shop, had used "trig" several times, Martin Eden demanded:-

"What is _trig_?"

"Trignometry," Norman said; "a higher form of math."

"And what is math?" was the next question, which, somehow, brought the
laugh on Norman.

"Mathematics, arithmetic," was the answer.

Martin Eden nodded. He had caught a glimpse of the apparently
illimitable vistas of knowledge. What he saw took on tangibility. His
abnormal power of vision made abstractions take on concrete form. In the
alchemy of his brain, trigonometry and mathematics and the whole field of
knowledge which they betokened were transmuted into so much landscape.
The vistas he saw were vistas of green foliage and forest glades, all
softly luminous or shot through with flashing lights. In the distance,
detail was veiled and blurred by a purple haze, but behind this purple
haze, he knew, was the glamour of the unknown, the lure of romance. It
was like wine to him. Here was adventure, something to do with head and
hand, a world to conquer--and straightway from the back of his
consciousness rushed the thought, _conquering, to win to her, that lily-
pale spirit sitting beside him_.

The glimmering vision was rent asunder and dissipated by Arthur, who, all
evening, had been trying to draw his wild man out. Martin Eden
remembered his decision. For the first time he became himself,
consciously and deliberately at first, but soon lost in the joy of
creating in making life as he knew it appear before his listeners' eyes.