e from the fishing. He was waiting
for the rush of a big breaker whereon to jump the reef. Then he saw
himself, sitting forward in the canoe as he had often sat in the past,
dipping a paddle that waited Moti's word to dig in like mad when the
turquoise wall of the great breaker rose behind them. Next, he was no
longer an onlooker but was himself in the canoe, Moti was crying out,
they were both thrusting hard with their paddles, racing on the steep
face of the flying turquoise. Under the bow the water was hissing as
from a steam jet, the air was filled with driven spray, there was a rush
and rumble and long-echoing roar, and the canoe floated on the placid
water of the lagoon. Moti laughed and shook the salt water from his
eyes, and together they paddled in to the pounded-coral beach where
Tati's grass walls through the cocoanut-palms showed golden in the
setting sun.

The picture faded, and before his eyes stretched the disorder of his
squalid room. He strove in vain to see Tahiti again. He knew there was
singing among the trees and that the maidens were dancing in the
moonlight, but he could not see them. He could see only the littered
writing-table, the empty space where the type-writer had stood, and the
unwashed window-pane. He closed his eyes with a groan, and slept.

CHAPTER XLI

He slept heavily all night, and did not stir until aroused by the postman
on his morning round. Martin felt tired and passive, and went through
his letters aimlessly. One thin envelope, from a robber magazine,
contained for twenty-two dollars. He had been dunning for it for a year
and a half. He noted its amount apathetically. The old-time thrill at
receiving a publisher's check was gone. Unlike his earlier checks, this
one was not pregnant with promise of great things to come. To him it was
a check for twenty-two dollars, that was all, and it would buy him
something to eat.

Another check was in the same mail, sent from a New York weekly in
payment for some humorous verse which had been accepted months before. It
was for ten dollars. An idea came to him, which he calmly considered. He
did not know what he was going to do, and he felt in no hurry to do
anything. In the meantime he must live. Also he owed numerous debts.
Would it not be a paying investment to put stamps on the huge pile of
manuscripts under the table and start them on their travels again? One
or two of them might be accepted. That would