He flushed with pleasure. She was interested, that much was sure. And
at least she had not given him a rejection slip. She had called certain
portions of his work beautiful, and that was the first encouragement he
had ever received from any one.

"I will," he said passionately. "And I promise you, Miss Morse, that I
will make good. I have come far, I know that; and I have far to go, and
I will cover it if I have to do it on my hands and knees." He held up a
bunch of manuscript. "Here are the 'Sea Lyrics.' When you get home,
I'll turn them over to you to read at your leisure. And you must be sure
to tell me just what you think of them. What I need, you know, above all
things, is criticism. And do, please, be frank with me."

"I will be perfectly frank," she promised, with an uneasy conviction that
she had not been frank with him and with a doubt if she could be quite
frank with him the next time.

CHAPTER XV

"The first battle, fought and finished," Martin said to the looking-glass
ten days later. "But there will be a second battle, and a third battle,
and battles to the end of time, unless--"

He had not finished the sentence, but looked about the mean little room
and let his eyes dwell sadly upon a heap of returned manuscripts, still
in their long envelopes, which lay in a corner on the floor. He had no
stamps with which to continue them on their travels, and for a week they
had been piling up. More of them would come in on the morrow, and on the
next day, and the next, till they were all in. And he would be unable to
start them out again. He was a month's rent behind on the typewriter,
which he could not pay, having barely enough for the week's board which
was due and for the employment office fees.

He sat down and regarded the table thoughtfully. There were ink stains
upon it, and he suddenly discovered that he was fond of it.

"Dear old table," he said, "I've spent some happy hours with you, and
you've been a pretty good friend when all is said and done. You never
turned me down, never passed me out a reward-of-unmerit rejection slip,
never complained about working overtime."

He dropped his arms upon the table and buried his face in them. His
throat was aching, and he wanted to cry. It reminded him of his first
fight, when he was six years old, when he punched away with the tears
running down his cheeks while the other boy, two years his elder, had
beaten and pounded him into