Chapter XXXIII

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

　　Martin was steadily losing his battle. Economize as he would, theearnings from hack-work did not balance expenses. Thanksgivingfound him with his black suit in pawn and unable to accept theMorses' invitation to dinner. Ruth was not made happy by hisreason for not coming, and the corresponding effect on him was oneof desperation. He told her that he would come, after all; that hewould go over to San Francisco, to the Transcontinental office,collect the five dollars due him, and with it redeem his suit ofclothes.In the morning he borrowed ten cents from Maria. He would haveborrowed it, by preference, from Brissenden, but that erraticindividual had disappeared. Two weeks had passed since Martin hadseen him, and he vainly cudgelled his brains for some cause ofoffence. The ten cents carried Martin across the ferry to SanFrancisco, and as he walked up Market Street he speculated upon hispredicament in case he failed to collect the money. There wouldthen be no way for him to return to Oakland, and he knew no one inSan Francisco from whom to borrow another ten cents.The door to the Transcontinental office was ajar, and Martin, inthe act of opening it, was brought to a sudden pause by a loudvoice from within, which exclaimed:- "But that is not the question,Mr. Ford." (Ford, Martin knew, from his correspondence, to be theeditor's name.) "The question is, are you prepared to pay? - cash,and cash down, I mean? I am not interested in the prospects of theTranscontinental and what you expect to make it next year. What Iwant is to be paid for what I do. And I tell you, right now, theChristmas Transcontinental don't go to press till I have the moneyin my hand. Good day. When you get the money, come and see me."The door jerked open, and the man flung past Martin, with an angrycountenance and went down the corridor, muttering curses andclenching his fists. Martin decided not to enter immediately, andlingered in the hallways for a quarter of an hour. Then he shovedthe door open and walked in. It was a new experience, the firsttime he had been inside an editorial office. Cards evidently werenot necessary in that office, for the boy carried word to an innerroom that there was a man who wanted to see Mr. Ford. Returning,the boy beckoned him from halfway across the room and led him tothe private office, the editorial sanctum. Martin's firstimpression was of the disorder and cluttered confusion of the room.Next he noticed a bewhiskered, youthful-looking man, sitting at aroll-top desk, who regarded him curiously. Martin marvelled at thecalm repose of his face. It was evident that the squabble with theprinter had not affected his equanimity."I - I am Martin Eden," Martin began the conversation. ("And Iwant my five dollars," was what he would have liked to say.)But this was his first editor, and under the circumstances he didnot desire to scare him too abruptly. To his surprise, Mr. Fordleaped into the air with a "You don't say so!" and the next moment,with both hands, was shaking Martin's hand effusively."Can't say how glad I am to see you, Mr. Eden. Often wondered whatyou were like."Here he held Martin off at arm's length and ran his beaming eyesover Martin's second-best suit, which was also his worst suit, andwhich was ragged and past repair, though the trousers showed thecareful crease he had put in with Maria's flat-irons."I confess, though, I conceived you to be a much older man than youare. Your story, you know, showed such breadth, and vigor, suchmaturity and depth of thought. A masterpiece, that story - I knewit when I had read the first half-dozen lines. Let me tell you howI first read it. But no; first let me introduce you to the staff."Still talking, Mr. Ford led him into the general office, where heintroduced him to the associate editor, Mr. White, a slender, fraillittle man whose hand seemed strangely cold, as if he weresuffering from a chill, and whose whiskers were sparse and silky."And Mr. Ends, Mr. Eden. Mr. Ends is our business manager, youknow."Martin found himself shaking hands with a cranky-eyed, bald-headedman, whose face looked youthful enough from what little could beseen of it, for most of it was covered by a snow-white beard,carefully trimmed - by his wife, who did it on Sundays, at whichtimes she also shaved the back of his neck.The three men surrounded Martin, all talking admiringly and atonce, until it seemed to him that they were talking against timefor a wager."We often wondered why you didn't call," Mr. White was saying."I didn't have the carfare, and I live across the Bay," Martinanswered bluntly, with the idea of showing them his imperative needfor the money.Surely, he thought to himself, my glad rags in themselves areeloquent advertisement of my need. Time and again, wheneveropportunity offered, he hinted about the purpose of his business.But his admirers' ears were deaf. They sang his praises, told himwhat they had thought of his story at first sight, what theysubsequently thought, what their wives and families thought; butnot one hint did they breathe of intention to pay him for it."Did I tell you how I first read your story?" Mr. Ford said. "Ofcourse I didn't. I was coming west from New York, and when thetrain stopped at Ogden, the train-boy on the new run brought aboardthe current number of the Transcontinental."My God! Martin thought; you can travel in a Pullman while I starvefor the paltry five dollars you owe me. A wave of anger rushedover him. The wrong done him by the Transcontinental loomedcolossal, for strong upon him were all the dreary months of vainyearning, of hunger and privation, and his present hunger awoke andgnawed at him, reminding him that he had eaten nothing since theday before, and little enough then. For the moment he saw red.These creatures were not even robbers. They were sneak-thieves.By lies and broken promises they had tricked him out of his story.Well, he would show them. And a great resolve surged into his willto the effect that he would not leave the office until he got hismoney. He remembered, if he did not get it, that there was no wayfor him to go back to Oakland. He controlled himself with aneffort, but not before the wolfish expression of his