McTEAGUE

A Story of San Francisco

by Frank Norris

CHAPTER 1

It was Sunday, and, according to his custom on that day, McTeague tookhis dinner at two in the afternoon at the car conductors' coffee-jointon Polk Street. He had a thick gray soup; heavy, underdone meat, veryhot, on a cold plate; two kinds of vegetables; and a sort of suetpudding, full of strong butter and sugar. On his way back to his office, one block above, he stopped at Joe Frenna's saloon and bought a pitcherof steam beer. It was his habit to leave the pitcher there on his way todinner. 

Once in his office, or, as he called it on his signboard, "DentalParlors, " he took off his coat and shoes, unbuttoned his vest, and, having crammed his little stove full of coke, lay back in his operatingchair at the bay window, reading the paper, drinking his beer, andsmoking his huge porcelain pipe while his food digested; crop-full, stupid, and warm. By and by, gorged with steam beer, and overcome by theheat of the room, the cheap tobacco, and the effects of his heavy meal, he dropped off to sleep. Late in the afternoon his canary bird, in itsgilt cage just over his head, began to sing. He woke slowly, finishedthe rest of his beer--very flat and stale by this time--and taking downhis concertina from the bookcase, where in week days it kept the companyof seven volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist, " played upon it somehalf-dozen very mournful airs. 

McTeague looked forward to these Sunday afternoons as a period ofrelaxation and enjoyment. He invariably spent them in the same fashion. These were his only pleasures--to eat, to smoke, to sleep, and to playupon his concertina. 

The six lugubrious airs that he knew, always carried him back to thetime when he was a car-boy at the Big Dipper Mine in Placer County, tenyears before. He remembered the years he had spent there trundling theheavy cars of ore in and out of the tunnel under the direction of hisfather. For thirteen days of each fortnight his father was a steady, hard-working shift-boss of the mine. Every other Sunday he became anirresponsible animal, a beast, a brute, crazy with alcohol. 

McTeague remembered his mother, too, who, with the help of the Chinaman, cooked for forty miners. She was an overworked drudge, fiery andenergetic for all that, filled with the one idea of having her son risein life and enter a profession. The chance had come at last when thefather died, corroded with alcohol, collapsing in a few hours. Two orthree years later a travelling dentist visited the mine and put up histent near the bunk-house. He was more or less of a charlatan, but hefired Mrs. McTeague's ambition, and young McTeague went away with himto learn his profession. He had learnt it after a fashion, mostly bywatching the charlatan operate. He had read many of the necessary books, but he was too hopelessly stupid to get much benefit from them. 

Then one day at San Francisco had come the news of his mother's death;she had left him some money--not much, but enough to set him up inbusiness; so he had cut loose from the charlatan and had opened his"Dental Parlors" on Polk Street, an "accommodation street" of smallshops in the residence quarter of the town. Here he had slowlycollected a clientele of butcher boys, shop girls, drug clerks, and carconductors. He made but few acquaintances. Polk Street called him the"Doctor" and spoke of his enormous strength. For McTeague was a younggiant, carrying his huge shock of blond hair six feet three inchesfrom the ground; moving his immense limbs, heavy with ropes of muscle, slowly, ponderously. His hands were enormous, red, and covered with afell of stiff yellow hair; they were hard as wooden mallets, strongas vises, the hands of the old-time car-boy. Often he dispensed withforceps and extracted a refractory tooth with his thumb and finger. His head was square-cut, angular; the jaw salient, like that of thecarnivora. 

McTeague's mind was as his body, heavy, slow to act, sluggish. Yet therewas nothing vicious about the man. Altogether he suggested the draughthorse, immensely strong, stupid, docile, obedient. 

When he opened his "Dental Parlors, " he felt that his life was asuccess, that he could hope for nothing better. In spite of the name, there was but one room. It was a corner room on the second floor overthe branch post-office, and faced the street. McTeague made it do fora bedroom as well, sleeping on the big bed-lounge against the wallopposite the window. There was a washstand behind the screen in thecorner where he manufactured his moulds. In the round bay window werehis operating chair, his dental engine, and the movable rack on whichhe laid out his instruments. Three chairs, a bargain at the second-handstore, ranged themselves against the wall with military precisionunderneath a steel engraving of the court of Lorenzo de' Medici, whichhe had bought because there were a great many figures in it for themoney. Over the bed-lounge hung a rifle manufacturer's advertisementcalendar which he never used. The other ornaments were a smallmarble-topped centre table covered with back numbers of "The AmericanSystem of Dentistry, " a stone pug dog sitting before the little stove, and a thermometer. A stand of shelves occupied one corner, filled withthe seven volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist. " On the top shelfMcTeague kept his concertina and a bag of bird seed for the canary. Thewhole place exhaled a mingled odor of bedding, creosote, and ether. 

But for one thing, McTeague would have been perfectly contented. Justoutside his window was his signboard--a modest affair--that read:"Doctor McTeague. Dental Parlors. Gas Given"; but that was all. It washis ambition, his dream, to have projecting from that corner window ahuge gilded tooth, a molar with enormous prongs, something gorgeous andattractive. He would have it some day, on that he was resolved; but asyet such a thing was far beyond his means. 

When he had finished the last of his beer, McTeague slowly wiped hislips and huge yellow mustache with the side of his hand. Bull-like, heheaved himself laboriously up, and, going to the window, stood lookingdown into the street. 

The street never failed to interest him. It was one of those crossstreets peculiar to Western cities, situated in the heart of theresidence quarter, but occupied by small tradespeople who lived in therooms above their shops. There were corner drug stores with huge jarsof red, yellow, and green liquids in their windows, very brave and gay;stationers' stores, where illustrated weeklies were tacked upon bulletinboards; barber shops with cigar stands in their vestibules; sad-lookingplumbers' offices; cheap restaurants, in whose windows one saw piles ofunopened oysters weighted down by cubes of ice, and china pigs and cowsknee deep in layers of white beans. At one end of the street McTeaguecould see the huge power-house of the cable line. Immediately oppositehim was a great market; while farther on, over the chimney stacks of theintervening houses, the glass roof of some huge public baths glitteredlike crystal in the afternoon sun. Underneath him the branch post-officewas opening its doors, as was its custom between two and threeo'clock on Sunday afternoons. An acrid odor of ink rose upward to him. Occasionally a cable car passed, trundling heavily, with a stridentwhirring of jostled glass windows. 

On week days the street was very lively. It woke to its work about seveno'clock, at the time when the newsboys made their appearance togetherwith the day laborers. The laborers went trudging past in a stragglingfile--plumbers' apprentices, their pockets stuffed with sections oflead pipe, tweezers, and pliers; carpenters, carrying nothing but theirlittle pasteboard lunch baskets painted to imitate leather; gangs ofstreet workers, their overalls soiled with yellow clay, their picks andlong-handled shovels over their shoulders; plasterers, spotted with limefrom head to foot. This little army of workers, tramping steadily inone direction, met and mingled with other toilers of a differentdescription--conductors and "swing men" of the cable company going onduty; heavy-eyed night clerks from the drug stores on their way home tosleep; roundsmen returning to the precinct police station to make theirnight report, and Chinese market gardeners teetering past under theirheavy baskets. The cable cars began to fill up; all along the streetcould be seen the shopkeepers taking down their shutters. 

Between seven and eight the street breakfasted. Now and then a waiterfrom one of the cheap restaurants crossed from one sidewalk to theother, balancing on one palm a tray covered with a napkin. Everywherewas the smell of coffee and of frying steaks. A little later, followingin the path of the day laborers, came the clerks and shop girls, dressed with a certain cheap smartness, always in a hurry, glancingapprehensively at the power-house clock. Their employers followedan hour or so later--on the cable cars for the most part whiskeredgentlemen with huge stomachs, reading the morning papers with greatgravity; bank cashiers and insurance clerks with flowers in theirbuttonholes. 

At the same time the school children invaded the street, filling the airwith a clamor of shrill voices, stopping at the stationers' shops, oridling a moment in the doorways of the candy stores. For over half anhour they held possession of the sidewalks, then suddenly disappeared, leaving behind one or two stragglers who hurried along with greatstrides of their little thin legs, very anxious and preoccupied. 

Towards eleven o'clock the ladies from the great avenue a block abovePolk Street made their appearance, promenading the sidewalks leisurely, deliberately. They were at their morning's marketing. They were handsomewomen, beautifully dressed. They knew by name their butchers and grocersand vegetable men. From his window McTeague saw them in front of thestalls, gloved and veiled and daintily shod, the subservient provisionmen at their elbows, scribbling hastily in the order books. They allseemed to know one another, these grand ladies from the fashionableavenue. Meetings took place here and there; a conversation was begun;others arrived; groups were formed; little impromptu receptions wereheld before the chopping blocks of butchers' stalls, or on the sidewalk, around boxes of berries and fruit. 

From noon to evening the population of the street was of a mixedcharacter. The street was busiest at that time; a vast and prolongedmurmur arose--the mingled shuffling of feet, the rattle of wheels, theheavy trundling of cable cars. At four o'clock the school childrenonce more swarmed the sidewalks, again disappearing with surprisingsuddenness. At six the great homeward march commenced; the cars werecrowded, the laborers thronged the sidewalks, the newsboys chanted theevening papers. Then all at once the street fell quiet; hardly a soulwas in sight; the sidewalks were deserted. It was supper hour. Eveningbegan; and one by one a multitude of lights, from the demoniac glare ofthe druggists' windows to the dazzling blue whiteness of the electricglobes, grew thick from street corner to street corner. Once more thestreet was crowded. Now there was no thought but for amusement. Thecable cars were loaded with theatre-goers--men in high hats andyoung girls in furred opera cloaks. On the sidewalks were groups andcouples--the plumbers' apprentices, the girls of the ribbon counters, the little families that lived on the second stories over their shops, the dressmakers, the small doctors, the harness-makers--all the variousinhabitants of the street were abroad, strolling idly from shop windowto shop window, taking the air after the day's work. Groups of girlscollected on the corners, talking and laughing very loud, making remarksupon the young men that passed them. The tamale men appeared. A band ofSalvationists began to sing before a saloon. 

Then, little by little, Polk Street dropped back to solitude. Eleveno'clock struck from the power-house clock. Lights were extinguished. Atone o'clock the cable stopped, leaving an abrupt silence in the air. All at once it seemed very still. The ugly noises were the occasionalfootfalls of a policeman and the persistent calling of ducks and geesein the closed market. The street was asleep. 

Day after day, McTeague saw the same panorama unroll itself. The baywindow of his "Dental Parlors" was for him a point of vantage from whichhe watched the world go past. 

On Sundays, however, all was changed. As he stood in the bay window, after finishing his beer, wiping his lips, and looking out into thestreet, McTeague was conscious of the difference. Nearly all the storeswere closed. No wagons passed. A few people hurried up and down thesidewalks, dressed in cheap Sunday finery. A cable car went by; on theoutside seats were a party of returning picnickers. The mother, thefather, a young man, and a young girl, and three children. The two olderpeople held empty lunch baskets in their laps, while the bands of thechildren's hats were stuck full of oak leaves. The girl carried a hugebunch of wilting poppies and wild flowers. 

As the car approached McTeague's window the young man got up and swunghimself off the platform, waving goodby to the party. Suddenly McTeaguerecognized him. 

"There's Marcus Schouler, " he muttered behind his mustache. 

Marcus Schouler was the dentist's one intimate friend. The acquaintancehad begun at the car conductors' coffee-joint, where the two occupiedthe same table and met at every meal. Then they made the discovery thatthey both lived in the same flat, Marcus occupying a room on the floorabove McTeague. On different occasions McTeague had treated Marcus foran ulcerated tooth and had refused to accept payment. Soon it came to bean understood thing between them. They were "pals. "

McTeague, listening, heard Marcus go up-stairs to his room above. In afew minutes his door opened again. McTeague knew that he had come outinto the hall and was leaning over the banisters. 

"Oh, Mac!" he called. McTeague came to his door. 

"Hullo! 'sthat you, Mark?"

"Sure, " answered Marcus. "Come on up. "

"You come on down. "

"No, come on up. "

"Oh, you come on down. "

"Oh, you lazy duck!" retorted Marcus, coming down the stairs. 

"Been out to the Cliff House on a picnic, " he explained as he sat downon the bed-lounge, "with my uncle and his people--the Sieppes, you know. By damn! it was hot, " he suddenly vociferated. "Just look at that! Justlook at that!" he cried, dragging at his limp collar. "That's the thirdone since morning; it is--it is, for a fact--and you got your stovegoing. " He began to tell about the picnic, talking very loud and fast, gesturing furiously, very excited over trivial details. Marcus could nottalk without getting excited. 

"You ought t'have seen, y'ought t'have seen. I tell you, it was outasight. It was; it was, for a fact. "

"Yes, yes, " answered McTeague, bewildered, trying to follow. "Yes, that's so. "

In recounting a certain dispute with an awkward bicyclist, in which itappeared he had become involved, Marcus quivered with rage. "'Say thatagain, ' says I to um. 'Just say that once more, and'"--here a rollingexplosion of oaths--"'you'll go back to the city in the Morgue wagon. Ain't I got a right to cross a street even, I'd like to know, withoutbeing run down--what?' I say it's outrageous. I'd a knifed him inanother minute. It was an outrage. I say it was an OUTRAGE. "

"Sure it was, " McTeague hastened to reply. "Sure, sure. "

"Oh, and we had an accident, " shouted the other, suddenly off on anothertack. "It was awful. Trina was in the swing there--that's my cousinTrina, you know who I mean--and she fell out. By damn! I thought she'dkilled herself; struck her face on a rock and knocked out a front tooth. It's a wonder she didn't kill herself. It IS a wonder; it is, for afact. Ain't it, now? Huh? Ain't it? Y'ought t'have seen. "

McTeague had a vague idea that Marcus Schouler was stuck on his cousinTrina. They "kept company" a good deal; Marcus took dinner with theSieppes every Saturday evening at their home at B Street station, acrossthe bay, and Sunday afternoons he and the family usually made littleexcursions into the suburbs. McTeague began to wonder dimly how itwas that on this occasion Marcus had not gone home with his cousin. Assometimes happens, Marcus furnished the explanation upon the instant. 

"I promised a duck up here on the avenue I'd call for his dog at fourthis afternoon. "

Marcus was Old Grannis's assistant in a little dog hospital that thelatter had opened in a sort of alley just off Polk Street, some fourblocks above Old Grannis lived in one of the back rooms of McTeague'sflat. He was an Englishman and an expert dog surgeon, but MarcusSchouler was a bungler in the profession. His father had been aveterinary surgeon who had kept a livery stable near by, on CaliforniaStreet, and Marcus's knowledge of the diseases of domestic animals hadbeen picked up in a haphazard way, much after the manner of McTeague'seducation. Somehow he managed to impress Old Grannis, a gentle, simple-minded old man, with a sense of his fitness, bewildering him witha torrent of empty phrases that he delivered with fierce gestures andwith a manner of the greatest conviction. 

"You'd better come along with me, Mac, " observed Marcus. "We'll get theduck's dog, and then we'll take a little walk, huh? You got nothun todo. Come along. "

McTeague went out with him, and the two friends proceeded up to theavenue to the house where the dog was to be found. It was a hugemansion-like place, set in an enormous garden that occupied a wholethird of the block; and while Marcus tramped up the front steps and rangthe doorbell boldly, to show his independence, McTeague remained belowon the sidewalk, gazing stupidly at the curtained windows, the marblesteps, and the bronze griffins, troubled and a little confused by allthis massive luxury. 

After they had taken the dog to the hospital and had left him to whimperbehind the wire netting, they returned to Polk Street and had a glass ofbeer in the back room of Joe Frenna's corner grocery. 

Ever since they had left the huge mansion on the avenue, Marcus had beenattacking the capitalists, a class which he pretended to execrate. Itwas a pose which he often assumed, certain of impressing the dentist. Marcus had picked up a few half-truths of political economy--it wasimpossible to say where--and as soon as the two had settled themselvesto their beer in Frenna's back room he took up the theme of the laborquestion. He discussed it at the top of his voice, vociferating, shakinghis fists, exciting himself with his own noise. He was continuallymaking use of the stock phrases of the professional politician--phraseshe had caught at some of the ward "rallies" and "ratification meetings. "These rolled off his tongue with incredible emphasis, appearing at everyturn of his conversation--"Outraged constituencies, " "cause of labor, ""wage earners, " "opinions biased by personal interests, " "eyes blindedby party prejudice. " McTeague listened to him, awestruck. 

"There's where the evil lies, " Marcus would cry. "The masses must learnself-control; it stands to reason. Look at the figures, look at thefigures. Decrease the number of wage earners and you increase wages, don't you? don't you?"

Absolutely stupid, and understanding never a word, McTeague wouldanswer:

"Yes, yes, that's it--self-control--that's the word. "

"It's the capitalists that's ruining the cause of labor, " shoutedMarcus, banging the table with his fist till the beer glasses danced;"white-livered drones, traitors, with their livers white as snow, eatunthe bread of widows and orphuns; there's where the evil lies. "

Stupefied with his clamor, McTeague answered, wagging his head:

"Yes, that's it; I think it's their livers. "

Suddenly Marcus fell calm again, forgetting his pose all in an instant. 

"Say, Mac, I told my cousin Trina to come round and see you about thattooth of her's. She'll be in to-morrow, I guess. "

CHAPTER 2

After his breakfast the following Monday morning, McTeague looked overthe appointments he had written down in the book-slate that hung againstthe screen. His writing was immense, very clumsy, and very round, withhuge, full-bellied l's and h's. He saw that he had made an appointmentat one o'clock for Miss Baker, the retired dressmaker, a little old maidwho had a tiny room a few doors down the hall. It adjoined that of OldGrannis. 

Quite an affair had arisen from this circumstance. Miss Baker and OldGrannis were both over sixty, and yet it was current talk amongstthe lodgers of the flat that the two were in love with each other. Singularly enough, they were not even acquaintances; never a word hadpassed between them. At intervals they met on the stairway; he on hisway to his little dog hospital, she returning from a bit of marketingin the street. At such times they passed each other with avertedeyes, pretending a certain preoccupation, suddenly seized with a greatembarrassment, the timidity of a second childhood. He went on about hisbusiness, disturbed and thoughtful. She hurried up to her tiny room, her curious little false curls shaking with her agitation, the faintestsuggestion of a flush coming and going in her withered cheeks. Theemotion of one of these chance meetings remained with them during allthe rest of the day. 

Was it the first romance in the lives of each? Did Old Grannis everremember a certain face amongst those that he had known when he wasyoung Grannis--the face of some pale-haired girl, such as one sees inthe old cathedral towns of England? Did Miss Baker still treasure upin a seldom opened drawer or box some faded daguerreotype, some strangeold-fashioned likeness, with its curling hair and high stock? It wasimpossible to say. 

Maria Macapa, the Mexican woman who took care of the lodgers' rooms, hadbeen the first to call the flat's attention to the affair, spreading thenews of it from room to room, from floor to floor. Of late she had madea great discovery; all the women folk of the flat were yet vibrant withit. Old Grannis came home from his work at four o'clock, and betweenthat time and six Miss Baker would sit in her room, her hands idle inher lap, doing nothing, listening, waiting. Old Grannis did the same, drawing his arm-chair near to the wall, knowing that Miss Baker was uponthe other side, conscious, perhaps, that she was thinking of him; andthere the two would sit through the hours of the afternoon, listeningand waiting, they did not know exactly for what, but near to each other, separated only by the thin partition of their rooms. They had cometo know each other's habits. Old Grannis knew that at quarter of fiveprecisely Miss Baker made a cup of tea over the oil stove on the standbetween the bureau and the window. Miss Baker felt instinctively theexact moment when Old Grannis took down his little binding apparatusfrom the second shelf of his clothes closet and began his favoriteoccupation of binding pamphlets--pamphlets that he never read, for allthat. 

In his "Parlors" McTeague began his week's work. He glanced in the glasssaucer in which he kept his sponge-gold, and noticing that he hadused up all his pellets, set about making some more. In examining MissBaker's teeth at the preliminary sitting he had found a cavity in oneof the incisors. Miss Baker had decided to have it filled with gold. McTeague remembered now that it was what is called a "proximate case, "where there is not sufficient room to fill with large pieces of gold. Hetold himself that he should have to use "mats" in the filling. He madesome dozen of these "mats" from his tape of non-cohesive gold, cuttingit transversely into small pieces that could be inserted edgewisebetween the teeth and consolidated by packing. After he had made his"mats" he continued with the other kind of gold fillings, such as hewould have occasion to use during the week; "blocks" to be used in largeproximal cavities, made by folding the tape on itself a number oftimes and then shaping it with the soldering pliers; "cylinders" forcommencing fillings, which he formed by rolling the tape around a needlecalled a "broach, " cutting it afterwards into different lengths. Heworked slowly, mechanically, turning the foil between his fingers withthe manual dexterity that one sometimes sees in stupid persons. His headwas quite empty of all thought, and he did not whistle over his workas another man might have done. The canary made up for his silence, trilling and chittering continually, splashing about in its morningbath, keeping up an incessant noise and movement that would have beenmaddening to any one but McTeague, who seemed to have no nerves at all. 

After he had finished his fillings, he made a hook broach from a bit ofpiano wire to replace an old one that he had lost. It was time for hisdinner then, and when he returned from the car conductors' coffee-joint, he found Miss Baker waiting for him. 

The ancient little dressmaker was at all times willing to talk of OldGrannis to anybody that would listen, quite unconscious of the gossipof the flat. McTeague found her all a-flutter with excitement. Somethingextraordinary had happened. She had found out that the wall-paper in OldGrannis's room was the same as that in hers. 

"It has led me to thinking, Doctor McTeague, " she exclaimed, shaking herlittle false curls at him. "You know my room is so small, anyhow, andthe wall-paper being the same--the pattern from my room continues rightinto his--I declare, I believe at one time that was all one room. Thinkof it, do you suppose it was? It almost amounts to our occupying thesame room. I don't know--why, really--do you think I should speak to thelandlady about it? He bound pamphlets last night until half-past nine. They say that he's the younger son of a baronet; that there are reasonsfor his not coming to the title; his stepfather wronged him cruelly. "

No one had ever said such a thing. It was preposterous to imagine anymystery connected with Old Grannis. Miss Baker had chosen to invent thelittle fiction, had created the title and the unjust stepfather fromsome dim memories of the novels of her girlhood. 

She took her place in the operating chair. McTeague began the filling. There was a long silence. It was impossible for McTeague to work andtalk at the same time. 

He was just burnishing the last "mat" in Miss Baker's tooth, when thedoor of the "Parlors" opened, jangling the bell which he had hung overit, and which was absolutely unnecessary. McTeague turned, one foot onthe pedal of his dental engine, the corundum disk whirling between hisfingers. 

It was Marcus Schouler who came in, ushering a young girl of abouttwenty. 

"Hello, Mac, " exclaimed Marcus; "busy? Brought my cousin round aboutthat broken tooth. "

McTeague nodded his head gravely. 

"In a minute, " he answered. 

Marcus and his cousin Trina sat down in the rigid chairs underneath thesteel engraving of the Court of Lorenzo de' Medici. They began talkingin low tones. The girl looked about the room, noticing the stone pugdog, the rifle manufacturer's calendar, the canary in its little giltprison, and the tumbled blankets on the unmade bed-lounge againstthe wall. Marcus began telling her about McTeague. "We're pals, " heexplained, just above a whisper. "Ah, Mac's all right, you bet. Say, Trina, he's the strongest duck you ever saw. What do you suppose? He canpull out your teeth with his fingers; yes, he can. What do you think ofthat? With his fingers, mind you; he can, for a fact. Get on to the sizeof him, anyhow. Ah, Mac's all right!"

Maria Macapa had come into the room while he had been speaking. She wasmaking up McTeague's bed. Suddenly Marcus exclaimed under his breath:"Now we'll have some fun. It's the girl that takes care of the rooms. She's a greaser, and she's queer in the head. She ain't regularly crazy, but I don't know, she's queer. Y'ought to hear her go on about a golddinner service she says her folks used to own. Ask her what her name isand see what she'll say. " Trina shrank back, a little frightened. 

"No, you ask, " she whispered. 

"Ah, go on; what you 'fraid of?" urged Marcus. Trina shook her headenergetically, shutting her lips together. 

"Well, listen here, " answered Marcus, nudging her; then raising hisvoice, he said:

"How do, Maria?" Maria nodded to him over her shoulder as she bent overthe lounge. 

"Workun hard nowadays, Maria?"

"Pretty hard. "

"Didunt always have to work for your living, though, did you, when youate offa gold dishes?" Maria didn't answer, except by putting her chinin the air and shutting her eyes, as though to say she knew a long storyabout that if she had a mind to talk. All Marcus's efforts to draw herout on the subject were unavailing. She only responded by movements ofher head. 

"Can't always start her going, " Marcus told his cousin. 

"What does she do, though, when you ask her about her name?"

"Oh, sure, " said Marcus, who had forgotten. "Say, Maria, what's yourname?"

"Huh?" asked Maria, straightening up, her hands on he hips. 

"Tell us your name, " repeated Marcus. 

"Name is Maria--Miranda--Macapa. " Then, after a pause, she added, asthough she had but that moment thought of it, "Had a flying squirrel an'let him go. "

Invariably Maria Macapa made this answer. It was not always she wouldtalk about the famous service of gold plate, but a question as to hername never failed to elicit the same strange answer, delivered in arapid undertone: "Name is Maria--Miranda--Macapa. " Then, as if struckwith an after thought, "Had a flying squirrel an' let him go. "

Why Maria should associate the release of the mythical squirrel withher name could not be said. About Maria the flat knew absolutely nothingfurther than that she was Spanish-American. Miss Baker was the oldestlodger in the flat, and Maria was a fixture there as maid of all workwhen she had come. There was a legend to the effect that Maria's peoplehad been at one time immensely wealthy in Central America. 

Maria turned again to her work. Trina and Marcus watched her curiously. There was a silence. The corundum burr in McTeague's engine hummed in aprolonged monotone. The canary bird chittered occasionally. The room waswarm, and the breathing of the five people in the narrow space made theair close and thick. At long intervals an acrid odor of ink floated upfrom the branch post-office immediately below. 

Maria Macapa finished her work and started to leave. As she passed nearMarcus and his cousin she stopped, and drew a bunch of blue ticketsfurtively from her pocket. "Buy a ticket in the lottery?" she inquired, looking at the girl. "Just a dollar. "

"Go along with you, Maria, " said Marcus, who had but thirty cents in hispocket. "Go along; it's against the law. "

"Buy a ticket, " urged Maria, thrusting the bundle toward Trina. "Tryyour luck. The butcher on the next block won twenty dollars the lastdrawing. "

Very uneasy, Trina bought a ticket for the sake of being rid of her. Maria disappeared. 

"Ain't she a queer bird?" muttered Marcus. He was much embarrassed anddisturbed because he had not bought the ticket for Trina. 

But there was a sudden movement. McTeague had just finished with MissBaker. 

"You should notice, " the dressmaker said to the dentist, in a low voice, "he always leaves the door a little ajar in the afternoon. " When she hadgone out, Marcus Schouler brought Trina forward. 

"Say, Mac, this is my cousin, Trina Sieppe. " The two shook hands dumbly, McTeague slowly nodding his huge head with its great shock of yellowhair. Trina was very small and prettily made. Her face was round andrather pale; her eyes long and narrow and blue, like the half-open eyesof a little baby; her lips and the lobes of her tiny ears were pale, alittle suggestive of anaemia; while across the bridge of her nose ranan adorable little line of freckles. But it was to her hair that one'sattention was most attracted. Heaps and heaps of blue-black coils andbraids, a royal crown of swarthy bands, a veritable sable tiara, heavy, abundant, odorous. All the vitality that should have given color to herface seemed to have been absorbed by this marvellous hair. It wasthe coiffure of a queen that shadowed the pale temples of this littlebourgeoise. So heavy was it that it tipped her head backward, andthe position thrust her chin out a little. It was a charming poise, innocent, confiding, almost infantile. 

She was dressed all in black, very modest and plain. The effect of herpale face in all this contrasting black was almost monastic. 

"Well, " exclaimed Marcus suddenly, "I got to go. Must get back to work. Don't hurt her too much, Mac. S'long, Trina. "

McTeague and Trina were left alone. He was embarrassed, troubled. These young girls disturbed and perplexed him. He did not likethem, obstinately cherishing that intuitive suspicion of all thingsfeminine--the perverse dislike of an overgrown boy. On the other hand, she was perfectly at her ease; doubtless the woman in her was not yetawakened; she was yet, as one might say, without sex. She was almostlike a boy, frank, candid, unreserved. 

She took her place in the operating chair and told him what was thematter, looking squarely into his face. She had fallen out of a swingthe afternoon of the preceding day; one of her teeth had been knockedloose and the other altogether broken out. 

McTeague listened to her with apparent stolidity, nodding his head fromtime to time as she spoke. The keenness of his dislike of her as a womanbegan to be blunted. He thought she was rather pretty, that he evenliked her because she was so small, so prettily made, so good naturedand straightforward. 

"Let's have a look at your teeth, " he said, picking up his mirror. "Youbetter take your hat off. " She leaned back in her chair and opened hermouth, showing the rows of little round teeth, as white and even as thekernels on an ear of green corn, except where an ugly gap came at theside. 

McTeague put the mirror into her mouth, touching one and another of herteeth with the handle of an excavator. By and by he straightened up, wiping the moisture from the mirror on his coat-sleeve. 

"Well, Doctor, " said the girl, anxiously, "it's a dreadfuldisfigurement, isn't it?" adding, "What can you do about it?"

"Well, " answered McTeague, slowly, looking vaguely about on the floor ofthe room, "the roots of the broken tooth are still in the gum; they'llhave to come out, and I guess I'll have to pull that other bicuspid. Letme look again. Yes, " he went on in a moment, peering into her mouthwith the mirror, "I guess that'll have to come out, too. " The tooth wasloose, discolored, and evidently dead. "It's a curious case, " McTeaguewent on. "I don't know as I ever had a tooth like that before. It'swhat's called necrosis. It don't often happen. It'll have to come outsure. "

Then a discussion was opened on the subject, Trina sitting up in thechair, holding her hat in her lap; McTeague leaning against the windowframe his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering about on the floor. Trina did not want the other tooth removed; one hole like that was badenough; but two--ah, no, it was not to be thought of. 

But McTeague reasoned with her, tried in vain to make her understandthat there was no vascular connection between the root and the gum. Trina was blindly persistent, with the persistency of a girl who hasmade up her mind. 

McTeague began to like her better and better, and after a whilecommenced himself to feel that it would be a pity to disfigure sucha pretty mouth. He became interested; perhaps he could do something, something in the way of a crown or bridge. "Let's look at that again, "he said, picking up his mirror. He began to study the situation verycarefully, really desiring to remedy the blemish. 

It was the first bicuspid that was missing, and though part of the rootof the second (the loose one) would remain after its extraction, he wassure it would not be strong enough to sustain a crown. All at oncehe grew obstinate, resolving, with all the strength of a crude andprimitive man, to conquer the difficulty in spite of everything. Heturned over in his mind the technicalities of the case. No, evidentlythe root was not strong enough to sustain a crown; besides that, it wasplaced a little irregularly in the arch. But, fortunately, there werecavities in the two teeth on either side of the gap--one in the firstmolar and one in the palatine surface of the cuspid; might he not drilla socket in the remaining root and sockets in the molar and cuspid, and, partly by bridging, partly by crowning, fill in the gap? He made up hismind to do it. 

Why he should pledge himself to this hazardous case McTeague was puzzledto know. With most of his clients he would have contented himself withthe extraction of the loose tooth and the roots of the broken one. Whyshould he risk his reputation in this case? He could not say why. 

It was the most difficult operation he had ever performed. He bungledit considerably, but in the end he succeeded passably well. He extractedthe loose tooth with his bayonet forceps and prepared the roots of thebroken one as if for filling, fitting into them a flattened piece ofplatinum wire to serve as a dowel. But this was only the beginning;altogether it was a fortnight's work. Trina came nearly every other day, and passed two, and even three, hours in the chair. 

By degrees McTeague's first awkwardness and suspicion vanished entirely. The two became good friends. McTeague even arrived at that point wherehe could work and talk to her at the same time--a thing that had neverbefore been possible for him. 

Never until then had McTeague become so well acquainted with a girl ofTrina's age. The younger women of Polk Street--the shop girls, theyoung women of the soda fountains, the waitresses in the cheaprestaurants--preferred another dentist, a young fellow just graduatedfrom the college, a poser, a rider of bicycles, a man about town, whowore astonishing waistcoats and bet money on greyhound coursing. Trinawas McTeague's first experience. With her the feminine element suddenlyentered his little world. It was not only her that he saw and felt, it was the woman, the whole sex, an entire new humanity, strange andalluring, that he seemed to have discovered. How had he ignored it solong? It was dazzling, delicious, charming beyond all words. His narrowpoint of view was at once enlarged and confused, and all at once hesaw that there was something else in life besides concertinas and steambeer. Everything had to be made over again. His whole rude idea oflife had to be changed. The male virile desire in him tardily awakened, aroused itself, strong and brutal. It was resistless, untrained, a thingnot to be held in leash an instant. 

Little by little, by gradual, almost imperceptible degrees, the thoughtof Trina Sieppe occupied his mind from day to day, from hour to hour. He found himself thinking of her constantly; at every instant he sawher round, pale face; her narrow, milk-blue eyes; her little out-thrustchin; her heavy, huge tiara of black hair. At night he lay awake forhours under the thick blankets of the bed-lounge, staring upwardinto the darkness, tormented with the idea of her, exasperated at thedelicate, subtle mesh in which he found himself entangled. During theforenoons, while he went about his work, he thought of her. As he madehis plaster-of-paris moulds at the washstand in the corner behind thescreen he turned over in his mind all that had happened, all thathad been said at the previous sitting. Her little tooth that he hadextracted he kept wrapped in a bit of newspaper in his vest pocket. Often he took it out and held it in the palm of his immense, horny hand, seized with some strange elephantine sentiment, wagging his head at it, heaving tremendous sighs. What a folly!

At two o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Trina arrived andtook her place in the operating chair. While at his work McTeague wasevery minute obliged to bend closely over her; his hands touched herface, her cheeks, her adorable little chin; her lips pressed against hisfingers. She breathed warmly on his forehead and on his eyelids, while the odor of her hair, a charming feminine perfume, sweet, heavy, enervating, came to his nostrils, so penetrating, so delicious, that hisflesh pricked and tingled with it; a veritable sensation of faintnesspassed over this huge, callous fellow, with his enormous bones andcorded muscles. He drew a short breath through his nose; his jawssuddenly gripped together vise-like. 

But this was only at times--a strange, vexing spasm, that subsidedalmost immediately. For the most part, McTeague enjoyed the pleasure ofthese sittings with Trina with a certain strong calmness, blindly happythat she was there. This poor crude dentist of Polk Street, stupid, ignorant, vulgar, with his sham education and plebeian tastes, whoseonly relaxations were to eat, to drink steam beer, and to play upon hisconcertina, was living through his first romance, his first idyl. Itwas delightful. The long hours he passed alone with Trina in the "DentalParlors, " silent, only for the scraping of the instruments and thepouring of bud-burrs in the engine, in the foul atmosphere, overheatedby the little stove and heavy with the smell of ether, creosote, andstale bedding, had all the charm of secret appointments and stolenmeetings under the moon. 

By degrees the operation progressed. One day, just after McTeague hadput in the temporary gutta-percha fillings and nothing more could bedone at that sitting, Trina asked him to examine the rest of her teeth. They were perfect, with one exception--a spot of white caries on thelateral surface of an incisor. McTeague filled it with gold, enlargingthe cavity with hard-bits and hoe-excavators, and burring in afterwardwith half-cone burrs. The cavity was deep, and Trina began to wince andmoan. To hurt Trina was a positive anguish for McTeague, yet an anguishwhich he was obliged to endure at every hour of the sitting. It washarrowing--he sweated under it--to be forced to torture her, of allwomen in the world; could anything be worse than that?

"Hurt?" he inquired, anxiously. 

She answered by frowning, with a sharp intake of breath, putting herfingers over her closed lips and nodding her head. McTeague sprayed thetooth with glycerite of tannin, but without effect. Rather than hurt herhe found himself forced to the use of anaesthesia, which he hated. He had a notion that the nitrous oxide gas was dangerous, so on thisoccasion, as on all others, used ether. 

He put the sponge a half dozen times to Trina's face, more nervous thanhe had ever been before, watching the symptoms closely. Her breathingbecame short and irregular; there was a slight twitching of the muscles. When her thumbs turned inward toward the palms, he took the sponge away. She passed off very quickly, and, with a long sigh, sank back into thechair. 

McTeague straightened up, putting the sponge upon the rack behind him, his eyes fixed upon Trina's face. For some time he stood watching her asshe lay there, unconscious and helpless, and very pretty. He was alonewith her, and she was absolutely without defense. 

Suddenly the animal in the man stirred and woke; the evil instinctsthat in him were so close to the surface leaped to life, shouting andclamoring. 

It was a crisis--a crisis that had arisen all in an instant; a crisisfor which he was totally unprepared. Blindly, and without knowingwhy, McTeague fought against it, moved by an unreasoned instinct ofresistance. Within him, a certain second self, another better McTeaguerose with the brute; both were strong, with the huge crude strengthof the man himself. The two were at grapples. There in that cheap andshabby "Dental Parlor" a dreaded struggle began. It was the old battle, old as the world, wide as the world--the sudden panther leap ofthe animal, lips drawn, fangs aflash, hideous, monstrous, not to beresisted, and the simultaneous arousing of the other man, the betterself that cries, "Down, down, " without knowing why; that grips themonster; that fights to strangle it, to thrust it down and back. 

Dizzied and bewildered with the shock, the like of which he had neverknown before, McTeague turned from Trina, gazing bewilderedly about theroom. The struggle was bitter; his teeth ground themselves together witha little rasping sound; the blood sang in his ears; his face flushedscarlet; his hands twisted themselves together like the knotting ofcables. The fury in him was as the fury of a young bull in the heat ofhigh summer. But for all that he shook his huge head from time to time, muttering:

"No, by God! No, by God!"

Dimly he seemed to realize that should he yield now he would never beable to care for Trina again. She would never be the same to him, neverso radiant, so sweet, so adorable; her charm for him would vanish in aninstant. Across her forehead, her little pale forehead, under the shadowof her royal hair, he would surely see the smudge of a foul ordure, thefootprint of the monster. It would be a sacrilege, an abomination. Herecoiled from it, banding all his strength to the issue. 

"No, by God! No, by God!"

He turned to his work, as if seeking a refuge in it. But as he drew nearto her again, the charm of her innocence and helplessness came overhim afresh. It was a final protest against his resolution. Suddenly heleaned over and kissed her, grossly, full on the mouth. The thing wasdone before he knew it. Terrified at his weakness at the very moment hebelieved himself strong, he threw himself once more into his work withdesperate energy. By the time he was fastening the sheet of rubber uponthe tooth, he had himself once more in hand. He was disturbed, stilltrembling, still vibrating with the throes of the crisis, but he was themaster; the animal was downed, was cowed for this time, at least. 

But for all that, the brute was there. Long dormant, it was now at lastalive, awake. From now on he would feel its presence continually; wouldfeel it tugging at its chain, watching its opportunity. Ah, the pityof it! Why could he not always love her purely, cleanly? What was thisperverse, vicious thing that lived within him, knitted to his flesh?

Below the fine fabric of all that was good in him ran the foul stream ofhereditary evil, like a sewer. The vices and sins of his father andof his father's father, to the third and fourth and five hundredthgeneration, tainted him. The evil of an entire race flowed in his veins. Why should it be? He did not desire it. Was he to blame?

But McTeague could not understand this thing. It had faced him, assooner or later it faces every child of man; but its significance wasnot for him. To reason with it was beyond him. He could only oppose toit an instinctive stubborn resistance, blind, inert. 

McTeague went on with his work. As he was rapping in the little blocksand cylinders with the mallet, Trina slowly came back to herself with along sigh. She still felt a little confused, and lay quiet in the chair. There was a long silence, broken only by the uneven tapping of thehardwood mallet. By and by she said, "I never felt a thing, " and thenshe smiled at him very prettily beneath the rubber dam. McTeague turnedto her suddenly, his mallet in one hand, his pliers holding a pelletof sponge-gold in the other. All at once he said, with the unreasonedsimplicity and directness of a child: "Listen here, Miss Trina, Ilike you better than any one else; what's the matter with us gettingmarried?"

Trina sat up in the chair quickly, and then drew back from him, frightened and bewildered. 

"Will you? Will you?" said McTeague. "Say, Miss Trina, will you?"

"What is it? What do you mean?" she cried, confusedly, her words muffledbeneath the rubber. 

"Will you?" repeated McTeague. 

"No, no, " she exclaimed, refusing without knowing why, suddenly seizedwith a fear of him, the intuitive feminine fear of the male. McTeaguecould only repeat the same thing over and over again. Trina, moreand more frightened at his huge hands--the hands of the old-timecar-boy--his immense square-cut head and his enormous brute strength, cried out: "No, no, " behind the rubber dam, shaking her head violently, holding out her hands, and shrinking down before him in the operatingchair. McTeague came nearer to her, repeating the same question. "No, no, " she cried, terrified. Then, as she exclaimed, "Oh, I am sick, "was suddenly taken with a fit of vomiting. It was the not unusualafter effect of the ether, aided now by her excitement and nervousness. McTeague was checked. He poured some bromide of potassium into agraduated glass and held it to her lips. 

"Here, swallow this, " he said. 

CHAPTER 3

Once every two months Maria Macapa set the entire flat in commotion. She roamed the building from garret to cellar, searching each corner, ferreting through every old box and trunk and barrel, groping abouton the top shelves of closets, peering into rag-bags, exasperating thelodgers with her persistence and importunity. She was collectingjunks, bits of iron, stone jugs, glass bottles, old sacks, and cast-offgarments. It was one of her perquisites. She sold the junk to Zerkow, the rags-bottles-sacks man, who lived in a filthy den in the alley justback of the flat, and who sometimes paid her as much as three centsa pound. The stone jugs, however, were worth a nickel. The money thatZerkow paid her, Maria spent on shirt waists and dotted blue neckties, trying to dress like the girls who tended the soda-water fountain in thecandy store on the corner. She was sick with envy of these young women. They were in the world, they were elegant, they were debonair, they hadtheir "young men. "

On this occasion she presented herself at the door of Old Grannis's roomlate in the afternoon. His door stood a little open. That of Miss Bakerwas ajar a few inches. The two old people were "keeping company" aftertheir fashion. 

"Got any junk, Mister Grannis?" inquired Maria, standing in the door, avery dirty, half-filled pillowcase over one arm. 

"No, nothing--nothing that I can think of, Maria, " replied Old Grannis, terribly vexed at the interruption, yet not wishing to be unkind. "Nothing I think of. Yet, however--perhaps--if you wish to look. "

He sat in the middle of the room before a small pine table. Hislittle binding apparatus was before him. In his fingers was a hugeupholsterer's needle threaded with twine, a brad-awl lay at his elbow, on the floor beside him was a great pile of pamphlets, the pages uncut. Old Grannis bought the "Nation" and the "Breeder and Sportsman. " In thelatter he occasionally found articles on dogs which interested him. Theformer he seldom read. He could not afford to subscribe regularly toeither of the publications, but purchased their back numbers by thescore, almost solely for the pleasure he took in binding them. 

"What you alus sewing up them books for, Mister Grannis?" asked Maria, as she began rummaging about in Old Grannis's closet shelves. "There'sjust hundreds of 'em in here on yer shelves; they ain't no good to you. "

"Well, well, " answered Old Grannis, timidly, rubbing his chin, "I--I'msure I can't quite say; a little habit, you know; a diversion, a--a--itoccupies one, you know. I don't smoke; it takes the place of a pipe, perhaps. "

"Here's this old yellow pitcher, " said Maria, coming out of the closetwith it in her hand. "The handle's cracked; you don't want it; bettergive me it. "

Old Grannis did want the pitcher; true, he never used it now, but hehad kept it a long time, and somehow he held to it as old people hold totrivial, worthless things that they have had for many years. 

"Oh, that pitcher--well, Maria, I--I don't know. I'm afraid--you see, that pitcher----"

"Ah, go 'long, " interrupted Maria Macapa, "what's the good of it?"

"If you insist, Maria, but I would much rather--" he rubbed his chin, perplexed and annoyed, hating to refuse, and wishing that Maria weregone. 

"Why, what's the good of it?" persisted Maria. He could give nosufficient answer. "That's all right, " she asserted, carrying thepitcher out. 

"Ah--Maria--I say, you--you might leave the door--ah, don't quite shutit--it's a bit close in here at times. " Maria grinned, and swung thedoor wide. Old Grannis was horribly embarrassed; positively, Maria wasbecoming unbearable. 

"Got any junk?" cried Maria at Miss Baker's door. The little old ladywas sitting close to the wall in her rocking-chair; her hands restingidly in her lap. 

"Now, Maria, " she said plaintively, "you are always after junk; you knowI never have anything laying 'round like that. "

It was true. The retired dressmaker's tiny room was a marvel ofneatness, from the little red table, with its three Gorham spoons laidin exact parallels, to the decorous geraniums and mignonettes growingin the starch box at the window, underneath the fish globe with itsone venerable gold fish. That day Miss Baker had been doing a bit ofwashing; two pocket handkerchiefs, still moist, adhered to the windowpanes, drying in the sun. 

"Oh, I guess you got something you don't want, " Maria went on, peeringinto the corners of the room. "Look-a-here what Mister Grannis gi'me, " and she held out the yellow pitcher. Instantly Miss Baker was in aquiver of confusion. Every word spoken aloud could be perfectly heard inthe next room. What a stupid drab was this Maria! Could anything be moretrying than this position?

"Ain't that right, Mister Grannis?" called Maria; "didn't you gi' methis pitcher?" Old Grannis affected not to hear; perspiration stood onhis forehead; his timidity overcame him as if he were a ten-year-oldschoolboy. He half rose from his chair, his fingers dancing nervouslyupon his chin. 

Maria opened Miss Baker's closet unconcernedly. "What's the matter withthese old shoes?" she exclaimed, turning about with a pair of half-wornsilk gaiters in her hand. They were by no means old enough to throwaway, but Miss Baker was almost beside herself. There was no tellingwhat might happen next. Her only thought was to be rid of Maria. 

"Yes, yes, anything. You can have them; but go, go. There's nothingelse, not a thing. "

Maria went out into the hall, leaving Miss Baker's door wide open, asif maliciously. She had left the dirty pillow-case on the floor in thehall, and she stood outside, between the two open doors, stowing awaythe old pitcher and the half-worn silk shoes. She made remarks at thetop of her voice, calling now to Miss Baker, now to Old Grannis. In away she brought the two old people face to face. Each time they wereforced to answer her questions it was as if they were talking directlyto each other. 

"These here are first-rate shoes, Miss Baker. Look here, Mister Grannis, get on to the shoes Miss Baker gi' me. You ain't got a pair you don'twant, have you? You two people have less junk than any one else in theflat. How do you manage, Mister Grannis? You old bachelors are just likeold maids, just as neat as pins. You two are just alike--you and MisterGrannis--ain't you, Miss Baker?"

Nothing could have been more horribly constrained, more awkward. The twoold people suffered veritable torture. When Maria had gone, each heaveda sigh of unspeakable relief. Softly they pushed to their doors, leavingopen a space of half a dozen inches. Old Grannis went back to hisbinding. Miss Baker brewed a cup of tea to quiet her nerves. Each triedto regain their composure, but in vain. Old Grannis's fingers trembledso that he pricked them with his needle. Miss Baker dropped her spoontwice. Their nervousness would not wear off. They were perturbed, upset. In a word, the afternoon was spoiled. 

Maria went on about the flat from room to room. She had already paidMarcus Schouler a visit early that morning before he had gone out. Marcus had sworn at her, excitedly vociferating; "No, by damn! No, he hadn't a thing for her; he hadn't, for a fact. It was a positivepersecution. Every day his privacy was invaded. He would complain to thelandlady, he would. He'd move out of the place. " In the end he had givenMaria seven empty whiskey flasks, an iron grate, and ten cents--thelatter because he said she wore her hair like a girl he used to know. 

After coming from Miss Baker's room Maria knocked at McTeague's door. The dentist was lying on the bed-lounge in his stocking feet, doingnothing apparently, gazing up at the ceiling, lost in thought. 

Since he had spoken to Trina Sieppe, asking her so abruptly to marryhim, McTeague had passed a week of torment. For him there was no goingback. It was Trina now, and none other. It was all one with him that hisbest friend, Marcus, might be in love with the same girl. He musthave Trina in spite of everything; he would have her even in spite ofherself. He did not stop to reflect about the matter; he followed hisdesire blindly, recklessly, furious and raging at every obstacle. Andshe had cried "No, no!" back at him; he could not forget that. She, sosmall and pale and delicate, had held him at bay, who was so huge, soimmensely strong. 

Besides that, all the charm of their intimacy was gone. After thatunhappy sitting, Trina was no longer frank and straight-forward. Now shewas circumspect, reserved, distant. He could no longer open his mouth;words failed him. At one sitting in particular they had said butgood-day and good-by to each other. He felt that he was clumsy andungainly. He told himself that she despised him. 

But the memory of her was with him constantly. Night after night helay broad awake thinking of Trina, wondering about her, racked with theinfinite desire of her. His head burnt and throbbed. The palms of hishands were dry. He dozed and woke, and walked aimlessly about the darkroom, bruising himself against the three chairs drawn up "at attention"under the steel engraving, and stumbling over the stone pug dog that satin front of the little stove. 

Besides this, the jealousy of Marcus Schouler harassed him. MariaMacapa, coming into his "Parlor" to ask for junk, found him flung atlength upon the bed-lounge, gnawing at his fingers in an excess ofsilent fury. At lunch that day Marcus had told him of an excursion thatwas planned for the next Sunday afternoon. Mr. Sieppe, Trina's father, belonged to a rifle club that was to hold a meet at Schuetzen Parkacross the bay. All the Sieppes were going; there was to be a basketpicnic. Marcus, as usual, was invited to be one of the party. McTeaguewas in agony. It was his first experience, and he suffered all the worsefor it because he was totally unprepared. What miserable complicationwas this in which he found himself involved? It seemed so simple tohim since he loved Trina to take her straight to himself, stopping atnothing, asking no questions, to have her, and by main strength to carryher far away somewhere, he did not know exactly where, to some vaguecountry, some undiscovered place where every day was Sunday. 

"Got any junk?"

"Huh? What? What is it?" exclaimed McTeague, suddenly rousing up fromthe lounge. Often Maria did very well in the "Dental Parlors. " McTeaguewas continually breaking things which he was too stupid to have mended;for him anything that was broken was lost. Now it was a cuspidor, now afire-shovel for the little stove, now a China shaving mug. 

"Got any junk?"

"I don't know--I don't remember, " muttered McTeague. Maria roamed aboutthe room, McTeague following her in his huge stockinged feet. All atonce she pounced upon a sheaf of old hand instruments in a coverlesscigar-box, pluggers, hard bits, and excavators. Maria had long covetedsuch a find in McTeague's "Parlor, " knowing it should be somewhereabout. The instruments were of the finest tempered steel and reallyvaluable. 

"Say, Doctor, I can have these, can't I?" exclaimed Maria. "You got nomore use for them. " McTeague was not at all sure of this. There weremany in the sheaf that might be repaired, reshaped. 

"No, no, " he said, wagging his head. But Maria Macapa, knowing withwhom she had to deal, at once let loose a torrent of words. She madethe dentist believe that he had no right to withhold them, that he hadpromised to save them for her. She affected a great indignation, pursingher lips and putting her chin in the air as though wounded in some finersense, changing so rapidly from one mood to another, filling the roomwith such shrill clamor, that McTeague was dazed and benumbed. 

"Yes, all right, all right, " he said, trying to make himself heard. "ItWOULD be mean. I don't want 'em. " As he turned from her to pick upthe box, Maria took advantage of the moment to steal three "mats" ofsponge-gold out of the glass saucer. Often she stole McTeague's gold, almost under his very eyes; indeed, it was so easy to do so that therewas but little pleasure in the theft. Then Maria took herself off. McTeague returned to the sofa and flung himself upon it face downward. 

A little before supper time Maria completed her search. The flat wascleaned of its junk from top to bottom. The dirty pillow-case was fullto bursting. She took advantage of the supper hour to carry her bundlearound the corner and up into the alley where Zerkow lived. 

When Maria entered his shop, Zerkow had just come in from his dailyrounds. His decrepit wagon stood in front of his door like a strandedwreck; the miserable horse, with its lamentable swollen joints, fedgreedily upon an armful of spoiled hay in a shed at the back. 

The interior of the junk shop was dark and damp, and foul with allmanner of choking odors. On the walls, on the floor, and hanging fromthe rafters was a world of debris, dust-blackened, rust-corroded. Everything was there, every trade was represented, every class ofsociety; things of iron and cloth and wood; all the detritus that agreat city sloughs off in its daily life. Zerkow's junk shop was thelast abiding-place, the almshouse, of such articles as had outlivedtheir usefulness. 

Maria found Zerkow himself in the back room, cooking some sort of a mealover an alcohol stove. Zerkow was a Polish Jew--curiously enough hishair was fiery red. He was a dry, shrivelled old man of sixty odd. Hehad the thin, eager, cat-like lips of the covetous; eyes that had grownkeen as those of a lynx from long searching amidst muck and debris; andclaw-like, prehensile fingers--the fingers of a man who accumulates, but never disburses. It was impossible to look at Zerkow and not knowinstantly that greed--inordinate, insatiable greed--was the dominantpassion of the man. He was the Man with the Rake, groping hourly in themuck-heap of the city for gold, for gold, for gold. It was his dream, his passion; at every instant he seemed to feel the generous solidweight of the crude fat metal in his palms. The glint of it wasconstantly in his eyes; the jangle of it sang forever in his ears as thejangling of cymbals. 

"Who is it? Who is it?" exclaimed Zerkow, as he heard Maria's footstepsin the outer room. His voice was faint, husky, reduced almost to awhisper by his prolonged habit of street crying. 

"Oh, it's you again, is it?" he added, peering through the gloom of theshop. "Let's see; you've been here before, ain't you? You're the Mexicanwoman from Polk Street. Macapa's your name, hey?"

Maria nodded. "Had a flying squirrel an' let him go, " she muttered, absently. Zerkow was puzzled; he looked at her sharply for a moment, then dismissed the matter with a movement of his head. 

"Well, what you got for me?" he said. He left his supper to grow cold, absorbed at once in the affair. 

Then a long wrangle began. Every bit of junk in Maria's pillow-casewas discussed and weighed and disputed. They clamored into each other'sfaces over Old Grannis's cracked pitcher, over Miss Baker's silkgaiters, over Marcus Schouler's whiskey flasks, reaching the climax ofdisagreement when it came to McTeague's instruments. 

"Ah, no, no!" shouted Maria. "Fifteen cents for the lot! I might as wellmake you a Christmas present! Besides, I got some gold fillings off him;look at um. "

Zerkow drew a quick breath as the three pellets suddenly flashed inMaria's palm. There it was, the virgin metal, the pure, unalloyedore, his dream, his consuming desire. His fingers twitched and hookedthemselves into his palms, his thin lips drew tight across his teeth. 

"Ah, you got some gold, " he muttered, reaching for it. 

Maria shut her fist over the pellets. "The gold goes with the others, "she declared. "You'll gi' me a fair price for the lot, or I'll take umback. "

In the end a bargain was struck that satisfied Maria. Zerkow was not onewho would let gold go out of his house. He counted out to her the priceof all her junk, grudging each piece of money as if it had been theblood of his veins. The affair was concluded. 

But Zerkow still had something to say. As Maria folded up thepillow-case and rose to go, the old Jew said:

"Well, see here a minute, we'll--you'll have a drink before you go, won't you? Just to show that it's all right between us. " Maria sat downagain. 

"Yes, I guess I'll have a drink, " she answered. 

Zerkow took down a whiskey bottle and a red glass tumbler with a brokenbase from a cupboard on the wall. The two drank together, Zerkow fromthe bottle, Maria from the broken tumbler. They wiped their lips slowly, drawing breath again. There was a moment's silence. 

"Say, " said Zerkow at last, "how about those gold dishes you told meabout the last time you were here?"

"What gold dishes?" inquired Maria, puzzled. 

"Ah, you know, " returned the other. "The plate your father owned inCentral America a long time ago. Don't you know, it rang like so manybells? Red gold, you know, like oranges?"

"Ah, " said Maria, putting her chin in the air as if she knew a longstory about that if she had a mind to tell it. "Ah, yes, that goldservice. "

"Tell us about it again, " said Zerkow, his bloodless lower lip movingagainst the upper, his claw-like fingers feeling about his mouth andchin. "Tell us about it; go on. "

He was breathing short, his limbs trembled a little. It was as if somehungry beast of prey had scented a quarry. Maria still refused, puttingup her head, insisting that she had to be going. 

"Let's have it, " insisted the Jew. "Take another drink. " Maria tookanother swallow of the whiskey. "Now, go on, " repeated Zerkow; "let'shave the story. " Maria squared her elbows on the deal table, lookingstraight in front of her with eyes that saw nothing. 

"Well, it was this way, " she began. "It was when I was little. My folksmust have been rich, oh, rich into the millions--coffee, I guess--andthere was a large house, but I can only remember the plate. Oh, thatservice of plate! It was wonderful. There were more than a hundredpieces, and every one of them gold. You should have seen the sight whenthe leather trunk was opened. It fair dazzled your eyes. It was a yellowblaze like a fire, like a sunset; such a glory, all piled up together, one piece over the other. Why, if the room was dark you'd think youcould see just the same with all that glitter there. There wa'n't apiece that was so much as scratched; every one was like a mirror, smoothand bright, just like a little pool when the sun shines into it. Therewas dinner dishes and soup tureens and pitchers; and great, big plattersas long as that and wide too; and cream-jugs and bowls with carvedhandles, all vines and things; and drinking mugs, every one a differentshape; and dishes for gravy and sauces; and then a great, big punch-bowlwith a ladle, and the bowl was all carved out with figures and bunchesof grapes. Why, just only that punch-bowl was worth a fortune, I guess. When all that plate was set out on a table, it was a sight for a king tolook at. Such a service as that was! Each piece was heavy, oh, so heavy!and thick, you know; thick, fat gold, nothing but gold--red, shining, pure gold, orange red--and when you struck it with your knuckle, ah, youshould have heard! No church bell ever rang sweeter or clearer. Itwas soft gold, too; you could bite into it, and leave the dent of yourteeth. Oh, that gold plate! I can see it just as plain--solid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold; nothing but gold, gold, heaps and heaps of it. What a service that was!"

Maria paused, shaking her head, thinking over the vanished splendor. Illiterate enough, unimaginative enough on all other subjects, herdistorted wits called up this picture with marvellous distinctness. Itwas plain she saw the plate clearly. Her description was accurate, wasalmost eloquent. 

Did that wonderful service of gold plate ever exist outside of herdiseased imagination? Was Maria actually remembering some reality of achildhood of barbaric luxury? Were her parents at one time possessedof an incalculable fortune derived from some Central Americancoffee plantation, a fortune long since confiscated by armies ofinsurrectionists, or squandered in the support of revolutionarygovernments?

It was not impossible. Of Maria Macapa's past prior to the time ofher appearance at the "flat" absolutely nothing could be learned. Shesuddenly appeared from the unknown, a strange woman of a mixed race, sane on all subjects but that of the famous service of gold plate; butunusual, complex, mysterious, even at her best. 

But what misery Zerkow endured as he listened to her tale! For he choseto believe it, forced himself to believe it, lashed and harassed bya pitiless greed that checked at no tale of treasure, howeverpreposterous. The story ravished him with delight. He was near someonewho had possessed this wealth. He saw someone who had seen this pileof gold. He seemed near it; it was there, somewhere close by, under hiseyes, under his fingers; it was red, gleaming, ponderous. He gazedabout him wildly; nothing, nothing but the sordid junk shop and therust-corroded tins. What exasperation, what positive misery, to be sonear to it and yet to know that it was irrevocably, irretrievably lost!A spasm of anguish passed through him. He gnawed at his bloodless lips, at the hopelessness of it, the rage, the fury of it. 

"Go on, go on, " he whispered; "let's have it all over again. Polishedlike a mirror, hey, and heavy? Yes, I know, I know. A punch-bowl worth afortune. Ah! and you saw it, you had it all!"

Maria rose to go. Zerkow accompanied her to the door, urging anotherdrink upon her. 

"Come again, come again, " he croaked. "Don't wait till you've got junk;come any time you feel like it, and tell me more about the plate. "

He followed her a step down the alley. 

"How much do you think it was worth?" he inquired, anxiously. 

"Oh, a million dollars, " answered Maria, vaguely. 

When Maria had gone, Zerkow returned to the back room of the shop, andstood in front of the alcohol stove, looking down into his cold dinner, preoccupied, thoughtful. 

"A million dollars, " he muttered in his rasping, guttural whisper, hisfinger-tips wandering over his thin, cat-like lips. "A golden serviceworth a million dollars; a punchbowl worth a fortune; red gold plates, heaps and piles. God!"

CHAPTER 4

The days passed. McTeague had finished the operation on Trina's teeth. She did not come any more to the "Parlors. " Matters had readjustedthemselves a little between the two during the last sittings. Trina yetstood upon her reserve, and McTeague still felt himself shambling andungainly in her presence; but that constraint and embarrassment thathad followed upon McTeague's blundering declaration broke up little bylittle. In spite of themselves they were gradually resuming the samerelative positions they had occupied when they had first met. 

But McTeague suffered miserably for all that. He never would haveTrina, he saw that clearly. She was too good for him; too delicate, toorefined, too prettily made for him, who was so coarse, so enormous, sostupid. She was for someone else--Marcus, no doubt--or at least for somefiner-grained man. She should have gone to some other dentist; the youngfellow on the corner, for instance, the poser, the rider of bicycles, the courser of grey-hounds. McTeague began to loathe and to envy thisfellow. He spied upon him going in and out of his office, and noted hissalmon-pink neckties and his astonishing waistcoats. 

One Sunday, a few days after Trina's last sitting, McTeague met MarcusSchouler at his table in the car conductors' coffee-joint, next to theharness shop. 

"What you got to do this afternoon, Mac?" inquired the other, as theyate their suet pudding. 

"Nothing, nothing, " replied McTeague, shaking his head. His mouthwas full of pudding. It made him warm to eat, and little beads ofperspiration stood across the bridge of his nose. He looked forwardto an afternoon passed in his operating chair as usual. On leavinghis "Parlors" he had put ten cents into his pitcher and had left it atFrenna's to be filled. 

"What do you say we take a walk, huh?" said Marcus. "Ah, that's thething--a walk, a long walk, by damn! It'll be outa sight. I got to takethree or four of the dogs out for exercise, anyhow. Old Grannis thinksthey need ut. We'll walk out to the Presidio. "

Of late it had become the custom of the two friends to take long walksfrom time to time. On holidays and on those Sunday afternoons whenMarcus was not absent with the Sieppes they went out together, sometimesto the park, sometimes to the Presidio, sometimes even across the bay. They took a great pleasure in each other's company, but silently andwith reservation, having the masculine horror of any demonstration offriendship. 

They walked for upwards of five hours that afternoon, out the lengthof California Street, and across the Presidio Reservation to the GoldenGate. Then they turned, and, following the line of the shore, brought upat the Cliff House. Here they halted for beer, Marcus swearing that hismouth was as dry as a hay-bin. Before starting on their walk they hadgone around to the little dog hospital, and Marcus had let out four ofthe convalescents, crazed with joy at the release. 

"Look at that dog, " he cried to McTeague, showing him a finely-bredIrish setter. "That's the dog that belonged to the duck on the avenue, the dog we called for that day. I've bought 'um. The duck thought hehad the distemper, and just threw 'um away. Nothun wrong with 'um but alittle catarrh. Ain't he a bird? Say, ain't he a bird? Look at his flag;it's perfect; and see how he carries his tail on a line with his back. See how stiff and white his whiskers are. Oh, by damn! you can't fool meon a dog. That dog's a winner. "

At the Cliff House the two sat down to their beer in a quiet corner ofthe billiard-room. There were but two players. Somewhere in another partof the building a mammoth music-box was jangling out a quickstep. Fromoutside came the long, rhythmical rush of the surf and the sonorousbarking of the seals upon the seal rocks. The four dogs curledthemselves down upon the sanded floor. 

"Here's how, " said Marcus, half emptying his glass. "Ah-h!" he added, with a long breath, "that's good; it is, for a fact. "

For the last hour of their walk Marcus had done nearly all the talking. McTeague merely answering him by uncertain movements of the head. Forthat matter, the dentist had been silent and preoccupied throughout thewhole afternoon. At length Marcus noticed it. As he set down his glasswith a bang he suddenly exclaimed:

"What's the matter with you these days, Mac? You got a bean aboutsomethun, hey? Spit ut out. "

"No, no, " replied McTeague, looking about on the floor, rolling hiseyes; "nothing, no, no. "

"Ah, rats!" returned the other. McTeague kept silence. The two billiardplayers departed. The huge music-box struck into a fresh tune. 

"Huh!" exclaimed Marcus, with a short laugh, "guess you're in love. "

McTeague gasped, and shuffled his enormous feet under the table. 

"Well, somethun's bitun you, anyhow, " pursued Marcus. "Maybe I canhelp you. We're pals, you know. Better tell me what's up; guess we canstraighten ut out. Ah, go on; spit ut out. "

The situation was abominable. McTeague could not rise to it. Marcus washis best friend, his only friend. They were "pals" and McTeague was veryfond of him. Yet they were both in love, presumably, with the same girl, and now Marcus would try and force the secret out of him; would rushblindly at the rock upon which the two must split, stirred by the verybest of motives, wishing only to be of service. Besides this, there wasnobody to whom McTeague would have better preferred to tell his troublesthan to Marcus, and yet about this trouble, the greatest trouble of hislife, he must keep silent; must refrain from speaking of it to Marcusabove everybody. 

McTeague began dimly to feel that life was too much for him. How had itall come about? A month ago he was perfectly content; he was calm andpeaceful, taking his little pleasures as he found them. His life hadshaped itself; was, no doubt, to continue always along these same lines. A woman had entered his small world and instantly there was discord. Thedisturbing element had appeared. Wherever the woman had put her foot ascore of distressing complications had sprung up, like the sudden growthof strange and puzzling flowers. 

"Say, Mac, go on; let's have ut straight, " urged Marcus, leaning towardhim. "Has any duck been doing you dirt?" he cried, his face crimson onthe instant. 

"No, " said McTeague, helplessly. 

"Come along, old man, " persisted Marcus; "let's have ut. What is therow? I'll do all I can to help you. "

It was more than McTeague could bear. The situation had got beyondhim. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep in his pockets, his head rolledforward. 

"It's--it's Miss Sieppe, " he said. 

"Trina, my cousin? How do you mean?" inquired Marcus sharply. 

"I--I--I don' know, " stammered McTeague, hopelessly confounded. 

"You mean, " cried Marcus, suddenly enlightened, "that you are--that you, too. "

McTeague stirred in his chair, looking at the walls of the room, avoiding the other's glance. He nodded his head, then suddenly brokeout:

"I can't help it. It ain't my fault, is it?"

Marcus was struck dumb; he dropped back in his chair breathless. Suddenly McTeague found his tongue. 

"I tell you, Mark, I can't help it. I don't know how it happened. Itcame on so slow that I was, that--that--that it was done before I knewit, before I could help myself. I know we're pals, us two, and I knewhow--how you and Miss Sieppe were. I know now, I knew then; but thatwouldn't have made any difference. Before I knew it--it--it--there Iwas. I can't help it. I wouldn't 'a' had ut happen for anything, ifI could 'a' stopped it, but I don' know, it's something that's juststronger than you are, that's all. She came there--Miss Sieppe came tothe parlors there three or four times a week, and she was the firstgirl I had ever known, --and you don' know! Why, I was so close to her Itouched her face every minute, and her mouth, and smelt her hair and herbreath--oh, you don't know anything about it. I can't give you any idea. I don' know exactly myself; I only know how I'm fixed. I--I--it'sbeen done; it's too late, there's no going back. Why, I can't thinkof anything else night and day. It's everything. It's--it's--oh, it'severything! I--I--why, Mark, it's everything--I can't explain. " He madea helpless movement with both hands. 

