McTeague

University of California • Berkeley

Gift of
MRS. RICHARD A. LEONARD

and
PROFESSOR RICHARD A. DAVISON

McTEAGUE

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Moran of the Lady Letty

I2IHO, pp. 275, $1.00

CROWNED MASTERPIECES
OF MODERN FICTION

SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION

BY

jfranfe

A«thor of "The Pit," "The Octopus," " Blix," Etc.. E8C.

NEW TORK * DOUBLEDAY
PAGE & COMPANY * 1904

COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY

'DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.

DeHicatett to

L. E. GATES

OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY

McTEAGUE

It was Sunday, and, according to his custom on
that day, McTeague took his dinner at two in the
afternoon at the car conductors' coffee-joint on
Polk Street. He had a thick gray soup ; heavy, un
derdone meat, very hot, on a cold plate; two kinds
of vegetables; and a sort of suet pudding, 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 pitcher of steam beer. It was
his habit to leave the pitcher there on his way to
dinner.

Once in his office, or, as he called it on his sign
board, " Dental Parlors," he took off his coat and
shoes, unbuttoned his vest, and, having crammed
his little stove full of coke, lay back in his operating
chair at the bay window, reading the paper, drink
ing his beer, and smoking his huge porcelain pipe
while his food digested ; crop-full, stupid, and warm.
By and by, gorged with steam beer, and overcome
by the heat 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 its gilt
cage just over his head, began to sing. He woke
slowly, finished the rest of his beer — very flat and

McTeague

stale by this time — and taking down his concertina
from the book-case, where in week days it kept the
company of seven volumes of " Allen's Practical
Dentist," played upon it some half-dozen very
mournful airs.

McTeague looked forward to these Sunday after
noons as a period of relaxation and enjoyment. He
invariably spent them in the same fashion. These
were his only pleasures — to eat, to smoke, to sleep,
and to play upon his concertina.

The six lugubrious airs that he knew, always car
ried him back to the time when he was a car-boy at
the Big Dipper Mine in Placer County, ten years
before. He remembered the years he had spent
there trundling the heavy cars of ore in and out
of the tunnel under the direction of his father. For
thirteen days of each fortnight his father was a
steady, hard-working shift-boss of the mine. Every
other Sunday he became an irresponsible 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 and
energetic for all that, filled with the one idea of
having her son rise in life and enter a profession.
The chance had come at last when the father died,
corroded with alcohol, collapsing in a few hours.
Two or three years later a travelling dentist visited
the mine and put up his tent near the bunk-house.
He was more or Jess of a charlatan, but he fired
Mrs. McTeague's ambition, and young McTeague
went away with him to learn his profession. He
had learnt it after a fashion, mostly by watching the

McTeague

charlatan operate. He had read many of the neces
sary 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 in
business; so he had cut loose from the charlatan
and had opened his " Dental Parlors " on Polk
Street, an " accommodation street " of small shops
in the residence quarter of the town. Here he had
slowly collected a clientele of butcher boys, shop
girls, drug clerks, and car conductors. He made but
few acquaintances. Polk Street called him the
" Doctor " and spoke of his enormous strength. For
McTeague was a young giant, carrying his huge
shock of blond hair six feet three inches from the
ground; moving his immense limbs, heavy with
ropes of muscle, slowly, ponderously. His hands
were enormous, red, and covered with a fell of stiff
yellow hair; they were hard as wooden mallets,
strong as vises, the hands of the old-time car-boy.
Often he dispensed with forceps and extracted a re
fractory tooth with his thumb and finger. His head
was square-cut, angular; the jaw salient, like that of
the carnivora.

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

When he opened his " Dental Parlors," he felt
that his life was a success, that he could hope for
nothing better. In spite of the name, there was but

3

McTeague

one room. It was a corner room on the second floor
over the branch post-office, and faced the street.
McTeague made it do for a bedroom as well, sleep
ing on the big bed-lounge against the wall opposite
the window. There was a washstand behind the
screen in the corner where he manufactured his
moulds. In the round bay window were his oper
ating chair, his dental engine, and the movable rack
on which he laid out his instruments. Three chairs,
a bargain at the second-hand store, ranged them
selves against the wall with military precision un
derneath a steel engraving of the court of Lorenzo
de' Medici, which he had bought because there were
a great many figures in it for the money. Over the
bed-lounge hung a rifle manufacturer's advertise
ment calendar which he never used. The other
ornaments were a small marble-topped centre table
covered with back numbers of " The American Sys
tem of Dentistry," a stone pug dog sitting before
the little stove, and a thermometer. A stand of
shelves occupied one corner, filled with the seven
volumes of " Allen's Practical Dentist." On the top
shelf McTeague kept his concertina and a bag of
bird seed for the canary. The whole place exhaled
a mingled odor of bedding, creosote, and ether.

But for one thing, McTeague would have been
perfectly contented. Just outside his window was
his signboard — a modest affair — that read : " Doc
tor McTeague. Dental Parlors. Gas Given " ; but
that was all. It was his ambition, his dream, to
have projecting from that corner window a huge
gilded tooth, a molar with enormous prongs, some
thing gorgeous and attractive. He would have it

4

McTeague

some day, on that he was resolved; but as yet such
a thing was far beyond his means.

When he ihad finished the last of his beer, Mc
Teague slowly wiped his lips and huge yellow mus
tache with the side of his hand. Bull-like, he heaved
himself laboriously up, and, going to the window,
stood looking down into the street.

The street never failed to interest him. It was
one of those cross streets peculiar to Western cities,
situated in the heart of the residence quarter, but
occupied by small tradespeople who> lived in the
rooms above their shops. There were corner drug
stores with huge jars of red, yellow, and green
liquids in their windows, very brave and gay; sta
tioners' stores, where illustrated weeklies were
tacked upon bulletin boards; barber shops with
cigar stands in their vestibules; sad-looking plumb
ers' offices; cheap restaurants, in whose windows
one saw piles of unopened oysters weighted down
by cubes of ice, and china pigs and cows knee deep
in layers of white beans. At one end of the street
McTeague could see the huge power-house of the
cable line. Immediately opposite him was a great
market; while farther on, over the chimney stacks of
the intervening houses, the glass roof of some huge
public baths glittered like crystal in the afternoon
sun. Underneath him the branch post-office was
opening its doors, as was its custom between two
and three o'clock on Sunday afternoons. An acrid
odor of ink rose upward to him. Occasionally a
cable car passed, trundling heavily, with a strident
whirring of jostled glass windows.

On week days the street was very lively. It woke

5

McTeague

to its work about seven o'clock, at the time when
the newsboys made their appearance together with
the day laborers. The laborers went trudging- past
in a straggling file — plumbers' apprentices, their
pockets stuffed with sections of lead pipe, tweezers,
and pliers; carpenters, carrying nothing but their
little pasteboard lunch baskets painted to imitate
leather; gangs of street workers, their overalls soiled
with yellow clay, their picks and long-handled shov
els over their shoulders; plasterers, spotted with
lime from head to foot. This little army of workers,
tramping steadily in one direction, met and mingled
with other toilers of a different description — conduc
tors and " swing men " of the cable company going
on duty; heavy-eyed night clerks from the drug
stores on their way home to sleep; roundsmen re
turning to the precinct police station to make their
night report, and Chinese market gardeners teeter
ing past under their heavy baskets. The cable cars
began to fill up; all along the street could be seen
the shop keepers taking down their shutters.

Between seven and eight the street breakfasted.
Now and then a waiter from one of the cheap restau
rants crossed from one sidewalk to the other, bal
ancing on one palm a tray covered with a napkin.
Everywhere was the smell of coffee and of frying
steaks. A little later, following in the path of the
day laborers, came the clerks and shop girls, dressed
with a certain cheap smartness, always in a hurry,
glancing apprehensively at the power-house clock.
Their employers followed an hour or so later — on
the cable cars for the most part — whiskered gentle
men with huge stomachs, reading the morning

6

McTeague

papers with great gravity; bank cashiers and in
surance clerks with flowers in their buttonholes.

At the same time the school children invaded the
street, rilling the air with a clamor of shrill voices,
stopping at the stationers' shops, or idling a mo
ment in the doorways of the candy stores. For over
half an hour they held possession of the sidewalks,
then suddenly disappeared, leaving behind one or
two stragglers who hurried along with great strides
of their little thin legs, very anxious and preoccu
pied.

Towards eleven o'clock the ladies from the great
avenue a block above Polk Street made their ap
pearance, promenading the sidewalks leisurely, de
liberately. They were at their morning's marketing.
They were handsome women, beautifully dressed.
They knew by name their butchers and grocers and
vegetable men. From his window McTeague saw
them in front of the stalls, gloved and veiled and
daintily shod, the subservient provision-men at their
elbows, scribbling hastily in the order books. They
all seemed to know one another, these grand ladies
from the fashionable avenue. Meetings took place
here and there; a conversation was begun; others
arrived; groups were formed; little impromptu re
ceptions were held 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 mixed character. The street was busiest
at that time; a vast and prolonged murmur arose —
the mingled shuffling of feet, the rattle of wheels, the
heavy trundling of cable cars. At four o'clock the

7

McTeague

school children once more swarmed the sidewalks,
again disappearing with surprising suddenness. At
six the great homeward march commenced ; the cars
were crowded, the laborers thronged the sidewalks,
the newsboys chanted the evening papers. Then
all at once the street fell quiet; hardly a soul was in
sight; the sidewalks were deserted. It was supper
nour. Evening began; and one by one a multitude
of lights, from the demoniac glare of the druggists'
windows to the dazzling blue whiteness of the elec
tric globes, grew thick from street corner to street
corner. Once more the street was crowded. Now
there was no thought but for amusement. The
cable cars were loaded with theatre-goers — men in
high hats and young girls in furred opera cloaks.
On the sidewalks were groups and couples — the
plumbers' apprentices, the girls of the ribbon coun
ters, the little families that lived on the second sto
ries over their shops, the dressmakers, the small
doctors, the harness makers — all the various inhab
itants of the street were abroad, strolling idly from
shop window to shop window, taking the air after
the day's work. Groups of girls 'collected on the
corners, talking and laughing very loud, making
remarks upon the young men that passed them.
The tamale men appeared. A band of Salvationists
began to sing before a saloon.

Then, little by little, Polk Street dropped back to
solitude. Eleven o'clock struck from the power
house clock. Lights were extinguished. At one
o'clock the cable stopped, leaving an abrupt silence
in the air. All at once it seemed very still. The
only noises were the occasional footfalls of a police-

8

McTeague

man and the persistent calling of ducks and geese
in the closed market. The street was asleep.

Day after day, McTeague saw the same panorama
unroll itself. The bay window of his " Dental Par
lors " was for him a point of vantage from which he
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 the street, Mc
Teague was conscious of the difference. Nearly
all the stores were closed. No wagons passed. A few
people hurried up and down the sidewalks, dressed
in cheap Sunday finery. A cable car went by; on
the outside seats were a party of returning picnick
ers. The mother, the father, a young man, and a
young girl, and three children. The two older people
held empty lunch baskets in their laps, while the
bands of the children's hats were stuck full of oak
leaves. The girl carried a huge bunch of wilting
poppies and wild flowers.

As the car approached McTeague's window the
young man got up and swung himself off the plat
form, waving good-by to the party. Suddenly Mc
Teague recognized him.

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

Marcus Schouler was the dentist's one intimate
friend. The acquaintance had begun at the car con
ductors' coffee-joint, where the two occupied the
same table and met at every meal. Then they made
the discovery that they both lived in the same flat,
Marcus occupying a room on the floor above Mc
Teague. On different occasions McTeague had

9

McTeague

treated Marcus for an ulcerated tooth and had re
fused to accept payment. Soon it came to be an
understood thing between them. They were " pals."

McTeague, listening, heard Marcus go up-stairs
to his room above. In a few minutes his door
opened again. McTeague knew that he had come
out into the hall and was leaning over the banis
ters.

" 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 ex
plained as he sat down on 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! Just look at that! " he cried,
dragging at his limp collar. " That's the third one
since morning; it is — it is, for a fact — and you got
your stove going." He began to tell about the
picnic, talking very loud and fast, gesturing furi
ously, very excited over trivial details. Marcus
could not talk without getting excited.

" You ought t'have seen, y'ought t'have seen. I
tell you, it was outa sight. 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

10

McTeague

bicyclist, in which it appeared he had become in
volved, Marcus quivered with rage. " ' Say that
again/ says I to um. 'Just sav tnat once more,
and ' " — here a rolling explosion 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,
without being run down — what? ' I say it's outra
geous. I'd a knifed him in another 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 another tack. " It was awful. Trina
was in the swing there — that's my cousin Trina, you
know who I mean — and she fell out. By damn! I
thought she'd killed 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 a
fact. Ain't it, now? Huh? Ain't it? Y'ought
t'have seen."

McTe'ague had a vague idea that Marcus Schou-
ler was stuck on his cousin Trina. They " kept com
pany " a good deal; Marcus took dinner with the
Sieppes every Saturday evening at their home at
B Street station, across the bay, and Sunday after
noons he and the family usually made little excur
sions into the suburbs. McTeague began to wonder
dimly how it was that on this occasion Marcus had
not gone home with his cousin. As sometimes hap
pens, Marcus furnished the explanation upon the
instant.

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

ii

McTeague

Marcus was Old Grannis's assistant in a little dog
hospital that the latter had opened in a sort of alley
just off Polk Street, some four blocks above. Old
Grannis lived in one of the back rooms of Me-
Teague's flat. He was an Englishman and an ex
pert dog surgeon, but Marcus Schouler was a bun
gler in the profession. His father had been a veteri
nary surgeon who had kept a livery stable near by,
on California Street, and Marcus's knowledge of the
diseases of domestic animals had been picked up in
a haphazard way, much after the manner of Mc-
Teague's education. Somehow he managed to im
press Old Grannis, a gentle, simple-minded old
man, with a sense of his fitness, bewildering him
with a torrent of empty phrases that he delivered
with fierce gestures and with a manner of the great
est conviction.

" You'd better come along with me, Mac," ob
served Marcus. " We'll get the duck's dog, and
then we'll take a little walk, huh? You got nothun
to do. Come along."

McTeague went out with him, and the two friends
proceeded up to the avenue to the house where
the dog was to be found. It was a huge mansion-
like place, set in an enormous garden that occupied
a whole third of the block; and while Marcus
tramped up the front steps and rang the doorbell
boldly, to show his independence, McTeague re
mained below on the sidewalk, gazing stupidly at
the curtained windows, the marble steps, and the
bronze griffins, troubled and a little confused by all
this massive luxury.

After they had taken the dog to the hospital and

12

McTeague

had left him to whimper behind the wire netting-,
they returned to Polk Street and had a glass of beer
in the back room of Joe Frenna's corner grocery.

Ever since they had left the huge mansion on the
avenue, Marcus had been attacking the capitalists,
a class which he pretended to execrate. It was a
pose which he often assumed, certain of impressing
the dentist. Marcus had picked up a few half-
truths of political economy — it was impossible to
say where — and as soon as the two had settled
themselves to their beer in Frenna's back room he
took up the theme of the labor question. He dis
cussed it at the top of his voice, vociferating, shak
ing his fists, exciting himself with his own noise.
He was continually making use of the stock phrases
of the professional politician — phrases he had
caught at some of the ward " rallies " and " ratifica
tion meetings." These rolled off his tongue with
incredible emphasis, appearing at every turn of his
conversation — " Outraged constituencies," " cause
of labor," " wage earners," " opinions biased by per
sonal interests," " eyes blinded by party prejudice."
McTeague listened to him, awe-struck.

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

Absolutely stupid, and understanding never a
word, McTeague would answer:

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

" It's the capitalists that's ruining the cause of
13

McTeague

labor/' shouted Marcus, banging the table with his
fist till the beer glasses danced; " white-livered
drones, traitors, with their livers white as snow,
eatun the 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 that tooth of her's. She'll be in
to-morrow, I guess."

II.

After his breakfast the following Monday morn
ing, McTeague looked over the appointments he
had written down in the book-slate that hung
against the screen. His writing was immense,
very clumsy, and very round, with huge, full-bellied
1's and h's. He saw that he had made an appoint
ment at one o'clock for Miss Baker, the retired
dressmaker, a little old maid who had a tiny room
a few doors down the hall. It adjoined that of Old
Grannis.

Quite an affair had arisen from this circumstance.
Miss Baker and Old Grannis were both over sixty,
and yet it was current talk amongst the lodgers of
the flat that the two were in love with each other.
Singularly enough, they were not even acquaint
ances; never a word had passed between them. At
intervals they met on the stairway; he on his way to
his little dog hospital, she returning from a bit of
marketing in the street. At such times they passed
each other with averted eyes, pretending a certain
preoccupation, suddenly seized with a great embar
rassment, the timidity of a second childhood. He
went on about his business, disturbed and thought
ful. She hurried up to her tiny room, her carious
little false curls shaking with her agitation, the
faintest suggestion of a flush coming and going in
her withered cheeks. The emotion of one of these

McTeague

chance meetings remained with them during all the
rest of the day.

Was it the first romance in the lives of each? Did
Old Grannis ever remember a certain face amongst
those that he had known when he was young Gran
nis — the face of some pale-haired girl, such as one
sees in the old cathedral towns of England? Did
Miss Baker still treasure up in a seldom opened
drawer or box some faded daguerreotype, some
strange old-fashioned likeness, with its curling hair
and high stock? It was impossible to say.

Maria Macapa, the Mexican woman who took
care of the lodgers' rooms, had been the first to
call the flat's attention to the affair, spreading the
news of it from room to room, from floor to floor.
Of late she had made a great discovery; all the
women folk of the flat were yet vibrant with it.
Old Grannis came home from his work at four
o'clock, and between that time and six Miss Baker
would sit in her room, her hands idle in her lap,
doing nothing, listening, waiting. Old Grannis did
the same, drawing his armchair near to the wall,
knowing that Miss Baker was upon the other side,
conscious, perhaps, that she was thinking of him;
and there the two would sit through the hours of
the afternoon, listening and waiting, they did not
know exactly for what, but near to each other,
separated only by the thin partition of their rooms.
They had come to know each other's habits. Old
Grannis knew that at quarter of five precisely Miss
Baker made a cup of tea over the oil stove on the
stand between the bureau and the window. Miss
Baker felt instinctively the exact moment when Old

16

McTeague

Grannis took down his little binding apparatus from
the second shelf of his clothes closet and began his
favorite occupation of binding1 pamphlets — pam
phlets that he never read, for all that.

In his " Parlors " McTeague began his week's
work. He glanced in the glass saucer in which he
kept his sponge-gold, and noticing that he had used
up all his pellets, set about making some more. In
examining Miss Baker's teeth at the preliminary
sitting he had found a cavity in one of 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 suffi
cient room to fill with large pieces of gold. He
told himself that he should have to use " mats " in
the filling. He made some dozen of these " mats "
from his tape of non-cohesive gold, cutting it trans
versely into small pieces that could be inserted edge
wise between the teeth and consolidated by packing.
After he had made his " mats " he continued with
the other kind of gold fillings, such as he would
have occasion to use during the week; " blocks " to
be used in large proximal cavities, made by folding
the tape on itself a number of times and then shap
ing it with the soldering pliers; "cylinders" for com
mencing fillings, which he formed by rolling the
tape around a needle called a " broach," cutting it
afterwards into different lengths. He worked slowly,
mechanically, turning the foil between his fingers
with the manual dexterity that one sometimes sees
in stupid persons. His head was quite empty of all
thought, and he did not whistle over his work as
another man might have done. The canary made
2 17

McTeague

up for his silence, trilling and chittering continually,
splashing about in its morning bath, keeping up an
incessant noise and movement that would have been
maddening 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 of piano wire to replace an old
one that he had lost. It was time for his dinner
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 Old Grannis to anybody that
would listen, quite unconscious of the gossip of the
flat. McTeague found her all a-flutter with ex
citement. Something extraordinary had happened.
She had found out that the wall-paper in Old Gran-
nis's room was the same as that in hers.

" It has led me to thinking, Doctor McTeague,"
she exclaimed, shaking her little false curls at him.
" You know my room is so small, anyhow, and the
wall-paper being the same — the pattern from my
room continues right into his — I declare, I believe
at one time that was all one room. Think of it, do
you suppose it was? It almost amounts to our oo>
cupying the same room. I don't know — why, really
— do you think I should speak to the landlady 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 reasons for his not coming
to the title; his stepfather wronged him cruelly."

No one had ever said such a thing. It was pre
posterous to imagine any mystery connected with
Old Grannis. Miss Baker had chosen to invent the

18

McTeague

little fiction, had created the title and the unjust
stepfather from some dim memories of the novels
of her girlhood.

She took her place in the operating chair. Mc
Teague began the filling. There wa's a long silence.
It was impossible for McTeague to work and talk
at the same time.

He was just burnishing the last " mat " in Miss
Baker's tooth, when the door of the " Parlors "
opened, jangling the bell which he had hung over
it, and which was absolutely unnecessary. Mc
Teague turned, one foot on the pedal of his dental
engine, the corundum disk whirling between his
fingers.

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

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

McTeague nodded his head gravely.

" In a minute," he answered.

Marcus and his cousin Trina sat down in the rigid
chairs underneath the steel engraving of the Court
of Lorenzo de' Medici. They began talking in low
tones. The girl looked about the room, noticing
the stone pug dog, the rifle manufacturer's calen
dar, the canary in its little gilt prison, and the tum
bled blankets on the unmade bed-lounge against the
wall. Marcus began telling her about McTeague.
" We're pals," he explained, just above a whisper.
"Ah, Mac's all right, you bet. Say, Trina, he's the
strongest duck you ever saw. What do you sup
pose? He can pull out your teeth with his fingers;
yes, he can. What do you think of that? With his

19

McTeague

fingers, mind you ; he can, for a fact. Get on to the
size of him, anyhow. Ah, Mac's all right 1 "

Maria M'acapa had come into the room while he
had been speaking. She was making up Mc-
Teague'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 / don't know, she's queer. Y'ought to hear her
go on about a gold dinner service she says her folks
used to own. Ask her what her name is and see
what she'll say." Trina shrank back, a little fright
ened.

" No, you ask," she whispered.

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

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

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

" Workun hard nowadays, Maria? "

" Pretty hard."

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

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

20

McTeague

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

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

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

" Tell us your name," repeated Marcus.

" Name is Maria — Miranda — Macapa." Then,
after a pause, she added, as though 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 would talk about the famous
service of gold plate, but a question as to her name
never failed to elicit the same strange answer, de
livered in a rapid undertone: " Name is Maria —
Miranda — Macapa." Then, as if struck with an
after thought, " Had a flying squirrel an' let him

go."

Why Maria should associate the release of the
mythical squirrel with her name could not be said.
About Maria the flat knew absolutely nothing
further than that she was Spanish- American. Miss
Baker was the oldest lodger in the flat, and Maria
was a fixture there as maid of all work when she had
come. There was a legend to the effect that Maria's
people had been at one time immensely wealthy in
Central America.

Maria turned again to her work. Trina and Mar
cus watched her curiously. There was a silence.
The corundum burr in McTeague's engine hummed
in a prolonged monotone. The canary bird chit-
tered occasionally. The room was warm, and the

21

McTeague

breathing of the five people in the narrow space
made the air close and thick. At long intervals an
acrid odor of ink floated up from the branch post-
office immediately below.

Maria Macapa finished her work and started to
leave. As she passed near Marcus and his cousin
she stopped, and drew a bunch of blue tickets fur
tively from her pocket. " Buy a ticket in the lot
tery?" she inquired, looking at the girl. "Just a
dollar."

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

" Buy a ticket," urged Maria, thrusting the bun
dle toward Trina. " Try your luck. The butcher on
the next block won twenty dollars the last draw-
ing."

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 and disturbed because he
had not bought the ticket for Trina.

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

" 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 had gone
out, Marcus Schouler brought Trina forward.

" Say, Mac, this is my cousin, Trina Sieppe." The
two shook hands dumbly, McTeague slowly nod
ding his huge head with its great shock of yellow
hair. Trina was very small and prettily made. Her
face was round and rather pale; her eyes long and

22

McTeague

narrow and blue, like the half-open eyes of a little
baby; her lips and the lobes of her tiny ears were
pale, a little suggestive of anaemia; while across
the bridge of her nose ran an adorable little line of
freckles. But it was to her hair that one's attention
was most attracted. Heaps and heaps of blue-black
coils and braids, a royal crown of swarthy bands,
a veritable sable tiara, heavy, abundant, odorous.
All the vitality that should have given color to her
face seemed to have been absorbed by this mar
vellous hair. It was the coiffure of a queen that
shadowed the pale temples of this little bourgeoise.
So heavy was it that it tipped her head backward,
and the position thrust her chin out a little. It was
a charming poise, innocent, confiding, almost in
fantile.

She was dressed all in black, very modest and
plain. The effect of her pale face in all this con
trasting 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 dis
turbed and perplexed him. He did not like them,
obstinately cherishing that intuitive suspicion of all
things feminine — the perverse dislike of an over
grown boy. On the other hand, she was perfectly
at her ease; doubtless the woman in her was not yet
awakened; she was yet, as one might say, without
sex. She was almost like a boy, frank, candid, un
reserved.

She took her place in the operating chair and told
23

McTeague

him what was the matter, looking squarely into his
face. She had fallen out of a swing the afternoon
of the preceding day; one of her teeth had been
knocked loose and the other altogether broken out.

McTeague listened to her with apparent stolidity,
nodding his head from time to time as she spoke.
The keenness of his dislike of her as a woman began
to be blunted. He thought she was rather pretty,
that he even liked her because she was so small, so
prettily made, so good natured and straightforward.

" Let's have a look at your teeth/' he said, pick
ing up his mirror. " You better take your hat off."
She leaned back in her chair and opened her mouth,
showing the rows of little round teeth, as white and
even as the kernels on an ear of green corn, except
where an ugly gap came at the side.

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

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

" Well," answered McTeague, slowly, looking
vaguely about on the floor of the room, " the roots
of the broken tooth are still in the gum ; they'll have
to come out, and I guess I'll have to pull that other
bicuspid. Let me look again. Yes," he went on in
a moment, peering into her mouth with the mirror,
" I guess that'll have to come out, too." The tooth
was loose, discolored, and evidently dead. " It's a
curious case," McTeague went on. " I don't know
as I ever had a tooth like that before. It's what's

24

McTeague

called necrosis. It don't often happen. It'll have
to come out sure."

Then a discussion was opened on the subject,
Trina sitting up in the chair, holding her hat in her
lap; McTeague leaning against the window frame,
his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering about
on the floor. Trina did not want the other tooth re
moved ; one hole like that was bad enough ; but two
— ah, no, it was not to be thought of.

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

McTeague began to like her better and better,
and after a while commenced himself to feel that
it would be a pity to disfigure such a pretty mouth.
He became interested; perhaps he could do some
thing, 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 very
carefully, really desiring to remedy the blemish.

It was the first bicuspid that was missing, and
though part of the root of the second (the loose one)
would remain after its extraction, he was sure it
would not be strong enough to sustain a crown. All
at once he grew obstinate, resolving, with all the
strength of a crude and primitive man, to conquer
the difficulty in spite of everything. He turned over
in his mind the technicalities of the case. No, evi
dently the root was not strong enough to sustain a
crown ; besides that, it was placed a little irregularly
in the arch. But, fortunately, there were cavities in

25

McTeague

the two teeth on either side of the gap — one in the
first molar and one in the palatine surface of the
cuspid; might he not drill a socket in the remain
ing root and sockets in the molar and cuspid, and,
partly by bridging, partly by crowning, fill in the
gap? He made up his mind to do it. ,

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

It was the most difficult operation he had ever
performed. He bungled it considerably, but in the
end he succeeded passably well. He extracted the
loose tooth with his bayonet forceps and prepared
the roots of the broken one as if for filling, fitting
into them a flattened piece of platinum 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 where
he could work and talk to her at the same time — a
thing that had never before been possible for him.

Never until then had McTeague become so well
acquainted with a girl of Trina's age. The younger
women of Polk Street — the shop girls, the young
women of the soda fountains, the waitresses in the
cheap restaurants — preferred another dentist, a
young fellow just graduated from the college, a

26

McTeague

poser, a rider of bicycles, a man about town, who
wore astonishing waistcoats and bet money on
greyhound coursing. Trina was McTeague's first
experience. With her the feminine element sud
denly entered 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 and alluring,
that he seemed to have discovered. How had he
ignored it so long? It was dazzling, delicious,
charming beyond all words. His narrow point of
view was at once enlarged and confused, and all at
once he saw that there was something else in life
besides concertinas and steam beer. Everything
had to be made over again. His whole rude idea
of life had to be changed. The male virile desire
in him tardily awakened, aroused itself, strong and
brutal. It was resistless, untrained, a thing not to
be held in leash an instant.

Little by little, by gradual, almost imperceptible
degrees, the thought of Trina Sieppe occupied his
mind from day to day, from hour to hour. He
found himself thinking of her constantly; at every
instant he saw her round, pale face; her narrow,
milk-blue eyes; her little out-thrust chin; her heavy,
huge tiara of black hair. At night he lay awake for
hours under the thick blankets of the bed-lounge,
staring upward into the darkness, tormented with
the idea of her, exasperated at the delicate, subtle
mesh in wThich he found himself entangled. During
the forenoons, while he went about his work, he
thought of her. As he made his plaster-of-paris
moulds at the washstand in the corner behind the
screen he turned over in his mind all that had hap-

27

McTeague

pened, all that had been said at the previous sitting.
Her little tooth that he had extracted 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 ele
phantine sentiment, wagging his head at it, heav
ing tremendous sighs. What a folly!

At two o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sat
urdays Trina arrived and took her place in the op
erating chair. While at his work McTeague was
every minute obliged to bend closely over her; his
hands touched her face, her cheeks, her adorable
little chin; her lips pressed against his fingers. She
breathed warmly on his forehead and on his eyelids,
while the odor of her hair, a charming feminine per
fume, sweet, heavy, enervating, came to his nostrils,
so penetrating, so delicious, that his flesh pricked
and tingled with it; a veritable sensation of faintness
passed over this huge, callous fellow, with his enor
mous bones and corded muscles. He drew a short
breath through his nose; his jaws suddenly gripped
together vise-like.

But this was only at times — a strange, vexing
spasm, that subsided almost immediately. For the
most part, McTeague enjoyed the pleasure of these
sittings with Trina with a certain strong calmness,
blindly happy that she was there. This poor crude
dentist of Polk Street, stupid, ignorant, vulgar, with
his sham education and plebeian tastes, whose only
relaxations were to eat, to drink steam beer, and to
play upon his concertina, was living through his first
romance, 'his first idyl. It was delightful. The long
hours he passed alone with Trina in the " Dental

28

McTeague

Parlors," silent, only for the scraping of the instru
ments and the purring of bud-burrs in the engine,
in the foul atmosphere, overheated by the little stove
and heavy with the smell of ether, creosote, and
stale bedding, had all the charm of secret appoint
ments and stolen meetings under the moon.

By degrees the operation progressed. One day,
just after McTeague had put in the temporary
gutta-percha fillings and nothing more could be
done at that sitting, Trina asked him to examine the
rest of her teeth. They were perfect, with one ex
ception — a spot of white caries on the lateral sur
face of an incisor. McTeague filled it with gold, en
larging the cavity with hard-bits and hoe-excavat
ors, and burring in afterward with half-cone burrs.
The cavity was deep, and Trina began to wince and
moan. To hurt Trina was a positive anguish for
McTeague, yet an anguish which he was obliged to
endure at every hour of the sitting. It was harrow
ing — he sweated under it — to be forced to torture
her, of all women in the world; could anything be
worse than that?

" Hurt? " he inquired, anxiously.

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

He put the sponge a half dozen times to Trina's
face, more nervous than he had ever been before,

29

McTeague

watching the symptoms closely. Her breathing be
came short and irregular; there was a slight twitch
ing of the muscles. When her thumbs turned in
ward toward the palms, he took the sponge away.
She passed off very quickly, and, with a long sigh,
sank back into the chair.

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
as she lay there, unconscious and helpless, and very
pretty. He was alone with her, and she was abso
lutely without defense.

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

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

Dizzied and bewildered with the shock, the like
30

McTeague

of which he had never known before, McTeague
turned from Trina, gazing bewilderedly about the
room. The struggle was bitter; his teeth ground
themselves together with a little rasping sound; the
blood sang in his ears; his face flushed scarlet; his
hands twisted themselves together like the knotting
of cables. The fury in him was as the fury of a
young bull in the heat of high 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 be able to care for Trina again.
She would never be the same to 'him, never so
radiant, so sweet, so adorable; her charm for him
would vanish in an instant. Across her forehead,
her little pale forehead, under the shadow of her
royal hair, he would surely see the smudge of a
foul ordure, the footprint of the monster. It would
be a sacrilege, an abomination. He recoiled 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 near to her again, the charm of
her innocence and helplessness came over him
afresh. It was a final protest against his resolution.
Suddenly he leaned over and kissed her, grossly,
full on the mouth. The thing was done before he
knew it. Terrified at his weakness at the very mo
ment he believed himself strong, he threw himself
once more into his work with desperate energy. By
the time he was fastening the sheet of rubber upon
the tooth, he had himself once more in hand. He

31

McTeague

was disturbed, still trembling, still vibrating with the
throes of the crisis, but he was the master; the
animal was downed, was cowed for this time, at
least.

But for all that, the brute was there. Long dor
mant, it was now at last alive, awake. From now
on he would feel its presence continually; would feel
it tugging at its chain, watching its opportunity.
Ah, the pity of it! Why could he not always love
her purely, cleanly? What was this perverse,
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 of hereditary evil, like a sewer.
The vices and sins of his father and of his father's
father, to the third and fourth and five hundredth
generation, 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, as sooner or later it faces every
child of man; but its significance was not for him.
To reason with it was beyond him. He could only
oppose to it an instinctive stubborn resistance, blind,
inert.

McTeague went on with his work. As he was
rapping in the little blocks and cylinders with the
mallet, Trina slowly came back to herself with a
long 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 the hardwood mal
let. By and by she said, " I never felt a thing," and
then she smiled at him very prettily beneath the

32

McTeague

rubber dam. McTeague turned to her suddenly, his
mallet in one hand, his pliers holding a pellet of
sponge-gold in the other. All at once he said, with
the unreasoned simplicity and directness of a child:
" Listen here, Miss Trina, I like you better than any
one else; what's the matter with us getting mar
ried?"

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 muffled beneath the rubber.

" Will you? " repeated McTeague.

" No, no," she exclaimed, refusing without know
ing why, suddenly seized with a fear of him, the in
tuitive feminine fear of the male. McTeague could
only repeat the same thing over and over again.
Trina, more and more frightened at his huge hands
— the hands of the old-time car-boy — his immense
square-cut head and his enormous brute strength,
cried out: " No, no," behind the rubber dam, shak
ing her head violently, holding out her hands, and
shrinking down before him in the operating chair.
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 unusual after
effect of the ether, aided now by her excitement and
nervousness. McTeague was checked. He poured
some bromide of potassium into a graduated glass
and held it to her lips.

" Here, swallow this," he said.
3 33

III.

Once every two months Maria Macapa set the en
tire flat in commotion. She roamed the building
from garret to cellar, searching each corner, ferret
ing through every old box and trunk and barrel,
groping about on the top shelves of closets, peering
into ragbags, exasperating the lodgers with her
persistence and importunity. She was collecting
junks, bits of iron, stone jugs, glass bottles, old sacks,
and cast-off garments. 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 just back
of the flat, and who sometimes paid her as much
as three cents a pound. The stone jugs, how
ever, were worth a nickel. The money that Zerkow
paid her, Maria spent on shirt waists and dotted blue
neckties, trying to dress like the girls who tended
the soda-water fountain in the candy 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 had their '' young men."

On this occasion she presented herself at the door
of Old Grannis's room late in the afternoon. His
door stood a little open. That of Miss Baker was
ajar a few inches. The two old people were " keep
ing company " after their fashion.

"Got any junk, Mister Grannis?" inquired Maria,
standing in the door, a very dirty, half-filled pillow
case over one arm.

34

McTeague

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

He sat in the middle of the room before a small
pine table. His little binding apparatus was before"
him. In his fingers was a huge upholsterer's needle
threaded with twine, a brad-awl lay at his elbow,
on the floor beside him was a great pile of pam
phlets, the pages uncut. Old Grannis bought the
" Nation " and the " Breeder and Sportsman." In
the latter he occasionally found articles on dogs
which interested him. The former he seldom read.
He could not afford to subscribe regularly to either
of the publications, but purchased their back num
bers by the score, almost solely for the pleasure he
took in binding them.

" What you alus sewing up them books for, Mis
ter Grannis?" asked Maria, as she began rummag
ing about in Old Grannis's closet shelves. " There's
just 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'm sure I can't quite say;
a little 'habit, you know; a diversion, a — a — it oc
cupies 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 closet with it in her hand. " The
handle's cracked; you don't want it; better give me
it"

Old Grannis did want the pitcher; true, he never
35

McTeague

used it now, but he had kept it a long time, and
somehow he held to it as old people hold to triv
ial, 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 were gone.

" Why, what's the good of it? " persisted Maria.
He could give no sufficient answer. " That's all
right," she asserted, carrying the pitcher out.

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

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

" Now, Maria," she said plaintively, " you are al
ways after junk; you know I never have anything
laying 'round like that."

It was true. The retired dressmaker's tiny room
was a marvel of neatness, from the little red table,
with its three Gorham spoons laid in exact parallels,
to the decorous geraniums and mignonettes grow
ing in the starch box at the window, underneath the
fish globe with its one venerable gold fish. That
day Miss Baker had been doing a bit of washing;

36

McTeague

two pocket handkerchiefs, still moist, adhered to
the window panes, drying in the sun.

" Oh, I guess you got something you don't want,"
Maria went on, peering into 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 a quiver of confusion. Every word spoken
aloud could be perfectly heard in the next room.
What a stupid drab was this Maria ! Could anything
be more trying than this position?

"Ain't that right, Mister Grannis? " called Maria;
" didn't you gi' me this pitcher? " Old Grannis af
fected not to hear; perspiration stood on his fore
head; his timidity overcame him as if he were a ten-
year-old schoolboy. He half rose from his chair,
his fingers dancing nervously upon his chin.

Maria opened Miss Baker's closet unconcernedly.
" What's the matter with these old shoes? " she ex
claimed, turning about with a pair of half-worn silk
gaiters in her hand. They were by no means old
enough to throw away, but Miss Baker was almost
beside herself. There was no telling what might
happen next. Her only thought was to be rid of
Maria.

u Yes, yes, anything. You can have them ; but
go, go. There's nothing else, not a thing."

Maria went out into the hall, leaving Miss Baker's
door wide open, as if maliciously. She had left the
dirty pillow-case on the floor in the hall, and she
stood outside, between the two open doors, stowing
away the old pitcher and the half-worn silk shoes.
She made remarks at the top of her voice, calling
now to Miss Baker, now to Old Grannis. In a way

37

McTeague

she brought the two old people face to face. Each
time they were forced to answer her questions it
was as if they were talking directly to 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't want,
have you? You two people have less junk than any
one else in the flat. How do you manage, Mister
Grannis? You old bachelors are just like old maids,
just as neat as pins. You two are just alike — you
and Mister Grannis — ain't you, Miss Baker? "

Nothing could have been more horribly con
strained, more awkward. The two old people suf
fered veritable torture. When Maria had gone, each
heaved a sigh of unspeakable relief. Softly they
pushed to their doors, leaving open a space of half
a dozen inches. Old Grannis went back to his bind
ing. Miss Baker brewed a cup of tea to quiet her
nerves. Each tried to regain their composure, but
in vain. Old Grannis's fingers trembled so that he
pricked them with his needle. Miss Baker dropped
her spoon twice. 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 paid Marcus Schouler a visit
early that morning before he had gone out. Mar
cus 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 positive persecution. Every
day his privacy was invaded. He would complain
to the landlady, he would. He'd move out of the
place." In the end he had given Maria seven empty

38

McTeague

whiskey flasks, an iron grate, and ten cents — the lat
ter 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 ly
ing on the bed-lounge in his stocking feet, doing
nothing apparently, gazing up at the ceiling, lost in
thought.

Since he had spoken to Trina Sieppe, ask
ing her so abruptly to marry him, McTeague had
passed a week of torment. For him there was no
going back. It was Trina now, and none other. It
was all one with him that his best friend, Marcus,
might be in love with the same girl. He must have
Trina in spite of everything; he would have her
even in spite of herself. He did not stop to reflect
about the matter; he followed his desire blindly,
recklessly, furious and raging at every obstacle.
And she had cried " No, no! " back at him; he could
not forget that. She, so small and pale and delicate,
had held him at bay, who was so huge, so im
mensely strong.

