inbotham.

The many books he read but served to whet his unrest. Every page of
every book was a peep-hole into the realm of knowledge. His hunger fed
upon what he read, and increased. Also, he did not know where to begin,
and continually suffered from lack of preparation. The commonest
references, that he could see plainly every reader was expected to know,
he did not know. And the same was true of the poetry he read which
maddened him with delight. He read more of Swinburne than was contained
in the volume Ruth had lent him; and "Dolores" he understood thoroughly.
But surely Ruth did not understand it, he concluded. How could she,
living the refined life she did? Then he chanced upon Kipling's poems,
and was swept away by the lilt and swing and glamour with which familiar
things had been invested. He was amazed at the man's sympathy with life
and at his incisive psychology. Psychology was a new word in Martin's
vocabulary. He had bought a dictionary, which deed had decreased his
supply of money and brought nearer the day on which he must sail in
search of more. Also, it incensed Mr. Higginbotham, who would have
preferred the money taking the form of board.

He dared not go near Ruth's neighborhood in the daytime, but night found
him lurking like a thief around the Morse home, stealing glimpses at the
windows and loving the very walls that sheltered her. Several times he
barely escaped being caught by her brothers, and once he trailed Mr.
Morse down town and studied his face in the lighted streets, longing all
the while for some quick danger of death to threaten so that he might
spring in and save her father. On another night, his vigil was rewarded
by a glimpse of Ruth through a second-story window. He saw only her head
and shoulders, and her arms raised as she fixed her hair before a mirror.
It was only for a moment, but it was a long moment to him, during which
his blood turned to wine and sang through his veins. Then she pulled
down the shade. But it was her room--he had learned that; and thereafter
he strayed there often, hiding under a dark tree on the opposite side of
the street and smoking countless cigarettes. One afternoon he saw her
mother coming out of a bank, and received another proof of the enormous
distance that separated Ruth from him. She was of the class that dealt
with banks. He had never been inside a bank in his life, and he had an
idea that such institutions were frequented onl