Never had McTeague been so excited; never had he made so long a speech. His arms moved in fierce, uncertain gestures, his face flushed, hisenormous jaws shut together with a sharp click at every pause. It waslike some colossal brute trapped in a delicate, invisible mesh, raging, exasperated, powerless to extricate himself. 

Marcus Schouler said nothing. There was a long silence. Marcus got upand walked to the window and stood looking out, but seeing nothing. "Well, who would have thought of this?" he muttered under his breath. Here was a fix. Marcus cared for Trina. There was no doubt in hismind about that. He looked forward eagerly to the Sunday afternoonexcursions. He liked to be with Trina. He, too, felt the charm of thelittle girl--the charm of the small, pale forehead; the little chinthrust out as if in confidence and innocence; the heavy, odorous crownof black hair. He liked her immensely. Some day he would speak; he wouldask her to marry him. Marcus put off this matter of marriage to somefuture period; it would be some time--a year, perhaps, or two. The thingdid not take definite shape in his mind. Marcus "kept company" with hiscousin Trina, but he knew plenty of other girls. For the matter of that, he liked all girls pretty well. Just now the singleness and strength ofMcTeague's passion startled him. McTeague would marry Trina that veryafternoon if she would have him; but would he--Marcus? No, he would not;if it came to that, no, he would not. Yet he knew he liked Trina. Hecould say--yes, he could say--he loved her. She was his "girl. " TheSieppes acknowledged him as Trina's "young man. " Marcus came back to thetable and sat down sideways upon it. 

"Well, what are we going to do about it, Mac?" he said. 

"I don' know, " answered McTeague, in great distress. "I don' wantanything to--to come between us, Mark. "

"Well, nothun will, you bet!" vociferated the other. "No, sir; you betnot, Mac. "

Marcus was thinking hard. He could see very clearly that McTeague lovedTrina more than he did; that in some strange way this huge, brutalfellow was capable of a greater passion than himself, who was twice asclever. Suddenly Marcus jumped impetuously to a resolution. 

"Well, say, Mac, " he cried, striking the table with his fist, "go ahead. I guess you--you want her pretty bad. I'll pull out; yes, I will. I'llgive her up to you, old man. "

The sense of his own magnanimity all at once overcame Marcus. He sawhimself as another man, very noble, self-sacrificing; he stood apartand watched this second self with boundless admiration and with infinitepity. He was so good, so magnificent, so heroic, that he almost sobbed. Marcus made a sweeping gesture of resignation, throwing out both hisarms, crying:

"Mac, I'll give her up to you. I won't stand between you. " There wereactually tears in Marcus's eyes as he spoke. There was no doubt hethought himself sincere. At that moment he almost believed he lovedTrina conscientiously, that he was sacrificing himself for the sake ofhis friend. The two stood up and faced each other, gripping hands. Itwas a great moment; even McTeague felt the drama of it. What a finething was this friendship between men! the dentist treats his friendfor an ulcerated tooth and refuses payment; the friend reciprocates bygiving up his girl. This was nobility. Their mutual affection and esteemsuddenly increased enormously. It was Damon and Pythias; it was Davidand Jonathan; nothing could ever estrange them. Now it was for life ordeath. 

"I'm much obliged, " murmured McTeague. He could think of nothing betterto say. "I'm much obliged, " he repeated; "much obliged, Mark. "

"That's all right, that's all right, " returned Marcus Schouler, bravely, and it occurred to him to add, "You'll be happy together. Tell herfor me--tell her---tell her----" Marcus could not go on. He wrung thedentist's hand silently. 

It had not appeared to either of them that Trina might refuse McTeague. McTeague's spirits rose at once. In Marcus's withdrawal he fancied hesaw an end to all his difficulties. Everything would come right, afterall. The strained, exalted state of Marcus's nerves ended by puttinghim into fine humor as well. His grief suddenly changed to an excess ofgaiety. The afternoon was a success. They slapped each other on the backwith great blows of the open palms, and they drank each other's healthin a third round of beer. 

Ten minutes after his renunciation of Trina Sieppe, Marcus astoundedMcTeague with a tremendous feat. 

"Looka here, Mac. I know somethun you can't do. I'll bet you two bitsI'll stump you. " They each put a quarter on the table. "Now watch me, "cried Marcus. He caught up a billiard ball from the rack, poised it amoment in front of his face, then with a sudden, horrifying distensionof his jaws crammed it into his mouth, and shut his lips over it. 

For an instant McTeague was stupefied, his eyes bulging. Then anenormous laugh shook him. He roared and shouted, swaying in his chair, slapping his knee. What a josher was this Marcus! Sure, you never couldtell what he would do next. Marcus slipped the ball out, wiped it on thetablecloth, and passed it to McTeague. 

"Now let's see you do it. "

McTeague fell suddenly grave. The matter was serious. He parted histhick mustaches and opened his enormous jaws like an anaconda. The balldisappeared inside his mouth. Marcus applauded vociferously, shouting, "Good work!" McTeague reached for the money and put it in his vestpocket, nodding his head with a knowing air. 

Then suddenly his face grew purple, his jaws moved convulsively, hepawed at his cheeks with both hands. The billiard ball had slipped intohis mouth easily enough; now, however, he could not get it out again. 

It was terrible. The dentist rose to his feet, stumbling about among thedogs, his face working, his eyes starting. Try as he would, he could notstretch his jaws wide enough to slip the ball out. Marcus lost hiswits, swearing at the top of his voice. McTeague sweated with terror;inarticulate sounds came from his crammed mouth; he waved his armswildly; all the four dogs caught the excitement and began to bark. Awaiter rushed in, the two billiard players returned, a little crowdformed. There was a veritable scene. 

All at once the ball slipped out of McTeague's jaws as easily as it hadgone in. What a relief! He dropped into a chair, wiping his forehead, gasping for breath. 

On the strength of the occasion Marcus Schouler invited the entire groupto drink with him. 

By the time the affair was over and the group dispersed it was afterfive. Marcus and McTeague decided they would ride home on the cars. But they soon found this impossible. The dogs would not follow. OnlyAlexander, Marcus's new setter, kept his place at the rear of the car. The other three lost their senses immediately, running wildly aboutthe streets with their heads in the air, or suddenly starting off at afurious gallop directly away from the car. Marcus whistled and shoutedand lathered with rage in vain. The two friends were obliged to walk. When they finally reached Polk Street, Marcus shut up the three dogs inthe hospital. Alexander he brought back to the flat with him. 

There was a minute back yard in the rear, where Marcus had made a kennelfor Alexander out of an old water barrel. Before he thought of his ownsupper Marcus put Alexander to bed and fed him a couple of dog biscuits. McTeague had followed him to the yard to keep him company. Alexandersettled to his supper at once, chewing vigorously at the biscuit, hishead on one side. 

"What you going to do about this--about that--about--about my cousinnow, Mac?" inquired Marcus. 

McTeague shook his head helplessly. It was dark by now and cold. Thelittle back yard was grimy and full of odors. McTeague was tired withtheir long walk. All his uneasiness about his affair with Trina hadreturned. No, surely she was not for him. Marcus or some other man wouldwin her in the end. What could she ever see to desire in him--in him, aclumsy giant, with hands like wooden mallets? She had told him once thatshe would not marry him. Was that not final?

"I don' know what to do, Mark, " he said. 

"Well, you must make up to her now, " answered Marcus. "Go and call onher. "

McTeague started. He had not thought of calling on her. The ideafrightened him a little. 

"Of course, " persisted Marcus, "that's the proper caper. What did youexpect? Did you think you was never going to see her again?"

"I don' know, I don' know, " responded the dentist, looking stupidly atthe dog. 

"You know where they live, " continued Marcus Schouler. "Over at B Streetstation, across the bay. I'll take you over there whenever you want togo. I tell you what, we'll go over there Washington's Birthday. That'sthis next Wednesday; sure, they'll be glad to see you. " It was good ofMarcus. All at once McTeague rose to an appreciation of what his friendwas doing for him. He stammered:

"Say, Mark--you're--you're all right, anyhow. "

"Why, pshaw!" said Marcus. "That's all right, old man. I'd like to seeyou two fixed, that's all. We'll go over Wednesday, sure. "

They turned back to the house. Alexander left off eating and watchedthem go away, first with one eye, then with the other. But he was tooself-respecting to whimper. However, by the time the two friends hadreached the second landing on the back stairs a terrible commotion wasunder way in the little yard. They rushed to an open window at the endof the hall and looked down. 

A thin board fence separated the flat's back yard from that used bythe branch post-office. In the latter place lived a collie dog. He andAlexander had smelt each other out, blowing through the cracks of thefence at each other. Suddenly the quarrel had exploded on either side ofthe fence. The dogs raged at each other, snarling and barking, franticwith hate. Their teeth gleamed. They tore at the fence with their frontpaws. They filled the whole night with their clamor. 

"By damn!" cried Marcus, "they don't love each other. Just listen;wouldn't that make a fight if the two got together? Have to try it someday. "

CHAPTER 5

Wednesday morning, Washington's Birthday, McTeague rose very early andshaved himself. Besides the six mournful concertina airs, the dentistknew one song. Whenever he shaved, he sung this song; never at any othertime. His voice was a bellowing roar, enough to make the window sashesrattle. Just now he woke up all the lodgers in his hall with it. It wasa lamentable wail:

 "No one to love, none to caress, Left all alone in this world's wilderness. "

As he paused to strop his razor, Marcus came into his room, half-dressed, a startling phantom in red flannels. 

Marcus often ran back and forth between his room and the dentist's"Parlors" in all sorts of undress. Old Miss Baker had seen him thusseveral times through her half-open door, as she sat in her roomlistening and waiting. The old dressmaker was shocked out of allexpression. She was outraged, offended, pursing her lips, putting up herhead. She talked of complaining to the landlady. "And Mr. Grannis rightnext door, too. You can understand how trying it is for both of us. " Shewould come out in the hall after one of these apparitions, her littlefalse curls shaking, talking loud and shrill to any one in reach of hervoice. 

"Well, " Marcus would shout, "shut your door, then, if you don't want tosee. Look out, now, here I come again. Not even a porous plaster on methis time. "

On this Wednesday morning Marcus called McTeague out into the hall, tothe head of the stairs that led down to the street door. 

"Come and listen to Maria, Mac, " said he. 

Maria sat on the next to the lowest step, her chin propped by hertwo fists. The red-headed Polish Jew, the ragman Zerkow, stood in thedoorway. He was talking eagerly. 

"Now, just once more, Maria, " he was saying. "Tell it to us just oncemore. " Maria's voice came up the stairway in a monotone. Marcus andMcTeague caught a phrase from time to time. 

"There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of them gold--justthat punch-bowl was worth a fortune-thick, fat, red gold. "

"Get onto to that, will you?" observed Marcus. "The old skin has got herstarted on the plate. Ain't they a pair for you?"

"And it rang like bells, didn't it?" prompted Zerkow. 

"Sweeter'n church bells, and clearer. "

"Ah, sweeter'n bells. Wasn't that punch-bowl awful heavy?"

"All you could do to lift it. "

"I know. Oh, I know, " answered Zerkow, clawing at his lips. "Where didit all go to? Where did it go?"

Maria shook her head. 

"It's gone, anyhow. "

"Ah, gone, gone! Think of it! The punch-bowl gone, and the engravedladle, and the plates and goblets. What a sight it must have been allheaped together!"

"It was a wonderful sight. "

"Yes, wonderful; it must have been. "

On the lower steps of that cheap flat, the Mexican woman and thered-haired Polish Jew mused long over that vanished, half-mythical goldplate. 

Marcus and the dentist spent Washington's Birthday across the bay. Thejourney over was one long agony to McTeague. He shook with a formless, uncertain dread; a dozen times he would have turned back had not Marcusbeen with him. The stolid giant was as nervous as a schoolboy. Hefancied that his call upon Miss Sieppe was an outrageous affront. Shewould freeze him with a stare; he would be shown the door, would beejected, disgraced. 

As they got off the local train at B Street station they suddenlycollided with the whole tribe of Sieppes--the mother, father, threechildren, and Trina--equipped for one of their eternal picnics. Theywere to go to Schuetzen Park, within walking distance of the station. They were grouped about four lunch baskets. One of the children, alittle boy, held a black greyhound by a rope around its neck. Trina worea blue cloth skirt, a striped shirt waist, and a white sailor; about herround waist was a belt of imitation alligator skin. 

At once Mrs. Sieppe began to talk to Marcus. He had written of theircoming, but the picnic had been decided upon after the arrival of hisletter. Mrs. Sieppe explained this to him. She was an immense old ladywith a pink face and wonderful hair, absolutely white. The Sieppes werea German-Swiss family. 

"We go to der park, Schuetzen Park, mit alle dem childern, a littleeggs-kursion, eh not soh? We breathe der freshes air, a celubration, apignic bei der seashore on. Ach, dot wull be soh gay, ah?"

"You bet it will. It'll be outa sight, " cried Marcus, enthusiastic inan instant. "This is m' friend Doctor McTeague I wrote you about, Mrs. Sieppe. "

"Ach, der doktor, " cried Mrs. Sieppe. 

McTeague was presented, shaking hands gravely as Marcus shouldered himfrom one to the other. 

Mr. Sieppe was a little man of a military aspect, full of importance, taking himself very seriously. He was a member of a rifle team. Over hisshoulder was slung a Springfield rifle, while his breast was decoratedby five bronze medals. 

Trina was delighted. McTeague was dumfounded. She appeared positivelyglad to see him. 

"How do you do, Doctor McTeague, " she said, smiling at him and shakinghis hand. "It's nice to see you again. Look, see how fine my fillingis. " She lifted a corner of her lip and showed him the clumsy goldbridge. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Sieppe toiled and perspired. Upon him devolved theresponsibility of the excursion. He seemed to consider it a matter ofvast importance, a veritable expedition. 

"Owgooste!" he shouted to the little boy with the black greyhound, "youwill der hound und basket number three carry. Der tervins, " he added, calling to the two smallest boys, who were dressed exactly alike, "willreleef one unudder mit der camp-stuhl und basket number four. Datis comprehend, hay? When we make der start, you childern will in deradvance march. Dat is your orders. But we do not start, " he exclaimed, excitedly; "we remain. Ach Gott, Selina, who does not arrive. "

Selina, it appeared, was a niece of Mrs. Sieppe's. They were on thepoint of starting without her, when she suddenly arrived, very much outof breath. She was a slender, unhealthy looking girl, who overworkedherself giving lessons in hand-painting at twenty-five cents an hour. McTeague was presented. They all began to talk at once, filling thelittle station-house with a confusion of tongues. 

"Attention!" cried Mr. Sieppe, his gold-headed cane in one hand, hisSpringfield in the other. "Attention! We depart. " The four little boysmoved off ahead; the greyhound suddenly began to bark, and tug at hisleash. The others picked up their bundles. 

"Vorwarts!" shouted Mr. Sieppe, waving his rifle and assuming theattitude of a lieutenant of infantry leading a charge. The party set offdown the railroad track. 

Mrs. Sieppe walked with her husband, who constantly left her sideto shout an order up and down the line. Marcus followed with Selina. McTeague found himself with Trina at the end of the procession. 

"We go off on these picnics almost every week, " said Trina, by way of abeginning, "and almost every holiday, too. It is a custom. "

"Yes, yes, a custom, " answered McTeague, nodding; "a custom--that's theword. "

"Don't you think picnics are fine fun, Doctor McTeague?" she continued. "You take your lunch; you leave the dirty city all day; you race aboutin the open air, and when lunchtime comes, oh, aren't you hungry? Andthe woods and the grass smell so fine!"

"I don' know, Miss Sieppe, " he answered, keeping his eyes fixed on theground between the rails. "I never went on a picnic. "

"Never went on a picnic?" she cried, astonished. "Oh, you'll see whatfun we'll have. In the morning father and the children dig clams in themud by the shore, an' we bake them, and--oh, there's thousands of thingsto do. "

"Once I went sailing on the bay, " said McTeague. "It was in a tugboat;we fished off the heads. I caught three codfishes. "

"I'm afraid to go out on the bay, " answered Trina, shaking her head, "sailboats tip over so easy. A cousin of mine, Selina's brother, wasdrowned one Decoration Day. They never found his body. Can you swim, Doctor McTeague?"

"I used to at the mine. "

"At the mine? Oh, yes, I remember, Marcus told me you were a mineronce. "

"I was a car-boy; all the car-boys used to swim in the reservoir by theditch every Thursday evening. One of them was bit by a rattlesnake oncewhile he was dressing. He was a Frenchman, named Andrew. He swelled upand began to twitch. "

"Oh, how I hate snakes! They're so crawly and graceful--but, just thesame, I like to watch them. You know that drug store over in town thathas a showcase full of live ones?"

"We killed the rattler with a cart whip. "

"How far do you think you could swim? Did you ever try? D'you think youcould swim a mile?"

"A mile? I don't know. I never tried. I guess I could. "

"I can swim a little. Sometimes we all go out to the Crystal Baths. "

"The Crystal Baths, huh? Can you swim across the tank?"

"Oh, I can swim all right as long as papa holds my chin up. Soon ashe takes his hand away, down I go. Don't you hate to get water in yourears?"

"Bathing's good for you. "

"If the water's too warm, it isn't. It weakens you. "

Mr. Sieppe came running down the tracks, waving his cane. 

"To one side, " he shouted, motioning them off the track; "der draingomes. " A local passenger train was just passing B Street station, somequarter of a mile behind them. The party stood to one side to let itpass. Marcus put a nickel and two crossed pins upon the rail, and wavedhis hat to the passengers as the train roared past. The children shoutedshrilly. When the train was gone, they all rushed to see the nickel andthe crossed pins. The nickel had been jolted off, but the pins had beenflattened out so that they bore a faint resemblance to opened scissors. A great contention arose among the children for the possession of these"scissors. " Mr. Sieppe was obliged to intervene. He reflected gravely. It was a matter of tremendous moment. The whole party halted, awaitinghis decision. 

"Attend now, " he suddenly exclaimed. "It will not be soh soon. At derend of der day, ven we shall have home gecommen, den wull it pe adjudge, eh? A REward of merit to him who der bes' pehaves. It is an order. Vorwarts!"

"That was a Sacramento train, " said Marcus to Selina as they startedoff; "it was, for a fact. "

"I know a girl in Sacramento, " Trina told McTeague. "She's forewoman ina glove store, and she's got consumption. "

"I was in Sacramento once, " observed McTeague, "nearly eight years ago. "

"Is it a nice place--as nice as San Francisco?"

"It's hot. I practised there for a while. "

"I like San Francisco, " said Trina, looking across the bay to where thecity piled itself upon its hills. 

"So do I, " answered McTeague. "Do you like it better than living overhere?"

"Oh, sure, I wish we lived in the city. If you want to go across foranything it takes up the whole day. "

"Yes, yes, the whole day--almost. "

"Do you know many people in the city? Do you know anybody namedOelbermann? That's my uncle. He has a wholesale toy store in theMission. They say he's awful rich. "

"No, I don' know him. "

"His stepdaughter wants to be a nun. Just fancy! And Mr. Oelbermannwon't have it. He says it would be just like burying his child. Yes, she wants to enter the convent of the Sacred Heart. Are you a Catholic, Doctor McTeague?"

"No. No, I--"

"Papa is a Catholic. He goes to Mass on the feast days once in a while. But mamma's Lutheran. "

"The Catholics are trying to get control of the schools, " observedMcTeague, suddenly remembering one of Marcus's political tirades. 

"That's what cousin Mark says. We are going to send the twins to thekindergarten next month. "

"What's the kindergarten?"

"Oh, they teach them to make things out of straw and toothpicks--kind ofa play place to keep them off the street. "

"There's one up on Sacramento Street, not far from Polk Street. I sawthe sign. "

"I know where. Why, Selina used to play the piano there. "

"Does she play the piano?"

"Oh, you ought to hear her. She plays fine. Selina's very accomplished. She paints, too. "

"I can play on the concertina. "

"Oh, can you? I wish you'd brought it along. Next time you will. I hopeyou'll come often on our picnics. You'll see what fun we'll have. "

"Fine day for a picnic, ain't it? There ain't a cloud. "

"That's so, " exclaimed Trina, looking up, "not a single cloud. Oh, yes;there is one, just over Telegraph Hill. "

"That's smoke. "

"No, it's a cloud. Smoke isn't white that way. "

"'Tis a cloud. "

"I knew I was right. I never say a thing unless I'm pretty sure. "

"It looks like a dog's head. "

"Don't it? Isn't Marcus fond of dogs?"

"He got a new dog last week--a setter. "

"Did he?"

"Yes. He and I took a lot of dogs from his hospital out for a walkto the Cliff House last Sunday, but we had to walk all the way home, because they wouldn't follow. You've been out to the Cliff House?"

"Not for a long time. We had a picnic there one Fourth of July, but itrained. Don't you love the ocean?"

"Yes--yes, I like it pretty well. "

"Oh, I'd like to go off in one of those big sailing ships. Just away, and away, and away, anywhere. They're different from a little yacht. I'dlove to travel. "

"Sure; so would I. "

"Papa and mamma came over in a sailing ship. They were twenty-one days. Mamma's uncle used to be a sailor. He was captain of a steamer on LakeGeneva, in Switzerland. "

"Halt!" shouted Mr. Sieppe, brandishing his rifle. They had arrived atthe gates of the park. All at once McTeague turned cold. He had onlya quarter in his pocket. What was he expected to do--pay for the wholeparty, or for Trina and himself, or merely buy his own ticket? And evenin this latter case would a quarter be enough? He lost his wits, rolling his eyes helplessly. Then it occurred to him to feign a greatabstraction, pretending not to know that the time was come to pay. Helooked intently up and down the tracks; perhaps a train was coming. "Here we are, " cried Trina, as they came up to the rest of the party, crowded about the entrance. "Yes, yes, " observed McTeague, his head inthe air. 

"Gi' me four bits, Mac, " said Marcus, coming up. "Here's where we shellout. "

"I--I--I only got a quarter, " mumbled the dentist, miserably. He feltthat he had ruined himself forever with Trina. What was the use oftrying to win her? Destiny was against him. "I only got a quarter, " hestammered. He was on the point of adding that he would not go in thepark. That seemed to be the only alternative. 

"Oh, all right!" said Marcus, easily. "I'll pay for you, and you cansquare with me when we go home. "

They filed into the park, Mr. Sieppe counting them off as they entered. 

"Ah, " said Trina, with a long breath, as she and McTeague pushed throughthe wicket, "here we are once more, Doctor. " She had not appeared tonotice McTeague's embarrassment. The difficulty had been tided oversomehow. Once more McTeague felt himself saved. 

"To der beach!" shouted Mr. Sieppe. They had checked their baskets atthe peanut stand. The whole party trooped down to the seashore. Thegreyhound was turned loose. The children raced on ahead. 

From one of the larger parcels Mrs. Sieppe had drawn forth a small tinsteamboat--August's birthday present--a gaudy little toy which could besteamed up and navigated by means of an alcohol lamp. Her trial trip wasto be made this morning. 

"Gi' me it, gi' me it, " shouted August, dancing around his father. 

"Not soh, not soh, " cried Mr. Sieppe, bearing it aloft. "I must firstder eggsperimunt make. "

"No, no!" wailed August. "I want to play with ut. "

"Obey!" thundered Mr. Sieppe. August subsided. A little jetty ran partof the way into the water. Here, after a careful study of the directionsprinted on the cover of the box, Mr. Sieppe began to fire the littleboat. 

"I want to put ut in the wa-ater, " cried August. 

"Stand back!" shouted his parent. "You do not know so well as me; dereis dandger. Mitout attention he will eggsplode. "

"I want to play with ut, " protested August, beginning to cry. 

"Ach, soh; you cry, bube!" vociferated Mr. Sieppe. "Mommer, " addressingMrs. Sieppe, "he will soh soon be ge-whipt, eh?"

"I want my boa-wut, " screamed August, dancing. 

"Silence!" roared Mr. Sieppe. The little boat began to hiss and smoke. 

"Soh, " observed the father, "he gommence. Attention! I put him in derwater. " He was very excited. The perspiration dripped from the back ofhis neck. The little boat was launched. It hissed more furiously thanever. Clouds of steam rolled from it, but it refused to move. 

"You don't know how she wo-rks, " sobbed August. 

"I know more soh mudge as der grossest liddle fool as you, " cried Mr. Sieppe, fiercely, his face purple. 

"You must give it sh--shove!" exclaimed the boy. 

"Den he eggsplode, idiot!" shouted his father. All at once the boiler ofthe steamer blew up with a sharp crack. The little tin toy turned overand sank out of sight before any one could interfere. 

"Ah--h! Yah! Yah!" yelled August. "It's go-one!"

Instantly Mr. Sieppe boxed his ears. There was a lamentable scene. August rent the air with his outcries; his father shook him till hisboots danced on the jetty, shouting into his face:

"Ach, idiot! Ach, imbecile! Ach, miserable! I tol' you he eggsplode. Stop your cry. Stop! It is an order. Do you wish I drow you in derwater, eh? Speak. Silence, bube! Mommer, where ist mein stick? He willder grossest whippun ever of his life receive. "

Little by little the boy subsided, swallowing his sobs, knuckling hiseyes, gazing ruefully at the spot where the boat had sunk. "Dot isbetter soh, " commented Mr. Sieppe, finally releasing him. "Next dimeberhaps you will your fat'er better pelief. Now, no more. We willder glams ge-dig, Mommer, a fire. Ach, himmel! we have der pfefferforgotten. "

The work of clam digging began at once, the little boys taking off theirshoes and stockings. At first August refused to be comforted, and it wasnot until his father drove him into the water with his gold-headed canethat he consented to join the others. 

What a day that was for McTeague! What a never-to-be-forgotten day! Hewas with Trina constantly. They laughed together--she demurely, her lipsclosed tight, her little chin thrust out, her small pale nose, with itsadorable little freckles, wrinkling; he roared with all the force of hislungs, his enormous mouth distended, striking sledge-hammer blows uponhis knee with his clenched fist. 

The lunch was delicious. Trina and her mother made a clam chowder thatmelted in one's mouth. The lunch baskets were emptied. The party werefully two hours eating. There were huge loaves of rye bread full ofgrains of chickweed. There were weiner-wurst and frankfurter sausages. There was unsalted butter. There were pretzels. There was cold underdonechicken, which one ate in slices, plastered with a wonderful kind ofmustard that did not sting. There were dried apples, that gave Mr. Sieppe the hiccoughs. There were a dozen bottles of beer, and, last ofall, a crowning achievement, a marvellous Gotha truffle. After lunchcame tobacco. Stuffed to the eyes, McTeague drowsed over his pipe, proneon his back in the sun, while Trina, Mrs. Sieppe, and Selina washed thedishes. In the afternoon Mr. Sieppe disappeared. They heard the reportsof his rifle on the range. The others swarmed over the park, now aroundthe swings, now in the Casino, now in the museum, now invading themerry-go-round. 

At half-past five o'clock Mr. Sieppe marshalled the party together. Itwas time to return home. 

The family insisted that Marcus and McTeague should take supper withthem at their home and should stay over night. Mrs. Sieppe argued theycould get no decent supper if they went back to the city at that hour;that they could catch an early morning boat and reach their business ingood time. The two friends accepted. 

The Sieppes lived in a little box of a house at the foot of B Street, the first house to the right as one went up from the station. It was twostories high, with a funny red mansard roof of oval slates. The interiorwas cut up into innumerable tiny rooms, some of them so small as to behardly better than sleeping closets. In the back yard was a contrivancefor pumping water from the cistern that interested McTeague at once. It was a dog-wheel, a huge revolving box in which the unhappy blackgreyhound spent most of his waking hours. It was his kennel; he sleptin it. From time to time during the day Mrs. Sieppe appeared on the backdoorstep, crying shrilly, "Hoop, hoop!" She threw lumps of coal at him, waking him to his work. 

They were all very tired, and went to bed early. After great discussionit was decided that Marcus would sleep upon the lounge in the frontparlor. Trina would sleep with August, giving up her room to McTeague. Selina went to her home, a block or so above the Sieppes's. At nineo'clock Mr. Sieppe showed McTeague to his room and left him to himselfwith a newly lighted candle. 

For a long time after Mr. Sieppe had gone McTeague stood motionless inthe middle of the room, his elbows pressed close to his sides, lookingobliquely from the corners of his eyes. He hardly dared to move. He wasin Trina's room. 

It was an ordinary little room. A clean white matting was on the floor;gray paper, spotted with pink and green flowers, covered the walls. Inone corner, under a white netting, was a little bed, the woodwork gaylypainted with knots of bright flowers. Near it, against the wall, was ablack walnut bureau. A work-table with spiral legs stood by the window, which was hung with a green and gold window curtain. Opposite the windowthe closet door stood ajar, while in the corner across from the bed wasa tiny washstand with two clean towels. 

And that was all. But it was Trina's room. McTeague was in his lady'sbower; it seemed to him a little nest, intimate, discreet. He felthideously out of place. He was an intruder; he, with his enormous feet, his colossal bones, his crude, brutal gestures. The mere weight of hislimbs, he was sure, would crush the little bed-stead like an eggshell. 

Then, as this first sensation wore off, he began to feel the charm ofthe little chamber. It was as though Trina were close by, but invisible. McTeague felt all the delight of her presence without the embarrassmentthat usually accompanied it. He was near to her--nearer than he had everbeen before. He saw into her daily life, her little ways and manners, her habits, her very thoughts. And was there not in the air of that rooma certain faint perfume that he knew, that recalled her to his mind withmarvellous vividness?

As he put the candle down upon the bureau he saw her hairbrush lyingthere. Instantly he picked it up, and, without knowing why, held itto his face. With what a delicious odor was it redolent! That heavy, enervating odor of her hair--her wonderful, royal hair! The smell ofthat little hairbrush was talismanic. He had but to close his eyes tosee her as distinctly as in a mirror. He saw her tiny, round figure, dressed all in black--for, curiously enough, it was his very firstimpression of Trina that came back to him now--not the Trina of thelater occasions, not the Trina of the blue cloth skirt and white sailor. He saw her as he had seen her the day that Marcus had introduced them:saw her pale, round face; her narrow, half-open eyes, blue like theeyes of a baby; her tiny, pale ears, suggestive of anaemia; the frecklesacross the bridge of her nose; her pale lips; the tiara of royal blackhair; and, above all, the delicious poise of the head, tipped back asthough by the weight of all that hair--the poise that thrust out herchin a little, with the movement that was so confiding, so innocent, sonearly infantile. 

McTeague went softly about the room from one object to another, beholding Trina in everything he touched or looked at. He came at lastto the closet door. It was ajar. He opened it wide, and paused upon thethreshold. 

Trina's clothes were hanging there--skirts and waists, jackets, andstiff white petticoats. What a vision! For an instant McTeague caughthis breath, spellbound. If he had suddenly discovered Trina herselfthere, smiling at him, holding out her hands, he could hardly have beenmore overcome. Instantly he recognized the black dress she had worn onthat famous first day. There it was, the little jacket she hadcarried over her arm the day he had terrified her with his blunderingdeclaration, and still others, and others--a whole group of Trinasfaced him there. He went farther into the closet, touching the clothesgingerly, stroking them softly with his huge leathern palms. As hestirred them a delicate perfume disengaged itself from the folds. Ah, that exquisite feminine odor! It was not only her hair now, it wasTrina herself--her mouth, her hands, her neck; the indescribably sweet, fleshly aroma that was a part of her, pure and clean, and redolent ofyouth and freshness. All at once, seized with an unreasoned impulse, McTeague opened his huge arms and gathered the little garments close tohim, plunging his face deep amongst them, savoring their delicious odorwith long breaths of luxury and supreme content. 

* * * * *

The picnic at Schuetzen Park decided matters. McTeague began to callon Trina regularly Sunday and Wednesday afternoons. He took MarcusSchouler's place. Sometimes Marcus accompanied him, but it was generallyto meet Selina by appointment at the Sieppes's house. 

But Marcus made the most of his renunciation of his cousin. Heremembered his pose from time to time. He made McTeague unhappy andbewildered by wringing his hand, by venting sighs that seemed to tearhis heart out, or by giving evidences of an infinite melancholy. "Whatis my life!" he would exclaim. "What is left for me? Nothing, by damn!"And when McTeague would attempt remonstrance, he would cry: "Never mind, old man. Never mind me. Go, be happy. I forgive you. "

Forgive what? McTeague was all at sea, was harassed with the thought ofsome shadowy, irreparable injury he had done his friend. 

"Oh, don't think of me!" Marcus would exclaim at other times, even whenTrina was by. "Don't think of me; I don't count any more. I ain't init. " Marcus seemed to take great pleasure in contemplating the wreck ofhis life. There is no doubt he enjoyed himself hugely during these days. 

The Sieppes were at first puzzled as well over this change of front. 

"Trina has den a new younge man, " cried Mr. Sieppe. "First Schouler, nowder doktor, eh? What die tevil, I say!"

Weeks passed, February went, March came in very rainy, putting a stop toall their picnics and Sunday excursions. 

One Wednesday afternoon in the second week in March McTeague came overto call on Trina, bringing his concertina with him, as was his customnowadays. As he got off the train at the station he was surprised tofind Trina waiting for him. 

"This is the first day it hasn't rained in weeks, " she explained, "an' Ithought it would be nice to walk. "

"Sure, sure, " assented McTeague. 

B Street station was nothing more than a little shed. There was noticket office, nothing but a couple of whittled and carven benches. Itwas built close to the railroad tracks, just across which was the dirty, muddy shore of San Francisco Bay. About a quarter of a mile back fromthe station was the edge of the town of Oakland. Between the stationand the first houses of the town lay immense salt flats, here and therebroken by winding streams of black water. They were covered with agrowth of wiry grass, strangely discolored in places by enormous stainsof orange yellow. 

Near the station a bit of fence painted with a cigar advertisementreeled over into the mud, while under its lee lay an abandoned gravelwagon with dished wheels. The station was connected with the town bythe extension of B Street, which struck across the flats geometricallystraight, a file of tall poles with intervening wires marching alongwith it. At the station these were headed by an iron electric-light polethat, with its supports and outriggers, looked for all the world like animmense grasshopper on its hind legs. 

Across the flats, at the fringe of the town, were the dump heaps, thefigures of a few Chinese rag-pickers moving over them. Far to the leftthe view was shut off by the immense red-brown drum of the gas-works;to the right it was bounded by the chimneys and workshops of an ironfoundry. 

Across the railroad tracks, to seaward, one saw the long stretch ofblack mud bank left bare by the tide, which was far out, nearly half amile. Clouds of sea-gulls were forever rising and settling upon this mudbank; a wrecked and abandoned wharf crawled over it on tottering legs;close in an old sailboat lay canted on her bilge. 

But farther on, across the yellow waters of the bay, beyond Goat Island, lay San Francisco, a blue line of hills, rugged with roofs and spires. Far to the westward opened the Golden Gate, a bleak cutting in thesand-hills, through which one caught a glimpse of the open Pacific. 

The station at B Street was solitary; no trains passed at this hour;except the distant rag-pickers, not a soul was in sight. The wind blewstrong, carrying with it the mingled smell of salt, of tar, of deadseaweed, and of bilge. The sky hung low and brown; at long intervals afew drops of rain fell. 

Near the station Trina and McTeague sat on the roadbed of the tracks, atthe edge of the mud bank, making the most out of the landscape, enjoyingthe open air, the salt marshes, and the sight of the distant water. Fromtime to time McTeague played his six mournful airs upon his concertina. 

After a while they began walking up and down the tracks, McTeaguetalking about his profession, Trina listening, very interested andabsorbed, trying to understand. 

"For pulling the roots of the upper molars we use the cowhorn forceps, "continued the dentist, monotonously. "We get the inside beak over thepalatal roots and the cow-horn beak over the buccal roots--that's theroots on the outside, you see. Then we close the forceps, and thatbreaks right through the alveolus--that's the part of the socket in thejaw, you understand. "

At another moment he told her of his one unsatisfied desire. "Some dayI'm going to have a big gilded tooth outside my window for a sign. Thosebig gold teeth are beautiful, beautiful--only they cost so much, I can'tafford one just now. "

"Oh, it's raining, " suddenly exclaimed Trina, holding out her palm. They turned back and reached the station in a drizzle. The afternoon wasclosing in dark and rainy. The tide was coming back, talking and lappingfor miles along the mud bank. Far off across the flats, at the edge ofthe town, an electric car went by, stringing out a long row of diamondsparks on the overhead wires. 

"Say, Miss Trina, " said McTeague, after a while, "what's the good ofwaiting any longer? Why can't us two get married?"

Trina still shook her head, saying "No" instinctively, in spite ofherself. 

"Why not?" persisted McTeague. "Don't you like me well enough?"

"Yes. "

"Then why not?"

"Because. "

"Ah, come on, " he said, but Trina still shook her head. 

"Ah, come on, " urged McTeague. He could think of nothing else to say, repeating the same phrase over and over again to all her refusals. 

"Ah, come on! Ah, come on!"

Suddenly he took her in his enormous arms, crushing down her strugglewith his immense strength. Then Trina gave up, all in an instant, turning her head to his. They kissed each other, grossly, full in themouth. 

A roar and a jarring of the earth suddenly grew near and passed themin a reek of steam and hot air. It was the Overland, with its flamingheadlight, on its way across the continent. 

The passage of the train startled them both. Trina struggled to freeherself from McTeague. "Oh, please! please!" she pleaded, on the pointof tears. McTeague released her, but in that moment a slight, a barelyperceptible, revulsion of feeling had taken place in him. The instantthat Trina gave up, the instant she allowed him to kiss her, he thoughtless of her. She was not so desirable, after all. But this reactionwas so faint, so subtle, so intangible, that in another moment hehad doubted its occurrence. Yet afterward it returned. Was there notsomething gone from Trina now? Was he not disappointed in her for doingthat very thing for which he had longed? Was Trina the submissive, thecompliant, the attainable just the same, just as delicate and adorableas Trina the inaccessible? Perhaps he dimly saw that this must be so, that it belonged to the changeless order of things--the man desiringthe woman only for what she withholds; the woman worshipping the man forthat which she yields up to him. With each concession gained the man'sdesire cools; with every surrender made the woman's adoration increases. But why should it be so?

Trina wrenched herself free and drew back from McTeague, her littlechin quivering; her face, even to the lobes of her pale ears, flushedscarlet; her narrow blue eyes brimming. Suddenly she put her headbetween her hands and began to sob. 

"Say, say, Miss Trina, listen--listen here, Miss Trina, " cried McTeague, coming forward a step. 

"Oh, don't!" she gasped, shrinking. "I must go home, " she cried, springing to her feet. "It's late. I must. I must. Don't come withme, please. Oh, I'm so--so, "--she could not find any words. "Let me goalone, " she went on. "You may--you come Sunday. Good-by. "

"Good-by, " said McTeague, his head in a whirl at this sudden, unaccountable change. "Can't I kiss you again?" But Trina was firm now. When it came to his pleading--a mere matter of words--she was strongenough. 

"No, no, you must not!" she exclaimed, with energy. She was gone inanother instant. The dentist, stunned, bewildered, gazed stupidly afterher as she ran up the extension of B Street through the rain. 

But suddenly a great joy took possession of him. He had won her. Trinawas to be for him, after all. An enormous smile distended his thicklips; his eyes grew wide, and flashed; and he drew his breath quickly, striking his mallet-like fist upon his knee, and exclaiming under hisbreath:

"I got her, by God! I got her, by God!" At the same time he thoughtbetter of himself; his self-respect increased enormously. The man thatcould win Trina Sieppe was a man of extraordinary ability. 

Trina burst in upon her mother while the latter was setting a mousetrapin the kitchen. 

"Oh, mamma!"

"Eh? Trina? Ach, what has happun?"

Trina told her in a breath. 

"Soh soon?" was Mrs. Sieppe's first comment. "Eh, well, what you cryfor, then?"

"I don't know, " wailed Trina, plucking at the end of her handkerchief. 

"You loaf der younge doktor?"

"I don't know. "

"Well, what for you kiss him?"

"I don't know. "

"You don' know, you don' know? Where haf your sensus gone, Trina? Youkiss der doktor. You cry, and you don' know. Is ut Marcus den?"

"No, it's not Cousin Mark. "

"Den ut must be der doktor. "

Trina made no answer. 

"Eh?"

"I--I guess so. "

"You loaf him?"

"I don't know. "

Mrs. Sieppe set down the mousetrap with such violence that it sprungwith a sharp snap. 

CHAPTER 6

No, Trina did not know. "Do I love him? Do I love him?" A thousand timesshe put the question to herself during the next two or three days. Atnight she hardly slept, but lay broad awake for hours in her little, gayly painted bed, with its white netting, torturing herself with doubtsand questions. At times she remembered the scene in the station with averitable agony of shame, and at other times she was ashamed to recallit with a thrill of joy. Nothing could have been more sudden, moreunexpected, than that surrender of herself. For over a year she hadthought that Marcus would some day be her husband. They would bemarried, she supposed, some time in the future, she did not know exactlywhen; the matter did not take definite shape in her mind. She likedCousin Mark very well. And then suddenly this cross-current had setin; this blond giant had appeared, this huge, stolid fellow, withhis immense, crude strength. She had not loved him at first, that wascertain. The day he had spoken to her in his "Parlors" she had only beenterrified. If he had confined himself to merely speaking, as did Marcus, to pleading with her, to wooing her at a distance, forestalling herwishes, showing her little attentions, sending her boxes of candy, shecould have easily withstood him. But he had only to take her in hisarms, to crush down her struggle with his enormous strength, to subdueher, conquer her by sheer brute force, and she gave up in an instant. 

But why--why had she done so? Why did she feel the desire, the necessityof being conquered by a superior strength? Why did it please her? Whyhad it suddenly thrilled her from head to foot with a quick, terrifyinggust of passion, the like of which she had never known? Never at hisbest had Marcus made her feel like that, and yet she had always thoughtshe cared for Cousin Mark more than for any one else. 

When McTeague had all at once caught her in his huge arms, somethinghad leaped to life in her--something that had hitherto lain dormant, something strong and overpowering. It frightened her now as she thoughtof it, this second self that had wakened within her, and that shoutedand clamored for recognition. And yet, was it to be feared? Was itsomething to be ashamed of? Was it not, after all, natural, clean, spontaneous? Trina knew that she was a pure girl; knew that this suddencommotion within her carried with it no suggestion of vice. 

Dimly, as figures seen in a waking dream, these ideas floated throughTrina's mind. It was quite beyond her to realize them clearly; she couldnot know what they meant. Until that rainy day by the shore of the bayTrina had lived her life with as little self-consciousness as a tree. She was frank, straightforward, a healthy, natural human being, without sex as yet. She was almost like a boy. At once there had been amysterious disturbance. The woman within her suddenly awoke. 

Did she love McTeague? Difficult question. Did she choose him for betteror for worse, deliberately, of her own free will, or was Trina herselfallowed even a choice in the taking of that step that was to make or marher life? The Woman is awakened, and, starting from her sleep, catchesblindly at what first her newly opened eyes light upon. It is a spell, awitchery, ruled by chance alone, inexplicable--a fairy queen enamored ofa clown with ass's ears. 

McTeague had awakened the Woman, and, whether she would or no, she washis now irrevocably; struggle against it as she would, she belonged tohim, body and soul, for life or for death. She had not sought it, shehad not desired it. The spell was laid upon her. Was it a blessing? Wasit a curse? It was all one; she was his, indissolubly, for evil or forgood. 

And he? The very act of submission that bound the woman to him foreverhad made her seem less desirable in his eyes. Their undoing had alreadybegun. Yet neither of them was to blame. From the first they had notsought each other. Chance had brought them face to face, and mysteriousinstincts as ungovernable as the winds of heaven were at work knittingtheir lives together. Neither of them had asked that this thing shouldbe--that their destinies, their very souls, should be the sport ofchance. If they could have known, they would have shunned the fearfulrisk. But they were allowed no voice in the matter. Why should it allbe?

It had been on a Wednesday that the scene in the B Street station hadtaken place. Throughout the rest of the week, at every hour of the day, Trina asked herself the same question: "Do I love him? Do I really lovehim? Is this what love is like?" As she recalled McTeague--recalled hishuge, square-cut head, his salient jaw, his shock of yellow hair, hisheavy, lumbering body, his slow wits--she found little to admire in himbeyond his physical strength, and at such moments she shook her headdecisively. "No, surely she did not love him. " Sunday afternoon, however, McTeague called. Trina had prepared a little speech for him. She was to tell him that she did not know what had been the matter withher that Wednesday afternoon; that she had acted like a bad girl; thatshe did not love him well enough to marry him; that she had told him asmuch once before. 

McTeague saw her alone in the little front parlor. The instant sheappeared he came straight towards her. She saw what he was bent upondoing. "Wait a minute, " she cried, putting out her hands. "Wait. Youdon't understand. I have got something to say to you. " She might aswell have talked to the wind. McTeague put aside her hands with a singlegesture, and gripped her to him in a bearlike embrace that all butsmothered her. Trina was but a reed before that giant strength. McTeagueturned her face to his and kissed her again upon the mouth. Wherewas all Trina's resolve then? Where was her carefully prepared littlespeech? Where was all her hesitation and torturing doubts of the lastfew days? She clasped McTeague's huge red neck with both her slenderarms; she raised her adorable little chin and kissed him in return, exclaiming: "Oh, I do love you! I do love you!" Never afterward were thetwo so happy as at that moment. 

A little later in that same week, when Marcus and McTeague weretaking lunch at the car conductors' coffee-joint, the former suddenlyexclaimed:

"Say, Mac, now that you've got Trina, you ought to do more for her. Bydamn! you ought to, for a fact. Why don't you take her out somewhere--tothe theatre, or somewhere? You ain't on to your job. "

Naturally, McTeague had told Marcus of his success with Trina. Marcushad taken on a grand air. 

"You've got her, have you? Well, I'm glad of it, old man. I am, for afact. I know you'll be happy with her. I know how I would have been. Iforgive you; yes, I forgive you, freely. "

McTeague had not thought of taking Trina to the theatre. 

"You think I ought to, Mark?" he inquired, hesitating. Marcus answered, with his mouth full of suet pudding:

"Why, of course. That's the proper caper. "

"Well--well, that's so. The theatre--that's the word. "

"Take her to the variety show at the Orpheum. There's a good show therethis week; you'll have to take Mrs. Sieppe, too, of course, " he added. Marcus was not sure of himself as regarded certain proprieties, nor, forthat matter, were any of the people of the little world of Polk Street. The shop girls, the plumbers' apprentices, the small tradespeople, andtheir like, whose social position was not clearly defined, could neverbe sure how far they could go and yet preserve their "respectability. "When they wished to be "proper, " they invariably overdid the thing. It was not as if they belonged to the "tough" element, who had noappearances to keep up. Polk Street rubbed elbows with the "avenue"one block above. There were certain limits which its dwellers could notoverstep; but unfortunately for them, these limits were poorly defined. They could never be sure of themselves. At an unguarded moment theymight be taken for "toughs, " so they generally erred in the otherdirection, and were absurdly formal. No people have a keener eye for theamenities than those whose social position is not assured. 

"Oh, sure, you'll have to take her mother, " insisted Marcus. "Itwouldn't be the proper racket if you didn't. "

McTeague undertook the affair. It was an ordeal. Never in his life hadhe been so perturbed, so horribly anxious. He called upon Trina thefollowing Wednesday and made arrangements. Mrs. Sieppe asked if littleAugust might be included. It would console him for the loss of hissteamboat. 

"Sure, sure, " said McTeague. "August too--everybody, " he added, vaguely. 

"We always have to leave so early, " complained Trina, "in order to catchthe last boat. Just when it's becoming interesting. "

At this McTeague, acting upon a suggestion of Marcus Schouler's, insisted they should stay at the flat over night. Marcus and the dentistwould give up their rooms to them and sleep at the dog hospital. Therewas a bed there in the sick ward that old Grannis sometimes occupiedwhen a bad case needed watching. All at once McTeague had an idea, averitable inspiration. 

"And we'll--we'll--we'll have--what's the matter with having somethingto eat afterward in my 'Parlors'?"

"Vairy goot, " commented Mrs. Sieppe. "Bier, eh? And some damales. "

"Oh, I love tamales!" exclaimed Trina, clasping her hands. 

McTeague returned to the city, rehearsing his instructions over andover. The theatre party began to assume tremendous proportions. First ofall, he was to get the seats, the third or fourth row from the front, onthe left-hand side, so as to be out of the hearing of the drums in theorchestra; he must make arrangements about the rooms with Marcus, mustget in the beer, but not the tamales; must buy for himself a white lawntie--so Marcus directed; must look to it that Maria Macapa put his roomin perfect order; and, finally, must meet the Sieppes at the ferry slipat half-past seven the following Monday night. 

The real labor of the affair began with the buying of the tickets. Atthe theatre McTeague got into wrong entrances; was sent from one wicketto another; was bewildered, confused; misunderstood directions; was atone moment suddenly convinced that he had not enough money with him, and started to return home. Finally he found himself at the box-officewicket. 

"Is it here you buy your seats?"

"How many?"

"Is it here--"

"What night do you want 'em? Yes, sir, here's the place. "

McTeague gravely delivered himself of the formula he had been recitingfor the last dozen hours. 

"I want four seats for Monday night in the fourth row from the front, and on the right-hand side. "

"Right hand as you face the house or as you face the stage?" McTeaguewas dumfounded. 

"I want to be on the right-hand side, " he insisted, stolidly; adding, "in order to be away from the drums. "

"Well, the drums are on the right of the orchestra as you face thestage, " shouted the other impatiently; "you want to the left, then, asyou face the house. "

"I want to be on the right-hand side, " persisted the dentist. 

Without a word the seller threw out four tickets with a magnificent, supercilious gesture. 

"There's four seats on the right-hand side, then, and you're right upagainst the drums. "

"But I don't want to be near the drums, " protested McTeague, beginningto perspire. 

"Do you know what you want at all?" said the ticket seller withcalmness, thrusting his head at McTeague. The dentist knew that he hadhurt this young man's feelings. 

"I want--I want, " he stammered. The seller slammed down a plan of thehouse in front of him and began to explain excitedly. It was the onething lacking to complete McTeague's confusion. 

"There are your seats, " finished the seller, shoving the tickets intoMcTeague's hands. "They are the fourth row from the front, and away fromthe drums. Now are you satisfied?"

"Are they on the right-hand side? I want on the right--no, I want on theleft. I want--I don' know, I don' know. "

The seller roared. McTeague moved slowly away, gazing stupidly at theblue slips of pasteboard. Two girls took his place at the wicket. Inanother moment McTeague came back, peering over the girls' shoulders andcalling to the seller:

"Are these for Monday night?"

The other disdained reply. McTeague retreated again timidly, thrustingthe tickets into his immense wallet. For a moment he stood thoughtfulon the steps of the entrance. Then all at once he became enraged, hedid not know exactly why; somehow he felt himself slighted. Once more hecame back to the wicket. 

"You can't make small of me, " he shouted over the girls' shoulders;"you--you can't make small of me. I'll thump you in the head, youlittle--you little--you little--little--little pup. " The ticket sellershrugged his shoulders wearily. "A dollar and a half, " he said to thetwo girls. 

McTeague glared at him and breathed loudly. Finally he decided to letthe matter drop. He moved away, but on the steps was once more seizedwith a sense of injury and outraged dignity. 

"You can't make small of me, " he called back a last time, wagging hishead and shaking his fist. "I will--I will--I will--yes, I will. " Hewent off muttering. 

At last Monday night came. McTeague met the Sieppes at the ferry, dressed in a black Prince Albert coat and his best slate-blue trousers, and wearing the made-up lawn necktie that Marcus had selected for him. Trina was very pretty in the black dress that McTeague knew so well. She wore a pair of new gloves. Mrs. Sieppe had on lisle-thread mits, andcarried two bananas and an orange in a net reticule. "For Owgooste, " sheconfided to him. Owgooste was in a Fauntleroy "costume" very much toosmall for him. Already he had been crying. 

"Woult you pelief, Doktor, dot bube has torn his stockun alreatty? Walkin der front, you; stop cryun. Where is dot berliceman?"

At the door of the theatre McTeague was suddenly seized with a panicterror. He had lost the tickets. He tore through his pockets, ransackedhis wallet. They were nowhere to be found. All at once he remembered, and with a gasp of relief removed his hat and took them out from beneaththe sweatband. 

The party entered and took their places. It was absurdly early. Thelights were all darkened, the ushers stood under the galleries ingroups, the empty auditorium echoing with their noisy talk. Occasionallya waiter with his tray and clean white apron sauntered up and dounthe aisle. Directly in front of them was the great iron curtain of thestage, painted with all manner of advertisements. From behind this camea noise of hammering and of occasional loud voices. 

While waiting they studied their programmes. First was an overture bythe orchestra, after which came "The Gleasons, in their mirth-movingmusical farce, entitled 'McMonnigal's Court-ship. '" This was to befollowed by "The Lamont Sisters, Winnie and Violet, serio-comiques andskirt dancers. " And after this came a great array of other "artists" and"specialty performers, " musical wonders, acrobats, lightning artists, ventriloquists, and last of all, "The feature of the evening, thecrowning scientific achievement of the nineteenth century, thekinetoscope. " McTeague was excited, dazzled. In five years he had notbeen twice to the theatre. Now he beheld himself inviting his "girl" andher mother to accompany him. He began to feel that he was a man of theworld. He ordered a cigar. 

Meanwhile the house was filling up. A few side brackets were turned on. The ushers ran up and down the aisles, stubs of tickets between theirthumb and finger, and from every part of the auditorium could be heardthe sharp clap-clapping of the seats as the ushers flipped them down. Abuzz of talk arose. In the gallery a street gamin whistled shrilly, andcalled to some friends on the other side of the house. 

"Are they go-wun to begin pretty soon, ma?" whined Owgooste for thefifth or sixth time; adding, "Say, ma, can't I have some candy?" Acadaverous little boy had appeared in their aisle, chanting, "Candies, French mixed candies, popcorn, peanuts and candy. " The orchestraentered, each man crawling out from an opening under the stage, hardlylarger than the gate of a rabbit hutch. At every instant now the crowdincreased; there were but few seats that were not taken. The waitershurried up and down the aisles, their trays laden with beer glasses. A smell of cigar-smoke filled the air, and soon a faint blue haze rosefrom all corners of the house. 

"Ma, when are they go-wun to begin?" cried Owgooste. As he spokethe iron advertisement curtain rose, disclosing the curtain properunderneath. This latter curtain was quite an affair. Upon it was painteda wonderful picture. A flight of marble steps led down to a stream ofwater; two white swans, their necks arched like the capital letter S, floated about. At the head of the marble steps were two vases filledwith red and yellow flowers, while at the foot was moored a gondola. This gondola was full of red velvet rugs that hung over the sideand trailed in the water. In the prow of the gondola a young man invermilion tights held a mandolin in his left hand, and gave his right toa girl in white satin. A King Charles spaniel, dragging a leading-stringin the shape of a huge pink sash, followed the girl. Seven scarletroses were scattered upon the two lowest steps, and eight floated in thewater. 

"Ain't that pretty, Mac?" exclaimed Trina, turning to the dentist. 

"Ma, ain't they go-wun to begin now-wow?" whined Owgooste. Suddenly thelights all over the house blazed up. "Ah!" said everybody all at once. 

"Ain't ut crowdut?" murmured Mr. Sieppe. Every seat was taken; many wereeven standing up. 

"I always like it better when there is a crowd, " said Trina. She was ingreat spirits that evening. Her round, pale face was positively pink. 

The orchestra banged away at the overture, suddenly finishing with agreat flourish of violins. A short pause followed. Then the orchestraplayed a quick-step strain, and the curtain rose on an interiorfurnished with two red chairs and a green sofa. A girl in a short bluedress and black stockings entered in a hurry and began to dust thetwo chairs. She was in a great temper, talking very fast, disclaimingagainst the "new lodger. " It appeared that this latter never paidhis rent; that he was given to late hours. Then she came down to thefootlights and began to sing in a tremendous voice, hoarse and flat, almost like a man's. The chorus, of a feeble originality, ran:

 "Oh, how happy I will be, When my darling's face I'll see; Oh, tell him for to meet me in the moonlight, Down where the golden lilies bloom. "

The orchestra played the tune of this chorus a second time, with certainvariations, while the girl danced to it. She sidled to one side of thestage and kicked, then sidled to the other and kicked again. As shefinished with the song, a man, evidently the lodger in question, camein. Instantly McTeague exploded in a roar of laughter. The manwas intoxicated, his hat was knocked in, one end of his collar wasunfastened and stuck up into his face, his watch-chain dangled fromhis pocket, and a yellow satin slipper was tied to a button-hole of hisvest; his nose was vermilion, one eye was black and blue. After a shortdialogue with the girl, a third actor appeared. He was dressed like alittle boy, the girl's younger brother. He wore an immense turned-downcollar, and was continually doing hand-springs and wonderful backsomersaults. The "act" devolved upon these three people; the lodgermaking love to the girl in the short blue dress, the boy playing allmanner of tricks upon him, giving him tremendous digs in the ribs orslaps upon the back that made him cough, pulling chairs from under him, running on all fours between his legs and upsetting him, knocking himover at inopportune moments. Every one of his falls was accentuated by abang upon the bass drum. The whole humor of the "act" seemed to consistin the tripping up of the intoxicated lodger. 

This horse-play delighted McTeague beyond measure. He roared and shoutedevery time the lodger went down, slapping his knee, wagging his head. Owgooste crowed shrilly, clapping his hands and continuallyasking, "What did he say, ma? What did he say?" Mrs. Sieppe laughedimmoderately, her huge fat body shaking like a mountain of jelly. Sheexclaimed from time to time, "Ach, Gott, dot fool!" Even Trina wasmoved, laughing demurely, her lips closed, putting one hand with its newglove to her mouth. 

The performance went on. Now it was the "musical marvels, " two menextravagantly made up as negro minstrels, with immense shoes andplaid vests. They seemed to be able to wrestle a tune out of almostanything--glass bottles, cigar-box fiddles, strings of sleigh-bells, even graduated brass tubes, which they rubbed with resined fingers. McTeague was stupefied with admiration. 

"That's what you call musicians, " he announced gravely. "'Home, SweetHome, ' played upon a trombone. Think of that! Art could go no farther. "

The acrobats left him breathless. They were dazzling young men withbeautifully parted hair, continually making graceful gestures to theaudience. In one of them the dentist fancied he saw a strong resemblanceto the boy who had tormented the intoxicated lodger and who had turnedsuch marvellous somersaults. Trina could not bear to watch their antics. She turned away her head with a little shudder. "It always makes mesick, " she explained. 

The beautiful young lady, "The Society Contralto, " in evening dress, whosang the sentimental songs, and carried the sheets of music at which shenever looked, pleased McTeague less. Trina, however, was captivated. Shegrew pensive over

 "You do not love me--no; Bid me good-by and go;"

and split her new gloves in her enthusiasm when it was finished. 

"Don't you love sad music, Mac?" she murmured. 

Then came the two comedians. They talked with fearful rapidity; theirwit and repartee seemed inexhaustible. 

"As I was going down the street yesterday--"

"Ah! as YOU were going down the street--all right. "

"I saw a girl at a window----"

"YOU saw a girl at a window. "

"And this girl she was a corker----"

"Ah! as YOU were going down the street yesterday YOU saw a girl at awindow, and this girl she was a corker. All right, go on. "

The other comedian went on. The joke was suddenly evolved. A certainphrase led to a song, which was sung with lightning rapidity, eachperformer making precisely the same gestures at precisely the sameinstant. They were irresistible. McTeague, though he caught but a thirdof the jokes, could have listened all night. 

After the comedians had gone out, the iron advertisement curtain was letdown. 

"What comes now?" said McTeague, bewildered. 

"It's the intermission of fifteen minutes now. "

The musicians disappeared through the rabbit hutch, and the audiencestirred and stretched itself. Most of the young men left their seats. 

During this intermission McTeague and his party had "refreshments. " Mrs. Sieppe and Trina had Queen Charlottes, McTeague drank a glass of beer, Owgooste ate the orange and one of the bananas. He begged for a glass oflemonade, which was finally given him. 

"Joost to geep um quiet, " observed Mrs. Sieppe. 

But almost immediately after drinking his lemonade Owgooste was seizedwith a sudden restlessness. He twisted and wriggled in his seat, swinging his legs violently, looking about him with eyes full of a vaguedistress. At length, just as the musicians were returning, he stoodup and whispered energetically in his mother's ear. Mrs. Sieppe wasexasperated at once. 

"No, no, " she cried, reseating him brusquely. 

The performance was resumed. A lightning artist appeared, drawingcaricatures and portraits with incredible swiftness. He even went so faras to ask for subjects from the audience, and the names of prominentmen were shouted to him from the gallery. He drew portraits of thePresident, of Grant, of Washington, of Napoleon Bonaparte, of Bismarck, of Garibaldi, of P. T. Barnum. 

And so the evening passed. The hall grew very hot, and the smoke ofinnumerable cigars made the eyes smart. A thick blue mist hung low overthe heads of the audience. The air was full of varied smells--thesmell of stale cigars, of flat beer, of orange peel, of gas, of sachetpowders, and of cheap perfumery. 

One "artist" after another came upon the stage. McTeague's attentionnever wandered for a minute. Trina and her mother enjoyed themselveshugely. At every moment they made comments to one another, their eyesnever leaving the stage. 

"Ain't dot fool joost too funny?"

"That's a pretty song. Don't you like that kind of a song?"

"Wonderful! It's wonderful! Yes, yes, wonderful! That's the word. "

Owgooste, however, lost interest. He stood up in his place, his back tothe stage, chewing a piece of orange peel and watching a little girl inher father's lap across the aisle, his eyes fixed in a glassy, ox-likestare. But he was uneasy. He danced from one foot to the other, and atintervals appealed in hoarse whispers to his mother, who disdained ananswer. 

"Ma, say, ma-ah, " he whined, abstractedly chewing his orange peel, staring at the little girl. 

"Ma-ah, say, ma. " At times his monotonous plaint reached his mother'sconsciousness. She suddenly realized what this was that was annoyingher. 

"Owgooste, will you sit down?" She caught him up all at once, and jammedhim down into his place. "Be quiet, den; loog; listun at der yungegirls. "

Three young women and a young man who played a zither occupied thestage. They were dressed in Tyrolese costume; they were yodlers, andsang in German about "mountain tops" and "bold hunters" and the like. The yodling chorus was a marvel of flute-like modulations. The girlswere really pretty, and were not made up in the least. Their "turn" hada great success. Mrs. Sieppe was entranced. Instantly she remembered hergirlhood and her native Swiss village. 

"Ach, dot is heavunly; joost like der old country. Mein gran'mutter usedto be one of der mos' famous yodlers. When I was leedle, I haf seen demjoost like dat. "

"Ma-ah, " began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as the yodlers had departed. He could not keep still an instant; he twisted from side to side, swinging his legs with incredible swiftness. 

"Ma-ah, I want to go ho-ome. "

"Pehave!" exclaimed his mother, shaking him by the arm; "loog, derleedle girl is watchun you. Dis is der last dime I take you to der blay, you see. "

"I don't ca-are; I'm sleepy. " At length, to their great relief, he wentto sleep, his head against his mother's arm. 

The kinetoscope fairly took their breaths away. 

"What will they do next?" observed Trina, in amazement. "Ain't thatwonderful, Mac?"

McTeague was awe-struck. 

"Look at that horse move his head, " he cried excitedly, quite carriedaway. "Look at that cable car coming--and the man going across thestreet. See, here comes a truck. Well, I never in all my life! Whatwould Marcus say to this?"

"It's all a drick!" exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, with sudden conviction. "Iain't no fool; dot's nothun but a drick. "

"Well, of course, mamma, " exclaimed Trina, "it's----"

But Mrs. Sieppe put her head in the air. 

"I'm too old to be fooled, " she persisted. "It's a drick. " Nothing morecould be got out of her than this. 

The party stayed to the very end of the show, though the kinetoscope wasthe last number but one on the programme, and fully half the audienceleft immediately afterward. However, while the unfortunate Irishcomedian went through his "act" to the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppe woke Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began gettingher "things together. " As soon as he was awake Owgooste began fidgetingagain. 

"Save der brogramme, Trina, " whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Take ut home topopper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf you got mein handkerchief, Trina?"

But at this moment a dreadful accident happened to Owgooste; hisdistress reached its climax; his fortitude collapsed. What a misery!It was a veritable catastrophe, deplorable, lamentable, a thing beyondwords! For a moment he gazed wildly about him, helpless and petrifiedwith astonishment and terror. Then his grief found utterance, and theclosing strains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wail ofinfinite sadness. 

"Owgooste, what is ut?" cried his mother eyeing him with dawningsuspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you done? You haf ruin your newVauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed; without more ado she smacked himsoundly. Then it was that Owgooste touched the limit of his misery, his unhappiness, his horrible discomfort; his utter wretchedness wascomplete. He filled the air with his doleful outcries. The more he wassmacked and shaken, the louder he wept. 

"What--what is the matter?" inquired McTeague. 

Trina's face was scarlet. "Nothing, nothing, " she exclaimed hastily, looking away. "Come, we must be going. It's about over. " The end of theshow and the breaking up of the audience tided over the embarrassment ofthe moment. 

The party filed out at the tail end of the audience. Already the lightswere being extinguished and the ushers spreading druggeting over theupholstered seats. 

McTeague and the Sieppes took an uptown car that would bring them nearPolk Street. The car was crowded; McTeague and Owgooste were obliged tostand. The little boy fretted to be taken in his mother's lap, but Mrs. Sieppe emphatically refused. 

On their way home they discussed the performance. 

"I--I like best der yodlers. "

"Ah, the soloist was the best--the lady who sang those sad songs. "

"Wasn't--wasn't that magic lantern wonderful, where the figures moved?Wonderful--ah, wonderful! And wasn't that first act funny, where thefellow fell down all the time? And that musical act, and the fellow withthe burnt-cork face who played 'Nearer, My God, to Thee' on the beerbottles. "

They got off at Polk Street and walked up a block to the flat. Thestreet was dark and empty; opposite the flat, in the back of thedeserted market, the ducks and geese were calling persistently. 

As they were buying their tamales from the half-breed Mexican at thestreet corner, McTeague observed:

"Marcus ain't gone to bed yet. See, there's a light in his window. There!" he exclaimed at once, "I forgot the doorkey. Well, Marcus canlet us in. "

Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of the flat when thebolt was shot back. In the hall at the top of the long, narrow staircasethere was the sound of a great scurrying. Maria Macapa stood there, her hand upon the rope that drew the bolt; Marcus was at her side;Old Grannis was in the background, looking over their shoulders; whilelittle Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange man in a drabovercoat at her side. As McTeague's party stepped into the doorway ahalf-dozen voices cried:

"Yes, it's them. "

"Is that you, Mac?"

"Is that you, Miss Sieppe?"

"Is your name Trina Sieppe?"

Then, shriller than all the rest, Maria Macapa screamed:

"Oh, Miss Sieppe, come up here quick. Your lottery ticket has won fivethousand dollars!"

CHAPTER 7

"What nonsense!" answered Trina. 

"Ach Gott! What is ut?" cried Mrs. Sieppe, misunderstanding, supposing acalamity. 

"What--what--what, " stammered the dentist, confused by the lights, thecrowded stairway, the medley of voices. The party reached the landing. The others surrounded them. Marcus alone seemed to rise to the occasion. 

"Le' me be the first to congratulate you, " he cried, catching Trina'shand. Every one was talking at once. 

"Miss Sieppe, Miss Sieppe, your ticket has won five thousand dollars, "cried Maria. "Don't you remember the lottery ticket I sold you in DoctorMcTeague's office?"

"Trina!" almost screamed her mother. "Five tausend thalers! five tausendthalers! If popper were only here!"

"What is it--what is it?" exclaimed McTeague, rolling his eyes. 

"What are you going to do with it, Trina?" inquired Marcus. 

"You're a rich woman, my dear, " said Miss Baker, her little false curlsquivering with excitement, "and I'm glad for your sake. Let me kiss you. To think I was in the room when you bought the ticket!"

"Oh, oh!" interrupted Trina, shaking her head, "there is a mistake. There must be. Why--why should I win five thousand dollars? It'snonsense!"

"No mistake, no mistake, " screamed Maria. "Your number was 400, 012. Hereit is in the paper this evening. I remember it well, because I keep anaccount. "

"But I know you're wrong, " answered Trina, beginning to tremble in spiteof herself. "Why should I win?"