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

But the memory of her was with him constantly.
Night after night he lay broad awake thinking of
Trina, wondering about her, racked with the in-

39

McTeague

finite desire of her. His head burnt and throbbed.
The palms of his hands were dry. He dozed and
woke, and walked aimlessly about the dark room,
bruising himself against the three chairs drawn up
" at attention " under the steel engraving, and
stumbling over the stone pug dog that sat in front
of the little stove.

Besides this, the jealousy of Marcus Schouler har
assed him. Maria Macapa, coming into his " Par
lor " to ask for junk, found him flung at length upon
the bed-lounge, gnawing at his fingers in an excess
of silent fury. At lunch that day Marcus had told
him of an excursion that was planned for the next
Sunday afternoon. Mr. Sieppe, Trina's father, be
longed to a rifle club that was to hold a meet at
Schuetzen Park across the bay. All the Sieppes
were going; there was to be a basket picnic. Mar
cus, as usual, was invited to be one of the party.
McTeague was in agony. It was his first expe
rience, and he suffered all the worse for it because
he was totally unprepared. What miserable com
plication was this in which he found himself in
volved? It seemed so simple to him since he loved
Trina to take her straight to himself, stopping at
nothing, asking no questions, to have her, and by
main strength to carry her far away somewhere, he
did not know exactly where, to some vague coun
try, some undiscovered place where every day was
Sunday.

"Got any junk?"

"Huh? What? What is it?" exclaimed Mc
Teague, suddenly rousing up from the lounge.
Often Maria did very well in the " Dental Parlors."
40

McTeague

McTeague was continually breaking things which
he was too stupid to have mended; for him any
thing that was broken was lost. Now it was a cus
pidor, now a fire-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 about the room, Mc
Teague following her in his huge stockinged feet.
All at once she pounced upon a sheaf of old hand
instruments in a coverless cigar-box, pluggers, hard
bits, and excavators. Maria had long coveted such
a find in McTeague's " Parlor," knowing it should
be somewhere about. The instruments were of the
finest tempered steel and really valuable.

"Say, Doctor, I can have these, can't I?" ex
claimed Maria. " You got no more^ use for them."
McTeague was not at all sure of this. There were
many in the sheaf that might be repaired, reshaped.

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

11 Yes, all right, all right," he said, trying to make
himself heard. " It would be mean. I don't want
'em." As he turned from her to pick up the box,
Maria took advantage of the moment to steal three

41

McTeague

" mats " of sponge-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 there
was 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 was cleaned of its junk from top
to bottom. The dirty pillow-case was full to burst
ing. She took advantage of the supper hour to
carry her bundle around the corner and up into the
alley where Zerkow lived.

When Maria entered his shop, Zerkow had just
come in from his daily rounds. His decrepit wagon
stood in front of his door like a stranded wreck; the
miserable horse, with its lamentable swollen joints,
fed greedily 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 all manner of choking odors. On the
walls, on the floor, and hanging from the rafters
was a world of debris, dust-blackened, rust-cor
roded. Everything was there, every trade was rep
resented, every class of society; things of iron and
cloth and wood; all the detritus that a great city
sloughs off in its daily life. Zerkow's junk shop was
the last abiding-place, the almshouse, of such ar
ticles as had outlived their usefulness.

Maria found Zerkow himself in the back room,
cooking some sort of a meal over an alcohol stove.
Zerkow was a Polish Jew — curiously enough his
hair was fiery red. He was a dry, shrivelled old man
of sixty odd. He had the thin, eager, cat-like lips

42

McTeague

of the covetous ; eyes that had grown keen as those
of a lynx from long searching amidst muck and
debris; and claw-like, prehensile fingers — the ringers
of a man who* accumulates, but never disburses. It
was impossible to look at Zerkow and not know in
stantly that greed — inordinate, insatiable greed —
was the dominant passion of the man. He was the
Man with the Rake, groping hourly in the muck-
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 solid weight of the crude fat metal
in his palms. The glint of it was constantly in his
eyes; the jangle of it sang forever in his ears as
the jangling of cymbals.

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

" Oh, it's you again, is it? " he added, peering
through the gloom of the shop. " Let's see; you've
been here before, ain't you? You're the Mexican
woman 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 dis
missed 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-case was discussed and weighed and
disputed. They clamored into each other's faces

43

McTeague

over Old Grannis's cracked pitcher, over Miss Ba
ker's silk gaiters, over Marcus Schouler's whiskey
flasks, reaching the climax of disagreement when
it came to McTeague's instruments.

" Ah, no, no! " shouted Maria. " Fifteen cents for
the lot! I might as well make you a Christmas pres
ent! Besides, I got some gold fillings off him; look
at urn."

Zerkow drew a quick breath as the three pellets
suddenly flashed in Maria's palm. There it was, the
virgin metal, the pure, unalloyed ore, his dream, his
consuming desire. His fingers twitched and hooked
themselves 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 um back."

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

But Zerkow still had something to say. As Maria
folded up the pillow-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 down again.

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

Zerkow took down a whiskey bottle and a red

44

McTeague

glass tumbler with a broken base from a cupboard
on the wall. The two drank together, Zerkow from
the 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 me about the last time you were
here?"

" What gold dishes? " inquired Maria, puzzled.

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

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

" Tell us about it again," said Zerkow, his blood
less lower lip moving against the upper, his claw-
like fingers feeling about his mouth and chin.
" Tell us about it; go on."

He was breathing short, his limbs trembled a lit
tle. It was as if some hungry beast of prey had
scented a quarry. Maria still refused, putting up
her head, insisting that she had to be going.

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

" Well, it was this way," she began. "It was when
I was little. My folks must have been rich, oh, rich
into the millions — coffee, I guess — and there was a

45

McTeague

large house, but I can only remember the plate.
Oh, that service of plate! It was wonderful. There
were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of
them gold. You should have seen the sight when
the leather trunk was opened. It fair dazzled your
eyes. It was a yellow blaze like a fire, like a sun
set; such a glory, all piled up together, one piece
over the other. Why, if the room was dark you'd
think you could see just the same with all that glit
ter there. There wa'n't a piece that was so much
as scratched; every one was like a mirror, smooth
and bright, just like a little pool when the sun shines
into it. There was dinner dishes and soup tureens
and pitchers ; and great, big platters as long as that,
and wide too; and cream-jugs and bowls with
carved handles, all vines and things; and drinking
mugs, every one a different shape; and dishes for
gravy and sauces; and then a great, big punch-bowl
with a ladle, and the bowl was all carved out with
figures and bunches of 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 to look 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, shin
ing, pure gold, orange red — and when you struck it
with your knuckle, ah, you should have heard! No
church bell ever rang sweeter or clearer. It was
soft gold, too; you could bite into it, and leave the
dent of your teeth. 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! "

46

McTeague

Maria paused, shaking her head, thinking over
the vanished splendor. Illiterate enough, unimagi
native enough on all other subjects, her distorted
wits called up this picture with marvellous distinct
ness. It was plain she saw the plate clearly. Her
description was accurate, was almost eloquent.

Did that. wonderful service of gold plate ever exist
outside of her diseased imagination? Was Maria
actually remembering some reality of a childhood of
barbaric luxury? Were her parents at one time pos
sessed of an incalculable fortune derived from some
Central American coffee plantation, a fortune long
since confiscated by armies of insurrectionists, or
squandered in the support of revolutionary govern
ments?

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

But what misery Zerkow endured as he listened
to her tale! For he chose to believe it, forced him
self to believe it, lashed and harassed by a pitiless
greed that checked at no tale of treasure, however
preposterous. The story ravished him with delight.
He was near someone who had possessed this
wealth. He saw someone who had seen this pile
of gold. He seemed near it; it was there, some
where close by, under his eyes, under his fingers;
it was red, gleaming, ponderous. He gazed about
him wildly; nothing, nothing but the sordid junk

47

McTeague

shop and the rust-corroded tins. What exaspera
tion, what positive misery, to be so near 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 hopeless
ness of it, the rage, the fury of it.

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

Maria rose to go. Zerkow accompanied her to
the door, urging another drink 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 in
quired, anxiously.

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

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

" A million dollars," he muttered in his rasping,
guttural whisper, his finger-tips wandering over his
thin, cat-like lips. " A golden service worth a mil
lion dollars; a punch-bowl worth a fortune; red
gold plates, heaps and piles. God! "

IV.

The days passed. McTeague had finished the op
eration on Trina's teeth. She did not come any
more to the " Parlors." Matters had readjusted
themselves a little between the two during the last
sittings. Trina yet stood upon her reserve, and Mc
Teague still felt himself shambling and ungainly in
her presence; but that constraint and embarrass
ment that had followed upon McTeague's blunder
ing declaration broke up little by little. In spite of
themselves they were gradually resuming the same
relative positions they had occupied when they had
first met.

But McTeague suffered miserably for all that.
He never would have Trina, he saw that clearly.
She was too good for him ; too delicate, too refined,
too prettily made for him, who was so coarse, so
enormous, so stupid. She was for someone else —
Marcus, no doubt — or at least for some finer-
grained man. She should have gone to some other
dentist; the young fellow on the corner, for in
stance, the poser, the rider of bicycles, the courser
of greyhounds. McTeague began to loathe and to
envy this fellow. He spied upon him going in and
out of his office, and noted his salmon-pink neckties
and his astonishing waiscoa'ts.

One Sunday, a few days after Trina's last sitting,
McTeague met Marcus Schouler at his table in the
4 49

McTeague

car conductors' coffee-joint, next to the harness
shop.

" What you got to do this afternoon, Mac? " in
quired the other, as they ate their suet pudding.

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

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

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

They walked for upwards of five hours that after
noon, out the length of California Street, and across
the Presidio Reservation to the Golden Gate. Then
they turned, and, following the line of the shore,
brought up at the Cliff House. Here they halted
for beer, Marcus swear-ing that his mouth was as

50

McTeague

dry as a hay-bin. Before starting on their walk they
had gone around to the little dog hospital, and Mar
cus had let out four of the convalescents, crazed
with joy at the release.

"Look at that dog," he cried to McTeague,
showing him a finely-bred Irish 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 he had the distemper, and just threw
Jum away. Nothun wrong with 'um but a little
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 me on a dog. That dog's a winner."

At the Cliff House the two sat down to their beer
in a quiet corner of the billiard-room. There were
but two players. Somewhere in another part of the
building a mammoth music-box was janglirrg out a
quickstep. From outside came the long, rhythmical
rush of the surf and the sonorous barking of the
seals upon the seal rocks. The four dogs curled
themselves 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. For that
matter, the dentist had been silent and preoccupied
throughout the whole afternoon. At length Marcus
noticed it. As he set down his glass with a bang
he suddenly exclaimed:

McTeague

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

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

" Ah, rats! " returned the other. McTeague kept
silence. The two billiard players 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 can help you. We're pals, you
know. Better tell me what's up; guess we can
straighten ut out. Ah, go on; spit ut out."

The situation was abominable. McTeague could
not rise to it. Marcus was his best friend, his only
friend. They were " pals " and McTeague was very
fond of him. Yet they were both in love, presum
ably, with the same girl, and now Marcus would
try and force the secret out of him; would rush
blindly at the rock upon which the two must split,
stirred by the very best of motives, wishing only
to be of service. Besides this, there was nobody to
whom McTeague would have better preferred to
tell his troubles than to Marcus, and yet about this
trouble, the greatest trouble of his life, he must
keep silent; must refrain from speaking of it to
Marcus above everybody.

McTeague began dimly to feel that life was too
mudh for him. How had it all come about? A
month ago he was perfectly content; he was calm
and peaceful, taking his little pleasures as he found

52

McTeague

them. His life had shaped itself; was, no doubt, to
continue always along these same lines. A woman
had entered his small world and instantly there was
discord. The disturbing element had appeared.
Wherever the woman had put her foot a score of
distressing complications had sprung up, like the
sudden growth of strange and puzzling flowers.

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

" No," said McTeague, helplessly.

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

It was more than McTeague could bear. The sit
uation had got beyond him. Stupidly he spoke, his
hands deep in his pockets, his head rolled forward.

" It's— it's Miss Sieppe," he said.

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

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

" You mean," cried Marcus, suddenly enlight
ened, " 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 broke out:

" 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

53

McTeague

i
how it happened. It came on so slow that I was,

that — that — that it was done before I knew it, be
fore I could help myself. I know we're pals, us
two, and I knew how — how you and Miss Sieppe
were. I know now, I knew then ; but that wouldn't
have made any difference. Before I knew it — it —
it — there I was. I can't help it. I wouldn't 'a' had
ut happen for anything, if I could 'a' stopped it,
but I don' know, it's something that's just stronger
than you are, that's all. She came there — Miss
Sieppe came to the parlors there three or four times
a week, and she was the first girl I had ever known,
— and you don' know ! Why, I was so close to her
I touched her face every minute, and her mouth,
and smelt her hair and her breath — 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
flxed. I — I — it's been done; it's too late, there's no
going back. Why, I can't think of anything else
night and day. It's everything. It's — it's — oh, it's
everything! I — I — why, Mark, it's everything — I
can't explain." He made a 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, his enor
mous jaws shut together with a sharp click at every
pause. It was like 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 up and walked to the window
and stood looking out, but seeing nothing. " Well,

McTeague

who would have thought of this?" he muttered
under his breath. Here was a fix. Marcus cared for
Trina. There was no doubt in his mind about that.
He looked forward eagerly to the Sunday afternoon
excursions. He liked to be with Trina. He, too,
felt the charm of the little girl — the charm of the
small, pale forehead; the little chin thrust out as if
in confidence and innocence; the heavy, odorous
crown of black hair. He liked her immensely. Some
day he would speak; he would ask her to marry
him. Marcus put off this matter of marriage to some
future period; it would be some time — a year, per
haps, or two. The thing did not take definite shape
in his mind. Marcus " kept company " with his
cousin 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 of McTeague's
passion startled him. McTeague would marry Trina
that very afternoon 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. He could say — yes, he could say — he loved
her. She was his " girl." The Sieppes acknowl
edged him as Trina's " young man." Marcus came
back to the table 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* want anything to — to come be
tween us, Mark."

"Well, nothun will, you bet!" vociferated the
other. " No, sir; you bet not, Mac."

Marcus was thinking hard. He could see very

55

McTeague

clearly that McTeague loved Trina more than he
did; that in some strange way this huge, brutal fel
low was capable of a greater passion than himself,
who was twice as clever. 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'll give her
Up to you, old man."

The sense of his own magnanimity all at once
overcame Marcus. He saw himself as another man,
very noble, self-sacrificing; he stood apart and
watched this second self with boundless admiration
and with infinite pity. He was so good, so mag
nificent, so heroic, that he almost sobbed. Marcus
made a sweeping gesture of resignation, throwing
out both his arms, crying:

" Mac, I'll give her up to you. I won't stand be
tween you." There were actually tears in Marcus's
eyes as he spoke. There was no doubt he thought
himself sincere. At that moment he almost believed
he loved Trina conscientiously, that he was sacrific
ing himself for the sake of his friend. The two stood
up and faced each other, gripping hands. It was
a great moment; even McTeague felt the drama of
it. What a fine thing was this friendship between
men ! The dentist treats his friend for an ulcerated
tooth and refuses payment; the friend reciprocates
by giving up his girl. This was nobility. Their
mutual affection and esteem suddenly increased
enormously. It was Damon and Pythias; it was
David and Jonathan; nothing could ever estrange
them. Now it was for life or death.

56

McTeague

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

" That's all right, that's all right," returned Mar
cus Schouler, bravely, and it occurred to him to
add, " You'll be happy together. Tell her for me — -

tell her — tell her " Marcus could not go on.

He wrung the dentist'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 he saw
an end to all 'his difficulties. Everything would
come right, after all. The strained, exalted state ot
Marcus's nerves ended by putting him into fine
humor as well. His grief suddenly changed to an
excess of gaiety. The afternoon was a success.
They slapped each other on the back with great
blows of the open palms, and they drank each
other's health in a third round of beer.

Ten minutes after his renunciation of Trina
Sieppe, Marcus astounded McTeague with a tre
mendous feat.

' " Looka here, Mac. I know somethun you can't
do. I'll bet you two bits I'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 a moment in front of his face, then
with a sudden, horrifying distension of his jaws
crammed it into his mouth, and shut his lips over it.

For an instant McTeague was stupefied, his eyes
bulging. Then an enormous laugh shook him. He
roared and shouted, swaying in his chair, slapping
his knee. What a josher was this Marcus!

57

McTeague

Sure, you never could tell what he would do next.
Marcus slipped the ball out, wiped it on the table
cloth, and passed it to McTeague.

" Now let's see you do it."

McTeague fell suddenly grave. The matter was
serious. He parted his thick mustaches and opened
his enormous jaws like an anaconda. The ball dis
appeared inside his mouth. Marcus applauded vo
ciferously, shouting, "Good work!" McTeague
reached for the money and put it in his vest pocket,
nodding his head with a knowing air.

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

It was terrible. The dentist rose to> his feet,
stumbling about among the dogs, his face working,
his eyes starting. Try as he would, he could not
stretch his jaws wide enough to slip the ball out.
Marcus lost his wits, swearing at the top of his
voice. McTeague sweated with terror; inarticulate
sounds came from his crammed mouth; he waved
his arms wildly; all the four dogs caught the ex
citement and began to bark. A waiter rushed in,
the two billiard players returned, a little crowd
formed. There was a veritable scene.

All at once the ball slipped out of McTeague' s
jaws as easily as it had gone 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 group to drink with him.

58

McTeague

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

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

" What you going to do about this — about that —
about — about my cousin now, Mac? " inquired Mar
cus.

McTeague shook his head helplessly. It was
dark by now and cold. The little back yard was
grimy and full of odors. McTeague was tired with
their long walk. All his uneasiness about his af
fair with Trina had returned. No, surely she was
not for him. Marcus or some other man would
win her in the end. What could she ever see t"o

59

McTeague

desire in him — in him, a clumsy giant, with hands
like wooden mallets? She had told him once that
she 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 on her."

McTeague started. He had not thought of call
ing on her. The idea frightened him a little.

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

" I don' know, I don' know," responded the den
tist, looking stupidly at the dog.

" You know where they live," continued Marcus
Schouler. " Over at B Street station, across the
bay. I'll take you over there whenever you want to
go. I tell you what, we'll go over there Washing
ton's Birthday. That's this next Wednesday; sure,
they'll be glad to see you." It was good of Marcus.
All at once McTeague rose to an appreciation of
what his friend was 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 see you two fixed, that's all.
We'll go over Wednesday, sure."

They turned back to the house. Alexander left
off eating and watched them go away, first with one
eye, then with the other. But he was too self-
respecting to whimper. However, by the time the
itwo friends had reached the second landing on the
back stairs a terrible commotion was under way in
the little yard. They rushed to an open window
>at the end of the hall and looked down.

60

McTeague

A thin board fence separated the flat's back
yard from that used by the branch post-office. In
the latter place lived a collie dog. He and Alexan
der had smelt each other out, blowing through the
cracks of the fence at each other. Suddenly the
quarrel had exploded on either side of the fence.
The dogs raged at each other, snarling and barking,
frantic with hate. Their teeth gleamed. They tore
at the fence with their front paws. 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 some day."

V.

Wednesday morning, Washington's Birthday,
McTeague rose very early and shaved himself. Be
sides the six mournful concertina airs, the dentist
knew one song. Whenever he shaved, he sung this
song; never at any other time. His voice was a
bellowing roar, enough to make the window sashes
rattle. Just now he woke up all the lodgers in his
hall with it. It was a 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 un
dress. Old Miss Baker had seen him thus several
times through her half-open door, as she sat in her
room listening and waiting. The old dressmaker
was shocked out of all expression. She was out
raged, offended, pursing her lips, putting up her
head. She talked of complaining to the landlady.
" And Mr. Grannis right next door, too. You can
understand how trying it is for both of us/' She
would come out in the hall after one of these appari
tions, her little false curls shaking, talking loud and
shrill to any one in reach of her voice.

62

McTeague

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

On this Wednesday morning Marcus called Mc
Teague out into the hall, to the 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 her two fists. The red-headed Polish
Jew, the ragman Zerkow, stood in the doorway.
He was talking eagerly.

" Now, just once more, Maria," he was saying.
" Tell it to us just once more." Maria's voic*e came
up the stairway in a monotone. Marcus and Mc
Teague caught a phrase from time to time.

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

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

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

" 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, claw
ing at his lips. " Where did it all go to? Where
did it go?"

Maria shook her head.

" It's gone, anyhow."

63

McTeague

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

" It was a wonderful sight."

" Yes, wonderful; it must have been."

On the lower steps of that cheap flat, the Mex
ican woman and the red-haired Polish Jew mused
long over that vanished, half-mythical gold plate.

Marcus and the dentist spent Washington's
Birthday across the bay. The journey over was one
long agony to McTeague. He shook with a form
less, uncertain dread; a dozen times he would have
turned»back had not Marcus been with him. The
stolid giant was as nervous as a schoolboy. He
fancied that his call upon Miss Sieppe was an out
rageous affront. She would freeze him with a stare;
he would be shown the door, would be ejected, dis
graced.

As they got off the local train at B Street sta
tion they suddenly collided with the whole tribe of
Sieppes — the mother, father, three children, and
Trina — equipped for one of their eternal picnics.
They were to go to Schuetzen Park, within walk
ing distance of the station. They were grouped
about four lunch baskets,. One of the children, a
little boy, held a black greyhound by a rope around
its neck. Trina wore a blue cloth skirt, a striped
shirt waist, and a white sailor; about her round
waist was a belt of imitation alligator skin.

At once Mrs. Sieppe began to talk to Marcus. He
had written of their coming, but the picnic had been
decided upon after the arrival of his letter. Mrs.

64

McTeague

Sieppe explained this to him. She was an immense
old lady with a pink face and wonderful hair, abso
lutely white. The Sieppes were a German-Swiss
family.

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

" You bet it will. It'll be outa sight," cried
Marcus, enthusiastic in an 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 him from 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 his shoul
der was slung a Springfield rifle, while his breast
was decorated by five bronze medals.

Trina was delighted. McTeague was dum-
founded. She appeared positively glad to see him.

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

Meanwhile, Mr. Sieppe toiled and perspired.
Upon him devolved the responsibility of the excur
sion. He seemed to consider it a matter of vast im
portance, a veritable expedition.

" Owgooste! " he shouted to the little boy with
the black greyhound, " you will der hound und
5 65

McTeague

basket number three carry. Der tervins," he added,
calling to the two smallest boys, who were dressed
exactly alike, "will releef one unudder mit der
camp-stuhl und basket number four. Dat is com
prehend, hay? When we make der start, you chil-
dern will in der advance march. Dat is your orders.
But we do not start," he exclaimed, excitedly; " we
re-main. Ach Gott, Selina, who does not arrive."

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

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

" Vorwarts ! " shouted Mr. Sieppe, waving his
rifle and assuming the attitude of a lieutenant of in
fantry leading a charge. The party set off down
the railroad track.

Mrs. Sieppe walked with her husband, who con
stantly left her side to shout an order up and down
the line. Marcus followed with Selina. McTeague
found himself with Trina at the end of the proces
sion.

" We go off on these picnics almost every week,"

66

McTeague

said Trina, by way of a beginning, " and almost
every holiday, too. It is a custom."

" Yes, yes, a custom," answered McTeague, nod
ding; " a custom — that's the word."

" 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
about in the open air, and when lunchtime comes,
oh, aren't you hungry? And the woods and the
grass smell so fine! "

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

" Never went on a picnic? " she cried, astonished.
" Oh, you'll see what fun we'll have. In the morn
ing father and the children dig clams in the mud by
the shore, an' we bake them, and — oh, there's thou
sands of things to do."

" Once I went sailing on the bay/' said Mc
Teague. " 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, was drowned 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 miner once."

" I was a car-boy; all the car-boys used to swim
in the reservoir by the ditch every Thursday even
ing. One of them was bit by a rattlesnake once
while he was dressing. He was a Frenchman,

67

McTeague

named Andrew. He swelled up and began to
twitch."

" Oh, how I hate snakes ! They're so crawly and
graceful — but, just the same, I like to watch them.
You know that drug store over in town that has 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 you could 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 as he takes his hand away, down
I go. Don't you hate to get water in your ears? "

" Bathing's good for you."

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

Mr. Sieppe came running down the tracks, wav
ing his cane.

" To one side," he shouted, motioning them off
the track; " der drain gomes." A local passenger
train was just passing B Street station, some quarter
of a mile behind them. The party stood to one side
to let it pass. Marcus put a nickel and two crossed
pins upon the rail, and waved his hat to the passen
gers as the train roared past. The children shouted
shrilly. When the train was gone, they all rushed
to see the nickel and the crossed pins. The nickel
had been jolted off, but the pins had been flattened

68

McTeague

out so that they bore a faint resemblance to opened
scissors. A great contention arose among the chil
dren 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, awaiting his decision.

" Attend now," he suddenly exclaimed. " It will
not be soh soon. At der end 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 started off; " it was, for a fact."

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

" I was in Sacramento once," observed Mc
Teague, " 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 the city piled itself upon its
hills.

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

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

" Yes, yes, the whole day — almost."

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

69

McTeague

" No, I don' know him."

" His stepdaughter wants to be a nun. Just
fancy! And Mr. Oelbermann won'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 Lu
theran."

' The Catholics are trying to get control of the
schools," observed McTeague, suddenfy remember
ing one of Marcus's political tirades.

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

"What's the kindergarten?"

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

:< There's one up on Sacramento Street, not far
from Polk Street. I saw the 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 hope you'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
70

McTeague

a single cloud. Oh, yes; there is one, just over Tele
graph 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 walk to the Cliff House last Sun
day, 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 it rained. 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'd love 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 Lake
Geneva, in Switzerland."

"Halt!" shouted Mr. Sieppe, brandishing his
rifle. They had arrived at the gates of the park.
All at once McTeague turned cold. He had only a
quarter in his pocket. What was he expected to do

71

McTeague

— pay for the whole party, or for Trina and himself,
or merely buy his own ticket? And even in this
latter case would a quarter be enough? He lost his
wits, rolling his eyes helplessly. Then it occurred
to him to feign a great abstraction, pretending not
to know that the time was come to pay. He looked
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 in the ,air.

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

" I — I — I only got a quarter," mumbled the den
tist, miserably. He felt that he had ruined himself
forever with Trina. What was the use of trying to
win her? Destiny was against him. " I only got
a quarter," he stammered. He was on the point of
adding that he would not go in the park. That
seemed to be the only alternative.

" Oh, all right! " said Marcus, easily. " I'll pay
for you, and you can square 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 through the wicket, " here we
are once more, Doctor." She had not appeared to
notice McTeague's embarrassment. The difficulty
had been tided over somehow. Once more Mc
Teague felt himself saved.

" To der beach ! " shouted Mr. Sieppe. They had
checked their baskets at the peanut stand. The

72

McTeugue

whole party trooped down to the seashore. The
greyhound was turned loose. The children raced
on ahead.

From one of the larger parcels Mr. Sieppe had
drawn forth a small tin steamboat — August's birth
day present — a gaudy little toy which could be
steamed up and navigated by means of an alcohol
lamp. Her trial trip was to 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 first der eggsperimunt make."

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

" Obey! " thundered Mr. Sieppe. August sub
sided. A little jetty ran part of the way into the
water. Here, after a careful study of the directions
printed on the cover of the box, Mr. Sieppe began
to fire the little boat.

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

" Stand back ! " shouted his parent. " You do not
know so well as me; dere is dandger. Mitout atten
tion he will eggsplode."

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

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

" I want my boa-wut," screamed August, danc
ing.

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

" Soh," observed the father, " he gommence. At-

73

McTeague

tention! I put him in der water." He was very ex
cited. The perspiration dripped from the back of
his neck. The little boat was launched. It hissed
more furiously than ever. Clouds of steam rolled
from it, but it refused to move.

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

" 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 of the steamer blew up with
a sharp crack. The little tin toy turned over and
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 his boots danced
on the jetty, shouting into his face:

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

Little by little the boy subsided, swallowing his
sobs, knuckling his eyes, gazing ruefully at the spot
where the boat had sunk. " Dot is better soh,"
commented Mr. Sieppe, finally releasing him.
" Next dime berhaps you will your fat'er better pe-

74

McTeague

lief. Now, no more. We will der glams ge-dig.
Mommer, a fire. Ach, himmel! we have der pfeffer
forgotten."

The work of clam digging began at once, the little
boys taking off their shoes and stockings. At first
August refused to be comforted, and it was not until
his father drove him into the water with his gold-
headed cane that he consented to jom the others.

What a day that was for McTeague! What a
never-to-be-forgotten day ! He was with Trina con
stantly. They laughed together — she demurely, her
lips closed tight, her little chin thrust out, her small
pale nose, with its adorable little freckles, wrinkling;
he roared with all the force of his lungs, his enor
mous mouth distended, striking sledge-hammer
blows upon his knee with his clenched fist.

The lunch was delicious. Trina and her mother
made a clam chowder that melted in one's mouth.
The lunch baskets were emptied. The party were
fully two hours eating. There were huge loaves of
rye bread full of grains of chickweed. There were
wienerwurst and frankfurter sausages. There was
unsalted butter. There were pretzels. There was
cold underdone chicken, which one ate in slices,
plastered with a wonderful kind of mustard that did
not sting. There were dried apples, that gave Mr.
Sieppe the hiccoughs. There were a dozen bottles
of beer,, and, last of all, a crowning achievement, a
marvellous Gotha truffle. After lunch came to
bacco. Stuffed to the eyes, McTeague drowsed over
his pipe, prone on his back in the sun, while Trina,
Mrs. Sieppe, and Selina washed the dishes. In
the afternoon Mr. Sieppe disappeared. They heard

75

McTeague

the reports of his rifle on the range. The others
swarmed over the park, now around the swings,
now in the Casino, now in the museum, now in
vading the merry-go-round.

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

The family insisted that Marcus and McTeague
should take supper with them at their home and
should stay over night. Mrs. Sieppe argued they
could 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 in good 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 two stories high,
with a funny red mansard roof of oval slates. The
interior was cut up into innumerable tiny rooms,
some of them so small as to be hardly better than
sleeping closets. In the back yard was a contriv
ance for pumping water from the cistern that inter
ested McTeague at once. It was a dog-wheel, a
huge revolving box in which the unhappy black
greyhound spent most of his waking hours. It was
his kennel; he slept in it. From time to time during
the day Mrs. Sieppe appeared on the back door-^
step, 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 discussion it was decided that Marcus
would sleep upon the lounge in the front parlor.
Trina would sleep with August, giving up her room
to McTeague. Selina went to her home, a block or

76

McTeague

so above the Sieppes's. At nine o'clock Mr. Sieppe
showed McTeague to his room and left him to him
self with a newly lighted candle.

For a long time after Mr. Sieppe had gone
McTeague stood motionless in the middle of the
room, his elbows pressed close to his sides, looking
obliquely from the corners of his eyes. He hardly
dared to move. He was in 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. In one
corner, under a white netting, was a little bed, the
woodwork gayly painted with knots of bright flow
ers. Near it, against the wall, was a black walnut
bureau. A work-table with spiral legs stood by the
window, which was hung with a green and gold
window curtain. Opposite the window the closet
door stood ajar, while in the corner across from the
bed was a tiny washstand with two clean towels.

And that was all. But it was Trina's room. Mc
Teague was in his lady's bower; it seemed to him a
little nest, intimate, discreet. He felt hideously
out of place. He was an intruder; he, with his
enormous feet, his colossal bones, his crude, brutal
gestures. The mere weight of his limbs, he was
sure, would crush the little bedstead like an egg
shell.

Then, as this first sensation wore off, he began to
feel the charm of the little chamber. It was as
though Trina were close by, but invisible. Mc
Teague felt all the delight of her presence without
the embarrassment that usually accompanied it. He
was near to her — nearer than he had ever been be-

77

McTeague

fore. 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 room a certain faint
perfume that he knew, that recalled her to his mind
with marvellous vividness?

As he put the candle down upon the bureau he
saw her hairbrush lying there. Instantly he picked
it up, and, without knowing why, held it to his face.
With what a delicious odor was it redolent! That
heavy, enervating odor of her hair — her wonderful,
royal hair! The smell of that little hairbrush was
talismanic. He had but to close his eyes to see her
as distinctly as in a mirror. He saw her tiny, round
figure, dressed all in black — for, curiously enough,
it was his very first impression of Trina that came
back to him now — not the Trina of the later occa
sions, 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 the eyes
of a baby; her tiny, pale ears, suggestive of anaemia;
the freckles across the bridge of her nose; her pale
lips; the tiara of royal black hair; and, above all,
the delicious poise of the head, tipped back as
though by the weight of all that hair — the poise
that thrust out her chin a little, with the movement
that was so confiding, st> innocent, so nearly in
fantile.

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

78

McTeague

Trina' s clothes were hanging there — skirts and
waists, jackets, and stiff white petticoats. What a
vision! For an instant McTeague caught his
breath, spellbound. If he had suddenly discov
ered Trina herself there, smiling at him, holding out
her hands, he could hardly have been more over
come. Instantly he recognized the black dress she
had worn on that famous first day. There it was,
the little jacket she had carried over her arm the
day he had terrified her with his blundering declara
tion, and still others, and others — a whole group
of Trinas faced him there. He went farther into
the closet, touching the clothes gingerly, stroking
them softly with his huge leathern palms. As he
stirred them a delicate perfume disengaged itself
from the folds. Ah, that exquisite feminine odor!
It was not only her hair now, it was Trina her
self — her mouth, her hands, her neck; the indescrib
ably sweet, fleshly aroma that was a part of her,
pure and clean, and redolent of youth and fresh
ness. All at once, seized with an unreasoned im
pulse, McTeague opened his huge arms and gath
ered the little garments close to him, plunging his
face deep amongst them, savoring their delicious
odor with long breaths of luxury and supreme con
tent.

The picnic at Schuetzen Park decided matters.
McTeague began to call on Trina regularly Sunday
and Wednesday afternoons. He took Marcus
Schouler's place. Sometimes Marcus accompanied
him, but it was generally to meet Selina by ap
pointment at the Sieppes's house.

79

McTeague

But Marcus made the most of his renunciation
of his cousin. He remembered his pose from time
to time. He made McTeague unhappy and be
wildered by wringing his hand, by venting sighs
that seemed to tear his heart out, or by giving evi
dences of an infinite melancholy. " What is 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 for
give you."

Forgive what? McTeague was all at sea, was
harassed with the thought of some shadowy, irrepa
rable injury he had done his friend.

" Oh, don't think of me! " Marcus would exclaim
at other times, even when Trina was by. " Don't
think of me; I don't count any more. I ain't in it."
Marcus seemed to take great pleasure in contem
plating the wreck of his 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, now der doktor, eh?
What die tevil, I say! "

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

One Wednesday afternoon in the second week
in March McTeague came over to call on Trina,
bringing his concertina with him, as was his cus
tom nowadays. As he got off the train at the sta
tion he was surprised to find Trina waiting for him.

80

McTeague

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

" Sure, sure," assented McTeague.

B Street station was nothing more than a little
shed. There was no ticket office, nothing but a
couple of whittled and carven benches. It was 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 from the station
was the edge of the town of Oakland. Between
the station and the first houses of the town lay im
mense salt flats, here and there broken by winding
streams of black water. They were covered with a
growth of wiry grass, strangely discolored in places
by enormous stains of orange yellow.

Near the station a bit of fence painted with a
cigar advertisement reeled over into the mud,
while under its lee lay an abandoned gravel wagon
with dished wheels. The station was connected with
the town by the extension of B Street, which struck
across the flats geometrically straight, a file of tall
poles with intervening wires marching along with it.
At the station these were headed by an iron electric-
light pole that, with its supports and outriggers,
looked for all the world like an immense grasshop
per on its hind legs.

Across the flats, at the fringe of the town, were
the dump heaps, the figures of a few Chinese rag
pickers moving over them. Far to the left the view
was shut off by the immense red-brown drum of the
gas-works ; to the right it was bounded by the chim
neys and workshops of an iron foundry.
6 81

McTeague

Across the railroad tracks, to seaward, one saw
the long stretch of black mud bank left bare by the
tide, which was far out, nearly half a mile. Clouds
of sea-gulls were forever rising and settling upon
this mud bank; 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 cut
ting in the sand-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 blew strong, car
rying with it the mingled smell of salt, of tar, of
dead seaweed, and of bilge. The sky hung low and
brown ; at long intervals a few drops of rain fell.

Near the station Trina and McTeague sat on the
roadbed of the tracks, at the edge of the mud bank,
making the most out of the landscape, enjoying the
open air, the salt marshes, and the sight of the dis
tant water. From time to time McTeague played
his six mournful airs upon his concertina.

After a while they began walking up and down
the tracks, McTeague talking about his profes
sion, Trina listening, very interested and absorbed,
trying to understand.

" For pulling the roots of the upper molars we
use the cow-horn forceps," continued the dentist,
monotonously. " We get the inside beak over the
palatal roots and the cow-horn beak over the buccal

82

McTeague

roots — that's the roots on the outside, you see.
Then we close the forceps, and that breaks right
through the alveolus — that's the part of the socket
in the jaw, you understand."

At another moment he told her of his one unsatis
fied desire. " Some day I'm going to have a big
gilded tooth outside my window for a sign. Those
big gold teeth are beautiful, beautiful — only they
cost so much, I can't afford 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 was
closing in dark and rainy. The tide was coming
back, talking and lapping for miles along the mud
bank. Far off across the flats, at the edge of the
town, an electric car went by, stringing out a long
row of diamond sparks on the overhead wires.

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

Trina still s'hook her head, saying " No " instinct
ively, in spite of herself.

" 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! "

McTeague

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

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

The passage of the train startled them both.
Trina struggled to free herself from McTeague.
" Oh, please! please! " she pleaded, on the point of
tears. McTeague released her, but in that moment
a slight, a barely perceptible, revulsion of feeling
had taken place in him. The instant that Trina gave
up, the instant she allowed him to kiss her, he
thought less of her. She was not so desirable, after
all. But this reaction was so faint, so subtle, so in
tangible, that in another moment he had doubted its
occurrence. Yet afterward it returned. Was there
not something gone from Trina now? Was he not
disappointed in her for doing that very thing for
which he had longed? Was Trina the submissive,
the compliant, the attainable just the same, just as
delicate and adorable as Trina the inacessible? Per
haps he dimly saw that this must be so, that it be
longed to the changeless order of things — the man
desiring the woman only for what she withholds;
the woman worshipping the man for that which she
yields up to him. With each concession gained the
man's desire cools; with every surrender made the
woman's adoration increases. But why should it
be so?

84

McTeague

Trina wrenched herself free and drew back from
McTeague, her little chin quivering; her face, even
to the lobes of her pale ears, flushed scarlet; her nar
row blue eyes brimming. Suddenly she put her
head between 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 with me, please.
Oh, I'm so — so," — she could not find any words.
" Let me go alone," 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 strong enough.

" No, no, you must not! " she exclaimed, with
energy. She was gone in another instant. The
dentist, stunned, bewildered, gazed stupidly after
her 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. Trina was to be for him, after all.
An enormous smile distended his thick lips; his
eyes grew wide, and flashed; and he drew his breath
quickly, striking his mallet-like fist upon his knee,
and exclaiming under his breath:

" I got her, by God! I got her, by God! " At the
same time he thought better of himself; his self-
respect increased enormously. The man that could

85

McTeague

win Trina Sieppe was a man of extraordinary
ability.

Trina burst in upon her mother while the latter
was setting a mousetrap in 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 cry for, 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? You kiss 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 sprung with a sharp snap.

86

VI.

No, Trina did not know. " Do I love him? Do
I love him? " A thousand times she put the ques
tion to herself during the next two or three days.
At night she hardly slept, but lay broad awake for
hours in her little, gayly painted bed, with its white
netting, -torturing herself with doubts and questions.
At times she remembered the scene in the station
with a veritable agony of shame, and at other times
she was ashamed to recall it with a thrill of joy.
Nothing could have been more sudden, more un
expected, than that surrender of herself. For over
a year she had thought that Marcus would some
day be her husband. They would be married, she
supposed, some time in the future, she did not know
exactly when; the matter did not take definite shape
in her mind. She liked Cousin Mark very well.
And then suddenly this cross-current had set in;
this blond giant had appeared, this huge, stolid
fellow, with his immense, crude strength. She had
not loved him at first, that was certain. The day
he had spoken to her in his " Parlors " she had only
been terrified. If he had confined himself to merely
speaking, as did Marcus, to pleading with her, to
wooing her at a distance, forestalling her wishes,
showing her little attentions, sending her boxes of
candy, she could have easily withstood him. But
he had only to take her in his arms, to crush down

87

McTeague

her struggle with his enormous strength, fo subdue
her, 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 necessity of being conquered by
a superior strength? Why did it please her? Why
had it suddenly thrilled her from head to foot with
a quick, terrifying gust of passion, the like of which
she had never known?' Never at his best had Mar
cus made her feel like that, and yet she had always
thought she cared for Cousin Mark more than for
any one else.