face had awedand perturbed them.They became more voluble than ever. Mr. Ford started anew to tellhow he had first read "The Ring of Bells," and Mr. Ends at the sametime was striving to repeat his niece's appreciation of "The Ringof Bells," said niece being a school-teacher in Alameda."I'll tell you what I came for," Martin said finally. "To be paidfor that story all of you like so well. Five dollars, I believe,is what you promised me would be paid on publication."Mr. Ford, with an expression on his mobile features of mediate andhappy acquiescence, started to reach for his pocket, then turnedsuddenly to Mr. Ends, and said that he had left his money home.That Mr. Ends resented this, was patent; and Martin saw the twitchof his arm as if to protect his trousers pocket. Martin knew thatthe money was there."I am sorry," said Mr. Ends, "but I paid the printer not an hourago, and he took my ready change. It was careless of me to be soshort; but the bill was not yet due, and the printer's request, asa favor, to make an immediate advance, was quite unexpected."Both men looked expectantly at Mr. White, but that gentlemanlaughed and shrugged his shoulders. His conscience was clean atany rate. He had come into the Transcontinental to learn magazine-literature, instead of which he had principally learned finance.The Transcontinental owed him four months' salary, and he knew thatthe printer must be appeased before the associate editor."It's rather absurd, Mr. Eden, to have caught us in this shape,"Mr. Ford preambled airily. "All carelessness, I assure you. ButI'll tell you what we'll do. We'll mail you a check the firstthing in the morning. You have Mr. Eden's address, haven't you,Mr. Ends?"Yes, Mr. Ends had the address, and the check would be mailed thefirst thing in the morning. Martin's knowledge of banks and checkswas hazy, but he could see no reason why they should not give himthe check on this day just as well as on the next."Then it is understood, Mr. Eden, that we'll mail you the check to-morrow?" Mr. Ford said."I need the money to-day," Martin answered stolidly."The unfortunate circumstances - if you had chanced here any otherday," Mr. Ford began suavely, only to be interrupted by Mr. Ends,whose cranky eyes justified themselves in his shortness of temper."Mr. Ford has already explained the situation," he said withasperity. "And so have I. The check will be mailed - ""I also have explained," Martin broke in, "and I have explainedthat I want the money to-day."He had felt his pulse quicken a trifle at the business manager'sbrusqueness, and upon him he kept an alert eye, for it was in thatgentleman's trousers pocket that he divined the Transcontinental'sready cash was reposing."It is too bad - " Mr. Ford began.But at that moment, with an impatient movement, Mr. Ends turned asif about to leave the room. At the same instant Martin sprang forhim, clutching him by the throat with one hand in such fashion thatMr. Ends' snow-white beard, still maintaining its immaculatetrimness, pointed ceilingward at an angle of forty-five degrees.To the horror of Mr. White and Mr. Ford, they saw their businessmanager shaken like an Astrakhan rug."Dig up, you venerable discourager of rising young talent!" Martinexhorted. "Dig up, or I'll shake it out of you, even if it's allin nickels." Then, to the two affrighted onlookers: "Keep away!If you interfere, somebody's liable to get hurt."Mr. Ends was choking, and it was not until the grip on his throatwas eased that he was able to signify his acquiescence in thedigging-up programme. All together, after repeated digs, itstrousers pocket yielded four dollars and fifteen cents."Inside out with it," Martin commanded.An additional ten cents fell out. Martin counted the result of hisraid a second time to make sure."You next!" he shouted at Mr. Ford. "I want seventy-five centsmore."Mr. Ford did not wait, but ransacked his pockets, with the resultof sixty cents."Sure that is all?" Martin demanded menacingly, possessing himselfof it. "What have you got in your vest pockets?"In token of his good faith, Mr. Ford turned two of his pocketsinside out. A strip of cardboard fell to the floor from one ofthem. He recovered it and was in the act of returning it, whenMartin cried:-"What's that? - A ferry ticket? Here, give it to me. It's worthten cents. I'll credit you with it. I've now got four dollars andninety-five cents, including the ticket. Five cents is still dueme."He looked fiercely at Mr. White, and found that fragile creature inthe act of handing him a nickel."Thank you," Martin said, addressing them collectively. "I wishyou a good day.""Robber!" Mr. Ends snarled after him."Sneak-thief!" Martin retorted, slamming the door as he passed out.Martin was elated - so elated that when he recollected that TheHornet owed him fifteen dollars for "The Peri and the Pearl," hedecided forthwith to go and collect it. But The Hornet was run bya set of clean-shaven, strapping young men, frank buccaneers whorobbed everything and everybody, not excepting one another. Aftersome breakage of the office furniture, the editor (an ex-collegeathlete), ably assisted by the business manager, an advertisingagent, and the porter, succeeded in removing Martin from the officeand in accelerating, by initial impulse, his descent of the firstflight of stairs."Come again, Mr. Eden; glad to see you any time," they laughed downat him from the landing above.Martin grinned as he picked himself up."Phew!" he murmured back. "The Transcontinental crowd were nanny-goats, but you fellows are a lot of prize-fighters."More laughter greeted this."I must say, Mr. Eden," the editor of The Hornet called down, "thatfor a poet you can go some yourself. Where did you learn thatright cross - if I may ask?""Where you learned that half-Nelson," Martin answered. "Anyway,you're going to have a black eye.""I hope your neck doesn't stiffen up," the editor wishedsolicitously: "What do you say we all go out and have a drink onit - not the neck, of course, but the little rough-house?""I'll go you if I lose," Martin accepted.And robbers and robbed drank together, amicably agreeing that thebattle was to the strong, and that the fifteen dollars for "ThePeri and the Pearl" belonged by right to The Hornet's editorialstaff.