"Eh? Why shouldn't you?" cried her mother. 

In fact, why shouldn't she? The idea suddenly occurred to Trina. Afterall, it was not a question of effort or merit on her part. Why shouldshe suppose a mistake? What if it were true, this wonderful fillip offortune striking in there like some chance-driven bolt?

"Oh, do you think so?" she gasped. 

The stranger in the drab overcoat came forward. 

"It's the agent, " cried two or three voices, simultaneously. 

"I guess you're one of the lucky ones, Miss Sieppe, " he said. "I supposeyou have kept your ticket. "

"Yes, yes; four three oughts twelve--I remember. "

"That's right, " admitted the other. "Present your ticket at the localbranch office as soon as possible--the address is printed on the backof the ticket--and you'll receive a check on our bank for five thousanddollars. Your number will have to be verified on our official list, butthere's hardly a chance of a mistake. I congratulate you. "

All at once a great shrill of gladness surged up in Trina. She was topossess five thousand dollars. She was carried away with the joy of hergood fortune, a natural, spontaneous joy--the gaiety of a child with anew and wonderful toy. 

"Oh, I've won, I've won, I've won!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Mamma, think of it. I've won five thousand dollars, just by buying aticket. Mac, what do you say to that? I've got five thousand dollars. August, do you hear what's happened to sister?"

"Kiss your mommer, Trina, " suddenly commanded Mrs. Sieppe. "What eferwill you do mit all dose money, eh, Trina?"

"Huh!" exclaimed Marcus. "Get married on it for one thing. " Thereatthey all shouted with laughter. McTeague grinned, and looked aboutsheepishly. "Talk about luck, " muttered Marcus, shaking his head at thedentist; then suddenly he added:

"Well, are we going to stay talking out here in the hall all night?Can't we all come into your 'Parlors', Mac?"

"Sure, sure, " exclaimed McTeague, hastily unlocking his door. 

"Efery botty gome, " cried Mrs. Sieppe, genially. "Ain't ut so, Doktor?"

"Everybody, " repeated the dentist. "There's--there's some beer. "

"We'll celebrate, by damn!" exclaimed Marcus. "It ain't every day youwin five thousand dollars. It's only Sundays and legal holidays. " Againhe set the company off into a gale of laughter. Anything was funny at atime like this. In some way every one of them felt elated. The wheel offortune had come spinning close to them. They were near to this greatsum of money. It was as though they too had won. 

"Here's right where I sat when I bought that ticket, " cried Trina, afterthey had come into the "Parlors, " and Marcus had lit the gas. "Righthere in this chair. " She sat down in one of the rigid chairs under thesteel engraving. "And, Marcus, you sat here----"

"And I was just getting out of the operating chair, " interposed MissBaker. 

"Yes, yes. That's so; and you, " continued Trina, pointing to Maria, "came up and said, 'Buy a ticket in the lottery; just a dollar. ' Oh, Iremember it just as plain as though it was yesterday, and I wasn't goingto at first----"

"And don't you know I told Maria it was against the law?"

"Yes, I remember, and then I gave her a dollar and put the ticket in mypocketbook. It's in my pocketbook now at home in the top drawer of mybureau--oh, suppose it should be stolen now, " she suddenly exclaimed. 

"It's worth big money now, " asserted Marcus. 

"Five thousand dollars. Who would have thought it? It's wonderful. "Everybody started and turned. It was McTeague. He stood in the middle ofthe floor, wagging his huge head. He seemed to have just realized whathad happened. 

"Yes, sir, five thousand dollars!" exclaimed Marcus, with a suddenunaccountable mirthlessness. "Five thousand dollars! Do you get on tothat? Cousin Trina and you will be rich people. "

"At six per cent, that's twenty-five dollars a month, " hazarded theagent. 

"Think of it. Think of it, " muttered McTeague. He went aimlessly aboutthe room, his eyes wide, his enormous hands dangling. 

"A cousin of mine won forty dollars once, " observed Miss Baker. "But hespent every cent of it buying more tickets, and never won anything. "

Then the reminiscences began. Maria told about the butcher on the nextblock who had won twenty dollars the last drawing. Mrs. Sieppe knew agasfitter in Oakland who had won several times; once a hundred dollars. Little Miss Baker announced that she had always believed that lotterieswere wrong; but, just the same, five thousand was five thousand. 

"It's all right when you win, ain't it, Miss Baker?" observed Marcus, with a certain sarcasm. What was the matter with Marcus? At moments heseemed singularly out of temper. 

But the agent was full of stories. He told his experiences, the legendsand myths that had grown up around the history of the lottery; he toldof the poor newsboy with a dying mother to support who had drawn a prizeof fifteen thousand; of the man who was driven to suicide through want, but who held (had he but known it) the number that two days after hisdeath drew the capital prize of thirty thousand dollars; of the littlemilliner who for ten years had played the lottery without success, andwho had one day declared that she would buy but one more ticket and thengive up trying, and of how this last ticket had brought her a fortuneupon which she could retire; of tickets that had been lost or destroyed, and whose numbers had won fabulous sums at the drawing; of criminals, driven to vice by poverty, and who had reformed after winningcompetencies; of gamblers who played the lottery as they would playa faro bank, turning in their winnings again as soon as made, buyingthousands of tickets all over the country; of superstitions as toterminal and initial numbers, and as to lucky days of purchase; ofmarvellous coincidences--three capital prizes drawn consecutively by thesame town; a ticket bought by a millionaire and given to his boot-black, who won a thousand dollars upon it; the same number winning the sameamount an indefinite number of times; and so on to infinity. Invariablyit was the needy who won, the destitute and starving woke to wealth andplenty, the virtuous toiler suddenly found his reward in a ticket boughtat a hazard; the lottery was a great charity, the friend of the people, a vast beneficent machine that recognized neither rank nor wealth norstation. 

The company began to be very gay. Chairs and tables were brought in fromthe adjoining rooms, and Maria was sent out for more beer and tamales, and also commissioned to buy a bottle of wine and some cake for MissBaker, who abhorred beer. 

The "Dental Parlors" were in great confusion. Empty beer bottles stoodon the movable rack where the instruments were kept; plates and napkinswere upon the seat of the operating chair and upon the stand of shelvesin the corner, side by side with the concertina and the volumes of"Allen's Practical Dentist. " The canary woke and chittered crossly, hisfeathers puffed out; the husks of tamales littered the floor; the stonepug dog sitting before the little stove stared at the unusual scene, hisglass eyes starting from their sockets. 

They drank and feasted in impromptu fashion. Marcus Schouler assumedthe office of master of ceremonies; he was in a lather of excitement, rushing about here and there, opening beer bottles, serving the tamales, slapping McTeague upon the back, laughing and joking continually. Hemade McTeague sit at the head of the table, with Trina at his right andthe agent at his left; he--when he sat down at all--occupied the foot, Maria Macapa at his left, while next to her was Mrs. Sieppe, oppositeMiss Baker. Owgooste had been put to bed upon the bed-lounge. 

"Where's Old Grannis?" suddenly exclaimed Marcus. Sure enough, where hadthe old Englishman gone? He had been there at first. 

"I called him down with everybody else, " cried Maria Macapa, "as soonas I saw in the paper that Miss Sieppe had won. We all came down to Mr. Schouler's room and waited for you to come home. I think he must havegone back to his room. I'll bet you'll find him sewing up his books. "

"No, no, " observed Miss Baker, "not at this hour. "

Evidently the timid old gentleman had taken advantage of the confusionto slip unobtrusively away. 

"I'll go bring him down, " shouted Marcus; "he's got to join us. "

Miss Baker was in great agitation. 

"I--I hardly think you'd better, " she murmured; "he--he--I don't thinkhe drinks beer. "

"He takes his amusement in sewin' up books, " cried Maria. 

Marcus brought him down, nevertheless, having found him just preparingfor bed. 

"I--I must apologize, " stammered Old Grannis, as he stood in thedoorway. "I had not quite expected--I--find--find myself a littleunprepared. " He was without collar and cravat, owing to MarcusSchouler's precipitate haste. He was annoyed beyond words that MissBaker saw him thus. Could anything be more embarrassing?

Old Grannis was introduced to Mrs. Sieppe and to Trina as Marcus'semployer. They shook hands solemnly. 

"I don't believe that he an' Miss Baker have ever been introduced, "cried Maria Macapa, shrilly, "an' they've been livin' side by side foryears. "

The two old people were speechless, avoiding each other's gaze. It hadcome at last; they were to know each other, to talk together, to toucheach other's hands. 

Marcus brought Old Grannis around the table to little Miss Baker, dragging him by the coat sleeve, exclaiming: "Well, I thought you twopeople knew each other long ago. Miss Baker, this is Mr. Grannis; Mr. Grannis, this is Miss Baker. " Neither spoke. Like two little childrenthey faced each other, awkward, constrained, tongue-tied withembarrassment. Then Miss Baker put out her hand shyly. Old Grannistouched it for an instant and let it fall. 

"Now you know each other, " cried Marcus, "and it's about time. " For thefirst time their eyes met; Old Grannis trembled a little, putting hishand uncertainly to his chin. Miss Baker flushed ever so slightly, butMaria Macapa passed suddenly between them, carrying a half empty beerbottle. The two old people fell back from one another, Miss Bakerresuming her seat. 

"Here's a place for you over here, Mr. Grannis, " cried Marcus, making room for him at his side. Old Grannis slipped into the chair, withdrawing at once from the company's notice. He stared fixedly athis plate and did not speak again. Old Miss Baker began to talk volublyacross the table to Mrs. Sieppe about hot-house flowers and medicatedflannels. 

It was in the midst of this little impromptu supper that the engagementof Trina and the dentist was announced. In a pause in the chatter ofconversation Mrs. Sieppe leaned forward and, speaking to the agent, said:

"Vell, you know also my daughter Trina get married bretty soon. She andder dentist, Doktor McTeague, eh, yes?"

There was a general exclamation. 

"I thought so all along, " cried Miss Baker, excitedly. "The first time Isaw them together I said, 'What a pair!'"

"Delightful!" exclaimed the agent, "to be married and win a snug littlefortune at the same time. "

"So--So, " murmured Old Grannis, nodding at his plate. 

"Good luck to you, " cried Maria. 

"He's lucky enough already, " growled Marcus under his breath, relapsingfor a moment into one of those strange moods of sullenness which hadmarked him throughout the evening. 

Trina flushed crimson, drawing shyly nearer her mother. McTeague grinnedfrom ear to ear, looking around from one to another, exclaiming "Huh!Huh!"

But the agent rose to his feet, a newly filled beer glass in his hand. He was a man of the world, this agent. He knew life. He was suave andeasy. A diamond was on his little finger. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he began. There was an instant silence. "Thisis indeed a happy occasion. I--I am glad to be here to-night; to be awitness to such good fortune; to partake in these--in this celebration. Why, I feel almost as glad as if I had held four three oughts twelvemyself; as if the five thousand were mine instead of belonging to ourcharming hostess. The good wishes of my humble self go out to MissSieppe in this moment of her good fortune, and I think--in fact, Iam sure I can speak for the great institution, the great company Irepresent. The company congratulates Miss Sieppe. We--they--ah--Theywish her every happiness her new fortune can procure her. It has been myduty, my--ah--cheerful duty to call upon the winners of large prizesand to offer the felicitation of the company. I have, in my experience, called upon many such; but never have I seen fortune so happily bestowedas in this case. The company have dowered the prospective bride. I amsure I but echo the sentiments of this assembly when I wish all joy andhappiness to this happy pair, happy in the possession of a snuglittle fortune, and happy--happy in--" he finished with a suddeninspiration--"in the possession of each other; I drink to the health, wealth, and happiness of the future bride and groom. Let us drinkstanding up. " They drank with enthusiasm. Marcus was carried away withthe excitement of the moment. 

"Outa sight, outa sight, " he vociferated, clapping his hands. "Very wellsaid. To the health of the bride. McTeague, McTeague, speech, speech!"

In an instant the whole table was clamoring for the dentist to speak. McTeague was terrified; he gripped the table with both hands, lookingwildly about him. 

"Speech, speech!" shouted Marcus, running around the table andendeavoring to drag McTeague up. 

"No--no--no, " muttered the other. "No speech. " The company rattled uponthe table with their beer glasses, insisting upon a speech. McTeaguesettled obstinately into his chair, very red in the face, shaking hishead energetically. 

"Ah, go on!" he exclaimed; "no speech. "

"Ah, get up and say somethun, anyhow, " persisted Marcus; "you ought todo it. It's the proper caper. "

McTeague heaved himself up; there was a burst of applause; he lookedslowly about him, then suddenly sat down again, shaking his headhopelessly. 

"Oh, go on, Mac, " cried Trina. 

"Get up, say somethun, anyhow, " cried Marcus, tugging at his arm; "youGOT to. "

Once more McTeague rose to his feet. 

"Huh!" he exclaimed, looking steadily at the table. Then he began:

"I don' know what to say--I--I--I ain't never made a speech before; I--Iain't never made a speech before. But I'm glad Trina's won the prize--"

"Yes, I'll bet you are, " muttered Marcus. 

"I--I--I'm glad Trina's won, and I--I want to--I want to--I wantto--want to say that--you're--all--welcome, an' drink hearty, an' I'mmuch obliged to the agent. Trina and I are goin' to be married, an'I'm glad everybody's here to-night, an' you're--all--welcome, an'drink hearty, an' I hope you'll come again, an' you're alwayswelcome--an'--I--an'--an'--That's--about--all--I--gotta say. " He satdown, wiping his forehead, amidst tremendous applause. 

Soon after that the company pushed back from the table and relaxed intocouples and groups. The men, with the exception of Old Grannis, beganto smoke, the smell of their tobacco mingling with the odors of ether, creosote, and stale bedding, which pervaded the "Parlors. " Soon thewindows had to be lowered from the top. Mrs. Sieppe and old Miss Bakersat together in the bay window exchanging confidences. Miss Baker hadturned back the overskirt of her dress; a plate of cake was in her lap;from time to time she sipped her wine with the delicacy of a white cat. The two women were much interested in each other. Miss Baker told Mrs. Sieppe all about Old Grannis, not forgetting the fiction of the titleand the unjust stepfather. 

"He's quite a personage really, " said Miss Baker. 

Mrs. Sieppe led the conversation around to her children. "Ach, Trina issudge a goote girl, " she said; "always gay, yes, und sing from morgento night. Und Owgooste, he is soh smart also, yes, eh? He has der geniusfor machines, always making somethun mit wheels und sbrings. "

"Ah, if--if--I had children, " murmured the little old maid a triflewistfully, "one would have been a sailor; he would have begun as amidshipman on my brother's ship; in time he would have been an officer. The other would have been a landscape gardener. "

"Oh, Mac!" exclaimed Trina, looking up into the dentist's face, "thinkof all this money coming to us just at this very moment. Isn't itwonderful? Don't it kind of scare you?"

"Wonderful, wonderful!" muttered McTeague, shaking his head. "Let's buya lot of tickets, " he added, struck with an idea. 

"Now, that's how you can always tell a good cigar, " observed the agentto Marcus as the two sat smoking at the end of the table. "The light endshould be rolled to a point. "

"Ah, the Chinese cigar-makers, " cried Marcus, in a passion, brandishinghis fist. "It's them as is ruining the cause of white labor. They are, they are for a FACT. Ah, the rat-eaters! Ah, the white-livered curs!"

Over in the corner, by the stand of shelves, Old Grannis was listeningto Maria Macapa. The Mexican woman had been violently stirred overTrina's sudden wealth; Maria's mind had gone back to her younger days. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, hereyes wide and fixed. Old Grannis listened to her attentively. 

"There wa'n't a piece that was so much as scratched, " Maria was saying. "Every piece was just like a mirror, smooth and bright; oh, bright as alittle sun. Such a service as that was--platters and soup tureens and animmense big punchbowl. Five thousand dollars, what does that amount to?Why, that punch-bowl alone was worth a fortune. "

"What a wonderful story!" exclaimed Old Grannis, never for an instantdoubting its truth. "And it's all lost now, you say?"

"Lost, lost, " repeated Maria. 

"Tut, tut! What a pity! What a pity!"

Suddenly the agent rose and broke out with:

"Well, I must be going, if I'm to get any car. "

He shook hands with everybody, offered a parting cigar to Marcus, congratulated McTeague and Trina a last time, and bowed himself out. 

"What an elegant gentleman, " commented Miss Baker. 

"Ah, " said Marcus, nodding his head, "there's a man of the world foryou. Right on to himself, by damn!"

The company broke up. 

"Come along, Mac, " cried Marcus; "we're to sleep with the dogs to-night, you know. "

The two friends said "Good-night" all around and departed for the littledog hospital. 

Old Grannis hurried to his room furtively, terrified lest he shouldagain be brought face to face with Miss Baker. He bolted himself in andlistened until he heard her foot in the hall and the soft closing ofher door. She was there close beside him; as one might say, in the sameroom; for he, too, had made the discovery as to the similarity of thewallpaper. At long intervals he could hear a faint rustling as she movedabout. What an evening that had been for him! He had met her, had spokento her, had touched her hand; he was in a tremor of excitement. In alike manner the little old dressmaker listened and quivered. HE wasthere in that same room which they shared in common, separated only bythe thinnest board partition. He was thinking of her, she was almostsure of it. They were strangers no longer; they were acquaintances, friends. What an event that evening had been in their lives!

Late as it was, Miss Baker brewed a cup of tea and sat down in herrocking chair close to the partition; she rocked gently, sipping hertea, calming herself after the emotions of that wonderful evening. 

Old Grannis heard the clinking of the tea things and smelt the faintodor of the tea. It seemed to him a signal, an invitation. He drew hischair close to his side of the partition, before his work-table. A pileof half-bound "Nations" was in the little binding apparatus; he threadedhis huge upholsterer's needle with stout twine and set to work. 

It was their tete-a-tete. Instinctively they felt each other's presence, felt each other's thought coming to them through the thin partition. It was charming; they were perfectly happy. There in the stillness thatsettled over the flat in the half hour after midnight the two old people"kept company, " enjoying after their fashion their little romance thathad come so late into the lives of each. 

On the way to her room in the garret Maria Macapa paused under thesingle gas-jet that burned at the top of the well of the staircase; sheassured herself that she was alone, and then drew from her pocket one ofMcTeague's "tapes" of non-cohesive gold. It was the most valuable stealshe had ever yet made in the dentist's "Parlors. " She told herself thatit was worth at least a couple of dollars. Suddenly an idea occurredto her, and she went hastily to a window at the end of the hall, and, shading her face with both hands, looked down into the little alley justback of the flat. On some nights Zerkow, the red-headed Polish Jew, satup late, taking account of the week's ragpicking. There was a dim lightin his window now. 

Maria went to her room, threw a shawl around her head, and descendedinto the little back yard of the flat by the back stairs. As she letherself out of the back gate into the alley, Alexander, Marcus's Irishsetter, woke suddenly with a gruff bark. The collie who lived on theother side of the fence, in the back yard of the branch post-office, answered with a snarl. Then in an instant the endless feud betweenthe two dogs was resumed. They dragged their respective kennels to thefence, and through the cracks raged at each other in a frenzy of hate;their teeth snapped and gleamed; the hackles on their backs rose andstiffened. Their hideous clamor could have been heard for blocks around. What a massacre should the two ever meet!

Meanwhile, Maria was knocking at Zerkow's miserable hovel. 

"Who is it? Who is it?" cried the rag-picker from within, in his hoarsevoice, that was half whisper, starting nervously, and sweeping a handfulof silver into his drawer. 

"It's me, Maria Macapa;" then in a lower voice, and as if speaking toherself, "had a flying squirrel an' let him go. "

"Ah, Maria, " cried Zerkow, obsequiously opening the door. "Come in, comein, my girl; you're always welcome, even as late as this. No junk, hey?But you're welcome for all that. You'll have a drink, won't you?" He ledher into his back room and got down the whiskey bottle and the brokenred tumbler. 

After the two had drunk together Maria produced the gold "tape. "Zerkow's eyes glittered on the instant. The sight of gold invariablysent a qualm all through him; try as he would, he could not repress it. His fingers trembled and clawed at his mouth; his breath grew short. 

"Ah, ah, ah!" he exclaimed, "give it here, give it here; give it to me, Maria. That's a good girl, come give it to me. "

They haggled as usual over the price, but to-night Maria was too excitedover other matters to spend much time in bickering over a few cents. 

"Look here, Zerkow, " she said as soon as the transfer was made, "I gotsomething to tell you. A little while ago I sold a lottery ticket to agirl at the flat; the drawing was in this evening's papers. How much doyou suppose that girl has won?"

"I don't know. How much? How much?"

"Five thousand dollars. "

It was as though a knife had been run through the Jew; a spasm of analmost physical pain twisted his face--his entire body. He raised hisclenched fists into the air, his eyes shut, his teeth gnawing his lip. 

"Five thousand dollars, " he whispered; "five thousand dollars. For what?For nothing, for simply buying a ticket; and I have worked so hard forit, so hard, so hard. Five thousand dollars, five thousand dollars. Oh, why couldn't it have come to me?" he cried, his voice choking, thetears starting to his eyes; "why couldn't it have come to me? To come soclose, so close, and yet to miss me--me who have worked for it, foughtfor it, starved for it, am dying for it every day. Think of it, Maria, five thousand dollars, all bright, heavy pieces----"

"Bright as a sunset, " interrupted Maria, her chin propped on her hands. "Such a glory, and heavy. Yes, every piece was heavy, and it was allyou could do to lift the punch-bowl. Why, that punch-bowl was worth afortune alone----"

"And it rang when you hit it with your knuckles, didn't it?" promptedZerkow, eagerly, his lips trembling, his fingers hooking themselves intoclaws. 

"Sweeter'n any church bell, " continued Maria. 

"Go on, go on, go on, " cried Zerkow, drawing his chair closer, andshutting his eyes in ecstasy. 

"There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of them gold----"

"Ah, every one of them gold. "

"You should have seen the sight when the leather trunk was opened. There wa'n't a piece that was so much as scratched; every one was likea mirror, smooth and bright, polished so that it looked black--you knowhow I mean. "

"Oh, I know, I know, " cried Zerkow, moistening his lips. 

Then he plied her with questions--questions that covered every detailof that service of plate. It was soft, wasn't it? You could bite into aplate and leave a dent? The handles of the knives, now, were they gold, too? All the knife was made from one piece of gold, was it? And theforks the same? The interior of the trunk was quilted, of course? DidMaria ever polish the plates herself? When the company ate off thisservice, it must have made a fine noise--these gold knives and forksclinking together upon these gold plates. 

"Now, let's have it all over again, Maria, " pleaded Zerkow. "Beginnow with 'There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of themgold. ' Go on, begin, begin, begin!"

The red-headed Pole was in a fever of excitement. Maria's recital hadbecome a veritable mania with him. As he listened, with closed eyes andtrembling lips, he fancied he could see that wonderful plate before him, there on the table, under his eyes, under his hand, ponderous, massive, gleaming. He tormented Maria into a second repetition of the story--intoa third. The more his mind dwelt upon it, the sharper grew his desire. Then, with Maria's refusal to continue the tale, came the reaction. Zerkow awoke as from some ravishing dream. The plate was gone, wasirretrievably lost. There was nothing in that miserable room but grimyrags and rust-corroded iron. What torment! what agony! to be so near--sonear, to see it in one's distorted fancy as plain as in a mirror. Toknow every individual piece as an old friend; to feel its weight; tobe dazzled by its glitter; to call it one's own, own; to have it tooneself, hugged to the breast; and then to start, to wake, to come downto the horrible reality. 

"And you, YOU had it once, " gasped Zerkow, clawing at her arm; "you hadit once, all your own. Think of it, and now it's gone. "

"Gone for good and all. "

"Perhaps it's buried near your old place somewhere. "

"It's gone--gone--gone, " chanted Maria in a monotone. 

Zerkow dug his nails into his scalp, tearing at his red hair. 

"Yes, yes, it's gone, it's gone--lost forever! Lost forever!"

Marcus and the dentist walked up the silent street and reached thelittle dog hospital. They had hardly spoken on the way. McTeague's brainwas in a whirl; speech failed him. He was busy thinking of the greatthing that had happened that night, and was trying to realize what itseffect would be upon his life--his life and Trina's. As soon as they hadfound themselves in the street, Marcus had relapsed at once to a sullensilence, which McTeague was too abstracted to notice. 

They entered the tiny office of the hospital with its red carpet, itsgas stove, and its colored prints of famous dogs hanging against thewalls. In one corner stood the iron bed which they were to occupy. 

"You go on an' get to bed, Mac, " observed Marcus. "I'll take a look atthe dogs before I turn in. "

He went outside and passed along into the yard, that was bounded onthree sides by pens where the dogs were kept. A bull terrier dying ofgastritis recognized him and began to whimper feebly. 

Marcus paid no attention to the dogs. For the first time that evening hewas alone and could give vent to his thoughts. He took a couple of turnsup and down the yard, then suddenly in a low voice exclaimed:

"You fool, you fool, Marcus Schouler! If you'd kept Trina you'd havehad that money. You might have had it yourself. You've thrown away yourchance in life--to give up the girl, yes--but this, " he stamped his footwith rage--"to throw five thousand dollars out of the window--to stuffit into the pockets of someone else, when it might have been yours, whenyou might have had Trina AND the money--and all for what? Because wewere pals. Oh, 'pals' is all right--but five thousand dollars--to haveplayed it right into his hands--God DAMN the luck!"

CHAPTER 8

The next two months were delightful. Trina and McTeague saw each otherregularly, three times a week. The dentist went over to B Street Sundayand Wednesday afternoons as usual; but on Fridays it was Trina who cameto the city. She spent the morning between nine and twelve o'clock downtown, for the most part in the cheap department stores, doing the weeklyshopping for herself and the family. At noon she took an uptown car andmet McTeague at the corner of Polk Street. The two lunched together ata small uptown hotel just around the corner on Sutter Street. Theywere given a little room to themselves. Nothing could have been moredelicious. They had but to close the sliding door to shut themselves offfrom the whole world. 

Trina would arrive breathless from her raids upon the bargain counters, her pale cheeks flushed, her hair blown about her face and into thecorners of her lips, her mother's net reticule stuffed to bursting. Oncein their tiny private room, she would drop into her chair with a littlegroan. 

"Oh, MAC, I am so tired; I've just been all OVER town. Oh, it's good tosit down. Just think, I had to stand up in the car all the way, afterbeing on my feet the whole blessed morning. Look here what I've bought. Just things and things. Look, there's some dotted veiling I got formyself; see now, do you think it looks pretty?"--she spread it over herface--"and I got a box of writing paper, and a roll of crepe paper tomake a lamp shade for the front parlor; and--what do you suppose--Isaw a pair of Nottingham lace curtains for FORTY-NINE CENTS; isn't thatcheap? and some chenille portieres for two and a half. Now what haveYOU been doing since I last saw you? Did Mr. Heise finally get up enoughcourage to have his tooth pulled yet?" Trina took off her hat and veiland rearranged her hair before the looking-glass. 

"No, no--not yet. I went down to the sign painter's yesterday afternoonto see about that big gold tooth for a sign. It costs too much; I can'tget it yet a while. There's two kinds, one German gilt and the otherFrench gilt; but the German gilt is no good. "

McTeague sighed, and wagged his head. Even Trina and the five thousanddollars could not make him forget this one unsatisfied longing. 

At other times they would talk at length over their plans, while Trinasipped her chocolate and McTeague devoured huge chunks of butterlessbread. They were to be married at the end of May, and the dentistalready had his eye on a couple of rooms, part of the suite of abankrupt photographer. They were situated in the flat, just back of his"Parlors, " and he believed the photographer would sublet them furnished. 

McTeague and Trina had no apprehensions as to their finances. They couldbe sure, in fact, of a tidy little income. The dentist's practice wasfairly good, and they could count upon the interest of Trina's fivethousand dollars. To McTeague's mind this interest seemed woefullysmall. He had had uncertain ideas about that five thousand dollars; hadimagined that they would spend it in some lavish fashion; would buya house, perhaps, or would furnish their new rooms with overwhelmingluxury--luxury that implied red velvet carpets and continued feasting. The oldtime miner's idea of wealth easily gained and quickly spentpersisted in his mind. But when Trina had begun to talk of investmentsand interests and per cents, he was troubled and not a littledisappointed. The lump sum of five thousand dollars was one thing, amiserable little twenty or twenty-five a month was quite another; andthen someone else had the money. 

"But don't you see, Mac, " explained Trina, "it's ours just the same. Wecould get it back whenever we wanted it; and then it's the reasonableway to do. We mustn't let it turn our heads, Mac, dear, like that manthat spent all he won in buying more tickets. How foolish we'd feelafter we'd spent it all! We ought to go on just the same as before; asif we hadn't won. We must be sensible about it, mustn't we?"

"Well, well, I guess perhaps that's right, " the dentist would answer, looking slowly about on the floor. 

Just what should ultimately be done with the money was the subject ofendless discussion in the Sieppe family. The savings bank would allowonly three per cent. , but Trina's parents believed that something bettercould be got. 

"There's Uncle Oelbermann, " Trina had suggested, remembering the richrelative who had the wholesale toy store in the Mission. 

Mr. Sieppe struck his hand to his forehead. "Ah, an idea, " he cried. In the end an agreement was made. The money was invested in Mr. Oelbermann's business. He gave Trina six per cent. 

Invested in this fashion, Trina's winning would bring in twenty-fivedollars a month. But, besides this, Trina had her own little trade. Shemade Noah's ark animals for Uncle Oelbermann's store. Trina's ancestorson both sides were German-Swiss, and some long-forgotten forefather ofthe sixteenth century, some worsted-leggined wood-carver of the Tyrol, had handed down the talent of the national industry, to reappear in thisstrangely distorted guise. 

She made Noah's ark animals, whittling them out of a block of soft woodwith a sharp jack-knife, the only instrument she used. Trina was veryproud to explain her work to McTeague as he had already explained hisown to her. 

"You see, I take a block of straight-grained pine and cut out the shape, roughly at first, with the big blade; then I go over it a second timewith the little blade, more carefully; then I put in the ears and tailwith a drop of glue, and paint it with a 'non-poisonous' paint--Vandykebrown for the horses, foxes, and cows; slate gray for the elephants andcamels; burnt umber for the chickens, zebras, and so on; then, last, adot of Chinese white for the eyes, and there you are, all finished. Theysell for nine cents a dozen. Only I can't make the manikins. "

"The manikins?"

"The little figures, you know--Noah and his wife, and Shem, and all theothers. "

It was true. Trina could not whittle them fast enough and cheap enoughto compete with the turning lathe, that could throw off whole tribesand peoples of manikins while she was fashioning one family. Everythingelse, however, she made--the ark itself, all windows and no door; thebox in which the whole was packed; even down to pasting on the label, which read, "Made in France. " She earned from three to four dollars aweek. 

The income from these three sources, McTeague's profession, the interestof the five thousand dollars, and Trina's whittling, made a respectablelittle sum taken altogether. Trina declared they could even lay bysomething, adding to the five thousand dollars little by little. 

It soon became apparent that Trina would be an extraordinarily goodhousekeeper. Economy was her strong point. A good deal of peasant bloodstill ran undiluted in her veins, and she had all the instinct of ahardy and penurious mountain race--the instinct which saves without anythought, without idea of consequence--saving for the sake of saving, hoarding without knowing why. Even McTeague did not know how closelyTrina held to her new-found wealth. 

But they did not always pass their luncheon hour in this discussionof incomes and economies. As the dentist came to know his little womanbetter she grew to be more and more of a puzzle and a joy to him. Shewould suddenly interrupt a grave discourse upon the rents of rooms andthe cost of light and fuel with a brusque outburst of affection thatset him all a-tremble with delight. All at once she would set down herchocolate, and, leaning across the narrow table, would exclaim:

"Never mind all that! Oh, Mac, do you truly, really love me--love meBIG?"

McTeague would stammer something, gasping, and wagging his head, besidehimself for the lack of words. 

"Old bear, " Trina would answer, grasping him by both huge ears andswaying his head from side to side. "Kiss me, then. Tell me, Mac, didyou think any less of me that first time I let you kiss me there in thestation? Oh, Mac, dear, what a funny nose you've got, all full of hairsinside; and, Mac, do you know you've got a bald spot--" she dragged hishead down towards her--"right on the top of your head. " Then she wouldseriously kiss the bald spot in question, declaring:

"That'll make the hair grow. "

Trina took an infinite enjoyment in playing with McTeague's greatsquare-cut head, rumpling his hair till it stood on end, putting herfingers in his eyes, or stretching his ears out straight, and watchingthe effect with her head on one side. It was like a little child playingwith some gigantic, good-natured Saint Bernard. 

One particular amusement they never wearied of. The two would leanacross the table towards each other, McTeague folding his arms under hisbreast. Then Trina, resting on her elbows, would part his mustache-thegreat blond mustache of a viking--with her two hands, pushing it up fromhis lips, causing his face to assume the appearance of a Greek mask. Shewould curl it around either forefinger, drawing it to a fine end. Thenall at once McTeague would make a fearful snorting noise through hisnose. Invariably--though she was expecting this, though it was part ofthe game--Trina would jump with a stifled shriek. McTeague would bellowwith laughter till his eyes watered. Then they would recommence upon theinstant, Trina protesting with a nervous tremulousness:

"Now--now--now, Mac, DON'T; you SCARE me so. "

But these delicious tete-a-tetes with Trina were offset by a certaincoolness that Marcus Schouler began to affect towards the dentist. Atfirst McTeague was unaware of it; but by this time even his slow witsbegan to perceive that his best friend--his "pal"--was not the same tohim as formerly. They continued to meet at lunch nearly every day butFriday at the car conductors' coffee-joint. But Marcus was sulky; therecould be no doubt about that. He avoided talking to McTeague, read thepaper continually, answering the dentist's timid efforts at conversationin gruff monosyllables. Sometimes, even, he turned sideways to the tableand talked at great length to Heise the harness-maker, whose table wasnext to theirs. They took no more long walks together when Marcuswent out to exercise the dogs. Nor did Marcus ever again recur to hisgenerosity in renouncing Trina. 

One Tuesday, as McTeague took his place at the table in thecoffee-joint, he found Marcus already there. 

"Hello, Mark, " said the dentist, "you here already?"

"Hello, " returned the other, indifferently, helping himself to tomatocatsup. There was a silence. After a long while Marcus suddenly lookedup. 

"Say, Mac, " he exclaimed, "when you going to pay me that money you oweme?"

McTeague was astonished. 

"Huh? What? I don't--do I owe you any money, Mark?"

"Well, you owe me four bits, " returned Marcus, doggedly. "I paid for youand Trina that day at the picnic, and you never gave it back. "

"Oh--oh!" answered McTeague, in distress. "That's so, that's so. I--youought to have told me before. Here's your money, and I'm obliged toyou. "

"It ain't much, " observed Marcus, sullenly. "But I need all I can getnow-a-days. "

"Are you--are you broke?" inquired McTeague. 

"And I ain't saying anything about your sleeping at the hospital thatnight, either, " muttered Marcus, as he pocketed the coin. 

"Well--well--do you mean--should I have paid for that?"

"Well, you'd 'a' had to sleep SOMEWHERES, wouldn't you?" flashed outMarcus. "You 'a' had to pay half a dollar for a bed at the flat. "

"All right, all right, " cried the dentist, hastily, feeling in hispockets. "I don't want you should be out anything on my account, oldman. Here, will four bits do?"

"I don't WANT your damn money, " shouted Marcus in a sudden rage, throwing back the coin. "I ain't no beggar. "

McTeague was miserable. How had he offended his pal?

"Well, I want you should take it, Mark, " he said, pushing it towardshim. 

"I tell you I won't touch your money, " exclaimed the other through hisclenched teeth, white with passion. "I've been played for a sucker longenough. "

"What's the matter with you lately, Mark?" remonstrated McTeague. "You've got a grouch about something. Is there anything I've done?"

"Well, that's all right, that's all right, " returned Marcus as he rosefrom the table. "That's all right. I've been played for a sucker longenough, that's all. I've been played for a sucker long enough. " He wentaway with a parting malevolent glance. 

At the corner of Polk Street, between the flat and the car conductors'coffee-joint, was Frenna's. It was a corner grocery; advertisements forcheap butter and eggs, painted in green marking-ink upon wrapping paper, stood about on the sidewalk outside. The doorway was decorated with ahuge Milwaukee beer sign. Back of the store proper was a bar where whitesand covered the floor. A few tables and chairs were scattered hereand there. The walls were hung with gorgeously-colored tobaccoadvertisements and colored lithographs of trotting horses. On the wallbehind the bar was a model of a full-rigged ship enclosed in a bottle. 

It was at this place that the dentist used to leave his pitcher tobe filled on Sunday afternoons. Since his engagement to Trina he haddiscontinued this habit. However, he still dropped into Frenna's one ortwo nights in the week. He spent a pleasant hour there, smoking his hugeporcelain pipe and drinking his beer. He never joined any of the groupsof piquet players around the tables. In fact, he hardly spoke to anyonebut the bartender and Marcus. 

For Frenna's was one of Marcus Schouler's haunts; a great deal of histime was spent there. He involved himself in fearful political andsocial discussions with Heise the harness-maker, and with one or two oldGerman, habitues of the place. These discussions Marcus carried on, aswas his custom, at the top of his voice, gesticulating fiercely, bangingthe table with his fists, brandishing the plates and glasses, excitinghimself with his own clamor. 

On a certain Saturday evening, a few days after the scene at thecoffee-joint, the dentist bethought him to spend a quiet evening atFrenna's. He had not been there for some time, and, besides that, itoccurred to him that the day was his birthday. He would permit himselfan extra pipe and a few glasses of beer. When McTeague entered Frenna'sback room by the street door, he found Marcus and Heise alreadyinstalled at one of the tables. Two or three of the old Germans satopposite them, gulping their beer from time to time. Heise was smokinga cigar, but Marcus had before him his fourth whiskey cocktail. At themoment of McTeague's entrance Marcus had the floor. 

"It can't be proven, " he was yelling. "I defy any sane politician whoseeyes are not blinded by party prejudices, whose opinions are not warpedby a personal bias, to substantiate such a statement. Look at yourfacts, look at your figures. I am a free American citizen, ain't I?I pay my taxes to support a good government, don't I? It's a contractbetween me and the government, ain't it? Well, then, by damn! if theauthorities do not or will not afford me protection for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, then my obligations are at an end; Iwithhold my taxes. I do--I do--I say I do. What?" He glared about him, seeking opposition. 

"That's nonsense, " observed Heise, quietly. "Try it once; you'll getjugged. " But this observation of the harness-maker's roused Marcus tothe last pitch of frenzy. 

"Yes, ah, yes!" he shouted, rising to his feet, shaking his finger inthe other's face. "Yes, I'd go to jail; but because I--I am crushed by atyranny, does that make the tyranny right? Does might make right?"

"You must make less noise in here, Mister Schouler, " said Frenna, frombehind the bar. 

"Well, it makes me mad, " answered Marcus, subsiding into a growl andresuming his chair. "Hullo, Mac. "

"Hullo, Mark. "

But McTeague's presence made Marcus uneasy, rousing in him at once asense of wrong. He twisted to and fro in his chair, shrugging first oneshoulder and then another. Quarrelsome at all times, the heat ofthe previous discussion had awakened within him all his naturalcombativeness. Besides this, he was drinking his fourth cocktail. 

McTeague began filling his big porcelain pipe. He lit it, blew a greatcloud of smoke into the room, and settled himself comfortably in hischair. The smoke of his cheap tobacco drifted into the faces ofthe group at the adjoining table, and Marcus strangled and coughed. Instantly his eyes flamed. 

"Say, for God's sake, " he vociferated, "choke off on that pipe! Ifyou've got to smoke rope like that, smoke it in a crowd of muckers;don't come here amongst gentlemen. "

"Shut up, Schouler!" observed Heise in a low voice. 

McTeague was stunned by the suddenness of the attack. He took his pipefrom his mouth, and stared blankly at Marcus; his lips moved, but hesaid no word. Marcus turned his back on him, and the dentist resumed hispipe. 

But Marcus was far from being appeased. McTeague could not hear the talkthat followed between him and the harnessmaker, but it seemed to himthat Marcus was telling Heise of some injury, some grievance, and thatthe latter was trying to pacify him. All at once their talk grew louder. Heise laid a retaining hand upon his companion's coat sleeve, but Marcusswung himself around in his chair, and, fixing his eyes on McTeague, cried as if in answer to some protestation on the part of Heise:

"All I know is that I've been soldiered out of five thousand dollars. "

McTeague gaped at him, bewildered. He removed his pipe from his moutha second time, and stared at Marcus with eyes full of trouble andperplexity. 

"If I had my rights, " cried Marcus, bitterly, "I'd have part of thatmoney. It's my due--it's only justice. " The dentist still kept silence. 

"If it hadn't been for me, " Marcus continued, addressing himselfdirectly to McTeague, "you wouldn't have had a cent of it--no, not acent. Where's my share, I'd like to know? Where do I come in? No, Iain't in it any more. I've been played for a sucker, an' now that you'vegot all you can out of me, now that you've done me out of my girl andout of my money, you give me the go-by. Why, where would you havebeen TO-DAY if it hadn't been for me?" Marcus shouted in a suddenexasperation, "You'd a been plugging teeth at two bits an hour. Ain'tyou got any gratitude? Ain't you got any sense of decency?"

"Ah, hold up, Schouler, " grumbled Heise. "You don't want to get into arow. "

"No, I don't, Heise, " returned Marcus, with a plaintive, aggrieved air. "But it's too much sometimes when you think of it. He stole away mygirl's affections, and now that he's rich and prosperous, and has gotfive thousand dollars that I might have had, he gives me the go-by; he'splayed me for a sucker. Look here, " he cried, turning again to McTeague, "do I get any of that money?"

"It ain't mine to give, " answered McTeague. "You're drunk, that's whatyou are. "

"Do I get any of that money?" cried Marcus, persistently. 

The dentist shook his head. "No, you don't get any of it. "

"Now--NOW, " clamored the other, turning to the harnessmaker, as thoughthis explained everything. "Look at that, look at that. Well, I've donewith you from now on. " Marcus had risen to his feet by this time andmade as if to leave, but at every instant he came back, shouting hisphrases into McTeague's face, moving off again as he spoke the lastwords, in order to give them better effect. 

"This settles it right here. I've done with you. Don't you ever darespeak to me again"--his voice was shaking with fury--"and don't you sitat my table in the restaurant again. I'm sorry I ever lowered myselfto keep company with such dirt. Ah, one-horse dentist! Ah, ten-centzinc-plugger--hoodlum--MUCKER! Get your damn smoke outa my face. "

Then matters reached a sudden climax. In his agitation the dentist hadbeen pulling hard on his pipe, and as Marcus for the last time thrusthis face close to his own, McTeague, in opening his lips to reply, blew a stifling, acrid cloud directly in Marcus Schouler's eyes. Marcusknocked the pipe from his fingers with a sudden flash of his hand; itspun across the room and broke into a dozen fragments in a far corner. 

McTeague rose to his feet, his eyes wide. But as yet he was not angry, only surprised, taken all aback by the suddenness of Marcus Schouler'soutbreak as well as by its unreasonableness. Why had Marcus broken hispipe? What did it all mean, anyway? As he rose the dentist made a vaguemotion with his right hand. Did Marcus misinterpret it as a gesture ofmenace? He sprang back as though avoiding a blow. All at once there wasa cry. Marcus had made a quick, peculiar motion, swinging his arm upwardwith a wide and sweeping gesture; his jack-knife lay open in his palm;it shot forward as he flung it, glinted sharply by McTeague's head, andstruck quivering into the wall behind. 

A sudden chill ran through the room; the others stood transfixed, as atthe swift passage of some cold and deadly wind. Death had stooped therefor an instant, had stooped and past, leaving a trail of terror andconfusion. Then the door leading to the street slammed; Marcus haddisappeared. 

Thereon a great babel of exclamation arose. The tension of that all butfatal instant snapped, and speech became once more possible. 

"He would have knifed you. "

"Narrow escape. "

"What kind of a man do you call THAT?"

"'Tain't his fault he ain't a murderer. "

"I'd have him up for it. "

"And they two have been the greatest kind of friends. "

"He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No--no--no. "

"What a--what a devil! What treachery! A regular greaser trick!"

"Look out he don't stab you in the back. If that's the kind of man heis, you never can tell. "

Frenna drew the knife from the wall. 

"Guess I'll keep this toad-stabber, " he observed. "That fellow won'tcome round for it in a hurry; goodsized blade, too. " The group examinedit with intense interest. 

"Big enough to let the life out of any man, " observed Heise. 

"What--what--what did he do it for?" stammered McTeague. "I got noquarrel with him. "

He was puzzled and harassed by the strangeness of it all. Marcus wouldhave killed him; had thrown his knife at him in the true, uncanny"greaser" style. It was inexplicable. McTeague sat down again, lookingstupidly about on the floor. In a corner of the room his eye encounteredhis broken pipe, a dozen little fragments of painted porcelain and thestem of cherry wood and amber. 

At that sight his tardy wrath, ever lagging behind the original affront, suddenly blazed up. Instantly his huge jaws clicked together. 

"He can't make small of ME, " he exclaimed, suddenly. "I'll show MarcusSchouler--I'll show him--I'll----"

He got up and clapped on his hat. 

"Now, Doctor, " remonstrated Heise, standing between him and the door, "don't go make a fool of yourself. "

"Let 'um alone, " joined in Frenna, catching the dentist by the arm;"he's full, anyhow. "

"He broke my pipe, " answered McTeague. 

It was this that had roused him. The thrown knife, the attempt onhis life, was beyond his solution; but the breaking of his pipe heunderstood clearly enough. 

"I'll show him, " he exclaimed. 

As though they had been little children, McTeague set Frenna and theharness-maker aside, and strode out at the door like a raging elephant. Heise stood rubbing his shoulder. 

"Might as well try to stop a locomotive, " he muttered. "The man's madeof iron. "

Meanwhile, McTeague went storming up the street toward the flat, wagginghis head and grumbling to himself. Ah, Marcus would break his pipe, would he? Ah, he was a zinc-plugger, was he? He'd show Marcus Schouler. No one should make small of him. He tramped up the stairs to Marcus'sroom. The door was locked. The dentist put one enormous hand on the knoband pushed the door in, snapping the wood-work, tearing off the lock. Nobody--the room was dark and empty. Never mind, Marcus would have tocome home some time that night. McTeague would go down and wait for himin his "Parlors. " He was bound to hear him as he came up the stairs. 

As McTeague reached his room he stumbled over, in the darkness, a bigpacking-box that stood in the hallway just outside his door. Puzzled, hestepped over it, and lighting the gas in his room, dragged it inside andexamined it. 

It was addressed to him. What could it mean? He was expecting nothing. Never since he had first furnished his room had packing-cases been leftfor him in this fashion. No mistake was possible. There were his nameand address unmistakably. "Dr. McTeague, dentist--Polk Street, SanFrancisco, Cal. , " and the red Wells Fargo tag. 

Seized with the joyful curiosity of an overgrown boy, he pried off theboards with the corner of his fireshovel. The case was stuffed fullof excelsior. On the top lay an envelope addressed to him in Trina'shandwriting. He opened it and read, "For my dear Mac's birthday, fromTrina;" and below, in a kind of post-script, "The man will be roundto-morrow to put it in place. " McTeague tore away the excelsior. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation. 

It was the Tooth--the famous golden molar with its huge prongs--hissign, his ambition, the one unrealized dream of his life; and it wasFrench gilt, too, not the cheap German gilt that was no good. Ah, whata dear little woman was this Trina, to keep so quiet, to remember hisbirthday!

"Ain't she--ain't she just a--just a JEWEL, " exclaimed McTeague underhis breath, "a JEWEL--yes, just a JEWEL; that's the word. "

Very carefully he removed the rest of the excelsior, and lifting theponderous Tooth from its box, set it upon the marble-top centre table. How immense it looked in that little room! The thing was tremendous, overpowering--the tooth of a gigantic fossil, golden and dazzling. Beside it everything seemed dwarfed. Even McTeague himself, big bonedand enormous as he was, shrank and dwindled in the presence of themonster. As for an instant he bore it in his hands, it was like a punyGulliver struggling with the molar of some vast Brobdingnag. 

The dentist circled about that golden wonder, gasping with delightand stupefaction, touching it gingerly with his hands as if it weresomething sacred. At every moment his thought returned to Trina. No, never was there such a little woman as his--the very thing hewanted--how had she remembered? And the money, where had that come from?No one knew better than he how expensive were these signs; not anotherdentist on Polk Street could afford one. Where, then, had Trina foundthe money? It came out of her five thousand dollars, no doubt. 

But what a wonderful, beautiful tooth it was, to be sure, bright as amirror, shining there in its coat of French gilt, as if with a light ofits own! No danger of that tooth turning black with the weather, as didthe cheap German gilt impostures. What would that other dentist, thatposer, that rider of bicycles, that courser of greyhounds, say when heshould see this marvellous molar run out from McTeague's bay window likea flag of defiance? No doubt he would suffer veritable convulsions ofenvy; would be positively sick with jealousy. If McTeague could only seehis face at the moment!

For a whole hour the dentist sat there in his little "Parlor, " gazingecstatically at his treasure, dazzled, supremely content. The whole roomtook on a different aspect because of it. The stone pug dog before thelittle stove reflected it in his protruding eyes; the canary woke andchittered feebly at this new gilt, so much brighter than the bars of itslittle prison. Lorenzo de' Medici, in the steel engraving, sitting inthe heart of his court, seemed to ogle the thing out of the corner ofone eye, while the brilliant colors of the unused rifle manufacturer'scalendar seemed to fade and pale in the brilliance of this greaterglory. 

At length, long after midnight, the dentist started to go to bed, undressing himself with his eyes still fixed on the great tooth. All atonce he heard Marcus Schouler's foot on the stairs; he started up withhis fists clenched, but immediately dropped back upon the bed-loungewith a gesture of indifference. 

He was in no truculent state of mind now. He could not reinstate himselfin that mood of wrath wherein he had left the corner grocery. The toothhad changed all that. What was Marcus Schouler's hatred to him, who hadTrina's affection? What did he care about a broken pipe now that he hadthe tooth? Let him go. As Frenna said, he was not worth it. He heardMarcus come out into the hall, shouting aggrievedly to anyone withinsound of his voice:

"An' now he breaks into my room--into my room, by damn! How do I knowhow many things he's stolen? It's come to stealing from me, now, hasit?" He went into his room, banging his splintered door. 

McTeague looked upward at the ceiling, in the direction of the voice, muttering:

"Ah, go to bed, you. "

He went to bed himself, turning out the gas, but leaving thewindow-curtains up so that he could see the tooth the last thing beforehe went to sleep and the first thing as he arose in the morning. 

But he was restless during the night. Every now and then he was awakenedby noises to which he had long since become accustomed. Now it was thecackling of the geese in the deserted market across the street; now itwas the stoppage of the cable, the sudden silence coming almost likea shock; and now it was the infuriated barking of the dogs in the backyard--Alec, the Irish setter, and the collie that belonged to the branchpost-office raging at each other through the fence, snarling theirendless hatred into each other's faces. As often as he woke, McTeagueturned and looked for the tooth, with a sudden suspicion that hehad only that moment dreamed the whole business. But he always foundit--Trina's gift, his birthday from his little woman--a huge, vaguebulk, looming there through the half darkness in the centre of the room, shining dimly out as if with some mysterious light of its own. 

CHAPTER 9

Trina and McTeague were married on the first day of June, in thephotographer's rooms that the dentist had rented. All through May theSieppe household had been turned upside down. The little box of ahouse vibrated with excitement and confusion, for not only were thepreparations for Trina's marriage to be made, but also the preliminarieswere to be arranged for the hegira of the entire Sieppe family. 

They were to move to the southern part of the State the day afterTrina's marriage, Mr. Sieppe having bought a third interest in anupholstering business in the suburbs of Los Angeles. It was possiblethat Marcus Schouler would go with them. 

Not Stanley penetrating for the first time into the Dark Continent, not Napoleon leading his army across the Alps, was more weighted withresponsibility, more burdened with care, more overcome with the senseof the importance of his undertaking, than was Mr. Sieppe during thisperiod of preparation. From dawn to dark, from dark to early dawn, hetoiled and planned and fretted, organizing and reorganizing, projectingand devising. The trunks were lettered, A, B, and C, the packages andsmaller bundles numbered. Each member of the family had his especialduty to perform, his particular bundles to oversee. Not a detail wasforgotten--fares, prices, and tips were calculated to two places ofdecimals. Even the amount of food that it would be necessary to carryfor the black greyhound was determined. Mrs. Sieppe was to look afterthe lunch, "der gomisariat. " Mr. Sieppe would assume charge of thechecks, the money, the tickets, and, of course, general supervision. Thetwins would be under the command of Owgooste, who, in turn, would reportfor orders to his father. 

Day in and day out these minutiae were rehearsed. The children weredrilled in their parts with a military exactitude; obedience andpunctuality became cardinal virtues. The vast importance of theundertaking was insisted upon with scrupulous iteration. It was amanoeuvre, an army changing its base of operations, a veritable tribalmigration. 

On the other hand, Trina's little room was the centre around whichrevolved another and different order of things. The dressmaker cameand went, congratulatory visitors invaded the little front parlor, the chatter of unfamiliar voices resounded from the front steps;bonnet-boxes and yards of dress-goods littered the beds and chairs;wrapping paper, tissue paper, and bits of string strewed the floor;a pair of white satin slippers stood on a corner of the toilet table;lengths of white veiling, like a snow-flurry, buried the littlework-table; and a mislaid box of artificial orange blossoms was finallydiscovered behind the bureau. 

The two systems of operation often clashed and tangled. Mrs. Sieppe wasfound by her harassed husband helping Trina with the waist of her gownwhen she should have been slicing cold chicken in the kitchen. Mr. Sieppe packed his frock coat, which he would have to wear at thewedding, at the very bottom of "Trunk C. " The minister, who called tooffer his congratulations and to make arrangements, was mistaken for theexpressman. 

McTeague came and went furtively, dizzied and made uneasy by all thisbustle. He got in the way; he trod upon and tore breadths of silk; hetried to help carry the packing-boxes, and broke the hall gas fixture;he came in upon Trina and the dress-maker at an ill-timed moment, andretiring precipitately, overturned the piles of pictures stacked in thehall. 

There was an incessant going and coming at every moment of the day, a great calling up and down stairs, a shouting from room to room, anopening and shutting of doors, and an intermittent sound of hammeringfrom the laundry, where Mr. Sieppe in his shirt sleeves labored amongthe packing-boxes. The twins clattered about on the carpetless floors ofthe denuded rooms. Owgooste was smacked from hour to hour, and wept uponthe front stairs; the dressmaker called over the banisters for a hotflatiron; expressmen tramped up and down the stairway. Mrs. Sieppestopped in the preparation of the lunches to call "Hoop, Hoop" to thegreyhound, throwing lumps of coal. The dog-wheel creaked, the front doorbell rang, delivery wagons rumbled away, windows rattled--the littlehouse was in a positive uproar. 

Almost every day of the week now Trina was obliged to run over to townand meet McTeague. No more philandering over their lunch now-a-days. Itwas business now. They haunted the house-furnishing floors of the greatdepartment houses, inspecting and pricing ranges, hardware, china, and the like. They rented the photographer's rooms furnished, andfortunately only the kitchen and dining-room utensils had to be bought. 

The money for this as well as for her trousseau came out of Trina'sfive thousand dollars. For it had been finally decided that two hundreddollars of this amount should be devoted to the establishment of thenew household. Now that Trina had made her great winning, Mr. Sieppeno longer saw the necessity of dowering her further, especially when heconsidered the enormous expense to which he would be put by the voyageof his own family. 

It had been a dreadful wrench for Trina to break in upon her preciousfive thousand. She clung to this sum with a tenacity thatwas surprising; it had become for her a thing miraculous, agod-from-the-machine, suddenly descending upon the stage of her humblelittle life; she regarded it as something almost sacred and inviolable. Never, never should a penny of it be spent. Before she could be inducedto part with two hundred dollars of it, more than one scene had beenenacted between her and her parents. 

Did Trina pay for the golden tooth out of this two hundred? Later on, the dentist often asked her about it, but Trina invariably laughed inhis face, declaring that it was her secret. McTeague never found out. 

One day during this period McTeague told Trina about his affair withMarcus. Instantly she was aroused. 

"He threw his knife at you! The coward! He wouldn't of dared stand up toyou like a man. Oh, Mac, suppose he HAD hit you?"

"Came within an inch of my head, " put in McTeague, proudly. 

"Think of it!" she gasped; "and he wanted part of my money. Well, I dolike his cheek; part of my five thousand! Why, it's mine, every singlepenny of it. Marcus hasn't the least bit of right to it. It's mine, mine. --I mean, it's ours, Mac, dear. "

The elder Sieppes, however, made excuses for Marcus. He had probablybeen drinking a good deal and didn't know what he was about. He had adreadful temper, anyhow. Maybe he only wanted to scare McTeague. 

The week before the marriage the two men were reconciled. Mrs. Sieppebrought them together in the front parlor of the B Street house. 

"Now, you two fellers, don't be dot foolish. Schake hands und maig utoop, soh. "

Marcus muttered an apology. McTeague, miserably embarrassed, rolledhis eyes about the room, murmuring, "That's all right--that's allright--that's all right. "

However, when it was proposed that Marcus should be McTeague's best man, he flashed out again with renewed violence. Ah, no! ah, NO! He'd make upwith the dentist now that he was going away, but he'd be damned--yes, hewould--before he'd be his best man. That was rubbing it in. Let him getOld Grannis. 

"I'm friends with um all right, " vociferated Marcus, "but I'll not standup with um. I'll not be ANYBODY'S best man, I won't. "

The wedding was to be very quiet; Trina preferred it that way. McTeaguewould invite only Miss Baker and Heise the harness-maker. The Sieppessent cards to Selina, who was counted on to furnish the music; toMarcus, of course; and to Uncle Oelbermann. 

At last the great day, the first of June, arrived. The Sieppes hadpacked their last box and had strapped the last trunk. Trina'stwo trunks had already been sent to her new home--the remodelledphotographer's rooms. The B Street house was deserted; the whole familycame over to the city on the last day of May and stopped over night atone of the cheap downtown hotels. Trina would be married the followingevening, and immediately after the wedding supper the Sieppes wouldleave for the South. 

McTeague spent the day in a fever of agitation, frightened out of hiswits each time that Old Grannis left his elbow. 

Old Grannis was delighted beyond measure at the prospect of acting thepart of best man in the ceremony. This wedding in which he was to figurefilled his mind with vague ideas and half-formed thoughts. He foundhimself continually wondering what Miss Baker would think of it. Duringall that day he was in a reflective mood. 

"Marriage is a--a noble institution, is it not, Doctor?" he observedto McTeague. "The--the foundation of society. It is not good that manshould be alone. No, no, " he added, pensively, "it is not good. "

"Huh? Yes, yes, " McTeague answered, his eyes in the air, hardly hearinghim. "Do you think the rooms are all right? Let's go in and look at themagain. "

They went down the hall to where the new rooms were situated, and thedentist inspected them for the twentieth time. 

The rooms were three in number--first, the sitting-room, which was alsothe dining-room; then the bedroom, and back of this the tiny kitchen. 

The sitting-room was particularly charming. Clean matting covered thefloor, and two or three bright colored rugs were scattered here andthere. The backs of the chairs were hung with knitted worsted tidies, very gay. The bay window should have been occupied by Trina's sewingmachine, but this had been moved to the other side of the room to giveplace to a little black walnut table with spiral legs, before whichthe pair were to be married. In one corner stood the parlor melodeon, afamily possession of the Sieppes, but given now to Trina as one of herparents' wedding presents. Three pictures hung upon the walls. Two werecompanion pieces. One of these represented a little boy wearing hugespectacles and trying to smoke an enormous pipe. This was called "I'mGrandpa, " the title being printed in large black letters; the companionpicture was entitled "I'm Grandma, " a little girl in cap and "specs, "wearing mitts, and knitting. These pictures were hung on either side ofthe mantelpiece. The other picture was quite an affair, very large andstriking. It was a colored lithograph of two little golden-haired girlsin their nightgowns. They were kneeling down and saying their prayers;their eyes--very large and very blue--rolled upward. This picture hadfor name, "Faith, " and was bordered with a red plush mat and a frame ofimitation beaten brass. 

A door hung with chenille portieres--a bargain at two dollars and ahalf--admitted one to the bedroom. The bedroom could boast a carpet, three-ply ingrain, the design being bunches of red and green flowers inyellow baskets on a white ground. The wall-paper was admirable--hundredsand hundreds of tiny Japanese mandarins, all identically alike, helpinghundreds of almond-eyed ladies into hundreds of impossible junks, while hundreds of bamboo palms overshadowed the pair, and hundreds oflong-legged storks trailed contemptuously away from the scene. This roomwas prolific in pictures. Most of them were framed colored prints fromChristmas editions of the London "Graphic" and "Illustrated News, " thesubject of each picture inevitably involving very alert fox terriers andvery pretty moon-faced little girls. 

Back of the bedroom was the kitchen, a creation of Trina's, a dream ofa kitchen, with its range, its porcelain-lined sink, its copper boiler, and its overpowering array of flashing tinware. Everything was new;everything was complete. 

Maria Macapa and a waiter from one of the restaurants in the streetwere to prepare the wedding supper here. Maria had already put in anappearance. The fire was crackling in the new stove, that smoked badly;a smell of cooking was in the air. She drove McTeague and Old Grannisfrom the room with great gestures of her bare arms. 

This kitchen was the only one of the three rooms they had been obligedto furnish throughout. Most of the sitting-room and bedroom furniturewent with the suite; a few pieces they had bought; the remainder Trinahad brought over from the B Street house. 

The presents had been set out on the extension table in thesitting-room. Besides the parlor melodeon, Trina's parents had given heran ice-water set, and a carving knife and fork with elk-horn handles. Selina had painted a view of the Golden Gate upon a polished sliceof redwood that answered the purposes of a paper weight. MarcusSchouler--after impressing upon Trina that his gift was to HER, andnot to McTeague--had sent a chatelaine watch of German silver; UncleOelbermann's present, however, had been awaited with a good deal ofcuriosity. What would he send? He was very rich; in a sense Trina washis protege. A couple of days before that upon which the wedding wasto take place, two boxes arrived with his card. Trina and McTeague, assisted by Old Grannis, had opened them. The first was a box of allsorts of toys. 

"But what--what--I don't make it out, " McTeague had exclaimed. "Whyshould he send us toys? We have no need of toys. " Scarlet to herhair, Trina dropped into a chair and laughed till she cried behind herhandkerchief. 

"We've no use of toys, " muttered McTeague, looking at her in perplexity. Old Grannis smiled discreetly, raising a tremulous hand to his chin. 

The other box was heavy, bound with withes at the edges, the letters andstamps burnt in. 

"I think--I really think it's champagne, " said Old Grannis in a whisper. So it was. A full case of Monopole. What a wonder! None of them had seenthe like before. Ah, this Uncle Oelbermann! That's what it was to berich. Not one of the other presents produced so deep an impression asthis. 

After Old Grannis and the dentist had gone through the rooms, givinga last look around to see that everything was ready, they returned toMcTeague's "Parlors. " At the door Old Grannis excused himself. 

At four o'clock McTeague began to dress, shaving himself first beforethe hand-glass that was hung against the woodwork of the bay window. While he shaved he sang with strange inappropriateness:

 "No one to love, none to Caress, Left all alone in this world's wilderness. "

But as he stood before the mirror, intent upon his shaving, there came aroll of wheels over the cobbles in front of the house. He rushed to thewindow. Trina had arrived with her father and mother. He saw her getout, and as she glanced upward at his window, their eyes met. 

Ah, there she was. There she was, his little woman, looking up at him, her adorable little chin thrust upward with that familiar movement ofinnocence and confidence. The dentist saw again, as if for the firsttime, her small, pale face looking out from beneath her royal tiara ofblack hair; he saw again her long, narrow blue eyes; her lips, nose, andtiny ears, pale and bloodless, and suggestive of anaemia, as if all thevitality that should have lent them color had been sucked up into thestrands and coils of that wonderful hair. 

As their eyes met they waved their hands gayly to each other; thenMcTeague heard Trina and her mother come up the stairs and go into thebedroom of the photographer's suite, where Trina was to dress. 

No, no; surely there could be no longer any hesitation. He knew that heloved her. What was the matter with him, that he should have doubtedit for an instant? The great difficulty was that she was too good, tooadorable, too sweet, too delicate for him, who was so huge, so clumsy, so brutal. 

There was a knock at the door. It was Old Grannis. He was dressed inhis one black suit of broadcloth, much wrinkled; his hair was carefullybrushed over his bald forehead. 

"Miss Trina has come, " he announced, "and the minister. You have an houryet. "

The dentist finished dressing. He wore a suit bought for the occasion--aready made "Prince Albert" coat too short in the sleeves, striped"blue" trousers, and new patent leather shoes--veritable instruments oftorture. Around his collar was a wonderful necktie that Trina had givenhim; it was of salmon-pink satin; in its centre Selina had painted aknot of blue forget-me-nots. 

At length, after an interminable period of waiting, Mr. Sieppe appearedat the door. 

"Are you reatty?" he asked in a sepulchral whisper. "Gome, den. " It waslike King Charles summoned to execution. Mr. Sieppe preceded theminto the hall, moving at a funereal pace. He paused. Suddenly, in thedirection of the sitting-room, came the strains of the parlor melodeon. Mr. Sieppe flung his arm in the air. 

"Vowaarts!" he cried. 

He left them at the door of the sitting-room, he himself going into thebedroom where Trina was waiting, entering by the hall door. He was ina tremendous state of nervous tension, fearful lest something should gowrong. He had employed the period of waiting in going through his partfor the fiftieth time, repeating what he had to say in a low voice. Hehad even made chalk marks on the matting in the places where he was totake positions. 

The dentist and Old Grannis entered the sitting-room; the minister stoodbehind the little table in the bay window, holding a book, one fingermarking the place; he was rigid, erect, impassive. On either side ofhim, in a semi-circle, stood the invited guests. A little pock-markedgentleman in glasses, no doubt the famous Uncle Oelbermann; Miss Baker, in her black grenadine, false curls, and coral brooch; MarcusSchouler, his arms folded, his brows bent, grand and gloomy; Heise theharness-maker, in yellow gloves, intently studying the pattern of thematting; and Owgooste, in his Fauntleroy "costume, " stupefied and alittle frightened, rolling his eyes from face to face. Selina sat atthe parlor melodeon, fingering the keys, her glance wandering to thechenille portieres. She stopped playing as McTeague and Old Grannisentered and took their places. A profound silence ensued. UncleOelbermann's shirt front could be heard creaking as he breathed. Themost solemn expression pervaded every face. 

All at once the portieres were shaken violently. It was a signal. Selinapulled open the stops and swung into the wedding march. 

Trina entered. She was dressed in white silk, a crown of orange blossomswas around her swarthy hair--dressed high for the first time--her veilreached to the floor. Her face was pink, but otherwise she was calm. She looked quietly around the room as she crossed it, until her glancerested on McTeague, smiling at him then very prettily and with perfectself-possession. 

She was on her father's arm. The twins, dressed exactly alike, walkedin front, each carrying an enormous bouquet of cut flowers in a"lace-paper" holder. Mrs. Sieppe followed in the rear. She was crying;her handkerchief was rolled into a wad. From time to time she lookedat the train of Trina's dress through her tears. Mr. Sieppe marched hisdaughter to the exact middle of the floor, wheeled at right angles, andbrought her up to the minister. He stepped back three paces, andstood planted upon one of his chalk marks, his face glistening withperspiration. 

Then Trina and the dentist were married. The guests stood in constrainedattitudes, looking furtively out of the corners of their eyes. Mr. Sieppe never moved a muscle; Mrs. Sieppe cried into her handkerchiefall the time. At the melodeon Selina played "Call Me Thine Own, " verysoftly, the tremulo stop pulled out. She looked over her shoulder fromtime to time. Between the pauses of the music one could hear the lowtones of the minister, the responses of the participants, and thesuppressed sounds of Mrs. Sieppe's weeping. Outside the noises of thestreet rose to the windows in muffled undertones, a cable car rumbledpast, a newsboy went by chanting the evening papers; from somewhere inthe building itself came a persistent noise of sawing. 

