won't buy it."

"Give me time, dear," he pleaded. "The hack-work is only makeshift, and
I don't take it seriously. Give me two years. I shall succeed in that
time, and the editors will be glad to buy my good work. I know what I am
saying; I have faith in myself. I know what I have in me; I know what
literature is, now; I know the average rot that is poured out by a lot of
little men; and I know that at the end of two years I shall be on the
highroad to success. As for business, I shall never succeed at it. I am
not in sympathy with it. It strikes me as dull, and stupid, and
mercenary, and tricky. Anyway I am not adapted for it. I'd never get
beyond a clerkship, and how could you and I be happy on the paltry
earnings of a clerk? I want the best of everything in the world for you,
and the only time when I won't want it will be when there is something
better. And I'm going to get it, going to get all of it. The income of
a successful author makes Mr. Butler look cheap. A 'best-seller' will
earn anywhere between fifty and a hundred thousand dollars--sometimes
more and sometimes less; but, as a rule, pretty close to those figures."

She remained silent; her disappointment was apparent.

"Well?" he asked.

"I had hoped and planned otherwise. I had thought, and I still think,
that the best thing for you would be to study shorthand--you already know
type-writing--and go into father's office. You have a good mind, and I
am confident you would succeed as a lawyer."

CHAPTER XXIII

That Ruth had little faith in his power as a writer, did not alter her
nor diminish her in Martin's eyes. In the breathing spell of the
vacation he had taken, he had spent many hours in self-analysis, and
thereby learned much of himself. He had discovered that he loved beauty
more than fame, and that what desire he had for fame was largely for
Ruth's sake. It was for this reason that his desire for fame was strong.
He wanted to be great in the world's eyes; "to make good," as he
expressed it, in order that the woman he loved should be proud of him and
deem him worthy.

As for himself, he loved beauty passionately, and the joy of serving her
was to him sufficient wage. And more than beauty he loved Ruth. He
considered love the finest thing in the world. It was love that had
worked the revolution in him, changing him from an uncouth sailor to a
student and an artist; therefore, to him, the finest and greatest of the
t