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

JDimly, as figures seen in a waking dream, these
ideas floated through Trina's mind. It was quite
beyond her to realize them clearly; she could not
know what they meant. Until that rainy day by
the shore of the bay Trina 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 a mysterious disturbance. The
woman within her suddenly awoke.

88

McTeague

Did she love McTeague? Difficult question.
Did s'he choose him for better or for worse, delib
erately, of her own free will, or was Trina herself
allowed even a choice in the taking of that step that
was to make or mar her life? The Woman is awak
ened, and, starting from her sleep, catches blindly at
what first her newly opened eyes light upon. It is
a spell, a witchery, ruled by chance alone, inex
plicable — a fairy queen enamored of a clown with
ass's ears.

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

And he? The very act of submission that bound
the woman to him forever had made her seem less
desirable in his eyes. Their undoing had already
begun. Yet neither of them was to blame. From
the first they had not sought each other. Chance
had brought them face to face, and mysterious in
stincts as ungovernable as the winds of 'heaven
were at work knitting their lives together. Neither
of them had asked that this thing should be — that
their destinies, their very souls, should be the sport
of chance. If they could have known, they would
have shunned the fearful risk. But they were al
lowed no voice in the matter. Why should it all be?

It had been on a Wednesday that the scene in
the B Street station had taken place. Throughout

89

McTeague

the rest of the week, at every hour of the day,
Trina asked herself the same question: " Do I love
him? Do I really love him? Is this what love is
like? " As she recalled McTeague — recalled his
huge, square-cut head, his salient jaw, his shock of
yellow hair, 'his heavy, lumbering body, his slow wits
— she found little to admire in him beyond his phys
ical strength, and at such moments she shook her
head decisively. " 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 with her that Wednesday afternoon; that she
had acted like a bad girl; that she did not love him
well enough to marry him; that she had told him
as much once before.

McTeague saw her alone in the little front parlor.
The instant she appeared he came straight towards
her. She saw what he was bent upon doing. " Wait
a minute," she cried, putting out her 'hands. " Wait.
You don't understand. I have got something to
say to you." She might as well have talked to the
wind. McTeague put aside her hands with a single
gesture, and gripped her to him in a bearlike em
brace that all but smothered her. Trina was but a
reed before that giant strength. McTeague turned
her face to his and kissed her again upon the mouth.
Where was all Trina's resolve then? Where was
her carefully prepared little speech? Where was
all her hesitation and torturing doubts of the last
few days? She clasped McTeague's huge red neck
with both her slender arms; she raised her adorable
little chin and kissed him in return, exclaiming:

90

McTeague

" Oh, I do love you! I do love you! " Never after
ward were the two so happy as at that moment.

A little later in that same week, when Marcus
and McTeague were taking lunch at the car con
ductors' coffee-joint, the former suddenly ex
claimed:

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

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

" You've got her, have you? Well, I'm glad of it,
old man. I am, for a fact. I know you'll be happy
with her. I know how I would have been. I for
give 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 there this week; you'll have
to take Mrs. Sieppe, too, of course," he added.
Marcus was not sure of himself as regarded certain
proprieties, nor, for that matter, were any of the
people of the little world of Polk Street. The shop
girls, the plumbers' apprentices, the small trades
people, and their like, whose social position was not

91

McTeague

clearly defined, could never be 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 no appearances
to keep up. Polk Street rubbed elbows with the
c< avenue " one block above. There were certain
limits which its dwellers could not overstep; but
unfortunately for them, these limits were poorly de
fined. They could never be sure of themselves. At
an unguarded moment they might be taken for
" toughs," so they generally erred in the other di
rection, and were absurdly formal. No people have
a keener eye for the amenities than those whose
social position is not assured.

" Oh, sure, you'll have to take her mother," in
sisted Marcus. " It wouldn't be the proper racket
if you didn't."

McTeague undertook the affair. It was an or
deal. Never in his life had he been so perturbed,
so horribly anxious. He called upon Trina the fol
lowing Wednesday and made arrangements. Mrs.
Sieppe asked if little August might be included. It
would console him for the loss of his steamboat.

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

" We always have to leave so early," complained
Trina, " in order to catch the 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 dentist would
give up their rooms to them and sleep at the dog

92

McTeague

hospital. There was a bed there in the sick ward
that old. Grannis sometimes occupied when a bad
case needed watching. All at once McTeagtie had
an idea, a veritable inspiration.

" And we'll — we'll — we'll have — what's the mat
ter with having something to eat afterward in my
"Parlors?"

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

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

McTeague returned to the city, rehearsing his in
structions over and over. The theatre party began
to assume tremendous proportions. First of all, he
was to get the seats, the third or fourth row from
the front, on the left-hand side, so as to be out of
the hearing of the drums in the orchestra; he must
make arrangements about the rooms with Marcus,
must get in the beer, but not the tamales; must buy
for himself a white lawn tie — so Marcus directed;
must look to it that Maria Macapa put his room in
perfect order; and, finally, must meet the Sieppes at
the ferry slip at half-past seven the following Mon
day night.

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

" Is it here you buy your seats? "

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McTeague

"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 reciting for 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? " McTeague was 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 orches
tra as you face the stage," shouted the other impa
tiently; " you want to the left, then, as you 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 up against the drums."

" But I don't want to be near the drums," pro
tested McTeague, beginning to perspire.

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

" I want — I want," he stammered. The seller
slammed down a plan of the house in front of him
and began to explain excitedly. It was the one

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McTeague

thing lacking to complete McTeague's confu
sion.

" There are your seats," finished the seller, shov
ing the tickets into McTeague's hands. " They are
the fourth row from the front, and away from the
drums. Now are you satisfied? "

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

The seller roared. McTeague moved slowly
away, gazing stupidly at the blue slips of paste
board. Two girls took his place at the wicket.
In another moment McTeague came back, peer
ing over the girls' shoulders and calling to the
seller:

" Are these for Monday night? "

The other disdained reply. McTeague retreated
again timidly, thrusting the tickets into his immense
wallet. For a moment he stood thoughtful on the
steps of the entrance. Then all at once he became
enraged, he did not know exactly why; somehow
he felt himself slighted. Once more he came 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, you little — you
little — you little — little — little pup." The ticket
seller shrugged his shoulders wearily. " A dollar
and a half," he said to the two girls.

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

95

McTeague

" You can't make small of me," he called back
a last time, wagging his head and shaking his fist.
" I will — I will— I will— yes, I will." He went off
muttering.

At last Monday night came. McTeague met the
Sieppes at the ferry, dressed in a black Prince Al
bert coat and his best slate-blue trousers, and wear
ing 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, and carried two bananas and an orange in a
net reticule. " For Owgooste," she confided to
him. Owgooste was in a Fauntleroy " costume "
very much too small for him. Already he had been
crying.

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

At the door of the theatre McTeague was sud
denly seized with a panic terror. He had lost the
tickets. He tore through his pockets, ransacked
his 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 beneath
the sweatband.

The party entered and took their places. It was
absurdly early. The lights were all darkened, the
ushers stood under the galleries in groups, the
empty auditorium echoing with their noisy talk.
Occasionally a waiter with his tray and clean white
apron sauntered up and down the aisle. Directly
in front of them was the great iron curtain of the

96

McTeague

stage, painted with all manner of advertisements.
From behind this came a noise of hammering and
of occasional loud voices.

While waiting they studied their programmes.
First was an overture by the orchestra, after which
came " The Gleasons, in their mirth-moving- musical
farce, entitled ' McMonnigal's Courtship.' ': This
was to be followed by " The Lamont Sisters, Winnie
and Violet, serio-comiques and skirt 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, the crowning scientific
achievement of the nineteenth century, the kineto-
scope." McTeague was excited, dazzled. In five
years he had not been twice to the theatre. Now
he beheld himself inviting his " girl " and
her mother to accompany him. He began to feel
that he was a man of the world. 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 their
thumb and finger, and from every part of the audi
torium could be heard the sharp clap-clapping of
the seats as the ushers flipped them down. A buzz
of talk arose. In the gallery a street gamin whistled
shrilly, and called to some friends on the other side
of the house.

" Are they go-wun to begin pretty soon, ma? "
whined Owgooste for the fifth or sixth time; add
ing, " Say, ma, can't I have some candy? " A
cadaverous little boy had appeared in their aisle,
7 97

McTeague

chanting, " Candies, French mixed candies, pop
corn, peanuts and candy." The orchestra entered,
each man crawling out from an opening under the
stage, hardly larger than the gate of a rabbit hutch.
At every instant now the crowd increased; there
were but few seats that were not taken. The waiters
hurried up and down the aisles, their trays laden
with beer glasses. A smell of cigar-smoke rilled
the air, and soon a faint blue haze rose from all
corners of the house.

"Ma, when are they go-wun to begin?" cried
Owgooste. As he spoke the iron advertisement
curtain rose, disclosing the curtain proper under
neath. This latter curtain was quite an affair. Upon
it was painted a wonderful picture. A flight of
marble steps led down to a stream of water; two
white swans, their necks arched like the capital let
ter S, floated about. At the head of the marble
steps were two vases filled with red and yellow
flowers, while at the foot was moored a gondola.
This gondola wras full of red velvet rugs that hung
over the side and trailed in the water. In the prow
of the gondola a young man in vermilion tights held
a mandolin in his left hand, and gave his right to a
girl in white satin. A King Charles spaniel, drag
ging a leading-string in the shape of a huge pink
sash, followed the girl. Seven scarlet roses were
scattered upon the two lowest steps, and eight
floated in the water.

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

"Ma, ain't they go-wun to begin now- wow?"
whined Owgooste. Suddenly the lights all over the

98

McTeague

house blazed up. "Ah!" said everybody all at
once.

" Ain't ut crowdut? " murmured Mrs. Sieppe.
Every seat was taken ; many were even standing up.

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

The orchestra banged away at the overture, sud
denly finishing with a great flourish of violins. A
short pause followed. Then the orchestra played a
quick-step strain, and the curtain rose on an interior
furnished with two red chairs and a green sofa. A
girl in a short blue dress and black stockings en
tered in a hurry and began to dust the two chairs.
She was in a great temper, talking very fast, dis
claiming against the " new lodger." It appeared
that this latter never paid his rent ; that he was given
to late hours. Then she came down to the foot
lights 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 certain variations, while the girl
danced to it. She sidled to one side of the stage
and kicked, then sidled to the other and kicked
again. As she finished with the song, a man, evi
dently the lodger in question, came in. Instantly
McTeague exploded in a roar of laughter. Trie

99

McTeague

man was intoxicated, his hat was knocked in, one
end of his collar was unfastened and stuck up into
his face, his watch-chain dangled from his pocket,
and a yellow satin slipper was tied to a button-hole
of his vest; his nose was vermilion, one eye was
black and blue. After a short dialogue with the girl,
a third actor appeared. He was dressed like a
little boy, the girl's younger brother. He wore an
immense turned-down collar, and was continually
doing hand-springs and wonderful back somer
saults. The " act " devolved upon these three peo
ple; the lodger making love to the girl in the
short blue dress, the boy playing all manner of
tricks upon him, giving him tremendous digs in the
ribs or slaps upon the back that made him cough,
pulling chairs from under him, running on all fours
between his legs and upsetting him, knocking him
over at inopportune moments. Every one of his
falls was accentuated by a bang upon the bass drum.
The whole humor of the " act " seemed to consist in
the tripping up of the intoxicated lodger.

This horse-play delighted McTeague beyond
measure. He roared and shouted every time the
lodger went down, slapping his knee, wagging his
head. Owgooste crowed shrilly, clapping his
hands and continually asking, " What did he say,
ma? What did he say?" Mrs. Sieppe " laughed
immoderately, her huge fat body shaking like a
mountain of jelly. She exclaimed from time to
time, "Ach, Gott, dot fool!" Even Trina was
moved, laughing demurely, her lips closed, putting
one hand with its new glove to her mouth.

The performance went on. Now it was the

100

McTeague

" musical marvels," two men extravagantly made up
as negro minstrels, with immense shoes and plaid
vests. They seemed to be able to wrestle a tune
out of almost anything — glass bottles, cigar-box
fiddles, strings of sleigh-bells, even graduated brass
tubes, which they rubbed with resined ringers. Mc
Teague was stupefied with admiration.

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

The acrobats left him breathless. They were daz
zling young men with beautifully parted hair, con
tinually making graceful gestures to the audience.
In one of them the dentist fancied he saw a strong
resemblance to the boy who had tormented the in
toxicated lodger and who had turned such marvel
lous somersaults. Trina could not bear to watch
their antics. She turned away her head with a little
shudder. " It always makes me sick," she explained.

The beautiful young lady, " The Society Con
tralto," in evening dress, who sang the sentimental
songs, and carried the sheets of music at which she
never looked, pleased McTeague less. Trina, how
ever, was captivated. She grew 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 mur
mured.

Then came the two comedians. They talked with

101

McTeague

fearful rapidity; their wit and repartee seemed in
exhaustible.

" As / was going down the street yesterday "

" Ah ! as you were going down the street — all
right."

" / 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 yester
day you saw a girl at a window, and this girl she
was a corker. All right, go on."

The other comedian went on. The joke was sud
denly evolved. A certain phrase led to a song,
which was sung with lightning rapidity, each per
former making precisely the same gestures at pre
cisely the same instant. They were irresistible.
McTeague, though he caught but a third of the
jokes, could have listened all night.

After the comedians had gone out, the iron adver
tisement curtain was let down.

" What comes now?" said McTeague, bewildered.

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

The musicians disappeared through the rabbit
hutch, and the audience stirred 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 of lemonade, which was fi
nally given him.

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

The quarter of an hour intermission seemed in-

IO2

McTeague

terminable to McTeague. He continually consulted
his watch, wondering when the musicians would
come back, listening anxiously to the vague clamor
of footsteps and voices that issued confusedly from
behind the curtain and from the direction of the
wings. Mrs. Sieppe pretended to recognize a friend
two rows back of where she was sitting.

" Ach ! sure dot's her," she murmured continually.

The performance was resumed. A lightning ar
tist appeared, drawing caricatures and portraits with
incredible swiftness. He even went so far as to ask
for subjects from the audience, and the names of
prominent men were shouted to him from the gal
lery. He drew portraits of the President, of Grant,
of Washington, of Napoleon Bonaparte, of Bis
marck, of Garibaldi, of P. T. Barnum.

And so the evening passed. The hall grew very
hot, and the smoke of innumerable cigars made the
eyes smart. A thick blue mist hung low over the
heads of the audience. The air was full of varied
smells — the smell of stale cigars, of flat beer, of
orange peel, of gas, of sachet powders, and of cheap
perfumery.

One " artist " after another came upon the stage.
McTeague's attention never wandered for a minute.
Trina and her mother enjoyed themselves hugely.
At every moment they made comments to one an
other, their eyes never 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, wonder*
full That's the word."

103

McTeague

Owgooste, however, lost interest. He stood up
in his place, his back to the stage, chewing a piece
of orange peel and watching a little girl in her
father's lap across the aisle, his eyes fixed in a
glassy, ox-like stare. But he was uneasy. He
danced from one foot to the other, and at intervals
appealed in hoarse whispers to his mother, who dis
dained an answer.

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

" Ma-ah, say, ma/' At times his monotonous
plaint reached his mother's consciousness. She sud
denly realized what this was that was annoying
her.

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

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

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

" Ma-ah," began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as
the yodlers had departed. He protested that he was
104

McTeague

sleepy, as though it was a matter for which the party
were indiscriminately responsible.

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

"Pehave!" exclaimed his mother, shaking him
by the arm; " loog, der leedle 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 went to 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 that wonderful, Mac? "

McTeague was awe-struck.

" Look at that horse move his head," he cried ex
citedly, quite carried away. " Look at that cable-
car coming — and the man going across the street.
See, here comes a truck. Well, I never in all my
life! What would Marcus say to this? "

" It's all a drick! " exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, with
sudden conviction. " I ain'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 more could be got out of her
than this.

The party stayed to the very end of the show,
though the kinetoscope was the last number but
one on the programme, and fully half the audience
left immediately afterward. However, while the un
fortunate Irish comedian went through his " act " to
the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppe woke

105

McTeague

Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began getting
her " tilings together." McTeague groped under
his seat, reaching about for his hat.

" Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs.
Sieppe. " Take ut home to popper. Where is der
net redicule, eh? Haf you got mein handkerchief,
Trina? "

But McTeague was in distress. He had lost his
hat. What could have become of it? Again and
again he thrust his hand blindly underneath the seat,
feeling about upon the dusty floor. His face became
scarlet with embarrassment and with the effort of
bending his great body in so contracted a space; he
bumped his head upon the backs of the seats in front
of him.

At length he recovered it from a remote corner,
in company with Mrs. Sieppe's reticule, sadly bat
tered by a score of feet. He clapped it upon his
head with a breath of relief. But when he turned
about to hand her reticule to Mrs. Sieppe he was
struck with bewilderment. Neither Mrs. Sieppe,
Trina, nor Owgooste was anywhere in sight. Mc
Teague found himself staring into the faces of some
dozen people whose progress he was blocking.

"What — where are they gone?" muttered Mc
Teague.

He gazed about him in great embarrassment,
rolling his eyes. But the moving audience had
carried the Sieppes farther down the aisle. At last
McTeague discovered them and crushed his way to
them with bull-like force and directness. They,
meanwhile, sidled into an empty row of seats to wait
for him.

106

McTeague

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

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

On their way home they discussed the perform
ance.

" 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, wonder
ful ! And wasn't that first act funny, where the fel
low fell down all the time? And that musical act,
and the fellow with the burnt-cork face who played
' Nearer, My God to Thee ' on the beer bottles."

They got off at Polk Street and walked up a block
to the flat. The street was dark and empty; op
posite the flat, in the back of the deserted market,
the ducks and geese were calling persistently.

As they were buying their tamales from the half-
breed Mexican at the street corner, McTeague ob
served:

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

Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of
107

McTeague

the flat when the bolt was shot back. In the hall
at the top of the long, narrow staircase there 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; while
little Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange
man in a drab overcoat at her side. As McTeague's
party stepped into the doorway a half-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 five thousand dollars! "

108

VII.

" What nonsense! " answered Trina.

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

" What — what — what," stammered the dentist,
confused by the lights, the crowded 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 's hand. Every one was talk
ing 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 Doctor
McTeague's office? "

" Trina! " almost screamed her mother. " Five
tausend thalers! five tausend thalers! 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?" in
quired Marcus.

" You're a rich woman, my dear," said Miss Ba
ker, her little false curls quivering 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! "

109

McTeague

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

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

" But I know you're wrong," answered Trina, be
ginning to tremble in spite of 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. After all, it was not a question
of effort or merit on her part. Why should she sup
pose a mistake? What if it were true, this wonder
ful fillip of fortune 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, simul
taneously.

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

"Yes, yes; four three oughts twelve — I remem
ber."

" That's right," admitted the other. " Present
your ticket at the local branch office as soon as pos
sible — the address is printed on the back of the
ticket — and you'll receive a check on our bank for
five thousand dollars. Your number will have to
be verified on our official list, but there's hardly a
chance of a mistake. I congratulate you."

no

McTeague

All at once a great thrill of gladness surged up in
Trina. She was to possess five thousand dollars.
She was carried away with the joy of her good for
tune, a natural, spontaneous joy — the gaiety of a
child with a new 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 a ticket.
Mac, what do you say to that? I've got five thou
sand dollars. August, do you hear what's happened
to sister?"

" Kiss your mommer, Trina," suddenly com
manded Mrs. Sieppe. " What efer will you do mit
all dose money, eh, Trina? "

" Huh ! " exclaimed Marcus. " Get married on it
for one thing." Thereat they all shouted with laugh
ter. McTeague grinned, and looked about sheep
ishly. " Talk about luck," muttered Marcus, shak
ing his head at the dentist; 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
1 Parlors,' Mac?"

" Sure, sure," exclaimed McTeague, hastily un
locking 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 you win five thousand dollars.
It's only Sundays and legal holidays." Again he
set the company off into a gale of laughter. Any-

McTeague

thing was funny at a time like this. In some way
every one of them felt elated. The wheel of fortune
had come spinning close to them. They were near
to this great sum of money. It was as though they
too had won.

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

" And I was just getting out of the operating
chair/' interposed Miss Baker.

" 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, I remember
it just as plain as though it was yesterday, and I
wasn't going to 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 my pocketbook. It's in my
pocketbook now at home in the top drawer of my
bureau — 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 of the floor, wagging his huge head. He
seemed to have just .realized what had happened.

"Yes, sir, five thousand dollars!" exclaimed
Marcus, with a sudden unaccountable mirthlessness.

McTeague

" Five thousand dollars! Do you get on to that?
Cousin Trina and you will be rich people."

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

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

" A cousin of mine won forty dollars once,"
observed Miss Baker. " But he spent every cent
of it buying more tickets, and never won any
thing."

Then the reminiscences began. Maria told about
the butcher on the next block who had won twenty
dollars the last drawing. Mrs. Sieppe knew a gas-
fitter in Oakland who had won several times; once
a hundred dollars. Little Miss Baker announced
that she had always believed that lotteries were
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
he seemed singularly out of temper.

But the agent was full of stories. He told his ex
periences, the legends and myths that had grown
up around the history of the lottery; he told of the
poor newsboy with a dying mother to support who
had drawn a prize of 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 his death drew the capital prize of thirty
thousand dollars; of the little milliner who for ten
years had played the lottery without success, and

8 113

McTeague

who had one day declared that she would buy but
one more ticket and then give up trying, and of
how this last ticket had brought her a fortune upon
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 winning com
petencies; of gamblers who played the lottery as
they would play a faro bank, turning in their win
nings again as soon as made, buying thousands of
tickets all over the country; of superstitions as to
terminal and initial numbers, and as to lucky days
of purchase; of marvellous coincidences — three capi
tal prizes drawn consecutively by the same 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 same amount an indefi
nite number of times ; and so on to infinity. Invari
ably it was the needy who won, the destitute and
starving woke to wealth and plenty, the virtuous
toiler suddenly found his reward in a ticket bought
at a hazard; the lottery was a great charity,
the friend of the people, a vast beneficent machine
that recognized neither rank nor wealth nor sta
tion.

The company began to be very gay. Chairs and
tables were brought in from the 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 Miss Baker, who abhorred beer.

The " Dental Parlors " were in great confusion.
Empty beer bottles stood on the movable rack
where the instruments were kept; plates and napkins
114

McTeague

were upon the seat of the operating chair and upon
the stand of shelves in the corner, side by side with
the concertina and the volumes of " Allen's Prac
tical Dentist." The canary woke and chittered
crossly, his feathers puffed out; the husks of tamales
littered the floor; the stone pug dog sitting before
the little stove stared at the unusual scene, his glass
eyes starting from their sockets.

They drank and feasted in impromptu fashion.
Marcus Schouler assumed the office of master of
ceremonies; he was in a lather of excitement, rush
ing about here and there, opening beer bottles, serv
ing the tamales, slapping McTeague upon the back,
laughing and joking continually. He made Mc
Teague sit at the head of the table, with Trina at
his right and the 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, opposite
Miss Baker. Owgooste had been put to bed upon
the bed-lounge.

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

" I called him down with everybody else," cried
Maria Macapa, " as soon as I saw m 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 have gone 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 ad
vantage of the confusion to slip unobtrusively away.
"5

McTeague

" 1*11 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 think he drinks beer."

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

Marcus brought him down, nevertheless, having
found him just preparing for bed.

" I — I must apologize/' stammered Old Grannis,
as 'he stood in the doorway. " I had not quite ex
pected — I — find — find myself a little unprepared."
He was without collar and cravat, owing to Marcus
Schouler's precipitate haste. He was annoyed be
yond words that Miss Baker saw him thus. Could
anything be more embarrassing?

Old Grannis was introduced to Mrs. Sieppe and
to Trina as Marcus's employer. 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 for years."

The two old people were speechless, avoiding
each other's gaze. It had come at last; they were
to know each other, to talk together, to touch each
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 two people knew
each other long ago. Miss Baker, this is Mr. Gran
nis; Mr. Grannis, this is Miss Baker." Neither
spoke. Like two little children they faced each
other, awkward, constrained, tongue-tied with em-

116

McTeague

barrassment. Then Miss Baker put out her hand
shyly. Old Grannis touched it for an instant and let
it fall.

" Now you know each other," cried Marcus, "and
it's about time." For the first time their eyes met;
Old Grannis trembled a little, putting his hand un
certainly to his chin. Miss Baker flushed ever so
slightly, but Maria Macapa passed suddenly be
tween them, carrying a half empty beer bottle. The
two old people fell back from one another, Miss
Baker resuming 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
at his plate and did not speak again. Old Miss
Baker began to talk volubly across the table to
Mrs. Sieppe about hot-house flowers and medicated
flannels.

It was in the midst of this little impromptu sup
per that the engagement of Trina and the dentist
was announced. In a pause in the chatter of con
versation Mrs. Sieppe leaned forward and, speaking
to the agent, said :

" Veil, you know also my daughter Trina get
married bretty soon. She and der dentist, Doktof
McTeague, eh, yes? "

There was a general exclamation.

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

" Delightful ! " exclaimed the agent, " to be mar
ried and win a snug little fortune at the same time."

117

McTeague

" 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, relapsing for a moment into one
of those strange moods of sullenness which had
marked him throughout the evening.

Trina flushed crimson, drawing shyly nearer her
mother. McTeague grinned from ear to ear, look
ing 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 and easy. A
diamond was on his little finger.

" Ladies and gentlemen," he began. There was
an instant silence. " This is indeed a happy occa
sion. I — I am glad to be here to-night; to be a wit
ness 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 twelve myself; as if the
five thousand were mine instead of belonging to
our charming hostess. The good wishes of my
humble self go out to Miss Sieppe in this moment
of her good fortune, and I think — in fact, I am sure
I can speak for the great institution, the great com
pany I represent. The company congratulates
Miss Sieppe. We — they — ah — They wish her
every happiness her new fortune can procure her.
It has been my duty, my — ah— cheerful duty to call
upon the winners of large prizes and to offer the
felicitation of the company. I have, in my experi
ence, called upon many such; but never have I seen

118

McTeague

fortune so happily bestowed as in this case. The
company have dowered the prospective bride. I
am sure I but echo the sentiments of this assembly
when I wish all joy and happiness to this happy
pair, happy in the possession of a snug little fortune,
and happy — happy in — " he finished with a sudden
inspiration — " in the possession of each other; I
drink to the health, wealth, and happiness of the
future bride and groom. Let us drink standing
up." They drank with enthusiasm. Marcus was
carried away with the excitement of the moment.

" Outa sight, outa sight," he vociferated, clapping
his hands. " Very well said. 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, looking wildly
about him.

"Speech, speech!" shouted Marcus, running
around the table and endeavoring to drag Mc
Teague up.

" No — no — no," muttered the other. " No
speech." The company rattled upon the table with
their beer glasses, insisting upon a speech. Mc
Teague settled obstinately into his chair, very red in
the face, shaking his head energetically.

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

" Ah, get up and say somethun, anyhow," per
sisted Marcus ; " you ought to do it. It's the proper
caper."

McTeague heaved himself up; there was a burst
of applause; he looked slowly about him, then sud
denly sat down again, shaking his head hopelessly.
119

McTeague

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

" Get up, say somethun, anyhow," cried Marcus,
tugging at his arm; " you got 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 — I ain'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 want to — want to say that — you're —
all — -welcome, an' drink hearty, an' I'm much
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 always welcome —
an'— I— an'— an'— That's— about— all — I— gotta
say." He sat down, wiping his forehead, amidst
tremendous applause.

Soon after that the company pushed back from
the table and relaxed into couples and groups. The
men, with the exception of Old Grannis, began to
smoke, the smell of their tobacco mingling with the
odors of ether, creosote, and stale bedding, which
pervaded the " Parlors." Soon the windows had
to be lowered from the top. Mrs. Sieppe and old
Miss Baker sat together in the bay window ex
changing confidences. Miss Baker had turned
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

120

McTeague

were much interested in each other. Miss Baker
told Mrs. Sieppe all about Old Grannis, not
forgetting the fiction of the title and the unjust
stepfather.

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

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

" Ah, if — if — I had children," murmured the little
old maid a trifle wistfully, " one would have been a
sailor; he would have begun as a midshipman 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, " think of all this money coming
to us just at this very moment. Isn't it wonderful?
Don't it kind of scare you? "

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

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

"' Ah, the Chinese cigar-makers," cried Marcus,
in a passion, brandishing his 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! "

121

McTeague

Over in the corner, by the stand of shelves, Old
Grannis was listening to Maria Macapa. The
Mexican woman had been violently stirred over
Trina'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, her eyes
wide and fixed. Old Grannis listened to her at
tentively.

" 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
a little sun. Such a service as that was — platters
and soup tureens and an immense big punch-bowl.
Five thousand dollars, what does that amount to?
Why, that punch-bowl alone was worth a fortune."

" What a wonderful story ! " exclaimed Old Gran
nis, never for an instant doubting 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, / must be going, if I'm to get any car."

He shook hands with everybody, offered a part
ing 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 for you. 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."

McTeague

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

Old Grannis hurried to his room furtively, terri
fied lest 'he should again be brought face to face
with Miss Baker. He bolted himself in and listened
until he heard her foot in the hall and the soft clos
ing of her door. She was there close beside him;
as one might say, in the same room ; for he, too, had
made the discovery as to the similarity of the wall
paper. At long intervals he could hear a faint
rustling as she moved about. What an evening
that had been for him ! He had met her, had spoken
to her, had touched her hand ; he was in a tremor of
excitement. In a like manner the little old dress
maker listened and quivered. He was there in that
same room which they shared in common, separated
only by the thinnest board partition. He was think
ing of her, she was almost sure 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 her rocking chair close to the par
tition; she rocked gently, sipping her tea, calming
herself after the emotions of that wonderful evening.

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

It was their tete-a-tete. Instinctively they felt
123

McTeague

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

On the way to her room in the garret Maria Ma-
capa paused under the single gas-jet that burned
at the top of the well of the staircase; she assured
herself that she was alone, and then drew from her
pocket one of McTeague's " tapes " of non-co
hesive gold. It was the most valuable steal she had
ever yet made in the dentist's " Parlors." She told
herself that it was worth at least a couple of dollars.
Suddenly an idea occurred to 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 just back of the flat. On some nights
Zerkow, the red-headed Polish Jew, sat up late,
taking account of the week's rag-picking. There
was a dim light in his window now.

Maria went to her room, threw a shawl around her
head, and descended into the little back yard of the
flat by the back stairs. As she let herself out of
the back gate into the alley, Alexander, Marcus's
Irish setter, woke suddenly with a gruff bark. The
collie who lived on the other side of the fence, in the
back yard of the branch post-office, answered with
a snarl. Then in an instant the endless feud be
tween the two dogs was resumed. They dragged
their respective kennels to the fence, and through
the cracks raged at each other in a frenzy of hate;
124

McTeague

their teeth snapped and gleamed; the hackles on
their backs rose and stiffened. 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 mis
erable hovel.

"Who is it? Who is it?" cried the rag-picker
from within, in his hoarse voice, that was half whis
per, starting nervously, and sweeping a handful of
silver into his drawer.

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

" Ah, Maria," cried Zerkow, obsequiously open
ing the door. " Come in, come in, 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 led her into his back room
and got down the whiskey bottle and the broken
red tumbler.

After the two had drunk together Maria pro
duced the gold " tape." Zerkow's eyes glittered
on the instant. The sight of gold invariably sent
a qualm all through him ; try as he would, he could
not repress it. His ringers 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 excited over other matters to spend
much time in bickering over a few cents.

" Look here, Zerkow," she said as soon as the
'25

McTeague

transfer was made, " I got something to tell you.
A little while ago I sold a lottery ticket to a
girl at the flat; the drawing was in this evening's
papers. How much do you 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 an almost physical pain twisted
his face — his entire body. He raised his clenched
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 for it,
so hard, so hard. Five thousand dollars, five thou
sand dollars. Oh, why couldn't it have come to me?"
he cried, his voice choking, the tears starting to
his eyes; " why couldn't it have come to me? To
:Come so close, so close, and yet to miss me — me who
&ave worked for it, fought for it, starved for it, am
•dying for it every day. Think of it, Maria, five thou
sand 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 all you could
do to lift the punch-bowl. Why, that punch-bowl
was worth a fortune alone "

" And it rang when you hit it with your knuckles,
didn't it? " prompted Zerkow, eagerly, his lips
trembling, his fingers hooking themselves into
claws.

" Sweeter'n any church bell," continued Maria.
126

McTeague

" Go on, go on, go on," cried Zerkow, drawing
his chair closer, and shutting 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 like
a mirror, smooth and bright, polished so that it
looked black — you know how I mean."

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

Then he plied her with questions — questions that
covered every detail of that service of plate. It was
soft, wasn't it? You could bite into a plate 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 the forks the same? The
interior of the trunk was quilted, of course? Did
Maria ever polish the plates herself? When the
company ate off this service, it must have made a
fine noise — these gold knives and forks clinking
together upon these gold plates.

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

The red-headed Pole was in a fever of excitement.
Maria's recital had become a veritable mania with
him. As he listened, with closed eyes and trembling
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 tor-
127

McTeague

mented Maria into a second repetition of the story —
into a third. The more his mind dwelt upon it, the
sharper grew his desire. Then, with Maria's re
fusal to continue the tale, came the reaction. Zer-
kow awoke as from some ravishing dream. The
plate was gone, was irretrievably lost. There was
nothing in that miserable room but grimy rags and
rust-corroded iron. What torment! what agony! to
be so near — so near, to see it in one's distorted fancy
as plain as in a mirror. To know every individual
piece as an old friend; to feel its weight; to be dazzled
by its glitter; to call it one's own, own; to have it to
oneself, hugged to the breast; and then to start, to
wake, to come down to the horrible reality.

" And you, you had it once," gasped Zerkow,
clawing at her arm; " you had it 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 some
where."

" 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 the little dog hospital. They had
hardly spoken on the way. McTeague's brain was
in a whirl; speech failed him. He was busy think
ing of the great thing that had happened that night,
and was trying to realize what its effect would be
128

McTeague

upon his life — his life and Trina's. As soon
as they had found themselves in the street, Marcus
had relapsed at once to a sullen silence, which Mc
Teague was too abstracted to notice.

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

" You go on an' get to bed, Mac," observed Mar
cus. " I'll take a look at the dogs before I turn in."

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

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

" You fool, you fool, Marcus Schouler! If you'd
kept Trina you'd have had that money. You might
have had it yourself. You've thrown away your
chance in life — to give up the girl, yes — but this"
he stamped his foot with rage — " to throw five thou
sand dollars out of the window — to stuff it into the
pockets of someone else, when it might have been
yours, when you might have had Trina and the
money — and all for what? Because we were pals.
Oh, ' pals ' is all right — but five thousand dollars —
to have played it right into his hands — God damn
the luck!"

120

VIII.

The next two months were delightful. Trina and
McTeague saw each other regularly, three times a
week. The dentist went over to B Street Sunday
and Wednesday afternoons as usual; but on Fridays
it was Trina who came to the city. She spent the
morning between nine and twelve o'clock down
town, for the most part in the cheap department
stores, doing the weekly shopping for herself and
the family. At noon she took an uptown car and
met McTeague at the corner of Polk Street. The
two lunched together at a small uptown hotel just
around the corner on Sutter Street. They, were
given a little room to themselves. Nothing could
have been more delicious. They had but to close
the sliding door to shut themselves off from 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 the corners of
her lips, her mother's net reticule stuffed to burst
ing. Once in their tiny private room, she would
drop into her chair with a little groan.

" Oh, Mac, I am so tired; I've just been all over
town. Oh, it's good to sit down. Just think, I had
to stand up in the car all the way, after being on my
feet the whole blessed morning. Look here what
I've bought. Just things and things. Look,
130

McTeague

there's some dotted veiling I got for myself; see
now, do you think it looks pretty?" — she spread it
over her face — " and I got a box of writing paper,
and a roll of crepe paper to make a lamp shade for
the front parlor; and — what do you suppose — I saw
a pair of Nottingham lace curtains for forty-nine
cents; isn't that cheap? and some chenille portieres
for two and a half. Now what have you been doing
since I last saw you? Did Mr. Heise finally get up
enough courage to have his tooth pulled yet? "
Trina took off her hat and veil and rearranged her
hair before the looking-glass.

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

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

At other times they would talk at length over
their plans, while Trina sipped her chocolate and
McTeague devoured huge chunks of butterless
bread. They were to be married at the end of May,
and the dentist already had his eye on a couple of
rooms, part of the suite of a bankrupt 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 could be sure, in fact, of a tidy
little income. The dentist's practice was fairly

McTeague

good, and they could count upon the interest of
Trina's five thousand dollars. To McTeague's
mind this interest seemed wofully small. He had
had uncertain ideas about that five thousand dol
lars; had imagined that they would spend it in some
lavish fashion; would buy a house, perhaps, or would
furnish their new rooms with overwhelming luxury
— luxury that implied red velvet carpets and con
tinued feasting. The old-time miner's idea of
wealth easily gained and quickly spent persisted in
his mind. But when Trina had begun to talk of
investments and interests and per cents, he was
troubled and not a little disappointed. The lump
sum of five thousand dollars was one thing, a mis
erable little twenty or twenty-five a month was quite
another; and then someone else had the money.

" But don't you see, Mac," explained Trina, " it's
ours just the same. We could get it back when
ever we wanted it; and then it's the reasonable way
to do. We mustn't let it turn our heads, Mac, dear,
like that man that spent all he won in buying more
tickets. How foolish we'd feel after we'd spent it all!
We ought to go on just the same as before; as if 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 of endless discussion in the
Sieppe family. The savings bank would allow only
three per cent., but Trina's parents believed that
something better could be got.
132

McTeague

" There's Uncle Oelbermann," Trina had sug
gested, remembering the rich relative 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. Oelber-
mann's business. He gave Trina six per cent.

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

She made NoahVark animals, whittling them out
of a block of soft wood with a sharp jack-knife, the
only instrument she used. Trina was very proud
to explain her work to McTeague as he had already
explained his own 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 time with the
little blade, more carefully; then I put in the ears
and tail with a drop of glue, and paint it with a
' non-poisonous ' paint — Vandyke brown for the
horses, foxes, and cows ; slate gray for the elephants
and camels; burnt umber for the chickens, zebras,
and so on; then, last, a dot of Chinese white for the
eyes, and there you are, all finished. They sell for
nine cents a dozen. Only I can't make the mani
kins."

133

McTeague

"The manikins?"

" The little figures, you know — Noah and his
wife, and Shem, and all the others.''

It was true. Trina could not whittle them fast
enough and cheap enough to compete with the
turning lathe, that could throw off whole tribes and
peoples of manikins while she was fashioning one
family. Everything else, however, she made — the
ark itself, all windows and no door; the box 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 a week.

The income from these three sources, Mc-
Teague's profession, the interest of the five thou
sand dollars, and Trina's whittling, made a respecta
ble little sum taken altogether. Trina declared
they could even lay by something, adding to the
five thousand dollars little by little.

It soon became apparent that Trina would be an
extraordinarily good housekeeper. Economy was
her strong point. A good deal of peasant blood still
ran undiluted in her veins, and she had all the in
stinct of a hardy and penurious mountain race —
the instinct which saves without any thought, with
out idea of consequence — saving for the sake of
saving, hoarding without knowing why. Even
McTeague did not know how closely Trina held
to her new-found wealth.

But they did not always pass their luncheon hour
in this discussion of incomes and economies. As
the dentist came to know his little woman better she
grew to be more and more of a puzzle and a joy to
him. She would suddenly interrupt a grave dis-
134

McTeague

course upon the rents of rooms and the cost of light
and fuel with a brusque outburst of affection that
set him all a-tremble with delight. All at once she
would set down her chocolate, and, leaning across
the narrow table, would exclaim:

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

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

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

" That'll make the hair grow."

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

One particular amusement they never wearied
of. The two would lean across the table toward
each other, McTeague folding his arms under his
breast. Then Trina, resting on her elbows, would
part his mustache — the great blond mustache of a
135

McTeague

viking — with her two hands, pushing it up from his
lips, causing his face to assume the appearance of a
Greek mask. She would curl it around either fore
finger, drawing it to a fine end. Then all at once
McTeague would make a fearful snorting noise
through his nose. Invariably — though she was ex
pecting this, though it was part of the game— Trina
would jump with a stifled shriek. McTeague
would bellow with laughter till his eyes watered.
Then they would recommence upon the instant,
Trina protesting with a nervous tremulousness :
" Now — now — now, Mac, don't; you scare me so."
But these delicious t$te-a-t$tes with Trina were
offset by a certain coolness that Marcus Schouler
began to affect towards the dentist. At first Mc
Teague was unaware of it; but by this time even
his slow wits began to perceive that his best friend
— his " pal " — was not the same to him as formerly.
They continued to meet at lunch nearly every day
but Friday at the car conductors' coffee-joint. But
Marcus was sulky; there could be no doubt about
that. He avoided talking to McTeague, read the
paper continually, answering the dentist's timid
efforts at conversation in gruff monosyllables.
Sometimes, even, he turned sideways to the table
and talked at great length to Heise the harness-
maker, whose table was next to theirs. They took
no more long walks together when Marcus went
out to exercise the dogs. Nor did Marcus ever
again recur to his generosity in renouncing Trina.
One Tuesday, as McTeague took his place at the
table in the coffee-joint, he found Marcus already
there.