Trina and McTeague knelt. The dentist's knees thudded on the floor andhe presented to view the soles of his shoes, painfully new and unworn, the leather still yellow, the brass nail heads still glittering. Trinasank at his side very gracefully, setting her dress and train with alittle gesture of her free hand. The company bowed their heads, Mr. Sieppe shutting his eyes tight. But Mrs. Sieppe took advantage ofthe moment to stop crying and make furtive gestures towards Owgooste, signing him to pull down his coat. But Owgooste gave no heed; his eyeswere starting from their sockets, his chin had dropped upon his lacecollar, and his head turned vaguely from side to side with a continuedand maniacal motion. 

All at once the ceremony was over before any one expected it. The guestskept their positions for a moment, eyeing one another, each fearing tomake the first move, not quite certain as to whether or not everythingwere finished. But the couple faced the room, Trina throwing back herveil. She--perhaps McTeague as well--felt that there was a certaininadequateness about the ceremony. Was that all there was to it? Didjust those few muttered phrases make them man and wife? It had been overin a few moments, but it had bound them for life. Had not somethingbeen left out? Was not the whole affair cursory, superficial? It wasdisappointing. 

But Trina had no time to dwell upon this. Marcus Schouler, in the mannerof a man of the world, who knew how to act in every situation, steppedforward and, even before Mr. Or Mrs. Sieppe, took Trina's hand. 

"Let me be the first to congratulate Mrs. McTeague, " he said, feelingvery noble and heroic. The strain of the previous moments was relaxedimmediately, the guests crowded around the pair, shaking hands--a babelof talk arose. 

"Owgooste, WILL you pull down your goat, den?"

"Well, my dear, now you're married and happy. When I first saw you twotogether, I said, 'What a pair!' We're to be neighbors now; you mustcome up and see me very often and we'll have tea together. "

"Did you hear that sawing going on all the time? I declare it regularlygot on my nerves. "

Trina kissed her father and mother, crying a little herself as she sawthe tears in Mrs. Sieppe's eyes. 

Marcus came forward a second time, and, with an air of great gravity, kissed his cousin upon the forehead. Heise was introduced to Trina andUncle Oelbermann to the dentist. 

For upwards of half an hour the guests stood about in groups, fillingthe little sitting-room with a great chatter of talk. Then it was timeto make ready for supper. 

This was a tremendous task, in which nearly all the guests were obligedto assist. The sitting-room was transformed into a dining-room. Thepresents were removed from the extension table and the table drawn outto its full length. The cloth was laid, the chairs--rented from thedancing academy hard by--drawn up, the dishes set out, and the twobouquets of cut flowers taken from the twins under their shrillprotests, and "arranged" in vases at either end of the table. 

There was a great coming and going between the kitchen and thesitting-room. Trina, who was allowed to do nothing, sat in the baywindow and fretted, calling to her mother from time to time:

"The napkins are in the right-hand drawer of the pantry. "

"Yes, yes, I got um. Where do you geep der zoup blates?"

"The soup plates are here already. "

"Say, Cousin Trina, is there a corkscrew? What is home without acorkscrew?"

"In the kitchen-table drawer, in the left-hand corner. "

"Are these the forks you want to use, Mrs. McTeague?"

"No, no, there's some silver forks. Mamma knows where. "

They were all very gay, laughing over their mistakes, getting in oneanother's way, rushing into the sitting-room, their hands full of platesor knives or glasses, and darting out again after more. Marcus and Mr. Sieppe took their coats off. Old Grannis and Miss Baker passed eachother in the hall in a constrained silence, her grenadine brushingagainst the elbow of his wrinkled frock coat. Uncle Oelbermannsuperintended Heise opening the case of champagne with the gravity of amagistrate. Owgooste was assigned the task of filling the new salt andpepper canisters of red and blue glass. 

In a wonderfully short time everything was ready. Marcus Schoulerresumed his coat, wiping his forehead, and remarking:

"I tell you, I've been doing CHORES for MY board. "

"To der table!" commanded Mr. Sieppe. 

The company sat down with a great clatter, Trina at the foot, thedentist at the head, the others arranged themselves in haphazardfashion. But it happened that Marcus Schouler crowded into the seatbeside Selina, towards which Old Grannis was directing himself. Therewas but one other chair vacant, and that at the side of Miss Baker. OldGrannis hesitated, putting his hand to his chin. However, there was noescape. In great trepidation he sat down beside the retired dressmaker. Neither of them spoke. Old Grannis dared not move, but sat rigid, hiseyes riveted on his empty soup plate. 

All at once there was a report like a pistol. The men started in theirplaces. Mrs. Sieppe uttered a muffled shriek. The waiter from the cheaprestaurant, hired as Maria's assistant, rose from a bending posture, achampagne bottle frothing in his hand; he was grinning from ear to ear. 

"Don't get scairt, " he said, reassuringly, "it ain't loaded. "

When all their glasses had been filled, Marcus proposed the health ofthe bride, "standing up. " The guests rose and drank. Hardly one of themhad ever tasted champagne before. The moment's silence after the toastwas broken by McTeague exclaiming with a long breath of satisfaction:"That's the best beer I ever drank. "

There was a roar of laughter. Especially was Marcus tickled over thedentist's blunder; he went off in a very spasm of mirth, banging thetable with his fist, laughing until his eyes watered. All through themeal he kept breaking out into cackling imitations of McTeague's words:"That's the best BEER I ever drank. Oh, Lord, ain't that a break!"

What a wonderful supper that was! There was oyster soup; there weresea bass and barracuda; there was a gigantic roast goose stuffed withchestnuts; there were egg-plant and sweet potatoes--Miss Baker calledthem "yams. " There was calf's head in oil, over which Mr. Sieppe wentinto ecstasies; there was lobster salad; there were rice pudding, andstrawberry ice cream, and wine jelly, and stewed prunes, and cocoanuts, and mixed nuts, and raisins, and fruit, and tea, and coffee, and mineralwaters, and lemonade. 

For two hours the guests ate; their faces red, their elbows wide, theperspiration beading their foreheads. All around the table one saw thesame incessant movement of jaws and heard the same uninterrupted soundof chewing. Three times Heise passed his plate for more roast goose. Mr. Sieppe devoured the calf's head with long breaths of contentment;McTeague ate for the sake of eating, without choice; everything withinreach of his hands found its way into his enormous mouth. 

There was but little conversation, and that only of the food; oneexchanged opinions with one's neighbor as to the soup, the egg-plant, or the stewed prunes. Soon the room became very warm, a faint moistureappeared upon the windows, the air was heavy with the smell of cookedfood. At every moment Trina or Mrs. Sieppe urged some one of the companyto have his or her plate refilled. They were constantly employed indishing potatoes or carving the goose or ladling gravy. The hired waitercircled around the room, his limp napkin over his arm, his hands fullof plates and dishes. He was a great joker; he had names of his ownfor different articles of food, that sent gales of laughter around thetable. When he spoke of a bunch of parsley as "scenery, " Heise all butstrangled himself over a mouthful of potato. Out in the kitchen MariaMacapa did the work of three, her face scarlet, her sleeves rolledup; every now and then she uttered shrill but unintelligible outcries, supposedly addressed to the waiter. 

"Uncle Oelbermann, " said Trina, "let me give you another helping ofprunes. "

The Sieppes paid great deference to Uncle Oelbermann, as indeed did thewhole company. Even Marcus Schouler lowered his voice when he addressedhim. At the beginning of the meal he had nudged the harness-maker andhad whispered behind his hand, nodding his head toward the wholesale toydealer, "Got thirty thousand dollars in the bank; has, for a fact. "

"Don't have much to say, " observed Heise. 

"No, no. That's his way; never opens his face. "

As the evening wore on, the gas and two lamps were lit. The company werestill eating. The men, gorged with food, had unbuttoned their vests. McTeague's cheeks were distended, his eyes wide, his huge, salient jawmoved with a machine-like regularity; at intervals he drew a series ofshort breaths through his nose. Mrs. Sieppe wiped her forehead with hernapkin. 

"Hey, dere, poy, gif me some more oaf dat--what youcall--'bubble-water. '"

That was how the waiter had spoken of the champagne--"bubble-water. "The guests had shouted applause, "Outa sight. " He was a heavy josher wasthat waiter. 

Bottle after bottle was opened, the women stopping their ears as thecorks were drawn. All of a sudden the dentist uttered an exclamation, clapping his hand to his nose, his face twisting sharply. 

"Mac, what is it?" cried Trina in alarm. 

"That champagne came to my nose, " he cried, his eyes watering. "Itstings like everything. "

"Great BEER, ain't ut?" shouted Marcus. 

"Now, Mark, " remonstrated Trina in a low voice. "Now, Mark, you justshut up; that isn't funny any more. I don't want you should make fun ofMac. He called it beer on purpose. I guess HE knows. "

Throughout the meal old Miss Baker had occupied herself largely withOwgooste and the twins, who had been given a table by themselves--theblack walnut table before which the ceremony had taken place. The littledressmaker was continually turning about in her place, inquiring of thechildren if they wanted for anything; inquiries they rarely answeredother than by stare, fixed, ox-like, expressionless. 

Suddenly the little dressmaker turned to Old Grannis and exclaimed:

"I'm so very fond of little children. "

"Yes, yes, they're very interesting. I'm very fond of them, too. "

The next instant both of the old people were overwhelmed with confusion. What! They had spoken to each other after all these years of silence;they had for the first time addressed remarks to each other. 

The old dressmaker was in a torment of embarrassment. How was it she hadcome to speak? She had neither planned nor wished it. Suddenly the wordshad escaped her, he had answered, and it was all over--over before theyknew it. 

Old Grannis's fingers trembled on the table ledge, his heart beatheavily, his breath fell short. He had actually talked to the littledressmaker. That possibility to which he had looked forward, itseemed to him for years--that companionship, that intimacy with hisfellow-lodger, that delightful acquaintance which was only to ripen atsome far distant time, he could not exactly say when--behold, it hadsuddenly come to a head, here in this over-crowded, over-heated room, in the midst of all this feeding, surrounded by odors of hot dishes, accompanied by the sounds of incessant mastication. How different he hadimagined it would be! They were to be alone--he and Miss Baker--in theevening somewhere, withdrawn from the world, very quiet, very calm andpeaceful. Their talk was to be of their lives, their lost illusions, notof other people's children. 

The two old people did not speak again. They sat there side by side, nearer than they had ever been before, motionless, abstracted; theirthoughts far away from that scene of feasting. They were thinking ofeach other and they were conscious of it. Timid, with the timidity oftheir second childhood, constrained and embarrassed by each other'spresence, they were, nevertheless, in a little Elysium of their owncreating. They walked hand in hand in a delicious garden where it wasalways autumn; together and alone they entered upon the long retardedromance of their commonplace and uneventful lives. 

At last that great supper was over, everything had been eaten; theenormous roast goose had dwindled to a very skeleton. Mr. Sieppe hadreduced the calf's head to a mere skull; a row of empty champagnebottles--"dead soldiers, " as the facetious waiter had called them--linedthe mantelpiece. Nothing of the stewed prunes remained but the juice, which was given to Owgooste and the twins. The platters were as clean asif they had been washed; crumbs of bread, potato parings, nutshells, andbits of cake littered the table; coffee and ice-cream stains andspots of congealed gravy marked the position of each plate. It wasa devastation, a pillage; the table presented the appearance of anabandoned battlefield. 

"Ouf, " cried Mrs. Sieppe, pushing back, "I haf eatun und eatun, ach, Gott, how I haf eatun!"

"Ah, dot kaf's het, " murmured her husband, passing his tongue over hislips. 

The facetious waiter had disappeared. He and Maria Macapa foregatheredin the kitchen. They drew up to the washboard of the sink, feasting offthe remnants of the supper, slices of goose, the remains of the lobstersalad, and half a bottle of champagne. They were obliged to drink thelatter from teacups. 

"Here's how, " said the waiter gallantly, as he raised his tea-cup, bowing to Maria across the sink. "Hark, " he added, "they're singinginside. "

The company had left the table and had assembled about the melodeon, where Selina was seated. At first they attempted some of the popularsongs of the day, but were obliged to give over as none of them knew anyof the words beyond the first line of the chorus. Finally they pitchedupon "Nearer, My God, to Thee, " as the only song which they all knew. Selina sang the "alto, " very much off the key; Marcus intoned the bass, scowling fiercely, his chin drawn into his collar. They sang in veryslow time. The song became a dirge, a lamentable, prolonged wail ofdistress:

 "Nee-rah, my Gahd, to Thee, Nee-rah to Thee-ah. "

At the end of the song, Uncle Oelbermann put on his hat without a wordof warning. Instantly there was a hush. The guests rose. 

"Not going so soon, Uncle Oelbermann?" protested Trina, politely. Heonly nodded. Marcus sprang forward to help him with his overcoat. Mr. Sieppe came up and the two men shook hands. 

Then Uncle Oelbermann delivered himself of an oracular phrase. No doubthe had been meditating it during the supper. Addressing Mr. Sieppe, hesaid:

"You have not lost a daughter, but have gained a son. "

These were the only words he had spoken the entire evening. He departed;the company was profoundly impressed. 

About twenty minutes later, when Marcus Schouler was entertaining theguests by eating almonds, shells and all, Mr. Sieppe started to hisfeet, watch in hand. 

"Haf-bast elevun, " he shouted. "Attention! Der dime haf arrive, shtopeferyting. We depart. "

This was a signal for tremendous confusion. Mr. Sieppe immediately threwoff his previous air of relaxation, the calf's head was forgotten, hewas once again the leader of vast enterprises. 

"To me, to me, " he cried. "Mommer, der tervins, Owgooste. " He marshalledhis tribe together, with tremendous commanding gestures. The sleepingtwins were suddenly shaken into a dazed consciousness; Owgooste, whomthe almond-eating of Marcus Schouler had petrified with admiration, wassmacked to a realization of his surroundings. 

Old Grannis, with a certain delicacy that was one of hischaracteristics, felt instinctively that the guests--the mereoutsiders--should depart before the family began its leave-taking ofTrina. He withdrew unobtrusively, after a hasty good-night to the brideand groom. The rest followed almost immediately. 

"Well, Mr. Sieppe, " exclaimed Marcus, "we won't see each other for sometime. " Marcus had given up his first intention of joining in the Sieppemigration. He spoke in a large way of certain affairs that would keephim in San Francisco till the fall. Of late he had entertained ambitionsof a ranch life, he would breed cattle, he had a little money and wasonly looking for some one "to go in with. " He dreamed of a cowboy'slife and saw himself in an entrancing vision involving silver spurs anduntamed bronchos. He told himself that Trina had cast him off, that hisbest friend had "played him for a sucker, " that the "proper caper" wasto withdraw from the world entirely. 

"If you hear of anybody down there, " he went on, speaking to Mr. Sieppe, "that wants to go in for ranching, why just let me know. "

"Soh, soh, " answered Mr. Sieppe abstractedly, peering about forOwgooste's cap. 

Marcus bade the Sieppes farewell. He and Heise went out together. Oneheard them, as they descended the stairs, discussing the possibility ofFrenna's place being still open. 

Then Miss Baker departed after kissing Trina on both cheeks. Selina wentwith her. There was only the family left. 

Trina watched them go, one by one, with an increasing feeling ofuneasiness and vague apprehension. Soon they would all be gone. 

"Well, Trina, " exclaimed Mr. Sieppe, "goot-py; perhaps you gome visit ussomedime. "

Mrs. Sieppe began crying again. 

"Ach, Trina, ven shall I efer see you again?"

Tears came to Trina's eyes in spite of herself. She put her arms aroundher mother. 

"Oh, sometime, sometime, " she cried. The twins and Owgooste clung toTrina's skirts, fretting and whimpering. 

McTeague was miserable. He stood apart from the group, in a corner. Noneof them seemed to think of him; he was not of them. 

"Write to me very often, mamma, and tell me about everything--aboutAugust and the twins. "

"It is dime, " cried Mr. Sieppe, nervously. "Goot-py, Trina. Mommer, Owgooste, say goot-py, den we must go. Goot-py, Trina. " He kissedher. Owgooste and the twins were lifted up. "Gome, gome, " insisted Mr. Sieppe, moving toward the door. 

"Goot-py, Trina, " exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, crying harder than ever. "Doktor--where is der doktor--Doktor, pe goot to her, eh? pe vairy goot, eh, won't you? Zum day, Dokter, you vill haf a daughter, den you knowberhaps how I feel, yes. "

They were standing at the door by this time. Mr. Sieppe, half way downthe stairs, kept calling "Gome, gome, we miss der drain. "

Mrs. Sieppe released Trina and started down the hall, the twins andOwgooste following. Trina stood in the doorway, looking after themthrough her tears. They were going, going. When would she ever see themagain? She was to be left alone with this man to whom she had just beenmarried. A sudden vague terror seized her; she left McTeague and randown the hall and caught her mother around the neck. 

"I don't WANT you to go, " she whispered in her mother's ear, sobbing. "Oh, mamma, I--I'm 'fraid. "

"Ach, Trina, you preak my heart. Don't gry, poor leetle girl. " Sherocked Trina in her arms as though she were a child again. "Poor leetlescairt girl, don' gry--soh--soh--soh, dere's nuttun to pe 'fraid oaf. Dere, go to your hoasban'. Listen, popper's galling again; go den;goot-by. "

She loosened Trina's arms and started down the stairs. Trina leaned overthe banisters, straining her eyes after her mother. 

"What is ut, Trina?"

"Oh, good-by, good-by. "

"Gome, gome, we miss der drain. "

"Mamma, oh, mamma!"

"What is ut, Trina?"

"Good-by. "

"Goot-py, leetle daughter. "

"Good-by, good-by, good-by. "

The street door closed. The silence was profound. 

For another moment Trina stood leaning over the banisters, lookingdown into the empty stairway. It was dark. There was nobody. They--herfather, her mother, the children--had left her, left her alone. Shefaced about toward the rooms--faced her husband, faced her new home, thenew life that was to begin now. 

The hall was empty and deserted. The great flat around her seemed newand huge and strange; she felt horribly alone. Even Maria and the hiredwaiter were gone. On one of the floors above she heard a baby crying. She stood there an instant in the dark hall, in her wedding finery, looking about her, listening. From the open door of the sitting-roomstreamed a gold bar of light. 

She went down the hall, by the open door of the sitting-room, going ontoward the hall door of the bedroom. 

As she softly passed the sitting-room she glanced hastily in. The lampsand the gas were burning brightly, the chairs were pushed back from thetable just as the guests had left them, and the table itself, abandoned, deserted, presented to view the vague confusion of its dishes, itsknives and forks, its empty platters and crumpled napkins. The dentistsat there leaning on his elbows, his back toward her; against the whiteblur of the table he looked colossal. Above his giant shoulders rose histhick, red neck and mane of yellow hair. The light shone pink throughthe gristle of his enormous ears. 

Trina entered the bedroom, closing the door after her. At the sound, sheheard McTeague start and rise. 

"Is that you, Trina?"

She did not answer; but paused in the middle of the room, holding herbreath, trembling. 

The dentist crossed the outside room, parted the chenille portieres, and came in. He came toward her quickly, making as if to take her in hisarms. His eyes were alight. 

"No, no, " cried Trina, shrinking from him. Suddenly seized with the fearof him--the intuitive feminine fear of the male--her whole beingquailed before him. She was terrified at his huge, square-cut head; hispowerful, salient jaw; his huge, red hands; his enormous, resistlessstrength. 

"No, no--I'm afraid, " she cried, drawing back from him to the other sideof the room. 

"Afraid?" answered the dentist in perplexity. "What are you afraid of, Trina? I'm not going to hurt you. What are you afraid of?"

What, indeed, was Trina afraid of? She could not tell. But what did sheknow of McTeague, after all? Who was this man that had come into herlife, who had taken her from her home and from her parents, and withwhom she was now left alone here in this strange, vast flat?

"Oh, I'm afraid. I'm afraid, " she cried. 

McTeague came nearer, sat down beside her and put one arm around her. 

"What are you afraid of, Trina?" he said, reassuringly. "I don't want tofrighten you. "

She looked at him wildly, her adorable little chin quivering, the tearsbrimming in her narrow blue eyes. Then her glance took on a certainintentness, and she peered curiously into his face, saying almost in awhisper:

"I'm afraid of YOU. "

But the dentist did not heed her. An immense joy seized upon him--thejoy of possession. Trina was his very own now. She lay there in thehollow of his arm, helpless and very pretty. 

Those instincts that in him were so close to the surface suddenly leapedto life, shouting and clamoring, not to be resisted. He loved her. Ah, did he not love her? The smell of her hair, of her neck, rose to him. 

Suddenly he caught her in both his huge arms, crushing down her strugglewith his immense strength, kissing her full upon the mouth. Then hergreat love for McTeague suddenly flashed up in Trina's breast; she gaveup to him as she had done before, yielding all at once to that strangedesire of being conquered and subdued. She clung to him, her handsclasped behind his neck, whispering in his ear:

"Oh, you must be good to me--very, very good to me, dear--for you're allthat I have in the world now. "

CHAPTER 10

That summer passed, then the winter. The wet season began in the lastdays of September and continued all through October, November, andDecember. At long intervals would come a week of perfect days, thesky without a cloud, the air motionless, but touched with a certainnimbleness, a faint effervescence that was exhilarating. Then, withoutwarning, during a night when a south wind blew, a gray scroll of cloudwould unroll and hang high over the city, and the rain would comepattering down again, at first in scattered showers, then in anuninterrupted drizzle. 

All day long Trina sat in the bay window of the sitting-room thatcommanded a view of a small section of Polk Street. As often as sheraised her head she could see the big market, a confectionery store, a bell-hanger's shop, and, farther on, above the roofs, the glassskylights and water tanks of the big public baths. In the nearerforeground ran the street itself; the cable cars trundled up and down, thumping heavily over the joints of the rails; market carts by the scorecame and went, driven at a great rate by preoccupied young men in theirshirt sleeves, with pencils behind their ears, or by reckless boys inblood-stained butcher's aprons. Upon the sidewalks the little world ofPolk Street swarmed and jostled through its daily round of life. Onfine days the great ladies from the avenue, one block above, invadedthe street, appearing before the butcher stalls, intent upon their day'smarketing. On rainy days their servants--the Chinese cooks or the secondgirls--took their places. These servants gave themselves great airs, carrying their big cotton umbrellas as they had seen their mistressescarry their parasols, and haggling in supercilious fashion with themarket men, their chins in the air. 

The rain persisted. Everything in the range of Trina's vision, from thetarpaulins on the market-cart horses to the panes of glass in the roofof the public baths, looked glazed and varnished. The asphalt of thesidewalks shone like the surface of a patent leather boot; every hollowin the street held its little puddle, that winked like an eye each timea drop of rain struck into it. 

Trina still continued to work for Uncle Oelbermann. In the mornings shebusied herself about the kitchen, the bedroom, and the sitting-room; butin the afternoon, for two or three hours after lunch, she was occupiedwith the Noah's ark animals. She took her work to the bay window, spreading out a great square of canvas underneath her chair, to catchthe chips and shavings, which she used afterwards for lighting fires. One after another she caught up the little blocks of straight-grainedpine, the knife flashed between her fingers, the little figure grewrapidly under her touch, was finished and ready for painting in awonderfully short time, and was tossed into the basket that stood at herelbow. 

But very often during that rainy winter after her marriage Trina wouldpause in her work, her hands falling idly into her lap, her eyes--hernarrow, pale blue eyes--growing wide and thoughtful as she gazed, unseeing, out into the rain-washed street. 

She loved McTeague now with a blind, unreasoning love that admitted ofno doubt or hesitancy. Indeed, it seemed to her that it was only AFTERher marriage with the dentist that she had really begun to love him. With the absolute final surrender of herself, the irrevocable, ultimatesubmission, had come an affection the like of which she had neverdreamed in the old B Street days. But Trina loved her husband, notbecause she fancied she saw in him any of those noble and generousqualities that inspire affection. The dentist might or might not possessthem, it was all one with Trina. She loved him because she had givenherself to him freely, unreservedly; had merged her individuality intohis; she was his, she belonged to him forever and forever. Nothing thathe could do (so she told herself), nothing that she herself could do, could change her in this respect. McTeague might cease to love her, might leave her, might even die; it would be all the same, SHE WAS HIS. 

But it had not been so at first. During those long, rainy days of thefall, days when Trina was left alone for hours, at that time when theexcitement and novelty of the honeymoon were dying down, when the newhousehold was settling into its grooves, she passed through many an hourof misgiving, of doubt, and even of actual regret. 

Never would she forget one Sunday afternoon in particular. She had beenmarried but three weeks. After dinner she and little Miss Baker had gonefor a bit of a walk to take advantage of an hour's sunshine and to lookat some wonderful geraniums in a florist's window on Sutter Street. Theyhad been caught in a shower, and on returning to the flat the littledressmaker had insisted on fetching Trina up to her tiny room andbrewing her a cup of strong tea, "to take the chill off. " The two womenhad chatted over their teacups the better part of the afternoon, thenTrina had returned to her rooms. For nearly three hours McTeague hadbeen out of her thoughts, and as she came through their littlesuite, singing softly to herself, she suddenly came upon him quiteunexpectedly. Her husband was in the "Dental Parlors, " lying back in hisoperating chair, fast asleep. The little stove was crammed with coke, the room was overheated, the air thick and foul with the odors of ether, of coke gas, of stale beer and cheap tobacco. The dentist sprawled hisgigantic limbs over the worn velvet of the operating chair; his coat andvest and shoes were off, and his huge feet, in their thick gray socks, dangled over the edge of the foot-rest; his pipe, fallen from hishalf-open mouth, had spilled the ashes into his lap; while on the floor, at his side stood the half-empty pitcher of steam beer. His head hadrolled limply upon one shoulder, his face was red with sleep, and fromhis open mouth came a terrific sound of snoring. 

For a moment Trina stood looking at him as he lay thus, prone, inert, half-dressed, and stupefied with the heat of the room, the steam beer, and the fumes of the cheap tobacco. Then her little chin quivered and asob rose to her throat; she fled from the "Parlors, " and locking herselfin her bedroom, flung herself on the bed and burst into an agony ofweeping. Ah, no, ah, no, she could not love him. It had all been adreadful mistake, and now it was irrevocable; she was bound to thisman for life. If it was as bad as this now, only three weeks after hermarriage, how would it be in the years to come? Year after year, monthafter month, hour after hour, she was to see this same face, with itssalient jaw, was to feel the touch of those enormous red hands, wasto hear the heavy, elephantine tread of those huge feet--in thick graysocks. Year after year, day after day, there would be no change, andit would last all her life. Either it would be one long continuedrevulsion, or else--worse than all--she would come to be content withhim, would come to be like him, would sink to the level of steam beerand cheap tobacco, and all her pretty ways, her clean, trim littlehabits, would be forgotten, since they would be thrown away uponher stupid, brutish husband. "Her husband!" THAT, was her husbandin there--she could yet hear his snores--for life, for life. A greatdespair seized upon her. She buried her face in the pillow and thoughtof her mother with an infinite longing. 

Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary, McTeague had awakenedslowly. After a while he had taken down his concertina and played uponit the six very mournful airs that he knew. 

Face downward upon the bed, Trina still wept. Throughout that littlesuite could be heard but two sounds, the lugubrious strains of theconcertina and the noise of stifled weeping. 

That her husband should be ignorant of her distress seemed to Trina anadditional grievance. With perverse inconsistency she began to wishhim to come to her, to comfort her. He ought to know that she was introuble, that she was lonely and unhappy. 

"Oh, Mac, " she called in a trembling voice. But the concertina stillcontinued to wail and lament. Then Trina wished she were dead, andon the instant jumped up and ran into the "Dental Parlors, " and threwherself into her husband's arms, crying: "Oh, Mac, dear, love me, loveme big! I'm so unhappy. "

"What--what--what--" the dentist exclaimed, starting up bewildered, alittle frightened. 

"Nothing, nothing, only LOVE me, love me always and always. "

But this first crisis, this momentary revolt, as much a matter ofhigh-strung feminine nerves as of anything else, passed, and in the endTrina's affection for her "old bear" grew in spite of herself. She beganto love him more and more, not for what he was, but for what she hadgiven up to him. Only once again did Trina undergo a reaction againsther husband, and then it was but the matter of an instant, broughton, curiously enough, by the sight of a bit of egg on McTeague's heavymustache one morning just after breakfast. 

Then, too, the pair had learned to make concessions, little by little, and all unconsciously they adapted their modes of life to suit eachother. Instead of sinking to McTeague's level as she had feared, Trinafound that she could make McTeague rise to hers, and in this saw asolution of many a difficult and gloomy complication. 

For one thing, the dentist began to dress a little better, Trina evensucceeding in inducing him to wear a high silk hat and a frock coat ofa Sunday. Next he relinquished his Sunday afternoon's nap and beer infavor of three or four hours spent in the park with her--the weatherpermitting. So that gradually Trina's misgivings ceased, or whenthey did assail her, she could at last meet them with a shrug of theshoulders, saying to herself meanwhile, "Well, it's done now and itcan't be helped; one must make the best of it. "

During the first months of their married life these nervous relapses ofhers had alternated with brusque outbursts of affection when her onlyfear was that her husband's love did not equal her own. Without aninstant's warning, she would clasp him about the neck, rubbing her cheekagainst his, murmuring:

"Dear old Mac, I love you so, I love you so. Oh, aren't we happytogether, Mac, just us two and no one else? You love me as much as Ilove you, don't you, Mac? Oh, if you shouldn't--if you SHOULDN'T. "

But by the middle of the winter Trina's emotions, oscillating at firstfrom one extreme to another, commenced to settle themselves to anequilibrium of calmness and placid quietude. Her household dutiesbegan more and more to absorb her attention, for she was an admirablehousekeeper, keeping the little suite in marvellous good order andregulating the schedule of expenditure with an economy that oftenbordered on positive niggardliness. It was a passion with her to savemoney. In the bottom of her trunk, in the bedroom, she hid a brassmatch-safe that answered the purposes of a savings bank. Each time sheadded a quarter or a half dollar to the little store she laughed andsang with a veritable childish delight; whereas, if the butcher ormilkman compelled her to pay an overcharge she was unhappy for the restof the day. She did not save this money for any ulterior purpose, shehoarded instinctively, without knowing why, responding to the dentist'sremonstrances with:

"Yes, yes, I know I'm a little miser, I know it. "

Trina had always been an economical little body, but it was onlysince her great winning in the lottery that she had become especiallypenurious. No doubt, in her fear lest their great good luck shoulddemoralize them and lead to habits of extravagance, she had recoiled toofar in the other direction. Never, never, never should a penny of thatmiraculous fortune be spent; rather should it be added to. It was a nestegg, a monstrous, roc-like nest egg, not so large, however, but that itcould be made larger. Already by the end of that winter Trina had begunto make up the deficit of two hundred dollars that she had been forcedto expend on the preparations for her marriage. 

McTeague, on his part, never asked himself now-a-days whether he lovedTrina the wife as much as he had loved Trina the young girl. There hadbeen a time when to kiss Trina, to take her in his arms, had thrilledhim from head to heel with a happiness that was beyond words; even thesmell of her wonderful odorous hair had sent a sensation of faintnessall through him. That time was long past now. Those sudden outbursts ofaffection on the part of his little woman, outbursts that only increasedin vehemence the longer they lived together, puzzled rather thanpleased him. He had come to submit to them good-naturedly, answeringher passionate inquiries with a "Sure, sure, Trina, sure I love you. What--what's the matter with you?"

There was no passion in the dentist's regard for his wife. He dearlyliked to have her near him, he took an enormous pleasure in watching heras she moved about their rooms, very much at home, gay and singing frommorning till night; and it was his great delight to call her into the"Dental Parlors" when a patient was in the chair and, while he held theplugger, to have her rap in the gold fillings with the little box-woodmallet as he had taught her. But that tempest of passion, thatoverpowering desire that had suddenly taken possession of him that daywhen he had given her ether, again when he had caught her in his arms inthe B Street station, and again and again during the early days of theirmarried life, rarely stirred him now. On the other hand, he was neverassailed with doubts as to the wisdom of his marriage. 

McTeague had relapsed to his wonted stolidity. He never questionedhimself, never looked for motives, never went to the bottom of things. The year following upon the summer of his marriage was a time of greatcontentment for him; after the novelty of the honeymoon had passed heslipped easily into the new order of things without a question. Thushis life would be for years to come. Trina was there; he was married andsettled. He accepted the situation. The little animal comforts which forhim constituted the enjoyment of life were ministered to at everyturn, or when they were interfered with--as in the case of his Sundayafternoon's nap and beer--some agreeable substitute was found. In herattempts to improve McTeague--to raise him from the stupid animal lifeto which he had been accustomed in his bachelor days--Trina was tactfulenough to move so cautiously and with such slowness that the dentistwas unconscious of any process of change. In the matter of the high silkhat, it seemed to him that the initiative had come from himself. 

Gradually the dentist improved under the influence of his little wife. He no longer went abroad with frayed cuffs about his huge red wrists--orworse, without any cuffs at all. Trina kept his linen clean and mended, doing most of his washing herself, and insisting that he shouldchange his flannels--thick red flannels they were, with enormous bonebuttons--once a week, his linen shirts twice a week, and his collars andcuffs every second day. She broke him of the habit of eating with hisknife, she caused him to substitute bottled beer in the place of steambeer, and she induced him to take off his hat to Miss Baker, to Heise'swife, and to the other women of his acquaintance. McTeague no longerspent an evening at Frenna's. Instead of this he brought a coupleof bottles of beer up to the rooms and shared it with Trina. In his"Parlors" he was no longer gruff and indifferent to his female patients;he arrived at that stage where he could work and talk to them at thesame time; he even accompanied them to the door, and held it open forthem when the operation was finished, bowing them out with great nods ofhis huge square-cut head. 

Besides all this, he began to observe the broader, larger interests oflife, interests that affected him not as an individual, but as a memberof a class, a profession, or a political party. He read the papers, hesubscribed to a dental magazine; on Easter, Christmas, and New Year'she went to church with Trina. He commenced to have opinions, convictions--it was not fair to deprive tax-paying women of theprivilege to vote; a university education should not be a prerequisitefor admission to a dental college; the Catholic priests were to berestrained in their efforts to gain control of the public schools. 

But most wonderful of all, McTeague began to have ambitions--veryvague, very confused ideas of something better--ideas for the most partborrowed from Trina. Some day, perhaps, he and his wife would have ahouse of their own. What a dream! A little home all to themselves, withsix rooms and a bath, with a grass plat in front and calla-lilies. Then there would be children. He would have a son, whose name wouldbe Daniel, who would go to High School, and perhaps turn out to be aprosperous plumber or house painter. Then this son Daniel would marry awife, and they would all live together in that six-room-and-bath house;Daniel would have little children. McTeague would grow old among themall. The dentist saw himself as a venerable patriarch surrounded bychildren and grandchildren. 

So the winter passed. It was a season of great happiness for theMcTeagues; the new life jostled itself into its grooves. A routinebegan. 

On weekdays they rose at half-past six, being awakened by the boy whobrought the bottled milk, and who had instructions to pound upon thebedroom door in passing. Trina made breakfast--coffee, bacon and eggs, and a roll of Vienna bread from the bakery. The breakfast was eaten inthe kitchen, on the round deal table covered with the shiny oilclothtable-spread tacked on. After breakfast the dentist immediately betookhimself to his "Parlors" to meet his early morning appointments--thosemade with the clerks and shop girls who stopped in for half an hour ontheir way to their work. 

Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the suite, clearing away thebreakfast, sponging off the oilcloth table-spread, making the bed, pottering about with a broom or duster or cleaning rag. Towards teno'clock she opened the windows to air the rooms, then put on her drabjacket, her little round turban with its red wing, took the butcher'sand grocer's books from the knife basket in the drawer of the kitchentable, and descended to the street, where she spent a delicioushour--now in the huge market across the way, now in the grocer'sstore with its fragrant aroma of coffee and spices, and now before thecounters of the haberdasher's, intent on a bit of shopping, turningover ends of veiling, strips of elastic, or slivers of whalebone. On thestreet she rubbed elbows with the great ladies of the avenue in theirbeautiful dresses, or at intervals she met an acquaintance or two--MissBaker, or Heise's lame wife, or Mrs. Ryer. At times she passed the flatand looked up at the windows of her home, marked by the huge goldenmolar that projected, flashing, from the bay window of the "Parlors. "She saw the open windows of the sitting-room, the Nottingham lacecurtains stirring and billowing in the draft, and she caught sight ofMaria Macapa's towelled head as the Mexican maid-of-all-work went to andfro in the suite, sweeping or carrying away the ashes. Occasionally inthe windows of the "Parlors" she beheld McTeague's rounded back as hebent to his work. Sometimes, even, they saw each other and waved theirhands gayly in recognition. 

By eleven o'clock Trina returned to the flat, her brown netreticule--once her mother's--full of parcels. At once she set aboutgetting lunch--sausages, perhaps, with mashed potatoes; or lastevening's joint warmed over or made into a stew; chocolate, whichTrina adored, and a side dish or two--a salted herring or a couple ofartichokes or a salad. At half-past twelve the dentist came in from the"Parlors, " bringing with him the smell of creosote and of ether. Theysat down to lunch in the sitting-room. They told each other of theirdoings throughout the forenoon; Trina showed her purchases, McTeaguerecounted the progress of an operation. At one o'clock they separated, the dentist returning to the "Parlors, " Trina settling to her work onthe Noah's ark animals. At about three o'clock she put this work away, and for the rest of the afternoon was variously occupied--sometimes itwas the mending, sometimes the wash, sometimes new curtains to be putup, or a bit of carpet to be tacked down, or a letter to be written, ora visit--generally to Miss Baker--to be returned. Towards five o'clockthe old woman whom they had hired for that purpose came to cook supper, for even Trina was not equal to the task of preparing three meals a day. 

This woman was French, and was known to the flat as Augustine, no onetaking enough interest in her to inquire for her last name; all thatwas known of her was that she was a decayed French laundress, miserablypoor, her trade long since ruined by Chinese competition. Augustinecooked well, but she was otherwise undesirable, and Trina lostpatience with her at every moment. The old French woman's most markedcharacteristic was her timidity. Trina could scarcely address her asimple direction without Augustine quailing and shrinking; a reproof, however gentle, threw her into an agony of confusion; while Trina'sanger promptly reduced her to a state of nervous collapse, wherein shelost all power of speech, while her head began to bob and nod with anincontrollable twitching of the muscles, much like the oscillationsof the head of a toy donkey. Her timidity was exasperating, her verypresence in the room unstrung the nerves, while her morbid eagernessto avoid offence only served to develop in her a clumsiness that was attimes beyond belief. More than once Trina had decided that she could nolonger put up with Augustine but each time she had retained her as shereflected upon her admirably cooked cabbage soups and tapioca puddings, and--which in Trina's eyes was her chiefest recommendation--the pittancefor which she was contented to work. 

Augustine had a husband. He was a spirit-medium--a "professor. " At timeshe held seances in the larger rooms of the flat, playing vigorously upona mouth-organ and invoking a familiar whom he called "Edna, " and whom heasserted was an Indian maiden. 

The evening was a period of relaxation for Trina and McTeague. They hadsupper at six, after which McTeague smoked his pipe and read the papersfor half an hour, while Trina and Augustine cleared away the table andwashed the dishes. Then, as often as not, they went out together. One oftheir amusements was to go "down town" after dark and promenadeMarket and Kearney Streets. It was very gay; a great many others werepromenading there also. All of the stores were brilliantly lighted andmany of them still open. They walked about aimlessly, looking intothe shop windows. Trina would take McTeague's arm, and he, very muchembarrassed at that, would thrust both hands into his pockets andpretend not to notice. They stopped before the jewellers' and milliners'windows, finding a great delight in picking out things for each other, saying how they would choose this and that if they were rich. Trina didmost of the talking. McTeague merely approving by a growl or a movementof the head or shoulders; she was interested in the displays of some ofthe cheaper stores, but he found an irresistible charm in an enormousgolden molar with four prongs that hung at a corner of Kearney Street. Sometimes they would look at Mars or at the moon through the streettelescopes or sit for a time in the rotunda of a vast department storewhere a band played every evening. 

Occasionally they met Heise the harness-maker and his wife, withwhom they had become acquainted. Then the evening was concluded by afour-cornered party in the Luxembourg, a quiet German restaurant undera theatre. Trina had a tamale and a glass of beer, Mrs. Heise (who wasa decayed writing teacher) ate salads, with glasses of grenadine andcurrant syrups. Heise drank cocktails and whiskey straight, and urgedthe dentist to join him. But McTeague was obstinate, shaking his head. "I can't drink that stuff, " he said. "It don't agree with me, somehow;I go kinda crazy after two glasses. " So he gorged himself with beer andfrankfurter sausages plastered with German mustard. 

When the annual Mechanic's Fair opened, McTeague and Trina often spenttheir evenings there, studying the exhibits carefully (since in Trina'sestimation education meant knowing things and being able to talk aboutthem). Wearying of this they would go up into the gallery, and, leaningover, look down into the huge amphitheatre full of light and color andmovement. 

There rose to them the vast shuffling noise of thousands of feet anda subdued roar of conversation like the sound of a great mill. Mingledwith this was the purring of distant machinery, the splashing of atemporary fountain, and the rhythmic jangling of a brass band, whilein the piano exhibit a hired performer was playing upon a concertgrand with a great flourish. Nearer at hand they could catch ends ofconversation and notes of laughter, the noise of moving dresses, andthe rustle of stiffly starched skirts. Here and there school childrenelbowed their way through the crowd, crying shrilly, their hands full ofadvertisement pamphlets, fans, picture cards, and toy whips, while theair itself was full of the smell of fresh popcorn. 

They even spent some time in the art gallery. Trina's cousin Selina, who gave lessons in hand painting at two bits an hour, generally had anexhibit on the walls, which they were interested to find. It usually wasa bunch of yellow poppies painted on black velvet and framed in gilt. They stood before it some little time, hazarding their opinions, andthen moved on slowly from one picture to another. Trina had McTeague buya catalogue and made a duty of finding the title of every picture. This, too, she told McTeague, as a kind of education one ought to cultivate. Trina professed to be fond of art, having perhaps acquired a taste forpainting and sculpture from her experience with the Noah's ark animals. 

"Of course, " she told the dentist, "I'm no critic, I only know whatI like. " She knew that she liked the "Ideal Heads, " lovely girls withflowing straw-colored hair and immense, upturned eyes. These always hadfor title, "Reverie, " or "An Idyll, " or "Dreams of Love. "

"I think those are lovely, don't you, Mac?" she said. 

"Yes, yes, " answered McTeague, nodding his head, bewildered, trying tounderstand. "Yes, yes, lovely, that's the word. Are you dead sure now, Trina, that all that's hand-painted just like the poppies?"

Thus the winter passed, a year went by, then two. The little lifeof Polk Street, the life of small traders, drug clerks, grocers, stationers, plumbers, dentists, doctors, spirit-mediums, and the like, ran on monotonously in its accustomed grooves. The first three yearsof their married life wrought little change in the fortunes of theMcTeagues. In the third summer the branch post-office was moved from theground floor of the flat to a corner farther up the street in orderto be near the cable line that ran mail cars. Its place was taken bya German saloon, called a "Wein Stube, " in the face of the protestsof every female lodger. A few months later quite a little flurry ofexcitement ran through the street on the occasion of "The Polk StreetOpen Air Festival, " organized to celebrate the introduction there ofelectric lights. The festival lasted three days and was quite an affair. The street was garlanded with yellow and white bunting; there wereprocessions and "floats" and brass bands. Marcus Schouler was in hiselement during the whole time of the celebration. He was one of themarshals of the parade, and was to be seen at every hour of theday, wearing a borrowed high hat and cotton gloves, and galloping abroken-down cab-horse over the cobbles. He carried a baton covered withyellow and white calico, with which he made furious passes and gestures. His voice was soon reduced to a whisper by continued shouting, and heraged and fretted over trifles till he wore himself thin. McTeague wasdisgusted with him. As often as Marcus passed the window of the flat thedentist would mutter:

"Ah, you think you're smart, don't you?"

The result of the festival was the organizing of a body known as the"Polk Street Improvement Club, " of which Marcus was elected secretary. McTeague and Trina often heard of him in this capacity through Heise theharness-maker. Marcus had evidently come to have political aspirations. It appeared that he was gaining a reputation as a maker of speeches, delivered with fiery emphasis, and occasionally reprinted in the"Progress, " the organ of the club--"outraged constituencies, " "opinionswarped by personal bias, " "eyes blinded by party prejudice, " etc. 

Of her family, Trina heard every fortnight in letters from her mother. The upholstery business which Mr. Sieppe had bought was doing poorly, and Mrs. Sieppe bewailed the day she had ever left B Street. Mr. Sieppewas losing money every month. Owgooste, who was to have gone to school, had been forced to go to work in "the store, " picking waste. Mrs. Sieppewas obliged to take a lodger or two. Affairs were in a very bad way. Occasionally she spoke of Marcus. Mr. Sieppe had not forgotten himdespite his own troubles, but still had an eye out for some one whomMarcus could "go in with" on a ranch. 

It was toward the end of this period of three years that Trina andMcTeague had their first serious quarrel. Trina had talked so much abouthaving a little house of their own at some future day, that McTeague hadat length come to regard the affair as the end and object of all theirlabors. For a long time they had had their eyes upon one house inparticular. It was situated on a cross street close by, between PolkStreet and the great avenue one block above, and hardly a Sundayafternoon passed that Trina and McTeague did not go and look at it. They stood for fully half an hour upon the other side of the street, examining every detail of its exterior, hazarding guesses as tothe arrangement of the rooms, commenting upon its immediateneighborhood--which was rather sordid. The house was a wooden two-storyarrangement, built by a misguided contractor in a sort of hideousQueen Anne style, all scrolls and meaningless mill work, with a cheapimitation of stained glass in the light over the door. There was amicroscopic front yard full of dusty calla-lilies. The front doorboasted an electric bell. But for the McTeagues it was an ideal home. Their idea was to live in this little house, the dentist retainingmerely his office in the flat. The two places were but around the cornerfrom each other, so that McTeague could lunch with his wife, as usual, and could even keep his early morning appointments and return tobreakfast if he so desired. 

However, the house was occupied. A Hungarian family lived in it. The father kept a stationery and notion "bazaar" next to Heise'sharness-shop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a third violinin the orchestra of a theatre. The family rented the house unfurnishedfor thirty-five dollars, paying extra for the water. 

But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their way home from theirusual walk turned into the cross street on which the little house wassituated, they became promptly aware of an unwonted bustle going onupon the sidewalk in front of it. A dray was back against the curb, an express wagon drove away loaded with furniture; bedsteads, looking-glasses, and washbowls littered the sidewalks. The Hungarianfamily were moving out. 

"Oh, Mac, look!" gasped Trina. 

"Sure, sure, " muttered the dentist. 

After that they spoke but little. For upwards of an hour the two stoodupon the sidewalk opposite, watching intently all that went forward, absorbed, excited. 

On the evening of the next day they returned and visited the house, finding a great delight in going from room to room and imaginingthemselves installed therein. Here would be the bedroom, here thedining-room, here a charming little parlor. As they came out upon thefront steps once more they met the owner, an enormous, red-faced fellow, so fat that his walking seemed merely a certain movement of his feet bywhich he pushed his stomach along in front of him. Trina talked with hima few moments, but arrived at no understanding, and the two went awayafter giving him their address. At supper that night McTeague said:

"Huh--what do you think, Trina?"

Trina put her chin in the air, tilting back her heavy tiara of swarthyhair. 

"I am not so sure yet. Thirty-five dollars and the water extra. I don'tthink we can afford it, Mac. "

"Ah, pshaw!" growled the dentist, "sure we can. "

"It isn't only that, " said Trina, "but it'll cost so much to make thechange. "

"Ah, you talk's though we were paupers. Ain't we got five thousanddollars?"

Trina flushed on the instant, even to the lobes of her tiny pale ears, and put her lips together. 

"Now, Mac, you know I don't want you should talk like that. That money'snever, never to be touched. "

"And you've been savun up a good deal, besides, " went on McTeague, exasperated at Trina's persistent economies. "How much money have yougot in that little brass match-safe in the bottom of your trunk? Prettynear a hundred dollars, I guess--ah, sure. " He shut his eyes and noddedhis great head in a knowing way. 

Trina had more than that in the brass match-safe in question, but herinstinct of hoarding had led her to keep it a secret from her husband. Now she lied to him with prompt fluency. 

"A hundred dollars! What are you talking of, Mac? I've not got fifty. I've not got THIRTY. "

"Oh, let's take that little house, " broke in McTeague. "We got thechance now, and it may never come again. Come on, Trina, shall we? Say, come on, shall we, huh?"

"We'd have to be awful saving if we did, Mac. "

"Well, sure, I say let's take it. "

"I don't know, " said Trina, hesitating. "Wouldn't it be lovely to have ahouse all to ourselves? But let's not decide until to-morrow. "

The next day the owner of the house called. Trina was out at hermorning's marketing and the dentist, who had no one in the chair at thetime, received him in the "Parlors. " Before he was well aware of it, McTeague had concluded the bargain. The owner bewildered him with aworld of phrases, made him believe that it would be a great saving tomove into the little house, and finally offered it to him "water free. "

"All right, all right, " said McTeague, "I'll take it. "

The other immediately produced a paper. 

"Well, then, suppose you sign for the first month's rent, and we'llcall it a bargain. That's business, you know, " and McTeague, hesitating, signed. 

"I'd like to have talked more with my wife about it first, " he said, dubiously. 

"Oh, that's all right, " answered the owner, easily. "I guess if the headof the family wants a thing, that's enough. "

McTeague could not wait until lunch time to tell the news to Trina. Assoon as he heard her come in, he laid down the plaster-of-paris mouldhe was making and went out into the kitchen and found her chopping uponions. 

"Well, Trina, " he said, "we got that house. I've taken it. "

"What do you mean?" she answered, quickly. The dentist told her. 

"And you signed a paper for the first month's rent?"

"Sure, sure. That's business, you know. "

"Well, why did you DO it?" cried Trina. "You might have asked MEsomething about it. Now, what have you done? I was talking with Mrs. Ryer about that house while I was out this morning, and she said theHungarians moved out because it was absolutely unhealthy; there's waterbeen standing in the basement for months. And she told me, too, " Trinawent on indignantly, "that she knew the owner, and she was sure we couldget the house for thirty if we'd bargain for it. Now what have you goneand done? I hadn't made up my mind about taking the house at all. Andnow I WON'T take it, with the water in the basement and all. "

"Well--well, " stammered McTeague, helplessly, "we needn't go in if it'sunhealthy. "

"But you've signed a PAPER, " cried Trina, exasperated. "You've gotto pay that first month's rent, anyhow--to forfeit it. Oh, you are sostupid! There's thirty-five dollars just thrown away. I SHAN'T go intothat house; we won't move a FOOT out of here. I've changed my mind aboutit, and there's water in the basement besides. "

"Well, I guess we can stand thirty-five dollars, " mumbled the dentist, "if we've got to. "

"Thirty-five dollars just thrown out of the window, " cried Trina, herteeth clicking, every instinct of her parsimony aroused. "Oh, you thethick-wittedest man that I ever knew. Do you think we're millionaires?Oh, to think of losing thirty-five dollars like that. " Tears were in hereyes, tears of grief as well as of anger. Never had McTeague seen hislittle woman so aroused. Suddenly she rose to her feet and slammed thechopping-bowl down upon the table. "Well, I won't pay a nickel of it, "she exclaimed. 

"Huh? What, what?" stammered the dentist, taken all aback by heroutburst. 

"I say that you will find that money, that thirty-five dollars, yourself. "

"Why--why----"

"It's your stupidity got us into this fix, and you'll be the one that'llsuffer by it. "

"I can't do it, I WON'T do it. We'll--we'll share and share alike. Why, you said--you told me you'd take the house if the water was free. "

"I NEVER did. I NEVER did. How can you stand there and say such athing?"

"You did tell me that, " vociferated McTeague, beginning to get angry inhis turn. 

"Mac, I didn't, and you know it. And what's more, I won't pay a nickel. Mr. Heise pays his bill next week, it's forty-three dollars, and you canjust pay the thirty-five out of that. "

"Why, you got a whole hundred dollars saved up in your match-safe, "shouted the dentist, throwing out an arm with an awkward gesture. "Youpay half and I'll pay half, that's only fair. "

"No, no, NO, " exclaimed Trina. "It's not a hundred dollars. You won'ttouch it; you won't touch my money, I tell you. "

"Ah, how does it happen to be yours, I'd like to know?"

"It's mine! It's mine! It's mine!" cried Trina, her face scarlet, herteeth clicking like the snap of a closing purse. 

"It ain't any more yours than it is mine. "

"Every penny of it is mine. "

"Ah, what a fine fix you'd get me into, " growled the dentist. "I'vesigned the paper with the owner; that's business, you know, that'sbusiness, you know; and now you go back on me. Suppose we'd taken thehouse, we'd 'a' shared the rent, wouldn't we, just as we do here?"

Trina shrugged her shoulders with a great affectation of indifferenceand began chopping the onions again. 

"You settle it with the owner, " she said. "It's your affair; you've gotthe money. " She pretended to assume a certain calmness as though thematter was something that no longer affected her. Her manner exasperatedMcTeague all the more. 

"No, I won't; no, I won't; I won't either, " he shouted. "I'll pay myhalf and he can come to you for the other half. " Trina put a hand overher ear to shut out his clamor. 

"Ah, don't try and be smart, " cried McTeague. "Come, now, yes or no, will you pay your half?"

"You heard what I said. "

"Will you pay it?"

"No. "

"Miser!" shouted McTeague. "Miser! you're worse than old Zerkow. Allright, all right, keep your money. I'll pay the whole thirty-five. I'drather lose it than be such a miser as you. "

"Haven't you got anything to do, " returned Trina, "instead of stayinghere and abusing me?"

"Well, then, for the last time, will you help me out?" Trina cut theheads of a fresh bunch of onions and gave no answer. 

"Huh? will you?"

"I'd like to have my kitchen to myself, please, " she said in a mincingway, irritating to a last degree. The dentist stamped out of the room, banging the door behind him. 

For nearly a week the breach between them remained unhealed. Trina onlyspoke to the dentist in monosyllables, while he, exasperated at hercalmness and frigid reserve, sulked in his "Dental Parlors, " mutteringterrible things beneath his mustache, or finding solace in hisconcertina, playing his six lugubrious airs over and over again, orswearing frightful oaths at his canary. When Heise paid his bill, McTeague, in a fury, sent the amount to the owner of the little house. 

There was no formal reconciliation between the dentist and his littlewoman. Their relations readjusted themselves inevitably. By the endof the week they were as amicable as ever, but it was long before theyspoke of the little house again. Nor did they ever revisit it of aSunday afternoon. A month or so later the Ryers told them that the ownerhimself had moved in. The McTeagues never occupied that little house. 

But Trina suffered a reaction after the quarrel. She began to be sorryshe had refused to help her husband, sorry she had brought mattersto such an issue. One afternoon as she was at work on the Noah's arkanimals, she surprised herself crying over the affair. She loved her"old bear" too much to do him an injustice, and perhaps, after all, shehad been in the wrong. Then it occurred to her how pretty it would beto come up behind him unexpectedly, and slip the money, thirty-fivedollars, into his hand, and pull his huge head down to her and kiss hisbald spot as she used to do in the days before they were married. 

Then she hesitated, pausing in her work, her knife dropping into herlap, a half-whittled figure between her fingers. If not thirty-fivedollars, then at least fifteen or sixteen, her share of it. But afeeling of reluctance, a sudden revolt against this intended generosity, arose in her. 

"No, no, " she said to herself. "I'll give him ten dollars. I'll tell himit's all I can afford. It IS all I can afford. "

She hastened to finish the figure of the animal she was then at workupon, putting in the ears and tail with a drop of glue, and tossing itinto the basket at her side. Then she rose and went into the bedroom andopened her trunk, taking the key from under a corner of the carpet whereshe kept it hid. 

At the very bottom of her trunk, under her bridal dress, she kept hersavings. It was all in change--half dollars and dollars for the mostpart, with here and there a gold piece. Long since the little brassmatch-box had overflowed. Trina kept the surplus in a chamois-skinsack she had made from an old chest protector. Just now, yielding toan impulse which often seized her, she drew out the match-box andthe chamois sack, and emptying the contents on the bed, counted themcarefully. It came to one hundred and sixty-five dollars, all told. Shecounted it and recounted it and made little piles of it, and rubbed thegold pieces between the folds of her apron until they shone. 

"Ah, yes, ten dollars is all I can afford to give Mac, " said Trina, "and even then, think of it, ten dollars--it will be four or five monthsbefore I can save that again. But, dear old Mac, I know it would makehim feel glad, and perhaps, " she added, suddenly taken with an idea, "perhaps Mac will refuse to take it. "

She took a ten-dollar piece from the heap and put the rest away. Thenshe paused:

"No, not the gold piece, " she said to herself. "It's too pretty. He canhave the silver. " She made the change and counted out ten silver dollarsinto her palm. But what a difference it made in the appearance andweight of the little chamois bag! The bag was shrunken and withered, long wrinkles appeared running downward from the draw-string. It was alamentable sight. Trina looked longingly at the ten broad pieces in herhand. Then suddenly all her intuitive desire of saving, her instinctof hoarding, her love of money for the money's sake, rose strong withinher. 

"No, no, no, " she said. "I can't do it. It may be mean, but I can't helpit. It's stronger than I. " She returned the money to the bag and lockedit and the brass match-box in her trunk, turning the key with a longbreath of satisfaction. 

She was a little troubled, however, as she went back into thesitting-room and took up her work. 

"I didn't use to be so stingy, " she told herself. "Since I won in thelottery I've become a regular little miser. It's growing on me, butnever mind, it's a good fault, and, anyhow, I can't help it. "

CHAPTER 11

On that particular morning the McTeagues had risen a half hour earlierthan usual and taken a hurried breakfast in the kitchen on the dealtable with its oilcloth cover. Trina was house-cleaning that week andhad a presentiment of a hard day's work ahead of her, while McTeagueremembered a seven o'clock appointment with a little German shoemaker. 

At about eight o'clock, when the dentist had been in his office for overan hour, Trina descended upon the bedroom, a towel about her headand the roller-sweeper in her hand. She covered the bureau and sewingmachine with sheets, and unhooked the chenille portieres between thebedroom and the sitting-room. As she was tying the Nottingham lacecurtains at the window into great knots, she saw old Miss Baker on theopposite sidewalk in the street below, and raising the sash called downto her. 

"Oh, it's you, Mrs. McTeague, " cried the retired dressmaker, facingabout, her head in the air. Then a long conversation was begun, Trina, her arms folded under her breast, her elbows resting on thewindow ledge, willing to be idle for a moment; old Miss Baker, hermarket-basket on her arm, her hands wrapped in the ends of her worstedshawl against the cold of the early morning. They exchanged phrases, calling to each other from window to curb, their breath coming fromtheir lips in faint puffs of vapor, their voices shrill, and raised todominate the clamor of the waking street. The newsboys had made theirappearance on the street, together with the day laborers. The cable carshad begun to fill up; all along the street could be seen the shopkeeperstaking down their shutters; some were still breakfasting. Now and thena waiter from one of the cheap restaurants crossed from one sidewalk toanother, balancing on one palm a tray covered with a napkin. 

"Aren't you out pretty early this morning, Miss Baker?" called Trina. 

"No, no, " answered the other. "I'm always up at half-past six, but Idon't always get out so soon. I wanted to get a nice head of cabbageand some lentils for a soup, and if you don't go to market early, therestaurants get all the best. "

"And you've been to market already, Miss Baker?"

"Oh, my, yes; and I got a fish--a sole--see. " She drew the sole inquestion from her basket. 

"Oh, the lovely sole!" exclaimed Trina. 

"I got this one at Spadella's; he always has good fish on Friday. How isthe doctor, Mrs. McTeague?"

"Ah, Mac is always well, thank you, Miss Baker. "

"You know, Mrs. Ryer told me, " cried the little dressmaker, movingforward a step out of the way of a "glass-put-in" man, "that DoctorMcTeague pulled a tooth of that Catholic priest, Father--oh, I forgethis name--anyhow, he pulled his tooth with his fingers. Was that true, Mrs. McTeague?"

"Oh, of course. Mac does that almost all the time now, 'specially withfront teeth. He's got a regular reputation for it. He says it's broughthim more patients than even the sign I gave him, " she added, pointing tothe big golden molar projecting from the office window. 

"With his fingers! Now, think of that, " exclaimed Miss Baker, waggingher head. "Isn't he that strong! It's just wonderful. Cleaning houseto-day?" she inquired, glancing at Trina's towelled head. 

"Um hum, " answered Trina. "Maria Macapa's coming in to help prettysoon. "

At the mention of Maria's name the little old dressmaker suddenlyuttered an exclamation. 

"Well, if I'm not here talking to you and forgetting something I wasjust dying to tell you. Mrs. McTeague, what ever in the world doyou suppose? Maria and old Zerkow, that red-headed Polish Jew, therag-bottles-sacks man, you know, they're going to be married. "

"No!" cried Trina, in blank amazement. "You don't mean it. "

"Of course I do. Isn't it the funniest thing you ever heard of?"

"Oh, tell me all about it, " said Trina, leaning eagerly from the window. Miss Baker crossed the street and stood just beneath her. 

"Well, Maria came to me last night and wanted me to make her a new gown, said she wanted something gay, like what the girls at the candy storewear when they go out with their young men. I couldn't tell what hadgot into the girl, until finally she told me she wanted something to getmarried in, and that Zerkow had asked her to marry him, and that she wasgoing to do it. Poor Maria! I guess it's the first and only offer sheever received, and it's just turned her head. "

"But what DO those two see in each other?" cried Trina. "Zerkow is ahorror, he's an old man, and his hair is red and his voice is gone, andthen he's a Jew, isn't he?"

"I know, I know; but it's Maria's only chance for a husband, and shedon't mean to let it pass. You know she isn't quite right in her head, anyhow. I'm awfully sorry for poor Maria. But I can't see what Zerkowwants to marry her for. It's not possible that he's in love with Maria, it's out of the question. Maria hasn't a sou, either, and I'm justpositive that Zerkow has lots of money. "

"I'll bet I know why, " exclaimed Trina, with sudden conviction; "yes, I know just why. See here, Miss Baker, you know how crazy old Zerkow isafter money and gold and those sort of things. "

"Yes, I know; but you know Maria hasn't----"

"Now, just listen. You've heard Maria tell about that wonderful serviceof gold dishes she says her folks used to own in Central America; she'scrazy on that subject, don't you know. She's all right on everythingelse, but just start her on that service of gold plate and she'll talkyou deaf. She can describe it just as though she saw it, and she canmake you see it, too, almost. Now, you see, Maria and Zerkow have knowneach other pretty well. Maria goes to him every two weeks or so to sellhim junk; they got acquainted that way, and I know Maria's been droppingin to see him pretty often this last year, and sometimes he comes hereto see her. He's made Maria tell him the story of that plate over andover and over again, and Maria does it and is glad to, because he's theonly one that believes it. Now he's going to marry her just so's he canhear that story every day, every hour. He's pretty near as crazy on thesubject as Maria is. They're a pair for you, aren't they? Both crazyover a lot of gold dishes that never existed. Perhaps Maria'll marry himbecause it's her only chance to get a husband, but I'm sure it's morefor the reason that she's got some one to talk to now who believes herstory. Don't you think I'm right?"

"Yes, yes, I guess you're right, " admitted Miss Baker. 

"But it's a queer match anyway you put it, " said Trina, musingly. 

"Ah, you may well say that, " returned the other, nodding her head. Therewas a silence. For a long moment the dentist's wife and the retireddressmaker, the one at the window, the other on the sidewalk, remainedlost in thought, wondering over the strangeness of the affair. 

But suddenly there was a diversion. Alexander, Marcus Schouler's Irishsetter, whom his master had long since allowed the liberty of runninguntrammelled about the neighborhood, turned the corner briskly and cametrotting along the sidewalk where Miss Baker stood. At the same momentthe Scotch collie who had at one time belonged to the branch post-officeissued from the side door of a house not fifty feet away. In an instantthe two enemies had recognized each other. They halted abruptly, theirfore feet planted rigidly. Trina uttered a little cry. 

"Oh, look out, Miss Baker. Those two dogs hate each other just likehumans. You best look out. They'll fight sure. " Miss Baker soughtsafety in a nearby vestibule, whence she peered forth at the scene, veryinterested and curious. Maria Macapa's head thrust itself from one ofthe top-story windows of the flat, with a shrill cry. Even McTeague'shuge form appeared above the half curtains of the "Parlor" windows, while over his shoulder could be seen the face of the "patient, " anapkin tucked in his collar, the rubber dam depending from his mouth. All the flat knew of the feud between the dogs, but never before had thepair been brought face to face. 

Meanwhile, the collie and the setter had drawn near to each other;five feet apart they paused as if by mutual consent. The collie turnedsidewise to the setter; the setter instantly wheeled himself flank on tothe collie. Their tails rose and stiffened, they raised their lips overtheir long white fangs, the napes of their necks bristled, and theyshowed each other the vicious whites of their eyes, while they drew intheir breaths with prolonged and rasping snarls. Each dog seemed to bethe personification of fury and unsatisfied hate. They began to circleabout each other with infinite slowness, walking stiffed-legged andupon the very points of their feet. Then they wheeled about and began tocircle in the opposite direction. Twice they repeated this motion, theirsnarls growing louder. But still they did not come together, andthe distance of five feet between them was maintained with an almostmathematical precision. It was magnificent, but it was not war. Then thesetter, pausing in his walk, turned his head slowly from his enemy. Thecollie sniffed the air and pretended an interest in an old shoe lyingin the gutter. Gradually and with all the dignity of monarchs theymoved away from each other. Alexander stalked back to the corner ofthe street. The collie paced toward the side gate whence he had issued, affecting to remember something of great importance. They disappeared. Once out of sight of one another they began to bark furiously. 

"Well, I NEVER!" exclaimed Trina in great disgust. "The way those twodogs have been carrying on you'd 'a' thought they would 'a' just torneach other to pieces when they had the chance, and here I'm wasting thewhole morning----" she closed her window with a bang. 

"Sick 'im, sick 'im, " called Maria Macapa, in a vain attempt to promotea fight. 

Old Miss Baker came out of the vestibule, pursing her lips, quiteput out at the fiasco. "And after all that fuss, " she said to herselfaggrievedly. 

The little dressmaker bought an envelope of nasturtium seeds at theflorist's, and returned to her tiny room in the flat. But as she slowlymounted the first flight of steps she suddenly came face to face withOld Grannis, who was coming down. It was between eight and nine, andhe was on his way to his little dog hospital, no doubt. Instantly MissBaker was seized with trepidation, her curious little false curls shook, a faint--a very faint--flush came into her withered cheeks, and herheart beat so violently under the worsted shawl that she felt obligedto shift the market-basket to her other arm and put out her free hand tosteady herself against the rail. 

On his part, Old Grannis was instantly overwhelmed with confusion. Hisawkwardness seemed to paralyze his limbs, his lips twitched and turneddry, his hand went tremblingly to his chin. But what added to MissBaker's miserable embarrassment on this occasion was the fact that theold Englishman should meet her thus, carrying a sordid market-basketfull of sordid fish and cabbage. It seemed as if a malicious fatepersisted in bringing the two old people face to face at the mostinopportune moments. 

Just now, however, a veritable catastrophe occurred. The little olddressmaker changed her basket to her other arm at precisely the wrongmoment, and Old Grannis, hastening to pass, removing his hat in ahurried salutation, struck it with his fore arm, knocking it from hergrasp, and sending it rolling and bumping down the stairs. The sole fellflat upon the first landing; the lentils scattered themselves over theentire flight; while the cabbage, leaping from step to step, thundereddown the incline and brought up against the street door with a shockthat reverberated through the entire building. 

The little retired dressmaker, horribly vexed, nervous and embarrassed, was hard put to it to keep back the tears. Old Grannis stood for amoment with averted eyes, murmuring: "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I--I really--I beg your pardon, really--really. "

Marcus Schouler, coming down stairs from his room, saved the situation. 

"Hello, people, " he cried. "By damn! you've upset your basket--you have, for a fact. Here, let's pick um up. " He and Old Grannis went up and downthe flight, gathering up the fish, the lentils, and the sadly batteredcabbage. Marcus was raging over the pusillanimity of Alexander, of whichMaria had just told him. 

