Martin Eden | Page 3

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This etext was prepared from the 1913 Macmillan and Company
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
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Martin Eden

CHAPTER I

The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a
young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes
that smacked of the sea, and he was manifestly out of place in the
spacious hall in which he found himself. He did not know what to do
with his cap, and was stuffing it into his coat pocket when the other
took it from him. The act was done quietly and naturally, and the
awkward young fellow appreciated it. "He understands," was his
thought. "He'll see me through all right."
He walked at the other's heels with a swing to his shoulders, and his
legs spread unwittingly, as if the level floors were tilting up and sinking
down to the heave and lunge of the sea. The wide rooms seemed too
narrow for his rolling gait, and to himself he was in terror lest his broad
shoulders should collide with the doorways or sweep the bric-a-brac
from the low mantel. He recoiled from side to side between the various
objects and multiplied the hazards that in reality lodged only in his
mind. Between a grand piano and a centre-table piled high with books
was space for a half a dozen to walk abreast, yet he essayed it with
trepidation. His heavy arms hung loosely at his sides. He did not know
what to do with those arms and hands, and when, to his excited vision,
one arm seemed liable to brush against the books on the table, he
lurched away like a frightened horse, barely missing the piano stool. He
watched the easy walk of the other in front of him, and for the first time
realized that his walk was different from that of other men. He
experienced a momentary pang of shame that he should walk so
uncouthly. The sweat burst through the skin of his forehead in tiny
beads, and he paused and mopped his bronzed face with his
handkerchief.

"Hold on, Arthur, my boy," he said, attempting to mask his anxiety
with facetious utterance. "This is too much all at once for yours truly.
Give me a chance to get my nerve. You know I didn't want to come, an'
I guess your fam'ly ain't hankerin' to see me neither."
"That's all right," was the reassuring answer. "You mustn't be
frightened at us. We're just homely people - Hello, there's a letter for
me."
He stepped back to the table, tore open the envelope, and began to read,
giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself. And the stranger
understood and appreciated. His was the gift of sympathy,
understanding; and beneath his alarmed exterior that sympathetic
process went on. He mopped his forehead dry and glanced about him
with a controlled face, though in the eyes there was an expression such
as wild animals betray when they fear the trap. He was surrounded by
the unknown, apprehensive of what might happen, ignorant of what he
should do, aware that he walked and bore himself awkwardly, fearful
that every attribute and power of him was similarly afflicted. He was
keenly sensitive, hopelessly self-conscious, and the amused glance that
the other stole privily at him over the top of the letter burned into him
like a dagger- thrust. He saw the glance, but he gave no sign, for