life.

He staggered along like a drunken man, murmuring fervently aloud: "By
God! By God!"

A policeman on a street corner eyed him suspiciously, then noted his
sailor roll.

"Where did you get it?" the policeman demanded.

Martin Eden came back to earth. His was a fluid organism, swiftly
adjustable, capable of flowing into and filling all sorts of nooks and
crannies. With the policeman's hail he was immediately his ordinary
self, grasping the situation clearly.

"It's a beaut, ain't it?" he laughed back. "I didn't know I was talkin'
out loud."

"You'll be singing next," was the policeman's diagnosis.

"No, I won't. Gimme a match an' I'll catch the next car home."

He lighted his cigarette, said good night, and went on. "Now wouldn't
that rattle you?" he ejaculated under his breath. "That copper thought I
was drunk." He smiled to himself and meditated. "I guess I was," he
added; "but I didn't think a woman's face'd do it."

He caught a Telegraph Avenue car that was going to Berkeley. It was
crowded with youths and young men who were singing songs and ever and
again barking out college yells. He studied them curiously. They were