"I'll cut him in two--with the whip, " he shouted. "I will, I will, I sayI will, for a fact. He wouldn't fight, hey? I'll give um all the fighthe wants, nasty, mangy cur. If he won't fight he won't eat. I'm goingto get the butcher's bull pup and I'll put um both in a bag and shake umup. I will, for a fact, and I guess Alec will fight. Come along, MisterGrannis, " and he took the old Englishman away. 

Little Miss Baker hastened to her room and locked herself in. She wasexcited and upset during all the rest of the day, and listened eagerlyfor Old Grannis's return that evening. He went instantly to work bindingup "The Breeder and Sportsman, " and back numbers of the "Nation. " Sheheard him softly draw his chair and the table on which he had placed hislittle binding apparatus close to the wall. At once she did the same, brewing herself a cup of tea. All through that evening the two oldpeople "kept company" with each other, after their own peculiar fashion. "Setting out with each other" Miss Baker had begun to call it. That theyhad been presented, that they had even been forced to talk together, hadmade no change in their relative positions. Almost immediately theyhad fallen back into their old ways again, quite unable to master theirtimidity, to overcome the stifling embarrassment that seized upon themwhen in each other's presence. It was a sort of hypnotism, a thingstronger than themselves. But they were not altogether dissatisfied withthe way things had come to be. It was their little romance, theirlast, and they were living through it with supreme enjoyment and calmcontentment. 

Marcus Schouler still occupied his old room on the floor above theMcTeagues. They saw but little of him, however. At long intervals thedentist or his wife met him on the stairs of the flat. Sometimes hewould stop and talk with Trina, inquiring after the Sieppes, asking herif Mr. Sieppe had yet heard of any one with whom he, Marcus, could "goin with on a ranch. " McTeague, Marcus merely nodded to. Never had thequarrel between the two men been completely patched up. It did not seempossible to the dentist now that Marcus had ever been his "pal, " thatthey had ever taken long walks together. He was sorry that he hadtreated Marcus gratis for an ulcerated tooth, while Marcus dailyrecalled the fact that he had given up his "girl" to his friend--thegirl who had won a fortune--as the great mistake of his life. Onlyonce since the wedding had he called upon Trina, at a time when he knewMcTeague would be out. Trina had shown him through the rooms and hadtold him, innocently enough, how gay was their life there. Marcus hadcome away fairly sick with envy; his rancor against the dentist--andagainst himself, for that matter--knew no bounds. "And you might 'a' hadit all yourself, Marcus Schouler, " he muttered to himself on the stairs. "You mushhead, you damn fool!"

Meanwhile, Marcus was becoming involved in the politics of his ward. Assecretary of the Polk Street Improvement Club--which soon developedinto quite an affair and began to assume the proportions of a Republicanpolitical machine--he found he could make a little, a very little morethan enough to live on. At once he had given up his position as OldGrannis's assistant in the dog hospital. Marcus felt that he needed awider sphere. He had his eye upon a place connected with the city pound. When the great railroad strike occurred, he promptly got himself engagedas deputy-sheriff, and spent a memorable week in Sacramento, where heinvolved himself in more than one terrible melee with the strikers. Marcus had that quickness of temper and passionate readiness to takeoffence which passes among his class for bravery. But whatever werehis motives, his promptness to face danger could not for a moment bedoubted. After the strike he returned to Polk Street, and throwinghimself into the Improvement Club, heart, soul, and body, soon becameone of its ruling spirits. In a certain local election, where a hugepaving contract was at stake, the club made itself felt in the ward, andMarcus so managed his cards and pulled his wires that, at the end of thematter, he found himself some four hundred dollars to the good. 

When McTeague came out of his "Parlors" at noon of the day upon whichTrina had heard the news of Maria Macapa's intended marriage, he foundTrina burning coffee on a shovel in the sitting-room. Try as she would, Trina could never quite eradicate from their rooms a certain faintand indefinable odor, particularly offensive to her. The smell of thephotographer's chemicals persisted in spite of all Trina could do tocombat it. She burnt pastilles and Chinese punk, and even, as now, coffee on a shovel, all to no purpose. Indeed, the only drawback totheir delightful home was the general unpleasant smell that pervadedit--a smell that arose partly from the photographer's chemicals, partlyfrom the cooking in the little kitchen, and partly from the ether andcreosote of the dentist's "Parlors. "

As McTeague came in to lunch on this occasion, he found the tablealready laid, a red cloth figured with white flowers was spread, and ashe took his seat his wife put down the shovel on a chair and broughtin the stewed codfish and the pot of chocolate. As he tucked his napkininto his enormous collar, McTeague looked vaguely about the room, rolling his eyes. 

During the three years of their married life the McTeagues had made butfew additions to their furniture, Trina declaring that they could notafford it. The sitting-room could boast of but three new ornaments. Overthe melodeon hung their marriage certificate in a black frame. It wasbalanced upon one side by Trina's wedding bouquet under a glass case, preserved by some fearful unknown process, and upon the other by thephotograph of Trina and the dentist in their wedding finery. This latterpicture was quite an affair, and had been taken immediately after thewedding, while McTeague's broadcloth was still new, and before Trina'ssilks and veil had lost their stiffness. It represented Trina, her veilthrown back, sitting very straight in a rep armchair, her elbows wellin at her sides, holding her bouquet of cut flowers directly beforeher. The dentist stood at her side, one hand on her shoulder, the otherthrust into the breast of his "Prince Albert, " his chin in the air, hiseyes to one side, his left foot forward in the attitude of a statue of aSecretary of State. 

"Say, Trina, " said McTeague, his mouth full of codfish, "Heise looked inon me this morning. He says 'What's the matter with a basket picnic overat Schuetzen Park next Tuesday?' You know the paper-hangers are goingto be in the 'Parlors' all that day, so I'll have a holiday. That's whatmade Heise think of it. Heise says he'll get the Ryers to go too. It'sthe anniversary of their wedding day. We'll ask Selina to go; she canmeet us on the other side. Come on, let's go, huh, will you?"

Trina still had her mania for family picnics, which had been one of theSieppes most cherished customs; but now there were other considerations. 

"I don't know as we can afford it this month, Mac, " she said, pouringthe chocolate. "I got to pay the gas bill next week, and there's thepapering of your office to be paid for some time. "

"I know, I know, " answered her husband. "But I got a new patient thisweek, had two molars and an upper incisor filled at the very firstsitting, and he's going to bring his children round. He's a barber onthe next block. "

"Well you pay half, then, " said Trina. "It'll cost three or four dollarsat the very least; and mind, the Heises pay their own fare both ways, Mac, and everybody gets their OWN lunch. Yes, " she added, after a pause, "I'll write and have Selina join us. I haven't seen Selina in months. Iguess I'll have to put up a lunch for her, though, " admitted Trina, "theway we did last time, because she lives in a boarding-house now, andthey make a fuss about putting up a lunch. "

They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year--it wasMay--and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired. Theparty assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock, laden with baskets. The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer and his wife had already boardedthe boat. They met the Heises in the waiting-room. 

"Hello, Doctor, " cried the harness-maker as the McTeagues came up. "Thisis what you'd call an old folks' picnic, all married people this time. "

The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and satdown to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outsidethis morning because of the fineness of the weather. 

"Oh, we're going to have lots of fun, " cried Trina. "If it's anything Ido love it's a picnic. Do you remember our first picnic, Mac?"

"Sure, sure, " replied the dentist; "we had a Gotha truffle. "

"And August lost his steamboat, " put in Trina, "and papa smacked him. Iremember it just as well. "

"Why, look there, " said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up thecompanion-way. "Ain't that Mr. Schouler?"

It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party he gaped atthem a moment in blank astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide. 

"Well, by damn!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "What's up? Where you allgoing, anyhow? Say, ain't ut queer we should all run up against eachother like this?" He made great sweeping bows to the three women, andshook hands with "Cousin Trina, " adding, as he turned to the men ofthe party, "Glad to see you, Mister Heise. How do, Mister Ryer?" Thedentist, who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting, heignored completely. McTeague settled himself in his seat, growlinginarticulately behind his mustache. 

"Say, say, what's all up, anyhow?" cried Marcus again. 

"It's a picnic, " exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once; andTrina added, "We're going over to the same old Schuetzen Park again. Butyou're all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look as though you weregoing somewhere yourself. "

In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair ofslate-blue trousers, a black "cutaway, " and a white lawn "tie" (for himthe symbol of the height of elegance). He carried also his cane, a thinwand of ebony with a gold head, presented to him by the Improvement Clubin "recognition of services. "

"That's right, that's right, " said Marcus, with a grin. "I'm takun aholiday myself to-day. I had a bit of business to do over at Oakland, an' I thought I'd go up to B Street afterward and see Selina. I haven'tcalled on----"

But the party uttered an exclamation. 

"Why, Selina is going with us. "

"She's going to meet us at the Schuetzen Park station" explained Trina. 

Marcus's business in Oakland was a fiction. He was crossing the bay thatmorning solely to see Selina. Marcus had "taken up with" Selina a littleafter Trina had married, and had been "rushing" her ever since, dazzledand attracted by her accomplishments, for which he pretended a greatrespect. At the prospect of missing Selina on this occasion, he wasgenuinely disappointed. His vexation at once assumed the form ofexasperation against McTeague. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah, McTeague was coming between him and Selina now as he had come betweenhim and Trina. Best look out, by damn! how he monkeyed with him now. Instantly his face flamed and he glanced over furiously at the dentist, who, catching his eye, began again to mutter behind his mustache. 

"Well, say, " began Mrs. Ryer, with some hesitation, looking to Ryer forapproval, "why can't Marcus come along with us?"

"Why, of course, " exclaimed Mrs. Heise, disregarding her husband'svigorous nudges. "I guess we got lunch enough to go round, all right;don't you say so, Mrs. McTeague?"

Thus appealed to, Trina could only concur. 

"Why, of course, Cousin Mark, " she said; "of course, come along with usif you want to. "

"Why, you bet I will, " cried Marcus, enthusiastic in an instant. "Say, this is outa sight; it is, for a fact; a picnic--ah, sure--and we'llmeet Selina at the station. "

Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the harness-maker proposedthat the men of the party should go down to the bar on the lower deckand shake for the drinks. The idea had an immediate success. 

"Have to see you on that, " said Ryer. 

"By damn, we'll have a drink! Yes, sir, we will, for a fact. "

"Sure, sure, drinks, that's the word. "

At the bar Heise and Ryer ordered cocktails, Marcus called for a "cremeYvette" in order to astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glassof beer. 

"Say, look here, " suddenly exclaimed Heise as they took their glasses. "Look here, you fellahs, " he had turned to Marcus and the dentist. "Youtwo fellahs have had a grouch at each other for the last year or so; nowwhat's the matter with your shaking hands and calling quits?"

McTeague was at once overcome with a great feeling of magnanimity. Heput out his great hand. 

"I got nothing against Marcus, " he growled. 

"Well, I don't care if I shake, " admitted Marcus, a little shamefacedly, as their palms touched. "I guess that's all right. "

"That's the idea, " exclaimed Heise, delighted at his success. "Come on, boys, now let's drink. " Their elbows crooked and they drank silently. 

Their picnic that day was very jolly. Nothing had changed at SchuetzenPark since the day of that other memorable Sieppe picnic four yearsprevious. After lunch the men took themselves off to the rifle range, while Selina, Trina, and the other two women put away the dishes. An hour later the men joined them in great spirits. Ryer had won theimpromptu match which they had arranged, making quite a wonderful score, which included three clean bulls' eyes, while McTeague had not been ableeven to hit the target itself. 

Their shooting match had awakened a spirit of rivalry in the men, andthe rest of the afternoon was passed in athletic exercises between them. The women sat on the slope of the grass, their hats and gloves laidaside, watching the men as they strove together. Aroused by the littlefeminine cries of wonder and the clapping of their ungloved palms, theselatter began to show off at once. They took off their coats and vests, even their neckties and collars, and worked themselves into a lather ofperspiration for the sake of making an impression on their wives. Theyran hundred-yard sprints on the cinder path and executed clumsy feats onthe rings and on the parallel bars. They even found a huge roundstone on the beach and "put the shot" for a while. As long as it wasa question of agility, Marcus was easily the best of the four; but thedentist's enormous strength, his crude, untutored brute force, wasa matter of wonder for the entire party. McTeague cracked Englishwalnuts--taken from the lunch baskets--in the hollow of his arm, andtossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their best mark. Heisebelieved himself to be particularly strong in the wrists, but thedentist, using but one hand, twisted a cane out of Heise's two with awrench that all but sprained the harnessmaker's arm. Then the dentistraised weights and chinned himself on the rings till they thought hewould never tire. 

His great success quite turned his head; he strutted back and forthin front of the women, his chest thrown out, and his great mouthperpetually expanded in a triumphant grin. As he felt his strength moreand more, he began to abuse it; he domineered over the others, grippingsuddenly at their arms till they squirmed with pain, and slapping Marcuson the back so that he gasped and gagged for breath. The childish vanityof the great fellow was as undisguised as that of a schoolboy. He beganto tell of wonderful feats of strength he had accomplished when he was ayoung man. Why, at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heiferwith a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had juststiffened out and trembled all over and died without getting up. 

McTeague told this story again, and yet again. All through the afternoonhe could be overheard relating the wonder to any one who would listen, exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details. Why, the heifer had just frothed at the mouth, and his eyes had rolledup--ah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like that--and the butcher hadsaid his skull was all mashed in--just all mashed in, sure, that's theword--just as if from a sledge-hammer. 

Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the dentist on the boat, Marcus's gorge rose within him at McTeague's boasting swagger. WhenMcTeague had slapped him on the back, Marcus had retired to some littledistance while he recovered his breath, and glared at the dentistfiercely as he strode up and down, glorying in the admiring glances ofthe women. 

"Ah, one-horse dentist, " he muttered between his teeth. "Ah, zinc-plugger, cow-killer, I'd like to show you once, you overgrownmucker, you--you--COW-KILLER!"

When he rejoined the group, he found them preparing for a wrestlingbout. 

"I tell you what, " said Heise, "we'll have a tournament. Marcus and Iwill rastle, and Doc and Ryer, and then the winners will rastle eachother. "

The women clapped their hands excitedly. This would be exciting. Trinacried:

"Better let me hold your money, Mac, and your keys, so as you won't losethem out of your pockets. " The men gave their valuables into the keepingof their wives and promptly set to work. 

The dentist thrust Ryer down without even changing his grip; Marcus andthe harness-maker struggled together for a few moments till Heise all atonce slipped on a bit of turf and fell backwards. As they toppled overtogether, Marcus writhed himself from under his opponent, and, as theyreached the ground, forced down first one shoulder and then the other. 

"All right, all right, " panted the harness-maker, goodnaturedly, "I'mdown. It's up to you and Doc now, " he added, as he got to his feet. 

The match between McTeague and Marcus promised to be interesting. Thedentist, of course, had an enormous advantage in point of strength, but Marcus prided himself on his wrestling, and knew something aboutstrangle-holds and half-Nelsons. The men drew back to allow them a freespace as they faced each other, while Trina and the other women rose totheir feet in their excitement. 

"I bet Mac will throw him, all the same, " said Trina. 

"All ready!" cried Ryer. 

The dentist and Marcus stepped forward, eyeing each other cautiously. They circled around the impromptu ring. Marcus watching eagerly for anopening. He ground his teeth, telling himself he would throw McTeagueif it killed him. Ah, he'd show him now. Suddenly the two men caught ateach other; Marcus went to his knees. The dentist threw his vast bulk onhis adversary's shoulders and, thrusting a huge palm against his face, pushed him backwards and downwards. It was out of the question to resistthat enormous strength. Marcus wrenched himself over and fell facedownward on the ground. 

McTeague rose on the instant with a great laugh of exultation. 

"You're down!" he exclaimed. 

Marcus leaped to his feet. 

"Down nothing, " he vociferated, with clenched fists. "Down nothing, bydamn! You got to throw me so's my shoulders touch. "

McTeague was stalking about, swelling with pride. 

"Hoh, you're down. I threw you. Didn't I throw him, Trina? Hoh, youcan't rastle ME. "

Marcus capered with rage. 

"You didn't! you didn't! you didn't! and you can't! You got to give meanother try. "

The other men came crowding up. Everybody was talking at once. 

"He's right. "

"You didn't throw him. "

"Both his shoulders at the same time. "

Trina clapped and waved her hand at McTeague from where she stood onthe little slope of lawn above the wrestlers. Marcus broke through thegroup, shaking all over with excitement and rage. 

"I tell you that ain't the WAY to rastle. You've got to throw a man so'shis shoulders touch. You got to give me another bout. "

"That's straight, " put in Heise, "both his shoulders down at the sametime. Try it again. You and Schouler have another try. "

McTeague was bewildered by so much simultaneous talk. He could not makeout what it was all about. Could he have offended Marcus again?

"What? What? Huh? What is it?" he exclaimed in perplexity, looking fromone to the other. 

"Come on, you must rastle me again, " shouted Marcus. 

"Sure, sure, " cried the dentist. "I'll rastle you again. I'll rastleeverybody, " he cried, suddenly struck with an idea. Trina looked on insome apprehension. 

"Mark gets so mad, " she said, half aloud. 

"Yes, " admitted Selina. "Mister Schouler's got an awful quick temper, but he ain't afraid of anything. "

"All ready!" shouted Ryer. 

This time Marcus was more careful. Twice, as McTeague rushed at him, heslipped cleverly away. But as the dentist came in a third time, with hishead bowed, Marcus, raising himself to his full height, caught him withboth arms around the neck. The dentist gripped at him and rent away thesleeve of his shirt. There was a great laugh. 

"Keep your shirt on, " cried Mrs. Ryer. 

The two men were grappling at each other wildly. The party could hearthem panting and grunting as they labored and struggled. Their bootstore up great clods of turf. Suddenly they came to the ground with atremendous shock. But even as they were in the act of falling, Marcus, like a very eel, writhed in the dentist's clasp and fell upon his side. McTeague crashed down upon him like the collapse of a felled ox. 

"Now, you gotta turn him on his back, " shouted Heise to the dentist. "Heain't down if you don't. "

With his huge salient chin digging into Marcus's shoulder, the dentistheaved and tugged. His face was flaming, his huge shock of yellow hairfell over his forehead, matted with sweat. Marcus began to yield despitehis frantic efforts. One shoulder was down, now the other began to go;gradually, gradually it was forced over. The little audience held itsbreath in the suspense of the moment. Selina broke the silence, callingout shrilly:

"Ain't Doctor McTeague just that strong!"

Marcus heard it, and his fury came instantly to a head. Rage at hisdefeat at the hands of the dentist and before Selina's eyes, the hatehe still bore his old-time "pal" and the impotent wrath of his ownpowerlessness were suddenly unleashed. 

"God damn you! get off of me, " he cried under his breath, spitting thewords as a snake spits its venom. The little audience uttered a cry. With the oath Marcus had twisted his head and had bitten through thelobe of the dentist's ear. There was a sudden flash of bright-red blood. 

Then followed a terrible scene. The brute that in McTeague lay so closeto the surface leaped instantly to life, monstrous, not to be resisted. He sprang to his feet with a shrill and meaningless clamor, totallyunlike the ordinary bass of his speaking tones. It was the hideousyelling of a hurt beast, the squealing of a wounded elephant. Heframed no words; in the rush of high-pitched sound that issued from hiswide-open mouth there was nothing articulate. It was something no longerhuman; it was rather an echo from the jungle. 

Sluggish enough and slow to anger on ordinary occasions, McTeague whenfinally aroused became another man. His rage was a kind of obsession, anevil mania, the drunkenness of passion, the exalted and perverted furyof the Berserker, blind and deaf, a thing insensate. 

As he rose he caught Marcus's wrist in both his hands. He did notstrike, he did not know what he was doing. His only idea was to batterthe life out of the man before him, to crush and annihilate him upon theinstant. Gripping his enemy in his enormous hands, hard and knotted, and covered with a stiff fell of yellow hair--the hands of the old-timecar-boy--he swung him wide, as a hammer-thrower swings his hammer. Marcus's feet flipped from the ground, he spun through the air aboutMcTeague as helpless as a bundle of clothes. All at once there was asharp snap, almost like the report of a small pistol. Then Marcus rolledover and over upon the ground as McTeague released his grip; his arm, the one the dentist had seized, bending suddenly, as though a thirdjoint had formed between wrist and elbow. The arm was broken. 

But by this time every one was crying out at once. Heise and Ryan ran inbetween the two men. Selina turned her head away. Trina was wringing herhands and crying in an agony of dread:

"Oh, stop them, stop them! Don't let them fight. Oh, it's too awful. "

"Here, here, Doc, quit. Don't make a fool of yourself, " cried Heise, clinging to the dentist. "That's enough now. LISTEN to me, will you?"

"Oh, Mac, Mac, " cried Trina, running to her husband. "Mac, dear, listen;it's me, it's Trina, look at me, you----"

"Get hold of his other arm, will you, Ryer?" panted Heise. "Quick!"

"Mac, Mac, " cried Trina, her arms about his neck. 

"For God's sake, hold up, Doc, will you?" shouted the harness-maker. "You don't want to kill him, do you?"

Mrs. Ryer and Heise's lame wife were filling the air with theiroutcries. Selina was giggling with hysteria. Marcus, terrified, but toobrave to run, had picked up a jagged stone with his left hand and stoodon the defensive. His swollen right arm, from which the shirt sleeve hadbeen torn, dangled at his side, the back of the hand twisted where thepalm should have been. The shirt itself was a mass of grass stains andwas spotted with the dentist's blood. 

But McTeague, in the centre of the group that struggled to hold him, wasnigh to madness. The side of his face, his neck, and all the shoulderand breast of his shirt were covered with blood. He had ceased to cryout, but kept muttering between his gripped jaws, as he labored to tearhimself free of the retaining hands:

"Ah, I'll kill him! Ah, I'll kill him! I'll kill him! Damn you, Heise, "he exclaimed suddenly, trying to strike the harness-maker, "let go ofme, will you!"

Little by little they pacified him, or rather (for he paid but littleattention to what was said to him) his bestial fury lapsed by degrees. He turned away and let fall his arms, drawing long breaths, and lookingstupidly about him, now searching helplessly upon the ground, now gazingvaguely into the circle of faces about him. His ear bled as though itwould never stop. 

"Say, Doctor, " asked Heise, "what's the best thing to do?"

"Huh?" answered McTeague. "What--what do you mean? What is it?"

"What'll we do to stop this bleeding here?"

McTeague did not answer, but looked intently at the blood-stained bosomof his shirt. 

"Mac, " cried Trina, her face close to his, "tell us something--the bestthing we can do to stop your ear bleeding. "

"Collodium, " said the dentist. 

"But we can't get to that right away; we--"

"There's some ice in our lunch basket, " broke in Heise. "We brought itfor the beer; and take the napkins and make a bandage. "

"Ice, " muttered the dentist, "sure, ice, that's the word. "

Mrs. Heise and the Ryers were looking after Marcus's broken arm. Selinasat on the slope of the grass, gasping and sobbing. Trina tore thenapkins into strips, and, crushing some of the ice, made a bandage forher husband's head. '

The party resolved itself into two groups; the Ryers and Mrs. Heisebending over Marcus, while the harness-maker and Trina came and wentabout McTeague, sitting on the ground, his shirt, a mere blur of redand white, detaching itself violently from the background of pale-greengrass. Between the two groups was the torn and trampled bit of turf, thewrestling ring; the picnic baskets, together with empty beer bottles, broken egg-shells, and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here andthere. In the middle of the improvised wrestling ring the sleeve ofMarcus's shirt fluttered occasionally in the sea breeze. 

Nobody was paying any attention to Selina. All at once she began togiggle hysterically again, then cried out with a peal of laughter:

"Oh, what a way for our picnic to end!"

CHAPTER 12

"Now, then, Maria, " said Zerkow, his cracked, strained voice just risingabove a whisper, hitching his chair closer to the table, "now, then, mygirl, let's have it all over again. Tell us about the gold plate--theservice. Begin with, 'There were over a hundred pieces and every one ofthem gold. '"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zerkow, " answered Maria. "Therenever was no gold plate, no gold service. I guess you must have dreamedit. "

Maria and the red-headed Polish Jew had been married about a month afterthe McTeague's picnic which had ended in such lamentable fashion. Zerkowhad taken Maria home to his wretched hovel in the alley back of theflat, and the flat had been obliged to get another maid of all work. Time passed, a month, six months, a whole year went by. At length Mariagave birth to a child, a wretched, sickly child, with not even strengthenough nor wits enough to cry. At the time of its birth Maria was out ofher mind, and continued in a state of dementia for nearly ten days. Sherecovered just in time to make the arrangements for the baby's burial. Neither Zerkow nor Maria was much affected by either the birth or thedeath of this little child. Zerkow had welcomed it with pronounceddisfavor, since it had a mouth to be fed and wants to be provided for. Maria was out of her head so much of the time that she could scarcelyremember how it looked when alive. The child was a mere incident intheir lives, a thing that had come undesired and had gone unregretted. It had not even a name; a strange, hybrid little being, come and gonewithin a fortnight's time, yet combining in its puny little body theblood of the Hebrew, the Pole, and the Spaniard. 

But the birth of this child had peculiar consequences. Maria came outof her dementia, and in a few days the household settled itself againto its sordid regime and Maria went about her duties as usual. Then oneevening, about a week after the child's burial, Zerkow had asked Mariato tell him the story of the famous service of gold plate for thehundredth time. 

Zerkow had come to believe in this story infallibly. He was immovablypersuaded that at one time Maria or Maria's people had possessed thesehundred golden dishes. In his perverted mind the hallucination haddeveloped still further. Not only had that service of gold plate onceexisted, but it existed now, entire, intact; not a single burnishedgolden piece of it was missing. It was somewhere, somebody had it, locked away in that leather trunk with its quilted lining and roundbrass locks. It was to be searched for and secured, to be fought for, to be gained at all hazards. Maria must know where it was; by dint ofquestioning, Zerkow would surely get the information from her. Some day, if only he was persistent, he would hit upon the right combination ofquestions, the right suggestion that would disentangle Maria's confusedrecollections. Maria would tell him where the thing was kept, wasconcealed, was buried, and he would go to that place and secure it, andall that wonderful gold would be his forever and forever. This serviceof plate had come to be Zerkow's mania. 

On this particular evening, about a week after the child's burial, inthe wretched back room of the Junk shop, Zerkow had made Maria sit downto the table opposite him--the whiskey bottle and the red glass tumblerwith its broken base between them--and had said:

"Now, then, Maria, tell us that story of the gold dishes again. "

Maria stared at him, an expression of perplexity coming into her face. 

"What gold dishes?" said she. 

"The ones your people used to own in Central America. Come on, Maria, begin, begin. " The Jew craned himself forward, his lean fingers clawingeagerly at his lips. 

"What gold plate?" said Maria, frowning at him as she drank her whiskey. "What gold plate? I don' know what you're talking about, Zerkow. "

Zerkow sat back in his chair, staring at her. 

"Why, your people's gold dishes, what they used to eat off of. You'vetold me about it a hundred times. "

"You're crazy, Zerkow, " said Maria. "Push the bottle here, will you?"

"Come, now, " insisted Zerkow, sweating with desire, "come, now, my girl, don't be a fool; let's have it, let's have it. Begin now, 'There weremore'n a hundred pieces, and every one of 'em gold. ' Oh, YOU know; comeon, come on. "

"I don't remember nothing of the kind, " protested Maria, reaching forthe bottle. Zerkow snatched it from her. 

"You fool!" he wheezed, trying to raise his broken voice to a shout. "You fool! Don't you dare try an' cheat ME, or I'll DO for you. You knowabout the gold plate, and you know where it is. " Suddenly he pitched hisvoice at the prolonged rasping shout with which he made his street cry. He rose to his feet, his long, prehensile fingers curled into fists. Hewas menacing, terrible in his rage. He leaned over Maria, his fists inher face. 

"I believe you've got it!" he yelled. "I believe you've got it, an' arehiding it from me. Where is it, where is it? Is it here?" he rolled hiseyes wildly about the room. "Hey? hey?" he went on, shaking Maria by theshoulders. "Where is it? Is it here? Tell me where it is. Tell me, orI'll do for you!"

"It ain't here, " cried Maria, wrenching from him. "It ain't anywhere. What gold plate? What are you talking about? I don't remember nothingabout no gold plate at all. "

No, Maria did not remember. The trouble and turmoil of her mindconsequent upon the birth of her child seemed to have readjusted herdisordered ideas upon this point. Her mania had come to a crisis, whichin subsiding had cleared her brain of its one illusion. She did notremember. Or it was possible that the gold plate she had once rememberedhad had some foundation in fact, that her recital of its splendors hadbeen truth, sound and sane. It was possible that now her FORGETFULNESSof it was some form of brain trouble, a relic of the dementia ofchildbirth. At all events Maria did not remember; the idea of the goldplate had passed entirely out of her mind, and it was now Zerkow wholabored under its hallucination. It was now Zerkow, the raker of thecity's muck heap, the searcher after gold, that saw that wonderfulservice in the eye of his perverted mind. It was he who could nowdescribe it in a language almost eloquent. Maria had been content merelyto remember it; but Zerkow's avarice goaded him to a belief that it wasstill in existence, hid somewhere, perhaps in that very house, stowedaway there by Maria. For it stood to reason, didn't it, that Maria couldnot have described it with such wonderful accuracy and such carefuldetail unless she had seen it recently--the day before, perhaps, or thatvery day, or that very hour, that very HOUR?

"Look out for yourself, " he whispered, hoarsely, to his wife. "Look outfor yourself, my girl. I'll hunt for it, and hunt for it, and hunt forit, and some day I'll find it--I will, you'll see--I'll find it, I'llfind it; and if I don't, I'll find a way that'll make you tell me whereit is. I'll make you speak--believe me, I will, I will, my girl--trustme for that. "

And at night Maria would sometimes wake to find Zerkow gone from thebed, and would see him burrowing into some corner by the light of hisdark-lantern and would hear him mumbling to himself: "There were more'na hundred pieces, and every one of 'em gold--when the leather trunk wasopened it fair dazzled your eyes--why, just that punchbowl was worth afortune, I guess; solid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold, nothun but gold, gold, heaps and heaps of it--what a glory! I'll find it yet, I'll findit. It's here somewheres, hid somewheres in this house. "

At length his continued ill success began to exasperate him. One day hetook his whip from his junk wagon and thrashed Maria with it, gaspingthe while, "Where is it, you beast? Where is it? Tell me where it is;I'll make you speak. "

"I don' know, I don' know, " cried Maria, dodging his blows. "I'd tellyou, Zerkow, if I knew; but I don' know nothing about it. How can I tellyou if I don' know?"

Then one evening matters reached a crisis. Marcus Schouler was in hisroom, the room in the flat just over McTeague's "Parlors" which he hadalways occupied. It was between eleven and twelve o'clock. The vasthouse was quiet; Polk Street outside was very still, except for theoccasional whirr and trundle of a passing cable car and the persistentcalling of ducks and geese in the deserted market directly opposite. Marcus was in his shirt sleeves, perspiring and swearing with exertionas he tried to get all his belongings into an absurdly inadequate trunk. The room was in great confusion. It looked as though Marcus was aboutto move. He stood in front of his trunk, his precious silk hat in itshat-box in his hand. He was raging at the perverseness of a pair ofboots that refused to fit in his trunk, no matter how he arranged them. 

"I've tried you SO, and I've tried you SO, " he exclaimed fiercely, between his teeth, "and you won't go. " He began to swear horribly, grabbing at the boots with his free hand. "Pretty soon I won't take youat all; I won't, for a fact. "

He was interrupted by a rush of feet upon the back stairs and aclamorous pounding upon his door. He opened it to let in Maria Macapa, her hair dishevelled and her eyes starting with terror. 

"Oh, MISTER Schouler, " she gasped, "lock the door quick. Don't let himget me. He's got a knife, and he says sure he's going to do for me, if Idon't tell him where it is. "

"Who has? What has? Where is what?" shouted Marcus, flaming withexcitement upon the instant. He opened the door and peered down the darkhall, both fists clenched, ready to fight--he did not know whom, and hedid not know why. 

"It's Zerkow, " wailed Maria, pulling him back into the room and boltingthe door, "and he's got a knife as long as THAT. Oh, my Lord, here hecomes now! Ain't that him? Listen. "

Zerkow was coming up the stairs, calling for Maria. 

"Don't you let him get me, will you, Mister Schouler?" gasped Maria. 

"I'll break him in two, " shouted Marcus, livid with rage. "Think I'mafraid of his knife?"

"I know where you are, " cried Zerkow, on the landing outside. "You're inSchouler's room. What are you doing in Schouler's room at this time ofnight? Come outa there; you oughta be ashamed. I'll do for you yet, mygirl. Come outa there once, an' see if I don't. "

"I'll do for you myself, you dirty Jew, " shouted Marcus, unbolting thedoor and running out into the hall. 

"I want my wife, " exclaimed the Jew, backing down the stairs. "What'sshe mean by running away from me and going into your room?"

"Look out, he's got a knife!" cried Maria through the crack of the door. 

"Ah, there you are. Come outa that, and come back home, " exclaimedZerkow. 

"Get outa here yourself, " cried Marcus, advancing on him angrily. "Getouta here. "

"Maria's gota come too. "

"Get outa here, " vociferated Marcus, "an' put up that knife. I see it;you needn't try an' hide it behind your leg. Give it to me, anyhow, " heshouted suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus had wrenched itaway. "Now, get outa here. "

Zerkow backed away, peering and peeping over Marcus's shoulder. 

"I want Maria. "

"Get outa here. Get along out, or I'll PUT you out. " The street doorclosed. The Jew was gone. 

"Huh!" snorted Marcus, swelling with arrogance. "Huh! Think I'm afraidof his knife? I ain't afraid of ANYBODY, " he shouted pointedly, forMcTeague and his wife, roused by the clamor, were peering over thebanisters from the landing above. "Not of anybody, " repeated Marcus. 

Maria came out into the hall. 

"Is he gone? Is he sure gone?"

"What was the trouble?" inquired Marcus, suddenly. 

"I woke up about an hour ago, " Maria explained, "and Zerkow wasn't inbed; maybe he hadn't come to bed at all. He was down on his knees by thesink, and he'd pried up some boards off the floor and was digging there. He had his dark-lantern. He was digging with that knife, I guess, andall the time he kept mumbling to himself, 'More'n a hundred pieces, an'every one of 'em gold; more'n a hundred pieces, an' every one of 'emgold. ' Then, all of a sudden, he caught sight of me. I was sitting up inbed, and he jumped up and came at me with his knife, an' he says, 'Whereis it? Where is it? I know you got it hid somewhere. Where is it? Tellme or I'll knife you. ' I kind of fooled him and kept him off till I gotmy wrapper on, an' then I run out. I didn't dare stay. "

"Well, what did you tell him about your gold dishes for in the firstplace?" cried Marcus. 

"I never told him, " protested Maria, with the greatest energy. "I nevertold him; I never heard of any gold dishes. I don' know where he got theidea; he must be crazy. "

By this time Trina and McTeague, Old Grannis, and little Miss Baker--allthe lodgers on the upper floors of the flat--had gathered about Maria. Trina and the dentist, who had gone to bed, were partially dressed, andTrina's enormous mane of black hair was hanging in two thick braidsfar down her back. But, late as it was, Old Grannis and the retireddressmaker had still been up and about when Maria had aroused them. 

"Why, Maria, " said Trina, "you always used to tell us about your golddishes. You said your folks used to have them. "

"Never, never, never!" exclaimed Maria, vehemently. "You folks must allbe crazy. I never HEARD of any gold dishes. "

"Well, " spoke up Miss Baker, "you're a queer girl, Maria; that's allI can say. " She left the group and returned to her room. Old Granniswatched her go from the corner of his eye, and in a few moments followedher, leaving the group as unnoticed as he had joined it. By degrees theflat quieted down again. Trina and McTeague returned to their rooms. 

"I guess I'll go back now, " said Maria. "He's all right now. I ain'tafraid of him so long as he ain't got his knife. "

"Well, say, " Marcus called to her as she went down stairs, "if he getsfunny again, you just yell out; I'LL hear you. I won't let him hurtyou. "

Marcus went into his room again and resumed his wrangle with therefractory boots. His eye fell on Zerkow's knife, a long, keen-bladedhunting-knife, with a buckhorn handle. "I'll take you along with me, " heexclaimed, suddenly. "I'll just need you where I'm going. "

Meanwhile, old Miss Baker was making tea to calm her nerves after theexcitement of Maria's incursion. This evening she went so far as tomake tea for two, laying an extra place on the other side of her littletea-table, setting out a cup and saucer and one of the Gorham silverspoons. Close upon the other side of the partition Old Grannis bounduncut numbers of the "Nation. "

"Do you know what I think, Mac?" said Trina, when the couple hadreturned to their rooms. "I think Marcus is going away. "

"What? What?" muttered the dentist, very sleepy and stupid, "what yousaying? What's that about Marcus?"

"I believe Marcus has been packing up, the last two or three days. Iwonder if he's going away. "

"Who's going away?" said McTeague, blinking at her. 

"Oh, go to bed, " said Trina, pushing him goodnaturedly. "Mac, you're thestupidest man I ever knew. "

But it was true. Marcus was going away. Trina received a letter the nextmorning from her mother. The carpet-cleaning and upholstery business inwhich Mr. Sieppe had involved himself was going from bad to worse. Mr. Sieppe had even been obliged to put a mortgage upon their house. Mrs. Sieppe didn't know what was to become of them all. Her husband had evenbegun to talk of emigrating to New Zealand. Meanwhile, she informedTrina that Mr. Sieppe had finally come across a man with whom Marcuscould "go in with on a ranch, " a cattle ranch in the southeasternportion of the State. Her ideas were vague upon the subject, but sheknew that Marcus was wildly enthusiastic at the prospect, and wasexpected down before the end of the month. In the meantime, could Trinasend them fifty dollars?

"Marcus IS going away, after all, Mac, " said Trina to her husbandthat day as he came out of his "Parlors" and sat down to the lunch ofsausages, mashed potatoes, and chocolate in the sitting-room. 

"Huh?" said the dentist, a little confused. "Who's going away? Schoulergoing away? Why's Schouler going away?"

Trina explained. "Oh!" growled McTeague, behind his thick mustache, "hecan go far before I'LL stop him. "

"And, say, Mac, " continued Trina, pouring the chocolate, "what do youthink? Mamma wants me--wants us to send her fifty dollars. She saysthey're hard up. "

"Well, " said the dentist, after a moment, "well, I guess we can send it, can't we?"

"Oh, that's easy to say, " complained Trina, her little chin in theair, her small pale lips pursed. "I wonder if mamma thinks we'remillionaires?"

"Trina, you're getting to be regular stingy, " muttered McTeague. "You'regetting worse and worse every day. "

"But fifty dollars is fifty dollars, Mac. Just think how long it takesyou to earn fifty dollars. Fifty dollars! That's two months of ourinterest. "

"Well, " said McTeague, easily, his mouth full of mashed potato, "you gota lot saved up. "

Upon every reference to that little hoard in the brass match-safeand chamois-skin bag at the bottom of her trunk, Trina bridled on theinstant. 

"Don't TALK that way, Mac. 'A lot of money. ' What do you call a lot ofmoney? I don't believe I've got fifty dollars saved. "

"Hoh!" exclaimed McTeague. "Hoh! I guess you got nearer a hundred AN'fifty. That's what I guess YOU got. "

"I've NOT, I've NOT, " declared Trina, "and you know I've not. I wishmamma hadn't asked me for any money. Why can't she be a little moreeconomical? I manage all right. No, no, I can't possibly afford to sendher fifty. "

"Oh, pshaw! What WILL you do, then?" grumbled her husband. 

"I'll send her twenty-five this month, and tell her I'll send the restas soon as I can afford it. "

"Trina, you're a regular little miser, " said McTeague. 

"I don't care, " answered Trina, beginning to laugh. "I guess I am, but Ican't help it, and it's a good fault. "

Trina put off sending this money for a couple of weeks, and her mothermade no mention of it in her next letter. "Oh, I guess if she wantsit so bad, " said Trina, "she'll speak about it again. " So she againpostponed the sending of it. Day by day she put it off. When her motherasked her for it a second time, it seemed harder than ever for Trina topart with even half the sum requested. She answered her mother, tellingher that they were very hard up themselves for that month, but that shewould send down the amount in a few weeks. 

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Mac, " she said to her husband, "you sendhalf and I'll send half; we'll send twenty-five dollars altogether. Twelve and a half apiece. That's an idea. How will that do?"

"Sure, sure, " McTeague had answered, giving her the money. Trina sentMcTeague's twelve dollars, but never sent the twelve that was to be hershare. One day the dentist happened to ask her about it. 

"You sent that twenty-five to your mother, didn't you?" said he. 

"Oh, long ago, " answered Trina, without thinking. 

In fact, Trina never allowed herself to think very much of this affair. And, in fact, another matter soon came to engross her attention. 

One Sunday evening Trina and her husband were in their sitting-roomtogether. It was dark, but the lamp had not been lit. McTeague hadbrought up some bottles of beer from the "Wein Stube" on the groundfloor, where the branch post-office used to be. But they had notopened the beer. It was a warm evening in summer. Trina was sitting onMcTeague's lap in the bay window, and had looped back the Nottinghamcurtains so the two could look out into the darkened street and watchthe moon coming up over the glass roof of the huge public baths. Onoccasions they sat like this for an hour or so, "philandering, " Trinacuddling herself down upon McTeague's enormous body, rubbing her cheekagainst the grain of his unshaven chin, kissing the bald spot on the topof his head, or putting her fingers into his ears and eyes. At times, a brusque access of passion would seize upon her, and, with a nervouslittle sigh, she would clasp his thick red neck in both her small armsand whisper in his ear:

"Do you love me, Mac, dear? Love me BIG, BIG? Sure, do you love me asmuch as you did when we were married?"

Puzzled, McTeague would answer: "Well, you know it, don't you, Trina?"

"But I want you to SAY so; say so always and always. "

"Well, I do, of course I do. "

"Say it, then. "

"Well, then, I love you. "

"But you don't say it of your own accord. "

"Well, what--what--what--I don't understand, " stammered the dentist, bewildered. 

There was a knock on the door. Confused and embarrassed, as if they werenot married, Trina scrambled off McTeague's lap, hastening to light thelamp, whispering, "Put on your coat, Mac, and smooth your hair, " andmaking gestures for him to put the beer bottles out of sight. She openedthe door and uttered an exclamation. 

"Why, Cousin Mark!" she said. McTeague glared at him, struck speechless, confused beyond expression. Marcus Schouler, perfectly at his ease, stood in the doorway, smiling with great affability. 

"Say, " he remarked, "can I come in?"

Taken all aback, Trina could only answer:

"Why--I suppose so. Yes, of course--come in. "

"Yes, yes, come in, " exclaimed the dentist, suddenly, speaking withoutthought. "Have some beer?" he added, struck with an idea. 

"No, thanks, Doctor, " said Marcus, pleasantly. 

McTeague and Trina were puzzled. What could it all mean? Did Marcuswant to become reconciled to his enemy? "I know. " Trina said to herself. "He's going away, and he wants to borrow some money. He won't get apenny, not a penny. " She set her teeth together hard. 

"Well, " said Marcus, "how's business, Doctor?"

"Oh, " said McTeague, uneasily, "oh, I don' know. I guess--I guess, "he broke off in helpless embarrassment. They had all sat down by now. Marcus continued, holding his hat and his cane--the black wand of ebonywith the gold top presented to him by the "Improvement Club. "

"Ah!" said he, wagging his head and looking about the sitting-room, "youpeople have got the best fixed rooms in the whole flat. Yes, sir; youhave, for a fact. " He glanced from the lithograph framed in gilt and redplush--the two little girls at their prayers--to the "I'm Grandpa"and "I'm Grandma" pictures, noted the clean white matting and the gayworsted tidies over the chair backs, and appeared to contemplate inecstasy the framed photograph of McTeague and Trina in their weddingfinery. 

"Well, you two are pretty happy together, ain't you?" said he, smilinggood-humoredly. 

"Oh, we don't complain, " answered Trina. 

"Plenty of money, lots to do, everything fine, hey?"

"We've got lots to do, " returned Trina, thinking to head him off, "butwe've not got lots of money. "

But evidently Marcus wanted no money. 

"Well, Cousin Trina, " he said, rubbing his knee, "I'm going away. "

"Yes, mamma wrote me; you're going on a ranch. "

"I'm going in ranching with an English duck, " corrected Marcus. "Mr. Sieppe has fixed things. We'll see if we can't raise some cattle. I knowa lot about horses, and he's ranched some before--this English duck. Andthen I'm going to keep my eye open for a political chance down there. Igot some introductions from the President of the Improvement Club. I'llwork things somehow, oh, sure. "

"How long you going to be gone?" asked Trina. 

Marcus stared. 

"Why, I ain't EVER coming back, " he vociferated. "I'm going to-morrow, and I'm going for good. I come to say good-by. "

Marcus stayed for upwards of an hour that evening. He talked on easilyand agreeably, addressing himself as much to McTeague as to Trina. Atlast he rose. 

"Well, good-by, Doc. "

"Good-by, Marcus, " returned McTeague. The two shook hands. 

"Guess we won't ever see each other again, " continued Marcus. "But goodluck to you, Doc. Hope some day you'll have the patients standing inline on the stairs. "

"Huh! I guess so, I guess so, " said the dentist. 

"Good-by, Cousin Trina. "

"Good-by, Marcus, " answered Trina. "You be sure to remember me to mamma, and papa, and everybody. I'm going to make two great big sets of Noah'sark animals for the twins on their next birthday; August is too oldfor toys. But you can tell the twins that I'll make them some great biganimals. Good-by, success to you, Marcus. "

"Good-by, good-by. Good luck to you both. "

"Good-by, Cousin Mark. "

"Good-by, Marcus. "

He was gone. 

CHAPTER 13

One morning about a week after Marcus had left for the southern partof the State, McTeague found an oblong letter thrust through theletter-drop of the door of his "Parlors. " The address was typewritten. He opened it. The letter had been sent from the City Hall and wasstamped in one corner with the seal of the State of California, veryofficial; the form and file numbers superscribed. 

McTeague had been making fillings when this letter arrived. He was inhis "Parlors, " pottering over his movable rack underneath the bird cagein the bay window. He was making "blocks" to be used in large proximalcavities and "cylinders" for commencing fillings. He heard the postman'sstep in the hall and saw the envelopes begin to shuttle themselvesthrough the slit of his letter-drop. Then came the fat oblong envelope, with its official seal, that dropped flatwise to the floor with asodden, dull impact. 

The dentist put down the broach and scissors and gathered up his mail. There were four letters altogether. One was for Trina, in Selina's"elegant" handwriting; another was an advertisement of a new kind ofoperating chair for dentists; the third was a card from a milliner onthe next block, announcing an opening; and the fourth, contained in thefat oblong envelope, was a printed form with blanks left for namesand dates, and addressed to McTeague, from an office in the City Hall. McTeague read it through laboriously. "I don' know, I don' know, " hemuttered, looking stupidly at the rifle manufacturer's calendar. Thenhe heard Trina, from the kitchen, singing as she made a clatteringnoise with the breakfast dishes. "I guess I'll ask Trina about it, " hemuttered. 

He went through the suite, by the sitting-room, where the sun waspouring in through the looped backed Nottingham curtains upon the cleanwhite matting and the varnished surface of the melodeon, passed onthrough the bedroom, with its framed lithographs of round-cheekedEnglish babies and alert fox terriers, and came out into the brick-pavedkitchen. The kitchen was clean as a new whistle; the freshly blackenedcook stove glowed like a negro's hide; the tins and porcelain-linedstew-pans might have been of silver and of ivory. Trina was in thecentre of the room, wiping off, with a damp sponge, the oilclothtable-cover, on which they had breakfasted. Never had she looked sopretty. Early though it was, her enormous tiara of swarthy hair wasneatly combed and coiled, not a pin was so much as loose. She wore ablue calico skirt with a white figure, and a belt of imitation alligatorskin clasped around her small, firmly-corseted waist; her shirtwaist was of pink linen, so new and crisp that it crackled with everymovement, while around the collar, tied in a neat knot, was one ofMcTeague's lawn ties which she had appropriated. Her sleeves werecarefully rolled up almost to her shoulders, and nothing could have beenmore delicious than the sight of her small round arms, white as milk, moving back and forth as she sponged the table-cover, a faint touch ofpink coming and going at the elbows as they bent and straightened. Shelooked up quickly as her husband entered, her narrow eyes alight, heradorable little chin in the air; her lips rounded and opened with thelast words of her song, so that one could catch a glint of gold in thefillings of her upper teeth. 

The whole scene--the clean kitchen and its clean brick floor; the smellof coffee that lingered in the air; Trina herself, fresh as if froma bath, and singing at her work; the morning sun, striking obliquelythrough the white muslin half-curtain of the window and spanning thelittle kitchen with a bridge of golden mist--gave off, as it were, anote of gayety that was not to be resisted. Through the opened top ofthe window came the noises of Polk Street, already long awake. One heardthe chanting of street cries, the shrill calling of children on theirway to school, the merry rattle of a butcher's cart, the brisk noiseof hammering, or the occasional prolonged roll of a cable car trundlingheavily past, with a vibrant whirring of its jostled glass and thejoyous clanging of its bells. 

"What is it, Mac, dear?" said Trina. 

McTeague shut the door behind him with his heel and handed her theletter. Trina read it through. Then suddenly her small hand grippedtightly upon the sponge, so that the water started from it and drippedin a little pattering deluge upon the bricks. 

The letter--or rather printed notice--informed McTeague that he hadnever received a diploma from a dental college, and that in consequencehe was forbidden to practise his profession any longer. A legal extractbearing upon the case was attached in small type. 

"Why, what's all this?" said Trina, calmly, without thought as yet. 

"I don' know, I don' know, " answered her husband. 

"You can't practise any longer, " continued Trina, --"'is herewithprohibited and enjoined from further continuing----'" She re-readthe extract, her forehead lifting and puckering. She put the spongecarefully away in its wire rack over the sink, and drew up a chair tothe table, spreading out the notice before her. "Sit down, " she said toMcTeague. "Draw up to the table here, Mac, and let's see what this is. "

"I got it this morning, " murmured the dentist. "It just now came. I wasmaking some fillings--there, in the 'Parlors, ' in the window--and thepostman shoved it through the door. I thought it was a number of the'American System of Dentistry' at first, and when I'd opened it andlooked at it I thought I'd better----"

"Say, Mac, " interrupted Trina, looking up from the notice, "DIDN'T youever go to a dental college?"

"Huh? What? What?" exclaimed McTeague. 

"How did you learn to be a dentist? Did you go to a college?"

"I went along with a fellow who came to the mine once. My mother sentme. We used to go from one camp to another. I sharpened his excavatorsfor him, and put up his notices in the towns--stuck them up in thepost-offices and on the doors of the Odd Fellows' halls. He had awagon. "

"But didn't you never go to a college?"

"Huh? What? College? No, I never went. I learned from the fellow. "

Trina rolled down her sleeves. She was a little paler than usual. Shefastened the buttons into the cuffs and said:

"But do you know you can't practise unless you're graduated from acollege? You haven't the right to call yourself, 'doctor. '"

McTeague stared a moment; then:

"Why, I've been practising ten years. More--nearly twelve. "

"But it's the law. "

"What's the law?"

"That you can't practise, or call yourself doctor, unless you've got adiploma. "

"What's that--a diploma?"

"I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper that--that--oh, Mac, we'reruined. " Trina's voice rose to a cry. 

"What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist? Ain't I a doctor? Lookat my sign, and the gold tooth you gave me. Why, I've been practisingnearly twelve years. "

Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat, and pretended toresettle a hair-pin at the back of her head. 

"I guess it isn't as bad as that, " she said, very quietly. "Let'sread this again. 'Herewith prohibited and enjoined from furthercontinuing----'" She read to the end. 

"Why, it isn't possible, " she cried. "They can't mean--oh, Mac, I dobelieve--pshaw!" she exclaimed, her pale face flushing. "They don'tknow how good a dentist you are. What difference does a diploma make, ifyou're a first-class dentist? I guess that's all right. Mac, didn't youever go to a dental college?"

"No, " answered McTeague, doggedly. "What was the good? I learned how tooperate; wa'n't that enough?"

"Hark, " said Trina, suddenly. "Wasn't that the bell of your office?"They had both heard the jangling of the bell that McTeague had hung overthe door of his "Parlors. " The dentist looked at the kitchen clock. 

"That's Vanovitch, " said he. "He's a plumber round on Sutter Street. He's got an appointment with me to have a bicuspid pulled. I got to goback to work. " He rose. 

"But you can't, " cried Trina, the back of her hand upon her lips, hereyes brimming. "Mac, don't you see? Can't you understand? You've got tostop. Oh, it's dreadful! Listen. " She hurried around the table to himand caught his arm in both her hands. 

"Huh?" growled McTeague, looking at her with a puzzled frown. 

"They'll arrest you. You'll go to prison. You can't work--can't work anymore. We're ruined. "

Vanovitch was pounding on the door of the sitting-room. 

"He'll be gone in a minute, " exclaimed McTeague. 

"Well, let him go. Tell him to go; tell him to come again. "

"Why, he's got an APPOINTMENT with me, " exclaimed McTeague, his handupon the door. 

Trina caught him back. "But, Mac, you ain't a dentist any longer; youain't a doctor. You haven't the right to work. You never went to adental college. "

"Well, suppose I never went to a college, ain't I a dentist just thesame? Listen, he's pounding there again. No, I'm going, sure. "

"Well, of course, go, " said Trina, with sudden reaction. "It ain'tpossible they'll make you stop. If you're a good dentist, that's allthat's wanted. Go on, Mac; hurry, before he goes. "

McTeague went out, closing the door. Trina stood for a moment lookingintently at the bricks at her feet. Then she returned to the table, and sat down again before the notice, and, resting her head in both herfists, read it yet another time. Suddenly the conviction seized upon herthat it was all true. McTeague would be obliged to stop work, no matterhow good a dentist he was. But why had the authorities at the City Hallwaited this long before serving the notice? All at once Trina snappedher fingers, with a quick flash of intelligence. 

"It's Marcus that's done it, " she cried. 

* * * * *

It was like a clap of thunder. McTeague was stunned, stupefied. He saidnothing. Never in his life had he been so taciturn. At times he did notseem to hear Trina when she spoke to him, and often she had to shakehim by the shoulder to arouse his attention. He would sit apart in his"Parlors, " turning the notice about in his enormous clumsy fingers, reading it stupidly over and over again. He couldn't understand. Whathad a clerk at the City Hall to do with him? Why couldn't they let himalone?

"Oh, what's to become of us NOW?" wailed Trina. "What's to become of usnow? We're paupers, beggars--and all so sudden. " And once, in a quick, inexplicable fury, totally unlike anything that McTeague had noticed inher before, she had started up, with fists and teeth shut tight, andhad cried, "Oh, if you'd only KILLED Marcus Schouler that time he foughtyou!"

McTeague had continued his work, acting from sheer force of habit; hissluggish, deliberate nature, methodical, obstinate, refusing to adaptitself to the new conditions. 

"Maybe Marcus was only trying to scare us, " Trina had said. "How arethey going to know whether you're practising or not?"

"I got a mould to make to-morrow, " McTeague said, "and Vanovitch, thatplumber round on Sutter Street, he's coming again at three. "

"Well, you go right ahead, " Trina told him, decisively; "you go rightahead and make the mould, and pull every tooth in Vanovitch's head ifyou want to. Who's going to know? Maybe they just sent that notice as amatter of form. Maybe Marcus got that paper and filled it in himself. "

The two would lie awake all night long, staring up into the dark, talking, talking, talking. 

"Haven't you got any right to practise if you've not been to a dentalcollege, Mac? Didn't you ever go?" Trina would ask again and again. 

"No, no, " answered the dentist, "I never went. I learnt from the fellowI was apprenticed to. I don' know anything about a dental college. Ain'tI got a right to do as I like?" he suddenly exclaimed. 

"If you know your profession, isn't that enough?" cried Trina. 

"Sure, sure, " growled McTeague. "I ain't going to stop for them. "

"You go right on, " Trina said, "and I bet you won't hear another wordabout it. "

"Suppose I go round to the City Hall and see them, " hazarded McTeague. 

"No, no, don't you do it, Mac, " exclaimed Trina. "Because, if Marcus hasdone this just to scare you, they won't know anything about it there atthe City Hall; but they'll begin to ask you questions, and find out thatyou never HAD graduated from a dental college, and you'd be just as badoff as ever. "

"Well, I ain't going to quit for just a piece of paper, " declared thedentist. The phrase stuck to him. All day long he went about their roomsor continued at his work in the "Parlors, " growling behind his thickmustache: "I ain't going to quit for just a piece of paper. No, I ain'tgoing to quit for just a piece of paper. Sure not. "

The days passed, a week went by, McTeague continued his work as usual. They heard no more from the City Hall, but the suspense of the situationwas harrowing. Trina was actually sick with it. The terror of the thingwas ever at their elbows, going to bed with them, sitting down with themat breakfast in the kitchen, keeping them company all through the day. Trina dared not think of what would be their fate if the income derivedfrom McTeague's practice was suddenly taken from them. Then they wouldhave to fall back on the interest of her lottery money and the pittanceshe derived from the manufacture of the Noah's ark animals, a littleover thirty dollars a month. No, no, it was not to be thought of. Itcould not be that their means of livelihood was to be thus stricken fromthem. 

A fortnight went by. "I guess we're all right, Mac, " Trina allowedherself to say. "It looks as though we were all right. How are theygoing to tell whether you're practising or not?"

That day a second and much more peremptory notice was served uponMcTeague by an official in person. Then suddenly Trina was seized with apanic terror, unreasoned, instinctive. If McTeague persisted they wouldboth be sent to a prison, she was sure of it; a place where people werechained to the wall, in the dark, and fed on bread and water. 

"Oh, Mac, you've got to quit, " she wailed. "You can't go on. They canmake you stop. Oh, why didn't you go to a dental college? Why didn't youfind out that you had to have a college degree? And now we're paupers, beggars. We've got to leave here--leave this flat where I've been--whereWE'VE been so happy, and sell all the pretty things; sell the picturesand the melodeon, and--Oh, it's too dreadful!"

"Huh? Huh? What? What?" exclaimed the dentist, bewildered. "I ain'tgoing to quit for just a piece of paper. Let them put me out. I'll showthem. They--they can't make small of me. "

"Oh, that's all very fine to talk that way, but you'll have to quit. "

"Well, we ain't paupers, " McTeague suddenly exclaimed, an idea enteringhis mind. "We've got our money yet. You've got your five thousanddollars and the money you've been saving up. People ain't paupers whenthey've got over five thousand dollars. "

"What do you mean, Mac?" cried Trina, apprehensively. 

"Well, we can live on THAT money until--until--until--" he broke offwith an uncertain movement of his shoulders, looking about him stupidly. 

"Until WHEN?" cried Trina. "There ain't ever going to be any 'until. 'We've got the INTEREST of that five thousand and we've got what UncleOelbermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a month, and that'sall we've got. You'll have to find something else to do. "

"What will I find to do?"

What, indeed? McTeague was over thirty now, sluggish and slow-witted atbest. What new trade could he learn at this age?

Little by little Trina made the dentist understand the calamity that hadbefallen them, and McTeague at last began cancelling his appointments. Trina gave it out that he was sick. 

"Not a soul need know what's happened to us, " she said to her husband. 

But it was only by slow degrees that McTeague abandoned his profession. Every morning after breakfast he would go into his "Parlors" as usualand potter about his instruments, his dental engine, and his washstandin the corner behind his screen where he made his moulds. Now he wouldsharpen a "hoe" excavator, now he would busy himself for a whole hourmaking "mats" and "cylinders. " Then he would look over his slate wherehe kept a record of his appointments. 

One day Trina softly opened the door of the "Parlors" and came in fromthe sitting-room. She had not heard McTeague moving about for some timeand had begun to wonder what he was doing. She came in, quietly shuttingthe door behind her. 

McTeague had tidied the room with the greatest care. The volumes of the"Practical Dentist" and the "American System of Dentistry" were piledupon the marble-top centre-table in rectangular blocks. The few chairswere drawn up against the wall under the steel engraving of "Lorenzode' Medici" with more than usual precision. The dental engine and thenickelled trimmings of the operating chair had been furbished till theyshone, while on the movable rack in the bay window McTeague had arrangedhis instruments with the greatest neatness and regularity. "Hoe"excavators, pluggers, forceps, pliers, corundum disks and burrs, eventhe boxwood mallet that Trina was never to use again, all were laid outand ready for immediate use. 

McTeague himself sat in his operating chair, looking stupidly out of thewindows, across the roofs opposite, with an unseeing gaze, his red handslying idly in his lap. Trina came up to him. There was something in hiseyes that made her put both arms around his neck and lay his huge headwith its coarse blond hair upon her shoulder. 

"I--I got everything fixed, " he said. "I got everything fixed an' ready. See, everything ready an' waiting, an'--an'--an' nobody comes, an'nobody's ever going to come any more. Oh, Trina!" He put his arms abouther and drew her down closer to him. 

"Never mind, dear; never mind, " cried Trina, through her tears. "It'llall come right in the end, and we'll be poor together if we have to. Youcan sure find something else to do. We'll start in again. "

"Look at the slate there, " said McTeague, pulling away from her andreaching down the slate on which he kept a record of his appointments. "Look at them. There's Vanovitch at two on Wednesday, and Loughhead'swife Thursday morning, and Heise's little girl Thursday afternoon atone-thirty; Mrs. Watson on Friday, and Vanovitch again Saturday morningearly--at seven. That's what I was to have had, and they ain't going tocome. They ain't ever going to come any more. "

Trina took the little slate from him and looked at it ruefully. 

"Rub them out, " she said, her voice trembling; "rub it all out;" and asshe spoke her eyes brimmed again, and a great tear dropped on the slate. "That's it, " she said; "that's the way to rub it out, by me cryingon it. " Then she passed her fingers over the tear-blurred writing andwashed the slate clean. "All gone, all gone, " she said. 

"All gone, " echoed the dentist. There was a silence. Then McTeagueheaved himself up to his full six feet two, his face purpling, hisenormous mallet-like fists raised over his head. His massive jawprotruded more than ever, while his teeth clicked and grated together;then he growled:

"If ever I meet Marcus Schouler--" he broke off abruptly, the white ofhis eyes growing suddenly pink. 

"Oh, if ever you DO, " exclaimed Trina, catching her breath. 

CHAPTER 14

"Well, what do you think?" said Trina. 

She and McTeague stood in a tiny room at the back of the flat and onits very top floor. The room was whitewashed. It contained a bed, three cane-seated chairs, and a wooden washstand with its washbowl andpitcher. From its single uncurtained window one looked down into theflat's dirty back yard and upon the roofs of the hovels that borderedthe alley in the rear. There was a rag carpet on the floor. In placeof a closet some dozen wooden pegs were affixed to the wall over thewashstand. There was a smell of cheap soap and of ancient hair-oil inthe air. 

"That's a single bed, " said Trina, "but the landlady says she'll put ina double one for us. You see----"

"I ain't going to live here, " growled McTeague. 

"Well, you've got to live somewhere, " said Trina, impatiently. "We'velooked Polk Street over, and this is the only thing we can afford. "

"Afford, afford, " muttered the dentist. "You with your five thousanddollars, and the two or three hundred you got saved up, talking about'afford. ' You make me sick. "

"Now, Mac, " exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down in one of thecane-seated chairs; "now, Mac, let's have this thing----"

"Well, I don't figure on living in one room, " growled the dentist, sullenly. "Let's live decently until we can get a fresh start. We've gotthe money. "

"Who's got the money?"

"WE'VE got it. "

"We!"

"Well, it's all in the family. What's yours is mine, and what's mine isyours, ain't it?"

"No, it's not; no, it's not, " cried Trina, vehemently. "It's all mine, mine. There's not a penny of it belongs to anybody else. I don't like tohave to talk this way to you, but you just make me. We're not going totouch a penny of my five thousand nor a penny of that little money Imanaged to save--that seventy-five. "

"That TWO hundred, you mean. "

"That SEVENTY-FIVE. We're just going to live on the interest of thatand on what I earn from Uncle Oelbermann--on just that thirty-one or twodollars. "

"Huh! Think I'm going to do that, an' live in such a room as this?"

Trina folded her arms and looked him squarely in the face. 

"Well, what ARE you going to do, then?"

"Huh?"

"I say, what ARE you going to do? You can go on and find something to doand earn some more money, and THEN we'll talk. "

"Well, I ain't going to live here. "

"Oh, very well, suit yourself. I'M going to live here. "

"You'll live where I TELL you, " the dentist suddenly cried, exasperatedat the mincing tone she affected. 

"Then YOU'LL pay the rent, " exclaimed Trina, quite as angry as he. 

"Are you my boss, I'd like to know? Who's the boss, you or I?"

"Who's got the MONEY, I'd like to know?" cried Trina, flushing to herpale lips. "Answer me that, McTeague, who's got the money?"

"You make me sick, you and your money. Why, you're a miser. I never sawanything like it. When I was practising, I never thought of my fees asmy own; we lumped everything in together. "

"Exactly; and I'M doing the working now. I'm working for UncleOelbermann, and you're not lumping in ANYTHING now. I'm doing it all. Doyou know what I'm doing, McTeague? I'm supporting you. "

"Ah, shut up; you make me sick. "

"You got no RIGHT to talk to me that way. I won't let you. I--I won'thave it. " She caught her breath. Tears were in her eyes. 

"Oh, live where you like, then, " said McTeague, sullenly. 

"Well, shall we take this room then?"

"All right, we'll take it. But why can't you take a little of your moneyan'--an'--sort of fix it up?"

"Not a penny, not a single penny. "

"Oh, I don't care WHAT you do. " And for the rest of the day the dentistand his wife did not speak. 

This was not the only quarrel they had during these days when they wereoccupied in moving from their suite and in looking for new quarters. Every hour the question of money came up. Trina had become moreniggardly than ever since the loss of McTeague's practice. It was notmere economy with her now. It was a panic terror lest a fraction of acent of her little savings should be touched; a passionate eagernessto continue to save in spite of all that had happened. Trina could haveeasily afforded better quarters than the single whitewashed room at thetop of the flat, but she made McTeague believe that it was impossible. 

"I can still save a little, " she said to herself, after the room hadbeen engaged; "perhaps almost as much as ever. I'll have three hundreddollars pretty soon, and Mac thinks it's only two hundred. It's almosttwo hundred and fifty; and I'll get a good deal out of the sale. "

But this sale was a long agony. It lasted a week. Everythingwent--everything but the few big pieces that went with the suite, andthat belonged to the photographer. The melodeon, the chairs, the blackwalnut table before which they were married, the extension table inthe sitting-room, the kitchen table with its oilcloth cover, the framedlithographs from the English illustrated papers, the very carpets onthe floors. But Trina's heart nearly broke when the kitchen utensils andfurnishings began to go. Every pot, every stewpan, every knife and fork, was an old friend. How she had worked over them! How clean she had keptthem! What a pleasure it had been to invade that little brick-pavedkitchen every morning, and to wash up and put to rights after breakfast, turning on the hot water at the sink, raking down the ashes in thecook-stove, going and coming over the warm bricks, her head in the air, singing at her work, proud in the sense of her proprietorship and herindependence! How happy had she been the day after her marriage when shehad first entered that kitchen and knew that it was all her own! Andhow well she remembered her raids upon the bargain counters in thehouse-furnishing departments of the great down-town stores! And now itwas all to go. Some one else would have it all, while she was relegatedto cheap restaurants and meals cooked by hired servants. Night afternight she sobbed herself to sleep at the thought of her past happinessand her present wretchedness. However, she was not alone in herunhappiness. 

"Anyhow, I'm going to keep the steel engraving an' the stone pug dog, "declared the dentist, his fist clenching. When it had come to thesale of his office effects McTeague had rebelled with the instinctiveobstinacy of a boy, shutting his eyes and ears. Only little by littledid Trina induce him to part with his office furniture. He foughtover every article, over the little iron stove, the bed-lounge, themarble-topped centre table, the whatnot in the corner, the bound volumesof "Allen's Practical Dentist, " the rifle manufacturer's calendar, andthe prim, military chairs. A veritable scene took place between him andhis wife before he could bring himself to part with the steel engravingof "Lorenzo de' Medici and His Court" and the stone pug dog with itsgoggle eyes. 