136

McTeague

" Hello, Mark," said the dentist, " you here al
ready ?"

" Hello," returned the other, indifferently, help
ing himself to tomato catsup. There was a silence.
After a long while Marcus suddenly looked up.

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

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 you and 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 — you ought to have told
me before. Here's your money, and I'm obliged to
you."

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

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

" And I ain't saying anything about your sleep
ing at the hospital that night, 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 out Marcus. " You 'a' had to pay
half a dollar for a bed at the flat.

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

" I don't want your damn money," shouted Mar-
137

McTeague

cus in a sudden rage, throwing back the coin. " I
ain't no beggar."

McTeague was miserable. How had he of
fended his pal?

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

" I tell you I won't touch your money," ex
claimed the other through his clenched teeth, white
with passion. " I've been played for a sucker long
enough."

" What's the matter with you lately, Mark? " re
monstrated 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 rose from the table. " That's all
right. I've been played for a sucker long enough,
that's all. I've been played for a sucker long
enough." He went away 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 for cheap
butter and eggs, painted in green marking-ink upon
wrapping paper, stood about on the sidewalk out
side. The doorway was decorated with a huge Mil
waukee beer sign. Back of the store proper was
a bar where white sand covered the floor. A few
tables and chairs were scattered here and there.
The walls were hung with gorgeously-colored to
bacco advertisements and colored lithographs of
trotting horses. On the wall behind 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
138

McTeague

his pitcher to be filled on Sunday afternoons. Since
his engagement to Trina he had discontinued this
habit. However, he still dropped into Frenna's
one or two nights in the week. He spent a pleasant
hour there, smoking his huge porcelain pipe and
drinking his beer. He never joined any of £he
groups of piquet players around the tables. In fact,
he hardly spoke to anyone but the bartender and
Marcus.

For Frenna's was one of Marcus Schouler's
haunts; a great deal of his time was spent there. He
involved himself in fearful political and social dis
cussions with Heise the harness-maker, and with
one or two old Germans, habitues of the place.
These discussions Marcus carried on, as was his
custom, at the top of his voice, gesticulating
fiercely, banging the table with his fists, brandish
ing the plates and glasses, exciting himself with
his own clamor.

On a certain Saturday evening, a few days after
the scene at the coffee-joint, the dentist bethought
him to spend a quiet evening at Frenna's. He had
not been there for some time, and, besides that, it
occurred to him that the day was his birthday. He
would permit himself an extra pipe and a few
glasses of beer. When McTeague entered Frenna's
back room by the street door, he found Marcus and
Heise already installed at one of the tables. Two
or three of the old Germans sat opposite them,
gulping their beer from time to time. Heise was
smoking a cigar, but Marcus had before him his
fourth whiskey cocktail. At the moment of Mc-
Teague's entrance Marcus had the floor.
139

McTeague

" It can't be proven," he was yelling. " I defy
any sane politician whose eyes are not blinded by
party prejudices, whose opinions are not warped
by a personal bias, to substantiate such a statement.
Look at your facts, 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 con
tract between me and the government, ain't it?
Well, then, by damn! if the authorities do not or
will not afford me protection for life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness, then my obligations are at
an end; I withhold 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 get jugged." But this observa^
tion of the harness-maker's roused Marcus to the
last pitch of frenzy.

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

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

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

" Hullo, Mark."

But McTeague's presence made Marcus uneasy,

rousing in him at once a sense of wrong. He

twisted to and fro in his chair, shrugging first one

shoulder and then another. Quarrelsome at all

140

McTeague

times, the heat of the previous discussion had
awakened within him all his natural combativeness.
Besides this, he was drinking his fourth cocktail.

McTeague began filling his big porcelain pipe.
He lit it, blew a great cloud of smoke into the room,
and settled himself comfortably in his chair. The
smoke of his cheap tobacco drifted into the faces
of the 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 ! If you'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 pipe from his mouth, and
stared blankly at Marcus; his lips moved, but he
said no word. Marcus turned his back on him,
and the dentist resumed his pipe.

But Marcus was far from being appeased. Mc
Teague could not hear the talk that followed be
tween him and the harness-maker, but it seemed to
him that Marcus was telling Heise of some injury,
some grievance, and that the 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 Marcus swung 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."

141

McTeague

McTeague gaped at him, bewildered. He re
moved his pipe from his mouth a second time, and
stared at Marcus with eyes full of trouble and per
plexity.

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

" If it hadn't been for me," Marcus continued,
addressing himself directly to McTeague, " you
wouldn't have had a cent of it — no, not a cent.
Where's my share, I'd like to know? Where do I
come in? No, I ain't in it any more. I've been
played for a sucker, an' now that you've got all you
can out of me, now that you've done me out of my
girl and out of my money, you give me the go-by.
Why, where would you have been to-day if it hadn't
been for me? " Marcus shouted in a sudden exas
peration, " You'd a been plugging teeth at two bits
an hour. Ain't you got any gratitude? Ain't you
got any sense of decency? "

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

" No, I don't, Heise," returned Marcus, with a
plaintive, aggrieved air. " But it's too much some
times when you think of it. He stole away my
girl's affections, and now that he's rich and pros
perous, and has got five thousand dollars that I
might have had, he gives me the go-by; he's
played 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 what you are."
142

McTeague

" 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
harness-maker, as though this explained every
thing. " Look at that, look at that. Well, I've
done with you from now on." Marcus had risen to
his feet by this time and made as if to leave, but at
every instant he came back, shouting his phrases
into McTeague's face, moving off again as he
spoke the last words, in order to give them better
effect.

" This settles it right here. I've done with you.
Don't you ever dare speak to me again " — his voice
was shaking with fury — " and don't you sit at my
table in the restaurant again. I'm sorry I ever
lowered myself to keep company with such dirt. Ah,
one-horse dentist! Ah, ten-cent zinc-plugger — hood
lum — mucker! Get your damn smoke outa my face."

Then matters reached a sudden climax. In his
agitation the dentist had been pulling hard on his
pipe, and as Marcus for the last time thrust his face
close to his own, McTeague, in opening his lips to
reply, blew a stifling, acrid cloud directly in Marcus
Schouler's eyes. Marcus knocked the pipe from
his ringers with a sudden flash of his hand; it spun
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's out
break as well as by its unreasonableness. Why
143

McTeague

had Marcus broken his pipe? What did it all mean,
anyway? As he rose the dentist made a vague
motion with his right hand. Did Marcus misinter
pret it as a gesture of menace? He sprang back
as though avoiding a blow. All at once there was
a cry. Marcus had made a quick, peculiar motion,
swinging his arm upward with a wide and sweeping
gesture; his jack-knife lay open in his palm; it shot
forward as he flung it, glinted sharply by Mc-
Teague's head, and struck quivering into the wall
behind.

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

Thereon a great babel of exclamation arose. The
tension of that all but fatal 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 he is, you never can tell."
144

McTeague

Frenna drew the knife from the wall.

" Guess I'll keep this toad-stabber," he observed.
"That fellow won't come round for it in a hurry;
good-sized blade, too." The group examined it
with intense interest.

" Big enough to let -the life out of any man/' ob
served Heise.

" What— what— what did he do it for?" stam
mered McTeague. " I got no quarrel with
him."

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

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

" He can't make small of me" he exclaimed, sud
denly. " I'll show Marcus Schouler — I'll s'how
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 'urn 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 on his life, was beyond his solu-
10 145

McTeague

tion; but the breaking of his pipe he understood
clearly enough.

" I'll show him," he exclaimed.

As though they had been little children, Mc
Teague set Frenna and the harness-maker aside,
and strode out at the door like a raging elephant.
He'ise stood rubbing his shoulder.

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

Meanwhile, McTeague went storming up the
street toward the flat, wagging his 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's room. The door was locked. The
dentist put one enormous hand on the knob and
pushed the door in, snapping the wood-work, tear
ing off the lock. Nobody — the room was dark and
empty. Never mind, Marcus would have to come
home some time that night. McTeague would go
down and wait for him in 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 big packing-box that stood
in the hallway just outside his door. Puzzled, he
stepped over it, and lighting the gas in his room,
dragged it inside and examined 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
left for him in this fashion. No mistake was possi
ble. There were his name and address unmis-
146

McTeague

takably. " Dr. McTeague, dentist, — Polk Street,
San Francisco, Cal.," and the red Wells-Fargo tag.

Seized with the joyful curiosity of an overgrown
boy, he pried off the boards with the corner of his
fire-shovel. The case was stuffed full of excelsior.
On the top lay an envelope addressed to him in
Trina's handwriting. He opened it and read, " For
my dear Mac's birthday, from Trina; " and below, in
a kind of postscript, " The man will be round to
morrow to put it in place." McTeague tore away
the excelsior. Suddenly he uttered an exclama
tion.

It was the Tooth — the famous golden molar with
its huge prongs — his sign, his ambition, the one
unrealized dream of his life; and it was French gilt,
too, not the cheap German gilt that was no good.
Ah, what a dear little woman was this Trina, to
keep so quiet, to remember his birthday!

" Ain't she — ain't she just a — just a jewel," ex
claimed McTeague under his breath, " a jewel — yes,
just a jewel; that's the word."

Very carefully he removed the rest of the excel
sior, and lifting the ponderous Tooth from its box,
set it upon the marble-top centre table. How im
mense it looked in that little room! The thing was
tremendous, overpowering — the tooth of a gigan
tic fossil, golden and dazzling. Beside it everything
seemed dwarfed. Even McTeague himself, big
boned and enormous as he was, shrank and
dwindled in the presence of the monster. As for
an instant he bore it in his hands, it was like a puny
Gulliver struggling with the molar of some vast
Brobdingnag.

147

McTeague

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

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

For a whole hour the dentist sat there in his little
"Parlor," gazing ecstatically at his treasure, dazzled,
supremely content. The whole room took on a
different aspect because of it. The stone pug dog
before the little stove reflected it in his protruding
eyes; the canary woke and chittered feebly at this
new gilt, so much brighter than the bars of its little
prison. Lorenzo de' Medici, in the steel engraving,
in the heart of his court, seemed to ogle the
148

McTeague

thing out of the corner of one eye, while the bril
liant colors of the unused rifle manufacturer's cal
endar seemed to fade and pale in the brilliance of
this greater glory.

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

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

" An' now he breaks into my room — into my
room, by damn ! How do I know how many things
he's stolen? It's come to stealing from me, now,
has it?" 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 the window-curtains up so that he could
see the tooth the last thing before he went to sleep
and the first thing as he arose in the morning.
149

McTeague

But he was restless during the night. Every now
and then he was awakened by noises to which he
had long since become accustomed. Now it was
the cackling of the geese in the deserted market
across the street; now it was the stoppage of the
cable, the sudden silence coming almost like a
shock ; and now it was the infuriated barking of the
dogs in the back yard — Alec, the Irish setter, and
the collie that belonged to the branch post-office
raging at each other through the fence, snarling
their endless hatred into each other's faces. As
often as he woke, McTeague turned and looked
for the tooth, with a sudden suspicion that he had
only that moment dreamed the whole business.
But he always found it — Trina's gift, his birthday
present from his little woman — a huge, vague bulk,
looming there through the half darkness in the
centre of the room, shining dimly out as if with
some mysterious light of its own.

150

IX.

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

, They were to move to the southern part of the
State the day after Trina's marriage, Mr. Sieppe
having bought a third interest in an upholstering
business in the suburbs of Los Angeles. It was
possible that 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 with responsi
bility, more burdened with care, more overcome
with the sense of the importance of his undertaking,
than was Mr. Sieppe during this period of prepara
tion. From dawn to dark, from dark to early
dawn, he toiled and planned and fretted, organiz
ing and reorganizing, projecting and devising. The
trunks were lettered, A, B, and C, the packages
and smaller bundles numbered. Each member of the
family had his especial duty to perform, his particu
lar bundles to oversee. Not a detail was forgotten —

McTeague

fares, prices, and tips were calculated to two places
of decimals. Even the amount of food that it
would be necessary to carry for the black grey
hound was determined. Mrs. Sieppe was to look
after the lunch, " der gomisariat." Mr. Sieppe
would assume charge of the checks, the money, the
tickets, and, of course, general supervision. The
twins would be under the command of Owgooste,
who, in turn, would report for orders to his father.

Day in and day out these minutiae were re
hearsed. The children were drilled in their parts
with a military exactitude; obedience and punctu
ality became cardinal virtues. The vast importance
of the undertaking was insisted upon with scrupu
lous iteration. It was a manoeuvre, an army chang
ing its base of operations, a veritable tribal migra
tion.

On the other hand, Trina's little room was the
centre around which revolved another and different
order of things. The dressmaker came and went,
congratulatory visitors invaded the little front par
lor, 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 little work-table; and a mislaid box
of artificial orange blossoms was finally discovered
behind the bureau.

The two systems of operation often clashed and
tangled. Mrs. Sieppe was found by her harassed
husband helping Trina with the waist of her gown
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McTeague

when she should have been slicing ~old chicken
in the kitchen. Mr. Sieppe packed his frock coat,
which he would have to wear at the wedding, at the
very bottom of " Trunk C." The minister, who
called to offer his congratulations and to make ar
rangements, was mistaken for the expressman.

McTeague came and went furtively, dizzied and
made uneasy by all this bustle. He got in the way;
he trod upon and tore breadths of silk; he tried 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, and retiring pre
cipitately, overturned the piles of pictures stacked
in the hall.

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, an opening
and shutting of doors, and an intermittent sound
of 'hammering from the laundry, where Mr. Sieppe
in his shirt sleeves labored among the packing-
boxes. The twins clattered about on the carpetless
floors of the denuded rooms. Owgooste was
smacked from hour to hour, and wept upon the
front stairs; the dressmaker called over the banis
ters for a hot flatiron; expressmen tramped
up and down the stairway. Mrs. Sieppe stopped
in the preparation of the lunches to call " Hoop,
Hoop " to the greyhound, throwing lumps of coal.
The dog-wheel creaked, the front door bell rang,
delivery wagons rumbled away, windows rattled —
the little house was in a positive uproar.

Almost every day of the week now Trina was
obliged to run over to town and meet McTeague.
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McTeague

No more philandering over their lunch now-a-days.
It was business now. They haunted the house-
furnishing floors of the great department houses,
inspecting and pricing ranges, hardware, china, and
the like. They rented the photographer's rooms
furnished, and fortunately 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's five thousand dollars. For it
had been finally decided that two hundred dollars
of this amount should be devoted to the establish
ment of the new household. Now that Trina had
made her great winning, Mr. Sieppe no longer saw
the necessity of dowering her further, especially
when he considered the enormous expense to which
he would be put by the voyage of his own family.

It had been a dreadful wrench for Trina to break
in upon her precious five thousand. She clung to
this sum with a tenacity that was surprising; it had
become for her a thing miraculous, a god-from-the
machine, suddenly descending upon the stage of
her humble little life; she regarded it as something
almost sacred and inviolable. Never, never should a
penny of it be spent. Before she could be induced
to part with two hundred dollars of it, more than
one scene had been enacted 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 in his
face, declaring that it was her secret. McTeague
never found out.

One day during this period McTeague told
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McTeague

Trina about his affair with Marcus. Instantly she
was aroused.

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

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

" Think of it! " she gasped; " and he wanted part
of my money. Well, I do like his cheek; part of my
five thousand! Why, it's mine, every single penny
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 probably been drinking a good
deal and didn't know what he was about. He had
a dreadful temper, anyhow. Maybe he only wanted
to scare McTeague.

The week before the marriage the two men were
reconciled. Mrs. Sieppe brought them together in
the front parlor of the B Street house.

" Now, you two fellers, don't be dot foolish.
Schake hands und maig ut oop, soh."

Marcus muttered an apology. McTeague, mis
erably embarrassed, rolled his eyes about the room,
murmuring, " That's all right — that's all right —
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 up with the dentist now that he was going
away, but he'd be damned — yes, he would — before
he'd be his best man. That was rubbing it in. Let
him get Old Grannis.

155

McTeague

" I'm friends with um all right," vociferated Mar
cus, " but I'll not stand up with um. I'll not be
anybody's best man, I won't."

The wedding was to be very quiet; Trina pre
ferred it that way. McTeague would invite only
Miss Baker and Heise the harness-maker. The
Sieppes sent cards to Selina, who was counted on
to furnish the music; to Marcus, of course; and to
Uncle Oelbermann.

At last the great day, the first of June, arrived.
The Sieppes had packed their last box and had
strapped the last trunk. Trina's two trunks had
already been sent to her new home — the remodelled
photographer's rooms. The B Street house was
deserted; the whole family came over to the city on
the last day of May and stopped over night at one of
the cheap downtown hotels. Trina would be mar
ried the following evening, and immediately after
the wedding supper the Sieppes would leave for
the South.

McTeague spent the day in a fever of agitation,
frightened out of his wits each time that Old Gran-
nis left his elbow.

Old Grannis was delighted beyond measure at
the prospect of acting the part of best man in the
ceremony. This wedding in which he was to figure
filled his mind with vague ideas and half-formed
thoughts. He found himself continually wonder
ing what Miss Baker would think of it. During all
that day he was in a reflective mood.

" Marriage is a — a noble institution, is it not,
Doctor?" he observed to McTeague. " The— the
foundation of society. It is not good that man
156

McTeague

should be alone. No, no," he added, pensively,
" it is not good/'

" Huh? Yes, yes," McTeague answered, his eyes
in the air, hardly hearing him. " Do you think
the rooms are all right? Let's go in and look at
them again."

They went down the hall to where the new rooms
were situated, and the dentist inspected them for
the twentieth time.

The rooms were three in number — first, the sit
ting-room, which was also the dining-room; then
the bedroom, and back of this the tiny kitchen.

The sitting-room was particularly charming.
Clean matting covered the floor, and two or three
bright-colored rugs were scattered here and there.
The backs of the chairs were hung with knitted
worsted tidies, very gay. The bay window should
have been occupied by Trina's sewing machine, but
this had been moved to the other side of the room
to give place to a little black walnut table with spiral
legs, before which the pair were to be married. In
one corner stood the parlor melodeon, a family pos
session of the Sieppes,but given now toTrina as one
of her parents' wedding presents. Three pictures
hung upon the walls. Two were companion pieces.
One of these represented a little boy wearing huge
spectacles and trying to smoke an enormous pipe.
This was called " I'm Grandpa," the title being
printed in large black letters ; the companion picture
was entitled " I'm Grandma," a little girl in cap and
" specs," wearing mitts, and knitting. These pic
tures were hung on either side of the mantelpiece.
The other picture was quite an affair, very large and
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McTeague

striking. It was a colored lithograph of two lit
tle golden-haired girls in their nightgowns. They
were kneeling down and saying their prayers ; their
eyes — very large and very blue — rolled upward.
This picture had for name, " Faith," and was bor
dered with a red plush mat and a frame of imita
tion beaten brass.

A door hung with chenille portieres — a bargain
at two dollars and a half — admitted one to the bed
room. The bedroom could boast a carpet, three-
ply ingrain, the design being bunches of red and
green flowers in yellow baskets on a white ground.
The wall-paper was admirable — hundreds and hun
dreds of tiny Japanese mandarins, all identically
alike, helping hundreds of almond-eyed ladies into
hundreds of impossible junks, while hundreds of
bamboo palms overshadowed the pair, and hun
dreds of long-legged storks trailed contemptuously
away from the scene. This room was prolific in
pictures. Most of them were framed colored prints
from Christmas editions of the London " Graphic "
and " Illustrated News," the subject of each picture
inevitably involving very alert fox terriers and very
pretty moon-faced little girls.

Back of the bedroom was the kitchen, a creation
of Trina's, a dream of a kitchen, with its range, its
porcelain-lined sink, its copper boiler, and its over
powering array of flashing tinware. Everything
was new; everything was complete.

Maria Macapa and a waiter from one of the
restaurants in the street were to prepare the wed
ding supper here. Maria had already put in an
appearance. The fire was crackling in the new
158

McTeague

stove, that smoked badly; a smell of cooking was in
the air. She drove McTeague and Old Grannis
from the room with great gestures of her bare arms.

This kitchen was the only one of the three rooms
they had been obliged to furnish throughout. Most
of the sitting-room and bedroom furniture went
with the suite; a few pieces they had bought; the
remainder Trina had brought over from the B
Street house.

The presents had been set out on the extension
table in the sitting-room. Besides the parlor melo-
deon, Trina's parents had given her an 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 slice of redwood that answered
the purposes of a paper weight. Marcus Schouler
— after impressing upon Trina that his gift was to
her, and not to McTeague — had sent a chatelaine
watch of German silver; Uncle Oelbermann's pres
ent, however, had been awaited with a good deal of
curiosity. What would he send? He was very
rich; in a sense Trina was his protegt. A couple
of days before that upon which the wedding was
to take place, two boxes arrived with his card.
Trina and McTeague, assisted by Old Grannis, had
opened them. The first was a box of all sorts of
toys.

" But what — what — I don't make it out," Mc
Teague had exclaimed. " Why should he send us
toys? We have no need of toys." Scarlet to her
hair, Trina dropped into a chair and laughed till
she cried behind her handkerchief.

" We've no use of toys," muttered McTeague,
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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 and stamps 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 seen the like before. Ah, this Uncle Oelber-
mann! That's what it was to be rich. Not one of
the other presents produced so deep an impression
as this.

After Old Grannis and the dentist had gone
through the rooms, giving a last look around to see
that everything was ready, they returned to Mc-
Teague's " Parlors." At the door Old Grannis ex
cused himself.

At four o'clock McTeague began to dress, shav
ing himself first before the hand-glass that was
hung against the woodwork of the bay window.
While he shaved he sang with strange inappropri-
ateness:

" 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 a roll of wheels over the cob
bles in front of the house. He rushed to the win
dow. Trina had arrived with her father and mother.
He saw her get out, 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 of inno-
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McTeague

cence and confidence. The dentist saw again, as if
for the first time, her small, pale face looking out
from beneath her royal tiara of black hair; he saw
again her long, narrow blue eyes; her lips, nose, and
tiny ears, pale and bloodless, and suggestive of
anaemia, as if all the vitality that should have lent
them color had been sucked up into the strands and
coils of that wonderful hair.

As their eyes met they waved their hands gayly
to each other; then McTeague heard Trina and her
mother come up the stairs and go into the bedroom
of the photographer's suite, where Trina was to
dress.

No, no; surely there could be no longer any hesi
tation. He knew that he loved her. What was the
matter with him, that he should have doubted it for
an instant? The great difficulty was that she was
too good, too adorable, 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 in his one black suit of
broadcloth, much wrinkled; his hair was carefully
brushed over his bald forehead.

" Miss Trina has come," he announced, " and the
minister. You have an hour yet."

The dentist finished dressing. He wore a suit
bought for the occasion — a ready made " Prince
Albert " coat too short in the sleeves, striped
" blue " trousers, and new patent leather shoes —
veritable instruments of torture. Around his collar
was a wonderful necktie that Trina had given him ;
it was of salmon-pink satin ; in its centre Selina had
painted a knot of blue forget-me-nots.
IT 161

McTeague

At length, after an interminable period of wait
ing, Mr. Sieppe appeared at the door.

" Are you reatty? " he asked in a sepulchral whis
per. " Gome, den." It was like King Charles
summoned to execution. Mr. Sieppe preceded
them into the hall, moving at a funereal pace. He
paused. Suddenly, in the direction of the sitting-
room, came the strains of the parlor melodeon. Mr.
Sieppe flung his arm into the air.

" Vowaarts!" he cried.

He left them at the door of the sitting-room, he
himself going into the bedroom where Trina was
waiting, entering by the hall door. He was in a
tremendous state of nervous tension, fearful lest
something should go wrong. He had employed
the period of waiting in going through his part for
the fiftieth time, repeating what he had to say in a
low voice. He had even made chalk marks on the
matting in the places where he was to take posi
tions.

The dentist and Old Grannis entered the sitting-
room; the minister stood behind the little table in
the bay window, holding a book, one finger mark
ing the place; he was rigid, erect, impassive. On
either side of him, in a semi-circle, stood the in
vited guests. A little pock-marked gentleman in
glasses, no doubt the famous Uncle Oelbermann;
Miss Baker, in her black grenadine, false curls,
and coral brooch ; Marcus Schouler, his arms folded,
his brows bent, grand and gloomy; Heise the har
ness-maker, in yellow gloves, intently studying the
pattern of the matting; and Owgooste, in his Faunt-
leroy " costume," stupefied and a little frightened,
362

McTeague

rolling his eyes from face to face. Selina sat at the
parlor melodeon, fingering the keys, her glance
wandering to the chenille portieres. She stopped
playing as McTeague and Old Grannis entered and
took their places. A profound silence ensued.
Uncle Oelbermann's shirt front could be heard
creaking as he breathed. The most solemn expres
sion pervaded every face.

All at once the portieres were shaken violently.
It was a signal. Selina pulled open the stops and
swung into the wedding march.

Trina entered. She was dressed in white silk, a
crown of orange blossoms was around her swarthy
hair — dressed high for the first time — her veil
reached to the floor. Her face was pink, but other
wise she was calm. She looked quietly around the
room as she crossed it, until her glance rested on
McTeague, smiling at him then very prettily and
with perfect self-possession.

She was on her father's arm. The twins, dressed
exactly alike, walked in 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 looked at the train of
Trina' s dress through her tears. Mr. Sieppe
marched his daughter to the exact middle of the
floor, wheeled at right angles, and brought her up
to the minister. He stepped back three paces, and
stood planted upon one of his chalk marks, his face
glistening with perspiration.

Then Trina and the dentist were married. The
guests stood in constrained attitudes, looking fur
ies

McTeague

tively out of the corners of their eyes. Mr. Sieppe
never moved a muscle; Mrs. Sieppe cried into her
handkerchief all the time. At the melodeon Selina
played " Call Me Thine Own," very softly, the
tremulo stop pulled out. She looked over her
shoulder from time to time. Between the pauses
of the music one could hear the low tones of the
minister, the responses of the participants, and the
suppressed sounds of Mrs. Sieppe's weeping. Out
side the noises of the street rose to the windows in
muffled undertones, a cable car rumbled past, a
newsboy went by chanting the evening papers; from
somewhere in the building itself came a persistent
noise of sawing.

Trina and McTeague knelt. The dentist's knees
thudded on the floor and he presented to view the
soles of his shoes, painfully new and unworn, the
leather still yellow, the brass nail heads still glitter
ing. Trina sank at his side very gracefully, settling
her dress and train with a little gesture of her free
hand. The company bowed their heads, Mr. Sieppe
shutting his eyes tight. But Mrs. Sieppe took ad
vantage of the moment to stop crying and make
furtive gestures towards Owgooste, signing him to
pull down his coat. But Owgooste gave no heed;
his eyes were starting from their sockets, his chin
had dropped upon his lace collar, and his head
turned vaguely from side to side with a continued
and maniacal motion.

All at once the ceremony was over before any one

expected it. The guests kept their positions for a

moment, eying one another, each fearing to make

the first move, not quite certain as to whether or

164

McTeague

not everything were finished. But the couple faced
the room, Trina throwing back her veil. She —
perhaps McTeague as well — felt that there was a
certain inadequateness about the ceremony. Was
that all there was to it? Did just those few mut
tered phrases make them man and wife? It had
been over in a few moments, but it had bound them
for life. Had not something been left out? Was
not the whole affair cursory, superficial? It was
disappointing.

But Trina had no time to dwell upon this. Mar
cus Schouler, in the manner of a man of the world,
who knew how to act in every situation, stepped
forward and, even before Mr. or Mrs. Sieppe, took
Trina's hand.

" Let me be the first to congratulate Mrs. Mc
Teague," he said, feeling very noble and heroic.
The strain of the previous moments was relaxed
immediately, the guests crowded around the pair,
shaking hands — a babel of talk arose.

" Owgooste, will you pull down your goat, den? "

" Well, my dear, now you're married and happy.
When I first saw you two together, I said, ' What a
pair! ' We're to be neighbors now; you must come
up and see me very often and we'll have tea to
gether."

" Did you hear that sawing going on all the time?
I declare it regularly got on my nerves."

Trina kissed her father and mother, crying a little
herself as she saw the tears in Mrs. Sieppe's
eyes.

Marcus came forward a second time, and, with
an air of great gravity, kissed his cousin upon the
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McTeague

forehead. Heise was introduced to Trina and
Uncle Oelbermann to the dentist.

For upwards of half an hour the guests stood
about in groups, filling the little sitting-room with
a great chatter of talk. Then it was time to make
ready for supper.

This was a tremendous task, in which nearly all
the guests were obliged to assist. The sitting-room
was transformed into a dining-room. The presents
were removed from the extension table and the
table drawn out to its full length. The cloth was
laid, the chairs — rented from the dancing academy
•hard by — drawn up, the dishes set out, and the two
bouquets of cut flowers taken from the twins under
their shrill protests, and " arranged " in vases at
either end of the table.

There was a great coming and going between the
kitchen and the sitting-room. Trina, who was al
lowed to do nothing, sat in the bay window 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 a corkscrew? "

" In the kitchen-table drawer, in the left-hand
corner."

" Are these the forks you want to use, Mrs. Mc
Teague? "

" No, no, there's some silver forks. Mamma
knows where."

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McTeague

They were all very gay, laughing over their mis
takes, getting in one another's way, rushing into the
sitting-room, their hands full of plates or knives or
glasses, and darting out again after more. Marcus
and Mr. Sieppe took their coats off. Old Gran-
nis and Miss Baker passed each other in the hall
in a constrained silence, her grenadine brushing
against the elbow of his wrinkled frock coat. Uncle
Oelbermann superintended Heise opening the case
of champagne with the gravity of a magistrate.
Owgooste was assigned the task of filling the new
salt and pepper canisters of red and blue glass.

In a wonderfully short time everything was
ready. Marcus Schouler resumed 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, the dentist at the head, the others
arranged themselves in haphazard fashion. But it
happened that Marcus Schouler crowded into the
seat beside Selina, towards which Old Grannis
was directing himself. There was but one other
chair vacant, and that at the side of Miss Baker.
Old Grannis hesitated, putting his hand to his chin.
However, there was no escape. In great trepida
tion he sat down beside the retired dressmaker.
Neither of them spoke. Old Grannis dared not
move, but sat rigid, his eyes riveted on his empty
soup plate.

All at once there was a report like a pistol. The
men started in their places. Mrs. Sieppe uttered
a muffled shriek. The waiter from the cheap res-
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McTeague

taurant, hired as Maria's assistant, rose from a
bending posture, a champagne 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 of the bride, " standing up."
The guests rose and drank. Hardly one of them
had ever tasted champagne before. The moment's
silence after the toast was broken by McTeague ex
claiming with a long breath of satisfaction: " That's
the best beer 7 ever drank."

TMere was a roar of laughter. Especially was
Marcus tickled over the dentist's blunder; he went
off in a very spasm of mirth, banging the table
with his fist, laughing until his eyes watered. All
through the meal 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 were sea bass and barracuda;
there was a gigantic roast goose stuffed with chest
nuts; there were egg-plant and sweet potatoes —
Miss Baker called them " yams." There was calf's
head in oil, over which Mr. Sieppe went into ecsta
sies; there was lobster salad; there were rice pud
ding, and strawberry ice cream, and wine jelly, and
stewed prunes, and cocoanuts, and mixed nuts, and
raisins, and fruit, and tea, and coffee, and mineral
waters, and lemonade.

For two hours the guests ate; their faces red,
their elbows wide, the perspiration beading their

1 63

McTeague

foreheads. All around the table one saw the same
incessant movement of jaws and heard the same
uninterrupted sound of 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 within reach of his
hands found its way into his enormous mouth.

There was but little conversation, and that only
of the food; one exchanged opinions with one's
neighbor as to the soup, the egg-plant, or the stewed
prunes. Soon the room became very warm, a faint
moisture appeared upon the windows, the air was
heavy with the smell of cooked food. At every
moment Trina or Mrs. Sieppe urged some one of
the company to have his or her plate refilled. They
were constantly employed in dishing potatoes or
carving the goose or ladling gravy. The hired
waiter circled around the room, his limp napkin
over his arm, his hands full of plates and dishes. He
was a great joker; he had names of his own for
different articles of food, that sent gales of laughter
around the table. When he spoke of a bunch of
parsley as " scenery," Heise all but strangled him
self over a mouthful of potato. Out in the kitchen
Maria Macapa did the work of three, her face
scarlet, her sleeves rolled up; every now and then
she uttered shrill but unintelligible outcries, sup
posedly addressed to the waiter.

" Uncle Oelbermann," said Trina, " let me give
you another helping of prunes."

The Sieppes paid great deference to Uncle Oel
bermann, as indeed did the whole company. Even
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McTeague

Marcus Schouler lowered his voice when he ad
dressed him. At the beginning of the meal he had
nudged the harness-maker and had whispered be
hind his hand, nodding his head toward the whole
sale toy dealer, " 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 were still eating. The men,
gorged with food, had unbuttoned their vests. Mc-
Teague's cheeks were distended, his eyes wide, his
huge, salient jaw moved with a machine-like regu
larity; at intervals he drew a series of short breaths
through his nose. Mrs. Sieppe wiped her forehead
with her napkin.

" Hey, dere, poy, gif me some more oaf dat —
what you call — ' 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 was that waiter.

Bottle after bottle was opened, the women stop
ping their ears as the corks were drawn. All of a
sudden the dentist uttered an exclamation, clap
ping 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. " It stings lik£ everything."

" Great beer, ain't ut? " shouted Marcus.

" Now, Mark," remonstrated Trina in a low
voice. " Now, Mark, you just shut up; that isn't
funny any more. I don't want you should make
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McTeague

fun of Mac. He called it beer on purpose. I guess
he knows/'

Throughout the meal old Miss Baker had oc
cupied herself largely with Owgooste and the twins,
who had been given a table by themselves — the
black walnut table before which the ceremony had
taken place. The little dressmaker was continually
turning about in her place, inquiring of the children
if they wanted for anything; inquiries they rarely
answered other than by stare, fixed, ox-like, ex
pressionless.

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 embar
rassment. How was it she had come to speak?
She had neither planned nor wished it. Suddenly
the words had escaped her, he had answered, and
it was all over — over before they knew it.

Old Grannis's fingers trembled on the table ledge,
his heart beat heavily, his breath fell short. He
had actually talked to the little dressmaker. That
possibility to which he had looked forward, it
seemed to him for years — that companionship,
that intimacy with his fellow-lodger, that delight
ful acquaintance which was only to ripen at some

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McTeague

far distant time, he could not exactly say when —
behold, it had suddenly 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 mastica
tion. How different he had imagined it would be!
They were to be alone — he and Miss Baker — in the
evening somewhere, withdrawn from the world,
very quiet, very calm and peaceful. Their talk was
to be of their lives, their lost illusions, not of 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; their thoughts
far away from that scene of feasting. They were
thinking of each other and they were conscious of
it. Timid, with the timidity of their second child
hood, constrained and embarrassed by each other's
presence, they were, nevertheless, in a little Elysium
of their own creating. They walked hand in hand
in a delicious garden where it was always autumn;
together and alone they entered upon the long
retarded romance of their commonplace and un
eventful lives.

At last that great supper was over, everything
had been eaten; the enormous roast goose had
dwindled to a very skeleton. Mr. Sieppe had re
duced the calf's head to a mere skull; a row of
empty champagne bottles — " dead soldiers," as the
facetious waiter had called them — lined the mantel
piece. Nothing of the stewed prunes remained but
the juice, which was given to Owgooste and the
twins. The platters were as clean as if they had
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McTeague

been washed; crumbs of bread, potato parings, nut
shells, and bits of cake littered the table; coffee and
ice-cream stains and spots of congealed gravy
marked the position of each plate. It was a devas
tation, a pillage; the table presented the appearance
of an abandoned battlefield.

" Otif," 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 his lips.

The facetious waiter had disappeared. He and
Maria Macapa foregathered in the kitchen. They
drew up to the washboard of the sink, feasting off
the remnants of the supper, slices of goose, the re
mains of the lobster salad, and half a bottle of
champagne. They were obliged to drink the latter
from teacups.

" Here's how," said the waiter gallantly, as
he raised his teacup, bowing to Maria across
the sink. " Hark," he added, " they're singing in
side."

The company had left the table and had assem
bled about the melodeon, where Selina was seated.
At first they attempted some of the popular songs
of the day, but were obliged to give over as none
of them knew any of the words beyond the first line
of the chorus. Finally they pitched upon " 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 very
slow time. The song became a dirge, a lamentable,
prolonged wail of distress :

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McTeague

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 word of warning. Instantly
there was a hush. The guests rose.

"Not going so soon, Uncle Oelbermann?"
protested Trina, politely. He only nodded.
Marcus sprang forward to help him with his over
coat. Mr. Sieppe came up and the two men shook
hands.

Then Uncle Oelbermann delivered himself of an
oracular phrase. No doubt he had been meditating
it during the supper. Addressing Mr. Sieppe, he
said:

" You have not lost a daughter, but have gained
a son."

These were the only words he had spoken the en
tire evening. He departed; the company was pro
foundly impressed.

About twenty minutes later, when Marcus
Schouler* was entertaining the guests by eating
almonds, shells and all, Mr. Sieppe started to his
feet, watch in hand.

" Haf-bast elevun," he shouted. "Attention!
Der dime haf arrive, shtop eferyting. We
depart."

This was a signal for tremendous confusion. Mr.
Sieppe immediately threw off his previous air of
relaxation, the calf's head was forgotten, he was
once again the leader of vast enterprises.

" To me, to me," he cried. " Mommer, der
tervins, Owgooste." He marshalled his tribe to-
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McTeague

gather, with tremendous commanding gestures.
The sleeping twins were suddenly shaken into a
dazed consciousness ; Owgooste, whom the almond-
eating of Marcus Schouler had petrified with ad
miration, was smacked to a realization of his sur
roundings.

Old Grannis, with a certain delicacy that was one
of his characteristics, felt instinctively that the
guests — the mere outsiders — should depart before
the family began its leave-taking of Trina. He
withdrew unobtrusively, after a hasty good-night
to the bride and groom. The rest followed almost
immediately.

" Well, Mr. Sieppe/' exclaimed Marcus, " we
won't see each other for some time/' Marcus had
given up his first intention of joining in the Sieppe
migration. He spoke in a large way of certain
affairs that would keep him in San Francisco till
the fall. Of late he had entertained ambitions of
a ranch life, he would breed cattle, he had a little
money and was only looking for some one "to go
in with." He dreamed of a cowboy's life and saw
himself in an entrancing vision involving silver
spurs and untamed bronchos. He told himself that
Trina had cast him off, that his best friend had
" played him for a sucker/' that the " proper caper "
was to 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 for Owgooste's cap.

Marcus bade the Sieppes farewell. He and

McTeague

Heise went out together. One heard them, as they
descended the stairs, discussing the possibility of
Frenna's place being still open.

Then Miss Baker departed after kissing Trina
on both cheeks. Selina went with her. There was
only the family left.

Trina watched them go, one by one, with an in
creasing feeling of uneasiness and vague apprehen
sion. Soon they would all be gone.

" Well, Trina," exclaimed Mr. Sieppe, " goot-py;
perhaps you gome visit us somedime."

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 around her mother.

" Oh, sometime, sometime," she cried. The
twins and Owgooste clung to Trina's skirts, fretting
and whimpering.

McTeague was miserable. He stood apart from
the group, in a corner. None of them seemed to
think of him; he was not one of them.

" Write to me very often, mamma, and tell me
about everything — about August 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 kissed her.
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

176

McTeague

daughter, den you know berhaps how I feel,
yes."

They were standing at the door by this time. Mr.
Sieppe, half way down the stairs, kept calling
" Gome, gome, we miss der drain."

Mrs. Sieppe released Trina and started down the
hall, the twins and Owgooste following. Trina
stood in the doorway, looking after them through
her tears. They were going, going. When would
she ever see them again? She was to be left alone
with this man to whom she had just been married.
A sudden vague terror seized her; she left Mc
Teague and ran down 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." She rocked Trina in her arms as
though she were a child again. " Poor leetle scairt
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 over the 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."

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McTeague

" Good-by, good-by, good-by."

The street door closed. The silence was pro
found.

For another moment Trina stood leaning over
the banisters, looking down into the empty stair
way. It was dark. There was nobody. They —
her father, her mother, the children — had left her,
left her alone. She faced about toward the rooms
— faced her husband, faced her new home, the new
life that was to begin now.

