Martin Eden Ch 25 p239

Paul Stought

Jul 1

going to work reminded him of Joe—Joe, tramping through the land of nothing-to-do. Martin heaved a great sigh of envy. The reaction of nineteen hours a day for many days was strong upon him. But then, Joe was not in love, had none of the responsibilities of love, and he could afford to loaf through the land of nothing-to-do. He, Martin, had something to work for, and go to work he would. He would start out early next morning to hunt a job. And he would let Ruth know, too, that he had mended his ways and was willing to go into her father's office.	go.ing too wurk rimiendud him uv Joe—Joe, tramping throo dhu land uv nuthing-too-doo. Mortun hyvd u graet sie uv envy. Dhu ryakshun uv nientyn ourz u dae faur meny daez wuz strong upon him. But dhen, Joe wuz not in luv, had nun uv dhu rizponsubilutyz uv luv, and hy kwd ufaurd too loef throo dhu land uv nuthing-too-doo. Hy, Mortun, had sumthing too wurk faur, and goe too wurk hy wwd. Hy wwd stort out urly nekst maurning too hunt u job. And hy wwd let Rooth noe, too, dhat hy had mendud hiz waez and wuz wiling too goe intoo hur fodhur'z ofus.
Five dollars for five thousand words, ten words for a cent, the market price for art. The disappointment of it, the lie of it, the infamy of it, were uppermost in his thoughts; and under his closed eyelids, in fiery figures, burned the "$3.85" he owed the grocer. He shivered, and was aware of an aching in his bones. The small of his back ached especially. His head ached, the top of it ached, the back of it ached, the brains inside of it ached and seemed to be swelling, while the ache over his brows was intolerable. And beneath the brows, planted under his lids, was the merciless "$3.85." He opened his eyes to escape it, but the white light of the room seemed to sear the balls and forced him to close his eyes, when the "$3.85" confronted him again.	Fiev dolurz faur fiev thouzund wurdz, ten wurdz faur u sent, dhu morkut pries faur ort. Dhu disupointmunt uv it, dhu lie uv it, dhy infumy uv it, wur upurmoest in hiz thauts; and undur hiz kloezd ielidz, in fiery figyurz, burnd dhu "$3.85" hy oed dhu groesur. Hy shivurd, and wuz uwer uv an aeking in hiz boenz. Dhu smaul luv hiz bak aekd espeshuly. Hiz hed aekd, dhu top uv it aekd, dhu bak uv it aekd, dhu braenz insied uv it aekd and symd too by sweling, whiel dhy aek oevur hiz brouz wuz intolurubul. And binyth dhu brouz, plantud undur hiz lidz, wuz dhu mursulus "$3.85." Hy oepund hiz iez too eskaep it, but dhu whiet liet uv dhu room symd too sir dhu baulz and faursd him too kloez hiz iez, when dhu "$3.85" kunfruntud him ugen.
Five dollars for five thousand words, ten words for a cent—that particular thought took up its residence in his brain, and he could no more escape it than he could the "$3.85" under his eyelids. A change seemed to come over the latter, and he watched curiously, till "$2.00" burned in its stead. Ah, he thought, that was the baker. The next sum that appeared was "$2.50." It puzzled him, and he pondered it as if life and death hung on the solution. He owed somebody two dollars and a half, that was certain, but who was it? To find it was the task set him by an imperious and malignant universe, and he wandered through the endless corridors of his mind, opening all manner of lumber rooms and chambers stored with odds	Fiev dolurz faur fiev thouzund wurdz, ten wurdz faur u sent—dhat purtikyulur thaut twk up its rezuduns in hiz braen, and hy kwd noe maur eskaep it dhan hy kwd dhu "$3.85" undur hiz ielidz. U chaenj symd too kum oevur dhu latur, and hy wochd kywryusly, til "2.00" burnd in its sted. O, hy thaut, dhat wuz dhu baekur. Dhu nekst sum dhat upird wuz "$2.50." It puzuld him, and hy pondurd it az if lief and deth hung on dhu sulooshun. Hy oed sumbody too dolurz and u haf, dhat wuz surtun, but hoo wuz it? Too fiend it wuz dhu task set him bie an imperyus and mulignunt uenuvurs, and hy wondurd throo dhy endlus kaurudaurz uv hiz miend, oepuning aul manur uv lumbur roomz and chaemburz staurd with odz
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Martin Eden Martin Eden Intro