"Why, " he would cry, "I've had 'em ever since--ever since I BEGAN; longbefore I knew you, Trina. That steel engraving I bought in Sacramentoone day when it was raining. I saw it in the window of a second-handstore, and a fellow GAVE me that stone pug dog. He was a druggist. Itwas in Sacramento too. We traded. I gave him a shaving-mug and a razor, and he gave me the pug dog. "

There were, however, two of his belongings that even Trina could notinduce him to part with. 

"And your concertina, Mac, " she prompted, as they were making out thelist for the second-hand dealer. "The concertina, and--oh, yes, thecanary and the bird cage. "

"No. "

"Mac, you MUST be reasonable. The concertina would bring quite asum, and the bird cage is as good as new. I'll sell the canary to thebird-store man on Kearney Street. "

"No. "

"If you're going to make objections to every single thing, we might aswell quit. Come, now, Mac, the concertina and the bird cage. We'll putthem in Lot D. "

"No. "

"You'll have to come to it sooner or later. I'M giving up everything. I'm going to put them down, see. "

"No. "

And she could get no further than that. The dentist did not lose histemper, as in the case of the steel engraving or the stone pug dog;he simply opposed her entreaties and persuasions with a passive, inertobstinacy that nothing could move. In the end Trina was obliged tosubmit. McTeague kept his concertina and his canary, even going so faras to put them both away in the bedroom, attaching to them tags on whichhe had scrawled in immense round letters, "Not for Sale. "

One evening during that same week the dentist and his wife were in thedismantled sitting-room. The room presented the appearance of a wreck. The Nottingham lace curtains were down. The extension table was heapedhigh with dishes, with tea and coffee pots, and with baskets of spoonsand knives and forks. The melodeon was hauled out into the middle of thefloor, and covered with a sheet marked "Lot A, " the pictures were in apile in a corner, the chenille portieres were folded on top of the blackwalnut table. The room was desolate, lamentable. Trina was going overthe inventory; McTeague, in his shirt sleeves, was smoking his pipe, looking stupidly out of the window. All at once there was a briskrapping at the door. 

"Come in, " called Trina, apprehensively. Now-a-days at every unexpectedvisit she anticipated a fresh calamity. The door opened to let in ayoung man wearing a checked suit, a gay cravat, and a marvellouslyfigured waistcoat. Trina and McTeague recognized him at once. It was theOther Dentist, the debonair fellow whose clients were the barbers andthe young women of the candy stores and soda-water fountains, the poser, the wearer of waistcoats, who bet money on greyhound races. 

"How'do?" said this one, bowing gracefully to the McTeagues as theystared at him distrustfully. 

"How'do? They tell me, Doctor, that you are going out of theprofession. "

McTeague muttered indistinctly behind his mustache and glowered at him. 

"Well, say, " continued the other, cheerily, "I'd like to talk businesswith you. That sign of yours, that big golden tooth that you got outsideof your window, I don't suppose you'll have any further use for it. Maybe I'd buy it if we could agree on terms. "

Trina shot a glance at her husband. McTeague began to glower again. 

"What do you say?" said the Other Dentist. 

"I guess not, " growled McTeague

"What do you say to ten dollars?"

"Ten dollars!" cried Trina, her chin in the air. 

"Well, what figure DO you put on it?"

Trina was about to answer when she was interrupted by McTeague. 

"You go out of here. "

"Hey? What?"

"You go out of here. "

The other retreated toward the door. 

"You can't make small of me. Go out of here. "

McTeague came forward a step, his great red fist clenching. The youngman fled. But half way down the stairs he paused long enough to callback:

"You don't want to trade anything for a diploma, do you?"

McTeague and his wife exchanged looks. 

"How did he know?" exclaimed Trina, sharply. They had invented andspread the fiction that McTeague was merely retiring from business, without assigning any reason. But evidently every one knew the realcause. The humiliation was complete now. Old Miss Baker confirmed theirsuspicions on this point the next day. The little retired dressmakercame down and wept with Trina over her misfortune, and did whatshe could to encourage her. But she too knew that McTeague had beenforbidden by the authorities from practising. Marcus had evidently leftthem no loophole of escape. 

"It's just like cutting off your husband's hands, my dear, " said MissBaker. "And you two were so happy. When I first saw you together I said, 'What a pair!'"

Old Grannis also called during this period of the breaking up of theMcTeague household. 

"Dreadful, dreadful, " murmured the old Englishman, his hand goingtremulously to his chin. "It seems unjust; it does. But Mr. Schoulercould not have set them on to do it. I can't quite believe it of him. "

"Of Marcus!" cried Trina. "Hoh! Why, he threw his knife at Mac one time, and another time he bit him, actually bit him with his teeth, while theywere wrestling just for fun. Marcus would do anything to injure Mac. "

"Dear, dear, " returned Old Grannis, genuinely pained. "I had alwaysbelieved Schouler to be such a good fellow. "

"That's because you're so good yourself, Mr. Grannis, " responded Trina. 

"I tell you what, Doc, " declared Heise the harness-maker, shaking hisfinger impressively at the dentist, "you must fight it; you must appealto the courts; you've been practising too long to be debarred now. Thestatute of limitations, you know. "

"No, no, " Trina had exclaimed, when the dentist had repeated this adviceto her. "No, no, don't go near the law courts. I know them. The lawyerstake all your money, and you lose your case. We're bad off as it is, without lawing about it. "

Then at last came the sale. McTeague and Trina, whom Miss Baker hadinvited to her room for that day, sat there side by side, holding eachother's hands, listening nervously to the turmoil that rose to them fromthe direction of their suite. From nine o'clock till dark the crowdscame and went. All Polk Street seemed to have invaded the suite, luredon by the red flag that waved from the front windows. It was a fete, averitable holiday, for the whole neighborhood. People with no thoughtof buying presented themselves. Young women--the candy-store girls andflorist's apprentices--came to see the fun, walking arm in arm from roomto room, making jokes about the pretty lithographs and mimicking thepicture of the two little girls saying their prayers. 

"Look here, " they would cry, "look here what she used forcurtains--NOTTINGHAM lace, actually! Whoever thinks of buying Nottinghamlace now-a-days? Say, don't that JAR you?"

"And a melodeon, " another one would exclaim, lifting the sheet. "Amelodeon, when you can rent a piano for a dollar a week; and say, Ireally believe they used to eat in the kitchen. "

"Dollarn-half, dollarn-half, dollarn-half, give me two, " intoned theauctioneer from the second-hand store. By noon the crowd became a jam. Wagons backed up to the curb outside and departed heavily laden. Inall directions people could be seen going away from the house, carryingsmall articles of furniture--a clock, a water pitcher, a towel rack. Every now and then old Miss Baker, who had gone below to see how thingswere progressing, returned with reports of the foray. 

"Mrs. Heise bought the chenille portieres. Mister Ryer made a bid foryour bed, but a man in a gray coat bid over him. It was knocked down forthree dollars and a half. The German shoe-maker on the next blockbought the stone pug dog. I saw our postman going away with a lot of thepictures. Zerkow has come, on my word! the rags-bottles-sacks man; he'sbuying lots; he bought all Doctor McTeague's gold tape and some of theinstruments. Maria's there too. That dentist on the corner took thedental engine, and wanted to get the sign, the big gold tooth, " and soon and so on. Cruelest of all, however, at least to Trina, was when MissBaker herself began to buy, unable to resist a bargain. The last timeshe came up she carried a bundle of the gay tidies that used to hangover the chair backs. 

"He offered them, three for a nickel, " she explained to Trina, "andI thought I'd spend just a quarter. You don't mind, now, do you, Mrs. McTeague?"

"Why, no, of course not, Miss Baker, " answered Trina, bravely. 

"They'll look very pretty on some of my chairs, " went on the little olddressmaker, innocently. "See. " She spread one of them on a chair backfor inspection. Trina's chin quivered. 

"Oh, VERY pretty, " she answered. 

At length that dreadful day was over. The crowd dispersed. Even theauctioneer went at last, and as he closed the door with a bang, the reverberation that went through the suite gave evidence of itsemptiness. 

"Come, " said Trina to the dentist, "let's go down and look--take a lastlook. "

They went out of Miss Baker's room and descended to the floor below. On the stairs, however, they were met by Old Grannis. In his handshe carried a little package. Was it possible that he too had takenadvantage of their misfortunes to join in the raid upon the suite?

"I went in, " he began, timidly, "for--for a few moments. This"--heindicated the little package he carried--"this was put up. It was of novalue but to you. I--I ventured to bid it in. I thought perhaps"--hishand went to his chin, "that you wouldn't mind; that--in fact, I boughtit for you--as a present. Will you take it?" He handed the package toTrina and hurried on. Trina tore off the wrappings. 

It was the framed photograph of McTeague and his wife in their weddingfinery, the one that had been taken immediately after the marriage. It represented Trina sitting very erect in a rep armchair, holding herwedding bouquet straight before her, McTeague standing at her side, hisleft foot forward, one hand upon her shoulder, and the other thrust intothe breast of his "Prince Albert" coat, in the attitude of a statue of aSecretary of State. 

"Oh, it WAS good of him, it WAS good of him, " cried Trina, her eyesfilling again. "I had forgotten to put it away. Of course it was not forsale. "

They went on down the stairs, and arriving at the door of thesitting-room, opened it and looked in. It was late in the afternoon, and there was just light enough for the dentist and his wife to see theresults of that day of sale. Nothing was left, not even the carpet. It was a pillage, a devastation, the barrenness of a field after thepassage of a swarm of locusts. The room had been picked and strippedtill only the bare walls and floor remained. Here where they had beenmarried, where the wedding supper had taken place, where Trina had badefarewell to her father and mother, here where she had spent those firstfew hard months of her married life, where afterward she had grown tobe happy and contented, where she had passed the long hours of theafternoon at her work of whittling, and where she and her husband hadspent so many evenings looking out of the window before the lamp waslit--here in what had been her home, nothing was left but echoes and theemptiness of complete desolation. Only one thing remained. On the wallbetween the windows, in its oval glass frame, preserved by some unknownand fearful process, a melancholy relic of a vanished happiness, unsold, neglected, and forgotten, a thing that nobody wanted, hung Trina'swedding bouquet. 

CHAPTER 15

Then the grind began. It would have been easier for the McTeagues tohave faced their misfortunes had they befallen them immediately aftertheir marriage, when their love for each other was fresh and fine, andwhen they could have found a certain happiness in helping each other andsharing each other's privations. Trina, no doubt, loved her husbandmore than ever, in the sense that she felt she belonged to him. ButMcTeague's affection for his wife was dwindling a little every day--HADbeen dwindling for a long time, in fact. He had become used to her bynow. She was part of the order of the things with which he found himselfsurrounded. He saw nothing extraordinary about her; it was no longer apleasure for him to kiss her and take her in his arms; she was merelyhis wife. He did not dislike her; he did not love her. She was his wife, that was all. But he sadly missed and regretted all those little animalcomforts which in the old prosperous life Trina had managed to find forhim. He missed the cabbage soups and steaming chocolate that Trina hadtaught him to like; he missed his good tobacco that Trina had educatedhim to prefer; he missed the Sunday afternoon walks that she had causedhim to substitute in place of his nap in the operating chair; and hemissed the bottled beer that she had induced him to drink in place ofthe steam beer from Frenna's. In the end he grew morose and sulky, andsometimes neglected to answer his wife when she spoke to him. Besidesthis, Trina's avarice was a perpetual annoyance to him. Oftentimes whena considerable alleviation of this unhappiness could have been obtainedat the expense of a nickel or a dime, Trina refused the money with apettishness that was exasperating. 

"No, no, " she would exclaim. "To ride to the park Sunday afternoon, thatmeans ten cents, and I can't afford it. "

"Let's walk there, then. "

"I've got to work. "

"But you've worked morning and afternoon every day this week. "

"I don't care, I've got to work. "

There had been a time when Trina had hated the idea of McTeague drinkingsteam beer as common and vulgar. 

"Say, let's have a bottle of beer to-night. We haven't had a drop ofbeer in three weeks. "

"We can't afford it. It's fifteen cents a bottle. "

"But I haven't had a swallow of beer in three weeks. "

"Drink STEAM beer, then. You've got a nickel. I gave you a quarter daybefore yesterday. "

"But I don't like steam beer now. "

It was so with everything. Unfortunately, Trina had cultivated tastes inMcTeague which now could not be gratified. He had come to be very proudof his silk hat and "Prince Albert" coat, and liked to wear them onSundays. Trina had made him sell both. He preferred "Yale mixture" inhis pipe; Trina had made him come down to "Mastiff, " a five-cent tobaccowith which he was once contented, but now abhorred. He liked to wearclean cuffs; Trina allowed him a fresh pair on Sundays only. At firstthese deprivations angered McTeague. Then, all of a sudden, he slippedback into the old habits (that had been his before he knew Trina) withan ease that was surprising. Sundays he dined at the car conductors'coffee-joint once more, and spent the afternoon lying full length uponthe bed, crop-full, stupid, warm, smoking his huge pipe, drinking hissteam beer, and playing his six mournful tunes upon his concertina, dozing off to sleep towards four o'clock. 

The sale of their furniture had, after paying the rent and outstandingbills, netted about a hundred and thirty dollars. Trina believed thatthe auctioneer from the second-hand store had swindled and cheatedthem and had made a great outcry to no effect. But she had arranged theaffair with the auctioneer herself, and offset her disappointment in thematter of the sale by deceiving her husband as to the real amount ofthe returns. It was easy to lie to McTeague, who took everything forgranted; and since the occasion of her trickery with the money that wasto have been sent to her mother, Trina had found falsehood easier thanever. 

"Seventy dollars is all the auctioneer gave me, " she told her husband;"and after paying the balance due on the rent, and the grocer's bill, there's only fifty left. "

"Only fifty?" murmured McTeague, wagging his head, "only fifty? Think ofthat. "

"Only fifty, " declared Trina. Afterwards she said to herself with acertain admiration for her cleverness:

"Couldn't save sixty dollars much easier than that, " and she had addedthe hundred and thirty to the little hoard in the chamois-skin bag andbrass match-box in the bottom of her trunk. 

In these first months of their misfortunes the routine of the McTeagueswas as follows: They rose at seven and breakfasted in their room, Trina cooking the very meagre meal on an oil stove. Immediately afterbreakfast Trina sat down to her work of whittling the Noah's arkanimals, and McTeague took himself off to walk down town. He had by thegreatest good luck secured a position with a manufacturer of surgicalinstruments, where his manual dexterity in the making of excavators, pluggers, and other dental contrivances stood him in fairly good stead. He lunched at a sailor's boarding-house near the water front, and in theafternoon worked till six. He was home at six-thirty, and he and Trinahad supper together in the "ladies' dining parlor, " an adjunct ofthe car conductors' coffee-joint. Trina, meanwhile, had worked at herwhittling all day long, with but half an hour's interval for lunch, which she herself prepared upon the oil stove. In the evening they wereboth so tired that they were in no mood for conversation, and went tobed early, worn out, harried, nervous, and cross. 

Trina was not quite so scrupulously tidy now as in the old days. At onetime while whittling the Noah's ark animals she had worn gloves. Shenever wore them now. She still took pride in neatly combing and coilingher wonderful black hair, but as the days passed she found it more andmore comfortable to work in her blue flannel wrapper. Whittlings andchips accumulated under the window where she did her work, and she wasat no great pains to clear the air of the room vitiated by the fumes ofthe oil stove and heavy with the smell of cooking. It was not gay, thatlife. The room itself was not gay. The huge double bed sprawled overnearly a fourth of the available space; the angles of Trina's trunk andthe washstand projected into the room from the walls, and barked shinsand scraped elbows. Streaks and spots of the "non-poisonous" paint thatTrina used were upon the walls and wood-work. However, in one corner ofthe room, next the window, monstrous, distorted, brilliant, shining witha light of its own, stood the dentist's sign, the enormous golden tooth, the tooth of a Brobdingnag. 

One afternoon in September, about four months after the McTeagues hadleft their suite, Trina was at her work by the window. She had whittledsome half-dozen sets of animals, and was now busy painting them andmaking the arks. Little pots of "non-poisonous" paint stood at her elbowon the table, together with a box of labels that read, "Made in France. "Her huge clasp-knife was stuck into the under side of the table. She wasnow occupied solely with the brushes and the glue pot. She turned thelittle figures in her fingers with a wonderful lightness and deftness, painting the chickens Naples yellow, the elephants blue gray, the horsesVandyke brown, adding a dot of Chinese white for the eyes and stickingin the ears and tail with a drop of glue. The animals once done, she puttogether and painted the arks, some dozen of them, all windows and nodoors, each one opening only by a lid which was half the roof. She hadall the work she could handle these days, for, from this time till aweek before Christmas, Uncle Oelbermann could take as many "Noah's arksets" as she could make. 

Suddenly Trina paused in her work, looking expectantly toward the door. McTeague came in. 

"Why, Mac, " exclaimed Trina. "It's only three o'clock. What are you homeso early for? Have they discharged you?"

"They've fired me, " said McTeague, sitting down on the bed. 

"Fired you! What for?"

"I don' know. Said the times were getting hard an' they had to let mego. "

Trina let her paint-stained hands fall into her lap. 

"OH!" she cried. "If we don't have the HARDEST luck of any two peopleI ever heard of. What can you do now? Is there another place like thatwhere they make surgical instruments?"

"Huh? No, I don' know. There's three more. "

"Well, you must try them right away. Go down there right now. "

"Huh? Right now? No, I'm tired. I'll go down in the morning. "

"Mac, " cried Trina, in alarm, "what are you thinking of? You talk asthough we were millionaires. You must go down this minute. You're losingmoney every second you sit there. " She goaded the huge fellow to hisfeet again, thrust his hat into his hands, and pushed him out of thedoor, he obeying the while, docile and obedient as a big cart horse. Hewas on the stairs when she came running after him. 

"Mac, they paid you off, didn't they, when they discharged you?"

"Yes. "

"Then you must have some money. Give it to me. "

The dentist heaved a shoulder uneasily. 

"No, I don' want to. "

"I've got to have that money. There's no more oil for the stove, and Imust buy some more meal tickets to-night. "

"Always after me about money, " muttered the dentist; but he emptied hispockets for her, nevertheless. 

"I--you've taken it all, " he grumbled. "Better leave me something forcar fare. It's going to rain. "

"Pshaw! You can walk just as well as not. A big fellow like you 'fraidof a little walk; and it ain't going to rain. "

Trina had lied again both as to the want of oil for the stove and thecommutation ticket for the restaurant. But she knew by instinct thatMcTeague had money about him, and she did not intend to let it go out ofthe house. She listened intently until she was sure McTeague was gone. Then she hurriedly opened her trunk and hid the money in the chamois bagat the bottom. 

The dentist presented himself at every one of the makers of surgicalinstruments that afternoon and was promptly turned away in each case. Then it came on to rain, a fine, cold drizzle, that chilled him and wethim to the bone. He had no umbrella, and Trina had not left him evenfive cents for car fare. He started to walk home through the rain. Itwas a long way to Polk Street, as the last manufactory he had visitedwas beyond even Folsom Street, and not far from the city front. 

By the time McTeague reached Polk Street his teeth were chatteringwith the cold. He was wet from head to foot. As he was passing Heise'sharness shop a sudden deluge of rain overtook him and he was obliged tododge into the vestibule for shelter. He, who loved to be warm, tosleep and to be well fed, was icy cold, was exhausted and footsorefrom tramping the city. He could look forward to nothing better than abadly-cooked supper at the coffee-joint--hot meat on a cold plate, half done suet pudding, muddy coffee, and bad bread, and he was cold, miserably cold, and wet to the bone. All at once a sudden rage againstTrina took possession of him. It was her fault. She knew it was goingto rain, and she had not let him have a nickel for car fare--she who hadfive thousand dollars. She let him walk the streets in the cold and inthe rain. "Miser, " he growled behind his mustache. "Miser, nasty littleold miser. You're worse than old Zerkow, always nagging about money, money, and you got five thousand dollars. You got more, an' you livein that stinking hole of a room, and you won't drink any decent beer. Iain't going to stand it much longer. She knew it was going to rain. SheKNEW it. Didn't I TELL her? And she drives me out of my own home in therain, for me to get money for her; more money, and she takes it. Shetook that money from me that I earned. 'Twasn't hers; it was mine, Iearned it--and not a nickel for car fare. She don't care if I get wetand get a cold and DIE. No, she don't, as long as she's warm and's gother money. " He became more and more indignant at the picture he made ofhimself. "I ain't going to stand it much longer, " he repeated. 

"Why, hello, Doc. Is that you?" exclaimed Heise, opening the door ofthe harness shop behind him. "Come in out of the wet. Why, you're soakedthrough, " he added as he and McTeague came back into the shop, thatreeked of oiled leather. "Didn't you have any umbrella? Ought to havetaken a car. "

"I guess so--I guess so, " murmured the dentist, confused. His teeth werechattering. 

"YOU'RE going to catch your death-a-cold, " exclaimed Heise. "Tell youwhat, " he said, reaching for his hat, "come in next door to Frenna's andhave something to warm you up. I'll get the old lady to mind the shop. "He called Mrs. Heise down from the floor above and took McTeague intoJoe Frenna's saloon, which was two doors above his harness shop. 

"Whiskey and gum twice, Joe, " said he to the barkeeper as he and thedentist approached the bar. 

"Huh? What?" said McTeague. "Whiskey? No, I can't drink whiskey. It kindof disagrees with me. "

"Oh, the hell!" returned Heise, easily. "Take it as medicine. You'll getyour death-a-cold if you stand round soaked like that. Two whiskey andgum, Joe. "

McTeague emptied the pony glass at a single enormous gulp. 

"That's the way, " said Heise, approvingly. "Do you good. " He drank hisoff slowly. 

"I'd--I'd ask you to have a drink with me, Heise, " said the dentist, whohad an indistinct idea of the amenities of the barroom, "only, " he addedshamefacedly, "only--you see, I don't believe I got any change. " Hisanger against Trina, heated by the whiskey he had drank, flamed upafresh. What a humiliating position for Trina to place him in, not toleave him the price of a drink with a friend, she who had five thousanddollars!

"Sha! That's all right, Doc, " returned Heise, nibbling on a grain ofcoffee. "Want another? Hey? This my treat. Two more of the same, Joe. "

McTeague hesitated. It was lamentably true that whiskey did not agreewith him; he knew it well enough. However, by this time he felt verycomfortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood was beginning tocirculate in his chilled finger-tips and in his soggy, wet feet. He hadhad a hard day of it; in fact, the last week, the last month, the lastthree or four months, had been hard. He deserved a little consolation. Nor could Trina object to this. It wasn't costing a cent. He drank againwith Heise. 

"Get up here to the stove and warm yourself, " urged Heise, drawing upa couple of chairs and cocking his feet upon the guard. The two fell totalking while McTeague's draggled coat and trousers smoked. 

"What a dirty turn that was that Marcus Schouler did you!" said Heise, wagging his head. "You ought to have fought that, Doc, sure. You'd beenpractising too long. " They discussed this question some ten or fifteenminutes and then Heise rose. 

"Well, this ain't earning any money. I got to get back to the shop. "McTeague got up as well, and the pair started for the door. Just as theywere going out Ryer met them. 

"Hello, hello, " he cried. "Lord, what a wet day! You two are going thewrong way. You're going to have a drink with me. Three whiskey punches, Joe. "

"No, no, " answered McTeague, shaking his head. "I'm going back home. I've had two glasses of whiskey already. "

"Sha!" cried Heise, catching his arm. "A strapping big chap like youain't afraid of a little whiskey. "

"Well, I--I--I got to go right afterwards, " protested McTeague. 

About half an hour after the dentist had left to go down town, MariaMacapa had come in to see Trina. Occasionally Maria dropped in on Trinain this fashion and spent an hour or so chatting with her while sheworked. At first Trina had been inclined to resent these intrusions ofthe Mexican woman, but of late she had begun to tolerate them. Her daywas long and cheerless at the best, and there was no one to talk to. Trina even fancied that old Miss Baker had come to be less cordial sincetheir misfortune. Maria retailed to her all the gossip of the flat andthe neighborhood, and, which was much more interesting, told her of hertroubles with Zerkow. 

Trina said to herself that Maria was common and vulgar, but one hadto have some diversion, and Trina could talk and listen withoutinterrupting her work. On this particular occasion Maria was muchexcited over Zerkow's demeanor of late. 

"He's gettun worse an' worse, " she informed Trina as she sat on the edgeof the bed, her chin in her hand. "He says he knows I got the dishes andam hidun them from him. The other day I thought he'd gone off with hiswagon, and I was doin' a bit of ir'ning, an' by an' by all of a sudden Isaw him peeping at me through the crack of the door. I never let onthat I saw him, and, honest, he stayed there over two hours, watchuneverything I did. I could just feel his eyes on the back of my neck allthe time. Last Sunday he took down part of the wall, 'cause he saidhe'd seen me making figures on it. Well, I was, but it was just the washlist. All the time he says he'll kill me if I don't tell. "

"Why, what do you stay with him for?" exclaimed Trina. "I'd be deathly'fraid of a man like that; and he did take a knife to you once. "

"Hoh! HE won't kill me, never fear. If he'd kill me he'd never knowwhere the dishes were; that's what HE thinks. "

"But I can't understand, Maria; you told him about those gold dishesyourself. "

"Never, never! I never saw such a lot of crazy folks as you are. "

"But you say he hits you sometimes. "

"Ah!" said Maria, tossing her head scornfully, "I ain't afraid of him. He takes his horsewhip to me now and then, but I can always manage. I say, 'If you touch me with that, then I'll NEVER tell you. ' Justpretending, you know, and he drops it as though it was red hot. Say, Mrs. McTeague, have you got any tea? Let's make a cup of tea over thestove. "

"No, no, " cried Trina, with niggardly apprehension; "no, I haven't got abit of tea. " Trina's stinginess had increased to such an extent that ithad gone beyond the mere hoarding of money. She grudged even the foodthat she and McTeague ate, and even brought away half loaves of bread, lumps of sugar, and fruit from the car conductors' coffee-joint. She hidthese pilferings away on the shelf by the window, and often managedto make a very creditable lunch from them, enjoying the meal with thegreater relish because it cost her nothing. 

"No, Maria, I haven't got a bit of tea, " she said, shaking her headdecisively. "Hark, ain't that Mac?" she added, her chin in the air. "That's his step, sure. "

"Well, I'm going to skip, " said Maria. She left hurriedly, passingthe dentist in the hall just outside the door. "Well?" said Trinainterrogatively as her husband entered. McTeague did not answer. He hunghis hat on the hook behind the door and dropped heavily into a chair. 

"Well, " asked Trina, anxiously, "how did you make out, Mac?"

Still the dentist pretended not to hear, scowling fiercely at his muddyboots. 

"Tell me, Mac, I want to know. Did you get a place? Did you get caughtin the rain?"

"Did I? Did I?" cried the dentist, sharply, an alacrity in his mannerand voice that Trina had never observed before. 

"Look at me. Look at me, " he went on, speaking with an unwontedrapidity, his wits sharp, his ideas succeeding each other quickly. "Lookat me, drenched through, shivering cold. I've walked the city over. Caught in the rain! Yes, I guess I did get caught in the rain, and itain't your fault I didn't catch my death-a-cold; wouldn't even let mehave a nickel for car fare. "

"But, Mac, " protested Trina, "I didn't know it was going to rain. "

The dentist put back his head and laughed scornfully. His face was veryred, and his small eyes twinkled. "Hoh! no, you didn't know it was goingto rain. Didn't I TELL you it was?" he exclaimed, suddenly angry again. "Oh, you're a DAISY, you are. Think I'm going to put up with yourfoolishness ALL the time? Who's the boss, you or I?"

"Why, Mac, I never saw you this way before. You talk like a differentman. "

"Well, I AM a different man, " retorted the dentist, savagely. "You can'tmake small of me ALWAYS. "

"Well, never mind that. You know I'm not trying to make small of you. But never mind that. Did you get a place?"

"Give me my money, " exclaimed McTeague, jumping up briskly. There wasan activity, a positive nimbleness about the huge blond giant thathad never been his before; also his stupidity, the sluggishness of hisbrain, seemed to be unusually stimulated. 

"Give me my money, the money I gave you as I was going away. "

"I can't, " exclaimed Trina. "I paid the grocer's bill with it while youwere gone. "

"Don't believe you. "

"Truly, truly, Mac. Do you think I'd lie to you? Do you think I'd lowermyself to do that?"

"Well, the next time I earn any money I'll keep it myself. "

"But tell me, Mac, DID you get a place?"

McTeague turned his back on her. 

"Tell me, Mac, please, did you?"

The dentist jumped up and thrust his face close to hers, his heavy jawprotruding, his little eyes twinkling meanly. 

"No, " he shouted. "No, no, NO. Do you hear? NO. "

Trina cowered before him. Then suddenly she began to sob aloud, weepingpartly at his strange brutality, partly at the disappointment of hisfailure to find employment. 

McTeague cast a contemptuous glance about him, a glance that embracedthe dingy, cheerless room, the rain streaming down the panes of the onewindow, and the figure of his weeping wife. 

"Oh, ain't this all FINE?" he exclaimed. "Ain't it lovely?"

"It's not my fault, " sobbed Trina. 

"It is too, " vociferated McTeague. "It is too. We could live likeChristians and decent people if you wanted to. You got more'n fivethousand dollars, and you're so damned stingy that you'd rather live ina rat hole--and make me live there too--before you'd part with a nickelof it. I tell you I'm sick and tired of the whole business. "

An allusion to her lottery money never failed to rouse Trina. 

"And I'll tell you this much too, " she cried, winking back the tears. "Now that you're out of a job, we can't afford even to live in your rathole, as you call it. We've got to find a cheaper place than THIS even. "

"What!" exclaimed the dentist, purple with rage. "What, get into a worsehole in the wall than this? Well, we'll SEE if we will. We'll just seeabout that. You're going to do just as I tell you after this, TrinaMcTeague, " and once more he thrust his face close to hers. 

"I know what's the matter, " cried Trina, with a half sob; "I know, I cansmell it on your breath. You've been drinking whiskey. "

"Yes, I've been drinking whiskey, " retorted her husband. "I've beendrinking whiskey. Have you got anything to say about it? Ah, yes, you'reRIGHT, I've been drinking whiskey. What have YOU got to say about mydrinking whiskey? Let's hear it. "

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" sobbed Trina, covering her face with her hands. McTeaguecaught her wrists in one palm and pulled them down. Trina's pale facewas streaming with tears; her long, narrow blue eyes were swimming; heradorable little chin upraised and quivering. 

"Let's hear what you got to say, " exclaimed McTeague. 

"Nothing, nothing, " said Trina, between her sobs. 

"Then stop that noise. Stop it, do you hear me? Stop it. " He threw uphis open hand threateningly. "STOP!" he exclaimed. 

Trina looked at him fearfully, half blinded with weeping. Her husband'sthick mane of yellow hair was disordered and rumpled upon his greatsquare-cut head; his big red ears were redder than ever; his face waspurple; the thick eyebrows were knotted over the small, twinkling eyes;the heavy yellow mustache, that smelt of alcohol, drooped over themassive, protruding chin, salient, like that of the carnivora; the veinswere swollen and throbbing on his thick red neck; while over her headTrina saw his upraised palm, callused, enormous. 

"Stop!" he exclaimed. And Trina, watching fearfully, saw the palmsuddenly contract into a fist, a fist that was hard as a wooden mallet, the fist of the old-time car-boy. And then her ancient terror of him, the intuitive fear of the male, leaped to life again. She was afraid ofhim. Every nerve of her quailed and shrank from him. She choked back hersobs, catching her breath. 

"There, " growled the dentist, releasing her, "that's more like. Now, "he went on, fixing her with his little eyes, "now listen to me. I'm beatout. I've walked the city over--ten miles, I guess--an' I'm going tobed, an' I don't want to be bothered. You understand? I want to be letalone. " Trina was silent. 

"Do you HEAR?" he snarled. 

"Yes, Mac. "

The dentist took off his coat, his collar and necktie, unbuttoned hisvest, and slipped his heavy-soled boots from his big feet. Then hestretched himself upon the bed and rolled over towards the wall. In afew minutes the sound of his snoring filled the room. 

Trina craned her neck and looked at her husband over the footboard ofthe bed. She saw his red, congested face; the huge mouth wide open; hisunclean shirt, with its frayed wristbands; and his huge feet encasedin thick woollen socks. Then her grief and the sense of her unhappinessreturned more poignant than ever. She stretched her arms out in front ofher on her work-table, and, burying her face in them, cried and sobbedas though her heart would break. 

The rain continued. The panes of the single window ran with sheets ofwater; the eaves dripped incessantly. It grew darker. The tiny, grimyroom, full of the smells of cooking and of "non-poisonous" paint, tookon an aspect of desolation and cheerlessness lamentable beyond words. The canary in its little gilt prison chittered feebly from time to time. Sprawled at full length upon the bed, the dentist snored and snored, stupefied, inert, his legs wide apart, his hands lying palm upward athis sides. 

At last Trina raised her head, with a long, trembling breath. She rose, and going over to the washstand, poured some water from the pitcher intothe basin, and washed her face and swollen eyelids, and rearranged herhair. Suddenly, as she was about to return to her work, she was struckwith an idea. 

"I wonder, " she said to herself, "I wonder where he got the money to buyhis whiskey. " She searched the pockets of his coat, which he had flunginto a corner of the room, and even came up to him as he lay upon thebed and went through the pockets of his vest and trousers. She foundnothing. 

"I wonder, " she murmured, "I wonder if he's got any money he don't tellme about. I'll have to look out for that. "

CHAPTER 16

A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month. It was a month of thegreatest anxiety and unquietude for Trina. McTeague was out of a job, could find nothing to do; and Trina, who saw the impossibility of savingas much money as usual out of her earnings under the present conditions, was on the lookout for cheaper quarters. In spite of his outcries andsulky resistance Trina had induced her husband to consent to such amove, bewildering him with a torrent of phrases and marvellous columnsof figures by which she proved conclusively that they were in acondition but one remove from downright destitution. 

The dentist continued idle. Since his ill success with the manufacturersof surgical instruments he had made but two attempts to secure a job. Trina had gone to see Uncle Oelbermann and had obtained for McTeague aposition in the shipping department of the wholesale toy store. However, it was a position that involved a certain amount of ciphering, andMcTeague had been obliged to throw it up in two days. 

Then for a time they had entertained a wild idea that a place on thepolice force could be secured for McTeague. He could pass the physicalexamination with flying colors, and Ryer, who had become the secretaryof the Polk Street Improvement Club, promised the requisite political"pull. " If McTeague had shown a certain energy in the matter the attemptmight have been successful; but he was too stupid, or of late had becometoo listless to exert himself greatly, and the affair resulted only in aviolent quarrel with Ryer. 

McTeague had lost his ambition. He did not care to better his situation. All he wanted was a warm place to sleep and three good meals a day. At the first--at the very first--he had chafed at his idleness and hadspent the days with his wife in their one narrow room, walking back andforth with the restlessness of a caged brute, or sitting motionless forhours, watching Trina at her work, feeling a dull glow of shame at theidea that she was supporting him. This feeling had worn off quickly, however. Trina's work was only hard when she chose to make it so, and asa rule she supported their misfortunes with a silent fortitude. 

Then, wearied at his inaction and feeling the need of movement andexercise, McTeague would light his pipe and take a turn upon the greatavenue one block above Polk Street. A gang of laborers were digging thefoundations for a large brownstone house, and McTeague found interestand amusement in leaning over the barrier that surrounded theexcavations and watching the progress of the work. He came to seeit every afternoon; by and by he even got to know the foreman whosuperintended the job, and the two had long talks together. ThenMcTeague would return to Polk Street and find Heise in the back room ofthe harness shop, and occasionally the day ended with some half dozendrinks of whiskey at Joe Frenna's saloon. 

It was curious to note the effect of the alcohol upon the dentist. It did not make him drunk, it made him vicious. So far from beingstupefied, he became, after the fourth glass, active, alert, quick-witted, even talkative; a certain wickedness stirred in him then;he was intractable, mean; and when he had drunk a little more heavilythan usual, he found a certain pleasure in annoying and exasperatingTrina, even in abusing and hurting her. 

It had begun on the evening of Thanksgiving Day, when Heise had takenMcTeague out to dinner with him. The dentist on this occasion haddrunk very freely. He and Heise had returned to Polk Street towards teno'clock, and Heise at once suggested a couple of drinks at Frenna's. 

"All right, all right, " said McTeague. "Drinks, that's the word. I'll gohome and get some money and meet you at Joe's. "

Trina was awakened by her husband pinching her arm. 

"Oh, Mac, " she cried, jumping up in bed with a little scream, "how youhurt! Oh, that hurt me dreadfully. "

"Give me a little money, " answered the dentist, grinning, and pinchingher again. 

"I haven't a cent. There's not a--oh, MAC, will you stop? I won't haveyou pinch me that way. "

"Hurry up, " answered her husband, calmly, nipping the flesh of hershoulder between his thumb and finger. "Heise's waiting for me. " Trinawrenched from him with a sharp intake of breath, frowning with pain, andcaressing her shoulder. 

"Mac, you've no idea how that hurts. Mac, STOP!"

"Give me some money, then. "

In the end Trina had to comply. She gave him half a dollar from herdress pocket, protesting that it was the only piece of money she had. 

"One more, just for luck, " said McTeague, pinching her again; "andanother. "

"How can you--how CAN you hurt a woman so!" exclaimed Trina, beginningto cry with the pain. 

"Ah, now, CRY, " retorted the dentist. "That's right, CRY. I never sawsuch a little fool. " He went out, slamming the door in disgust. 

But McTeague never became a drunkard in the generally received sense ofthe term. He did not drink to excess more than two or three times in amonth, and never upon any occasion did he become maudlin or staggering. Perhaps his nerves were naturally too dull to admit of any excitation;perhaps he did not really care for the whiskey, and only drank becauseHeise and the other men at Frenna's did. Trina could often reproachhim with drinking too much; she never could say that he was drunk. Thealcohol had its effect for all that. It roused the man, or rather thebrute in the man, and now not only roused it, but goaded it to evil. McTeague's nature changed. It was not only the alcohol, it was idlenessand a general throwing off of the good influence his wife had had overhim in the days of their prosperity. McTeague disliked Trina. She was aperpetual irritation to him. She annoyed him because she was so small, so prettily made, so invariably correct and precise. Her avariceincessantly harassed him. Her industry was a constant reproach to him. She seemed to flaunt her work defiantly in his face. It was the redflag in the eyes of the bull. One time when he had just come back fromFrenna's and had been sitting in the chair near her, silently watchingher at her work, he exclaimed all of a sudden:

"Stop working. Stop it, I tell you. Put 'em away. Put 'em all away, orI'll pinch you. "

"But why--why?" Trina protested. 

The dentist cuffed her ears. "I won't have you work. " He took her knifeand her paint-pots away, and made her sit idly in the window the rest ofthe afternoon. 

It was, however, only when his wits had been stirred with alcohol thatthe dentist was brutal to his wife. At other times, say three weeks ofevery month, she was merely an incumbrance to him. They often quarrelledabout Trina's money, her savings. The dentist was bent upon having atleast a part of them. What he would do with the money once he had it, he did not precisely know. He would spend it in royal fashion, no doubt, feasting continually, buying himself wonderful clothes. The miner's ideaof money quickly gained and lavishly squandered, persisted in his mind. As for Trina, the more her husband stormed, the tighter she drew thestrings of the little chamois-skin bag that she hid at the bottom of hertrunk underneath her bridal dress. Her five thousand dollars invested inUncle Oelbermann's business was a glittering, splendid dream which cameto her almost every hour of the day as a solace and a compensation forall her unhappiness. 

At times, when she knew that McTeague was far from home, she would lockher door, open her trunk, and pile all her little hoard on her table. Bynow it was four hundred and seven dollars and fifty cents. Trinawould play with this money by the hour, piling it, and repiling it, orgathering it all into one heap, and drawing back to the farthest cornerof the room to note the effect, her head on one side. She polished thegold pieces with a mixture of soap and ashes until they shone, wipingthem carefully on her apron. Or, again, she would draw the heap lovinglytoward her and bury her face in it, delighted at the smell of it and thefeel of the smooth, cool metal on her cheeks. She even put the smallergold pieces in her mouth, and jingled them there. She loved her moneywith an intensity that she could hardly express. She would plunge hersmall fingers into the pile with little murmurs of affection, her long, narrow eyes half closed and shining, her breath coming in long sighs. 

"Ah, the dear money, the dear money, " she would whisper. "I love you so!All mine, every penny of it. No one shall ever, ever get you. How I'veworked for you! How I've slaved and saved for you! And I'm going to getmore; I'm going to get more, more, more; a little every day. "

She was still looking for cheaper quarters. Whenever she could spare amoment from her work, she would put on her hat and range up and down theentire neighborhood from Sutter to Sacramento Streets, going intoall the alleys and bystreets, her head in the air, looking for the"Rooms-to-let" sign. But she was in despair. All the cheaper tenementswere occupied. She could find no room more reasonable than the one sheand the dentist now occupied. 

As time went on, McTeague's idleness became habitual. He drank no morewhiskey than at first, but his dislike for Trina increased with everyday of their poverty, with every day of Trina's persistent stinginess. At times--fortunately rare he was more than ever brutal to her. He wouldbox her ears or hit her a great blow with the back of a hair-brush, or even with his closed fist. His old-time affection for his "littlewoman, " unable to stand the test of privation, had lapsed by degrees, and what little of it was left was changed, distorted, and mademonstrous by the alcohol. 

The people about the house and the clerks at the provision stores oftenremarked that Trina's fingertips were swollen and the nails purple asthough they had been shut in a door. Indeed, this was the explanationshe gave. The fact of the matter was that McTeague, when he had beendrinking, used to bite them, crunching and grinding them with hisimmense teeth, always ingenious enough to remember which were thesorest. Sometimes he extorted money from her by this means, but as oftenas not he did it for his own satisfaction. 

And in some strange, inexplicable way this brutality made Trina allthe more affectionate; aroused in her a morbid, unwholesome love ofsubmission, a strange, unnatural pleasure in yielding, in surrenderingherself to the will of an irresistible, virile power. 

Trina's emotions had narrowed with the narrowing of her daily life. Theyreduced themselves at last to but two, her passion for her money andher perverted love for her husband when he was brutal. She was a strangewoman during these days. 

Trina had come to be on very intimate terms with Maria Macapa, andin the end the dentist's wife and the maid of all work became greatfriends. Maria was constantly in and out of Trina's room, and, whenevershe could, Trina threw a shawl over her head and returned Maria's calls. Trina could reach Zerkow's dirty house without going into the street. The back yard of the flat had a gate that opened into a little inclosurewhere Zerkow kept his decrepit horse and ramshackle wagon, and fromthence Trina could enter directly into Maria's kitchen. Trina made longvisits to Maria during the morning in her dressing-gown and curl papers, and the two talked at great length over a cup of tea served on the edgeof the sink or a corner of the laundry table. The talk was all of theirhusbands and of what to do when they came home in aggressive moods. 

"You never ought to fight um, " advised Maria. "It only makes um worse. Just hump your back, and it's soonest over. "

They told each other of their husbands' brutalities, taking a strangesort of pride in recounting some particularly savage blow, each tryingto make out that her own husband was the most cruel. They criticallycompared each other's bruises, each one glad when she could exhibitthe worst. They exaggerated, they invented details, and, as if proud oftheir beatings, as if glorying in their husbands' mishandling, lied toeach other, magnifying their own maltreatment. They had long and excitedarguments as to which were the most effective means of punishment, therope's ends and cart whips such as Zerkow used, or the fists and backsof hair-brushes affected by McTeague. Maria contended that the lash ofthe whip hurt the most; Trina, that the butt did the most injury. 

Maria showed Trina the holes in the walls and the loosened boards in theflooring where Zerkow had been searching for the gold plate. Of latehe had been digging in the back yard and had ransacked the hay in hishorse-shed for the concealed leather chest he imagined he would find. But he was becoming impatient, evidently. 

"The way he goes on, " Maria told Trina, "is somethun dreadful. He'sgettun regularly sick with it--got a fever every night--don't sleep, andwhen he does, talks to himself. Says 'More'n a hundred pieces, an' everyone of 'em gold. More'n a hundred pieces, an' every one of 'em gold. 'Then he'll whale me with his whip, and shout, 'You know where it is. Tell me, tell me, you swine, or I'll do for you. ' An' then he'll getdown on his knees and whimper, and beg me to tell um where I've hid it. He's just gone plum crazy. Sometimes he has regular fits, he gets somad, and rolls on the floor and scratches himself. "

One morning in November, about ten o'clock, Trina pasted a "Made inFrance" label on the bottom of a Noah's ark, and leaned back inher chair with a long sigh of relief. She had just finished a largeChristmas order for Uncle Oelbermann, and there was nothing else shecould do that morning. The bed had not yet been made, nor had thebreakfast things been washed. Trina hesitated for a moment, then put herchin in the air indifferently. 

"Bah!" she said, "let them go till this afternoon. I don't care WHENthe room is put to rights, and I know Mac don't. " She determined thatinstead of making the bed or washing the dishes she would go and callon Miss Baker on the floor below. The little dressmaker might ask herto stay to lunch, and that would be something saved, as the dentist hadannounced his intention that morning of taking a long walk out to thePresidio to be gone all day. 

But Trina rapped on Miss Baker's door in vain that morning. She wasout. Perhaps she was gone to the florist's to buy some geranium seeds. However, Old Grannis's door stood a little ajar, and on hearing Trina atMiss Baker's room, the old Englishman came out into the hall. 

"She's gone out, " he said, uncertainly, and in a half whisper, "wentout about half an hour ago. I--I think she went to the drug store to getsome wafers for the goldfish. "

"Don't you go to your dog hospital any more, Mister Grannis?" saidTrina, leaning against the balustrade in the hall, willing to talk amoment. 

Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in his carpet slippers andfaded corduroy jacket that he wore when at home. 

"Why--why, " he said, hesitating, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You seeI'm thinking of giving up the little hospital. "

"Giving it up?"

"You see, the people at the book store where I buy my pamphlets havefound out--I told them of my contrivance for binding books, and one ofthe members of the firm came up to look at it. He offered me quite a sumif I would sell him the right of it--the--patent of it--quite a sum. Infact--in fact--yes, quite a sum, quite. " He rubbed his chin tremulouslyand looked about him on the floor. 

"Why, isn't that fine?" said Trina, good-naturedly. "I'm very glad, Mister Grannis. Is it a good price?"

"Quite a sum--quite. In fact, I never dreamed of having so much money. "

"Now, see here, Mister Grannis, " said Trina, decisively, "I want to giveyou a good piece of advice. Here are you and Miss Baker----" The oldEnglishman started nervously--"You and Miss Baker, that have been inlove with each other for----"

"Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subject--if you would please--Miss Baker issuch an estimable lady. "

"Fiddlesticks!" said Trina. "You're in love with each other, and thewhole flat knows it; and you two have been living here side by side yearin and year out, and you've never said a word to each other. It's allnonsense. Now, I want you should go right in and speak to her just assoon as she comes home, and say you've come into money and you want herto marry you. "

"Impossible--impossible!" exclaimed the old Englishman, alarmed andperturbed. "It's quite out of the question. I wouldn't presume. "

"Well, do you love her, or not?"

"Really, Mrs. McTeague, I--I--you must excuse me. It's a matter sopersonal--so--I--Oh, yes, I love her. Oh, yes, indeed, " he exclaimed, suddenly. 

"Well, then, she loves you. She told me so. "

"Oh!"

"She did. She said those very words. "

Miss Baker had said nothing of the kind--would have died sooner thanhave made such a confession; but Trina had drawn her own conclusions, like every other lodger of the flat, and thought the time was come fordecided action. 

"Now you do just as I tell you, and when she comes home, go right in andsee her, and have it over with. Now, don't say another word. I'm going;but you do just as I tell you. "

Trina turned about and went down-stairs. She had decided, since MissBaker was not at home, that she would run over and see Maria; possiblyshe could have lunch there. At any rate, Maria would offer her a cup oftea. 

Old Grannis stood for a long time just as Trina had left him, his handstrembling, the blood coming and going in his withered cheeks. 

"She said, she--she--she told her--she said that--that----" he could getno farther. 

Then he faced about and entered his room, closing the door behind him. For a long time he sat in his armchair, drawn close to the wall infront of the table on which stood his piles of pamphlets and his littlebinding apparatus. 

"I wonder, " said Trina, as she crossed the yard back of Zerkow's house, "I wonder what rent Zerkow and Maria pay for this place. I'll bet it'scheaper than where Mac and I are. "

Trina found Maria sitting in front of the kitchen stove, her chin uponher breast. Trina went up to her. She was dead. And as Trina touchedher shoulder, her head rolled sideways and showed a fearful gash in herthroat under her ear. All the front of her dress was soaked through andthrough. 

Trina backed sharply away from the body, drawing her hands up to hervery shoulders, her eyes staring and wide, an expression of unutterablehorror twisting her face. 

"Oh-h-h!" she exclaimed in a long breath, her voice hardly rising abovea whisper. "Oh-h, isn't that horrible!" Suddenly she turned and fledthrough the front part of the house to the street door, that opened uponthe little alley. She looked wildly about her. Directly across the way abutcher's boy was getting into his two-wheeled cart drawn up in front ofthe opposite house, while near by a peddler of wild game was coming downthe street, a brace of ducks in his hand. 

"Oh, say--say, " gasped Trina, trying to get her voice, "say, come overhere quick. "

The butcher's boy paused, one foot on the wheel, and stared. Trinabeckoned frantically. 

"Come over here, come over here quick. "

The young fellow swung himself into his seat. 

"What's the matter with that woman?" he said, half aloud. 

"There's a murder been done, " cried Trina, swaying in the doorway. 

The young fellow drove away, his head over his shoulder, staring atTrina with eyes that were fixed and absolutely devoid of expression. 

"What's the matter with that woman?" he said again to himself as heturned the corner. 

Trina wondered why she didn't scream, how she could keep from it--how, at such a moment as this, she could remember that it was improper tomake a disturbance and create a scene in the street. The peddler of wildgame was looking at her suspiciously. It would not do to tell him. Hewould go away like the butcher's boy. 

"Now, wait a minute, " Trina said to herself, speaking aloud. She put herhands to her head. "Now, wait a minute. It won't do for me to lose mywits now. What must I do?" She looked about her. There was the samefamiliar aspect of Polk Street. She could see it at the end of thealley. The big market opposite the flat, the delivery carts rattling upand down, the great ladies from the avenue at their morning shopping, the cable cars trundling past, loaded with passengers. She saw a littleboy in a flat leather cap whistling and calling for an unseen dog, slapping his small knee from time to time. Two men came out of Frenna'ssaloon, laughing heartily. Heise the harness-maker stood in thevestibule of his shop, a bundle of whittlings in his apron of greasyticking. And all this was going on, people were laughing and living, buying and selling, walking about out there on the sunny sidewalks, while behind her in there--in there--in there----

Heise started back from the sudden apparition of a white-lipped womanin a blue dressing-gown that seemed to rise up before him from his verydoorstep. 

"Well, Mrs. McTeague, you did scare me, for----"

"Oh, come over here quick. " Trina put her hand to her neck; swallowingsomething that seemed to be choking her. "Maria's killed--Zerkow'swife--I found her. "

"Get out!" exclaimed Heise, "you're joking. "

"Come over here--over into the house--I found her--she's dead. "

Heise dashed across the street on the run, with Trina at his heels, atrail of spilled whittlings marking his course. The two ran down thealley. The wild-game peddler, a woman who had been washing down thesteps in a neighboring house, and a man in a broad-brimmed hat stood atZerkow's doorway, looking in from time to time, and talking together. They seemed puzzled. 

"Anything wrong in here?" asked the wild-game peddler as Heise and Trinacame up. Two more men stopped on the corner of the alley and Polk Streetand looked at the group. A woman with a towel round her head raiseda window opposite Zerkow's house and called to the woman who had beenwashing the steps, "What is it, Mrs. Flint?"

Heise was already inside the house. He turned to Trina, panting from hisrun. 

"Where did you say--where was it--where?"

"In there, " said Trina, "farther in--the next room. " They burst into thekitchen. 

"LORD!" ejaculated Heise, stopping a yard or so from the body, andbending down to peer into the gray face with its brown lips. 

"By God! he's killed her. "

"Who?"

"Zerkow, by God! he's killed her. Cut her throat. He always said hewould. "

"Zerkow?"

"He's killed her. Her throat's cut. Good Lord, how she did bleed! ByGod! he's done for her in good shape this time. "

"Oh, I told her--I TOLD her, " cried Trina. 

"He's done for her SURE this time. "

"She said she could always manage--Oh-h! It's horrible. "

"He's done for her sure this trip. Cut her throat. LORD, how she hasBLED! Did you ever see so much--that's murder--that's cold-bloodedmurder. He's killed her. Say, we must get a policeman. Come on. "

They turned back through the house. Half a dozen people--the wild-gamepeddler, the man with the broad-brimmed hat, the washwoman, and threeother men--were in the front room of the junk shop, a bank of excitedfaces surged at the door. Beyond this, outside, the crowd was packedsolid from one end of the alley to the other. Out in Polk Street thecable cars were nearly blocked and were bunting a way slowly through thethrong with clanging bells. Every window had its group. And as Trina andthe harness-maker tried to force the way from the door of the junk shopthe throng suddenly parted right and left before the passage of twoblue-coated policemen who clove a passage through the press, workingtheir elbows energetically. They were accompanied by a third man incitizen's clothes. 

Heise and Trina went back into the kitchen with the two policemen, thethird man in citizen's clothes cleared the intruders from the front roomof the junk shop and kept the crowd back, his arm across the open door. 

"Whew!" whistled one of the officers as they came out into the kitchen, "cutting scrape? By George! SOMEBODY'S been using his knife all right. "He turned to the other officer. "Better get the wagon. There's a box onthe second corner south. Now, then, " he continued, turning to Trina andthe harness-maker and taking out his note-book and pencil, "I want yournames and addresses. "

It was a day of tremendous excitement for the entire street. Long afterthe patrol wagon had driven away, the crowd remained. In fact, untilseven o'clock that evening groups collected about the door of the junkshop, where a policeman stood guard, asking all manner of questions, advancing all manner of opinions. 

"Do you think they'll get him?" asked Ryer of the policeman. A dozennecks craned forward eagerly. 

"Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough, " answered the other, with agrand air. 

"What? What's that? What did he say?" asked the people on the outskirtsof the group. Those in front passed the answer back. 

"He says they'll get him all right, easy enough. "

The group looked at the policeman admiringly. 

"He's skipped to San Jose. "

Where the rumor started, and how, no one knew. But every one seemedpersuaded that Zerkow had gone to San Jose. 

"But what did he kill her for? Was he drunk?"

"No, he was crazy, I tell you--crazy in the head. Thought she was hidingsome money from him. "

Frenna did a big business all day long. The murder was the one subjectof conversation. Little parties were made up in his saloon--parties oftwos and threes--to go over and have a look at the outside of the junkshop. Heise was the most important man the length and breadth of PolkStreet; almost invariably he accompanied these parties, telling againand again of the part he had played in the affair. 

"It was about eleven o'clock. I was standing in front of the shop, whenMrs. McTeague--you know, the dentist's wife--came running across thestreet, " and so on and so on. 

The next day came a fresh sensation. Polk Street read of it in themorning papers. Towards midnight on the day of the murder Zerkow's bodyhad been found floating in the bay near Black Point. No one knew whetherhe had drowned himself or fallen from one of the wharves. Clutched inboth his hands was a sack full of old and rusty pans, tin dishes--fullya hundred of them--tin cans, and iron knives and forks, collected fromsome dump heap. 

"And all this, " exclaimed Trina, "on account of a set of gold dishesthat never existed. "

CHAPTER 17

One day, about a fortnight after the coroner's inquest had been held, and when the excitement of the terrible affair was calming down and PolkStreet beginning to resume its monotonous routine, Old Grannis sat inhis clean, well-kept little room, in his cushioned armchair, his handslying idly upon his knees. It was evening; not quite time to light thelamps. Old Grannis had drawn his chair close to the wall--so close, infact, that he could hear Miss Baker's grenadine brushing against theother side of the thin partition, at his very elbow, while she rockedgently back and forth, a cup of tea in her hands. 

Old Grannis's occupation was gone. That morning the bookselling firmwhere he had bought his pamphlets had taken his little binding apparatusfrom him to use as a model. The transaction had been concluded. OldGrannis had received his check. It was large enough, to be sure, but when all was over, he returned to his room and sat there sad andunoccupied, looking at the pattern in the carpet and counting the headsof the tacks in the zinc guard that was fastened to the wall behind hislittle stove. By and by he heard Miss Baker moving about. It was fiveo'clock, the time when she was accustomed to make her cup of tea and"keep company" with him on her side of the partition. Old Grannis drewup his chair to the wall near where he knew she was sitting. The minutespassed; side by side, and separated by only a couple of inches of board, the two old people sat there together, while the afternoon grew darker. 

But for Old Grannis all was different that evening. There was nothingfor him to do. His hands lay idly in his lap. His table, with its pileof pamphlets, was in a far corner of the room, and, from time to time, stirred with an uncertain trouble, he turned his head and looked at itsadly, reflecting that he would never use it again. The absence of hisaccustomed work seemed to leave something out of his life. It did notappear to him that he could be the same to Miss Baker now; their littlehabits were disarranged, their customs broken up. He could no longerfancy himself so near to her. They would drift apart now, and she wouldno longer make herself a cup of tea and "keep company" with him whenshe knew that he would never again sit before his table binding uncutpamphlets. He had sold his happiness for money; he had bartered all histardy romance for some miserable banknotes. He had not foreseen that itwould be like this. A vast regret welled up within him. What was thaton the back of his hand? He wiped it dry with his ancient silkhandkerchief. 

Old Grannis leant his face in his hands. Not only did an inexplicableregret stir within him, but a certain great tenderness came upon him. The tears that swam in his faded blue eyes were not altogether those ofunhappiness. No, this long-delayed affection that had come upon him inhis later years filled him with a joy for which tears seemed to be thenatural expression. For thirty years his eyes had not been wet, buttonight he felt as if he were young again. He had never loved before, and there was still a part of him that was only twenty years of age. Hecould not tell whether he was profoundly sad or deeply happy; but he wasnot ashamed of the tears that brought the smart to his eyes and the acheto his throat. He did not hear the timid rapping on his door, and it wasnot until the door itself opened that he looked up quickly and saw thelittle retired dressmaker standing on the threshold, carrying a cup oftea on a tiny Japanese tray. She held it toward him. 

"I was making some tea, " she said, "and I thought you would like to havea cup. "

Never after could the little dressmaker understand how she had broughtherself to do this thing. One moment she had been sitting quietly on herside of the partition, stirring her cup of tea with one of her Gorhamspoons. She was quiet, she was peaceful. The evening was closingdown tranquilly. Her room was the picture of calmness and order. Thegeraniums blooming in the starch boxes in the window, the aged goldfishoccasionally turning his iridescent flank to catch a sudden glow of thesetting sun. The next moment she had been all trepidation. It seemed toher the most natural thing in the world to make a steaming cup of teaand carry it in to Old Grannis next door. It seemed to her that he waswanting her, that she ought to go to him. With the brusque resolve andintrepidity that sometimes seizes upon very timid people--the courage ofthe coward greater than all others--she had presented herself at the oldEnglishman's half-open door, and, when he had not heeded her knock, had pushed it open, and at last, after all these years, stood uponthe threshold of his room. She had found courage enough to explain herintrusion. 

"I was making some tea, and I thought you would like to have a cup. "

Old Grannis dropped his hands upon either arm of his chair, and, leaningforward a little, looked at her blankly. He did not speak. 

The retired dressmaker's courage had carried her thus far; now itdeserted her as abruptly as it had come. Her cheeks became scarlet; herfunny little false curls trembled with her agitation. What she had doneseemed to her indecorous beyond expression. It was an enormity. Fancy, she had gone into his room, INTO HIS ROOM--Mister Grannis's room. Shehad done this--she who could not pass him on the stairs without a qualm. What to do she did not know. She stood, a fixture, on the threshold ofhis room, without even resolution enough to beat a retreat. Helplessly, and with a little quaver in her voice, she repeated obstinately:

"I was making some tea, and I thought you would like to have a cup oftea. " Her agitation betrayed itself in the repetition of the word. Shefelt that she could not hold the tray out another instant. Already shewas trembling so that half the tea was spilled. 

Old Grannis still kept silence, still bending forward, with wide eyes, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. 

Then with the tea-tray still held straight before her, the littledressmaker exclaimed tearfully:

"Oh, I didn't mean--I didn't mean--I didn't know it would seem likethis. I only meant to be kind and bring you some tea; and now it seemsSO improper. I--I--I'm SO ashamed! I don't know what you will thinkof me. I--" she caught her breath--"improper"--she managed to exclaim, "unlady-like--you can never think well of me--I'll go. I'll go. " Sheturned about. 

"Stop, " cried Old Grannis, finding his voice at last. Miss Baker paused, looking at him over her shoulder, her eyes very wide open, blinkingthrough her tears, for all the world like a frightened child. 

"Stop, " exclaimed the old Englishman, rising to his feet. "I didn't knowit was you at first. I hadn't dreamed--I couldn't believe you would beso good, so kind to me. Oh, " he cried, with a sudden sharp breath, "oh, you ARE kind. I--I--you have--have made me very happy. "

"No, no, " exclaimed Miss Baker, ready to sob. "It was unlady-like. Youwill--you must think ill of me. " She stood in the hall. The tears wererunning down her cheeks, and she had no free hand to dry them. 

"Let me--I'll take the tray from you, " cried Old Grannis, comingforward. A tremulous joy came upon him. Never in his life had he beenso happy. At last it had come--come when he had least expected it. Thatwhich he had longed for and hoped for through so many years, behold, itwas come to-night. He felt his awkwardness leaving him. He was almostcertain that the little dressmaker loved him, and the thought gave himboldness. He came toward her and took the tray from her hands, and, turning back into the room with it, made as if to set it upon his table. But the piles of his pamphlets were in the way. Both of his hands wereoccupied with the tray; he could not make a place for it on the table. He stood for a moment uncertain, his embarrassment returning. 

"Oh, won't you--won't you please--" He turned his head, lookingappealingly at the little old dressmaker. 

"Wait, I'll help you, " she said. She came into the room, up to thetable, and moved the pamphlets to one side. 

"Thanks, thanks, " murmured Old Grannis, setting down the tray. 

"Now--now--now I will go back, " she exclaimed, hurriedly. 

"No--no, " returned the old Englishman. "Don't go, don't go. I've beenso lonely to-night--and last night too--all this year--all my life, " hesuddenly cried. 

"I--I--I've forgotten the sugar. "

"But I never take sugar in my tea. "

"But it's rather cold, and I've spilled it--almost all of it. "

"I'll drink it from the saucer. " Old Grannis had drawn up his armchairfor her. 

"Oh, I shouldn't. This is--this is SO--You must think ill of me. "Suddenly she sat down, and resting her elbows on the table, hid her facein her hands. 

"Think ILL of you?" cried Old Grannis, "think ILL of you? Why, you don'tknow--you have no idea--all these years--living so close to you, I--I--"he paused suddenly. It seemed to him as if the beating of his heart waschoking him. 

"I thought you were binding your books to-night, " said Miss Baker, suddenly, "and you looked tired. I thought you looked tired when I lastsaw you, and a cup of tea, you know, it--that--that does you so muchgood when you're tired. But you weren't binding books. "

"No, no, " returned Old Grannis, drawing up a chair and sitting down. "No, I--the fact is, I've sold my apparatus; a firm of booksellers hasbought the rights of it. "

"And aren't you going to bind books any more?" exclaimed the littledressmaker, a shade of disappointment in her manner. "I thought youalways did about four o'clock. I used to hear you when I was makingtea. "

It hardly seemed possible to Miss Baker that she was actually talking toOld Grannis, that the two were really chatting together, face to face, and without the dreadful embarrassment that used to overwhelm them bothwhen they met on the stairs. She had often dreamed of this, but hadalways put it off to some far-distant day. It was to come gradually, little by little, instead of, as now, abruptly and with no preparation. That she should permit herself the indiscretion of actually intrudingherself into his room had never so much as occurred to her. Yet here shewas, IN HIS ROOM, and they were talking together, and little by littleher embarrassment was wearing away. 

"Yes, yes, I always heard you when you were making tea, " returned theold Englishman; "I heard the tea things. Then I used to draw my chairand my work-table close to the wall on my side, and sit there and workwhile you drank your tea just on the other side; and I used to feel verynear to you then. I used to pass the whole evening that way. "

"And, yes--yes--I did too, " she answered. "I used to make tea just atthat time and sit there for a whole hour. "

"And didn't you sit close to the partition on your side? Sometimes Iwas sure of it. I could even fancy that I could hear your dress brushingagainst the wall-paper close beside me. Didn't you sit close to thepartition?"

"I--I don't know where I sat. "

Old Grannis shyly put out his hand and took hers as it lay upon her lap. 

"Didn't you sit close to the partition on your side?" he insisted. 

"No--I don't know--perhaps--sometimes. Oh, yes, " she exclaimed, with alittle gasp, "Oh, yes, I often did. "

Then Old Grannis put his arm about her, and kissed her faded cheek, thatflushed to pink upon the instant. 

After that they spoke but little. The day lapsed slowly into twilight, and the two old people sat there in the gray evening, quietly, quietly, their hands in each other's hands, "keeping company, " but now withnothing to separate them. It had come at last. After all these yearsthey were together; they understood each other. They stood at length ina little Elysium of their own creating. They walked hand in hand ina delicious garden where it was always autumn. Far from the worldand together they entered upon the long retarded romance of theircommonplace and uneventful lives. 

CHAPTER 18

That same night McTeague was awakened by a shrill scream, and woketo find Trina's arms around his neck. She was trembling so that thebed-springs creaked. 

"Huh?" cried the dentist, sitting up in bed, raising his clinched fists. "Huh? What? What? What is it? What is it?"

"Oh, Mac, " gasped his wife, "I had such an awful dream. I dreamed aboutMaria. I thought she was chasing me, and I couldn't run, and her throatwas--Oh, she was all covered with blood. Oh-h, I am so frightened!"

Trina had borne up very well for the first day or so after the affair, and had given her testimony to the coroner with far greater calmnessthan Heise. It was only a week later that the horror of the thing cameupon her again. She was so nervous that she hardly dared to be alone inthe daytime, and almost every night woke with a cry of terror, tremblingwith the recollection of some dreadful nightmare. The dentist wasirritated beyond all expression by her nervousness, and especially washe exasperated when her cries woke him suddenly in the middle of thenight. He would sit up in bed, rolling his eyes wildly, throwing outhis huge fists--at what, he did not know--exclaiming, "What what--"bewildered and hopelessly confused. Then when he realized that it wasonly Trina, his anger kindled abruptly. 

"Oh, you and your dreams! You go to sleep, or I'll give you a dressingdown. " Sometimes he would hit her a great thwack with his open palm, orcatch her hand and bite the tips of her fingers. Trina would lie awakefor hours afterward, crying softly to herself. Then, by and by, "Mac, "she would say timidly. 

"Huh?"

"Mac, do you love me?"

"Huh? What? Go to sleep. "

"Don't you love me any more, Mac?"

"Oh, go to sleep. Don't bother me. "

"Well, do you LOVE me, Mac?"

"I guess so. "

"Oh, Mac, I've only you now, and if you don't love me, what is going tobecome of me?"

"Shut up, an' let me go to sleep. "

"Well, just tell me that you love me. "

The dentist would turn abruptly away from her, burying his big blondhead in the pillow, and covering up his ears with the blankets. ThenTrina would sob herself to sleep. 