The hall was empty and deserted. The great
flat around her seemed new and huge and
strange; she felt horribly alone. Even Maria and
the hired waiter 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, look
ing about her, listening. From the open door of
the sitting-room streamed a gold bar of light.

She went down the hall, by the open door of the
sitting-room, going on toward the hall door of the
bedroom.

As she softly passed the sitting-room she glanced
hastily in. The lamps and the gas were burning
brightly, the chairs were pushed back from the
table just as the guests had left them, and the table
itself, abandoned, deserted, presented to view the
vague confusion of its dishes, its knives and forks,
its empty platters and crumpled napkins. The
dentist sat there leaning on his elbows, his back
toward her; against the white blur of the table he
looked colossal. Above his giant shoulders rose his
thick, red neck and mane of yellow hair. The light
shone pink through the gristle of his enormous ears.

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McTeague

Trina entered the bedroom, closing the door after
her. At the sound, she heard McTeague start and
rise.

" Is that you, Trina? "

She did not answer, but paused in the middle of
the room, holding her breath, 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 his
arms. His eyes were alight.

" No, no/' cried Trina, shrinking from him.
Suddenly seized with the fear of him — the intuitive
feminine fear of the male — her whole being quailed
before him. She was terrified at his huge, square-
cut head; his powerful, salient jaw; his huge, red
hands; his enormous, resistless strength.

" No, no — I'm afraid," she cried, drawing back
from him to the other side of the room.

"Afraid?" answered the dentist in perplexity.
" What are you afraid of, Trina? I'm nqt going to
hurt you. What are you afraid of? "

What, indeed, was Trina afraid of? She could
not tell. But what did she know of McTeague,
after all? Who was this man that had come into her
life, who had taken her from her home and from
her parents, and with whom 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, re
assuringly. " I don't want to frighten you."

She looked at him wildly, her adorable little chin
179

McTeague

quivering, the tears brimming in her narrow blue
eyes. Then her glance took on a certain intentness,
and she peered curiously into his face, saying al
most in a whisper:

" I'm afraid of you!'

But the dentist did not heed her. An immense
joy seized upon him — the joy of possession. Trina
was his very own now. She lay there in the hollow
of his arm, helpless and very pretty.

Those instincts that in him were so close to the
surface suddenly leaped to life, shouting and clam
oring, 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 struggle with his immense
strength, kissing her full upon the mouth. Then
her great love for McTeague suddenly flashed up in
Trina's breast; she gave up to him as she had done
before, yielding all at once to that strange desire
of being conquered and subdued. She clung to
him, her hands clasped behind his neck, whispering
in his ear:

" Oh, you must be good to me — very, very good
to me, dear — for you're all that I have in the world

180

X.

That summer passed, then the winter. The wet
season began in the last days of September and con
tinued all through October, November, and Decem
ber. At long intervals would come a week of perfect
days, the sky without a cloud, the air motionless,
but touched with a certain nimbleness, a faint effer
vescence that was exhilarating. Then, without
warning, during a night when a south wind blew,
a gray scroll of cloud would unroll and hang high
over the city, and the rain would come pattering
down again, at first in scattered showers, then in an
uninterrupted drizzle.

All day long Trina sat in the bay window of the
sitting-room that commanded a view of a small
section of Polk Street. As often as she raised her
head she could see the big market, a confectionery
store, a bell-hanger's shop, and, farther on, above
the roofs, the glass skylights and water tanks of
the big public baths. In the nearer foreground ran
the street itself; the cable cars trundled up and
down, thumping heavily over the joints of the rails;
market carts by the score came and went, driven at
a great rate by preoccupied young men in their
shirt sleeves, with pencils behind their ears, or by
reckless boys in blood-stained butcher's aprons.
Upon the sidewalks the little world of Polk Street
swarmed and jostled through its daily round of life.
t8i

McTeague

On fine days the great ladies from the avenue, one
block above, invaded the street, appearing before
the butcher stalls, intent upon their day's market
ing. On rainy days their servants — the Chinese
cooks or the second girls — took their places. These
servants gave themselves great airs, carrying their
big cotton umbrellas as they had seen their mis
tresses carry their parasols, and haggling in super
cilious fashion with the market men, their chins in
the air.

The rain persisted. Everything in the range of
Trina's vision, from the tarpaulins on the market-
cart horses to the panes of glass in the roof of the
public baths, looked glazed and varnished. The
asphalt of the sidewalks shone like the surface of a
patent leather boot; every hollow in the street held
its little puddle, that winked like an eye each time a
drop of rain struck into it.

Trina still continued to work for Uncle Oelber-
mann. In the mornings she busied herself about
the kitchen, the bedroom, and the sitting-room ; but
in the afternoon, for two or three hours after lunch,
she was occupied with the Noah's ark animals. She
took her work to the bay window, spreading out a
great square of canvas underneath her chair, to
catch the chips and shavings, which she used after
wards for lighting fires. One after another she
caught up the little blocks of straight-grained pine,
the knife flashed between her fingers, the little
figure grew rapidly under her touch, was finished
and ready for painting in a wonderfully short time,
and was tossed into the basket that stood at her
elbow.

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McTeague

But very often during that rainy winter after her
marriage Trina would pause in her work, her hands
falling idly into her lap, her eyes — her narrow, pale
blue eyes — growing wide and thoughtful as she
gazed, unseeing, out into the rain-washed street.

She loved McTeague now with a blind, unreason
ing love that admitted of no doubt or hesitancy.
Indeed, it seemed to her that it was only after her
marriage with the dentist that she had really begun
to love him. With the absolute final surrender of
herself, the irrevocable, ultimate submission, had
come an affection the like of which she had never
dreamed in the old B Street days. But Trina
loved her husband, not because she fancied she saw
in him any of those noble and generous qualities
that inspire affection. The dentist might or might
not possess them, it was all one with Trina. She
loved him because she had given herself to him
freely, unreservedly; had merged her individuality
into his; she was his, she belonged to him forever
and forever. Nothing that he 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 the fall, days when Trina was
left alone for hours, at that time when the excite
ment and novelty of the honeymoon were dying
down, when the new household was settling into its
grooves, she passed through many an hour of mis
giving, of doubt, and even of actual regret.

Never would she forget one Sunday afternoon
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McTeague

in particular. She had been married but three
weeks. After dinner she and little Miss Baker had
gone for a bit of a walk to take advantage of an
hour's sunshine and to look at some wonderful
geraniums in a florist's window on Sutter Street.
They had been caught in a shower, and on return
ing to the flat the little dressmaker had insisted on
fetching Trina up to her tiny room and brewing her
a cup of strong tea, " to take the chill off." The
two women had chatted over their teacups the
better part of the afternoon, then Trina had re
turned to her rooms. For nearly three hours Mc
Teague had been out of her thoughts, and as she
came through their little suite, singing softly to
herself, she suddenly came upon him quite unex
pectedly. Her husband was in the "Dental Parlors,"
lying back in his operating 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 to
bacco. The dentist sprawled his gigantic limbs
over the worn velvet of the operating chair; his coat
and vest 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 his half-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 had rolled limply upon one shoul
der, his face was red with sleep, and from his 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
184

McTeague

fumes of the cheap tobacco. Then her little chin
quivered and a sob rose to her throat; she fled from
the " Parlors," and locking herself in her bedroom,
flung herself on the bed and burst into an agony of
weeping. Ah, no, ah, no, she could not love him.
It had all been a dreadful mistake, and now it was
irrevocable; she was bound to this man for life.
If it was as bad as this now, only three weeks after
her marriage, how would it be in the years to come?
Year after year, month after month, hour after hour,
she was to see this same face, with its salient jaw,
was to feel the touch of those enormous red hands,
was to hear the heavy, elephantine tread of those
huge feet — in thick gray socks. Year after year,
day after day, there would be no change, and it
would last all her life. Either it would be one
long continued revulsion, or else — worse than all — •
she would come to be content with him, would
come to be like him, would sink to the level of
steam beer and cheap tobacco, and all her pretty
ways, her clean, trim little habits, would be forgot
ten, since they would be thrown away upon her
stupid, brutish husband. "Her husband!" That,
was her husband in there — she could yet hear his
snores — for life, for life. A great despair seized
upon her. She buried her face in the pillow and
thought of her mother with an infinite longing.

Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary,
McTeague had awakened slowly. After a while he
had taken down his concertina and played upon it
the six very mournful airs that he knew.

Face downward upon the bed, Trina still wept.
Throughout that little suite could be heard but
185

McTeague

two sounds, the lugubrious strains of the concertina
and the noise of stifled weeping.

That her husband should be ignorant of her dis
tress seemed to Trina an additional grievance.
With perverse inconsistency she began to wish him
to come to her, to comfort her. He ought to know
that she was in trouble, that she was lonely and
unhappy.

" Oh, Mac," she called in a trembling voice. But
the concertina still continued to wail and lament.
Then Trina wished she were dead, and on the in
stant jumped up and ran into the " Dental Parlors,"
and threw herself into her husband's arms, crying:
" Oh, Mac, dear, love me, love me big! I'm so
unhappy."

" What — what — what — " the dentist exclaimed,
starting up bewildered, a little frightened.

" Nothing, nothing, only love me, love me always
and always."

But this first crisis, this momentary revolt, as
much a matter of high-strung feminine nerves as of
anything else, passed, and in the end Trina's affec
tion for her " old bear " grew in spite of herself.
She began to love him more and more, not for what
he was, but for what she had given up to him. Only
once again did Trina undergo a reaction against
her husband, and then it was but the matter of an
instant, brought on, curiously enough, by the sight
of a bit of egg on McTeague's heavy mustache one
morning just after breakfast.

Then, too, the pair had learned to make conces
sions, little by little, and all unconsciously they
adapted their modes of life to suit each other. In-

186

McTeague

stead of sinking to McTeague's level as she had
feared, Trina found that she could make McTeague
rise to hers, and in this saw a solution of many a
difficult and gloomy complication.

For one thing, the dentist began to dress a little
better, Trina even succeeding in inducing him to
wear a high silk hat and a frock coat of a Sunday.
Next he relinquished his Sunday afternoon's nap
and beer in favor of three or four hours spent in
the park with her — the weather permitting. So
that gradually Trina's misgivings ceased, or when
they did assail her, she could at last meet them
with a shrug of the shoulders, saying to herself
meanwhile, " Well, it's done now and it can't be
helped; one must make the best of it."

During the first months of their married life
these nervous relapses of hers had alternated with
brusque outbursts of affection when her only fear
was that her husband's love did not equal her own.
Without an instant's warning, she would clasp him
about the neck, rubbing her cheek against his, mur
muring:

" Dear old Mac, I love you so, I love you so.
Oh, aren't we happy together, Mac, just us two and
no one else? You love me as much as I love 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 first from one extreme to anotherr
commenced to settle themselves to an equilibrium of
calmness and placid quietude. Her household
duties began more and more to absorb her atten
tion, for she was an admirable housekeeper, keep-
187

McTeague

ing the little suite in marvellous good order and
regulating the schedule of expenditure with an
economy that often bordered on positive niggard
liness. It was a passion with her to save money.
In the bottom of her trunk, in the bedroom, she hid
a brass match-safe that answered the purposes of a
savings bank. Each time she added a quarter or
a half dollar to the little store she laughed and
sang with a veritable childish delight; whereas, if
the butcher or milkman compelled her to pay an
overcharge she was unhappy for the rest of the day.
She did not save this money for any ulterior pur
pose, she hoarded instinctively, without knowing
why, responding to the dentist's remonstrances
with :

" Yes, yes, I know I'm a little miser, I know it."
Trina had always been an economical little body,
but it was only since her great winning in the lot
tery that she had become especially penurious. No
doubt, in her fear lest their great good luck should
demoralize them and lead to habits of extravagance,
she had recoiled too far in the other direction.
Never, never, never should a penny of that miracu
lous fortune be spent; rather should it be added to.
It was a nest egg, a monstrous, roc-like nest egg,
not so large, however, but that it could be made
larger. Already by the end of that winter Trina
had begun to make up the deficit of two hundred
dollars that she had been forced to expend on the
preparations for her marriage.

McTeague, on his part, never asked himself now-
a-days whether he loved Trina the wife as much
as he had loved Trina the young girl. There had

1 88

McTeague

been a time when to kiss Trina, to take her in his
arms, had thrilled him from head to heel with a
happiness that was beyond words; even the smell
of her wonderful odorous hair had sent a sensation
of faintness all through him. That time was long
past now. Those sudden outbursts of affection on
the part of his little woman, outbursts that only in
creased in vehemence the longer they lived to
gether, puzzled rather than pleased him. He had
come to submit to them good-naturedly, answering"
her 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 dearly liked to have her near him, he
took an enormous pleasure in watching her as she
moved about their rooms, very much at home, gay
and singing from morning 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
the plugger, to have her rap in the gold fillings with
the little box-wood mallet as he had taught her.
But that tempest of passion, that overpowering de
sire that had suddenly taken possession of him that
day when he had given her ether, again when he
had caught her in his arms in the B Street station,
and again and again during the early days of their
married life, rarely stirred him now. On the other
hand, he was never assailed with doubts as to the
wisdom of his marriage.

McTeague had relapsed to his wonted stolidity.
He never questioned himself, never looked for
motives, never went to the bottom of things. The
189

McTeague

year following upon the summer of his marriage
was a time of great contentment for him; after the
novelty of the honeymoon had passed he slipped
easily into the new order of things without a ques
tion. Thus his life would be for years to come.
Trina was there; he was married and settled. He
accepted the situation. The little animal comforts
which for him constituted the enjoyment of life
were ministered to at every turn, or when they were
interfered with — as in the case of his Sunday after
noon's nap and beer — some agreeable substitute
was found. In her attempts to improve McTeague
— to raise him from the stupid animal life to which
he had been accustomed in his bachelor days —
Trina was tactful enough to move so cautiously and
with such slowness that the dentist was unconscious
of any process of change. In the matter of the high
silk hat, it seemed to him that the initiative had
come from himself.

Gradually the dentist improved under the influ
ence of his little wife. He no longer went abroad
with frayed cuffs about his huge red wrists — or
worse, without any cuffs at all. Trina kept his
linen clean and mended, doing most of his washing
herself, and insisting that he should change his
flannels — thick red flannels they were, with enor
mous bone buttons — once a week, his linen shirts
twice a week, and his collars and cuffs every second
day. She broke him of the habit of eating with
his knife, she caused him to substitute bottled beer
in the place of steam beer, and she induced him to
take off his hat to Miss Baker, to Heise's wife, and
to the other women of his acquaintance. Mc-
190

McTeague

Teague no longer spent an evening at Frenna's.
Instead of this 'he brought a couple of bottles of
beer up to the rooms and shared it with Trina. In
his " Parlors " he was no longer gruff and indiffer
ent to his female patients; he arrived at that stage
where he could work and talk to them at the same
time; he even accompanied them to the door, and
held it open for them when the operation was fin
ished, bowing them out with great nods of his huge
square-cut head.

Besides all this, he began to observe the broader,
larger interests of life, interests that affected him
not as an individual, but as a member of a class, a
profession, or a political party. He read the papers,
he subscribed to a dental magazine; on Easter,
Christmas, and New Year's he went to church with
Trina. He commenced to have opinions, convic
tions — it was not fair to deprive tax-paying women
of the privilege to vote; a university education
should not be a prerequisite for admission to a
dental college; the Catholic priests were to be re
strained in their efforts to gain control of the public
schools.

But most wonderful of all, McTeague began to
have ambitions — very vague, very confused ideas of
something better — ideas for the most part borrowed
from Trina. Some day, perhaps, he and his wife
would have a house of their own. What a dream!
A little home all to themselves, with six 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 would be Daniel, who would go
to High School, and perhaps turn out to be a pros-
191

McTeague

perous plumber or house painter. Then this son
Daniel would marry a wife, and they would all live
together in that six-room-and-bath house; Daniel
would have little children. McTeague would grow
old among 'them all. The dentist saw 'himself as a
venerable patriarch surrounded by children and
grandchildren.

So the winter passed. It was a season of great
happiness for the McTeagues; the new life jostled
itself into its grooves. A routine began.

On week-days they rose at half-past six, being
awakened by the boy who brought the bottled milk,
and who had instructions to pound upon the bed
room door in passing. Trina made breakfast —
coffee, bacon and eggs, and a roll of Vienna bread
from the bakery. The breakfast was eaten in the
kitchen, on the round deal table covered with the
shiny oilcloth table-spread tacked on. After break
fast the dentist immediately betook himself to his
" Parlors " to meet his early morning appointments
— those made with the clerks and shop girls who
stopped in for half an hour on their way to their
work.

Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the
suite, clearing away the breakfast, sponging off
the oilcloth table-spread, making the bed, potter
ing about with a broom or duster or cleaning rag.
Towards ten o'clock she opened the windows to air
the rooms, then put on her drab jacket, her little
round turban with its red wing, took the butcher's
and grocer's books from the knife basket in the
drawer of the kitchen table, and descended to the
street, where she spent a delicious hour — now in the

IQ2

McTeague

huge market across the way, now in the grocer's
store with its fragrant aroma of coffee and spices,
and now before the counters of the haberdasher's,
intent on a bit of shopping, turning over ends of
veiling, strips of elastic, or slivers of whalebone.
On the street she rubbed elbows with the great
ladies of the avenue in their beautiful dresses, or at
intervals she met an acquaintance or two — Miss
Baker, or Heise's lame wife, or Mrs. Ryer. At
times she passed the flat and looked up at the win
dows of her home, marked by the huge golden
molar that projected, flashing, from the bay window
of the " Parlors." She saw the open windows of
the sitting-room, the Nottingham lace curtains stir
ring and billowing in the draft, and she caught
sight of Maria Macapa's towelled head as the Mexi
can maid-of-all-work went to and fro in the suite,
sweeping or carrying away the ashes. Occasion
ally in the windows of the " Parlors " she beheld
McTeague's rounded back as he bent to his work.
Sometimes, even, they saw each other and waved
their hands gayly in recognition.

By eleven o'clock Trina returned to the flat, her
brown net reticule — once her mother's — full of par
cels. At once she set about getting lunch — sau
sages, perhaps, with mashed potatoes; or last even
ing's joint warmed over or made into a stew; choco
late, which Trina adored, and a side dish or two— -
a salted herring or a couple of artichokes or a salad.
At half-past twelve the dentist came in from the
" Parlors," bringing with him the smell of creosote
and of ether. They sat down to lunch in the sitting-
room. They told each other of their doings
13 193

McTeague

throughout the forenoon; Trina showed her pur
chases, McTeague recounted the progress of an
operation. At one o'clock they separated, the den
tist returning to the " Parlors," Trina settling to her
work on the 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
it was the mending, sometimes the wash, sometimes
new curtains to be put up, or a bit of carpet to be
tacked down, or a letter to be written, or a visit —
generally to Miss Baker — to be returned. Towards
five o'clock the 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 one taking enough interest
in her to inquire for her last name; all that was
known of her was that she was a decayed French
laundress, miserably poor, her trade long since
ruined by Chinese competition. Augustine cooked
well, but she was otherwise undesirable, and Trina
lost patience with her at every moment. The old
French woman's most marked characteristic was
her timidity. Trina could scarcely address her a
simple direction without Augustine quailing and
shrinking; a reproof, however gentle, threw her
into an agony of confusion; while Trina's anger
promptly reduced her to a state of nervous collapse,
wherein she lost all power of speech, while her head
began to bob and nod with an incontrollable twitch
ing of the muscles, much like the oscillations of the
head of a toy donkey. Her timidity was exasper-
194

McTeague

ating, her very presence in the room unstrung the
nerves, while her morbid eagerness to avoid offence
only served to develop in her a clumsiness that was
at times beyond belief. More than once Trina had
decided that she could no longer put up with Au
gustine, but each time she had retained her as she
reflected upon her admirably cooked cabbage soups
and tapioca puddings, and — which in Trina' s eyes
was her chiefest recommendation — the pittance for
which she was contented to work.

Augustine had a husband. He was a spirit-
medium — a " professor." At times he held seances
in the larger rooms of the flat, playing vigorously
upon a mouth-organ and invoking a familiar whom
he called " Edna," and whom he asserted was an
Indian maiden.

The evening was a period of relaxation for Trina
and McTeague. They had supper at six, after
which McTeague smoked his pipe and' read the
papers for half an hour, while Trina and Augus
tine cleared away the table and washed the dishes.
Then, as often as not, they went out together. One
of their amusements was to go " down town " after
dark and promenade Market and Kearney Streets.
It was very gay; a great many others were prome
nading there also. All of the stores were brilliantly
lighted and many of them still open. They walked
about aimlessly, looking into the shop windows.
Trina would take McTeague's arm, and he, very
much embarrassed at that, would thrust both hands
into his pockets and pretend not to notice. They
stopped before the jewellers' and milliners' win
dows, finding a great delight in picking out things

McTeague

for each other, saying how they would choose this
and that if they were rich. Trina did most of the
talking, McTeague merely approving by a growl or
a movement of the head or shoulders; she was in
terested in the displays of some of the cheaper
stores, but he found an irresistible charm in aii
enormous golden molar with four prongs that hung
at a corner of Kearney Street. Sometimes they
would look at Mars or at the moon through the
street telescopes or sit for a time in the rotunda
of a vast department store where a band played
every evening.

Occasionally they met Heise the harness-maker
and his wife, with whom they had become ac
quainted. Then the evening was concluded by a
four-cornered party in the Luxembourg, a quiet
German restaurant under a theatre. Trina had a
tamale and a glass of beer, Mrs. Heise (who was a
decayed writing teacher) ate salads, with glasses of
grenadine and currant syrups. Heise drank cock
tails and whiskey straight, and urged the dentist
to join him. But McTeague was obstinate, shak
ing his head. " I can't drink that stuff," he said.
" It don't agree with me, somehow; I go kincla
crazy after two glasses." So he gorged himself
with beer and frankfurter sausages plastered with
German mustard.

When the annual Mechanic's Fair opened, Mc
Teague and Trina often spent their evenings there,
studying the exhibits carefully (since in Trina's esti
mation education meant knowing things and being
able to talk about them). Wearying of this they
would go up into the gallery, and, leaning over, look
i96

McTeague

down into the huge amphitheatre full of light and
color and movement.

There rose to them the vast shuffling noise of
thousands of feet and a subdued roar of conversa
tion like the sound of a great mill. Mingled with
this was the purring of distant machinery, the
splashing of a temporary fountain, and the rhythmic
jangling of a brass band, while in the piano exhibit
a hired performer was playing upon a concert
grand with a great flourish. Nearer at hand they
could catch ends of conversation and notes of
laughter, the noise of moving dresses, and the rustle
of stiffly starched skirts. Here and there school
children elbowed their way through the crowd, cry
ing shrilly, their hands full of advertisement pam
phlets, fans, picture cards, and toy whips, while the
air 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 an ex
hibit on the walls, which they were interested to
find. It usually was a bunch of yellow poppies
painted on black velvet and framed in gilt. They
stood before it some little time, hazarding their
opinions, and then moved on slowly from one pic
ture to another. Trina had McTeague buy a cata
logue and made a duty of finding the title of every
picture. This, too, she told McTeague, was a kind
of education one ought to cultivate. Trina pro
fessed to be fond of art, having perhaps acquired
a taste for painting and sculpture from her experi
ence with the Noah's ark animals.

" Of course," she told the dentist, " I'm no critic,
197

McTeague

I only know what I like." She knew that she
liked the " Ideal Heads," lovely girls with flowing
straw-colored hair and immense, upturned eyes.
These always had for title, " Reverie/' or " A:i
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 to understand. u 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 life of Polk Street, the life of small traders,
drug clerks, grocers, stationers, plumbers, dentists,
doctors, spirit-mediums, and the like, ran on monot
onously in its accustomed grooves. The first three
years of their married life wrought little change in
the fortunes of the McTeagues. In the third sum
mer the branch post-office was moved from the
ground floor of the flat to a corner farther up
the street in order to be near the cable line that ran
mail cars. Its place was taken by a German saloon,
called a " Wein Stube," in the face of the protests
of every female lodger. A few months later quite
a little flurry of excitement ran through the street
on the occasion of " The Polk Street Open Air
Festival," organized to celebrate the introduction
there of electric lights. The festival lasted three days
and was quite an affair. The street was garlanded
with yellow and white bunting; there were proces
sions and " floats " and brass bands. Marcus
Schouler was in his element during the whole time
198

McTeague

of the celebration. He was one of the marshals
of the parade, and was to be seen at every hour of
the day, wearing a borrowed high hat and cotton
gloves, and galloping a broken-down cab-horse over
the cobbles. He carried a baton covered with yel
low and white calico, with which he made furious
passes and gestures. His voice was soon reduced
to a whisper by continued shouting, and he raged
and fretted over trifles till he wore himself thin.
McTeague was disgusted with him. As often as
Marcus passed the window of the flat the den
tist 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 wras elected secretary. Mc
Teague and Trina often heard of him in this capa
city through Heise the harness-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,"
" opinions warped 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. Sieppe was 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. Sieppe was obliged to take a
199

McTeague

lodger or two. Affairs were in a very bad way.
Occasionally she spoke of Marcus. Mr. Sieppe
had not forgotten him despite his own troubles, but
still had an eye out for some one whom Marcus
could " go in with " on a ranch.

It was toward the end of this period of three years
that Trina and McTeague had their first serious
quarrel. Trina had talked so much about having
a little house of their own at some future day, that
McTeague had at length come to regard the affair
as the end and object of all their labors. For a
long time they had had their eyes upon one house
in particular. It was situated on a cross street
close by, between Polk Street and the great avenue
one block above, and hardly a Sunday afternoon
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 to the arrange
ment of the rooms, commenting upon its imme
diate neighborhood — which was rather sordid. The
house was a wooden two-story arrangement, built
by a misguided contractor in a sort of hideous
Queen Anne style, all scrolls and meaningless mill-
work, with a cheap imitation of stained glass in the
light over the door. There was a microscopic front
yard full of dusty calla-lilies. The front door
boasted an electric bell. But for the McTeagues
it was an ideal home. Their idea was to live in
this little house, the dentist retaining merely his
office in the flat. The two places were but around
the corner from' each other, so that McTeague could
lunch with his wife, as usual, and could even keep

\ 200

McTeague

his early morning appointments and return to
breakfast if he so desired.

However, the house was occupied. A Hun
garian family lived in it. The father kept a station
ery and notion " bazaar " next to Heise's harness-
shop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a
third violin in the orchestra of a theatre. The
family rented the house unfurnished for thirty-five
dollars, paying extra for the water.

But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their
way home from their usual walk turned into the
cross street on which the little house was situated,
they became promptly aware of an unwonted bustle
going on upon 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
Hungarian family 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 stood upon the sidewalk oppo
site, watching intently all that went forward, ab
sorbed, 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 imagining themselves in
stalled therein. Here would be the bedroom, here
the dining-room, here a charming little parlor. As
they came out upon the front steps once more they
met the owner, an enormous, red-faced fellow, so
fat that his walking seemed merely a certain move
ment of his feet by which he pushed his stomach

201

McTeaguc

along in front of him. Trina talked with him a few
moments, but arrived at no understanding, and the
two went away after 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 swarthy hair.

" I'm not so sure yet. Thirty-five dollars and the
water extra. I don't think 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 the change."

" Ah, you talk's though we were paupers. Ain't
we got five thousand dollars? "

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's never, never to be
touched."

" And you've been savun up a good deal, be
sides," went on McTeague, exasperated at Trina's
persistent economies. " How much money have
you got in that little brass match-safe in the bottom
of your trunk? Pretty near a hundred dollars, I
guess — ah, sure." He shut his eyes and nodded
his great head in a knowing way.

Trina had more than that in the brass match-safe
in question, but her instinct 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"

202

McTeague

" Oh, let's take that little house," broke in Mc
Teague. " We got the chance 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, 7 say let's take it."

" I don't know," said Trina, hesitating. " Would
n't it be lovely to have a house all to ourselves? But
let's not decide until to-morrow."

The next day the owner of the house called.
Trina was out at her morning's marketing and the
dentist, who had no one in the chair at the time,
received him in the " Parlors." Before he was well
aware of it, McTeague had concluded the bargain.
The owner bewildered him with a world of phrases,
made him believe that it would be a great saving
to move 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'll call 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 head of the family wants a thing,
that's enough."

McTeague could not wait until lunch time to tell
the news to Trina. As soon as he heard her come
in, he laid down the plaster-of-paris mould he was
203

McTeague

making and went out into the kitchen and found
her chopping up onions.

" 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 me something about it. Now,
what have you done? I was talking with Mrs.
Ryer about that house while I was out this morn
ing, and she said the Hungarians moved out be
cause it was absolutely unhealthy; there's water
been standing in the basement for months. And she
told me, too," Trina went on indignantly, " that
she knew the owner, and she was sure we could
get the house for thirty if we'd bargain for it. Now
what have you gone and done? I hadn't made up
my mind about taking the house at all. And now
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's unhealthy."

" But you've signed a paper," cried Trina,
exasperated. " You've got to pay that first
month's rent, anyhow — to forfeit it. Oh, you
are so stupid! There's thirty-five dollars just
thrown away. I shan't go into that house; we
won't move a foot out of here. I've changed my
mind about it, and there's water in the basement
besides."

McTeague

" 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 win
dow," cried Trina, her teeth clicking, every in
stinct of her parsimony aroused. " Oh, you are
the thick-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 her
eyes, tears of grief as well as of ang£r. Never had
McTeague seen his little woman so aroused. Sud
denly she rose to her feet and slammed the chop-
ping-bowl down upon the table. " Well, / won't
pay a nickel of it," she exclaimed.

"Huh? What, what?" stammered the dentist,
taken all aback by her outburst.

" 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'll suffer 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 a thing? "

" You did tell me that," vociferated McTeague,
beginning to get angry in his 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 can
just pay the thirty-five out of that."

" Why, you got a whole hundred dollars saved
up in your match-safe," shouted the dentist, throw-
205

McTeague

ing out an arm with an awkward gesture. " You
pay half and I'll pay half, that's only fair."

" No, no, no" exclaimed Trina. " It's not a hun
dred dollars. You won't touch 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, her teeth 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've signed the paper with the
owner; that's business, you know, that's business,
you know; and now you go back on me. Suppose
we'd taken the house, we'd V shared the rent,
wouldn't we, just as we do here? "

Trina shrugged her shoulders with a great affec
tation of indifference and began chopping the
onions again.

" You settle it with the owner," she said. " It's
your affair; you've got the money." She pretended
to assume a certain calmness as though the matter
was something that no longer affected her. Her
manner exasperated McTeague all the more.

"No, I won't; no, I won't; I won't either," he
shouted. " I'll pay my half and he can come to
you for the other half." Trina put a hand over
her 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."
206

McTeague

"Will you pay it?"

" No."

"Miser!" shouted McTeague. "Miser! you're
worse than old Zerkow. All right, all right, keep
your money. I'll pay the whole thirty-five. I'd
rather lose it than be such a miser as you."

" Haven't you got anything to do," returned
Trina, " instead of staying here and abusing me? "

" Well, then, for the last time, will you help me
out?" Trina cut the heads 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 mincing way, irritating to a last de
gree. The dentist stamped out of the room, bang
ing the door behind him.

> For nearly a week the breach between them re
mained unhealed. Trina only spoke to the dentist
in monosyllables, while he, exasperated at her calm
ness and frigid reserve, sulked in his " Dental Par
lors," muttering terrible things beneath his mus
tache, or finding solace in his concertina, playing
his six lugubrious airs over and over again, or
swearing 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 little woman. Their relations re
adjusted themselves inevitably. By the end of the
week they were as amicable as ever, but it was long
before they spoke of the little house again. Nor
did they ever revisit it of a Sunday afternoon. A
month or so later the Ryers told them that the
207

McTeague

owner himself had moved in. The McTeagues
never occupied that little house.

But Trina suffered a reaction after the quarrel.
She began to be sorry she had refused to help her
husband, sorry she had brought matters to such an
issue. One afternoon as she was at work on the
Noah's ark animals, she surprised herself crying
over the affair. She loved her " old bear " too
much to do him an injustice, and perhaps, after all,
she had been in the wrong. Then it occurred to
her how pretty it would be to come up behind him
unexpectedly, and slip the money, thirty-five dol
lars, into his hand, and pull his huge head down to
her and kiss his bald spot as she used to do in the
days before they were married.

Then she hesitated, pausing in her work, her
knife dropping into her lap, a half-whittled figure
between her fingers. If not thirty-five dollars, then
at least fifteen or sixteen, her share of it. But a
feeling 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 him it's all I can afford. It is all
I can afford."

She hastened to finish the figure of the animal
she was then at work upon, putting in the ears and
tail with a drop of glue, and tossing it into the bas
ket at her side. Then she rose and went into the
bedroom and opened her trunk, taking the key
from under a corner of the carpet where she kept it
hid.

At the very bottom of her trunk, under 'her bridal
dress, she kept her savings. It was all in change —
208

McTeague

half dollars and dollars for the most part, with here
and there a gold piece. Long since the little brass
match-box had overflowed. Trina kept the sur
plus in a chamois-skin sack she had made from an
old Chest protector. Just now, yielding to an im
pulse which often seized her, she drew out the
match-box and the chamois sack, and emptying the
contents on the bed, counted them carefully. It
came to one hundred and sixty-five dollars, all told.
She counted it and recounted it and made little piles
of it, and rubbed the gold 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 months before I can
save that again. But, dear old Mac, I know it
would make him 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. Then she paused:

" No, not the gold piece," she said to herself.
It's too pretty. He can have the silver." She
made the change and counted out ten silver dollars
into her palm. But what a difference it made in the
appearance and weight of the little chamois bag!
The bag was shrunken and withered, long wrinkles
appeared running downward from the draw-string.
It was a lamentable sight. Trina looked longingly
at the ten broad pieces in her hand. Then sud
denly all her intuitive desire of saving, her instinct
of 'hoarding, her love of money for the money's
sake, rose strong within her.
14 209

McTeague

" No, no, no," she said. " I can't do it. It may
be mean, but I can't help it. It's stronger than I."
She returned the money to the bag and locked it
and the brass match-box in her trunk, turning the
key with a long breath of satisfaction.

She was a little troubled, however, as she went
back into the sitting-room and took up her work.

" I didn't use to be so stingy," she told herself.
" Since I won in the lottery I've become a regular
little miser. It's growing on me, but never mind,
it's a good fault, and, anyhow, I can't help it."

2 1C

XL

On that particular morning the McTeagues had
risen a half hour earlier than usual and taken a
hurried breakfast in the kitchen on the deal table
with its oilcloth cover. Trina was house-cleaning
that week and had a presentiment of a hard day's
work ahead of her, while McTeague remembered
a seven o'clock appointment with a little German
shoemaker.

At about eight o'clock, when the dentist had
been in his office for over an hour, Trina descended
upon the bedroom, a towel about her head and the
roller-sweeper in her hand. She covered the bureau
and sewing machine with sheets, and unhooked the
chenille portieres between the bedroom and the
sitting-room. As she was tying the Nottingham
lace curtains at the window into great knots, she
saw old Miss Baker on the opposite sidewalk in the
street below, and raising the sash called down to her.

" Oh, it's you, Mrs. McTeague," cried the re
tired dressmaker, facing about, her head in the air.
Then a long conversation was begun, Trina, her
arms folded under her breast, her elbows resting on
the window ledge, willing to be idle for a moment;
old Miss Baker, her market-basket on her arm, her
hands wrapped in the ends of her worsted shawl
against the cold of the early morning. They ex
changed phrases, calling to each other from window
to curb, their breath coming from their lips in faint

McTeague

puffs of vapor, their voices shrill, and raised to
dominate the clamor of the waking street. The
newsboys had made their appearance on the street,
together with the day laborers. The cable cars had
begun to fill up; all along the street could be seen
the shopkeepers taking down their shutters; some
were still breakfasting. Now and then a waiter
from one of the cheap restaurants crossed from one
sidewalk to another, 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 I don't always get out so soon.
I wanted to get a nice head of cabbage and some
lentils for a soup, and if you don't go to market
early, the restaurants 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 in question from her basket.

" Oh, the lovely sole! " exclaimed Trina.

" I got this one at Spadella's; he always has good
fish on Friday. How is the doctor, Mrs. Mc
Teague?^

" Ah, Mac is always well, thank you, Miss
Baker."

" You know, Mrs. Ryer told me," cried the little
dressmaker, moving forward a step out of the way
of a " glass-put-in " man, " that Doctor McTeague
pulled a tooth of that Catholic priest, Father — oh,
I forget his name — anyhow, he pulled his tooth with
his fingers. Was that true, Mrs. McTeague? "

212

McTeague

" Oh, of course. Mac does that almost all the
time now, 'specially with front teeth. He's got a
regular reputation for it. He says it's brought him
more patients than even the sign I gave him," she
added, pointing to the big golden molar projecting
from the office window.

"With his fingers! Now, think of that," ex
claimed Miss Baker, wagging her head. " Isn't
he that strong! It's just wonderful. Cleaning
house to-day? " she inquired, glancing at Trina's
towelled head.

" Um hum," answered Trina. " Maria Macapa's
coming in to help pretty soon."

At the mention of Maria's name the little old
dressmaker suddenly uttered an exclamation.

" Well, if I'm not here talking to you and forget
ting something I was just dying to tell you. Mrs.
McTeague, what ever in the world do you suppose?
Maria and old Zerkow, that red-headed Polish
Jew, the rag-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
store wear when they go out with their young men.
I couldn't tell what had got into the girl, until finally
213

McTeague

she told me she wanted something to get married
in, and that Zerkow had asked her to marry
him, and that she was going to do it. Poor Maria!
I guess it's the first and only offer she ever received,
and it's just turned her head."

" But what do those two see in each other? " cried
Trina. " Zerkow is a horror, he's an old man, and
his hair is red and his voice is gone, and then he's
a Jew, isn't he? "

" I know, I know; but it's Maria's only chance
!or a husband, and she don'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 / can't see
what Zerkow wants 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
just positive 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
is after 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 service of gold dishes she says
her folks used to own in Central America; she's
crazy on that subject, don't you know. She's all
right on everything else, but just start her on that
service of gold plate and she'll talk you deaf. She
can describe it just as though she saw it, and she can
make you see it, too, almost. Now, you see, Maria
and Zerkow have known each other pretty well.
Maria goes to him every two weeks or so to sell
him junk; they got acquainted that way, and I
214

McTeague

know Maria's been dropping in to see him pretty
often this last year, and sometimes he comes here
to see her. He's made Maria tell him the story of
that plate over and over and over again, and Maria
does it and is glad to, because he's the only one
that believes it. Now he's going to marry her just
so's he can hear that story every day, every hour.
He's pretty near as crazy on the subject as Maria
is. They're a pair for you, aren't they? Both crazy
over a lot of gold dishes that never existed. Per
haps Maria'll marry him because it's her only
chance to get a husband, but I'm sure it's more for
the reason that she's got some one to talk to now
who believes her story. 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. There was a silence. For a
long moment the dentist's wife and the retired
dressmaker, the one at the window, the other on
the sidewalk, remained lost in thought, wondering
over the strangeness of the affair.

But suddenly there was a diversion. Alexander,
Marcus Schouler's Irish setter, whom his master
had long since allowed the liberty of running un
trammelled about the neighborhood, turned the
corner briskly and came trotting along the side
walk where Miss Baker stood. At the same mo
ment the Scotch collie who had at one time be
longed to the branch post-office issued from the
215

McTeague

side door of a house not fifty feet away. In an in
stant, the two enemies had recognized each other.
They halted abruptly, their fore feet planted rigidly.
Trina uttered a little cry.

" Oh, look out, Miss Baker. Those two dogs
hate each other just like humans. You best look
out. They'll fight sure." Miss Baker sought safety
in a nearby vestibule, whence she peered forth at
the scene, very interested and curious. Maria
Macapa's head thrust itself from one of the top-
story windows of the flat, with a shrill cry.
Even McTeague's huge form appeared above the
half curtains of the " Parlor " windows, while over
his shoulder could be seen the face of the " patient,"
a napkin tucked in his collar, the rubber dam de
pending from his mouth. All the flat knew of the
feud between the dogs, but never before had the
pair 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 turned sidewise
to the setter; the setter instantly wheeled himself
flank on to the collie. Their tails rose and stiffened,
they raised their lips over their long white fangs, the
napes of their necks bristled, and they showed each
other the vicious whites of their eyes, while they
drew in their breaths with prolonged and rasping
snarls. Each dog seemed to be the personification
of fury and unsatisfied hate. They began to circle
about each other with infinite slowness, walking
stiffed-legged and upon the very points of their
feet. Then they wheeled about and began to circle
in the opposite direction. Twice they repeated this
216

McTeague

motion, their snarls growing louder. But still they
did not come together, and the distance of five feet
between them was maintained with an almost
mathematical precision. It was magnificent, but it
was not war. Then the setter, pausing in his walk,
turned his head slowly from his enemy. The collie
sniffed the air and pretended an interest in an old
shoe lying in the gutter. Gradually and with all
the dignity of monarchs they moved away from
each other. Alexander stalked back to the corner of
the street. The collie paced toward the side gate
whence he had issued, affecting to remember some
thing of great importance. They disappeared.
Once out of sight of one another they began to
bark furiously.

