"I should say the first thing of all would be to get a grammar. Your grammar is-" She had intended saying "awful," but she amended it to "is not particularly good."
He flushed and sweated.
"I know I must talk a lot of slang an words you dont understand. But then theyre the only words I know-how to speak. Ive got other words in my mind, picked em up from books, but I cant pronounce em, so I dont use em."
"It isnt what you say, so much as how you say it. You dont mind my being frank, do you? I dont want to hurt you."
"No, no," he cried, while he secretly blessed her for her kindness. "Fire away. Ive got to know, an Id sooner know from you than anybody else."
"Well, then, you say, You was; it should be, You were. You say I seen for I saw. You use the double negative-"
"Whats the double negative?" he demanded; then added humbly, "You see, I dont even understand your explanations."
"Im afraid I didnt explain that," she smiled. "A double negative is-let me see-well, you say, never helped nobody. Never is a negative. Nobody is another negative. It is a rule that two negatives make a positive. Never helped nobody means that, not helping nobody, they must have helped somebody."
"Thats pretty clear," he said. "I never thought of it before. But it dont mean they must have helped somebody, does it? Seems to me that never helped nobody just naturally fails to say whether or not they helped somebody. I never thought of it before, and Ill never say it again."
She was pleased and surprised with the quickness and surety of his mind. As soon as he had got the clew he not only understood but corrected her error.
"Youll find it all in the grammar," she went on. "Theres something else I noticed in your speech. You say dont when you shouldnt. Dont is a contraction and stands for two words. Do you know them?"
He thought a moment, then answered, "Do not."
She nodded her head, and said, "And you use dont when you mean does not."
He was puzzled over this, and did not get it so quickly.
"Give me an illustration," he asked.
«Well» She puckered her brows and pursed up her mouth as she thought, while he looked on and decided that her expression was most adorable. "It dont do to be hasty. Change dont to do not, and it reads, It do not do to be hasty, which is perfectly absurd."
He turned it over in his mind and considered.
"Doesnt it jar on your ear?" she suggested.
"Cant say that it does," he replied judicially.
"Why didnt you say, Cant say that it do?" she queried.
"That sounds wrong," he said slowly. "As for the other I cant make up my mind. I guess my ear aint had the trainin yours has."
"There is no such word as aint," she said, prettily emphatic.
Martin flushed again.
"And you say ben for been," she continued; "come for came; and the way you chop your endings is something dreadful."
"How do you mean?" He leaned forward, feeling that he ought to get down on his knees before so marvellous a mind. "How do I chop?"
"You dont complete the endings. A-n-d spells and. You pronounce it an. I-n-g spells ing. Sometimes you pronounce it ing and sometimes you leave off the g. And then you slur by dropping initial letters and diphthongs. T-h-e-m spells them. You pronounce it-oh, well, it is not necessary to go over all of them. What you need is the grammar. Ill get one and show you how to begin."
As she arose, there shot through his mind something that he had read in the etiquette books, and he stood up awkwardly, worrying as to whether he was doing the right thing, and fearing that she might take it as a sign that he was about to go.
"By the way, Mr. Eden," she called back, as she was leaving the room. "What is booze ? You used it several times, you know."
"Oh, booze," he laughed. "Its slang. It means whiskey an beer-anything that will make you drunk."
"And another thing," she laughed back. "Dont use you when you are impersonal. You is very personal, and your use of it just now was not precisely what you meant."
"I dont just see that."
"Why, you said just now, to me, whiskey and beer-anything that will make you drunk-make me drunk, dont you see?"
"Well, it would, wouldnt it?"
"Yes, of course," she smiled. "But it would be nicer not to bring me into it. Substitute one for you and see how much better it sounds."
When she returned with the grammar, she drew a chair near his-he wondered if he should have helped her with the chair-and sat down beside him. She turned the pages of the grammar, and their heads were inclined toward each other. He could hardly follow her outlining of the work he must do, so amazed was he by her delightful propinquity. But when she began to lay down the importance of conjugation, he forgot all about her. He had never heard of conjugation, and was fascinated by the glimpse he was catching into the tie-ribs of language. He leaned closer to the page, and her hair touched his cheek. He had fainted but once in his life, and he thought he was going to faint again. He could scarcely breathe, and his heart was pounding the blood up into his throat and suffocating him. Never had she seemed so accessible as now. For the moment the great gulf that separated them was bridged. But there was no diminution in the loftiness of his feeling for her. She had not descended to him. It was he who had been caught up into the clouds and carried to her. His reverence for her, in that moment, was of the same order as religious awe and fervor. It seemed to him that he had intruded upon the holy of holies, and slowly and carefully he moved his head aside from the contact which thrilled him like an electric shock and of which she had not been aware.
CHAPTER VIII
Several weeks went by, during which Martin Eden studied his grammar, reviewed the books on etiquette, and read voraciously the books that caught his fancy. Of his own class he saw nothing. The girls of the Lotus Club wondered what had become of him and worried Jim with questions, and some of the fellows who put on the glove at Rileys were glad that Martin came no more. He made another discovery of treasure-trove in the library. As the grammar had shown him the tie-ribs of language, so that book showed him the tie-ribs of poetry, and he began to learn metre and construction and form, beneath the beauty he loved finding the why and wherefore of that beauty. Another modern book he found treated poetry as a representative art, treated it exhaustively, with copious illustrations from the best in literature. Never had he read fiction with so keen zest as he studied these books. And his fresh mind, untaxed for twenty years and impelled by maturity of desire, gripped hold of what he read with a virility unusual to the student mind.
When he looked back now from his vantage-ground, the old world he had known, the world of land and sea and ships, of sailor-men and harpy-women, seemed a very small world; and yet it blended in with this new world and expanded. His mind made for unity, and he was surprised when at first he began to see points of contact between the two worlds. And he was ennobled, as well, by the loftiness of thought and beauty he found in the books. This led him to believe more firmly than ever that up above him, in society like Ruth and her family, all men and women thought these thoughts and lived them. Down below where he lived was the ignoble, and he wanted to purge himself of the ignoble that had soiled all his days, and to rise to that sublimated realm where dwelt the upper classes. All his childhood and youth had been troubled by a vague unrest; he had never known what he wanted, but he had wanted something that he had hunted vainly for until he met Ruth. And now his unrest had become sharp and painful, and he knew at last, clearly and definitely, that it was beauty, and intellect, and love that he must have.