He read it through to the end, carefully, a second time, then sat down
and replied. He outlined the remarks he had uttered at the socialist
meeting, pointing out that they were in all ways the converse of what the
newspaper had put in his mouth. Toward the end of the letter he was
God's own lover pleading passionately for love. "Please answer," he
said, "and in your answer you have to tell me but one thing. Do you love
me? That is all--the answer to that one question."

But no answer came the next day, nor the next. "Overdue" lay untouched
upon the table, and each day the heap of returned manuscripts under the
table grew larger. For the first time Martin's glorious sleep was
interrupted by insomnia, and he tossed through long, restless nights.
Three times he called at the Morse home, but was turned away by the
servant who answered the bell. Brissenden lay sick in his hotel, too
feeble to stir out, and, though Martin was with him often, he did not
worry him with his troubles.

For Martin's troubles were many. The aftermath of the cub reporter's
deed was even wider than Martin had anticipated. The Portuguese grocer
refused him further credit, while the greengrocer, who was an American
and proud of it, had called him a traitor to his country and refused
further dealings with him--carrying his patriotism to such a degree that
he cancelled Martin's account and forbade him ever to attempt to pay it.
The talk in the neighborhood reflected the same feeling, and indignation
against Martin ran high. No one would have anything to do with a
socialist traitor. Poor Maria was dubious and frightened, but she
remained loyal. The children of the neighborhood recovered from the awe
of the grand carriage which once had visited Martin, and from safe
distances they called him "hobo" and "bum." The Silva tribe, however,
stanchly defended him, fighting more than one pitched battle for his
honor, and black eyes and bloody noses became quite the order of the day
and added to Maria's perplexities and troubles.

Once, Martin met Gertrude on the street, down in Oakland, and learned
what he knew could not be otherwise--that Bernard Higginbotham was
furious with him for having dragged the family into public disgrace, and
that he had forbidden him the house.

"Why don't you go away, Martin?" Gertrude had begged. "Go away and get a
job somewhere and steady down. Afterwards, when this all blows over, you
can come back."

Martin