" Well, I never! " exclaimed Trina in great dis
gust. " The way those two dogs have been carry
ing on you'd 'a' thought they would 'a' just torn
each other to pieces when they had the chance, and

here I'm wasting the whole morning " she

closed her window with a bang.

" Sick 'im, sick 'im," called Maria Macapa, in a
vain attempt to promote a fight.

Old Miss Baker came out of the vestibule, purs
ing her lips, quite put out at the fiasco. " And after
all that fuss," she said to herself aggrievedly.

The little dressmaker bought an envelope of
nasturtium seeds at the florist's, and returned to
her tiny room in the flat. But as she slowly
mounted the first flight of steps she suddenly came
face to face with Old Grannis, who was coming
down. It was between eight and nine, and he was
on his way to his little dog hospital, no doubt. In-
217

McTeague

stantly Miss Baker was seized with trepidation, her
curious little false curls shook, a faint — a very faint
— flush came into her withered cheeks, and her heart
beat so violently under the worsted shawl that she
felt obliged to shift the market-basket to her other
arm and put out her free hand to steady herself
against the rail.

On his part, Old Grannis was instantly over
whelmed with confusion. His awkwardness seemed
to paralyze his limbs, his lips twitched and turned
dry, his hand went tremblingly to his chin. But
what added to Miss Baker's miserable embarrass
ment on this occasion was the fact that the old Eng
lishman should meet her thus, carrying a sordid
market-basket full of sordid fish and cabbage. It
seemed as if a malicious fate persisted in bringing
the two old people face to face at the most in
opportune moments.

Just now, however, a veritable catastrophe oc
curred. The little old dressmaker changed her
basket to her other arm at precisely the wrong
moment, and Old Grannis, hastening to pass, re
moving his hat in a hurried salutation, struck it
with his forearm, knocking it from her grasp, and
sending it rolling and bumping down the stairs.
The sole fell flat upon the first landing; the lentils
scattered themselves over the entire flight; while
the cabbage, leaping from step to step, thundered
down the incline and brought up against the street
door with a shock that reverberated through the
entire building.

The little retired dressmaker, horribly vexed,
nervous and embarrassed, was hard put to it to
218

McTeague

keep back the tears. Old Grannis stood for a mo
ment with averted eyes, murmuring: " Oh, I'm so
sorry, I'm so sorry. I — I really — I beg your par
don, 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
down the flight, gathering up the fish, the lentils, and
the sadly battered cabbage. Marcus was raging
over the pusillanimity of Alexander, of which Maria
had just told him.

" I'll cut him in two with the whip," he shouted.
" I will, I will, I say I will, for a fact. He wouldn't
fight, hey? I'll give um all the fight he wants,
nasty, mangy cur. If he won't fight he won't eat.
I'm going to get the butcher's bull pup and I'll
put um both in a bag and shake um up. I will, for
a fact, and I guess Alec will fight. Come along,
Mister Grannis," and he took the old Englishman
away.

Little Miss Baker hastened to her room and
locked herself in. She was excited and upset dur
ing all the rest of the day, and listened eagerly for
Old Grannis's return that evening. He went in
stantly to work binding up " The Breeder and
Sportsman," and back numbers of the " Nation."
She heard him softly draw his chair and the table
on which he had placed his little binding apparatus
close to the wall. At once she did the same, brew
ing herself a cup of tea. All through that evening
the two old people " kept company " with each

2IQ

McTeague

other, after their own peculiar fashion. " Setting
out with each other " Miss Baker had begun to call
it. That they had been presented, that they had
even been forced to talk together, had made no
change in their relative positions. Almost imme
diately they had fallen back into their old ways
again, quite unable to master their timidity, to over
come the stifling embarrassment that seized upon
them when in each other's presence. It was a sort
of hypnotism, a thing stronger than themselves.
But they were not altogether dissatisfied with the
way things had come to be. It was their little
romance, their last, and they were living through
it with supreme enjoyment and calm contentment.

Marcus Schouler still occupied his old room on
the floor above the McTeagues. They saw but little
of him, however. At long intervals the dentist or
his wife met him on the stairs of the flat. Some
times he would stop and talk with Trina, inquiring
after the Sieppes, asking her if Mr. Sieppe had yet
heard of any one with whom he, Marcus, could
" go in with on a ranch." McTeague, Marcus
merely nodded to. Never had the quarrel between
the two men been completely patched up. It did
not seem possible to the dentist now 'that Marcus
had ever been his " pal," that they had ever taken
long walks together. He was sorry that he had
treated Marcus gratis for an ulcerated tooth, while
Marcus daily recalled the fact that he had given up
his " girl " to his friend — the girl who had won a
fortune — as the great mistake of his life. Only
once since the wedding had he called upon Trina,
at a time "when he knew McTeague would be out

220

McTeague

Trina had shown him through the rooms and had
told him, innocently enough, how gay was their
life there. Marcus had come away fairly sick with
envy; his rancor against the dentist — and against
himself, for that matter — knew no bounds. " And
you might V had it all yourself, Marcus Schouler,"
he muttered to himself on the stairs. " You mush-
head, you damn fool! "

Meanwhile, Marcus was becoming involved in
the politics of his ward. As secretary of the Polk
Street Improvement Club — which soon developed
into quite an affair and began to assume the pro
portions of a Republican political machine — he
found he could make a little, a very little more than
enough to live on. At once he had given up his
position as Old Grannis's assistant in the dog hospi
tal. Marcus felt that he needed a wider sphere.
He had his eye upon a place connected with the
city pound. When the great railroad strike oc
curred, he promptly got himself engaged as deputy-
sheriff, and spent a memorable week in Sacramento,
where he involved himself in more than one terrible
melee with the strikers. Marcus had that quick
ness of temper and passionate readiness to take
offence which passes among his class for bravery.
But whatever were his motives, his promptness to
face danger could not for a moment be doubted.
After the strike he returned to Polk Street, and
throwing himself into the Improvement Club, heart,
soul, and body, soon became one of its ruling spirits.
In a certain local election, where a huge paving
contract was at stake, the club made itself felt in
the ward, and Marcus so managed his cards and

McTeague

pulled his wires that, at the end of the matter, he
found himself some four hundred dollars to the
good.

When McTeague came out of his " Parlors " at
noon of the day upon which Trina had heard the
news of Maria Macapa's intended marriage, he
found Trina burning coffee on a shovel in the sit
ting-room. Try as she would, Trina could never
quite eradicate from their rooms a certain faint and
indefinable odor, particularly offensive to her. The
smell of the photographer's chemicals persisted in
spite of all Trina could do to combat it. She
burnt pastilles and Chinese punk, and even, as now,
coffee on a shovel, all to no purpose. Indeed, the
only drawback to their delightful home was the
general unpleasant smell that pervaded it — a smell
that arose partly from the photographer's chemi
cals, partly from the cooking in the little kitchen,
and partly from the ether and creosote of the den
tist's " Parlors."

As McTeague came in to lunch on this occasion,
he found the table already laid, a red cloth figured
with white flowers was spread, and as he took his
seat his wife put down the shovel on a chair and
brought in the stewed codfish and the pot of choco
late. As he tucked his napkin into his enormous
collar, McTeague looked vaguely about the room,
rolling his eyes.

During the three years of their married life the
McTeagues had made but few additions to their
furniture, Trina declaring that they could not afford
it. The sitting-room could boast of but three new
ornaments. Over the melodeon hung their mar-

222

McTeague

riage certificate in a black frame. It was balanced
upon one side by Trina's wedding bouquet under
a glass case, preserved by some fearful unknown
process, and upon the other by the photograph of
Trina and the dentist in their wedding finery. This
latter picture was quite an affair, and had been
taken immediately after the wedding, while Mc-
Teague's broadcloth was still new, and before
Trina's silks and veil had lost their stiffness. It
represented Trina, her veil thrown back, sitting
very straight in a rep armchair, her elbows well in
at her sides, holding her bouquet of cut flowers
directly before her. The dentist stood at her
side, one hand on her shoulder, the other thrust
into the breast of his " Prince Albert/' his chin
in the air, his eyes to one side, his left foot for
ward in the attitude of a statue of a Secretary of
State.

" Say, Trina," said McTeague, his mouth full of
codfish, " Heise looked in on me this morning. He
says ' What's the matter with a basket picnic over
at Schuetzen Park next Tuesday? ' You know the
paper-hangers are going to be in the " Parlors " all
that day, so I'll have a holiday. That's what made
Heise think of it. Heise says he'll get the Ryers
to go too. It's the anniversary of their wedding
day. We'll ask Selina to go; she can meet 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 the Sieppes most cherished cus
toms ; but now there were other considerations.

" I don't know as we can afford it this month,
223

McTeague

Mac," she said, pouring the chocolate. " I got to
pay the gas bill next week, and there's the paper
ing of your office to be paid for some time."

" I know, I know," answered her husband. " But
I got a new patient this week, had two molars and
an upper incisor filled at the very first sitting, and
he's going to bring his children round. He's a
barber on the next block."

" Well, you pay half, then," said Trina. " It'll
cost three or four dollars at 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. I guess
I'll have to put up a lunch for her, though," admitted
Trina, " the way we did last time, because she lives
in a boarding-house now, and they make a fuss
about putting up a lunch."

They could count on pleasant weather at this
time of the year — it was May — and that particular
Tuesday was all that could be desired. The party
assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock, laden with
baskets. The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer
and his wife had already boarded the boat. They
met the Heises in the waiting-room.

" Hello, Doctor," cried the harness-maker as the
McTeagues came up. " This is 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 sat down to listen to the band of
Italian musicians who were playing outside this
morning because of the fineness of the weather.

" Oh, we're going to have lots of fun," cried
224

McTeague

Trina. " If it's anything I do 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. I remember it just as
well."

" Why, look there," said Mrs. Hcise, nodding at
a figure coming up the companion-way. " Ain't
that Mr. Schouler?"

It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight
of the party he gaped at them a moment in blank
astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide.

"Well, by damn!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
" What's up? Where you all going, anyhow? Say,
ain't ut queer we should all run up against each
other like this?" He made great sweeping bows
to the three women, and shook hands with " Cousin
Trina," adding, as he turned to the men of the
party, " Glad to see you, Mister Heise. How do,
Mister Ryer? " The dentist, who had formulated
some sort of reserved greeting, he ignored com
pletely. McTeague settled himself in his seat,
growling inarticulately 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; and Trina added, " We're going
over to the same old Schuetzen Park again. But
you're all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look
as though you were going somewhere yourself."

In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He
wore a new pair of slate-blue trousers, a black
15 225

McTeague

" cutaway," and a white lawn " tie " (for him the
symbol of the height of elegance). He carried
also his cane, a thin wand of ebony with a gold
head, presented to him by the Improvement Club
in " recognition of services."

" That's right, that's right," said Marcus, with a
grin. " I'm takun a holiday 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't called 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 that morning solely to see
Selina. Marcus had " taken up with " Selina a little
after Trina 'had married, and had been " rushing "
her ever since, dazzled and attracted by her accom
plishments, for which he pretended a great respect.
At the prospect of missing Selina on this occasion,
he was genuinely disappointed. His vexation at
once assumed the form of exasperation against Mc
Teague. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah, Mc
Teague was coming between him and Selina now as
he had come between him and Trina. Best look
out, by damn! how he monkeyed with him now.
Instantly his face flamed and he glanced over furi
ously at the dentist, who, catching his eye, began
again to mutter behind his mustache.

" Well, say," began Mrs. Ryer, with some hesi
tation, looking to Ryer for approval, " why can't
Marcus come along with us?"
226

McTeague

" Why, of course," exclaimed Mrs. Heise, dis
regarding her husband's vigorous 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 us if 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'll meet Selina at
the station."

Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the
harness-maker proposed that the men of the party
should go down to the bar on the lower deck and
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 " creme Yvette " in order to
astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glass
of beer.

" Say, look here," suddenly exclaimed Heise as
they took their glasses. u Look here, you fellahs,"
he had turned to Marcus and the dentist. " You
two fellahs have had a grouch at each other for the
last year or so; now what's the matter with your
shaking hands and calling quits? "

McTeague was at once overcome with a great
feeling of magnanimity. He put out his great
hand.

McTeague

" 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 Schuetzen Park since the day of that
other memorable Sieppe picnic four years previous.
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 the impromptu
match which they had arranged, making quite a
wonderful score, which included three clean bulls'
eyes, while McTeague had not been able even to hit
the target itself.

Their shooting match had awakened a spirit of
rivalry in the men, and the rest of the afternoon was
passed in athletic exercises between them. The
women sat on the slope of the grass, their hats and
gloves laid aside, watching the men as they strove
together. Aroused by the little feminine cries of
wonder and the clapping of their ungloved palms,
these latter began to show off at once. They took
off their coats and vests, even their neckties and
collars, and worked themselves into a lather of per
spiration for the sake of making an impression on
their wives. They ran hundred-yard sprints on the
cinder path and executed clumsy feats on the rings
and on the parallel bars. They even found a huge
round stone on the beach and " put the shot " for
228

McTeague

a while. As long as it was a question of agility,
Marcus was easily the best of the four; but the den
tist's enormous strength, his crude, untutored brute
force, was a matter of wonder for the entire party.
McTeague cracked English walnuts — taken from
the lunch baskets — in the hollow of his arm, and
tossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their
best mark. Heise believed himself to be particularly
strong in the wrists, but the dentist, using but one
hand, twisted a cane out of Heise's two with a
wrench that all but sprained the harness-maker's
arm. Then the dentist raised weights and chinned
himself on the rings till they thought he would
never tire.

His great success quite turned his head; he
strutted back and forth in front of the women, his
chest thrown out, and his great mouth perpetually
expanded in a triumphant grin. As he felt his
strength more and more, he began to abuse it; he
domineered over the others, gripping suddenly at
their arms till they squirmed with pain, and slapping
Marcus on the back so that he gasped and gagged
for breath. The childish vanity of the great fellow
was as undisguised as that of a schoolboy. He be
gan to tell of wonderful feats of strength he had
accomplished when he was a young man. Why, at
one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer
with a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and
the heifer had just stiffened out and trembled all
over and died without getting up.

McTeague told this story again, and yet again.
All through the afternoon he could be overheard
relating the wonder to any one who would listen,
229

McTeague

exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific
details. Why, the heifer had just frothed at the
mouth, and his eyes had rolled up — ah, sure, his eyes
rolled up just like that — and the butcher had said his
skull was all mashed in — just all mashed in, sure,
that's the word — just as if from a sledge-hammer.

Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the den
tist on the boat, Marcus's gorge rose within him at
McTeague's boasting swagger. When McTeague
had slapped him on the back, Marcus had retired to
some little distance while he recovered his breath,
and glared at the dentist fiercely as he strode up and
down, glorying in the admiring glances of the
women.

" Ah, one-horse dentist," he muttered between his
teeth. "Ah, zinc-plugger, cow-killer, I'd like to
show you once, you overgrown mucker, you — you
— cow-killer! "

When he rejoined the group, he found them pre
paring for a wrestling bout.

" I tell you what," said Heise, " we'll have a tour
nament. Marcus and I will rastle, and Doc and
Ryer, and then the winners will rastle each other."

The women clapped their hands excitedly. This
would be exciting. Trina cried :

" Better let me hold your money, Mac, and your
keys, so as you won't lose them out of your pockets."
The men gave their valuables into the keeping of
their wives and promptly set to work.

The dentist thrust Ryer down without even

changing his grip; Marcus and the harness-maker

struggled together for a few moments till Heise all

at once slipped on a bit of turf and fell backwards.

230

McTeague

As they toppled over together, Marcus writhed him
self from under his opponent, and, as they reached
the ground, forced down first one shoulder and then
the other.

" All right, all right," panted the harness-maker,
good-naturedly, " I'm down. 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. The dentist, of course,
had an enormous advantage in point of 'strength,
but Marcus prided himself on his wrestling, and
knew something about strangle-holds and half-
Nelsons. The men drew back to allow them a free
space as they faced each other, while Trina and the
other women rose to their 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, eying
each other cautiously. They circled around the im
promptu ring, Marcus watching eagerly for an
opening. He ground his teeth, telling himself he
would throw McTeague if it killed him. Ah, he'd
show him now. Suddenly the two men caught at
each other; Marcus went to his knees. The dentist
threw his vast bulk on his adversary's shoulders and,
thrusting a huge palm against his face, pushed him
backwards and downwards. It was out of the ques
tion to resist that enormous strength. Marcus
wrenched himself over and fell face downward on
the ground.

McTeague rose on the instant with a great laugh
of exultation.

231

McTeague

" You're down! " he exclaimed.

Marcus leaped to his feet.

" Down nothing," he vociferated, with clenched
fists. " Down nothing, by damn ! 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, you can't rastle me."

Marcus capered with rage.

"You didn't! you didn't! you didn't! and you
can't! You got to give me another 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 on the little slope of lawn
above the wrestlers. Marcus broke through
the group, 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's his shoulders touch. You got
to give me another bout."

" That's straight," put in Heise, " both his shoul
ders down at the same time. Try it again. You
and Schouler have another try."

McTeague was bewildered by so much simulta
neous talk. He could not make out what it was all
about. Could he have offended Marcus again?

"What? What? Huh? What is it?" he exclaimed
in perplexity, looking from one to the other.
232

McTeague

" Come on, you must rastle me again/' shouted
Marcus.

" Sure, sure," cried the dentist. " I'll rastle you
again. I'll rastle everybody," he cried, suddenly
struck with an idea. Trina looked on in some ap
prehension.

" 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 any
thing."

" All ready! " shouted Ryer.

This time Marcus was more careful. Twice, as
McTeague rushed at him, he slipped cleverly away.
But as the dentist came in a third time, with his
head bowed, Marcus, raising himself to his full
height, caught him with both arms around the
neck. The dentist gripped at him and rent away
the sleeve 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 hear them panting and grunting as
they labored and struggled. Their boots tore up
great clods of turf. Suddenly they came to the
ground with a tremendous 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. " He ain't down if you don't/'

With his huge salient chin digging into Marcus's
shoulder, the dentist heaved and tugged. His face
was flaming, his huge shock of yellow hair fell over
233

McTeague

his forehead, matted with sweat. Marcus began to
yield despite his frantic efforts. One shoulder was
down, now the other began to go; gradually, grad
ually it was forced over. The little audience held its
breath in the suspense of the moment. Selina
broke the silence, calling out shrilly:

" Ain't Doctor McTeague just that strong! "

Marcus heard it, and his fury came instantly to
a head. Rage at his defeat at the hands of the den
tist and before Selina's eyes, the hate he still bore
his old-time " pal " and the impotent wrath of his
own powerlessness were suddenly unleashed.

" God damn you! get off of me," he cried under
his breath, spitting the words as a snake spits its
venom. The little audience uttered a cry. With
the oath Marcus had twisted his head and had bit
ten through the lobe 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 close to the surface leaped in
stantly to life, monstrous, not to be resisted. He
sprang to his feet with a shrill and meaningless
clamor, totally unlike the ordinary bass of his speak
ing tones. It was the hideous yelling of a hurt
beast, the squealing of a wounded elephant. He
framed no words; in the rush of high-pitched sound
that issued from his wide-open mouth there was
nothing articulate. It was something no longer
human; it was rather an echo from the jungle.

Sluggish enough and slow to anger on ordinary

occasions, McTeague when finally aroused became

another man. His rage was a kind of obsession, an

evil mania, the drunkenness of passion, the exalted

234

McTeague

and perverted fury of the Berserker, blind and deaf,
a thing insensate.

As he rose he caught Marcus's wrist in both his
hands. He did not strike, he did not know what
he was doing. His only idea was to batter the life
out of the man before him, to crush and annihilate
him upon the instant. Gripping his enemy in his
enormous hands, hard and knotted, and covered
with a stiff fell of yellow hair — the hands of the old-
time car-boy — he swung him wide, as a hammer-
thrower swings his hammer. Marcus's feet flipped
from the ground, he spun through the air about
McTeague as helpless as a bundle of clothes. All
at once there was a sharp snap, almost like the re
port of a small pistol. Then Marcus rolled over
and over upon the ground as McTeague released his
grip; his arm, the one the dentist had seized, bend
ing suddenly, as though a third joint had formed
between wrist and elbow. The arm was broken.

But by this time every one was crying out at once.
Heise and Ryer ran in between the two men. Selina
turned her head away. Trina was wringing her
hands 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!"
235

McTeague

" 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 their outcries. Selina was giggling with
hysteria. Marcus, terrified, but too brave to run,
had picked up a jagged stone with his left hand and
stood on the defensive. His swollen right arm,
from which the shirt sleeve had been torn, dangled
at his side, the back of the hand twisted where the
palm should have been. The shirt itself was a mass
of grass stains and was spotted with the dentist's
blood.

But McTeague, in the centre of the group that
struggled to hold him, was nigh to madness. The
side of his face, his neck, and all the shoulder and
breast of his shirt were covered with blood. He
had ceased to cry out, but kept muttering between
his gripped jaws, as he labored to tear himself 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 of me, will you! "

Little by little they pacified him, or rather (for he
paid but little attention to what was said to him)
his bestial fury lapsed by degrees. He turned
away and let fall his arms, drawing long breaths,
and looking stupidly about him, now searching
helplessly upon the ground, now gazing vaguely
into the circle of faces about him. His ear bled as
though it would never stop.
236

McTeague

"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 bosom of his shirt.

" Mac," cried Trina, her face close to his, " tell
us something — the best thing 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 it for 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. Selina sat on the slope of the
grass, gasping and sobbing. Trina tore the nap
kins into strips, and, crushing some of the ice, made
a bandage for her husband's head.

The party resolved itself into two groups; the
Ryers and Mrs. Heise bending over Marcus, while
the harness-maker and Trina came and went about
McTeague, sitting on the ground, his shirt, a mere
blur of red and white, detaching itself violently
from the background of pale-green grass. Be
tween the two groups was the torn and trampled bit
of turf, the wrestling ring; the picnic baskets, to
gether with empty beer bottles, broken egg-shells,
and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here and
there. In the middle of the improvised wrestling
237

McTeague

ring the sleeve of Marcus's shirt fluttered occasion
ally in the sea breeze.

Nobody was paying any attention to Selina. All
at once she began to giggle hysterically again, then
cried out with a peal of laughter :

" Oh, what a way for our picnic to end! "

238

XII.

" Now, then, Maria/' said Zerkow, his cracked,
strained voice just rising above a whisper, hitching
his chair closer to the table, " now, then, my girl,
let's have it all over again. Tell us about the gold
plate — the service. Begin with, ' There were over a
hundred pieces and every one of them gold.' '!

" I don' know what you're talking about, Zer
kow," answered Maria. " There never was no gold
plate, no gold service. I guess you must have
dreamed it."

Maria and the red-headed Polish Jew had been
married about a month after the McTeague's pic
nic which had ended in such lamentable fashion.
Zerkow had taken Maria home to his wretched
hovel in the alley back of the flat, 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 Maria gave birth to a child, a
wretched, sickly child, with not even strength
enough nor wits enough to cry. At the time of its
birth Maria was out of her mind, and continued in
a state of dementia for nearly ten days. She re
covered just in time to make the arrangements for
the baby's burial. Neither Zerkow nor Maria was
much affected by either the birth or the death of
this little child. Zerkow had welcomed it with pro
nounced disfavor, since it had a mouth to be fed and
239

McTeague

wants to be provided for. Maria was out of her
head so much of the time that she could scarcely re
member how it looked when alive. The child was a
mere incident in their lives, a thing that had come
undesired and had gone unregretted. It had not
even a name; a strange, hybrid little being, come
and gone within a fortnight's time, yet combining
in its puny little body the blood of the Hebrew, the
Pole, and the Spaniard.

But the birth of this child had peculiar conse
quences. Maria came out of her dementia, and in
a few days the household settled itself again to its
sordid regime and Maria went about her duties as
usual. Then one evening, about a week after the
child's burial, Zerkow had asked Maria to tell him
the story of the famous service of gold plate for
the hundredth time.

Zerkow had come to believe in this story infalli
bly. He was immovably persuaded that at one time
Maria or Maria's people had possessed these hun
dred golden dishes. In his perverted mind the hal
lucination had developed still further. Not only
had that service of gold plate once existed, but it
existed now, entire, intact; not a single burnished
golden piece of it was missing. It was somewhere,
somebody had it, locked away in that leather trunk
with its quilted lining and round brass 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 of questioning, Zerkow \vould
surely get the information from her. Some day, if
only he was persistent, he would hit upon the right
combination of questions, the right suggestion that
240

McTeague

would disentangle Maria's confused recollections.
Maria would tell him where the thing was kept, was
concealed, was buried, and he would go to that
place and secure it, and all that wonderful gold
would be his forever and forever. This service of
plate had come to be Zerkow's mania.

On this particular evening, about a week after
the child's burial, in the wretched back room of the
junk shop, Zerkow had made Maria sit down to the
table opposite him — the whiskey bottle and the red
glass tumbler with 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 clawing
eagerly at his lips.

" What gold plate?" said Maria, frowning at
him as she drank her whiskey. " What gold plate?
/ 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've told 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 were

16 241

McTeague

more'n a hundred pieces, and every one of 'em gold.'
Oh, you know; come on, come on."

" I don't remember nothing of the kind," pro
tested Maria, reaching for the 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 know
about the gold plate, and you know where it is."
Suddenly he pitched his voice at the prolonged
rasping shout with which he made his street cry.
He rose to his feet, .'his long, prehensile ringers
curled into fists. He was menacing, terrible in his
rage. He leaned over Maria, his fists in her face.

" I believe you've got it! " he yelled. " I believe
you've got it, an' are hiding it from me. Where
is it, where is it? Is it here? " he rolled his eyes
wildly about the room. " Hey? hey? " he went on,
shaking Maria by the shoulders. "Where is it?
Is it here? Tell me where it is. Tell me, or I'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 nothing
about no gold plate at all."

No, Maria did not remember. The trouble and
turmoil of her mind consequent upon the birth of
her child seemed to have readjusted her disordered
ideas upon this point. Her mania had come to a
crisis, which in subsiding had cleared her brain of
its one illusion. She did not remember. Or it was
possible that the gold plate she had once remem
bered had had some foundation in fact, that her
242

McTeague

recital of its splendors had been truth, sound and
sane. It was possible that now her for get fulness of
it was some form of brain trouble, a relic of the
dementia of childbirth. At all events Maria did not
remember; the idea of the gold plate had passed
entirely out of her mind, and it was now Zerkow
who labored under its hallucination. It was now
Zerkow, the raker of the city's muck heap, the
searcher after gold, that saw that wonderful service
in the eye of his perverted mind. It was he who
could now describe it in a language almost eloquent.
Maria had been content merely to remember it; but
Zerkow's avarice goaded him to a belief that it was
still in existence, hid somewhere, perhaps in that
very house, stowed away there by Maria. For it
stood to reason, didn't it, that Maria could not have
described it with such wonderful accuracy and such
careful detail unless she had seen it recently — the
day before, perhaps, or that very day, or that very
hour, that very hour?

" Look out for yourself," he whispered, hoarsely,
to his wife. " Look out for yourself, my girl. I'll
hunt for it, and hunt for it, and hunt for it, and some
day I'll find it—/ will, you'll see— I'll find it, I'll find
it; and if I don't, I'll find a way that'll make you tell
me where it is. I'll make you speak — believe me, I
will, I will, my girl — trust me for that."

And at night Maria would sometimes wake to
find Zerkow gone from the bed, and would see 'him
burrowing into some corner by the light of his dark-
lantern and would hear him mumbling to himself:
" There were more'n a hundred pieces, and every
one of 'em gold — when the leather trunk was opened

243

McTeague

it fair dazzled your eyes — why, just that punch-bow!
was worth a fortune, 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 find it.
It's here somewheres, hid somewheres in this
house."

At length his continued ill success began to exas
perate him. One day he took his whip from his
junk wagon and thrashed Maria with it, gasping the
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, dodg
ing his blows. " I'd tell you, Zerkow, if I knew; but
I don' know nothing about it. How can I tell you
if I don' know? "

Then one evening matters reached a crisis. Mar
cus Schouler was in his room, the room in the
flat just over McTeague's " Parlors " which he
had always occupied. It was between eleven and
twelve o'clock. The vast house was quiet; Polk
Street outside was very still, except for the occa
sional whirr and trundle of a passing cable car and
the persistent calling of ducks and geese in the
deserted market directly opposite. Marcus was in
his shirt sleeves, perspiring and swearing with ex
ertion as he tried to get all his belongings into an
absurdly inadequate trunk. The room was in great
confusion. It looked as though Marcus was about
to move. He stood in front of his trunk, his pre
cious silk hat in its hat-box in his hand. He was
raging at the perverseness of a pair of boots that
refused to fit in his trunk, no matter how he ar
ranged them.

244

McTeague

" I've tried you so, and I've tried you so" he ex
claimed 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 you at all; I won't, for a fact."

He was interrupted by a rush of feet upon
the back stairs and a clamorous 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 him get me. He's got a knife,
and he says sure he's going to do for me, if I don't
tell him where it is."

"Who has? What has? Where is what?"
shouted Marcus, flaming with excitement upon the
instant. He opened the door and peered down the
dark hall, both fists clenched, ready to fight — he did »
not know whom, and he did not know why.

" It's Zerkow," wailed Maria, pulling him back
into the room and bolting the door, " and he's got
a knife as long as that. Oh, my Lord, here he comes
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'm afraid of his knife? "

" I know where you are," cried Zerkow, on the

landing outside. " You're in Schouler's room.

What are you doing in Schouler's room at this time

of night? Come outa there; you oughta be

245

McTeague

ashamed. Pll do for you yet, my girl. Come outa
there once, an' see if I don't."

" I'll do for you myself, you dirty Jew," shouted
Marcus, unbolting the door and running out into
the hall.

" I want my wife," exclaimed the Jew, backing
down the stairs. " What's she 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," exclaimed Zerkow.

" Get outa here yourself," cried Marcus, advanc
ing on him angrily. " Get outa here."

" Maria's gota come too."

" Get outa here," vociferated Marcus, " an' put up
that knife. 7 see it; you needn't try an' hide it be
hind your leg. Give it to me, anyhow," he shouted
suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus
had wrenched it away. " 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 door closed. The Jew was gone.

"Huh!" snorted Marcus, swelling with arro
gance. " Huh! Think I'm afraid of his knife? I
ain't afraid of anybody," he shouted pointedly, for
McTeague and his wife, roused by the clamor, were
peering over the banisters from the landing above.
" Not of anybody," repeated Marcus.

Maria came out into the hall.

" Is he gone? Is he sure gone? "
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McTeague

" What was the trouble? " inquired Marcus, sud
denly.

" I woke up about an hour ago," Maria explained,
" and Zerkow wasn't in bed; maybe he hadn't come
to bed at all. He was down on his knees by the
sink, 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, and all the
time he kept mumbling to himself, * More'n a hun
dred pieces, an' every one of 'em gold; more'n a
hundred pieces, an' every one of 'em gold.' Then,
all of a sudden, he caught sight of me. I was sitting
up in bed, and he jumped up and came at me with
his knife, an' he says, ' Where is it? Where is it?
I know you got it hid somewheres. Where is it?
Tell me or I'll knife you/ I kind of fooled him and
kept him off till I got my 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 first place? " cried Marcus.

" I never told him," protested Maria, with the
greatest energy. " I never told him; I never heard
of any gold dishes. I don' know where he got the
idea; he must be crazy."

By this time Trina and McTeague, Old Grannis,
and little Miss Baker — all the lodgers on the upper
floors of the flat — had gathered about Maria. Trina
and the dentist, who had gone to bed, were partially
dressed, and Trina's enormous mane of black hair
was hanging in two thick braids far down her back.
But, late as it was, Old Grannis and the retired
dressmaker had still been up and about when Maria
had aroused them.

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McTeague

" Why, Maria," said Trina, " you always used to
tell us about your gold dishes. You said your folks
used to have them.''

" Never, never, never! " exclaimed Maria, ve
hemently. " You folks must all be crazy. I never
heard of any gold dishes."

" Well," spoke up Miss Baker, " you're a queer
girl, Maria; that's all I can say." She left the
group and returned to her room. Old Grannis
watched her go from the corner of his eye, and in
a few moments followed her, leaving the group as
unnoticed as he had joined it. By degrees the flat
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't afraid of him so long as he
ain't got his knife."

" Well, say," Marcus called to her as she
went down stairs, " if he gets funny again, you
jusjt yell out; I'll hear you. / won't let him hurt
you."

Marcus went into his room again and resumed his
wrangle with the refractory boots. His eye fell on
Zerkow's knife, a long, keen-bladed hunting-knife,
with a buckhorn handle. " I'll take you along
with me," he exclaimed, suddenly. " I'll just need
you where I'm going."

Meanwhile, old Miss Baker was making tea to
calm her nerves after the excitement of Maria's in
cursion. This evening she went so far as to make
tea for two, laying an extra place on the other side
of her little tea-table, setting out a cup and saucer
and one of the Gorham silver spoons. Close upon
248

McTeague

the other side of the partition Old Grannis bound
uncut numbers of the " Nation."

" Do you know what I think, Mac? " said Trina,
when the couple had returned to their rooms. " I
think Marcus is going away."

"What? What?" muttered the dentist, very
sleepy and stupid, " what you saying? What's that
about Marcus ? "

" I believe Marcus has been packing up, the last
two or three days. I wonder if he's going away."

" Who's going away?" said McTeague, blinking
at her.

" Oh, go to bed," said Trina, pushing him good-
naturedly. " Mac, you're the stupidest man I ever
knew."

But it was true. Marcus was going away. Trina
received a letter the next morning from her mother.
The carpet-cleaning and upholstery business in
which 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 even begun to talk of emigrating
to New Zealand. Meanwhile, she informed Trina
that Mr. Sieppe had finally come across a man with
whom Marcus could " go in with on a ranch," a
cattle ranch in the southeastern portion of the State.
Her ideas were vague upon the subject, but she
knew that Marcus was wildly enthusiastic at the
prospect, and was expected down before the end of
the month. In the meantime, could Trina send
them fifty dollars?

" Marcus is going away, after all, Mac," said
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McTeague

Trina to her husband that day as he came out of
his " Parlors " and sat down to the lunch of sau
sages, mashed potatoes, and chocolate in the sitting-
room.

"Huh?" said the dentist, a little confused.
" Who's going away? Schouler going away?
Why's Schouler going away? "

Trina explained. " Oh ! " growled McTeague,
behind his thick mustache, " he can go far before /'//
stop him."

" And, say, Mac," continued Trina, pouring the
chocolate, " what do you think? Mamma wants me
— wants us to send her fifty dollars. She says
they'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 the air, her small pale lips pursed. " I
wonder if mamma thinks we're millionaires? "

" Trina, you're getting to be regular stingy,"
muttered McTeague. " You're getting worse and
worse every day."

" But fifty dollars is fifty dollars, Mac. Just
think how long it takes you to earn fifty dollars.
Fifty dollars! That's two months of our interest."

" Well," said McTeague, easily, his mouth full
of mashed potato, " you got a lot saved up."

Upon every reference to that little hoard in the
brass match-safe and chamois-skin bag at the bot
tom of her trunk, Trina bridled on the instant.

" Don't talk that way, Mac. ' A lot of money.'
What do you call a lot of money? I don't believe
I've got fifty dollars saved."
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McTeague

" 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 wish mamma hadn't asked me
for any money. Why can't she be a little more
economical? / manage all right. No, no, I can't
possibly afford to send her fifty."

" Oh, pshaw! What will you do, then?" grum
bled her husband.

" I'll send her twenty-five this month, and tell her
I'll send the rest as soon as I can afford it."

" Trina, you're a regular little miser," said Mc
Teague.

" I don't care," answered Trina, beginning to
laugh. " I guess I am, but I can't help it, and it's
a good fault."

Trina put off sending this money for a couple of
weeks, and her mother made no mention of it in
her next letter. " Oh, I guess if she wants it so
bad," said Trina, " she'll speak about it again." So
she again postponed the sending of it. Day by day
she put it off. When her mother asked her for it a
second time, it seemed harder than ever for Trina
to part with even half the sum requested. She
answered her mother, telling her that they were very
hard up themselves for that month, but that she
would send down the amount in a few weeks.

" I'll tell you what we'll do, Mac," she said to her
husband, " you send half 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

Ml

McTeague

her the money. Trina sent McTeague's twelve dol
lars, but never sent the twelve that was to be her
share. 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 think
ing.

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-room together. It was dark, but the
lamp had not been lit. McTeague had brought
up some bottles of beer from the " Wein Stube " on
the ground floor, where the branch post-office used
to be. But they had not opened the beer. It was
a warm evening in summer. Trina was sitting on
McTeague's lap in the bay window, and had looped
back the Nottingham curtains so the two could look
out into the darkened street and watch the moon
coming up over the glass roof of the huge pub
lic baths. On occasions they sat like this for an
hour or so, " philandering," Trina cuddling herself
down upon McTeague's enormous body, rubbing
her cheek against the grain of his unshaven chin,
kissing the bald spot on the top of his head, or put
ting her fingers into his ears and eyes. At times,
a brusque access of passion would seize upon her,
and, with a nervous little sigh, she would clasp his
thick red neck in both her small arms and whisper
in his ear:

" Do you love me, Mac, dear? love me big, big?
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McTeague

Sure, do you iove me as much 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 were not married, Trina
scrambled off McTeague's lap, hastening to light
the lamp, whispering, " Put on your coat, Mac, and
smooth your hair," and making gestures for him to
put the beer bottles out of sight. She opened the
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, sud
denly, speaking without thought. " 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 Marcus want to become reconciled
to his enemy? "/ know." Trina said to herself.

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McTeague

" He's going away, and he wants to borrow some
money. He won't get a penny, 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 wrand of ebony with the gold top presented
to him by the " Improvement Club."

" Ah ! " said he, wagging his head and looking
about the sitting-room, " you people have got the
best fixed rooms in the whole flat. Yes, sir; you
have, for a fact." He glanced from the lithograph
framed in gilt and red plush — the two little girls at
their prayers — to the " I'm Grandpa " and " I'm
Grandma " pictures, noted the clean white matting
and the gay worsted tidies over the chair backs, and
appeared to contemplate in ecstasy the framed pho
tograph of McTeague and Trina in their wedding
finery.

" Well, you two are pretty happy together, ain't
you?" said he, smiling good-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, " but we'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."

254

'McTeague

" 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 know a
lot about horses, and he's ranched some before —
this English duck. And then I'm going to keep
my eye open for a political chance down there. I
got some introductions from the President of the
Improvement Club. I'll work 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 even
ing. He talked on easily and agreeably, address
ing himself as much to McTeague as to Trina. At
last he rose.

" Well, good-by, Doc."

" Good-by, Marcus," returned McTeague. The
two shook hands.

" Guess we won't ever see each other again," con
tinued Marcus. " But good luck to you, Doc.
Hope some day you'll have the patients standing in
line 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's ark animals for the twins on
their next birthday; August is too old for toys.
But you tell the twins that I'll make them some
255

McTeague

great big animals. 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.

XIII.

One morning about a week after Marcus had left
for the southern part of the State, McTeague found
an oblong letter thrust through the letter-drop of
the door of his " Parlors." The address was type
written. He opened it. The letter had been sent
from the City Hall and was stamped in one corner
with the seal of the State of California, very official;
the form and file numbers superscribed.

McTeague had been making fillings when this
letter arrived. He was in his " Parlors," pottering
over his movable rack underneath the bird cage in
the bay window. He was making " blocks " to be
used in large proximal cavities and " cylinders " for
commencing fillings. He heard the postman's step
in the hall and saw the envelopes begin to shuttle
themselves through the slit of his letter-drop. Then
came the fat oblong envelope, with its official seal,
that dropped flat-wise to the floor with a sodden,
dull impact.

The dentist put down the broach and scissors and
gathered up his mail. There were four letters alto
gether. One was for Trina, in Selina's " elegant "
handwriting; another was an advertisement of a new
kind of operating chair for dentists; the third was a
card from a milliner on the next block, announcing
an opening; and the fourth, contained in the fat
oblong envelope, was a printed form with blanks
17 257

McTeague

left for names and dates, and addressed to Mc
Teague, from an office in the City Hall. McTeague
read it through laboriously. " I don' know, I don*
know," he muttered, looking stupidly at the rifle
manufacturer's calendar. Then he heard Trina,
from the kitchen, singing as she made a clattering
noise with the breakfast dishes. " I guess I'll ask
Trina about it," he muttered.

