 | Paul Stought Aug 31 | | they had been aware of his work performed. Manuscript after manuscript of his had been turned over to them by Ruth. They had read them. It was the very same work that had put his name in all the papers, and, it was his name being in all the papers that led them to invite him. | dhae had bin uwer uv hiz wurk purfaurmd. Manyuskript aftur manyuskript uv hiz had bin turnd oevur too dhem bie Rooth. Dhae had red dhem. It wuz dhu very saem wurk dhat had pwt hiz naem in aul dhu paepurz, and, it wuz hiz naem bying in aul dhu paepurz dhat led dhem too inviet him. | | One thing was certain: the Morses had not cared to have him for himself or for his work. Therefore they could not want him now for himself or for his work, but for the fame that was his, because he was somebody amongst men, and—why not?—because he had a hundred thousand dollars or so. That was the way bourgeois society valued a man, and who was he to expect it otherwise? But he was proud. He disdained such valuation. He desired to be valued for himself, or for his work, which, after all, was an expression of himself. That was the way Lizzie valued him. The work, with her, did not even count. She valued him, himself. That was the way Jimmy, the plumber, and all the old gang valued him. That had been proved often enough in the days when he ran with them; it had been proved that Sunday at Shell Mound Park. His work could go hang. What they liked, and were willing to scrap for, was just Mart Eden, one of the bunch and a pretty good guy. | Wun thing wuz surtun: dhu Maursuz had not kerd too hav him faur himself aur faur hiz wurk. Dherfaur dhae kwd not wunt him nou faur himself aur faur hiz wurk, but faur dhu faem dhat wuz hiz, bikauz hy wuz sumbody umungst men, and—whie not?—bikauz hy had u hundrud thouzund dolurz aur soe. Dhat wuz dhu wae bwrzhwo susiuty valued u man, and hoo wuz hy too ikpekt it udhurwiez? But hy wuz proud. Hy disdaend such valuaeshun. Hy dizierd too by valued faur himself, aur faur hiz wurk, which, aftur aul, wuz an ikspreshun uv himself. Dhat wuz dhu wae Lizy valued him. Dhu wurk, with hur, did not yvun kaunt. Shy valued him, himself. Dhat wuz dhu wae Jimy, dhu plumur, and aul dhy oeld gang valued him. Dhat had bin proovd ofun inuf in dhu daez when hy ran with dhem; it had bin proovd dhat Sundae at Shel Mound Pork. Hiz wurk kwd goe hang. Whot dhae liekd, and wur wiling too skrap faur, wuz just Mort Ydun, wun uv dhu bunch and u prity gwd hie. | | Then there was Ruth. She had liked him for himself, that was indisputable. And yet, much as she had liked him she had liked the bourgeois standard of valuation more. She had opposed his writing, and principally, it seemed to him, because it did not earn money. That had been her criticism of his "Love-cycle." She, too, had urged him to get a job. It was true, she refined it to "position," but it meant the same thing, and in his own mind the old nomenclature stuck. He had read her all that he wrote—poems, stories, essays—"Wiki-Wiki," "The Shame of the Sun," everything. And she had always and consistently urged him to get a job, to go to work—good God!—as if he hadn't been working, robbing sleep, exhausting life, in order to be worthy of her. So the | Dhen dher wuz Rooth. Shy had liekd him faur himself, dhat wuz indispuetubul. And yet, much az shy had liekd him shy had liekd dhu bwrzhwo standurd uv valuaeshun maur. Shy had upoezd hiz rieting, and prinsupuly, it symd too him, bikauz it did not urn muny. Dhat had bin hur kritusizum uv hiz "Luv-siekul." Shy, too, had urjd him too get u job. It wuz troo, shy rifiend it too "puzishun," but it ment dhu saem thing, and in hiz oen miend dhy oeld noemunklaechur stuk. Hy had red hur aul dhat hy roet—po.umz, stauryz, esaez—"Wiky-Wiky," "Dhu Shaem uv dhu Sun," evrything. And shy had aulwaez and kunsistuntly urjd him too get u job, too goe too wurk—gwd God!—az if hy hadn't bin wurking, robing slyp, igzausting lief, in aurdur too by wurdhy uv hur. Soe dhu | | 424a | 424a | | Martin Eden Martin Eden Intro | |
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