no bounds, and he excelled Martin in denunciation
when he turned upon them.

"I wish you'd type it for me," he said. "You know how a thousand times
better than any stenographer. And now I want to give you some advice."
He drew a bulky manuscript from his outside coat pocket. "Here's your
'Shame of the Sun.' I've read it not once, but twice and three times--the
highest compliment I can pay you. After what you've said about
'Ephemera' I must be silent. But this I will say: when 'The Shame of the
Sun' is published, it will make a hit. It will start a controversy that
will be worth thousands to you just in advertising."

Martin laughed. "I suppose your next advice will be to submit it to the
magazines."

"By all means no--that is, if you want to see it in print. Offer it to
the first-class houses. Some publisher's reader may be mad enough or
drunk enough to report favorably on it. You've read the books. The meat
of them has been transmuted in the alembic of Martin Eden's mind and
poured into 'The Shame of the Sun,' and one day Martin Eden will be
famous, and not the least of his fame will rest upon that work. So you
must get a publisher for it--the sooner the better."

Brissenden went home late that night; and just as he mounted the first
step of the car, he swung suddenly back on Martin and thrust into his
hand a small, tightly crumpled wad of paper.

"Here, take this," he said. "I was out to the races to-day, and I had
the right dope."

The bell clanged and the car pulled out, leaving Martin wondering as to
the nature of the crinkly, greasy wad he clutched in his hand. Back in
his room he unrolled it and found a hundred-dollar bill.

He did not scruple to use it. He knew his friend had always plenty of
money, and he knew also, with profound certitude, that his success would
enable him to repay it. In the morning he paid every bill, gave Maria
three months' advance on the room, and redeemed every pledge at the
pawnshop. Next he bought Marian's wedding present, and simpler presents,
suitable to Christmas, for Ruth and Gertrude. And finally, on the
balance remaining to him, he herded the whole Silva tribe down into
Oakland. He was a winter late in redeeming his promise, but redeemed it
was, for the last, least Silva got a pair of shoes, as well as Maria
herself. Also, there were horns, and dolls, and toys of various sorts,
and parcels and bundles of candies and nuts that filled the arms of all
t