The dentist had long since given up looking for a job. Between breakfastand supper time Trina saw but little of him. Once the morning meal over, McTeague bestirred himself, put on his cap--he had given up wearing evena hat since his wife had made him sell his silk hat--and went out. Hehad fallen into the habit of taking long and solitary walks beyond thesuburbs of the city. Sometimes it was to the Cliff House, occasionallyto the Park (where he would sit on the sun-warmed benches, smoking hispipe and reading ragged ends of old newspapers), but more often it wasto the Presidio Reservation. McTeague would walk out to the end of theUnion Street car line, entering the Reservation at the terminus, thenhe would work down to the shore of the bay, follow the shore line tothe Old Fort at the Golden Gate, and, turning the Point here, come outsuddenly upon the full sweep of the Pacific. Then he would follow thebeach down to a certain point of rocks that he knew. Here he would turninland, climbing the bluffs to a rolling grassy down sown with blue irisand a yellow flower that he did not know the name of. On the far side ofthis down was a broad, well-kept road. McTeague would keep to this roaduntil he reached the city again by the way of the Sacramento Street carline. The dentist loved these walks. He liked to be alone. He liked thesolitude of the tremendous, tumbling ocean; the fresh, windy downs; heliked to feel the gusty Trades flogging his face, and he would remainfor hours watching the roll and plunge of the breakers with the silent, unreasoned enjoyment of a child. All at once he developed a passion forfishing. He would sit all day nearly motionless upon a point of rocks, his fish-line between his fingers, happy if he caught three perch intwelve hours. At noon he would retire to a bit of level turf around anangle of the shore and cook his fish, eating them without salt or knifeor fork. He thrust a pointed stick down the mouth of the perch, andturned it slowly over the blaze. When the grease stopped dripping, heknew that it was done, and would devour it slowly and with tremendousrelish, picking the bones clean, eating even the head. He rememberedhow often he used to do this sort of thing when he was a boy in themountains of Placer County, before he became a car-boy at the mine. Thedentist enjoyed himself hugely during these days. The instincts of theold-time miner were returning. In the stress of his misfortune McTeaguewas lapsing back to his early estate. 

One evening as he reached home after such a tramp, he was surprised tofind Trina standing in front of what had been Zerkow's house, looking atit thoughtfully, her finger on her lips. 

"What you doing here'?" growled the dentist as he came up. There was a"Rooms-to-let" sign on the street door of the house. 

"Now we've found a place to move to, " exclaimed Trina. 

"What?" cried McTeague. "There, in that dirty house, where you foundMaria?"

"I can't afford that room in the flat any more, now that you can't getany work to do. "

"But there's where Zerkow killed Maria--the very house--an' you wake upan' squeal in the night just thinking of it. "

"I know. I know it will be bad at first, but I'll get used to it, an'it's just half again as cheap as where we are now. I was looking at aroom; we can have it dirt cheap. It's a back room over the kitchen. AGerman family are going to take the front part of the house and subletthe rest. I'm going to take it. It'll be money in my pocket. "

"But it won't be any in mine, " vociferated the dentist, angrily. "I'llhave to live in that dirty rat hole just so's you can save money. Iain't any the better off for it. "

"Find work to do, and then we'll talk, " declared Trina. "I'M going tosave up some money against a rainy day; and if I can save more by livinghere I'm going to do it, even if it is the house Maria was killed in. Idon't care. "

"All right, " said McTeague, and did not make any further protest. Hiswife looked at him surprised. She could not understand this suddenacquiescence. Perhaps McTeague was so much away from home of late thathe had ceased to care where or how he lived. But this sudden changetroubled her a little for all that. 

The next day the McTeagues moved for a second time. It did not take themlong. They were obliged to buy the bed from the landlady, a circumstancewhich nearly broke Trina's heart; and this bed, a couple of chairs, Trina's trunk, an ornament or two, the oil stove, and some plates andkitchen ware were all that they could call their own now; and this backroom in that wretched house with its grisly memories, the one windowlooking out into a grimy maze of back yards and broken sheds, was whatthey now knew as their home. 

The McTeagues now began to sink rapidly lower and lower. They becameaccustomed to their surroundings. Worst of all, Trina lost her prettyways and her good looks. The combined effects of hard work, avarice, poor food, and her husband's brutalities told on her swiftly. Hercharming little figure grew coarse, stunted, and dumpy. She who had oncebeen of a catlike neatness, now slovened all day about the room ina dirty flannel wrapper, her slippers clap-clapping after her as shewalked. At last she even neglected her hair, the wonderful swarthytiara, the coiffure of a queen, that shaded her little pale forehead. In the morning she braided it before it was half combed, and piled andcoiled it about her head in haphazard fashion. It came down half a dozentimes a day; by evening it was an unkempt, tangled mass, a veritablerat's nest. 

Ah, no, it was not very gay, that life of hers, when one had to rustlefor two, cook and work and wash, to say nothing of paying the rent. Whatodds was it if she was slatternly, dirty, coarse? Was there time to makeherself look otherwise, and who was there to be pleased when she was allprinked out? Surely not a great brute of a husband who bit you like adog, and kicked and pounded you as though you were made of iron. Ah, no, better let things go, and take it as easy as you could. Hump your back, and it was soonest over. 

The one room grew abominably dirty, reeking with the odors of cookingand of "non-poisonous" paint. The bed was not made until late in theafternoon, sometimes not at all. Dirty, unwashed crockery, greasyknives, sodden fragments of yesterday's meals cluttered the table, whilein one corner was the heap of evil-smelling, dirty linen. Cockroachesappeared in the crevices of the woodwork, the wall-paper bulged from thedamp walls and began to peel. Trina had long ago ceased to dust or towipe the furniture with a bit of rag. The grime grew thick upon thewindow panes and in the corners of the room. All the filth of the alleyinvaded their quarters like a rising muddy tide. 

Between the windows, however, the faded photograph of the couple intheir wedding finery looked down upon the wretchedness, Trina stillholding her set bouquet straight before her, McTeague standing at herside, his left foot forward, in the attitude of a Secretary of State;while near by hung the canary, the one thing the dentist clung toobstinately, piping and chittering all day in its little gilt prison. 

And the tooth, the gigantic golden molar of French gilt, enormous andungainly, sprawled its branching prongs in one corner of the room, bythe footboard of the bed. The McTeague's had come to use it as a sortof substitute for a table. After breakfast and supper Trina piled theplates and greasy dishes upon it to have them out of the way. 

One afternoon the Other Dentist, McTeague's old-time rival, the wearerof marvellous waistcoats, was surprised out of all countenance toreceive a visit from McTeague. The Other Dentist was in his operatingroom at the time, at work upon a plaster-of-paris mould. To his callof "'Come right in. Don't you see the sign, 'Enter without knocking'?"McTeague came in. He noted at once how airy and cheerful was the room. Alittle fire coughed and tittered on the hearth, a brindled greyhoundsat on his haunches watching it intently, a great mirror over the mantleoffered to view an array of actresses' pictures thrust between the glassand the frame, and a big bunch of freshly-cut violets stood in a glassbowl on the polished cherrywood table. The Other Dentist came forwardbriskly, exclaiming cheerfully:

"Oh, Doctor--Mister McTeague, how do? how do?"

The fellow was actually wearing a velvet smoking jacket. A cigarettewas between his lips; his patent leather boots reflected the firelight. McTeague wore a black surah neglige shirt without a cravat; huge buckledbrogans, hob-nailed, gross, encased his feet; the hems of his trouserswere spotted with mud; his coat was frayed at the sleeves and a buttonwas gone. In three days he had not shaved; his shock of heavy blond hairescaped from beneath the visor of his woollen cap and hung low over hisforehead. He stood with awkward, shifting feet and uncertain eyes beforethe dapper young fellow who reeked of the barber shop, and whom he hadonce ordered from his rooms. 

"What can I do for you this morning, Mister McTeague? Something wrongwith the teeth, eh?"

"No, no. " McTeague, floundering in the difficulties of his speech, forgot the carefully rehearsed words with which he had intended to beginthis interview. 

"I want to sell you my sign, " he said, stupidly. "That big tooth ofFrench gilt--YOU know--that you made an offer for once. "

"Oh, I don't want that now, " said the other loftily. "I prefer a littlequiet signboard, nothing pretentious--just the name, and 'Dentist' afterit. These big signs are vulgar. No, I don't want it. "

McTeague remained, looking about on the floor, horribly embarrassed, notknowing whether to go or to stay. 

"But I don't know, " said the Other Dentist, reflectively. "If it willhelp you out any--I guess you're pretty hard up--I'll--well, I tell youwhat--I'll give you five dollars for it. "

"All right, all right. "

On the following Thursday morning McTeague woke to hear the eavesdripping and the prolonged rattle of the rain upon the roof. 

"Raining, " he growled, in deep disgust, sitting up in bed, and winkingat the blurred window. 

"It's been raining all night, " said Trina. She was already up anddressed, and was cooking breakfast on the oil stove. 

McTeague dressed himself, grumbling, "Well, I'll go, anyhow. The fishwill bite all the better for the rain. "

"Look here, Mac, " said Trina, slicing a bit of bacon as thinly as shecould. "Look here, why don't you bring some of your fish home sometime?"

"Huh!" snorted the dentist, "so's we could have 'em for breakfast. Mightsave you a nickel, mightn't it?"

"Well, and if it did! Or you might fish for the market. The fishermanacross the street would buy 'em of you. "

"Shut up!" exclaimed the dentist, and Trina obediently subsided. 

"Look here, " continued her husband, fumbling in his trousers pocketand bringing out a dollar, "I'm sick and tired of coffee and bacon andmashed potatoes. Go over to the market and get some kind of meat forbreakfast. Get a steak, or chops, or something. 

"Why, Mac, that's a whole dollar, and he only gave you five for yoursign. We can't afford it. Sure, Mac. Let me put that money away againsta rainy day. You're just as well off without meat for breakfast. "

"You do as I tell you. Get some steak, or chops, or something. "

"Please, Mac, dear. "

"Go on, now. I'll bite your fingers again pretty soon. "

"But----"

The dentist took a step towards her, snatching at her hand. 

"All right, I'll go, " cried Trina, wincing and shrinking. "I'll go. "

She did not get the chops at the big market, however. Instead, shehurried to a cheaper butcher shop on a side street two blocks away, andbought fifteen cents' worth of chops from a side of mutton some two orthree days old. She was gone some little time. 

"Give me the change, " exclaimed the dentist as soon as she returned. Trina handed him a quarter; and when McTeague was about to protest, broke in upon him with a rapid stream of talk that confused him uponthe instant. But for that matter, it was never difficult for Trina todeceive the dentist. He never went to the bottom of things. He wouldhave believed her if she had told him the chops had cost a dollar. 

"There's sixty cents saved, anyhow, " thought Trina, as she clutched themoney in her pocket to keep it from rattling. 

Trina cooked the chops, and they breakfasted in silence. "Now, " saidMcTeague as he rose, wiping the coffee from his thick mustache with thehollow of his palm, "now I'm going fishing, rain or no rain. I'm goingto be gone all day. "

He stood for a moment at the door, his fish-line in his hand, swingingthe heavy sinker back and forth. He looked at Trina as she cleared awaythe breakfast things. 

"So long, " said he, nodding his huge square-cut head. This amiabilityin the matter of leave taking was unusual. Trina put the dishes down andcame up to him, her little chin, once so adorable, in the air:

"Kiss me good-by, Mac, " she said, putting her arms around his neck. "YouDO love me a little yet, don't you, Mac? We'll be happy again some day. This is hard times now, but we'll pull out. You'll find something to dopretty soon. "

"I guess so, " growled McTeague, allowing her to kiss him. 

The canary was stirring nimbly in its cage, and just now broke out intoa shrill trilling, its little throat bulging and quivering. The dentiststared at it. "Say, " he remarked slowly, "I think I'll take that bird ofmine along. "

"Sell it?" inquired Trina. 

"Yes, yes, sell it. "

"Well, you ARE coming to your senses at last, " answered Trina, approvingly. "But don't you let the bird-store man cheat you. That's agood songster; and with the cage, you ought to make him give you fivedollars. You stick out for that at first, anyhow. "

McTeague unhooked the cage and carefully wrapped it in an old newspaper, remarking, "He might get cold. Well, so long, " he repeated, "so long. "

"Good-by, Mac. "

When he was gone, Trina took the sixty cents she had stolen from him outof her pocket and recounted it. "It's sixty cents, all right, " she saidproudly. "But I DO believe that dime is too smooth. " She looked at itcritically. The clock on the power-house of the Sutter Street cablestruck eight. "Eight o'clock already, " she exclaimed. "I must get towork. " She cleared the breakfast things from the table, and drawing upher chair and her workbox began painting the sets of Noah's ark animalsshe had whittled the day before. She worked steadily all the morning. At noon she lunched, warming over the coffee left from breakfast, andfrying a couple of sausages. By one she was bending over her tableagain. Her fingers--some of them lacerated by McTeague's teeth--flew, and the little pile of cheap toys in the basket at her elbow grewsteadily. 

"Where DO all the toys go to?" she murmured. "The thousands andthousands of these Noah's arks that I have made--horses and chickens andelephants--and always there never seems to be enough. It's a good thingfor me that children break their things, and that they all have to havebirthdays and Christmases. " She dipped her brush into a pot of Vandykebrown and painted one of the whittled toy horses in two strokes. Then atouch of ivory black with a small flat brush created the tail and mane, and dots of Chinese white made the eyes. The turpentine in the paintdried it almost immediately, and she tossed the completed little horseinto the basket. 

At six o'clock the dentist had not returned. Trina waited until seven, and then put her work away, and ate her supper alone. 

"I wonder what's keeping Mac, " she exclaimed as the clock from thepower-house on Sutter Street struck half-past seven. "I KNOW he'sdrinking somewhere, " she cried, apprehensively. "He had the money fromhis sign with him. "

At eight o'clock she threw a shawl over her head and went over to theharness shop. If anybody would know where McTeague was it would beHeise. But the harness-maker had seen nothing of him since the daybefore. 

"He was in here yesterday afternoon, and we had a drink or two atFrenna's. Maybe he's been in there to-day. "

"Oh, won't you go in and see?" said Trina. "Mac always came home to hissupper--he never likes to miss his meals--and I'm getting frightenedabout him. "

Heise went into the barroom next door, and returned with no definitenews. Frenna had not seen the dentist since he had come in with theharness-maker the previous afternoon. Trina even humbled herself to askof the Ryers--with whom they had quarrelled--if they knew anything ofthe dentist's whereabouts, but received a contemptuous negative. 

"Maybe he's come in while I've been out, " said Trina to herself. Shewent down Polk Street again, going towards the flat. The rain hadstopped, but the sidewalks were still glistening. The cable carstrundled by, loaded with theatregoers. The barbers were just closingtheir shops. The candy store on the corner was brilliantly lighted andwas filling up, while the green and yellow lamps from the drug storedirectly opposite threw kaleidoscopic reflections deep down into theshining surface of the asphalt. A band of Salvationists began to playand pray in front of Frenna's saloon. Trina hurried on down the gaystreet, with its evening's brilliancy and small activities, her shawlover her head, one hand lifting her faded skirt from off the wetpavements. She turned into the alley, entered Zerkow's old home by theever-open door, and ran up-stairs to the room. Nobody. 

"Why, isn't this FUNNY, " she exclaimed, half aloud, standing on thethreshold, her little milk-white forehead curdling to a frown, one sorefinger on her lips. Then a great fear seized upon her. Inevitably sheassociated the house with a scene of violent death. 

"No, no, " she said to the darkness, "Mac is all right. HE can takecare of himself. " But for all that she had a clear-cut vision of herhusband's body, bloated with seawater, his blond hair streaming likekelp, rolling inertly in shifting waters. 

"He couldn't have fallen off the rocks, " she declared firmly. "There--THERE he is now. " She heaved a great sigh of relief as a heavytread sounded in the hallway below. She ran to the banisters, lookingover, and calling, "Oh, Mac! Is that you, Mac?" It was the German whosefamily occupied the lower floor. The power-house clock struck nine. 

"My God, where is Mac?" cried Trina, stamping her foot. 

She put the shawl over her head again, and went out and stood on thecorner of the alley and Polk Street, watching and waiting, craning herneck to see down the street. Once, even, she went out upon the sidewalkin front of the flat and sat down for a moment upon the horse-blockthere. She could not help remembering the day when she had been drivenup to that horse-block in a hack. Her mother and father and Owgooste andthe twins were with her. It was her wedding day. Her wedding dress wasin a huge tin trunk on the driver's seat. She had never been happierbefore in all her life. She remembered how she got out of the hackand stood for a moment upon the horse-block, looking up at McTeague'swindows. She had caught a glimpse of him at his shaving, the latherstill on his cheek, and they had waved their hands at each other. Instinctively Trina looked up at the flat behind her; looked up at thebay window where her husband's "Dental Parlors" had been. It was alldark; the windows had the blind, sightless appearance imparted byvacant, untenanted rooms. A rusty iron rod projected mournfully from oneof the window ledges. 

"There's where our sign hung once, " said Trina. She turned her head andlooked down Polk Street towards where the Other Dentist had his rooms, and there, overhanging the street from his window, newly furbished andbrightened, hung the huge tooth, her birthday present to her husband, flashing and glowing in the white glare of the electric lights like abeacon of defiance and triumph. 

"Ah, no; ah, no, " whispered Trina, choking back a sob. "Life isn't sogay. But I wouldn't mind, no I wouldn't mind anything, if only Mac washome all right. " She got up from the horse-block and stood again on thecorner of the alley, watching and listening. 

It grew later. The hours passed. Trina kept at her post. The noise ofapproaching footfalls grew less and less frequent. Little by littlePolk Street dropped back into solitude. Eleven o'clock struck from thepower-house clock; lights were extinguished; at one o'clock the cablestopped, leaving an abrupt and numbing silence in the air. All at onceit seemed very still. The only noises were the occasional footfalls ofa policeman and the persistent calling of ducks and geese in the closedmarket across the way. The street was asleep. 

When it is night and dark, and one is awake and alone, one's thoughtstake the color of the surroundings; become gloomy, sombre, and verydismal. All at once an idea came to Trina, a dark, terrible idea; worse, even, than the idea of McTeague's death. 

"Oh, no, " she cried. "Oh, no. It isn't true. But suppose--suppose. "

She left her post and hurried back to the house. 

"No, no, " she was saying under her breath, "it isn't possible. Maybe he's even come home already by another way. Butsuppose--suppose--suppose. "

She ran up the stairs, opened the door of the room, and paused, out ofbreath. The room was dark and empty. With cold, trembling fingers shelighted the lamp, and, turning about, looked at her trunk. The lock wasburst. 

"No, no, no, " cried Trina, "it's not true; it's not true. " She droppedon her knees before the trunk, and tossed back the lid, and plungedher hands down into the corner underneath her wedding dress, where shealways kept the savings. The brass match-safe and the chamois-skin bagwere there. They were empty. 

Trina flung herself full length upon the floor, burying her face in herarms, rolling her head from side to side. Her voice rose to a wail. 

"No, no, no, it's not true; it's not true; it's not true. Oh, hecouldn't have done it. Oh, how could he have done it? All my money, allmy little savings--and deserted me. He's gone, my money's gone, my dearmoney--my dear, dear gold pieces that I've worked so hard for. Oh, tohave deserted me--gone for good--gone and never coming back--gone withmy gold pieces. Gone-gone--gone. I'll never see them again, and I'veworked so hard, so so hard for him--for them. No, no, NO, it's not true. It IS true. What will become of me now? Oh, if you'll only come back youcan have all the money--half of it. Oh, give me back my money. Give meback my money, and I'll forgive you. You can leave me then if you wantto. Oh, my money. Mac, Mac, you've gone for good. You don't love me anymore, and now I'm a beggar. My money's gone, my husband's gone, gone, gone, gone!"

Her grief was terrible. She dug her nails into her scalp, and clutchingthe heavy coils of her thick black hair tore it again and again. Shestruck her forehead with her clenched fists. Her little body shook fromhead to foot with the violence of her sobbing. She ground her smallteeth together and beat her head upon the floor with all her strength. 

Her hair was uncoiled and hanging a tangled, dishevelled mass far belowher waist; her dress was torn; a spot of blood was upon her forehead;her eyes were swollen; her cheeks flamed vermilion from the fever thatraged in her veins. Old Miss Baker found her thus towards five o'clockthe next morning. 

What had happened between one o'clock and dawn of that fearful nightTrina never remembered. She could only recall herself, as in a picture, kneeling before her broken and rifled trunk, and then--weeks later, soit seemed to her--she woke to find herself in her own bed with an icedbandage about her forehead and the little old dressmaker at her side, stroking her hot, dry palm. 

The facts of the matter were that the German woman who lived belowhad been awakened some hours after midnight by the sounds of Trina'sweeping. She had come upstairs and into the room to find Trina stretchedface downward upon the floor, half-conscious and sobbing, in the throesof an hysteria for which there was no relief. The woman, terrified, hadcalled her husband, and between them they had got Trina upon the bed. Then the German woman happened to remember that Trina had friends inthe big flat near by, and had sent her husband to fetch the retireddressmaker, while she herself remained behind to undress Trina and puther to bed. Miss Baker had come over at once, and began to cry herselfat the sight of the dentist's poor little wife. She did not stop to askwhat the trouble was, and indeed it would have been useless to attemptto get any coherent explanation from Trina at that time. Miss Bakerhad sent the German woman's husband to get some ice at one of the"all-night" restaurants of the street; had kept cold, wet towels onTrina's head; had combed and recombed her wonderful thick hair; and hadsat down by the side of the bed, holding her hot hand, with its poormaimed fingers, waiting patiently until Trina should be able to speak. 

Towards morning Trina awoke--or perhaps it was a mere regaining ofconsciousness--looked a moment at Miss Baker, then about the room untilher eyes fell upon her trunk with its broken lock. Then she turned overupon the pillow and began to sob again. She refused to answer any ofthe little dressmaker's questions, shaking her head violently, her facehidden in the pillow. 

By breakfast time her fever had increased to such a point that MissBaker took matters into her own hands and had the German woman calla doctor. He arrived some twenty minutes later. He was a big, kindlyfellow who lived over the drug store on the corner. He had a deep voiceand a tremendous striding gait less suggestive of a physician than of asergeant of a cavalry troop. 

By the time of his arrival little Miss Baker had divined intuitivelythe entire trouble. She heard the doctor's swinging tramp in the entrybelow, and heard the German woman saying:

"Righd oop der stairs, at der back of der halle. Der room mit der dooroppen. "

Miss Baker met the doctor at the landing, she told him in a whisper ofthe trouble. 

"Her husband's deserted her, I'm afraid, doctor, and took all of hermoney--a good deal of it. It's about killed the poor child. She was outof her head a good deal of the night, and now she's got a raging fever. "

The doctor and Miss Baker returned to the room and entered, closing thedoor. The big doctor stood for a moment looking down at Trina rollingher head from side to side upon the pillow, her face scarlet, herenormous mane of hair spread out on either side of her. The littledressmaker remained at his elbow, looking from him to Trina. 

"Poor little woman!" said the doctor; "poor little woman!"

Miss Baker pointed to the trunk, whispering:

"See, there's where she kept her savings. See, he broke the lock. "

"Well, Mrs. McTeague, " said the doctor, sitting down by the bed, andtaking Trina's wrist, "a little fever, eh?"

Trina opened her eyes and looked at him, and then at Miss Baker. She didnot seem in the least surprised at the unfamiliar faces. She appeared toconsider it all as a matter of course. 

"Yes, " she said, with a long, tremulous breath, "I have a fever, and myhead--my head aches and aches. "

The doctor prescribed rest and mild opiates. Then his eye fell upon thefingers of Trina's right hand. He looked at them sharply. A deepred glow, unmistakable to a physician's eyes, was upon some of them, extending from the finger tips up to the second knuckle. 

"Hello, " he exclaimed, "what's the matter here?" In fact something wasvery wrong indeed. For days Trina had noticed it. The fingers of herright hand had swollen as never before, aching and discolored. Cruellylacerated by McTeague's brutality as they were, she had neverthelessgone on about her work on the Noah's ark animals, constantly in contactwith the "non-poisonous" paint. She told as much to the doctor in answerto his questions. He shook his head with an exclamation. 

"Why, this is blood-poisoning, you know, " he told her; "the worst kind. You'll have to have those fingers amputated, beyond a doubt, or lose theentire hand--or even worse. "

"And my work!" exclaimed Trina. 

CHAPTER 19

One can hold a scrubbing-brush with two good fingers and the stumpsof two others even if both joints of the thumb are gone, but it takesconsiderable practice to get used to it. 

Trina became a scrub-woman. She had taken council of Selina, andthrough her had obtained the position of caretaker in a little memorialkindergarten over on Pacific Street. Like Polk Street, it was anaccommodation street, but running through a much poorer and more sordidquarter. Trina had a little room over the kindergarten schoolroom. Itwas not an unpleasant room. It looked out upon a sunny little courtfloored with boards and used as the children's playground. Two greatcherry trees grew here, the leaves almost brushing against the window ofTrina's room and filtering the sunlight so that it fell in round goldenspots upon the floor of the room. "Like gold pieces, " Trina said toherself. 

Trina's work consisted in taking care of the kindergarten rooms, scrubbing the floors, washing the windows, dusting and airing, andcarrying out the ashes. Besides this she earned some five dollars amonth by washing down the front steps of some big flats on WashingtonStreet, and by cleaning out vacant houses after the tenants had left. She saw no one. Nobody knew her. She went about her work from dawn todark, and often entire days passed when she did not hear the sound ofher own voice. She was alone, a solitary, abandoned woman, lost in thelowest eddies of the great city's tide--the tide that always ebbs. 

When Trina had been discharged from the hospital after the operation onher fingers, she found herself alone in the world, alone with her fivethousand dollars. The interest of this would support her, and yet allowher to save a little. 

But for a time Trina had thought of giving up the fight altogether andof joining her family in the southern part of the State. But even whileshe hesitated about this she received a long letter from her mother, ananswer to one she herself had written just before the amputation of herright-hand fingers--the last letter she would ever be able to write. Mrs. Sieppe's letter was one long lamentation; she had her ownmisfortunes to bewail as well as those of her daughter. Thecarpet-cleaning and upholstery business had failed. Mr. Sieppe andOwgooste had left for New Zealand with a colonization company, whitherMrs. Sieppe and the twins were to follow them as soon as the colonyestablished itself. So far from helping Trina in her ill fortune, itwas she, her mother, who might some day in the near future be obliged toturn to Trina for aid. So Trina had given up the idea of any help fromher family. For that matter she needed none. She still had her fivethousand, and Uncle Oelbermann paid her the interest with a machine-likeregularity. Now that McTeague had left her, there was one less mouth tofeed; and with this saving, together with the little she could earn asscrub-woman, Trina could almost manage to make good the amount she lostby being obliged to cease work upon the Noah's ark animals. 

Little by little her sorrow over the loss of her precious savingsovercame the grief of McTeague's desertion of her. Her avarice had grownto be her one dominant passion; her love of money for the money'ssake brooded in her heart, driving out by degrees every other naturalaffection. She grew thin and meagre; her flesh clove tight to her smallskeleton; her small pale mouth and little uplifted chin grew to have acertain feline eagerness of expression; her long, narrow eyes glistenedcontinually, as if they caught and held the glint of metal. One day asshe sat in her room, the empty brass match-box and the limp chamois bagin her hands, she suddenly exclaimed:

"I could have forgiven him if he had only gone away and left me mymoney. I could have--yes, I could have forgiven him even THIS"--shelooked at the stumps of her fingers. "But now, " her teeth closedtight and her eyes flashed, "now--I'll--never--forgive--him--as-long--as--I--live. "

The empty bag and the hollow, light match-box troubled her. Day afterday she took them from her trunk and wept over them as other women weepover a dead baby's shoe. Her four hundred dollars were gone, were gone, were gone. She would never see them again. She could plainly see herhusband spending her savings by handfuls; squandering her beautiful goldpieces that she had been at such pains to polish with soap and ashes. The thought filled her with an unspeakable anguish. She would wake atnight from a dream of McTeague revelling down her money, and ask of thedarkness, "How much did he spend to-day? How many of the gold pieces areleft? Has he broken either of the two twenty-dollar pieces yet? What didhe spend it for?"

The instant she was out of the hospital Trina had begun to save again, but now it was with an eagerness that amounted at times to a veritablefrenzy. She even denied herself lights and fuel in order to put by aquarter or so, grudging every penny she was obliged to spend. She didher own washing and cooking. Finally she sold her wedding dress, thathad hitherto lain in the bottom of her trunk. 

The day she moved from Zerkow's old house, she came suddenly upon thedentist's concertina under a heap of old clothes in the closet. Withintwenty minutes she had sold it to the dealer in second-hand furniture, returning to her room with seven dollars in her pocket, happy for thefirst time since McTeague had left her. 

But for all that the match-box and the bag refused to fill up; afterthree weeks of the most rigid economy they contained but eighteendollars and some small change. What was that compared with four hundred?Trina told herself that she must have her money in hand. She longed tosee again the heap of it upon her work-table, where she could plunge herhands into it, her face into it, feeling the cool, smooth metal upon hercheeks. At such moments she would see in her imagination her wonderfulfive thousand dollars piled in columns, shining and gleaming somewhereat the bottom of Uncle Oelbermann's vault. She would look at thepaper that Uncle Oelbermann had given her, and tell herself that itrepresented five thousand dollars. But in the end this ceased to satisfyher, she must have the money itself. She must have her four hundreddollars back again, there in her trunk, in her bag and her match-box, where she could touch it and see it whenever she desired. 

At length she could stand it no longer, and one day presented herselfbefore Uncle Oelbermann as he sat in his office in the wholesale toystore, and told him she wanted to have four hundred dollars of hermoney. 

"But this is very irregular, you know, Mrs. McTeague, " said the greatman. "Not business-like at all. "

But his niece's misfortunes and the sight of her poor maimed handappealed to him. He opened his check-book. "You understand, of course, "he said, "that this will reduce the amount of your interest by just somuch. "

"I know, I know. I've thought of that, " said Trina. 

"Four hundred, did you say?" remarked Uncle Oelbermann, taking the capfrom his fountain pen. 

"Yes, four hundred, " exclaimed Trina, quickly, her eyes glistening. 

Trina cashed the check and returned home with the money--all intwenty-dollar pieces as she had desired--in an ecstasy of delight. Forhalf of that night she sat up playing with her money, counting it andrecounting it, polishing the duller pieces until they shone. Altogetherthere were twenty twenty-dollar gold pieces. 

"Oh-h, you beauties!" murmured Trina, running her palms over them, fairly quivering with pleasure. "You beauties! IS there anythingprettier than a twenty-dollar gold piece? You dear, dear money! Oh, don't I LOVE you! Mine, mine, mine--all of you mine. "

She laid them out in a row on the ledge of the table, or arranged themin patterns--triangles, circles, and squares--or built them all up intoa pyramid which she afterward overthrew for the sake of hearing thedelicious clink of the pieces tumbling against each other. Then at lastshe put them away in the brass match-box and chamois bag, delightedbeyond words that they were once more full and heavy. 

Then, a few days after, the thought of the money still remaining inUncle Oelbermann's keeping returned to her. It was hers, all hers--allthat four thousand six hundred. She could have as much of it or aslittle of it as she chose. She only had to ask. For a week Trinaresisted, knowing very well that taking from her capital wasproportionately reducing her monthly income. Then at last she yielded. 

"Just to make it an even five hundred, anyhow, " she told herself. Thatday she drew a hundred dollars more, in twenty-dollar gold pieces asbefore. From that time Trina began to draw steadily upon her capital, alittle at a time. It was a passion with her, a mania, a veritable mentaldisease; a temptation such as drunkards only know. 

It would come upon her all of a sudden. While she was about her work, scrubbing the floor of some vacant house; or in her room, in themorning, as she made her coffee on the oil stove, or when she woke inthe night, a brusque access of cupidity would seize upon her. Her cheeksflushed, her eyes glistened, her breath came short. At times she wouldleave her work just as it was, put on her old bonnet of black straw, throw her shawl about her, and go straight to Uncle Oelbermann's storeand draw against her money. Now it would be a hundred dollars, nowsixty; now she would content herself with only twenty; and once, after afortnight's abstinence, she permitted herself a positive debauch of fivehundred. Little by little she drew her capital from Uncle Oelbermann, and little by little her original interest of twenty-five dollars amonth dwindled. 

One day she presented herself again in the office of the whole-sale toystore. 

"Will you let me have a check for two hundred dollars, UncleOelbermann?" she said. 

The great man laid down his fountain pen and leaned back in his swivelchair with great deliberation. 

"I don't understand, Mrs. McTeague, " he said. "Every week you come hereand draw out a little of your money. I've told you that it is not at allregular or business-like for me to let you have it this way. And morethan this, it's a great inconvenience to me to give you these checks atunstated times. If you wish to draw out the whole amount let's have someunderstanding. Draw it in monthly installments of, say, five hundreddollars, or else, " he added, abruptly, "draw it all at once, now, to-day. I would even prefer it that way. Otherwise it's--it's annoying. Come, shall I draw you a check for thirty-seven hundred, and have itover and done with?"

"No, no, " cried Trina, with instinctive apprehension, refusing, she didnot know why. "No, I'll leave it with you. I won't draw out any more. "

She took her departure, but paused on the pavement outside the store, and stood for a moment lost in thought, her eyes beginning to glistenand her breath coming short. Slowly she turned about and reentered thestore; she came back into the office, and stood trembling at the cornerof Uncle Oelbermann's desk. He looked up sharply. Twice Trina tried toget her voice, and when it did come to her, she could hardly recognizeit. Between breaths she said:

"Yes, all right--I'll--you can give me--will you give me a check forthirty-seven hundred? Give me ALL of my money. "

A few hours later she entered her little room over the kindergarten, bolted the door with shaking fingers, and emptied a heavy canvas sackupon the middle of her bed. Then she opened her trunk, and taking thencethe brass match-box and chamois-skin bag added their contents to thepile. Next she laid herself upon the bed and gathered the gleaming heapsof gold pieces to her with both arms, burying her face in them with longsighs of unspeakable delight. 

It was a little past noon, and the day was fine and warm. The leavesof the huge cherry trees threw off a certain pungent aroma that enteredthrough the open window, together with long thin shafts of goldensunlight. Below, in the kindergarten, the children were singing gaylyand marching to the jangling of the piano. Trina heard nothing, sawnothing. She lay on her bed, her eyes closed, her face buried in a pileof gold that she encircled with both her arms. 

Trina even told herself at last that she was happy once more. McTeaguebecame a memory--a memory that faded a little every day--dim andindistinct in the golden splendor of five thousand dollars. 

"And yet, " Trina would say, "I did love Mac, loved him dearly, only alittle while ago. Even when he hurt me, it only made me love him more. How is it I've changed so sudden? How COULD I forget him so soon? Itmust be because he stole my money. That is it. I couldn't forgive anyonethat--no, not even my MOTHER. And I never--never--will forgive him. "

What had become of her husband Trina did not know. She never saw any ofthe old Polk Street people. There was no way she could have news of him, even if she had cared to have it. She had her money, that was the mainthing. Her passion for it excluded every other sentiment. There it wasin the bottom of her trunk, in the canvas sack, the chamois-skin bag, and the little brass match-safe. Not a day passed that Trina did nothave it out where she could see and touch it. One evening she had evenspread all the gold pieces between the sheets, and had then gone tobed, stripping herself, and had slept all night upon the money, taking astrange and ecstatic pleasure in the touch of the smooth flat pieces thelength of her entire body. 

One night, some three months after she had come to live at thekindergarten, Trina was awakened by a sharp tap on the pane of thewindow. She sat up quickly in bed, her heart beating thickly, her eyesrolling wildly in the direction of her trunk. The tap was repeated. Trina rose and went fearfully to the window. The little court belowwas bright with moonlight, and standing just on the edge of the shadowthrown by one of the cherry trees was McTeague. A bunch of half-ripecherries was in his hand. He was eating them and throwing the pits atthe window. As he caught sight of her, he made an eager sign for her toraise the sash. Reluctant and wondering, Trina obeyed, and the dentistcame quickly forward. He was wearing a pair of blue overalls;a navy-blue flannel shirt without a cravat; an old coat, faded, rain-washed, and ripped at the seams; and his woollen cap. 

"Say, Trina, " he exclaimed, his heavy bass voice pitched just abovea whisper, "let me in, will you, huh? Say, will you? I'm regularlystarving, and I haven't slept in a Christian bed for two weeks. "

At sight at him standing there in the moonlight, Trina could only thinkof him as the man who had beaten and bitten her, had deserted her andstolen her money, had made her suffer as she had never suffered beforein all her life. Now that he had spent the money that he had stolen fromher, he was whining to come back--so that he might steal more, no doubt. Once in her room he could not help but smell out her five thousanddollars. Her indignation rose. 

"No, " she whispered back at him. "No, I will not let you in. "

"But listen here, Trina, I tell you I am starving, regularly----"

"Hoh!" interrupted Trina scornfully. "A man can't starve with fourhundred dollars, I guess. "

"Well--well--I--well--" faltered the dentist. "Never mind now. Give mesomething to eat, an' let me in an' sleep. I've been sleeping in thePlaza for the last ten nights, and say, I--Damn it, Trina, I ain't hadanything to eat since--"

"Where's the four hundred dollars you robbed me of when you desertedme?" returned Trina, coldly. 

"Well, I've spent it, " growled the dentist. "But you CAN'T see mestarve, Trina, no matter what's happened. Give me a little money, then. "

"I'll see you starve before you get any more of MY money. "

The dentist stepped back a pace and stared up at her wonder-stricken. His face was lean and pinched. Never had the jaw bone looked soenormous, nor the square-cut head so huge. The moonlight made deep blackshadows in the shrunken cheeks. 

"Huh?" asked the dentist, puzzled. "What did you say?"

"I won't give you any money--never again--not a cent. "

"But do you know that I'm hungry?"

"Well, I've been hungry myself. Besides, I DON'T believe you. "

"Trina, I ain't had a thing to eat since yesterday morning; that's God'struth. Even if I did get off with your money, you CAN'T see me starve, can you? You can't see me walk the streets all night because I ain't gota place to sleep. Will you let me in? Say, will you? Huh?"

"No. "

"Well, will you give me some money then--just a little? Give me adollar. Give me half a dol--Say, give me a DIME, an' I can get a cup ofcoffee. "

"No. "

The dentist paused and looked at her with curious intentness, bewildered, nonplussed. 

"Say, you--you must be crazy, Trina. I--I--wouldn't let a DOG gohungry. "

"Not even if he'd bitten you, perhaps. "

The dentist stared again. 

There was another pause. McTeague looked up at her in silence, amean and vicious twinkle coming into his small eyes. He uttered a lowexclamation, and then checked himself. 

"Well, look here, for the last time. I'm starving. I've got nowhere tosleep. Will you give me some money, or something to eat? Will you let mein?"

"No--no--no. "

Trina could fancy she almost saw the brassy glint in her husband's eyes. He raised one enormous lean fist. Then he growled:

"If I had hold of you for a minute, by God, I'd make you dance. An' Iwill yet, I will yet. Don't you be afraid of that. "

He turned about, the moonlight showing like a layer of snow upon hismassive shoulders. Trina watched him as he passed under the shadow ofthe cherry trees and crossed the little court. She heard his great feetgrinding on the board flooring. He disappeared. 

Miser though she was, Trina was only human, and the echo of thedentist's heavy feet had not died away before she began to be sorry forwhat she had done. She stood by the open window in her nightgown, herfinger upon her lips. 

"He did looked pinched, " she said half aloud. "Maybe he WAS hungry. Iought to have given him something. I wish I had, I WISH I had. Oh, " shecried, suddenly, with a frightened gesture of both hands, "what have Icome to be that I would see Mac--my husband--that I would see him starverather than give him money? No, no. It's too dreadful. I WILL give himsome. I'll send it to him to-morrow. Where?--well, he'll come back. "She leaned from the window and called as loudly as she dared, "Mac, oh, Mac. " There was no answer. 

When McTeague had told Trina he had been without food for nearly twodays he was speaking the truth. The week before he had spent the last ofthe four hundred dollars in the bar of a sailor's lodging-house nearthe water front, and since that time had lived a veritable hand-to-mouthexistence. 

He had spent her money here and there about the city in royal fashion, absolutely reckless of the morrow, feasting and drinking for the mostpart with companions he picked up heaven knows where, acquaintances oftwenty-four hours, whose names he forgot in two days. Then suddenly hefound himself at the end of his money. He no longer had any friends. Hunger rode him and rowelled him. He was no longer well fed, comfortable. There was no longer a warm place for him to sleep. He wentback to Polk Street in the evening, walking on the dark side of thestreet, lurking in the shadows, ashamed to have any of his old-timefriends see him. He entered Zerkow's old house and knocked at the doorof the room Trina and he had occupied. It was empty. 

Next day he went to Uncle Oelbermann's store and asked news of Trina. Trina had not told Uncle Oelbermann of McTeague's brutalities, givinghim other reasons to explain the loss of her fingers; neither had shetold him of her husband's robbery. So when the dentist had asked whereTrina could be found, Uncle Oelbermann, believing that McTeague wasseeking a reconciliation, had told him without hesitation, and, headded:

"She was in here only yesterday and drew out the balance of her money. She's been drawing against her money for the last month or so. She's gotit all now, I guess. "

"Ah, she's got it all. "

The dentist went away from his bootless visit to his wife shaking withrage, hating her with all the strength of a crude and primitive nature. He clenched his fists till his knuckles whitened, his teeth groundfuriously upon one another. 

"Ah, if I had hold of you once, I'd make you dance. She had fivethousand dollars in that room, while I stood there, not twenty feetaway, and told her I was starving, and she wouldn't give me a dime toget a cup of coffee with; not a dime to get a cup of coffee. Oh, if Ionce get my hands on you!" His wrath strangled him. He clutched at thedarkness in front of him, his breath fairly whistling between his teeth. 

That night he walked the streets until the morning, wondering what nowhe was to do to fight the wolf away. The morning of the next day towardsten o'clock he was on Kearney Street, still walking, still tramping thestreets, since there was nothing else for him to do. By and by hepaused on a corner near a music store, finding a momentary amusement inwatching two or three men loading a piano upon a dray. Already halfits weight was supported by the dray's backboard. One of the men, abig mulatto, almost hidden under the mass of glistening rosewood, wasguiding its course, while the other two heaved and tugged in the rear. Something in the street frightened the horses and they shied abruptly. The end of the piano was twitched sharply from the backboard. There wasa cry, the mulatto staggered and fell with the falling piano, and itsweight dropped squarely upon his thigh, which broke with a resoundingcrack. 

An hour later McTeague had found his job. The music store engaged him ashandler at six dollars a week. McTeague's enormous strength, useless allhis life, stood him in good stead at last. 

He slept in a tiny back room opening from the storeroom of the musicstore. He was in some sense a watchman as well as handler, and went therounds of the store twice every night. His room was a box of a placethat reeked with odors of stale tobacco smoke. The former occupant hadpapered the walls with newspapers and had pasted up figures cut outfrom the posters of some Kiralfy ballet, very gaudy. By the one window, chittering all day in its little gilt prison, hung the canary bird, atiny atom of life that McTeague still clung to with a strange obstinacy. 

McTeague drank a good deal of whiskey in these days, but the only effectit had upon him was to increase the viciousness and bad temper that haddeveloped in him since the beginning of his misfortunes. He terrorizedhis fellow-handlers, powerful men though they were. For a gruff word, for an awkward movement in lading the pianos, for a surly look or amuttered oath, the dentist's elbow would crook and his hand contract toa mallet-like fist. As often as not the blow followed, colossal in itsforce, swift as the leap of the piston from its cylinder. 

His hatred of Trina increased from day to day. He'd make her dance yet. Wait only till he got his hands upon her. She'd let him starve, wouldshe? She'd turn him out of doors while she hid her five thousand dollarsin the bottom of her trunk. Aha, he would see about that some day. Shecouldn't make small of him. Ah, no. She'd dance all right--all right. McTeague was not an imaginative man by nature, but he would lie awakenights, his clumsy wits galloping and frisking under the lash of thealcohol, and fancy himself thrashing his wife, till a sudden frenzy ofrage would overcome him, and he would shake all over, rolling upon thebed and biting the mattress. 

On a certain day, about a week after Christmas of that year, McTeaguewas on one of the top floors of the music store, where the second-handinstruments were kept, helping to move about and rearrange some oldpianos. As he passed by one of the counters he paused abruptly, his eyecaught by an object that was strangely familiar. 

"Say, " he inquired, addressing the clerk in charge, "say, where'd thiscome from?"

"Why, let's see. We got that from a second-hand store up on Polk Street, I guess. It's a fairly good machine; a little tinkering with the stopsand a bit of shellac, and we'll make it about's good as new. Goodtone. See. " And the clerk drew a long, sonorous wail from the depths ofMcTeague's old concertina. 

"Well, it's mine, " growled the dentist. 

The other laughed. "It's yours for eleven dollars. "

"It's mine, " persisted McTeague. "I want it. "

"Go 'long with you, Mac. What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's mine, that's what I mean. You got no right to it. It was STOLEN from me, that's what I mean, " he added, a sullen angerflaming up in his little eyes. 

The clerk raised a shoulder and put the concertina on an upper shelf. 

"You talk to the boss about that; t'ain't none of my affair. If you wantto buy it, it's eleven dollars. "

The dentist had been paid off the day before and had four dollars in hiswallet at the moment. He gave the money to the clerk. 

"Here, there's part of the money. You--you put that concertina asidefor me, an' I'll give you the rest in a week or so--I'll give it to youtomorrow, " he exclaimed, struck with a sudden idea. 

McTeague had sadly missed his concertina. Sunday afternoons when therewas no work to be done, he was accustomed to lie flat on his back on hisspringless bed in the little room in the rear of the music store, his coat and shoes off, reading the paper, drinking steam beer froma pitcher, and smoking his pipe. But he could no longer play his sixlugubrious airs upon his concertina, and it was a deprivation. He oftenwondered where it was gone. It had been lost, no doubt, in the generalwreck of his fortunes. Once, even, the dentist had taken a concertinafrom the lot kept by the music store. It was a Sunday and no one wasabout. But he found he could not play upon it. The stops were arrangedupon a system he did not understand. 

Now his own concertina was come back to him. He would buy it back. He had given the clerk four dollars. He knew where he would get theremaining seven. 

The clerk had told him the concertina had been sold on Polk Street tothe second-hand store there. Trina had sold it. McTeague knew it. Trinahad sold his concertina--had stolen it and sold it--his concertina, his beloved concertina, that he had had all his life. Why, barringthe canary, there was not one of all his belongings that McTeague hadcherished more dearly. His steel engraving of "Lorenzo de' Mediciand his Court" might be lost, his stone pug dog might go, but hisconcertina!

"And she sold it--stole it from me and sold it. Just because I happenedto forget to take it along with me. Well, we'll just see about that. You'll give me the money to buy it back, or----"

His rage loomed big within him. His hatred of Trina came back upon himlike a returning surge. He saw her small, prim mouth, her narrow blueeyes, her black mane of hair, and up-tilted chin, and hated her the morebecause of them. Aha, he'd show her; he'd make her dance. He'd get thatseven dollars from her, or he'd know the reason why. He went throughhis work that day, heaving and hauling at the ponderous pianos, handlingthem with the ease of a lifting crane, impatient for the coming ofevening, when he could be left to his own devices. As often as he had amoment to spare he went down the street to the nearest saloon and dranka pony of whiskey. Now and then as he fought and struggled with the vastmasses of ebony, rosewood, and mahogany on the upper floor of the musicstore, raging and chafing at their inertness and unwillingness, whilethe whiskey pirouetted in his brain, he would mutter to himself:

"An' I got to do this. I got to work like a dray horse while she sits athome by her stove and counts her money--and sells my concertina. "

Six o'clock came. Instead of supper, McTeague drank some more whiskey, five ponies in rapid succession. After supper he was obliged to go outwith the dray to deliver a concert grand at the Odd Fellows' Hall, wherea piano "recital" was to take place. 

"Ain't you coming back with us?" asked one of the handlers as he climbedupon the driver's seat after the piano had been put in place. 

"No, no, " returned the dentist; "I got something else to do. " Thebrilliant lights of a saloon near the City Hall caught his eye. Hedecided he would have another drink of whiskey. It was about eighto'clock. 

The following day was to be a fete day at the kindergarten, theChristmas and New Year festivals combined. All that afternoon the littletwo-story building on Pacific Street had been filled with a number ofgrand ladies of the Kindergarten Board, who were hanging up ropes ofevergreen and sprays of holly, and arranging a great Christmas tree thatstood in the centre of the ring in the schoolroom. The whole place waspervaded with a pungent, piney odor. Trina had been very busy since theearly morning, coming and going at everybody's call, now running downthe street after another tack-hammer or a fresh supply of cranberries, now tying together the ropes of evergreen and passing them up to one ofthe grand ladies as she carefully balanced herself on a step-ladder. Byevening everything was in place. As the last grand lady left the school, she gave Trina an extra dollar for her work, and said:

"Now, if you'll just tidy up here, Mrs. McTeague, I think that willbe all. Sweep up the pine needles here--you see they are all over thefloor--and look through all the rooms, and tidy up generally. Goodnight--and a Happy New Year, " she cried pleasantly as she went out. 

Trina put the dollar away in her trunk before she did anything else andcooked herself a bit of supper. Then she came downstairs again. 

The kindergarten was not large. On the lower floor were but two rooms, the main schoolroom and another room, a cloakroom, very small, where thechildren hung their hats and coats. This cloakroom opened off the backof the main schoolroom. Trina cast a critical glance into both of theserooms. There had been a great deal of going and coming in them duringthe day, and she decided that the first thing to do would be to scrubthe floors. She went up again to her room overhead and heated some waterover her oil stove; then, re-descending, set to work vigorously. 

By nine o'clock she had almost finished with the schoolroom. She wasdown on her hands and knees in the midst of a steaming muck of soapywater. On her feet were a pair of man's shoes fastened with buckles;a dirty cotton gown, damp with the water, clung about her shapeless, stunted figure. From time to time she sat back on her heels to ease thestrain of her position, and with one smoking hand, white and parboiledwith the hot water, brushed her hair, already streaked with gray, out ofher weazened, pale face and the corners of her mouth. 

It was very quiet. A gas-jet without a globe lit up the place with acrude, raw light. The cat who lived on the premises, preferring to bedirty rather than to be wet, had got into the coal scuttle, and over itsrim watched her sleepily with a long, complacent purr. 

All at once he stopped purring, leaving an abrupt silence in the airlike the sudden shutting off of a stream of water, while his eyes grewwide, two lambent disks of yellow in the heap of black fur. 

"Who is there?" cried Trina, sitting back on her heels. In the stillnessthat succeeded, the water dripped from her hands with the steady tick ofa clock. Then a brutal fist swung open the street door of the schoolroomand McTeague came in. He was drunk; not with that drunkenness which isstupid, maudlin, wavering on its feet, but with that which is alert, unnaturally intelligent, vicious, perfectly steady, deadly wicked. Trinaonly had to look once at him, and in an instant, with some strange sixthsense, born of the occasion, knew what she had to expect. 

She jumped up and ran from him into the little cloakroom. She locked andbolted the door after her, and leaned her weight against it, panting andtrembling, every nerve shrinking and quivering with the fear of him. 

McTeague put his hand on the knob of the door outside and opened it, tearing off the lock and bolt guard, and sending her staggering acrossthe room. 

"Mac, " she cried to him, as he came in, speaking with horrid rapidity, cringing and holding out her hands, "Mac, listen. Wait a minute--lookhere--listen here. It wasn't my fault. I'll give you some money. You cancome back. I'll do ANYTHING you want. Won't you just LISTEN to me? Oh, don't! I'll scream. I can't help it, you know. The people will hear. "

McTeague came towards her slowly, his immense feet dragging and grindingon the floor; his enormous fists, hard as wooden mallets, swinging athis sides. Trina backed from him to the corner of the room, coweringbefore him, holding her elbow crooked in front of her face, watching himwith fearful intentness, ready to dodge. 

"I want that money, " he said, pausing in front of her. 

"What money?" cried Trina. 

"I want that money. You got it--that five thousand dollars. I want everynickel of it! You understand?"

"I haven't it. It isn't here. Uncle Oelbermann's got it. "

"That's a lie. He told me that you came and got it. You've had it longenough; now I want it. Do you hear?"

"Mac, I can't give you that money. I--I WON'T give it to you, " Trinacried, with sudden resolution. 

"Yes, you will. You'll give me every nickel of it. "

"No, NO. "

"You ain't going to make small of me this time. Give me that money. "

"NO. "

"For the last time, will you give me that money?"

"No. "

"You won't, huh? You won't give me it? For the last time. "

"No, NO. "

Usually the dentist was slow in his movements, but now the alcohol hadawakened in him an ape-like agility. He kept his small eyes upon her, and all at once sent his fist into the middle of her face with thesuddenness of a relaxed spring. 

Beside herself with terror, Trina turned and fought him back; fought forher miserable life with the exasperation and strength of a harassed cat;and with such energy and such wild, unnatural force, that even McTeaguefor the moment drew back from her. But her resistance was the one thingto drive him to the top of his fury. He came back at her again, his eyesdrawn to two fine twinkling points, and his enormous fists, clenchedtill the knuckles whitened, raised in the air. 

Then it became abominable. 

In the schoolroom outside, behind the coal scuttle, the cat listened tothe sounds of stamping and struggling and the muffled noise of blows, wildly terrified, his eyes bulging like brass knobs. At last the soundsstopped on a sudden; he heard nothing more. Then McTeague came out, closing the door. The cat followed him with distended eyes as he crossedthe room and disappeared through the street door. 

The dentist paused for a moment on the sidewalk, looking carefully upand down the street. It was deserted and quiet. He turned sharply to theright and went down a narrow passage that led into the little court yardbehind the school. A candle was burning in Trina's room. He went up bythe outside stairway and entered. 

The trunk stood locked in one corner of the room. The dentist took thelid-lifter from the little oil stove, put it underneath the lock-claspand wrenched it open. Groping beneath a pile of dresses he found thechamois-skin bag, the little brass match-box, and, at the very bottom, carefully thrust into one corner, the canvas sack crammed to the mouthwith twenty-dollar gold pieces. He emptied the chamois-skin bag and thematchbox into the pockets of his trousers. But the canvas sack was toobulky to hide about his clothes. "I guess I'll just naturally have tocarry YOU, " he muttered. He blew out the candle, closed the door, andgained the street again. 

The dentist crossed the city, going back to the music store. It was alittle after eleven o'clock. The night was moonless, filled with a grayblur of faint light that seemed to come from all quarters of the horizonat once. From time to time there were sudden explosions of a southeastwind at the street corners. McTeague went on, slanting his head againstthe gusts, to keep his cap from blowing off, carrying the sack close tohis side. Once he looked critically at the sky. 

"I bet it'll rain to-morrow, " he muttered, "if this wind works round tothe south. "

Once in his little den behind the music store, he washed his hands andforearms, and put on his working clothes, blue overalls and ajumper, over cheap trousers and vest. Then he got together his smallbelongings--an old campaign hat, a pair of boots, a tin of tobacco, and a pinchbeck bracelet which he had found one Sunday in the Park, andwhich he believed to be valuable. He stripped his blanket from his bedand rolled up in it all these objects, together with the canvas sack, fastening the roll with a half hitch such as miners use, the instinctsof the old-time car-boy coming back to him in his present confusionof mind. He changed his pipe and his knife--a huge jackknife with ayellowed bone handle--to the pockets of his overalls. 

Then at last he stood with his hand on the door, holding up the lampbefore blowing it out, looking about to make sure he was ready to go. The wavering light woke his canary. It stirred and began to chitterfeebly, very sleepy and cross at being awakened. McTeague started, staring at it, and reflecting. He believed that it would be a longtime before anyone came into that room again. The canary would be dayswithout food; it was likely it would starve, would die there, hour byhour, in its little gilt prison. McTeague resolved to take it with him. He took down the cage, touching it gently with his enormous hands, andtied a couple of sacks about it to shelter the little bird from thesharp night wind. 

Then he went out, locking all the doors behind him, and turned towardthe ferry slips. The boats had ceased running hours ago, but he toldhimself that by waiting till four o'clock he could get across the bay onthe tug that took over the morning papers. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Trina lay unconscious, just as she had fallen under the last ofMcTeague's blows, her body twitching with an occasional hiccough thatstirred the pool of blood in which she lay face downward. Towardsmorning she died with a rapid series of hiccoughs that sounded like apiece of clockwork running down. 

The thing had been done in the cloakroom where the kindergarten childrenhung their hats and coats. There was no other entrance except by goingthrough the main schoolroom. McTeague going out had shut the door ofthe cloakroom, but had left the street door open; so when the childrenarrived in the morning, they entered as usual. 

About half-past eight, two or three five-year-olds, one a little coloredgirl, came into the schoolroom of the kindergarten with a great chatterof voices, going across to the cloakroom to hang up their hats and coatsas they had been taught. 

Half way across the room one of them stopped and put her small nosein the air, crying, "Um-o-o, what a funnee smell!" The others began tosniff the air as well, and one, the daughter of a butcher, exclaimed, "'Tsmells like my pa's shop, " adding in the next breath, "Look, what'sthe matter with the kittee?"

In fact, the cat was acting strangely. He lay quite flat on the floor, his nose pressed close to the crevice under the door of the littlecloakroom, winding his tail slowly back and forth, excited, very eager. At times he would draw back and make a strange little clacking noisedown in his throat. 

"Ain't he funnee?" said the little girl again. The cat slunk swiftlyaway as the children came up. Then the tallest of the little girls swungthe door of the little cloakroom wide open and they all ran in. 

CHAPTER 20

The day was very hot, and the silence of high noon lay close and thickbetween the steep slopes of the cañóns like an invisible, mufflingfluid. At intervals the drone of an insect bored the air and trailedslowly to silence again. Everywhere were pungent, aromatic smells. The vast, moveless heat seemed to distil countless odors from thebrush--odors of warm sap, of pine needles, and of tar-weed, and aboveall the medicinal odor of witch hazel. As far as one could look, uncounted multitudes of trees and manzanita bushes were quietly andmotionlessly growing, growing, growing. A tremendous, immeasurable Lifepushed steadily heavenward without a sound, without a motion. At turnsof the road, on the higher points, cañóns disclosed themselves faraway, gigantic grooves in the landscape, deep blue in the distance, opening one into another, ocean-deep, silent, huge, and suggestive ofcolossal primeval forces held in reserve. At their bottoms they weresolid, massive; on their crests they broke delicately into fine serratededges where the pines and redwoods outlined their million of topsagainst the high white horizon. Here and there the mountains liftedthemselves out of the narrow river beds in groups like giant lionsrearing their heads after drinking. The entire region was untamed. Insome places east of the Mississippi nature is cosey, intimate, small, and homelike, like a good-natured housewife. In Placer County, California, she is a vast, unconquered brute of the Pliocene epoch, savage, sullen, and magnificently indifferent to man. 

But there were men in these mountains, like lice on mammoths' hides, fighting them stubbornly, now with hydraulic "monitors, " now with drilland dynamite, boring into the vitals of them, or tearing away greatyellow gravelly scars in the flanks of them, sucking their blood, extracting gold. 

Here and there at long distances upon the cañón sides rose the headgearof a mine, surrounded with its few unpainted houses, and topped by itsnever-failing feather of black smoke. On near approach one heardthe prolonged thunder of the stamp-mill, the crusher, the insatiablemonster, gnashing the rocks to powder with its long iron teeth, vomitingthem out again in a thin stream of wet gray mud. Its enormous maw, fednight and day with the car-boys' loads, gorged itself with gravel, andspat out the gold, grinding the rocks between its jaws, glutted, as itwere, with the very entrails of the earth, and growling over its endlessmeal, like some savage animal, some legendary dragon, some fabulousbeast, symbol of inordinate and monstrous gluttony. 

McTeague had left the Overland train at Colfax, and the same afternoonhad ridden some eight miles across the mountains in the stage thatconnects Colfax with Iowa Hill. Iowa Hill was a small one-street town, the headquarters of the mines of the district. Originally it had beenbuilt upon the summit of a mountain, but the sides of this mountain havelong since been "hydrau-licked" away, so that the town now clings to amere back bone, and the rear windows of the houses on both sides of thestreet look down over sheer precipices, into vast pits hundreds of feetdeep. 

The dentist stayed over night at the Hill, and the next morning startedoff on foot farther into the mountains. He still wore his blue overallsand jumper; his woollen cap was pulled down over his eye; on his feetwere hob-nailed boots he had bought at the store in Colfax; his blanketroll was over his back; in his left hand swung the bird cage wrapped insacks. 

Just outside the town he paused, as if suddenly remembering something. 

"There ought to be a trail just off the road here, " he muttered. "Thereused to be a trail--a short cut. "

The next instant, without moving from his position, he saw where itopened just before him. His instinct had halted him at the exact spot. The trail zigzagged down the abrupt descent of the cañón, debouchinginto a gravelly river bed. 

"Indian River, " muttered the dentist. "I remember--I remember. I oughtto hear the Morning Star's stamps from here. " He cocked his head. A low, sustained roar, like a distant cataract, came to his ears from acrossthe river. "That's right, " he said, contentedly. He crossed the riverand regained the road beyond. The slope rose under his feet; a littlefarther on he passed the Morning Star mine, smoking and thundering. McTeague pushed steadily on. The road rose with the rise of themountain, turned at a sharp angle where a great live-oak grew, and heldlevel for nearly a quarter of a mile. Twice again the dentist left theroad and took to the trail that cut through deserted hydraulic pits. Heknew exactly where to look for these trails; not once did his instinctdeceive him. He recognized familiar points at once. Here was Coldcañón, where invariably, winter and summer, a chilly wind was blowing;here was where the road to Spencer's branched off; here was Bussy'sold place, where at one time there were so many dogs; here was Delmue'scabin, where unlicensed whiskey used to be sold; here was the plankbridge with its one rotten board; and here the flat overgrown withmanzanita, where he once had shot three quail. 

At noon, after he had been tramping for some two hours, he halted at apoint where the road dipped suddenly. A little to the right of him, andflanking the road, an enormous yellow gravel-pit like an emptied lakegaped to heaven. Farther on, in the distance, a cañón zigzagged towardthe horizon, rugged with pine-clad mountain crests. Nearer at hand, anddirectly in the line of the road, was an irregular cluster of unpaintedcabins. A dull, prolonged roar vibrated in the air. McTeague nodded hishead as if satisfied. 

"That's the place, " he muttered. 

He reshouldered his blanket roll and descended the road. At last hehalted again. He stood before a low one-story building, differing fromthe others in that it was painted. A verandah, shut in with mosquitonetting, surrounded it. McTeague dropped his blanket roll on a lumberpile outside, and came up and knocked at the open door. Some one calledto him to come in. 

McTeague entered, rolling his eyes about him, noting the changes thathad been made since he had last seen this place. A partition had beenknocked down, making one big room out of the two former small ones. Acounter and railing stood inside the door. There was a telephone on thewall. In one corner he also observed a stack of surveyor's instruments;a big drawing-board straddled on spindle legs across one end of theroom, a mechanical drawing of some kind, no doubt the plan of themine, unrolled upon it; a chromo representing a couple of peasants in aploughed field (Millet's "Angelus") was nailed unframed upon the wall, and hanging from the same wire nail that secured one of its corners inplace was a bullion bag and a cartridge belt with a loaded revolver inthe pouch. 

The dentist approached the counter and leaned his elbows upon it. Threemen were in the room--a tall, lean young man, with a thick head of hairsurprisingly gray, who was playing with a half-grown great Dane puppy;another fellow about as young, but with a jaw almost as salient asMcTeague's, stood at the letter-press taking a copy of a letter; a thirdman, a little older than the other two, was pottering over a transit. This latter was massively built, and wore overalls and low bootsstreaked and stained and spotted in every direction with gray mud. Thedentist looked slowly from one to the other; then at length, "Is theforeman about?" he asked. 

The man in the muddy overalls came forward. 

"What you want?"

He spoke with a strong German accent. 

The old invariable formula came back to McTeague on the instant. 

"What's the show for a job?"

At once the German foreman became preoccupied, looking aimlessly out ofthe window. There was a silence. 

"You hev been miner alretty?"

"Yes, yes. "

"Know how to hendle pick'n shov'le?"

"Yes, I know. "

The other seemed unsatisfied. "Are you a 'cousin Jack'?"

The dentist grinned. This prejudice against Cornishmen he rememberedtoo. 

"No. American. "

"How long sence you mine?"

"Oh, year or two. "

"Show your hends. " McTeague exhibited his hard, callused palms. 

"When ken you go to work? I want a chuck-tender on der night-shift. "

"I can tend a chuck. I'll go on to-night. "

"What's your name?"

The dentist started. He had forgotten to be prepared for this. 

"Huh? What?"

"What's the name?"

McTeague's eye was caught by a railroad calendar hanging over the desk. There was no time to think. 

"Burlington, " he said, loudly. 

The German took a card from a file and wrote it down. 

"Give dis card to der boarding-boss, down at der boarding-haus, den gomefind me bei der mill at sex o'clock, und I set you to work. "

Straight as a homing pigeon, and following a blind and unreasonedinstinct, McTeague had returned to the Big Dipper mine. Within a week'stime it seemed to him as though he had never been away. He picked up hislife again exactly where he had left it the day when his mother had senthim away with the travelling dentist, the charlatan who had set up histent by the bunk house. The house McTeague had once lived in was stillthere, occupied by one of the shift bosses and his family. The dentistpassed it on his way to and from the mine. 

He himself slept in the bunk house with some thirty others of his shift. At half-past five in the evening the cook at the boarding-house soundeda prolonged alarm upon a crowbar bent in the form of a triangle, thathung upon the porch of the boarding-house. McTeague rose and dressed, and with his shift had supper. Their lunch-pails were distributed tothem. Then he made his way to the tunnel mouth, climbed into a car inthe waiting ore train, and was hauled into the mine. 

Once inside, the hot evening air turned to a cool dampness, and theforest odors gave place to the smell of stale dynamite smoke, suggestiveof burning rubber. A cloud of steam came from McTeague's mouth;underneath, the water swashed and rippled around the car-wheels, whilethe light from the miner's candlesticks threw wavering blurs of paleyellow over the gray rotting quartz of the roof and walls. OccasionallyMcTeague bent down his head to avoid the lagging of the roof or theprojections of an overhanging shute. From car to car all along the linethe miners called to one another as the train trundled along, joshingand laughing. 

A mile from the entrance the train reached the breast where McTeague'sgang worked. The men clambered from the cars and took up the laborwhere the day shift had left it, burrowing their way steadily through aprimeval river bed. 

The candlesticks thrust into the crevices of the gravel strata lit upfaintly the half dozen moving figures befouled with sweat and withwet gray mould. The picks struck into the loose gravel with a yieldingshock. The long-handled shovels clinked amidst the piles of bowlders andscraped dully in the heaps of rotten quartz. The Burly drill boring forblasts broke out from time to time in an irregular chug-chug, chug-chug, while the engine that pumped the water from the mine coughed andstrangled at short intervals. 

McTeague tended the chuck. In a way he was the assistant of the man whoworked the Burly. It was his duty to replace the drills in the Burly, putting in longer ones as the hole got deeper and deeper. From timeto time he rapped the drill with a pole-pick when it stuck fast orfitchered. 

Once it even occurred to him that there was a resemblance between hispresent work and the profession he had been forced to abandon. In theBurly drill he saw a queer counterpart of his old-time dental engine;and what were the drills and chucks but enormous hoe excavators, hardbits, and burrs? It was the same work he had so often performed in his"Parlors, " only magnified, made monstrous, distorted, and grotesqued, the caricature of dentistry. 

He passed his nights thus in the midst of the play of crude and simpleforces--the powerful attacks of the Burly drills; the great exertionsof bared, bent backs overlaid with muscle; the brusque, resistlessexpansion of dynamite; and the silent, vast, Titanic force, mysteriousand slow, that cracked the timbers supporting the roof of the tunnel, and that gradually flattened the lagging till it was thin as paper. 

The life pleased the dentist beyond words. The still, colossal mountainstook him back again like a returning prodigal, and vaguely, withoutknowing why, he yielded to their influence--their immensity, theirenormous power, crude and blind, reflecting themselves in his ownnature, huge, strong, brutal in its simplicity. And this, though he onlysaw the mountains at night. They appeared far different then than in thedaytime. At twelve o'clock he came out of the mine and lunched on thecontents of his dinner-pail, sitting upon the embankment of the track, eating with both hands, and looking around him with a steady ox-likegaze. The mountains rose sheer from every side, heaving their giganticcrests far up into the night, the black peaks crowding together, andlooking now less like beasts than like a company of cowled giants. Inthe daytime they were silent; but at night they seemed to stir and rousethemselves. Occasionally the stamp-mill stopped, its thunder ceasingabruptly. Then one could hear the noises that the mountains made intheir living. From the cañón, from the crowding crests, from the wholeimmense landscape, there rose a steady and prolonged sound, comingfrom all sides at once. It was that incessant and muffled roar whichdisengages itself from all vast bodies, from oceans, from cities, fromforests, from sleeping armies, and which is like the breathing of aninfinitely great monster, alive, palpitating. 

