The product was always the same, one hundred dollars, and he decided that that was better than seafaring.

If it hadn't been for his blunders, he would have finished the article in three days.

One hundred dollars in three days! It would have taken him three months and longer on the sea to earn a similar amount.

A man was a fool to go to sea when he could write, he concluded, though the money in itself meant nothing to him.

Its value was in the liberty it would get him, the presentable garments it would buy him, all of which would bring him nearer, swiftly nearer, to the slender, pale girl who had turned his life back upon itself and given him inspiration.
He mailed the manuscript in a flat envelope, and addressed it to the editor of the San Francisco Examiner.