He went through the suite, by the sitting-room,
where the sun was pouring in through the looped
backed Nottingham curtains upon the clean white
matting and the varnished surface of the melodeon,
passed on through the bedroom, with its framed
lithographs of round-cheeked English babies and
alert fox terriers, and came out into the brick-paved
kitchen. The kitchen was clean as a new whistle;
the freshly blackened cook stove glowed like a
negro's hide; the tins and porcelain-lined stew-
pans might have been of silver and of ivory. Trina
was in the centre of the room, wiping off, with a
damp sponge, the oilcloth table-cover, on which
they had breakfasted. Never had she looked so
pretty. Early though it was, her enormous tiara of
swarthy hair was neatly combed and coiled, not a
pin was so much as loose. She wore a blue calico
skirt with a white figure, and a belt of imitation
alligator skin clasped around her small, firmly-
corseted waist; her shirt waist was of pink linen,
so new and crisp that it crackled with every move
ment, while around the collar, tied in a neat knot,
was one of McTeague's lawn ties which she had
appropriated. Her sleeves were carefully rolled up
almost to her shoulders, and nothing could have
258

McTeague

been more 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 of pink
coming and going at the elbows as they bent and
straightened. She looked up quickly as her hus
band entered, her narrow eyes alight, her adorable
little chin in the air; her lips rounded and opened
with the last words of her song, so that one could
catch a glint of gold in the fillings of her upper
teeth.

The whole scene — the clean kitchen and its clean
brick floor; the smell of coffee that lingered in the
air; Trina herself, fresh as if from a bath, and sing
ing at her work; the morning sun, striking obliquely
through the white muslin half-curtain of the window
and spanning the little kitchen with a bridge of
golden mist — gave off, as it were, a note of gayety
that was not to be resisted. Through the opened
top of the window came the noises of Polk Street,
already long awake. One heard the chanting of
street cries, the shrill calling of children on their
way to school, the merry rattle of a butcher's cart,
the brisk noise of hammering, or the occasional
prolonged roll of a cable car trundling heavily past,
with a vibrant whirring of its jostled glass and the
joyous clanging of its bells.

" What is it, Mac, dear? " said Trina.

McTeague shut the door behind him with his
heel and handed her the letter. Trina read it
through. Then suddenly her small hand gripped
tightly upon the sponge, so that the water started
from it and dripped in a little pattering deluge upon
the. bricks.

259

McTeague

The letter — or rather printed notice — informed
McTeague that he had never received a diploma
from a dental college, and that in consequence he
was forbidden to practise his profession any longer.
A legal extract bearing upon the case was attached
in small type.

" Why, what's all this? " said Trina, calmly, with
out thought as yet.

" I don' know, / don' know," answered her hus
band.

" You can't practise any longer," continued
Trina, — " ' is herewith prohibited and enjoined from

further continuing ' " She re-read the extract,

her forehead lifting and puckering. She put the
sponge carefully away in its wire rack over the sink,
and drew up a chair to the table, spreading out the
notice before her. " Sit down," she said to Mc
Teague. " 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 was making some fillings —
there, in the ' Parlors,' in the window — and the
postman shoved it through the door. I thought it
was a number of the ' American System of Den
tistry ' at first, and when I'd opened it and looked
at it I thought I'd better "

" Say, Mac," interrupted Trina, looking up from
the notice, " didn't you ever 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 sent me. We used to go from
260

McTeague

one camp to another. I sharpened his excavators
for him, and put up his notices in the towns — stuck
them up in the post-offices and on the doors of the
Odd Fellows' halls. He had a wagon."

" But didn't you never go to a college? "

"Huh? What? College? No, I never went,
learned from the fellow."

Trina rolled down her sleeves. She was a little
paler than usual. She fastened the buttons into the
cuffs and said :

" But do you know you can't practise unless
you're graduated from a college? 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 a diploma."

" What's that— a diploma? "

" I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper that
— that — oh, Mac, we're ruined." Trina's voice rose
to a cry.

" What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist?
Ain't I a doctor? Look at my sign, and the gold
tooth you gave me. Why, I've been practising
nearly twelve years."

Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat,
and pretended to resettle a hair-pin at the back
of her head.

" I guess it isn't as bad as that," she said, very
quietly. " Let's read this again. ' Herewith pro-
261

McTeague

o

hibited and enjoined from further continuing ' "

She read to the end.

" Why, it isn't possible," she cried. " They can't
mean — oh, Mac, I do believe — pshaw! " she ex
claimed, her pale face flushing " They don't know
how good a dentist you are. What difference does
a diploma make, if you're a first-class dentist? I
guess that's all right. Mac, didn't you ever go to a
dental college?"

" No," answered McTeague, doggedly. " What
was the good? I learned how to operate; 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 over
the 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. •! got to go
back to work." He rose.

" But you can't," cried Trina, the back of her
hand upon her lips, her eyes brimming. " Mac,
don't you see? Can't you understand? You've got
to stop. Oh, it's dreadful! Listen." She hurried
around the table to him and 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 any more. We're ruined."

Vanovitch was pounding on the door of the sit
ting-room.

262

McTeague

" He'll be gone in a minute," exclaimed Mc
Teague.

" Well, let him go. Tell him to go; tell him to
come again/'

" Why, he's got an appointment with me," ex
claimed McTeague, his hand upon the door.

f rina caught him back. " But, Mac, you ain't a
dentist any longer; you ain't a doctor. You haven't
the right to work. You never went to a dental
college."

" Well, suppose I never went to a college, ain't I
a dentist just the same? Listen, he's pounding there
again. No, I'm going, sure."

" Well, of course, go," said Trina, with sudden
reaction. " It ain't possible they'll make you stop.
If you're a good dentist, that's all that's wanted. Go
on, Mac; hurry, before he goes."

McTeague went out, closing the door. Trina
stood for a moment looking intently 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 her fists, read it yet another time. Sud
denly the conviction seized upon her that it was all
true. McTeague would be obliged to stop work,
no matter how good a dentist he was. But why
had the authorities at the City Hall waited this long
before serving the notice? All at once Trina
snapped her fingers, with a quick flash of intelli
gence.

" It's Marcus that's done it," she cried.

It was like a clap of thunder. McTeague was
stunned, stupefied. He said nothing. Never in his
263

McTeague

life had he been so taciturn. At times he did not
seem to hear Trina when she spoke to him, and
often she had to shake him 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. What had a clerk at the
City Hall to do with him? Why couldn't they let
him alone?

" Oh, what's to become of us now? " wailed
Trina. " What's to become of us now? " We're
paupers, beggars — and all so sudden." And once,
in a quick, inexplicable fury, totally unlike anything
that McTeague had noticed in her before, she had
started up, with fists and teeth shut tight, and had
cried, " Oh, if you'd only killed Marcus Schouler
that time he fought you! "

McTeague had continued his work, acting from
sheer force of habit; his sluggish, deliberate nature,
methodical, obstinate, refusing to adapt itself to the
new conditions.

" Maybe Marcus was only trying to scare us,"
Trina had said. " How are they going to know
whether you're practising or not? "

" I got a mould to make to-morrow," McTeague
said, " and Vanovitch, that plumber round on Sutter
Street, he's coming again at three."

" Well, you go right ahead," Trina told him, de
cisively; " you go right ahead and make the mould,
and pull every tooth in Vanovitch's head if you want
to. Who's going to know? Maybe they just sent
that notice as a matter of form. Maybe Marcus got
that paper and filled it in himself."
264

McTeague

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 dental college, Mac? Didn't you ever
go? " Trina would ask again and again.

" No, no," answered the dentist, " I never went.
I learnt from the fellow I was apprenticed to. I
don' know anything about a dental college. Ain't
I got a right to do as I like?" he suddenly ex
claimed.

" If you know your profession, isn't that
enough ? " cried Trina.

" Sure, sure," growled McTeague. " I ain't go
ing to stop for them."

" You go right on," Trina said, " and I bet you
won't hear another word about 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 has done this just to scare you,
they won't know anything about it there at the City
Hall; but they'll begin to ask you questions, and find
out that you never had graduated from a dental
college, and you'd be just as bad off as ever."

" Well, I ain't going to quit for just a piece of
paper," declared the dentist. The phrase stuck to
him. All day long he went about their rooms or
continued at his work in the " Parlors," growling
behind his thick mustache: "I ain't going to quit
for just a piece of paper. No, I ain't going to quit
for just a piece of paper. Sure not."

The days passed, a week went by, McTeague con
tinued his work as usual. They heard no more from
265

McTeague

the City Hall, but the suspense of the situation was
harrowing. Trina was actually sick with it. The
terror of the thing was ever at their elbows, going
to bed with them, sitting down with them at break
fast in the kitchen, keeping them company all
through the day. Trina dared not think of what
would be their fate if the income derived from Mc-
Teague's practice was suddenly taken from them.
Then they would have to fall back on the interest
of her lottery money and the pittance she derived
from the manufacture of the Noah's ark animals, a
little over thirty dollars a month. No, no, it was
not to be thought of. It could not be that "their
means of livelihood was to be thus stricken from
them.

A fortnight went by. " I guess we're all right,
Mac/' Trina allowed herself to say. " It looks as
though we were all right. How are they going to
tell whether you're practising or not? "

That day a second and much more peremptory
notice was served upon McTeague by an official in
person. Then suddenly Trina was seized with a
panic terror, unreasoned, instinctive. If McTeague
persisted they would both be sent to a prison, she
was sure of it; a place where people were chained
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 can make you stop. Oh,
why didn't you go to a dental college? Why didn't
you find 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 — where
weve been so happy, and sell all the pretty things;
266

McTeague

sell the pictures and the melodeon, and — Oh, it's
too dreadful!"

"Huh? Huh? What? What? " exclaimed the
dentist, bewildered. " I ain't going to quit for just
a piece of paper. Let them put me out. I'll show
them. 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 entering his mind. " We've got
our money yet. You've got your five thousand
dollars and the money you've been saving up. Peo
ple ain't paupers when they've got over five thou
sand dollars."

" What do you mean, Mac? " cried Trina, appre
hensively.

" Well, we can live on that money until — until —
until — " he broke off with an uncertain movement
of his shoulders, looking about him stupidly.

"Until when?" cried Trina. "There ain't ever
going to be any ' until.9 We've got the interest of
that five thousand and we've got what Uncle Oel-
bermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a
month, and that's all 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 at best. What new trade
could he learn at this age?

Little by little Trina made the dentist understand
the calamity that had befallen them, and McTeague
at last began cancelling his appointments. Trina
gave it out that he was sick.
267

McTeague

" 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 usual
and potter about his instruments, his dental engine,
and his washstand in the corner behind his screen
where he made his moulds. Now he would sharpen
a " hoe " excavator, now he would busy himself
for a whole hour making " mats " and " cylinders."
Then he would look over his slate where he kept a
record of his appointments.

One day Trina softly opened the door of the
" Parlors " and came in from the sitting-room. She
had not heard McTeague moving about for some
time and had begun to wonder what he was doing.
She came in, quietly shutting the 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 piled
upon the marble-top centre-table in rectangular
blocks. The few chairs were drawn up against the
wall under the steel engraving of " Lorenzo de*
Medici " with more than usual precision. The den
tal engine and the nickelled trimmings of the oper
ating chair had been furbished till they shone, while
on the movable rack in the bay window McTeague
had arranged his instruments with the greatest
neatness and regularity. " Hoe " excavators, plug-
gers, forceps, pliers, corundum disks and burrs,
even the boxwood mallet that Trina was never to
use again, all were laid out and ready for Immediate
use.

268

McTeague

McTeague himself sat in his operating chair,
looking stupidly out of the windows, across the
roofs opposite, with an unseeing gaze, his red
hands lying idly in his lap. Trina came up to him.
There was something in his eyes that made her put
both arms around his neck and lay his huge head
with 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' no
body's ever going to come any more. Oh, Trina! "
He put his arms about her and drew her down closer
to him.

" Never mind, dear; never mind," cried Trina,
through her tears. " It'll all come right in the end,
and we'll be poor together if we have to. You can
sure find something else to do. We'll start in
again."

" Look at the slate there," said McTeague, pull
ing away from her and reaching down the slate on
which he kept a record of his appointments. " Look
at them. There's Vanovitch at two on Wednesday,
and Loughhead's wife Thursday morning, and
Heise's little girl Thursday afternoon at one-thirty;
Mrs. Watson on Friday, and Vanovitch again Sat
urday morning early — at seven. That's what I was
to have had, and they ain't going to come. 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 as she spoke her eyes brimmed
again, and a great tear dropped on the slate.
260

McTeague

" That's it," she said; " that's the way to rub it out,
by me crying on it." Then she passed her fingers
over the tear-blurred writing and washed the slate
clean. " All gone, all gone," she said.

" All gone," echoed the dentist. There was a
silence. Then McTeague heaved himself up to his
full six feet two, his face purpling, his enormous
mallet-like fists raised over his head. His massive
jaw protruded 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 of his eyes growing suddenly
pink.

" Oh, if ever you do" exclaimed Trina, catching
her breath.

270

XIV.

" Well, what do you think? " said Trina.

She and McTeague stood in a tiny room at the
back of the flat and on its very top floor. The room
was whitewashed. It contained a bed, three cane-
seated chairs, and a wooden washstand with its
washbowl and pitcher. From its single uncurtained
window one looked down into the flat's dirty back
yard and upon the roofs of the hovels that bordered
the alley in the rear. There was a rag- carpet on the
floor. In place of a closet some dozen wooden pegs
were affixed to the wall over the washstand. There
was a smell of cheap soap and of ancient hair-oil in
the air.

" That's a single bed," said Trina, " but the land
lady says she'll put in a 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've looked Polk Street over, and
this is the only thing we can afford."

" Afford, afford," muttered the dentist. " You
with your five thousand dollars, and the two or three
hundred you got saved up, talking about ' afford/
You make me sick."

" Now, Mac," exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sit
ting down in one of the cane-seated chairs; " now,

Mac, let's have this thing "

271

McTeague

" 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 got the
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 is yours, ain't it? "

" No, it's not; 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 to have to talk this way to you, but you just
make me. We're not going to touch a penny of
my five thousand nor a penny of that little money 1
managed to save — that seventy-five."

" That two hundred, you mean."

" That seventy-five. We're just going to live on
the interest of that and on what I earn from Uncle
Oelbermann — on just that thirty-one or two dol
lars."

" 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 do and earn some more
money, and then we'll talk."

" Well, I ain't going to live here."

" Oh, very well, suit yourself. Fm going to live
here."

272

McTeague

" You'll live where I tell you," the dentist sud
denly cried, exasperated at 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 her pale 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 saw anything like it. When
I was practising, I never thought of my fees as my
own; we lumped everything in together."

" Exactly; and I'm doing the working now. I'm
working for Uncle Oelbermann, and you're not
lumping in anything now. I'm doing it all. Do you
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't have 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 money an' — 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 dentist and his wife did not speak.

This was not the only quarrel they had during
these days when they were occupied in moving
18 273

McTeague

from their suite and in looking for new quarters.
Every hour the question of money came up. Trina
had become more niggardly than ever since the loss
of McTeague's practice. It was not mere economy
with her now. It was a panic terror lest a fraction
of a cent of her little savings should be touched; a
passionate eagerness to continue to save in spite of
all that had happened. Trina could have easily
afforded better quarters than the single whitewashed
room at the top 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 had been engaged; "perhaps almost as
much as ever. I'll have three hundred dollars pretty
soon, and Mac thinks it's only two hundred. It's
almost two 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.
Everything went — everything but the few big pieces
that went with the suite, and that belonged to the
photographer. The melodeon, the chairs, the black
walnut table before which they were married, the
extension table in the sitting-room, the kitchen
table with its oilcloth cover, the framed lithographs
from the English illustrated papers, the very carpets
on the floors. But Trina's heart nearly broke when
the kitchen utensils and furnishings 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 kept them ! What a pleasure it
had been to invade that little brick-paved kitchen
every morning, and to wash up and put to rights
after breakfast, turning on the hot water at the
274

McTeague

sink, raking down the ashes in the cook-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 her independence ! How happy
had she been the day after her marriage when she :
had first entered that kitchen and knew that it was \
all her own! And how well she remembered her
raids upon the bargain counters in the house-
furnishing departments of the great down-town
stores! And now it was all to go. Some one else
would have it all, while she was relegated to cheap
restaurants and meals cooked by hired servants.
Night after night she sobbed herself to sleep at the
thought of her past happiness and her present
wretchedness. However, she was not alone in her
unhappiness.

" 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 the sale of his
office effects McTeague had rebelled with the in
stinctive obstinacy of a boy, shutting his eyes and
ears. Only little by little did Trina induce him to
part with his office furniture. He fought over every
article, over the little iron stove, the bed-lounge,
the marble-topped centre table, the whatnot in the
corner, the bound volumes of "Allen's Practical
Dentist," the rifle manufacturer's calendar, and the
prim, military chairs. A veritable scene took place
between him and his wife before he could bring him
self to part with the steel engraving of " Lorenzo de'
Medici and His Court " and the stone pug dog with
its goggle eyes.

" Why," he would cry, " I've had 'em ever since —
275

McTeague

ever since I began; long before I knew you, Trina.
That steel engraving I bought in Sacramento one
day when it was raining. I saw it in the window of
a second-hand store, and a fellow gave me that stone
pug dog. He was a druggist. It was in Sacra
mento 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 not induce him to part with.

" And your concertina, Mac," she prompted, as
they were making out the list for the second-hand
dealer. " The concertina, and — oh, yes, the canary
and the bird cage."

" No."

" Mac, you must be reasonable. The concertina
would bring quite a sum, and the bird cage is as
good as new. I'll sell the canary to the bird-store
man on Kearney Street."

" No."

" If you're going to make objections to every
single thing, we might as well quit. Come, now,
Mac, the concertina and the bird cage. We'll put
them in Lot D."

" No."

" You'll have to come to it sooner or later. Tm
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 his temper, as in the case of
the steel engraving or the stone pug dog; he simply
opposed her entreaties and persuasions with a pas
sive, inert obstinacy that nothing could move. In
276

McTeague

the end Trina was obliged to submit. McTeague
kept his concertina and his canary, even going so far
as to put them both away in the bedroom, attaching
to them tags on which he had scrawled in immense
round letters, " Not for Sale."

One evening during that same week the dentist
and his wife were in the dismantled sitting-room.
The room presented the appearance of a wreck. The
Nottingham lace curtains were down. The exten
sion table was heaped high with dishes, with tea and
coffee pots, and with baskets of spoons and knives
and forks. The melodeon was hauled out into the
middle of the floor, and covered with a sheet marked
" Lot A," the pictures were in a pile in a corner,
the chenille portieres were folded on top of the black
walnut table. The room was desolate, lamentable.
Trina was going over the inventory; McTeague, in
his shirt sleeves, was smoking his pipe, looking
stupidly out of the window. All at once there was a
brisk rapping at the door.

" Come in," called Trina, apprehensively. Now-
a-days at every unexpected visit she anticipated a
fresh calamity. The door opened to let in a young
man wearing a checked suit, a gay cravat, and a
marvellously figured waistcoat. Trina and Mc
Teague recognized him at once. It was the Other
Dentist, the debonair fellow whose clients were
the barbers and the 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 they stared at him distrustfully.
277

McTeague

"How'do? They tell me, Doctor, that you are
going out of the profession."

McTeague muttered indistinctly behind his mus
tache and glowered at him.

" Well, say," continued the other, cheerily, " I'd
like to talk business with you. That sign of yours,
that big golden tooth that you got outside of 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 inter
rupted 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 young man fled. But half way
'down the stairs he paused long enough to call back:

" 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 and spread the fiction that Mc
Teague was merely retiring from business, without
assigning any reason. But evidently every one knew
278

McTeague

the real cause. The humiliation was complete now.
Old Miss Baker confirmed their suspicions on this
point the next day. The little retired dressmaker
came down and wept with Trina over her misfor
tune, and did what she could to encourage her. But
she too knew that McTeague had been forbidden
by the authorities from practising. Marcus had
evidently left them no loophole of escape.

" It's just like cutting off your husband's hands,
my dear," said Miss Baker. " And you two were
so happy. When I first saw you together I said,
1 What a pair!'"

Old Grannis also called during this period of the
breaking up of the McTeague household.

" Dreadful, dreadful," murmured the old English
man, his hand going tremulously to his chin. " It
seems unjust; it does. But Mr. Schouler could 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 they
were wrestling just for fun. Marcus would do any
thing to injure Mac."

" Dear, dear," returned Old Grannis, genuinely
pained. " I had always believed 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 har
ness-maker, shaking his finger impressively at
the dentist, "you must fight it; you must appeal
to the courts; you've been practising too long to
279

McTeague

be debarred now. The statute of limitations, you
know."

" No, no," Trina had exclaimed, when the den
tist had repeated this advice to her. " No, no, don't
go near the law courts. / know them. The lawyers
take 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 had invited to her room for that
day, sat there side by side, holding each other's
hands, listening nervously to the turmoil that rose
to them from the direction of their suite. From
nine o'clock till dark the crowds came and went.
All Polk Street seemed to have invaded the suite,
lured on by the red flag that waved from the front
windows. It was a fete, a veritable holiday, for the
whole neighborhood. People with no thought of
buying presented themselves. Young women — the
candy-store girls and florist's apprentices— came to
see the fun, walking arm in arm from room to
room, making jokes about the pretty lithographs
and mimicking the picture of the two little girls
saying their prayers.

" Look here," they would cry, " look here what
she used for curtains — Nottingham lace, actually!
Whoever thinks of buying Nottingham lace now-a-
days? Say, don't that jar you?"

" And a melodeon," another one would exclaim,
lifting the sheet. " A melodeon, when you can rent
a piano for a dollar a week; and say, I really believe
they used to eat in the kitchen."

" Dollarn-half, dollarn-half, dollarn-half, give me
two," intoned the auctioneer from the second-hand
280

McTeague

store. By noon the crowd became a jam. Wagons
backed up to the curb outside and departed heavily
laden. In all directions people could be seen going
away from the house, carrying small 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 things were progressing, returned
with reports of the foray.

" Mrs. Heise bought the chenille portieres. Mis
ter Ryer made a bid for your bed, but a man in a
gray coat bid over him. It was knocked down for
three dollars and a half. The German shoemaker
on the next block bought the stone pug dog. I saw
our postman going away with a lot of the pictures.
Zerkow has come, on my word! the rags-bottles-
sacks man; he's buying lots; he bought all Doctor
McTeague's gold tape and some of the instruments.
Maria's there too. That dentist on the corner took
the dental engine, and wanted to get the sign, the
big gold tooth," and so on and so on. Crudest
of all, however, at least to Trina, was when Miss
Baker herself began to buy, unable to resist a bar
gain. The last time she came up she carried a
bundle of the gay tidies that used to hang over the
chair backs.

" He offered them, three for a nickel," she ex
plained to Trina, " and I thought I'd spend just a
quarter. You don't mind, now, do you, Mrs. Mc
Teague? "

" Why, no, of course not, Miss Baker," answered
Trina, bravely.

" They'll look very pretty on some of my chairs,"
went on the little old dressmaker, innocently.
281

McTeague

" See," She spread one of them on a chair back for
inspection. Trina's chin quivered.

" Oh, very pretty," she answered.

At length that dreadful day was over. The crowd
dispersed. Even the auctioneer went at last, and
as he closed the door with a bang, the reverberation
that went through the suite gave evidence of its
emptiness.

" Come," said Trina to the dentist, " let's go down
and look — take a last look."

They went out of Miss Baker's room and de
scended to the floor below. On the stairs, how
ever, they were met by Old Grannis. In his hands
he carried a little package. Was it possible that he
too had taken advantage of their misfortunes to
pin in the raid upon the suite?

" I went in," he began, timidly, " for — for a few
moments. This " — he indicated the little package
he carried — " this was put up. It was of no value
but to you. I — I ventured to bid it in. I thought
perhaps " — his hand went to his chin, " that you
wouldn't mind; that— in fact, I bought it for you —
as a present. Will you take it? " He handed the
package to Trina and hurried on. Trina tore off
the wrappings.

It was the framed photograph of McTeague and
his wife in their wedding finery, the one that had
been taken immediately after the marriage. It
represented Trina sitting very erect in a rep arm
chair, holding her wedding bouquet straight before
her, McTeague standing at her side, his left foot
forward, one hand upon her shoulder, and the other
thrust into the breast of his " Prince Albert " coat,
282

McTeague

In the attitude of a statue of a Secretary of
State.

" Oh, it was good of him, it was good of him,"
cried Trina, her eyes filling again. " I had forgotten
to put it away. Of course it was not for sale."

They went on down the stairs, and arriving at
the door of the sitting-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 the
results of that day of sale. Nothing was left, not
even the carpet. It was a pillage, a devastation, the
barrenness of a field after the passage of a swarm of
locusts. The room had been picked and stripped
till only the bare walls and floor remained. Here
where they had been married, where the wedding
supper had taken place, where Trina had bade fare
well to her father and mother, here where she had
spent those first few hard months of her married
life, where afterward she had grown to be happy
and contented, where she had passed the long
hours of the afternoon at her work of whittling, and
where she and her husband had spent so many
evenings looking out of the window before the
lamp was lit — here in what had been her home, noth
ing was left but echoes and the emptiness of com
plete desolation. Only one thing remained. On
the wall between the windows, in its oval glass
frame, preserved by some unknown and fearful pro
cess, a melancholy relic of a vanished happiness, un
sold, neglected, and forgotten, a thing that nobody
wanted, hung Trina's wedding bouquet.

283

XV.

Then the grind began. It would have been
easier for the McTeagues to have faced their mis
fortunes had they befallen them immediately after
their marriage, when their love for each other was
fresh and fine, and when they could have found a
certain happiness in helping each other and sharing
each other's privations. Trina, no doubt, loved her
husband more than ever, in the sense that she felt
she belonged to him. But McTeague's affection
for his wife was dwindling a little every day — had
been dwindling for a long time, in fact. He had be
come used to her by now. She was part of the
order of the things with which he found himself
surrounded. He saw nothing extraordinary about
her; it was no longer a pleasure for him to kiss her
and take her in his arms; she was merely his 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 animal comforts which in
the old prosperous life Trina had managed to find
for him. He missed the cabbage soups and steam
ing chocolate that Trina had taught him to like; he
missed his good tobacco that Trina had educated
him to prefer; he missed the Sunday afternoon
walks that she had caused him to substitute in place
of his nap in the operating chair; and he missed the
bottled beer that she had induced him to drink in
284

McTeague

place of the steam beer from Frenna's. In the end
he grew morose and sulky, and sometimes neglected
to answer his wife when she spoke to him. Besides
this, Trina' s avarice was a perpetual annoyance to
him. Oftentimes when a considerable alleviation
of this unhappiness could have been obtained at the
expense of a nickel or a dime, Trina refused the
money with a pettishness that was exasperating.

" No, no," she would exclaim. " To ride to the
park Sunday afternoon, that means 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 drinking steam beer as common
and vulgar.

" Say, let's have a bottle of beer to-night. We
haven't had a drop of beer 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 day before yesterday."

" But I don't like steam beer now."

It was so with everything. Unfortunately, Trina
had cultivated tastes in McTeague which now could
not be gratified. He had come to be very proud
of his silk hat and " Prince Albert " coat, and liked
to wear them on Sundays. Trina had made him
sell both. He preferred " Yale mixture " in his
285

McTeague

pipe; Trina had made him come down to " Mastiff,"
a five-cent tobacco with which he was once con
tented, but now abhorred. He liked to wear clean
cuffs; Trina allowed him a fresh pair on Sundays
only. At first these deprivations angered Mc
Teague. Then, all of a sudden, he slipped back
into the old habits (that had been his before he
knew Trina) with an ease that was surprising. Sun
days he dined at the car conductors' coffee-joint
once more, and spent the afternoon lying full length
upon the bed, crop-full, stupid, warm, smoking his
huge pipe, drinking his steam 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 outstanding bills, netted about a hundred
and thirty dollars. Trina believed that the auc
tioneer from the second-hand store had swindled
and cheated them and had made a great outcry to
no effect. But she had arranged the affair with the
auctioneer herself, and offset her disappointment in
the matter of the sale by deceiving her husband as
to the real amount of the returns. It was easy to
lie to McTeague, who took everything for granted;
and since the occasion of her trickery with the
money that was to have been sent to her mother,
Trina had found falsehood easier than ever.

" 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 of that."
286

McTeague

" Only fifty," declared Trina. Afterwards she
said to herself with a certain admiration for her
cleverness:

" Couldn't save sixty dollars much easier than
that," and she had added the hundred and thirty
to the little hoard in the chamois-skin bag and brass
match-box in the bottom of her trunk.

In these first months of their misfortunes the
routine of the McTeagues was as follows: They
rose at seven and breakfasted in their room, Trina
cooking the very meagre meal on an oil stove. Im
mediately after breakfast Trina sat down to her
work of whittling the Noah's ark animals, and Mc
Teague took himself off to walk down town. He
had by the greatest good luck secured a position
with a manufacturer of surgical instruments, 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 the
afternoon worked till six. He was home at six-
thirty, and he and Trina had supper together in
the " ladies' dining parlor," an adjunct of the car
conductors' coffee-joint. Trina, meanwhile, had
worked at her whittling all day long, with but half
an hour's interval for lunch, which she herself pre
pared upon the oil stove. In the evening they were
both so tired that they were in no mood for con
versation, and went to bed early, worn out, harried,
nervous, and cross.

Trina was not quite so scrupulously tidy now as
in the old days. At one time while whittling the
Noah's ark animals she had worn gloves. She
287

McTeague

never wore them now. She still took pride in
neatly combing and coiling her wonderful black
hair, but as the days passed she found it more and
more comfortable to work in her blue flannel
wrapper. Whittlings and chips accumulated under
the window where she did her work, and she was at
no great pains to clear the air of the room vitiated
by the fumes of the oil stove and heavy with the
smell of cooking. It was not gay, that life. The
room itself was not gay. The huge double bed
sprawled over nearly a fourth of the available space;
the angles of Trina's trunk and the washstand pro
jected into the room from the walls, and barked
shins and scraped elbows. Streaks and spots of the
" non-poisonous " paint that Trina used were upon
the walls and woodwork. However, in one corner
of the room, next the window, monstrous, distorted,
brilliant, shining with a 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 had left their suite, Trina was
at her work by the window. She had whittled some
half-dozen sets of animals, and was now busy paint
ing them and making the arks. Little pots of " non-
poisonous " paint stood at her elbow on 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 was now occupied
solely with the brushes and the glue pot. She turned
the little figures in her fingers with a wonderful
lightness and deftness, painting the chickens Naples
yellow, the elephants blue gray, the horses Van-
288

McTeague

dyke brown, adding a dot of Chinese white for the
eyes and sticking in the ears and tail with a drop
of glue. The animals once done, she put together
and painted the arks, some dozen of them, all win
dows and no doors, each one opening only by a
lid which was half the roof. She had all the work
she could handle these days, for, from this time till
a week before Christmas, Uncle Oelbermann could
take as many " Noah's ark sets " as she could make.

Suddenly Trina paused in her work, looking ex
pectantly toward the door. McTeague came in.

" Why, Mac," exclaimed Trina. " It's only three
o'clock. What are you home so 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 me go."

Trina let her paint-stained hands fall into her lap.

" Oh! " she cried. " If we don't have the hardest
luck of any two people I ever heard of. What can
you do now? Is there another place like that where
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 as though we were million
aires. You must go down this minute. You're
losing money every second you sit there." She
19 289

McTeague

goaded the huge fellow to his feet again, thrust his
hat into his hands, and pushed him out of the door,
he obeying the while, docile and obedient as a
big cart horse. He was 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 I must buy some more meal
tickets to-night."

" Always after me about money," muttered the
dentist; but he emptied his pockets for her, never
theless.

" I — you've taken it all," he grumbled. " Better
leave me something for car fare. It's going to rain."

" Pshaw! You can walk just as well as not. A
big fellow like you 'fraid of 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 the commutation ticket for the
restaurant. But she knew by instinct that Mc
Teague had money about him, and she did not in
tend to let it go out of the house. She listened in
tently until she was sure McTeague was gone.
Then she hurriedly opened her trunk and hid the
money in the chamois bag at the bottom.

The dentist presented himself at every one of the
makers of surgical instruments that afternoon and
290

McTeague

was promptly turned away in each case. Then it
came on to rain, a fine, cold drizzle, that chilled him
and wet him to the bone. He had no umbrella,
and Trina had not left him even five cents for car
fare. He started to walk home through the rain.
It was a long way to Polk Street, as the last manu
factory he had visited was beyond even Folsom
Street, and not far from the city front.

By the time McTeague reached Polk Street his
teeth were chattering with the cold. He was wet
from head to foot. As he was passing Heise's
harness shop a sudden deluge of rain overtook him
and he was obliged to dodge into the vestibule for
shelter. He, who loved to be warm, to sleep and to
be well fed, was icy cold, was exhausted and foot
sore from tramping the city. He could look for
ward to nothing better than a badly-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 against Trina took
possession of him. It was her fault. She knew it
was going to rain, and she had not let him have a
nickel for car fare — she who had five thousand
dollars. She let him walk the streets in the cold and
in the rain. " Miser," he growled behind his mus
tache. " Miser, nasty little old miser. You're
worse than old Zerkow, always nagging about
money, money, and you got five thousand dollars.
You got more, an' you live in that stinking hole of a
room, and you won't drink any decent beer. I ain't
going to stand it much longer. She knew it was
going to rain. She knew it. Didn't I tell her?
291

McTeague

And she drives me out of my own home, in the rain,
for me to get money for her; more money, and she
takes it. She took that money from me that I
earned. 'T wasn't hers; it was mine, I earned it —
and not a nickel for car fare. She don't care if I
get wet and get a cold and die. No, she don't, as
long as she's warm and's got her money." He be
came more and more indignant at the picture he
made of himself. " I ain't going to stand it much
longer," he repeated.

"Why, hello, Doc. Is that you?" exclaimed
Heise, opening the door of the harness shop behind
him. " Come in out of the wet. Why, you're
soaked through," he added as he and McTeague
came back into the shop, that reeked of oiled leather.
" Didn't you have any umbrella? Ought to have
taken a car."

" I guess so — I guess so," murmured the dentist,
confused. His teeth were chattering.

" You9 re going to catch your death-a-cold," ex
claimed Heise. " Tell you what," he said, reach
ing for his hat, " come in next door to Frenna's and
have 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 into
Joe Frenna's saloon, which was two doors above
his harness shop.

" Whiskey and gum twice, Joe," said he to the
barkeeper as he and the dentist approached the bar.

" Huh? What? " said McTeague. " Whiskey?
No, I can't drink whiskey. It kind of disagrees
with me."

" Oh, the hell! " returned Heise, easily. " Take
292

McTeague

it as medicine. You'll get your death-a-cold if you
stand round soaked like that. Two whiskey and
gum, Joe."

McTeague emptied the pony glass at a single
enormous gulp.

" That's the way," said Heise, approvingly. " Do
you good." He drank his off slowly.

" I'd — I'd ask you to have a drink with me,
Heise," said the dentist, who had an indistinct idea
of the amenities of the barroom, " only," he added
shamefacedly, " only — you see, I don't believe I got
any change." His anger against Trina, heated by
the whiskey he had drank, flamed up afresh. What
a humiliating position for Trina to place him in,
not to leave him the price of a drink with a friend,
she who had five thousand dollars !

"Sha! That's all right, Doc," returned Heise,
nibbling on a grain of coffee. " Want another?
Hey? This my treat. Two more of the same, Joe."

McTeague hesitated. It was lamentably true that
whiskey did not agree with him; he knew it well
enough. However, by this time he felt very com
fortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood
was beginning to circulate in his chilled finger-tips
and in his soggy, wet feet. He had had a hard day
of it; in fact, the last week, the last month, the last
three 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 again with
Heise.

" Get up here to the stove and warm yourself,"
urged Heise, drawing up a couple of chairs and
cocking his feet upon the guard. The two fell to
293

McTeague

talking while McTeague's draggled coat and trou
sers 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
been practising too long." They discussed this
question some ten or fifteen minutes 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 they were
going out Ryer met them.

" Hello, hello," he cried. " Lord, what a wet day!
You two are going the wrong 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 you ain't afraid of a little
whiskey."

" Well, I — I — I got to go right afterwards," pro
tested McTeague.

About half an hour after the dentist had left to go
down town, Maria Macapa had come in to see
Trina. Occasionally Maria dropped in on Trina in
this fashion and spent an hour or so chatting with
her while she worked. At first Trina had been in
clined to resent these intrusions of the Mexican
woman, but of late she had begun to tolerate them.
Her day was long and cheerless at the best, and
there was no one to talk to. Trina even fancied

2Q4

McTeague

that old Miss Baker had come to be less cordial
since their misfortune. Maria retailed to her all
the gossip of the flat and the neighborhood, and,
which was much more interesting, told her of her
troubles with Zerkow.

Trina said to herself that Maria was common and
vulgar, but one had to have some diversion, and
Trina could talk and listen without interrupting her
work. On this particular occasion Maria was much
excited over Zerkow's demeanor of late.

" He's gettun worse an' worse," she informed
Trina as she sat on the edge of the bed, her chin in
her hand. " He says he knows I got the dishes and
am hidun them from him. The other day I thought
he'd gone off with his wagon, and I was doin' a bit
of ir'ning, an' by an' by all of a sudden I saw him
peeping at me through the crack of the door. I
never let on that I saw him, and, honest, he stayed
there over two hours, watchun everything I did. I
could just feel his eyes on the back of my neck
all the time. Last Sunday he took down part of
the wall, 'cause he said he'd seen me making
figures on it. Well, I was, but it was just the wash
list. All the time he says he'll kill me if I don't
tell?"

" Why, what do you stay with him for? " ex
claimed 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 know where the dishes were; that's
what he thinks."

" But I can't understand, Maria; you told him
about those gold dishes yourself."
295

McTeague

" 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/
Just pretending, 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 the
stove."

" No, no," cried Trina, with niggardly apprehen
sion; "no, I haven't got a bit of tea." Trina's
stinginess had increased to such an extent that it
had gone beyond the mere hoarding of money. She
grudged even the food that she and McTeague ate,
and even brought away half loaves of bread, lumps
of sugar, and fruit from the car conductors' coffee-
joint. She hid these pilferings away on the shelf by
the window, and often managed to make a very
creditable lunch from them, enjoying the meal with
the greater relish because it cost her nothing.

" No, Maria, I haven't got a bit of tea," she said,
shaking her head decisively. " 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, passing the dentist in the hall just out
side the door.

"Well?" said Trina interrogatively as her hus
band entered. McTeague did not answer. He
hung his hat on the hook behind the door and
dropped heavily into a chair.
296

McTeague

" Well," asked Trina, anxiously, " how did you
make out, Mac? "

Still the dentist pretended not to hear, scowling
fiercely at his muddy boots.

" Tell me, Mac, I want to know. Did you get
a place? Did you get caught in the rain? "

" Did I? Did I? " cried the dentist, sharply, an
alacrity in his manner and voice that Trina had
never observed before.

" Look at me. Look at me," he went on, speak
ing with an unwonted rapidity, his wits sharp, his
ideas succeeding each other quickly. " Look at
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 it ain't your fault
I didn't catch my death-a-cold; wouldn't even let
me have 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 scorn
fully. His face was very red, and his small eyes
twinkled. " Hoh! no, you didn't know it was going
to 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 your
foolishness all the time? Who's the boss, you
or I?"

" Why, Mac, I never saw you this way before.
You talk like a different man."

" Well, I am a different man," retorted the den
tist, savagely. " You can't make small of me
always."

" Well, never mind that. You know I'm not try-
297

McTeague

ing to make small of you. But never mind that.
Did you get a place? "

" Give me my money," exclaimed McTeague,
jumping up briskly. There was an activity, a posi
tive nimbleness about the huge blond giant that had
never been his before; also his stupidity, the slug
gishness of his brain, seemed to be unusually stimu
lated.

" 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 you were gone."

" Don't believe you."

" Truly, truly, Mac. Do you think I'd lie to you?
Do you think I'd lower myself 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 jaw protruding, his little eyes twink
ling meanly.

" No," he shouted. " No, no, no. Do you hear?
No."

Trina cowered before him. Then suddenly she
began to sob aloud, weeping partly at his strange
brutality, partly at the disappointment of his fail
ure to find employment.

McTeague cast a contemptuous glance about
him, a glance that embraced the dingy, cheerless
room, the rain streaming down the panes of the one
window, and the figure of his weeping wife.
298

McTeague

" Oh, ain't this all fine? " he exclaimed. "Ain't
ft' lovely?"

" It's not my fault," sobbed Trina.