McTeague returned to his work. At six in the morning his shift was takenoff, and he went out of the mine and back to the bunk house. All daylong he slept, flung at length upon the strong-smelling blankets--sleptthe dreamless sleep of exhaustion, crushed and overpowered with thework, flat and prone upon his belly, till again in the evening the cooksounded the alarm upon the crowbar bent into a triangle. 

Every alternate week the shifts were changed. The second week McTeague'sshift worked in the daytime and slept at night. Wednesday night of thissecond week the dentist woke suddenly. He sat up in his bed in the bunkhouse, looking about him from side to side; an alarm clock hanging onthe wall, over a lantern, marked half-past three. 

"What was it?" muttered the dentist. "I wonder what it was. " The rest ofthe shift were sleeping soundly, filling the room with the rasping soundof snoring. Everything was in its accustomed place; nothing stirred. Butfor all that McTeague got up and lit his miner's candlestick and wentcarefully about the room, throwing the light into the dark corners, peering under all the beds, including his own. Then he went to the doorand stepped outside. The night was warm and still; the moon, very low, and canted on her side like a galleon foundering. The camp was veryquiet; nobody was in sight. "I wonder what it was, " muttered thedentist. "There was something--why did I wake up? Huh?" He made acircuit about the bunk house, unusually alert, his small eyes twinklingrapidly, seeing everything. All was quiet. An old dog who invariablyslept on the steps of the bunk house had not even wakened. McTeague wentback to bed, but did not sleep. 

"There was SOMETHING, " he muttered, looking in a puzzled way at hiscanary in the cage that hung from the wall at his bedside; "something. What was it? There is something NOW. There it is again--the same thing. "He sat up in bed with eyes and ears strained. "What is it? I don'know what it is. I don' hear anything, an' I don' see anything. I feelsomething--right now; feel it now. I wonder--I don' know--I don' know. "

Once more he got up, and this time dressed himself. He made a completetour of the camp, looking and listening, for what he did not know. He even went to the outskirts of the camp and for nearly half an hourwatched the road that led into the camp from the direction of Iowa Hill. He saw nothing; not even a rabbit stirred. He went to bed. 

But from this time on there was a change. The dentist grew restless, uneasy. Suspicion of something, he could not say what, annoyed himincessantly. He went wide around sharp corners. At every moment helooked sharply over his shoulder. He even went to bed with his clothesand cap on, and at every hour during the night would get up and prowlabout the bunk house, one ear turned down the wind, his eyes gimletingthe darkness. From time to time he would murmur:

"There's something. What is it? I wonder what it is. "

What strange sixth sense stirred in McTeague at this time? What animalcunning, what brute instinct clamored for recognition and obedience?What lower faculty was it that roused his suspicion, that drove him outinto the night a score of times between dark and dawn, his head in theair, his eyes and ears keenly alert?

One night as he stood on the steps of the bunk house, peering into theshadows of the camp, he uttered an exclamation as of a man suddenlyenlightened. He turned back into the house, drew from under his bed theblanket roll in which he kept his money hid, and took the canary downfrom the wall. He strode to the door and disappeared into the night. When the sheriff of Placer County and the two deputies from SanFrancisco reached the Big Dipper mine, McTeague had been gone two days. 

CHAPTER 21

"Well, " said one of the deputies, as he backed the horse into the shaftsof the buggy in which the pursuers had driven over from the Hill, "we'veabout as good as got him. It isn't hard to follow a man who carries abird cage with him wherever he goes. "

McTeague crossed the mountains on foot the Friday and Saturday ofthat week, going over through Emigrant Gap, following the line of theOverland railroad. He reached Reno Monday night. By degrees a vague planof action outlined itself in the dentist's mind. 

"Mexico, " he muttered to himself. "Mexico, that's the place. They'llwatch the coast and they'll watch the Eastern trains, but they won'tthink of Mexico. "

The sense of pursuit which had harassed him during the last week of hisstay at the Big Dipper mine had worn off, and he believed himself to bevery cunning. 

"I'm pretty far ahead now, I guess, " he said. At Reno he boarded asouth-bound freight on the line of the Carson and Colorado railroad, paying for a passage in the caboose. "Freights don' run on scheduletime, " he muttered, "and a conductor on a passenger train makes it hisbusiness to study faces. I'll stay with this train as far as it goes. "

The freight worked slowly southward, through western Nevada, the countrybecoming hourly more and more desolate and abandoned. After leavingWalker Lake the sage-brush country began, and the freight rolled heavilyover tracks that threw off visible layers of heat. At times it stoppedwhole half days on sidings or by water tanks, and the engineer andfireman came back to the caboose and played poker with the conductor andtrain crew. The dentist sat apart, behind the stove, smoking pipe afterpipe of cheap tobacco. Sometimes he joined in the poker games. Hehad learned poker when a boy at the mine, and after a few deals hisknowledge returned to him; but for the most part he was taciturn andunsociable, and rarely spoke to the others unless spoken to first. Thecrew recognized the type, and the impression gained ground among themthat he had "done for" a livery-stable keeper at Truckee and was tryingto get down into Arizona. 

McTeague heard two brakemen discussing him one night as they stoodoutside by the halted train. "The livery-stable keeper called him abastard; that's what Picachos told me, " one of them remarked, "andstarted to draw his gun; an' this fellar did for him with a hayfork. He's a horse doctor, this chap is, and the livery-stable keeper had gotthe law on him so's he couldn't practise any more, an' he was sore aboutit. "

Near a place called Queen's the train reentered California, and McTeagueobserved with relief that the line of track which had hitherto heldwestward curved sharply to the south again. The train was unmolested;occasionally the crew fought with a gang of tramps who attempted to ridethe brake beams, and once in the northern part of Inyo County, whilethey were halted at a water tank, an immense Indian buck, blanketed tothe ground, approached McTeague as he stood on the roadbed stretchinghis legs, and without a word presented to him a filthy, crumpled letter. The letter was to the effect that the buck Big Jim was a good Indian anddeserving of charity; the signature was illegible. The dentist stared atthe letter, returned it to the buck, and regained the train just as itstarted. Neither had spoken; the buck did not move from his position, and fully five minutes afterward, when the slow-moving freight was milesaway, the dentist looked back and saw him still standing motionlessbetween the rails, a forlorn and solitary point of red, lost in theimmensity of the surrounding white blur of the desert. 

At length the mountains began again, rising up on either side of thetrack; vast, naked hills of white sand and red rock, spotted withblue shadows. Here and there a patch of green was spread like a gaytable-cloth over the sand. All at once Mount Whitney leaped over thehorizon. Independence was reached and passed; the freight, nearlyemptied by now, and much shortened, rolled along the shores of OwenLake. At a place called Keeler it stopped definitely. It was theterminus of the road. 

The town of Keeler was a one-street town, not unlike Iowa Hill--thepost-office, the bar and hotel, the Odd Fellows' Hall, and the liverystable being the principal buildings. 

"Where to now?" muttered McTeague to himself as he sat on the edge ofthe bed in his room in the hotel. He hung the canary in the window, filled its little bathtub, and watched it take its bath with enormoussatisfaction. "Where to now?" he muttered again. "This is as far as therailroad goes, an' it won' do for me to stay in a town yet a while; no, it won' do. I got to clear out. Where to? That's the word, where to?I'll go down to supper now"--He went on whispering his thoughts aloud, so that they would take more concrete shape in his mind--"I'll go downto supper now, an' then I'll hang aroun' the bar this evening till I getthe lay of this land. Maybe this is fruit country, though it looks morelike a cattle country. Maybe it's a mining country. If it's a miningcountry, " he continued, puckering his heavy eyebrows, "if it's a miningcountry, an' the mines are far enough off the roads, maybe I'd betterget to the mines an' lay quiet for a month before I try to get anyfarther south. "

He washed the cinders and dust of a week's railroading from his faceand hair, put on a fresh pair of boots, and went down to supper. Thedining-room was of the invariable type of the smaller interior townsof California. There was but one table, covered with oilcloth; rows ofbenches answered for chairs; a railroad map, a chromo with a giltframe protected by mosquito netting, hung on the walls, together with ayellowed photograph of the proprietor in Masonic regalia. Two waitresseswhom the guests--all men--called by their first names, came and wentwith large trays. 

Through the windows outside McTeague observed a great number of saddlehorses tied to trees and fences. Each one of these horses had a riata onthe pommel of the saddle. He sat down to the table, eating his thick hotsoup, watching his neighbors covertly, listening to everything that wassaid. It did not take him long to gather that the country to the eastand south of Keeler was a cattle country. 

Not far off, across a range of hills, was the Panamint Valley, where thebig cattle ranges were. Every now and then this name was tossed toand fro across the table in the flow of conversation--"Over in thePanamint. " "Just going down for a rodeo in the Panamint. " "Panamintbrands. " "Has a range down in the Panamint. " Then by and by the remark, "Hoh, yes, Gold Gulch, they're down to good pay there. That's on theother side of the Panamint Range. Peters came in yesterday and told me. "

McTeague turned to the speaker. 

"Is that a gravel mine?" he asked. 

"No, no, quartz. "

"I'm a miner; that's why I asked. "

"Well I've mined some too. I had a hole in the ground meself, but shewas silver; and when the skunks at Washington lowered the price ofsilver, where was I? Fitchered, b'God!"

"I was looking for a job. "

"Well, it's mostly cattle down here in the Panamint, but since thestrike over at Gold Gulch some of the boys have gone prospecting. There's gold in them damn Panamint Mountains. If you can find a goodlong 'contact' of country rocks you ain't far from it. There's a coupleof fellars from Redlands has located four claims around Gold Gulch. Theygot a vein eighteen inches wide, an' Peters says you can trace it formore'n a thousand feet. Were you thinking of prospecting over there?"

"Well, well, I don' know, I don' know. "

"Well, I'm going over to the other side of the range day after t'morrowafter some ponies of mine, an' I'm going to have a look around. You sayyou've been a miner?"

"Yes, yes. "

"If you're going over that way, you might come along and see if we can'tfind a contact, or copper sulphurets, or something. Even if we don'tfind color we may find silver-bearing galena. " Then, after a pause, "Let's see, I didn't catch your name. "

"Huh? My name's Carter, " answered McTeague, promptly. Why he shouldchange his name again the dentist could not say. "Carter" came to hismind at once, and he answered without reflecting that he had registeredas "Burlington" when he had arrived at the hotel. 

"Well, my name's Cribbens, " answered the other. The two shook handssolemnly. 

"You're about finished?" continued Cribbens, pushing back. "Le's go outin the bar an' have a drink on it. "

"Sure, sure, " said the dentist. 

The two sat up late that night in a corner of the barroom discussingthe probability of finding gold in the Panamint hills. It soon becameevident that they held differing theories. McTeague clung to the oldprospector's idea that there was no way of telling where gold was untilyou actually saw it. Cribbens had evidently read a good many books uponthe subject, and had already prospected in something of a scientificmanner. 

"Shucks!" he exclaimed. "Gi' me a long distinct contact betweensedimentary and igneous rocks, an' I'll sink a shaft without ever SEEING'color. '"

The dentist put his huge chin in the air. "Gold is where you find it, "he returned, doggedly. 

"Well, it's my idea as how pardners ought to work along differentlines, " said Cribbens. He tucked the corners of his mustache intohis mouth and sucked the tobacco juice from them. For a moment he wasthoughtful, then he blew out his mustache abruptly, and exclaimed:

"Say, Carter, le's make a go of this. You got a little cash Isuppose--fifty dollars or so?"

"Huh? Yes--I--I--"

"Well, I got about fifty. We'll go pardners on the proposition, an'we'll dally 'round the range yonder an' see what we can see. What do yousay?"

"Sure, sure, " answered the dentist. 

"Well, it's a go then, hey?"

"That's the word. "

"Well, le's have a drink on it. "

They drank with profound gravity. 

They fitted out the next day at the general merchandise store ofKeeler--picks, shovels, prospectors' hammers, a couple of cradles, pans, bacon, flour, coffee, and the like, and they bought a burro on which topack their kit. 

"Say, by jingo, you ain't got a horse, " suddenly exclaimed Cribbens asthey came out of the store. "You can't get around this country without apony of some kind. "

Cribbens already owned and rode a buckskin cayuse that had to be knockedin the head and stunned before it could be saddled. "I got an extrysaddle an' a headstall at the hotel that you can use, " he said, "butyou'll have to get a horse. "

In the end the dentist bought a mule at the livery stable for fortydollars. It turned out to be a good bargain, however, for the mule wasa good traveller and seemed actually to fatten on sage-brush and potatoparings. When the actual transaction took place, McTeague had beenobliged to get the money to pay for the mule out of the canvas sack. Cribbens was with him at the time, and as the dentist unrolled hisblankets and disclosed the sack, whistled in amazement. 

"An' me asking you if you had fifty dollars!" he exclaimed. "You carryyour mine right around with you, don't you?"

"Huh, I guess so, " muttered the dentist. "I--I just sold a claim I hadup in El Dorado County, " he added. 

At five o'clock on a magnificent May morning the "pardners" jogged outof Keeler, driving the burro before them. Cribbens rode his cayuse, McTeague following in his rear on the mule. 

"Say, " remarked Cribbens, "why in thunder don't you leave that foolcanary behind at the hotel? It's going to be in your way all the time, an' it will sure die. Better break its neck an' chuck it. "

"No, no, " insisted the dentist. "I've had it too long. I'll take it withme. "

"Well, that's the craziest idea I ever heard of, " remarked Cribbens, "totake a canary along prospecting. Why not kid gloves, and be done withit?"

They travelled leisurely to the southeast during the day, following awell-beaten cattle road, and that evening camped on a spur of some hillsat the head of the Panamint Valley where there was a spring. The nextday they crossed the Panamint itself. 

"That's a smart looking valley, " observed the dentist. 

"NOW you're talking straight talk, " returned Cribbens, sucking hismustache. The valley was beautiful, wide, level, and very green. Everywhere were herds of cattle, scarcely less wild than deer. Once ortwice cowboys passed them on the road, big-boned fellows, picturesquein their broad hats, hairy trousers, jingling spurs, and revolverbelts, surprisingly like the pictures McTeague remembered to have seen. Everyone of them knew Cribbens, and almost invariably joshed him on hisventure. 

"Say, Crib, ye'd best take a wagon train with ye to bring your dustback. "

Cribbens resented their humor, and after they had passed, chewedfiercely on his mustache. 

"I'd like to make a strike, b'God! if it was only to get the laugh onthem joshers. "

By noon they were climbing the eastern slope of the Panamint Range. Longsince they had abandoned the road; vegetation ceased; not a tree was insight. They followed faint cattle trails that led from one water hole toanother. By degrees these water holes grew dryer and dryer, and at threeo'clock Cribbens halted and filled their canteens. 

"There ain't any TOO much water on the other side, " he observed grimly. 

"It's pretty hot, " muttered the dentist, wiping his streaming foreheadwith the back of his hand. 

"Huh!" snorted the other more grimly than ever. The motionless airwas like the mouth of a furnace. Cribbens's pony lathered and panted. McTeague's mule began to droop his long ears. Only the little burroplodded resolutely on, picking the trail where McTeague could see buttrackless sand and stunted sage. Towards evening Cribbens, who was inthe lead, drew rein on the summit of the hills. 

Behind them was the beautiful green Panamint Valley, but before andbelow them for miles and miles, as far as the eye could reach, a flat, white desert, empty even of sage-brush, unrolled toward the horizon. Inthe immediate foreground a broken system of arroyos, and little cañónstumbled down to meet it. To the north faint blue hills shoulderedthemselves above the horizon. 

"Well, " observed Cribbens, "we're on the top of the Panamint Range now. It's along this eastern slope, right below us here, that we're going toprospect. Gold Gulch"--he pointed with the butt of his quirt--"is abouteighteen or nineteen miles along here to the north of us. Those hillsway over yonder to the northeast are the Telescope hills. "

"What do you call the desert out yonder?" McTeague's eyes wandered overthe illimitable stretch of alkali that stretched out forever and foreverto the east, to the north, and to the south. 

"That, " said Cribbens, "that's Death Valley. "

There was a long pause. The horses panted irregularly, the sweatdripping from their heaving bellies. Cribbens and the dentistsat motionless in their saddles, looking out over that abominabledesolation, silent, troubled. 

"God!" ejaculated Cribbens at length, under his breath, with a shake ofhis head. Then he seemed to rouse himself. "Well, " he remarked, "firstthing we got to do now is to find water. "

This was a long and difficult task. They descended into one littlecañón after another, followed the course of numberless arroyos, andeven dug where there seemed indications of moisture, all to no purpose. But at length McTeague's mule put his nose in the air and blew once ortwice through his nostrils. 

"Smells it, the son of a gun!" exclaimed Cribbens. The dentist let theanimal have his head, and in a few minutes he had brought them to thebed of a tiny cañón where a thin stream of brackish water filtered overa ledge of rocks. 

"We'll camp here, " observed Cribbens, "but we can't turn the horsesloose. We'll have to picket 'em with the lariats. I saw some loco-weedback here a piece, and if they get to eating that, they'll sure go plumcrazy. The burro won't eat it, but I wouldn't trust the others. "

A new life began for McTeague. After breakfast the "pardners" separated, going in opposite directions along the slope of the range, examiningrocks, picking and chipping at ledges and bowlders, looking for signs, prospecting. McTeague went up into the little cañóns where the streamshad cut through the bed rock, searching for veins of quartz, breakingout this quartz when he had found it, pulverizing and panning it. Cribbens hunted for "contacts, " closely examining country rocks andout-crops, continually on the lookout for spots where sedimentary andigneous rock came together. 

One day, after a week of prospecting, they met unexpectedly on the slopeof an arroyo. It was late in the afternoon. "Hello, pardner, " exclaimedCribbens as he came down to where McTeague was bending over his pan. "What luck?"

The dentist emptied his pan and straightened up. "Nothing, nothing. Youstruck anything?"

"Not a trace. Guess we might as well be moving towards camp. " Theyreturned together, Cribbens telling the dentist of a group of antelopehe had seen. 

"We might lay off to-morrow, an' see if we can plug a couple of themfellers. Antelope steak would go pretty well after beans an' bacon an'coffee week in an' week out. "

McTeague was answering, when Cribbens interrupted him with anexclamation of profound disgust. "I thought we were the first toprospect along in here, an' now look at that. Don't it make you sick?"

He pointed out evidences of an abandoned prospector's camp just beforethem--charred ashes, empty tin cans, one or two gold-miner's pans, and abroken pick. "Don't that make you sick?" muttered Cribbens, sucking hismustache furiously. "To think of us mushheads going over ground that'sbeen covered already! Say, pardner, we'll dig out of here to-morrow. I've been thinking, anyhow, we'd better move to the south; that water ofours is pretty low. "

"Yes, yes, I guess so, " assented the dentist. "There ain't any goldhere. "

"Yes, there is, " protested Cribbens doggedly; "there's gold all throughthese hills, if we could only strike it. I tell you what, pardner, I gota place in mind where I'll bet no one ain't prospected--least not verymany. There don't very many care to try an' get to it. It's over on theother side of Death Valley. It's called Gold Mountain, an' there's onlyone mine been located there, an' it's paying like a nitrate bed. Thereain't many people in that country, because it's all hell to get into. First place, you got to cross Death Valley and strike the Armagosa Rangefur off to the south. Well, no one ain't stuck on crossing the Valley, not if they can help it. But we could work down the Panamint somehundred or so miles, maybe two hundred, an' fetch around by the ArmagosaRiver, way to the south'erd. We could prospect on the way. But I guessthe Armagosa'd be dried up at this season. Anyhow, " he concluded, "we'llmove camp to the south to-morrow. We got to get new feed an' waterfor the horses. We'll see if we can knock over a couple of antelopeto-morrow, and then we'll scoot. "

"I ain't got a gun, " said the dentist; "not even a revolver. I--"

"Wait a second, " said Cribbens, pausing in his scramble down the sideof one of the smaller gulches. "Here's some slate here; I ain't seen noslate around here yet. Let's see where it goes to. "

McTeague followed him along the side of the gulch. Cribbens went onahead, muttering to himself from time to time:

"Runs right along here, even enough, and here's water too. Didn't knowthis stream was here; pretty near dry, though. Here's the slate again. See where it runs, pardner?"

"Look at it up there ahead, " said McTeague. "It runs right up over theback of this hill. "

"That's right, " assented Cribbens. "Hi!" he shouted suddenly, "HERE'S A'CONTACT, ' and here it is again, and there, and yonder. Oh, look atit, will you? That's granodiorite on slate. Couldn't want it any moredistinct than that. GOD! if we could only find the quartz between thetwo now. "

"Well, there it is, " exclaimed McTeague. "Look on ahead there; ain'tthat quartz?"

"You're shouting right out loud, " vociferated Cribbens, looking whereMcTeague was pointing. His face went suddenly pale. He turned to thedentist, his eyes wide. 

"By God, pardner, " he exclaimed, breathlessly. "By God--" he broke offabruptly. 

"That's what you been looking for, ain't it?" asked the dentist. 

"LOOKING for! LOOKING for!" Cribbens checked himself. "That's SLATE allright, and that's granodiorite, I know"--he bent down and examined therock--"and here's the quartz between 'em; there can't be no mistakeabout that. Gi' me that hammer, " he cried, excitedly. "Come on, git towork. Jab into the quartz with your pick; git out some chunks of it. "Cribbens went down on his hands and knees, attacking the quartz veinfuriously. The dentist followed his example, swinging his pick withenormous force, splintering the rocks at every stroke. Cribbens wastalking to himself in his excitement. 

"Got you THIS time, you son of a gun! By God! I guess we got you THIStime, at last. Looks like it, anyhow. GET a move on, pardner. Thereain't anybody 'round, is there? Hey?" Without looking, he drew hisrevolver and threw it to the dentist. "Take the gun an' look around, pardner. If you see any son of a gun ANYWHERE, PLUG him. This yere's OURclaim. I guess we got it THIS tide, pardner. Come on. " He gathered upthe chunks of quartz he had broken out, and put them in his hat andstarted towards their camp. The two went along with great strides, hurrying as fast as they could over the uneven ground. 

"I don' know, " exclaimed Cribbens, breathlessly, "I don' want to say toomuch. Maybe we're fooled. Lord, that damn camp's a long ways off. Oh, Iain't goin' to fool along this way. Come on, pardner. " He broke into arun. McTeague followed at a lumbering gallop. Over the scorched, parchedground, stumbling and tripping over sage-brush and sharp-pointed rocks, under the palpitating heat of the desert sun, they ran and scrambled, carrying the quartz lumps in their hats. 

"See any 'COLOR' in it, pardner?" gasped Cribbens. "I can't, can you?'Twouldn't be visible nohow, I guess. Hurry up. Lord, we ain't evergoing to get to that camp. "

Finally they arrived. Cribbens dumped the quartz fragments into a pan. 

"You pestle her, pardner, an' I'll fix the scales. " McTeague ground thelumps to fine dust in the iron mortar while Cribbens set up the tinyscales and got out the "spoons" from their outfit. 

"That's fine enough, " Cribbens exclaimed, impatiently. "Now we'll spoonher. Gi' me the water. "

Cribbens scooped up a spoonful of the fine white powder and began tospoon it carefully. The two were on their hands and knees upon theground, their heads close together, still panting with excitement andthe exertion of their run. 

"Can't do it, " exclaimed Cribbens, sitting back on his heels, "handshakes so. YOU take it, pardner. Careful, now. "

McTeague took the horn spoon and began rocking it gently in his hugefingers, sluicing the water over the edge a little at a time, eachmovement washing away a little more of the powdered quartz. The twowatched it with the intensest eagerness. 

"Don't see it yet; don't see it yet, " whispered Cribbens, chewing hismustache. "LEETLE faster, pardner. That's the ticket. Careful, steady, now; leetle more, leetle more. Don't see color yet, do you?"

The quartz sediment dwindled by degrees as McTeague spooned it steadily. Then at last a thin streak of a foreign substance began to show justalong the edge. It was yellow. 

Neither spoke. Cribbens dug his nails into the sand, and ground hismustache between his teeth. The yellow streak broadened as the quartzsediment washed away. Cribbens whispered:

"We got it, pardner. That's gold. "

McTeague washed the last of the white quartz dust away, and let thewater trickle after it. A pinch of gold, fine as flour, was left in thebottom of the spoon. 

"There you are, " he said. The two looked at each other. Then Cribbensrose into the air with a great leap and a yell that could have beenheard for half a mile. 

"Yee-e-ow! We GOT it, we struck it. Pardner, we got it. Out of sight. We're millionaires. " He snatched up his revolver and fired it withinconceivable rapidity. "PUT it there, old man, " he shouted, grippingMcTeague's palm. 

"That's gold, all right, " muttered McTeague, studying the contents ofthe spoon. 

"You bet your great-grandma's Cochin-China Chessy cat it's gold, "shouted Cribbens. "Here, now, we got a lot to do. We got to stake herout an' put up the location notice. We'll take our full acreage, youbet. You--we haven't weighed this yet. Where's the scales?" He weighedthe pinch of gold with shaking hands. "Two grains, " he cried. "That'llrun five dollars to the ton. Rich, it's rich; it's the richest kind ofpay, pardner. We're millionaires. Why don't you say something? Why don'tyou get excited? Why don't you run around an' do something?"

"Huh!" said McTeague, rolling his eyes. "Huh! I know, I know, we'vestruck it pretty rich. "

"Come on, " exclaimed Cribbens, jumping up again. "We'll stake her outan' put up the location notice. Lord, suppose anyone should have comeon her while we've been away. " He reloaded his revolver deliberately. "We'll drop HIM all right, if there's anyone fooling round there; I'lltell you those right now. Bring the rifle, pardner, an' if you seeanyone, PLUG him, an' ask him what he wants afterward. "

They hurried back to where they had made their discovery. 

"To think, " exclaimed Cribbens, as he drove the first stake, "to thinkthose other mushheads had their camp within gunshot of her and neverlocated her. Guess they didn't know the meaning of a 'contact. ' Oh, Iknew I was solid on 'contacts. '"

They staked out their claim, and Cribbens put up the notice of location. It was dark before they were through. Cribbens broke off some morechunks of quarts in the vein. 

"I'll spoon this too, just for the fun of it, when I get home, " heexplained, as they tramped back to the camp. 

"Well, " said the dentist, "we got the laugh on those cowboys. "

"Have we?" shouted Cribbens. "HAVE we? Just wait and see the rush forthis place when we tell 'em about it down in Keeler. Say, what'll wecall her?"

"I don' know, I don' know. "

"We might call her the 'Last Chance. ' 'Twas our last chance, wasn'tit? We'd 'a' gone antelope shooting tomorrow, and the next day we'd'a'--say, what you stopping for?" he added, interrupting himself. "What's up?"

The dentist had paused abruptly on the crest of a cañón. Cribbens, looking back, saw him standing motionless in his tracks. 

"What's up?" asked Cribbens a second time. 

McTeague slowly turned his head and looked over one shoulder, then overthe other. Suddenly he wheeled sharply about, cocking the Winchester andtossing it to his shoulder. Cribbens ran back to his side, whipping outhis revolver. 

"What is it?" he cried. "See anybody?" He peered on ahead through thegathering twilight. 

"No, no. "

"Hear anything?"

"No, didn't hear anything. "

"What is it then? What's up?"

"I don' know, I don' know, " muttered the dentist, lowering the rifle. "There was something. "

"What?"

"Something--didn't you notice?"

"Notice what?"

"I don' know. Something--something or other. "

"Who? What? Notice what? What did you see?"

The dentist let down the hammer of the rifle. 

"I guess it wasn't anything, " he said rather foolishly. 

"What d'you think you saw--anybody on the claim?"

"I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything either. I had an idea, that's all; came all of a sudden, like that. Something, I don' knowwhat. "

"I guess you just imagined something. There ain't anybody within twentymiles of us, I guess. "

"Yes, I guess so, just imagined it, that's the word. "

Half an hour later they had the fire going. McTeague was fryingstrips of bacon over the coals, and Cribbens was still chattering andexclaiming over their great strike. All at once McTeague put down thefrying-pan. 

"What's that?" he growled. 

"Hey? What's what?" exclaimed Cribbens, getting up. 

"Didn't you notice something?"

"Where?"

"Off there. " The dentist made a vague gesture toward the easternhorizon. "Didn't you hear something--I mean see something--I mean--"

"What's the matter with you, pardner?"

"Nothing. I guess I just imagined it. "

But it was not imagination. Until midnight the partners lay broad awake, rolled in their blankets under the open sky, talking and discussing andmaking plans. At last Cribbens rolled over on his side and slept. Thedentist could not sleep. 

What! It was warning him again, that strange sixth sense, that obscurebrute instinct. It was aroused again and clamoring to be obeyed. Here, in these desolate barren hills, twenty miles from the nearest humanbeing, it stirred and woke and rowelled him to be moving on. It hadgoaded him to flight from the Big Dipper mine, and he had obeyed. Butnow it was different; now he had suddenly become rich; he had lightedon a treasure--a treasure far more valuable than the Big Dipper mineitself. How was he to leave that? He could not move on now. He turnedabout in his blankets. No, he would not move on. Perhaps it was hisfancy, after all. He saw nothing, heard nothing. The emptiness ofprimeval desolation stretched from him leagues and leagues upon eitherhand. The gigantic silence of the night lay close over everything, likea muffling Titanic palm. Of what was he suspicious? In that treelesswaste an object could be seen at half a day's journey distant. In thatvast silence the click of a pebble was as audible as a pistol-shot. Andyet there was nothing, nothing. 

The dentist settled himself in his blankets and tried to sleep. In fiveminutes he was sitting up, staring into the blue-gray shimmer of themoonlight, straining his ears, watching and listening intently. Nothingwas in sight. The browned and broken flanks of the Panamint hills layquiet and familiar under the moon. The burro moved its head with aclinking of its bell; and McTeagues mule, dozing on three legs, changedits weight to another foot, with a long breath. Everything fell silentagain. 

"What is it?" muttered the dentist. "If I could only see something, hearsomething. "

He threw off the blankets, and, rising, climbed to the summit of thenearest hill and looked back in the direction in which he and Cribbenshad travelled a fortnight before. For half an hour he waited, watchingand listening in vain. But as he returned to camp, and prepared to rollhis blankets about him, the strange impulse rose in him again abruptly, never so strong, never so insistent. It seemed as though he were bittedand ridden; as if some unseen hand were turning him toward the east;some unseen heel spurring him to precipitate and instant flight. 

Flight from what? "No, " he muttered under his breath. "Go now and leavethe claim, and leave a fortune! What a fool I'd be, when I can't seeanything or hear anything. To leave a fortune! No, I won't. No, by God!"He drew Cribbens's Winchester toward him and slipped a cartridge intothe magazine. 

"No, " he growled. "Whatever happens, I'm going to stay. If anybodycomes--" He depressed the lever of the rifle, and sent the cartridgeclashing into the breech. 

"I ain't going to sleep, " he muttered under his mustache. "I can'tsleep; I'll watch. " He rose a second time, clambered to the nearesthilltop and sat down, drawing the blanket around him, and laying theWinchester across his knees. The hours passed. The dentist sat on thehilltop a motionless, crouching figure, inky black against the paleblur of the sky. By and by the edge of the eastern horizon began to growblacker and more distinct in out-line. The dawn was coming. Once moreMcTeague felt the mysterious intuition of approaching danger; an unseenhand seemed reining his head eastward; a spur was in his flanks thatseemed to urge him to hurry, hurry, hurry. The influence grew strongerwith every moment. The dentist set his great jaws together and held hisground. 

"No, " he growled between his set teeth. "No, I'll stay. " He made a longcircuit around the camp, even going as far as the first stake of the newclaim, his Winchester cocked, his ears pricked, his eyes alert. Therewas nothing; yet as plainly as though it were shouted at the very napeof his neck he felt an enemy. It was not fear. McTeague was not afraid. 

"If I could only SEE something--somebody, " he muttered, as he held thecocked rifle ready, "I--I'd show him. "

He returned to camp. Cribbens was snoring. The burro had come downto the stream for its morning drink. The mule was awake and browsing. McTeague stood irresolutely by the cold ashes of the camp-fire, lookingfrom side to side with all the suspicion and wariness of a tracked stag. Stronger and stronger grew the strange impulse. It seemed to him that onthe next instant he MUST perforce wheel sharply eastward and rush awayheadlong in a clumsy, lumbering gallop. He fought against it with allthe ferocious obstinacy of his simple brute nature. 

"Go, and leave the mine? Go and leave a million dollars? No, NO, I won'tgo. No, I'll stay. Ah, " he exclaimed, under his breath, with a shakeof his huge head, like an exasperated and harassed brute, "ah, showyourself, will you?" He brought the rifle to his shoulder and coveredpoint after point along the range of hills to the west. "Come on, showyourself. Come on a little, all of you. I ain't afraid of you; but don'tskulk this way. You ain't going to drive me away from my mine. I'm goingto stay. "

An hour passed. Then two. The stars winked out, and the dawn whitened. The air became warmer. The whole east, clean of clouds, flamedopalescent from horizon to zenith, crimson at the base, where the earthblackened against it; at the top fading from pink to pale yellow, togreen, to light blue, to the turquoise iridescence of the desert sky. The long, thin shadows of the early hours drew backward like recedingserpents, then suddenly the sun looked over the shoulder of the world, and it was day. 

At that moment McTeague was already eight miles away from the camp, going steadily eastward. He was descending the lowest spurs of thePanamint hills, following an old and faint cattle trail. Before him hedrove his mule, laden with blankets, provisions for six days, Cribben'srifle, and a canteen full of water. Securely bound to the pommel of thesaddle was the canvas sack with its precious five thousand dollars, allin twenty-dollar gold pieces. But strange enough in that horrid wasteof sand and sage was the object that McTeague himself persistentlycarried--the canary in its cage, about which he had carefully wrapped acouple of old flour-bags. 

At about five o'clock that morning McTeague had crossed several trailswhich seemed to be converging, and, guessing that they led to a waterhole, had followed one of them and had brought up at a sort of smallsundried sink which nevertheless contained a little water at the bottom. He had watered the mule here, refilled the canteen, and drank deephimself. He had also dampened the old flour-sacks around the bird cageto protect the little canary as far as possible from the heat that heknew would increase now with every hour. He had made ready to go forwardagain, but had paused irresolute again, hesitating for the last time. 

"I'm a fool, " he growled, scowling back at the range behind him. "I'ma fool. What's the matter with me? I'm just walking right away from amillion dollars. I know it's there. No, by God!" he exclaimed, savagely, "I ain't going to do it. I'm going back. I can't leave a mine likethat. " He had wheeled the mule about, and had started to return onhis tracks, grinding his teeth fiercely, inclining his head forward asthough butting against a wind that would beat him back. "Go on, go on, "he cried, sometimes addressing the mule, sometimes himself. "Go on, goback, go back. I WILL go back. " It was as though he were climbing ahill that grew steeper with every stride. The strange impelling instinctfought his advance yard by yard. By degrees the dentist's steps grewslower; he stopped, went forward again cautiously, almost feeling hisway, like someone approaching a pit in the darkness. He stopped again, hesitating, gnashing his teeth, clinching his fists with blind fury. Suddenly he turned the mule about, and once more set his face to theeastward. 

"I can't, " he cried aloud to the desert; "I can't, I can't. It'sstronger than I am. I CAN'T go back. Hurry now, hurry, hurry, hurry. "

He hastened on furtively, his head and shoulders bent. At times onecould almost say he crouched as he pushed forward with long strides;now and then he even looked over his shoulder. Sweat rolled from him, he lost his hat, and the matted mane of thick yellow hair swept over hisforehead and shaded his small, twinkling eyes. At times, with a vague, nearly automatic gesture, he reached his hand forward, the fingersprehensile, and directed towards the horizon, as if he would clutch itand draw it nearer; and at intervals he muttered, "Hurry, hurry, hurryon, hurry on. " For now at last McTeague was afraid. 

His plans were uncertain. He remembered what Cribbens had said about theArmagosa Mountains in the country on the other side of Death Valley. Itwas all hell to get into that country, Cribbens had said, and not manymen went there, because of the terrible valley of alkali that barredthe way, a horrible vast sink of white sand and salt below even the sealevel, the dry bed, no doubt, of some prehistoric lake. But McTeagueresolved to make a circuit of the valley, keeping to the south, until heshould strike the Armagosa River. He would make a circuit of the valleyand come up on the other side. He would get into that country aroundGold Mountain in the Armagosa hills, barred off from the world by theleagues of the red-hot alkali of Death Valley. "They" would hardly reachhim there. He would stay at Gold Mountain two or three months, and thenwork his way down into Mexico. 

McTeague tramped steadily forward, still descending the lowerirregularities of the Panamint Range. By nine o'clock the slopeflattened out abruptly; the hills were behind him; before him, to theeast, all was level. He had reached the region where even the sand andsage-brush begin to dwindle, giving place to white, powdered alkali. The trails were numerous, but old and faint; and they had been made bycattle, not by men. They led in all directions but one--north, south, and west; but not one, however faint, struck out towards the valley. 

"If I keep along the edge of the hills where these trails are, " mutteredthe dentist, "I ought to find water up in the arroyos from time totime. "

At once he uttered an exclamation. The mule had begun to squeal and lashout with alternate hoofs, his eyes rolling, his ears flattened. He ran afew steps, halted, and squealed again. Then, suddenly wheeling at rightangles, set off on a jog trot to the north, squealing and kicking fromtime to time. McTeague ran after him shouting and swearing, but for along time the mule would not allow himself to be caught. He seemed morebewildered than frightened. 

"He's eatun some of that loco-weed that Cribbens spoke about, " pantedMcTeague. "Whoa, there; steady, you. " At length the mule stopped of hisown accord, and seemed to come to his senses again. McTeague came up andtook the bridle rein, speaking to him and rubbing his nose. 

"There, there, what's the matter with you?" The mule was docile again. McTeague washed his mouth and set forward once more. 

The day was magnificent. From horizon to horizon was one vast span ofblue, whitening as it dipped earthward. Miles upon miles to the eastand southeast the desert unrolled itself, white, naked, inhospitable, palpitating and shimmering under the sun, unbroken by so much as a rockor cactus stump. In the distance it assumed all manner of faint colors, pink, purple, and pale orange. To the west rose the Panamint Range, sparsely sprinkled with gray sagebrush; here the earths and sands wereyellow, ochre, and rich, deep red, the hollows and cañóns picked outwith intense blue shadows. It seemed strange that such barrennesscould exhibit this radiance of color, but nothing could have been morebeautiful than the deep red of the higher bluffs and ridges, seamed withpurple shadows, standing sharply out against the pale-blue whiteness ofthe horizon. 

By nine o'clock the sun stood high in the sky. The heat was intense; theatmosphere was thick and heavy with it. McTeague gasped for breath andwiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead, his cheeks, and hisneck. Every inch and pore of his skin was tingling and pricking underthe merciless lash of the sun's rays. 

"If it gets much hotter, " he muttered, with a long breath, "if it getsmuch hotter, I--I don' know--" He wagged his head and wiped the sweatfrom his eyelids, where it was running like tears. 

The sun rose higher; hour by hour, as the dentist tramped steadily on, the heat increased. The baked dry sand crackled into innumerable tinyflakes under his feet. The twigs of the sage-brush snapped like brittlepipestems as he pushed through them. It grew hotter. At eleven the earthwas like the surface of a furnace; the air, as McTeague breathed it in, was hot to his lips and the roof of his mouth. The sun was a diskof molten brass swimming in the burnt-out blue of the sky. McTeaguestripped off his woollen shirt, and even unbuttoned his flannelundershirt, tying a handkerchief loosely about his neck. 

"Lord!" he exclaimed. "I never knew it COULD get as hot as this. "

The heat grew steadily fiercer; all distant objects were visiblyshimmering and palpitating under it. At noon a mirage appeared on thehills to the northwest. McTeague halted the mule, and drank from thetepid water in the canteen, dampening the sack around the canary's cage. As soon as he ceased his tramp and the noise of his crunching, grindingfootsteps died away, the silence, vast, illimitable, enfolded him likean immeasurable tide. From all that gigantic landscape, that colossalreach of baking sand, there arose not a single sound. Not a twigrattled, not an insect hummed, not a bird or beast invaded that hugesolitude with call or cry. Everything as far as the eye could reach, to north, to south, to east, and west, lay inert, absolutely quiet andmoveless under the remorseless scourge of the noon sun. The very shadowsshrank away, hiding under sage-bushes, retreating to the farthest nooksand crevices in the cañóns of the hills. All the world was one giganticblinding glare, silent, motionless. "If it gets much hotter, " murmuredthe dentist again, moving his head from side to side, "if it gets muchhotter, I don' know what I'll do. "

Steadily the heat increased. At three o'clock it was even more terriblethan it had been at noon. 

"Ain't it EVER going to let up?" groaned the dentist, rolling his eyesat the sky of hot blue brass. Then, as he spoke, the stillness wasabruptly stabbed through and through by a shrill sound that seemed tocome from all sides at once. It ceased; then, as McTeague took anotherforward step, began again with the suddenness of a blow, shriller, nearer at hand, a hideous, prolonged note that brought both man and muleto an instant halt. 

"I know what THAT is, " exclaimed the dentist. His eyes searched theground swiftly until he saw what he expected he should see--the roundthick coil, the slowly waving clover-shaped head and erect whirring tailwith its vibrant rattles. 

For fully thirty seconds the man and snake remained looking into eachother's eyes. Then the snake uncoiled and swiftly wound from sightamidst the sagebrush. McTeague drew breath again, and his eyes once morebeheld the illimitable leagues of quivering sand and alkali. 

"Good Lord! What a country!" he exclaimed. But his voice was tremblingas he urged forward the mule once more. 

Fiercer and fiercer grew the heat as the afternoon advanced. At fourMcTeague stopped again. He was dripping at every pore, but there was norelief in perspiration. The very touch of his clothes upon his body wasunendurable. The mule's ears were drooping and his tongue lolled fromhis mouth. The cattle trails seemed to be drawing together toward acommon point; perhaps a water hole was near by. 

"I'll have to lay up, sure, " muttered the dentist. "I ain't made totravel in such heat as this. "

He drove the mule up into one of the larger cañóns and halted in theshadow of a pile of red rock. After a long search he found water, a fewquarts, warm and brackish, at the bottom of a hollow of sunwracked mud;it was little more than enough to water the mule and refill his canteen. Here he camped, easing the mule of the saddle, and turning him looseto find what nourishment he might. A few hours later the sun set in acloudless glory of red and gold, and the heat became by degrees lessintolerable. McTeague cooked his supper, chiefly coffee and bacon, andwatched the twilight come on, revelling in the delicious coolness ofthe evening. As he spread his blankets on the ground he resolved thathereafter he would travel only at night, laying up in the daytime in theshade of the cañóns. He was exhausted with his terrible day's march. Never in his life had sleep seemed so sweet to him. 

But suddenly he was broad awake, his jaded senses all alert. 

"What was that?" he muttered. "I thought I heard something--sawsomething. "

He rose to his feet, reaching for the Winchester. Desolation lay stillaround him. There was not a sound but his own breathing; on the face ofthe desert not a grain of sand was in motion. McTeague looked furtivelyand quickly from side to side, his teeth set, his eyes rolling. Oncemore the rowel was in his flanks, once more an unseen hand reined himtoward the east. After all the miles of that dreadful day's flight hewas no better off than when he started. If anything, he was worse, fornever had that mysterious instinct in him been more insistent than now;never had the impulse toward precipitate flight been stronger; never hadthe spur bit deeper. Every nerve of his body cried aloud for rest; yetevery instinct seemed aroused and alive, goading him to hurry on, tohurry on. 

"What IS it, then? What is it?" he cried, between his teeth. "Can't Iever get rid of you? Ain't I EVER going to shake you off? Don' keep itup this way. Show yourselves. Let's have it out right away. Come on. Iain't afraid if you'll only come on; but don't skulk this way. " Suddenlyhe cried aloud in a frenzy of exasperation, "Damn you, come on, willyou? Come on and have it out. " His rifle was at his shoulder, he wascovering bush after bush, rock after rock, aiming at every densershadow. All at once, and quite involuntarily, his forefinger crooked, and the rifle spoke and flamed. The cañóns roared back the echo, tossing it out far over the desert in a rippling, widening wave ofsound. 

McTeague lowered the rifle hastily, with an exclamation of dismay. 

"You fool, " he said to himself, "you fool. You've done it now. Theycould hear that miles away. You've done it now. "

He stood listening intently, the rifle smoking in his hands. The lastecho died away. The smoke vanished, the vast silence closed upon thepassing echoes of the rifle as the ocean closes upon a ship's wake. Nothing moved; yet McTeague bestirred himself sharply, rolling up hisblankets, resaddling the mule, getting his outfit together again. Fromtime to time he muttered:

"Hurry now; hurry on. You fool, you've done it now. They could hear thatmiles away. Hurry now. They ain't far off now. "

As he depressed the lever of the rifle to reload it, he found that themagazine was empty. He clapped his hands to his sides, feeling rapidlyfirst in one pocket, then in another. He had forgotten to take extracartridges with him. McTeague swore under his breath as he flung therifle away. Henceforth he must travel unarmed. 

A little more water had gathered in the mud hole near which he hadcamped. He watered the mule for the last time and wet the sacks aroundthe canary's cage. Then once more he set forward. 

But there was a change in the direction of McTeague's flight. Hithertohe had held to the south, keeping upon the very edge of the hills;now he turned sharply at right angles. The slope fell away beneath hishurrying feet; the sage-brush dwindled, and at length ceased; the sandgave place to a fine powder, white as snow; and an hour after hehad fired the rifle his mule's hoofs were crisping and cracking thesun-baked flakes of alkali on the surface of Death Valley. 

Tracked and harried, as he felt himself to be, from one camping place toanother, McTeague had suddenly resolved to make one last effort to ridhimself of the enemy that seemed to hang upon his heels. He would strikestraight out into that horrible wilderness where even the beasts wereafraid. He would cross Death Valley at once and put its arid wastesbetween him and his pursuer. 

"You don't dare follow me now, " he muttered, as he hurried on. "Let'ssee you come out HERE after me. "

He hurried on swiftly, urging the mule to a rapid racking walk. Towardsfour o'clock the sky in front of him began to flush pink and golden. McTeague halted and breakfasted, pushing on again immediately afterward. The dawn flamed and glowed like a brazier, and the sun rose a vastred-hot coal floating in fire. An hour passed, then another, andanother. It was about nine o'clock. Once more the dentist paused, andstood panting and blowing, his arms dangling, his eyes screwed up andblinking as he looked about him. 

Far behind him the Panamint hills were already but blue hummocks on thehorizon. Before him and upon either side, to the north and to the eastand to the south, stretched primordial desolation. League upon leaguethe infinite reaches of dazzling white alkali laid themselves out likean immeasurable scroll unrolled from horizon to horizon; not a bush, not a twig relieved that horrible monotony. Even the sand of the desertwould have been a welcome sight; a single clump of sage-brush wouldhave fascinated the eye; but this was worse than the desert. It wasabominable, this hideous sink of alkali, this bed of some primeval lakelying so far below the level of the ocean. The great mountains of PlacerCounty had been merely indifferent to man; but this awful sink of alkaliwas openly and unreservedly iniquitous and malignant. 

McTeague had told himself that the heat upon the lower slopes of thePanamint had been dreadful; here in Death Valley it became a thing ofterror. There was no longer any shadow but his own. He was scorchedand parched from head to heel. It seemed to him that the smart of histortured body could not have been keener if he had been flayed. 

"If it gets much hotter, " he muttered, wringing the sweat from his thickfell of hair and mustache, "if it gets much hotter, I don' know whatI'll do. " He was thirsty, and drank a little from his canteen. "I ain'tgot any too much water, " he murmured, shaking the canteen. "I got to getout of this place in a hurry, sure. "

By eleven o'clock the heat had increased to such an extent that McTeaguecould feel the burning of the ground come pringling and stinging throughthe soles of his boots. Every step he took threw up clouds of impalpablealkali dust, salty and choking, so that he strangled and coughed andsneezed with it. 

"LORD! what a country!" exclaimed the dentist. 

An hour later, the mule stopped and lay down, his jaws wide open, hisears dangling. McTeague washed his mouth with a handful of water and fora second time since sunrise wetted the flour-sacks around the bird cage. The air was quivering and palpitating like that in the stoke-hold of asteamship. The sun, small and contracted, swam molten overhead. 

"I can't stand it, " said McTeague at length. "I'll have to stop and makesome kinda shade. "

The mule was crouched upon the ground, panting rapidly, with half-closedeyes. The dentist removed the saddle, and unrolling his blanket, proppedit up as best he could between him and the sun. As he stooped down tocrawl beneath it, his palm touched the ground. He snatched it away witha cry of pain. The surface alkali was oven-hot; he was obliged to scoopout a trench in it before he dared to lie down. 

By degrees the dentist began to doze. He had had little or no sleepthe night before, and the hurry of his flight under the blazing sun hadexhausted him. But his rest was broken; between waking and sleeping, allmanner of troublous images galloped through his brain. He thought he wasback in the Panamint hills again with Cribbens. They had just discoveredthe mine and were returning toward camp. McTeague saw himself as anotherman, striding along over the sand and sagebrush. At once he saw himselfstop and wheel sharply about, peering back suspiciously. There wassomething behind him; something was following him. He looked, as itwere, over the shoulder of this other McTeague, and saw down there, inthe half light of the cañón, something dark crawling upon the ground, an indistinct gray figure, man or brute, he did not know. Then he sawanother, and another; then another. A score of black, crawling objectswere following him, crawling from bush to bush, converging upon him. "THEY" were after him, were closing in upon him, were within touch ofhis hand, were at his feet--WERE AT HIS THROAT. 

McTeague jumped up with a shout, oversetting the blanket. There wasnothing in sight. For miles around, the alkali was empty, solitary, quivering and shimmering under the pelting fire of the afternoon's sun. 

But once more the spur bit into his body, goading him on. There was tobe no rest, no going back, no pause, no stop. Hurry, hurry, hurry on. The brute that in him slept so close to the surface was alive and alert, and tugging to be gone. There was no resisting that instinct. The brutefelt an enemy, scented the trackers, clamored and struggled and fought, and would not be gainsaid. 

"I CAN'T go on, " groaned McTeague, his eyes sweeping the horizon behindhim, "I'm beat out. I'm dog tired. I ain't slept any for two nights. "But for all that he roused himself again, saddled the mule, scarcelyless exhausted than himself, and pushed on once more over the scorchingalkali and under the blazing sun. 

From that time on the fear never left him, the spur never ceased tobite, the instinct that goaded him to fight never was dumb; hurry orhalt, it was all the same. On he went, straight on, chasing the recedinghorizon; flagellated with heat; tortured with thirst; crouching over;looking furtively behind, and at times reaching his hand forward, thefingers prehensile, grasping, as it were, toward the horizon, thatalways fled before him. 

The sun set upon the third day of McTeague's flight, night came on, thestars burned slowly into the cool dark purple of the sky. The giganticsink of white alkali glowed like snow. McTeague, now far into thedesert, held steadily on, swinging forward with great strides. Hisenormous strength held him doggedly to his work. Sullenly, with his hugejaws gripping stolidly together, he pushed on. At midnight he stopped. 

"Now, " he growled, with a certain desperate defiance, as though heexpected to be heard, "now, I'm going to lay up and get some sleep. Youcan come or not. "

He cleared away the hot surface alkali, spread out his blanket, andslept until the next day's heat aroused him. His water was so low thathe dared not make coffee now, and so breakfasted without it. Until teno'clock he tramped forward, then camped again in the shade of one ofthe rare rock ledges, and "lay up" during the heat of the day. By fiveo'clock he was once more on the march. 

He travelled on for the greater part of that night, stopping only oncetowards three in the morning to water the mule from the canteen. Againthe red-hot day burned up over the horizon. Even at six o'clock it washot. 

"It's going to be worse than ever to-day, " he groaned. "I wish I couldfind another rock to camp by. Ain't I ever going to get out of thisplace?"

There was no change in the character of the desert. Always the samemeasureless leagues of white-hot alkali stretched away toward thehorizon on every hand. Here and there the flat, dazzling surface of thedesert broke and raised into long low mounds, from the summit of whichMcTeague could look for miles and miles over its horrible desolation. No shade was in sight. Not a rock, not a stone broke the monotony of theground. Again and again he ascended the low unevennesses, looking andsearching for a camping place, shading his eyes from the glitter of sandand sky. 

He tramped forward a little farther, then paused at length in a hollowbetween two breaks, resolving to make camp there. 

Suddenly there was a shout. 

"Hands up. By damn, I got the drop on you!"

McTeague looked up. 

It was Marcus. 

CHAPTER 22

Within a month after his departure from San Francisco, Marcus had "gonein on a cattle ranch" in the Panamint Valley with an Englishman, anacquaintance of Mr. Sieppe's. His headquarters were at a place calledModoc, at the lower extremity of the valley, about fifty miles by trailto the south of Keeler. 

His life was the life of a cowboy. He realized his former vision ofhimself, booted, sombreroed, and revolvered, passing his days in thesaddle and the better part of his nights around the poker tables inModoc's one saloon. To his intense satisfaction he even involved himselfin a gun fight that arose over a disputed brand, with the result thattwo fingers of his left hand were shot away. 

News from the outside world filtered slowly into the Panamint Valley, and the telegraph had never been built beyond Keeler. At intervals oneof the local papers of Independence, the nearest large town, found itsway into the cattle camps on the ranges, and occasionally one of theSunday editions of a Sacramento journal, weeks old, was passed from handto hand. Marcus ceased to hear from the Sieppes. As for San Francisco, it was as far from him as was London or Vienna. 

One day, a fortnight after McTeague's flight from San Francisco, Marcusrode into Modoc, to find a group of men gathered about a notice affixedto the outside of the Wells-Fargo office. It was an offer of reward forthe arrest and apprehension of a murderer. The crime had been committedin San Francisco, but the man wanted had been traced as far as thewestern portion of Inyo County, and was believed at that time to be inhiding in either the Pinto or Panamint hills, in the vicinity of Keeler. 

Marcus reached Keeler on the afternoon of that same day. Half a milefrom the town his pony fell and died from exhaustion. Marcus did notstop even to remove the saddle. He arrived in the barroom of the hotelin Keeler just after the posse had been made up. The sheriff, who hadcome down from Independence that morning, at first refused his offer ofassistance. He had enough men already--too many, in fact. The countrytravelled through would be hard, and it would be difficult to find waterfor so many men and horses. 

"But none of you fellers have ever seen um, " vociferated Marcus, quivering with excitement and wrath. "I know um well. I could pickum out in a million. I can identify um, and you fellers can't. And Iknew--I knew--good GOD! I knew that girl--his wife--in Frisco. She'sa cousin of mine, she is--she was--I thought once of--This thing's apersonal matter of mine--an' that money he got away with, that fivethousand, belongs to me by rights. Oh, never mind, I'm going along. Doyou hear?" he shouted, his fists raised, "I'm going along, I tell you. There ain't a man of you big enough to stop me. Let's see you tryand stop me going. Let's see you once, any two of you. " He filled thebarroom with his clamor. 

"Lord love you, come along, then, " said the sheriff. 

The posse rode out of Keeler that same night. The keeper of the generalmerchandise store, from whom Marcus had borrowed a second pony, hadinformed them that Cribbens and his partner, whose description talliedexactly with that given in the notice of reward, had outfitted athis place with a view to prospecting in the Panamint hills. The possetrailed them at once to their first camp at the head of the valley. Itwas an easy matter. It was only necessary to inquire of the cowboys andrange riders of the valley if they had seen and noted the passage of twomen, one of whom carried a bird cage. 

Beyond this first camp the trail was lost, and a week was wasted ina bootless search around the mine at Gold Gulch, whither it seemedprobable the partners had gone. Then a travelling peddler, who includedGold Gulch in his route, brought in the news of a wonderful strike ofgold-bearing quartz some ten miles to the south on the western slope ofthe range. Two men from Keeler had made a strike, the peddler had said, and added the curious detail that one of the men had a canary bird in acage with him. 

The posse made Cribbens's camp three days after the unaccountabledisappearance of his partner. Their man was gone, but the narrow hoofprints of a mule, mixed with those of huge hob-nailed boots, could beplainly followed in the sand. Here they picked up the trail and heldto it steadily till the point was reached where, instead of tendingsouthward it swerved abruptly to the east. The men could hardly believetheir eyes. 

"It ain't reason, " exclaimed the sheriff. "What in thunder is he up to?This beats me. Cutting out into Death Valley at this time of year. "

"He's heading for Gold Mountain over in the Armagosa, sure. "

The men decided that this conjecture was true. It was the only inhabitedlocality in that direction. A discussion began as to the furthermovements of the posse. 

"I don't figure on going into that alkali sink with no eight men andhorses, " declared the sheriff. "One man can't carry enough water to takehim and his mount across, let alone EIGHT. No, sir. Four couldn't doit. No, THREE couldn't. We've got to make a circuit round the valley andcome up on the other side and head him off at Gold Mountain. That's whatwe got to do, and ride like hell to do it, too. "

But Marcus protested with all the strength of his lungs againstabandoning the trail now that they had found it. He argued that theywere but a day and a half behind their man now. There was no possibilityof their missing the trail--as distinct in the white alkali as in snow. They could make a dash into the valley, secure their man, and returnlong before their water failed them. He, for one, would not give up thepursuit, now that they were so close. In the haste of the departurefrom Keeler the sheriff had neglected to swear him in. He was under noorders. He would do as he pleased. 

"Go on, then, you darn fool, " answered the sheriff. "We'll cut on roundthe valley, for all that. It's a gamble he'll be at Gold Mountain beforeyou're half way across. But if you catch him, here"--he tossed Marcus apair of handcuffs--"put 'em on him and bring him back to Keeler. "

Two days after he had left the posse, and when he was already far outin the desert, Marcus's horse gave out. In the fury of his impatience hehad spurred mercilessly forward on the trail, and on the morning of thethird day found that his horse was unable to move. The joints of hislegs seemed locked rigidly. He would go his own length, stumbling andinterfering, then collapse helplessly upon the ground with a pitifulgroan. He was used up. 

Marcus believed himself to be close upon McTeague now. The ashes at hislast camp had still been smoldering. Marcus took what supplies of foodand water he could carry, and hurried on. But McTeague was farther aheadthan he had guessed, and by evening of his third day upon the desertMarcus, raging with thirst, had drunk his last mouthful of water and hadflung away the empty canteen. 

"If he ain't got water with um, " he said to himself as he pushed on, "Ifhe ain't got water with um, by damn! I'll be in a bad way. I will, for afact. "

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

At Marcus's shout McTeague looked up and around him. For the instanthe saw no one. The white glare of alkali was still unbroken. Then hisswiftly rolling eyes lighted upon a head and shoulder that protrudedabove the low crest of the break directly in front of him. A manwas there, lying at full length upon the ground, covering him witha revolver. For a few seconds McTeague looked at the man stupidly, bewildered, confused, as yet without definite thought. Then he noticedthat the man was singularly like Marcus Schouler. It WAS MarcusSchouler. How in the world did Marcus Schouler come to be in thatdesert? What did he mean by pointing a pistol at him that way? He'dbest look out or the pistol would go off. Then his thoughts readjustedthemselves with a swiftness born of a vivid sense of danger. Here wasthe enemy at last, the tracker he had felt upon his footsteps. Nowat length he had "come on" and shown himself, after all those days ofskulking. McTeague was glad of it. He'd show him now. They two wouldhave it out right then and there. His rifle! He had thrown it away longsince. He was helpless. Marcus had ordered him to put up his hands. If he did not, Marcus would kill him. He had the drop on him. McTeaguestared, scowling fiercely at the levelled pistol. He did not move. 

"Hands up!" shouted Marcus a second time. "I'll give you three to do itin. One, two----"

Instinctively McTeague put his hands above his head. 

Marcus rose and came towards him over the break. 

"Keep 'em up, " he cried. "If you move 'em once I'll kill you, sure. "

He came up to McTeague and searched him, going through his pockets; butMcTeague had no revolver; not even a hunting knife. 

"What did you do with that money, with that five thousand dollars?"

"It's on the mule, " answered McTeague, sullenly. 

Marcus grunted, and cast a glance at the mule, who was standing somedistance away, snorting nervously, and from time to time flattening hislong ears. 

"Is that it there on the horn of the saddle, there in that canvas sack?"Marcus demanded. 

"Yes, that's it. "

A gleam of satisfaction came into Marcus's eyes, and under his breath hemuttered:

"Got it at last. "

He was singularly puzzled to know what next to do. He had got McTeague. There he stood at length, with his big hands over his head, scowling athim sullenly. Marcus had caught his enemy, had run down the man for whomevery officer in the State had been looking. What should he do with himnow? He couldn't keep him standing there forever with his hands over hishead. 

"Got any water?" he demanded. 

"There's a canteen of water on the mule. "

Marcus moved toward the mule and made as if to reach the bridle-rein. The mule squealed, threw up his head, and galloped to a little distance, rolling his eyes and flattening his ears. 

Marcus swore wrathfully. 

"He acted that way once before, " explained McTeague, his hands still inthe air. "He ate some loco-weed back in the hills before I started. "

For a moment Marcus hesitated. While he was catching the mule McTeaguemight get away. But where to, in heaven's name? A rat could not hide onthe surface of that glistening alkali, and besides, all McTeague's storeof provisions and his priceless supply of water were on the mule. Marcusran after the mule, revolver in hand, shouting and cursing. But the mulewould not be caught. He acted as if possessed, squealing, lashing out, and galloping in wide circles, his head high in the air. 

"Come on, " shouted Marcus, furious, turning back to McTeague. "Come on, help me catch him. We got to catch him. All the water we got is on thesaddle. "

McTeague came up. 

"He's eatun some loco-weed, " he repeated. "He went kinda crazy oncebefore. "

"If he should take it into his head to bolt and keep on running----"

Marcus did not finish. A sudden great fear seemed to widen around andinclose the two men. Once their water gone, the end would not be long. 

"We can catch him all right, " said the dentist. "I caught him oncebefore. "

"Oh, I guess we can catch him, " answered Marcus, reassuringly. 

Already the sense of enmity between the two had weakened in the face ofa common peril. Marcus let down the hammer of his revolver and slid itback into the holster. 

The mule was trotting on ahead, snorting and throwing up great clouds ofalkali dust. At every step the canvas sack jingled, and McTeague's birdcage, still wrapped in the flour-bags, bumped against the saddlepads. Byand by the mule stopped, blowing out his nostrils excitedly. 

"He's clean crazy, " fumed Marcus, panting and swearing. 

"We ought to come up on him quiet, " observed McTeague. 

"I'll try and sneak up, " said Marcus; "two of us would scare him again. You stay here. "

Marcus went forward a step at a time. He was almost within arm's lengthof the bridle when the mule shied from him abruptly and galloped away. 

Marcus danced with rage, shaking his fists, and swearing horribly. Somehundred yards away the mule paused and began blowing and snuffing in thealkali as though in search of feed. Then, for no reason, he shied again, and started off on a jog trot toward the east. 

"We've GOT to follow him, " exclaimed Marcus as McTeague came up. "There's no water within seventy miles of here. "

Then began an interminable pursuit. Mile after mile, under the terribleheat of the desert sun, the two men followed the mule, racked with athirst that grew fiercer every hour. A dozen times they could almosttouch the canteen of water, and as often the distraught animal shiedaway and fled before them. At length Marcus cried:

"It's no use, we can't catch him, and we're killing ourselves withthirst. We got to take our chances. " He drew his revolver from itsholster, cocked it, and crept forward. 

"Steady, now, " said McTeague; "it won' do to shoot through the canteen. "

Within twenty yards Marcus paused, made a rest of his left forearm andfired. 

"You GOT him, " cried McTeague. "No, he's up again. Shoot him again. He'sgoing to bolt. "

Marcus ran on, firing as he ran. The mule, one foreleg trailing, scrambled along, squealing and snorting. Marcus fired his last shot. Themule pitched forward upon his head, then, rolling sideways, fell uponthe canteen, bursting it open and spilling its entire contents into thesand. 

Marcus and McTeague ran up, and Marcus snatched the battered canteenfrom under the reeking, bloody hide. There was no water left. Marcusflung the canteen from him and stood up, facing McTeague. There was apause. 

"We're dead men, " said Marcus. 

McTeague looked from him out over the desert. Chaotic desolationstretched from them on either hand, flaming and glaring with theafternoon heat. There was the brazen sky and the leagues upon leagues ofalkali, leper white. There was nothing more. They were in the heart ofDeath Valley. 

"Not a drop of water, " muttered McTeague; "not a drop of water. "

"We can drink the mule's blood, " said Marcus. "It's been done before. But--but--" he looked down at the quivering, gory body--"but I ain'tthirsty enough for that yet. "

"Where's the nearest water?"

"Well, it's about a hundred miles or more back of us in the Panaminthills, " returned Marcus, doggedly. "We'd be crazy long before we reachedit. I tell you, we're done for, by damn, we're DONE for. We ain't evergoing to get outa here. "

"Done for?" murmured the other, looking about stupidly. "Done for, that's the word. Done for? Yes, I guess we're done for. "

"What are we going to do NOW?" exclaimed Marcus, sharply, after a while. 

"Well, let's--let's be moving along--somewhere. "

"WHERE, I'd like to know? What's the good of moving on?"

"What's the good of stopping here?"

There was a silence. 

"Lord, it's hot, " said the dentist, finally, wiping his forehead withthe back of his hand. Marcus ground his teeth. 

"Done for, " he muttered; "done for. "

"I never WAS so thirsty, " continued McTeague. "I'm that dry I can hearmy tongue rubbing against the roof of my mouth. "

"Well, we can't stop here, " said Marcus, finally; "we got to gosomewhere. We'll try and get back, but it ain't no manner of use. Anything we want to take along with us from the mule? We can----"

Suddenly he paused. In an instant the eyes of the two doomed men had metas the same thought simultaneously rose in their minds. The canvas sackwith its five thousand dollars was still tied to the horn of the saddle. 

Marcus had emptied his revolver at the mule, and though he still worehis cartridge belt, he was for the moment as unarmed as McTeague. 

"I guess, " began McTeague coming forward a step, "I guess, even if weare done for, I'll take--some of my truck along. "

"Hold on, " exclaimed Marcus, with rising aggressiveness. "Let's talkabout that. I ain't so sure about who that--who that money belongs to. "

"Well, I AM, you see, " growled the dentist. 

The old enmity between the two men, their ancient hate, was flaming upagain. 

"Don't try an' load that gun either, " cried McTeague, fixing Marcus withhis little eyes. 

"Then don't lay your finger on that sack, " shouted the other. "You're myprisoner, do you understand? You'll do as I say. " Marcus had drawn thehandcuffs from his pocket, and stood ready with his revolver held asa club. "You soldiered me out of that money once, and played me for asucker, an' it's my turn now. Don't you lay your finger on that sack. "

Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with passion. McTeague did notanswer. His eyes drew to two fine, twinkling points, and his enormoushands knotted themselves into fists, hard as wooden mallets. He moved astep nearer to Marcus, then another. 

Suddenly the men grappled, and in another instant were rolling andstruggling upon the hot white ground. McTeague thrust Marcus backwarduntil he tripped and fell over the body of the dead mule. The littlebird cage broke from the saddle with the violence of their fall, androlled out upon the ground, the flour-bags slipping from it. McTeaguetore the revolver from Marcus's grip and struck out with it blindly. Clouds of alkali dust, fine and pungent, enveloped the two fighting men, all but strangling them. 

McTeague did not know how he killed his enemy, but all at once Marcusgrew still beneath his blows. Then there was a sudden last return ofenergy. McTeague's right wrist was caught, something licked upon it, then the struggling body fell limp and motionless with a long breath. 

As McTeague rose to his feet, he felt a pull at his right wrist;something held it fast. Looking down, he saw that Marcus in that laststruggle had found strength to handcuff their wrists together. Marcuswas dead now; McTeague was locked to the body. All about him, vastinterminable, stretched the measureless leagues of Death Valley. 

McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at the distanthorizon, now at the ground, now at the half-dead canary chitteringfeebly in its little gilt prison.