Once, when the instinct of
preservation fluttered, he went to a doctor and underwent a
searching physical examination. Nothing could be found the matter
with him. His heart and lungs were pronounced magnificent. Every
organ, so far as the doctor could know, was normal and was working
normally.
“There is nothing the matter with you, Mr. Eden,” he said,
“positively nothing the matter with you. You are in the pink of
condition. Candidly, I envy you your health. It is superb. Look
at that chest. There, and in your stomach, lies the secret of your
remarkable constitution. Physically, you are a man in a thousand –
in ten thousand. Barring accidents, you should live to be a
hundred.”
And Martin knew that Lizzie’s diagnosis had been correct.
Physically he was all right. It was his “think-machine” that had
gone wrong, and there was no cure for that except to get away to
the South Seas. The trouble was that now, on the verge of
departure, he had no desire to go. The South Seas charmed him no
more than did bourgeois civilization. There was no zest in the
thought of departure, while the act of departure appalled him as a
weariness of the flesh. He would have felt better if he were
already on board and gone.
The last day was a sore trial. Having read of his sailing in the
morning papers, Bernard Higginbotham, Gertrude, and all the family
came to say good-by, as did Hermann von Schmidt and Marian. Then
there was business to be transacted, bills to be paid, and
everlasting reporters to be endured. He said good-by to Lizzie
Connolly, abruptly, at the entrance to night school, and hurried
away. At the hotel he found Joe, too busy all day with the laundry
to have come to him earlier. It was the last straw, but Martin
gripped the arms of his chair and talked and listened for half an
hour.
“You know, Joe,” he said, “that you are not tied down to that
laundry. There are no strings on it. You can sell it any time and
blow the money. Any time you get sick of it and want to hit the
road, just pull out. Do what will make you the happiest.”
Joe shook his head.
“No more road in mine, thank you kindly. Hoboin’s all right,
exceptin’ for one thing – the girls. I can’t help it, but I’m a
ladies’ man. I can’t get along without ’em, and you’ve got to get
along without ’em when you’re hoboin’. The times I’ve passed by
houses where dances an’ parties was goin’ on, an’ heard the women
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268
laugh, an’ saw their white dresses and smiling faces through the
windows – Gee! I tell you them moments was plain hell. I like
dancin’ an’ picnics, an’ walking in the moonlight, an’ all the rest
too well. Me for the laundry, and a good front, with big iron
dollars clinkin’ in my jeans. I seen a girl already, just
yesterday, and, d’ye know, I’m feelin’ already I’d just as soon
marry her as not. I’ve ben whistlin’ all day at the thought of it.
She’s a beaut, with the kindest eyes and softest voice you ever