" It is too," vociferated McTeague. " It is too.
We could live like Christians and decent people
if you wanted to. You got more'n five thou
sand dollars, and you're so damned stingy that
you'd rather live in a rat hole — and make me live
there too — before you'd part with a nickel of
it. I tell you I'm sick and tired of the whole busi
ness."

An allusion to her lottery money never failed to
rouse Trina.

" And I'll tell you this much too," she cried, wink
ing back the tears. " Now that you're out of a
job, we can't afford even to live in your rat hole,
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 worse hole in the wall than
this? Well, we'll see if we will. We'll just see
about that. You're going to do just as I tell you
after this, Trina McTeague," and once more he
thrust his face close to hers.

" / know what's the matter," cried Trina, with a
half sob; "/ know, I can smell it on your breath.
You've been drinking whiskey."

" Yes, I've been drinking whiskey," retorted her
husband. " I've been drinking whiskey. Have
you got anything to say about it? Ah, yes, you're
right, I've been drinking whiskey. What have you
got to say about my drinking whiskey? Let's
hear it."

299

McTeague

" Oh! Oh! Oh! " sobbed Trina, covering her
face with her hands. McTeague caught her wrists
in one palm and pulled them down. Trina's pale
face was streaming with tears ; her long, narrow blue
eyes were swimming; her adorable little chin up
raised 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 up his open hand threaten
ingly. " Stop! " he exclaimed.

Trina looked at him fearfully, half blinded with
weeping. Her husband's thick mane of yellow hair
was disordered and rumpled upon his great square-
cut head; his big red ears were redder than ever;
his face was purple; the thick eyebrows were
knotted over the small, twinkling eyes; the heavy
yellow mustache, that smelt of alcohol, drooped
over the massive, protruding chin, salient, like that
of the carnivora; the veins were swollen and throb
bing on his thick red neck; while over her head
Trina saw his upraised palm, calloused, enormous.

"Stop!" he exclaimed. And Trina, watching
fearfully, saw the palm suddenly 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 of him. Every nerve
of her quailed and shrank from him. She choked
back her sobs, catching her breath.

" There," growled the dentist, releasing her,
300

McTeague

" that's more like. Now," he went on, fixing her
with his little eyes, " now listen to me. I'm beat
out. I've walked the city over — ten miles, I guess
— an' I'm going to bed, an' I don't want to be
bothered. You understand? I want to be let
alone." Trina was silent.

" Do you hear? " he snarled.

" Yes, Mac."

The dentist took off his coat, his collar and neck
tie, unbuttoned his vest, and slipped his heavy-soled
boots from his big feet. Then he stretched himself
upon the bed and rolled over towards the wall. In
a few minutes the sound of his snoring filled the
room.

Trina craned her neck and looked at her husband
over the footboard of the bed. She saw his red,
congested face; the huge mouth wide open; his un
clean shirt, with its frayed wristbands ; and his huge
feet encased in thick woollen socks. Then her grief
and the sense of her unhappiness returned more
poignant than ever. She stretched her arms out in
front of her on her work-table, and, burying her face
in them, cried and sobbed as though her heart
would break.

The rain continued. The panes of the single
window ran with sheets of water; the eaves dripped
incessantly. It grew darker. The tiny, grimy
room, full of the smells of cooking and of " non-
poisonous " paint, took on 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
301

McTeague

legs wide apart, his hands lying palm upward at his
sides.

At last Trina raised her head, with a long, trem
bling breath. She rose, and going over to the
washstand, poured some water from the pitcher into
the basin, and washed her face and swollen eyelids,
and rearranged her hair. Suddenly, as she was
about to return to her work, she was struck with
an idea.

" I wonder," she said to herself, " I wonder where
he got the money to buy his whiskey." She
searched the pockets of his coat, which he had flung
into a corner of the room, and even came up to him
as he lay upon the bed and went through the
pockets of his vest and trousers. She found noth
ing.

" I wonder," she murmured, " I wonder if he's
got any money he don't tell me about. I'll have to
look out for that."

302

XVI.

A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month.
It was a month of the greatest anxiety and un-
quietude for Trina. McTeague was out of a job,
could find nothing to do; and Trina, who saw the
impossibility of saving as much money as usual
out of her earnings under the present conditions,
was on the lookout for cheaper quarters. In spite
of his outcries and sulky resistance Trina had in
duced her husband to consent to such a move, be
wildering him with a torrent of phrases and mar
vellous columns of figures by which she proved
conclusively that they were in a condition but one
remove from downright destitution.

The dentist continued idle. Since his ill success
with the manufacturers of surgical instruments he
had made but two attempts to secure a job. Trina
had gone to see Uncle Oelbermann and had ob
tained for McTeague a position in the shipping de
partment of the wholesale toy store. However, it
was a position that involved a certain amount of
ciphering, and McTeague had been obliged to
throw it up in two days.

Then for a time they had entertained a wild idea
that a place on the police force could be secured
for McTeague. He could pass the physical ex
amination with flying colors, and Ryer, who had
become the secretary of the Polk Street Improve-
303

McTeague

ment Club, promised the requisite political " pull."
If McTeague had shown a certain energy in the
matter the attempt might have been successful; but
he was too stupid, or of late had become too listless
to exert himself greatly, and the affair resulted
only in a violent 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 had spent the days with his wife in
their one narrow room, walking back and forth
with the restlessness of a caged brute, or sitting
motionless for hours, watching Trina at her work,
feeling a dull glow of shame at the idea 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 as a rule she
supported their misfortunes with a silent fortitude.

Then, wearied at his inaction and feeling the
need of movement and exercise, McTeague would
light his pipe and take a turn upon the great avenue
one block above Polk Street. A gang of laborers
were digging the foundations for a large brown-
stone house, and McTeague found interest and
amusement in leaning over the barrier that sur
rounded the excavations and watching the progress
of the work. He came to see it every afternoon;
by and by he even got to know the foreman who
superintended the job, and the two had long talks
together. Then McTeague would return to Polk
Street and find Heise in the back room of the har
ness shop, and occasionally the day ended with
304

McTeague

some half dozen drinks 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 being stupefied, 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 heavily than usual, he found
a certain pleasure in annoying and exasperating
Trina, even in abusing and hurting her.

It had begun on the evening of Thanksgiving
Day, when Heise had taken McTeague out to din
ner with him. The dentist on this occasion had
drunk very freely. He and Heise had returned to
Polk Street towards ten o'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 go home 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 you hurt! Oh, that hurt me
dreadfully."

" Give me a little money," answered the dentist,
grinning, and pinching her again.

" I haven't a cent. There's not a — oh, Mac,
will you stop? I won't have you pinch me that
way."

" Hurry up," answered her husband, calmly, nip
ping the flesh of her shoulder between his thumb
and finger. " Heise's waiting for me." Trina
20 305

McTeague

wrenched from him with a sharp intake of breath,
frowning with pain, and caressing 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 her dress pocket, protesting that
it was the, only piece of money she had.

" One more, just for luck," said McTeague,
pinching her again; " and another."

" How can you — how can you hurt a woman so ! "
exclaimed Trina, beginning to cry with the pain.

" Ah, now, cry" retorted the dentist. " That's
right, cry. I never saw such a little fool." He
went out, slamming the door in disgust.

But McTeague never became a drunkard in the
generally received sense of the term. He did not
drink to excess more than two or three times in a
month, and never upon any occasion did he be
come 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 because Heise and the other men at
Frenna's did. Trina could often reproach him
with drinking too much; she never could say that
he was drunk. The alcohol had its effect for all
that. It roused the man, or rather the brute 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 idleness and a general
throwing off of the good influence his wife had had
over him in the days of their prosperity. McTeague
disliked Trina. She was a perpetual irritation to
306

McTeague

him. She annoyed him because she was so small,
so prettily made, so invariably correct and precise.
Her avarice incessantly harassed him. Her indus
try was a constant reproach to him. She seemed
to flaunt her work defiantly in his face. It was the
red flag in the eyes of the bull. One time when he
had just come back from Frenna's and had been
sitting in the chair near her, silently watching her at
her work, he exclaimed all of a sudden:

" Stop working. Stop it, I tell you. Put 'em
away. Put 'em all away, or I'll pinch you."

" But why — why?" Trina protested.

The dentist cuffed her ears. " I' won't have you
work." He took her knife and her paint-pots away,
and made her sit idly in the window the rest of the
afternoon.

It was, however, only when his wits had been
stirred with alcohol that the dentist was brutal to his
wife. At other times, say three weeks of every
month, she was merely an incumbrance to him.
They often quarrelled about Trina's money, her
savings. The dentist was bent upon having at least
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 idea of money quickly gained and lavishly
squandered, persisted in his mind. As for Triria,
the more her husband stormed, the tighter she drew
the strings of the little chamois-skin bag that she
'hid at the bottom of her trunk underneath her
bridal dress. Her five thousand dollars invested
in Uncle Oelbermann's business was a glittering,
307

McTeague

splendid dream which came to her almost every
hour of the day as a solace and a compensation for
all her unhappiness.

At times, when she knew that McTeague was far
from home, she would lock her door, open her
trunk, and pile all her little hoard on her table. By
now it was four hundred and seven dollars and fifty
cents. Trina would play with this money by the
hour, piling it, and repiling it, or gathering it all
into one heap, and drawing back to the farthest
corner of the room to note the effect, her head on
one side. She polished the gold pieces with a mix
ture of soap and ashes until they shone, wiping them
carefully on her apron. Or, again, she would draw
the heap lovingly toward her and bury her face in
it, delighted at the smell of it and the feel of the
smooth, cool metal on her cheeks. She even put
the smaller gold pieces in her mouth, and jingled
them there. She loved her money with an intensity
that she could hardly express. She would plunge
her small 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've worked for you! How I've slaved and saved
for you! And I'm going to get more; I'm going
to get more, more, more; a little every day."

She was still looking for cheaper quarters.

Whenever she could spare a moment from her

work, she would put on her hat and range up and

down the entire neighborhood from Sutter to Sac-

308

McTeague

ramento Streets, going into all the alleys and by
streets, her head in the air, looking for the " Rooms-
to-let " sign. But she was in despair. All the
cheaper tenements were occupied. She could find
no room more reasonable than the one she and the
dentist now occupied.

As time went on, McTeague's idleness became
habitual. He drank no more whiskey than at first,
but his dislike for Trina increased with every day of
their poverty, with every day of Trina's persistent
stinginess. At times — fortunately rare — he was
more than ever brutal to her. He would box 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 " little woman/' unable to stand
the test of privation, had lapsed by degrees, and
what little of it was left was changed, distorted, and
made monstrous by the alcohol.

The people about the house and the clerks at the
provision stores often remarked that Trina's finger
tips were swollen and the nails purple as though
they had been shut in a door. Indeed, this was the
explanation she gave. The fact of the matter was
that McTeague, when he had been drinking, used to
bite them, crunching and grinding them with his
immense teeth, always ingenious enough to remem
ber which were the sorest. Sometimes he extorted
money from her by this means, but as often as not
he did it for his own satisfaction.

And in some strange, inexplicable way this bru
tality made Trina all the more affectionate; aroused
in her a morbid, unwholesome love of submission,
a strange, unnatural pleasure in yielding, in sur-
309

McTeague

rendering herself to the will of an irresistible, virile
power.

Trina's emotions had narrowed with the narrow
ing of her daily life. They reduced themselves at
last to but two, her passion for her money and her
perverted love for her husband when he was brutal.
She was a strange woman during these days.

Trina had come to be on very intimate terms with
Maria Macapa, and in the end the dentist's wife and
the maid of all work became great friends. Maria
was constantly in and out of Trina's room, and,
whenever she 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 inclosure where Zerkow kept his de
crepit horse and ramshackle wagon, and from
thence Trina could enter directly into Maria's
kitchen. Trina made long visits 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 edge of the sink or a corner of the
laundry table. The talk was all of their husbands
and of what to do when they came home in ag
gressive 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' brutali
ties, taking a strange sort of pride in recounting
some particularly savage blow, each trying to make
out that her own husband was the most cruel. They
critically compared each other's bruises, each one
310

McTeague

glad when she could exhibit the worst They ex
aggerated, they invented details, and, as if proud of
their beatings, as if glorying in their husbands' mis
handling, lied to each other, magnifying their own
maltreatment. They had long and excited argu
ments as to which were the most effective means of
punishment, the rope's ends and cart whips such as
Zerkow used, or the fists and backs of hair-brushes
affected by McTeague. Maria contended that the
lash of the 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 the flooring where Zerkow had
been searching for the gold plate. Of late he had
been digging in the back yard and had ransacked
the hay in his horse-shed for the concealed leather
chest he imagined he would find. But he was be
coming impatient, evidently.

" The way he goes on," Maria told Trina, " is
somethun dreadful. He's gettun regularly sick
with it — got a fever every night — don't sleep, and
when he does, talks to himself. Says ' More'n a
hundred pieces, an' every one 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 get down 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 so mad, and rolls on the floor
and scratches himself."

One morning in November, about ten o'clock,
Trina pasted a " Made in France " label on the bot-

McTeague

torn of a Noah's ark, and leaned back in her chair
with a long sigh of relief. She had just finished a
large Christmas order for Uncle Oelbermann, and
there was nothing else she could do that morning.
The bed had not yet been made, nor had the break
fast things been washed. Trina hesitated for a. mo
ment, then put her chin in the air indifferently.

" Bah! " she said, " let them go till this afternoon.
I don't care when the room is put to rights, and I
know Mac don't." She determined that instead of
making the bed or washing the dishes she would go
and call on Miss Baker on the floor below. The
little dressmaker might ask her to stay to lunch, and
that would be something saved, as the dentist had
announced his intention that morning of taking a
long walk out to the Presidio to be gone all day.

But Trina rapped on Miss Baker's door in vain
that morning. She was out. 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 at Miss Baker's room, the old
Englishman came out into the hall.

" She's gone out," he said, uncertainly, and in a
half whisper, " went out about half an hour ago. I
— I think she went to the drug store to get some
wafers for the goldfish."

" Don't you go to your dog hospital any more,
Mister Grannis?" said Trina, leaning against the
balustrade in the hall, willing to talk a moment.

Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in
his carpet slippers and faded corduroy jacket that
he wore when at home.

" Why — why," he said, hesitating, tapping his
312

McTeague

chin thoughtfully. " You see I'm thinking of giv
ing up the little hospital."

" Giving it up? "

" You see, the people at the book store where I
buy my pamphlets have found out — I told them of
my contrivance for binding books, and one of the
members of the firm came up to look at it. He
offered me quite a sum if I would sell him the right
of it — the — the patent of it — quite a sum. In fact — •
in fact — yes, quite a sum, quite." He rubbed his
chin tremulously and looked about him on the
floor.

"Why, isn't that fine?" said Trina, good-na
turedly. " 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 tc give you a good piece of

advice. Here are you and Miss Baker " The1

old Englishman started nervously — " You and Miss
Baker, that have been in love with each other
for "

"Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subject — if you would
please — Miss Baker is such an estimable lady."

"Fiddlesticks!" said Trina. " You're in love
with each other, and the whole flat knows it; and
you two have been living here side by side year in
and year out, and you've never said a word to each
other. It's all nonsense. Now, I want you should
go right in and speak to her just as soon as she
comes home, and say you've come into money and
you want her to marry you."
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McTeague

"Impossible — impossible!" exclaimed the old
Englishman, alarmed and perturbed. " 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 ex
cuse me. It's a matter so personal — 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 than have made such a confession;

but Trina had drawn her own conclusions, like

'every other lodger of the flat, and thought the time

was come for decided action.

" Now you do just as I tell you, and when she
comes home, go right in and see her, and have it
over with. Now, don't say another word. I'm go
ing; but you do just as I tell you."

Trina turned about and went down-stairs. She
had decided, since Miss Baker was not at home,
that she would run over and see Maria; possibly she
could have lunch there. At any rate, Maria would
offer her a cup of tea.

Old Grannis stood for a long time just as Trina
had left him, his hands trembling, the blood com
ing and going in his withered cheeks.

" She said, she — she — she told her — she said that
— that " he could get no farther.

Then he faced about and entered his room, clos
ing the door behind him. For a long time he sat
in his armchair, drawn close to the wall in front of
314

McTeague

the table on which stood his piles of pamphlets and
his little binding apparatus.

" I wonder," said Trina, as she crossed the yard
back of Zerkow's house, " I wonder what rent Zer-
kow and Maria pay for this place. I'll bet it's
cheaper than where Mac and I are."

Trina found Maria sitting in front of the kitchen
stove, her chin upon her breast. Trina went up to
her. She was dead. And as Trina touched her
shoulder, her head rolled sideways and showed
a fearful gash in her throat under her ear. All
the front of her dress was soaked through and
through.

Trina backed sharply away from the body, draw
ing her hands up to her very shoulders, her eyes
staring and wide, an expression of unutterable hor
ror twisting her face.

" Oh-h-h ! " she exclaimed in a long breath, her
voice hardly rising above a whisper. " Oh-h, isn't
that horrible!" Suddenly she turned and fled
through the front part of the house to the street
door, that opened upon the little alley. She looked
wildly about her. Directly across the way a butch
er's boy was getting into his two-wheeled cart
drawn up in front of the opposite house, while near
by a peddler of wild game was coming down the
street, a brace of ducks in his hand.

" Oh, say—say," gasped Trina, trying to get her
v*)ice, " say, come over here quick."

The butcher's boy paused, one foot on the wheel,
and stared. Trina beckoned frantically.

" Come over here, come over here quick."

The young fellow swung himself into his seat.
315

McTeague

" 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 at Trina with eyes that were fixed
and absolutely devoid of expression.

" What's the matter with that woman? " he said
again to himself as he turned 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 to make
a disturbance and create a scene in the street. The
peddler of wild game was looking at her sus
piciously. It would not do to tell him. He would
go away like the butcher's boy.

" Now, wait a minute," Trina said to herself,
speaking aloud. She put her hands to her head.
" Now, wait a minute. It won't do for me to lose
my wits now. What must I do? " She looked
about her. There was the same familiar aspect of
Polk Street. She could see it at the end of the
alley. The big market opposite the flat, the de
livery carts rattling up and down, the great ladies
from the avenue at their morning shopping, the
cable cars trundling past, loaded with passengers.
She saw a little boy 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's saloon, laughing heartily. Heise the
harness-maker stood in the vestibule of his shop,
a bundle of whittlings in his apron of greasy ticking.
And all this was going on, people were laughing
316

McTeague

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 woman in a blue dressing-gown
that seemed to rise up before him from his very
doorstep.

" Well, Mrs. McTeague, you did scare me,
for "

" Oh, come over here quick." Trina put her
hand to her neck, swallowing something that
seemed to be choking her. " Maria's killed — Zer-
kow's wife — 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, a trail of spilled whittlings
marking his course. The two ran down the
alley. The wild-game peddler, a woman who
had been washing down the steps in a neighbor
ing house, and a man in a broad-brimmed hat
stood at Zerkow'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 Trina came up. Two
more men stopped on the corner of the alley and
Polk Street and looked at the group. A woman
with a towel round her head raised a window op
posite Zerkow's house and called to the woman who
had been washing the steps, " What is it, Mrs.
Flint? "

317

McTeague

Heise was already inside the house. He turned
to Trina, panting from his run.

" Where did you say — where was it — where? "

" In there," said Trina, " farther in — the next
room." They burst into the kitchen.

" Lord! " ejaculated Heise, stopping a yard or so
from the body, and bending 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 he would."

"Zerkow?"

" He's killed her. Her throat's cut. Good Lord,
how she did bleed! By God! 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 has bled! Did you ever see
so much — that's murder — that's cold-blooded mur
der. He's killed her. Say, we must get a police
man. Come on."

They turned back through the house. Half a
dozen people — the wild-game peddler, the man with
the broad-brimmed hat, the washwoman, and three
other men — were in the front room of the junk shop,
a bank of excited faces surged at the door. Beyond
this, outside, the crowd was packed solid from one
end of the alley to the other. Out in Polk Street
the cable cars were nearly blocked and were bunting

318

McTeague

a way slowly through the throng with clanging
bells. Every window had its group. And as Trina
and the harness-maker tried to force the way from
the door of the junk shop the throng suddenly
parted right and left before the passage of two blue-
coated policemen who clove a passage through the
press, working their elbows energetically. They
were accompanied by a third man in citizen's
clothes.

Heise and Trina went back into the kitchen with
the two policemen, the third man in citizen's
clothes cleared the intruders from the front room of
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 on the second corner
south. Now, then," he continued, turning to
Trina and the harness-maker and taking out his
note-book and pencil, " I want your names and
addresses."

It was a day of tremendous excitement for the
entire street. Long after the patrol wagon had
driven away, the crowd remained. In fact, until
seven o'clock that evening groups collected about
the door of the junk shop, 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 dozen necks craned forward
eagerly.

319

McTeague

" Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough," an
swered the other, with a grand air.

"What? What's that? What did he say?" asked
the people on the outskirts of 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 seemed persuaded 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 hiding some money from
him."

Frenna did a big business all day long. The
murder was the one subject of conversation. Little
parties were made up in his saloon — parties of .twos
and threes — to go over and have a look at the out
side of the junk shop. Heise was the most im
portant man the length and breadth of Polk Street;
almost invariably he accompanied these parties, tell
ing again and again of the part he had played in the
affair.

" It was about eleven o'clock. I was standing in
front of the shop, when Mrs. McTeague — you know,
the dentist's wife — came running across the street,"
and so on and so on.

The next day came a fresh sensation. Polk
Street read of it in the morning papers. Towards
midnight on the day of the murder Zerkow's body
had been found floating in the bay near Black Point.
No one knew whether he had drowned himself or
320

McTeague

fallen from one of the wharves. Clutched in both
his hands was a sack full of old and rusty pans, tin
dishes — fully a hundred of them — tin cans, and iron
knives and forks, collected from some dump heap.
" And all this," exclaimed Trina, " on account of
a set of gold dishes that never existed."

321

XVII.

One day, about a fortnight after the coroner's in
quest had been held, and when the excitement of the
terrible affair was calming down and Polk Street
beginning to resume its monotonous routine, Old
Grannis sat in his clean, well-kept little room, IP his
cushioned armchair, his hands lying idly upon his
knees. It was evening; not quite time to light the
lamps. Old Grannis had drawn his chair close to
the wall — so close, in fact, that he could hear Miss
Baker's grenadine brushing against the other side
of the thin partition, at his very elbow, while she
rocked gently back and forth, a cup of tea in her
hands.

Old Grannis's occupation was gone. That morn
ing the book-selling firm where he had bought his
pamphlets had taken his little binding apparatus
from him to use as a model. The transaction had
been concluded. Old Grannis had received bis
check. It was large enough, to be srre, but when
all was over, he returned to his room and sat there
sad and unoccupied, looking at the -pattern in the
carpet and counting the heads o£ the tacks in the
zinc guard that was fastened to the wall behind his
little stove. By and by he heard Miss Baker mov
ing about. It was five o'clock, the time when she
was accustomed to make her cup of tea and " keep
company " with him on her side of the partition.
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McTeague

Old Grannis drew up his chair to the wall near
where he knew she was sitting. The minutes
passed; side by side, and separated by only a couple
of inches of board, the two old people sat there to
gether, while the afternoon grew darker.

But for Old Grannis all was different that even
ing. There was nothing for him to do. His hands
lay idly in his lap. His table, with its pile of pam
phlets, 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 it sadly, reflecting
that he would never use it again. The absence of
his accustomed work seemed to leave something out
of his life. It did not appear to him that he could
be the same to Miss Baker now; their little habits
were disarranged, their customs broken up. He
could no longer fancy himself so near to her. They
would drift apart now, and she would no longer
make herself a cup of tea and " keep company " with
him when she knew that he would never again sit
before his table binding uncut pamphlets. He had
sold his happiness for money; he had bartered all
his tardy romance for some miserable bank-notes.
He had not foreseen that it would be like this. A
vast regret welled up within him. What was that
on the back of his hand? He wiped it dry with his
ancient silk handkerchief.

Old Grannis leant his face in his hands. Not
only did an inexplicable regret stir within him, but a
certain great tenderness came upon him. The tears
that swam in his faded blue eyes were not altogether
those of unhappiness. No, this long-delayed affec
tion that had come upon him in his later years rilled
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McTeague

him with a joy for which tears seemed to be the
natural expression. For thirty years his eyes had
not been wet, but to-night 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. He could not tell whether he was profoundly
sad or deeply happy; but he was not ashamed of the
tears that brought the smart to his eyes and the
ache to his throat. He did not hear the timid rap
ping on his door, and it was not until the door itself
opened that he looked up quickly and saw the little
retired dressmaker standing on the threshold, car
rying a cup of tea on a tiny Japanese tray. She held
it toward him.

" I was making some tea," she said, " and I
thought you would like to have a cup."

Never after could the little dressmaker under
stand how she had brought herself to do this thing.
One moment she had been sitting quietly on her
side of the partition, stirring her cup of tea with one
of her Gorham spoons. She was quiet, she was
peaceful. The evening was closing down tranquilly.
Her room was the picture of calmness and order.
The geraniums blooming in the starch boxes in the
window, the aged goldfish occasionally turning his
iridescent flank to catch a sudden glow of the set
ting sun. The next moment she had been all trepi
dation. It seemed to her the most natural thing in
the world to make a steaming cup of tea and carry
it in to Old Grannis next door. It seemed to her
that he was wanting her, that she ought to go to
him. With the brusque resolve and intrepidity that
sometimes seizes upon very timid people — the cour-
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McTeague

age of the coward greater than all others — she had
presented herself at the old Englishman's half-open
door, and, when he had not heeded her knock, had
pushed it open, and at last, after all these years,
stood upon the threshold of his room. She had
found courage enough to explain her Intrusion.

" I was making some tea, and I thought you
would like to have a cup."

Old Granhis dropped his hands upon either arm
of his chair, and, leaning forward a little, looked at
her blankly. He did not speak.

The retired dressmaker's courage had carried her
thus far; now it deserted her as abruptly as it had
come. Her cheeks became scarlet; her funny little
false curls trembled with her agitation. What she
had done seemed to her indecorous beyond expres
sion. It was an enormity. Fancy, she had gone
into his room, into his room — Mister Grannis's room.
She had 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 thresh
old of his 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 of tea." Her agitation
betrayed itself in the repetition of the word. She
felt that she could not hold the tray out another
instant. Already she was trembling so that half
the tea was spilled.

Old Grannis still kept silence, still bending for
ward, with wide eyes, his hands gripping the arms of
his chair.

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McTeague

Then with the tea-tray still held straight before
her, the little dressmaker exclaimed tearfully:

" Oh, I didn't mean — I didn't mean — I didn't
know it would seem like this. I only meant to be
kind and bring you some tea; and now it seems so
improper. I — I — I'm so ashamed! I don't know
what you will think of 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." She turned about.

" Stop," cried Old Grannis, finding his voice at
last. Miss Baker paused, looking at him over her
shoulder, her eyes very wide open, blinking through
her tears, for all the world like a frightened child.

" Stop," exclaimed the old Englishman, rising to
his feet. " I didn't know it was you at first. I
hadn't dreamed — I couldn't believe you would be so
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. You will — you must think ill
of me." She stood in the hall. The tears were
running down her cheeks, and she had no free hand
to dry them.

" Let me — I'll take the tray from you," cried Old
Grannis, coming forward. A tremulous joy came
upon him. Never in his life had he been so happy.
At last it had come — come when Tie had least ex
pected it. That which he had longed for and hoped
for through so many years, behold, it was come to
night. He felt his awkwardness leaving him. He
was almost certain that the little dressmaker loved
326

McTeague

him, and the thought gave him boldness. 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 were occupied
with the tray; he could not make a place for it on the
table. He stood for a moment uncertain, his em
barrassment returning.

" Oh, won't you — won't you please — " He
turned his head, looking appealingly at the little old
dressmaker.

" Wait, I'll help you," she said. She came into
.the room, up to the table, and moved the pamphlets
to one side.

" Thanks, thanks," murmurmed Old Grannis,
setting down the tray.

"Now — now — now I /will go back," she ex
claimed, hurriedly.

" No — no," returned the old Englishman. " Don't
go, don't go. I've been so lonely to-night — -and
last night too — all this year — all my life," he sud
denly 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 armchair for her.

" Oh, I shouldn't. This is — this is so — You must
think ill of me." Suddenly she sat down, and rest
ing her elbows on the table, hid her face in her
hands.

"Think ill of you?" cried Old Grannis, "think
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McTeague

ill of you? Why, you don't know — 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 was choking 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 last saw
you, and a cup of tea, you know, it — that — that does
you so much good 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 has bought
the rights of it."

" And aren't you going to bind books any
more? " exclaimed the little dressmaker, a shade of
disappointment in her manner. " I thought you
always did about four o'clock. I used to hear you
when I was making tea."

It hardly seemed possible to Miss Baker that she
was actually talking to Old Grannis, that the two
were really chatting together, face to face, and with
out the dreadful embarrassment that used to over
whelm them both when they met on the stairs. She
had often dreamed of this, but had always put if 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 intruding herself into his
room had never so much as occurred to her. Yet
here she was, in his room, and they were talking to
gether, and little by little her embarrassment was
wearing away.

328

McTeague

" Yes, yes, I always heard you when you were
making tea," returned the old Englishman; " I
heard the tea things. Then I used to draw my
chair and my work-table close to the wall on my
side, and sit there and work while you drank your
tea just on the other side; and I used to feel very
near 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 at that time and sit there for
a whole hour."

" And didn't you sit close to the partition on your
side? Sometimes I was sure of it. I could even
fancy that I could hear your dress brushing against
the wall-paper close beside me. Didn't you sit
close to the partition? "

" 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 a little gasp, " Oh, yes,
I often did."

Then Old Grannis put his arm about her, and
kissed her faded cheek, that flushed 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
with nothing to separate them. It had come at last.
After all these years they were together; they under-
329

McTeague

stood each other. They stood at length in a little
Elysium of their own creating. They walked hand
in hand in a delicious garden where it was always
autumn. Far from the world and together they
entered upon the long retarded romance of their
commonplace and uneventful lives.

330

XVIII.

That same night McTeague was awakened by a
shrill scream, and woke to find Trina's arms around
his neck. She was trembling so that the bed-springs
creaked.

" Huh? " cried the dentist, sitting up in bed, rais
ing 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 about Maria. I thought
she was chasing me, and I couldn't run, and her
throat was — 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 calmness than Heise.
It was only a week later that the horror of the thing
came upon her again. She was so nervous that she
hardly dared to be alone in the daytime, and almost
every night woke with a cry of terror, trembling
with the recollection of some dreadful nightmare.
The dentist was irritated beyond all expression by
her nervousness, and especially was he exasperated
when her cries woke him suddenly in the middle of
the night. He would sit up in bed, rolling his eyes
wildly, throwing out his huge fists — at what, he did
not know — exclaiming, " What — what — " bewil
dered and hopelessly confused. Then when he real-
331

McTeague

ized that it was only Trina, his anger kindled
abruptly.

" Oh, you and your dreams! You go to sleep,
or I'll give you a dressing down." Sometimes he
would hit her a great thwack with his open palm, or
catch her hand and bite the tips of her fingers. Trina
would lie awake for 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? "

" / guess so."

" Oh, Mac, I've only 'you now, and if you don't
love me, what is going to become 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 blond head in the pillow, and cover
ing up his ears with the blankets. Then Trina
would sob herself to sleep.

The dentist had long since given up looking for
a job. Between breakfast and 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 even a hat since his wife had made
him sell his silk hat — and went out. He had fallen
into the habit of taking long and solitary walks be
yond the suburbs of the city. Sometimes it was to
the Cliff House, occasionally to the Park (where he
332

McTeague

would sit on the sun-warmed benches, smoking his
pipe and reading ragged ends of old newspapers),
but more often it was to the Presidio Reservation.
McTeague would walk out to the end of the Union
Street car line, entering the Reservation at the
terminus, then he would work down to the shore
of the bay, follow the shore line to the Old Fort at
the Golden Gate, and, turning the Point here, come
out suddenly upon the full sweep of the Pacific.
Then he would follow the beach down to a certain
point of rocks that he knew. Here he would turn
inland, climbing the bluffs to a rolling grassy down
sown with blue iris and a yellow flower that he did
not know the name of. On the far side of this down
was a broad, well-kept road. McTeague would
keep to this road until he reached the city again by
the way of the Sacramento Street car line. The
dentist loved these walks. He liked to be alone.
He liked the solitude of the tremendous, tumbling
ocean; the fresh, windy downs; he liked to feel the
gusty Trades flogging his face, and he would re
main for hours watching the roll and plunge of the
breakers with the silent, unreasoned enjoyment of
a child. All at once he developed a passion for
fishing. He would sit all day nearly motionless
upon a point of rocks, his fish-line between his
fingers, happy if he caught three perch in twelve
hours. At noon he would retire to a bit of level turf
around an angle of the shore and cook his fish, eat
ing them without salt or knife or fork. He thrust a
pointed stick down the mouth of the perch, and
turned it slowly over the blaze. When the grease
stopped dripping, he knew that it was done, and
333

McTeague

would devour it slowly and with tremendous relish,
picking the bones clean, eating even the head. He
remembered how often he used to do this sort of
thing when he was a boy in the mountains of Placer
County, before he became a car-boy at the mine.
The dentist enjoyed himself hugely during these
days. The instincts of the old-time miner were
returning. In the stress of his misfortune Mc
Teague was lapsing back to his early estate.

One evening as he- reached home after such a
tramp, he was surprised to find Trina standing in
front of what had been Zerkow's house, looking at
it 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," ex
claimed Trina.

"What?" cried McTeague. "There, in that
dirty house, where you found Maria? "

" I can't afford that room in the flat any more,
now that you can't get any work to do."

" But there's where Zerkow killed Maria — the
very house — an' you wake up an' 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 a room; we
can have it dirt cheap. It's a back room over the
kitchen. A German family are going to take the
front part of the house and sublet the rest. I'm
going to take it. It'll be money in my pocket."

" But it won't be any in mine," vociferated the

334

McTeague

dentist, angrily. " I'll have to live in that dirty rat
hole just so's you can save money. / ain't any the
better off for it."

" Find work to do, and then we'll talk," declared
Trina. " I'm going to save up some money against
a rainy day; and if I can save more by living here
I'm going to do it, even if it is the house Maria was
killed in. I don't care."

" All right," said McTeague, and did not make
any further protest. His wife looked at him sur
prised. She could not understand this sudden ac
quiescence. ' Perhaps McTeague was so much away
from home of late that he had ceased to care where
or how he lived. But this sudden change troubled
her a little for all that.

The next day the McTeagues moved for a second
time. It did not take them long. They were
obliged to buy the bed from the landlady, a circum
stance which 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 and kitchen
ware were all that they could call their own now;
and this back room in that wretched house with its
grisly memories, the one window looking out into a
grimy maze of back yards and broken sheds, was
what they now knew as their home.

The McTeagues now began to sink rapidly lower
and lower. They became accustomed to their sur
roundings. Worst of all, Trina lost her pretty ways
and her good looks. The combined effects of hard
work, avarice, poor food, and her husband's brutali
ties told on her swiftly. Her charming little figure
grew coarse, stunted, and dumpy. She who had

335

McTeague

once been of a cat-like neatness, now slovened ail
day about the room in a dirty flannel wrapper, her
slippers clap-clapping after her as she walked. At
last she even neglected her hair, the wonderful
swarthy tiara, the coiffure of a queen, that shaded
her little pale forehead. In the morning she braided
it before it was half combed, and piled and coiled it
about her head in haphazard fashion. It came down
half a dozen times a day; by evening it was an un
kempt, tangled mass, a veritable rat's nest.

Ah, no, it was not very gay, that life of hers, when
one had to rustle for two, cook and work and wash,
to say nothing of paying the rent. What odds was
it if she was slatternly, dirty, coarse? Was there
time to make herself look otherwise, an$ who was
there to be pleased when she was all prinked out?
Surely not a great brute of a husband who bit you
like a dog, 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 cooking and of " non-poisonous "
paint. The bed was not made until late in the after
noon, sometimes not at all. Dirty, unwashed crock
ery, greasy knives, sodden fragments of yesterday's
meals cluttered the table, while in one corner was
the heap of evil-smelling, dirty linen. Cockroaches
appeared in the crevices of the woodwork, the wall
paper bulged from the damp walls and began to
peel. Trina had long ago ceased to dust or to wipe
the furniture with a bit of rag. The grime grew
thick upon the window panes and in the corners of
336

McTeague

the room. All the filth of the alley invaded their
quarters like a rising muddy tide.

Between the windows, however, the faded photo
graph of the couple in their wedding finery looked
down upon the wretchedness, Trina still holding her
set bouquet straight before her, McTeague standing
at her side, his left foot forward, in the attitude of a
Secretary of State; while near by hung the canary,
the one thing the dentist clung to obstinately, piping
and chittering all day in its little gilt prison.

And the tooth, the gigantic golden molar of
French gilt, enormous and ungainly, sprawled its
branching prongs in one corner of the room, by
the footboard of the bed. The McTeague's had
come to use it as a sort of substitute for a table.
After breakfast and supper Trina piled the plates
and greasy dishes upon it to have them out of the
way.

One afternoon the Other Dentist, McTeague's
old-time rival, the wearer of marvellous waistcoats,
was surprised out of all countenance to receive a
visit from McTeague. The Other Dentist was in his
operating room at the time, at work upon a plaster-
of-paris mould. To his call of " Come right in.
Don't you see the sign, ' Enter without knock
ing ' ? " McTeague came in. He noted at once
how airy and cheerful was the room. A little fire
coughed and tittered on the hearth, a brindled grey
hound sat on his haunches watching it intently, a
great mirror over the mantle offered to view an
array of actresses' pictures thrust between the glass
and the frame, and a big bunch of freshly-cut
violets stood in a glass bowl on the polished cherry-

22 337

McTeaguc

wood table. The Other Dentist came forward
briskly, exclaiming cheerfully:

" Oh, Doctor — Mister McTeague, how do? how
do?"

The fellow was actually wearing a velvet smok
ing jacket. A cigarette was between his lips; his
patent leather boots reflected the firelight. Mc
Teague wore a black surah neglige shirt without
a cravat; huge buckled brogans, hob-nailed, gross,
encased his feet; the hems of his trousers were spot
ted with mud; his coat was frayed at the sleeves and
a button was gone. In three days he had not
shaved; his shock of heavy blond hair escaped from
beneath the visor of his woollen cap and hung low
over his forehead. He stood with awkward, shift
ing feet and uncertain eyes before this dapper young
fellow who reeked of the barber shop, and whom
he had once ordered from his rooms.

" What can I do for you this morning, Mis
ter McTeague? Something wrong with the teeth,
eh?"

" No, no." McTeague, floundering in the diffi
culties of his speech, forgot the carefully rehearsed
words with which he had intended to begin this
interview.

" I want to sell you my sign," he said, stupidly.
" That big tooth of French gilt — you know — that
you made an offer for once."

" Oh, / don't want that now," said the other lof
tily. " I prefer a little quiet signboard, nothing pre
tentious — just the name, and " Dentist " after it.
These big signs are vulgar. No, I don't want it."

McTeague remained, looking about on the floor,
333

McTeague

horribly embarrassed, not knowing whether to go
or to stay.

" But I don't know," said the Other Dentist, re
flectively. " If it will help you out any — I guess
you're pretty hard up — I'll — well, I tell you what —
I'll give you five dollars for it."

" All right, all right."

On the following Thursday morning McTeague
woke to hear the eaves dripping and the prolonged
rattle of the rain upon the roof.

" Raining," he growled, in deep disgust, sitting
up in bed, and winking at the blurred window.

" It's been raining all night," said Trina. She
was already up and dressed, and was cooking break
fast on the oil stove.

McTeague dressed himself, grumbling, " Well,
I'll go, anyhow. The fish will bite all the better for
the rain."

" Look here, Mac," said Trina, slicing a bit of
bacon as thinly as she could. " 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. Might save you a nickel, might
n't it?"

" Well, and if it did! Or you might fish for the
market. The fishman across 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 pocket and bringing out a dollar,
" I'm sick and tired of coffee and bacon and mashed
potatoes. Go over to the market and get some

339

McTeague

kind of meat for breakfast. Get a steak, or chops,
or something."

" Why, Mac, that's a whole dollar, and he only
gave you five for your sign. We can't afford it.
Sure, Mac. Let me put that money away against
a 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 ringers 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, how
ever. Instead, she hurried to a cheaper butcher
shop on a side street two blocks away, and bought
fifteen cents' worth of chops from a side of mutton
some two or three 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 upon the instant. But for that matter, it was '
never difficult for Trina to deceive the dentist. He
never went to the bottom of things. He would
have believed her if she had told him the chops had
cost a dollar.

" There's sixty cents saved, anyhow," thought
340

McTeague

Trina, as she clutched the money in her pocket to
keep it from rattling.

Trina cooked the chops, and they breakfasted in
silence.

" Now," said McTeague as he rose, wiping the
coffee from his thick mustache with the hollow of
his palm, " now I'm going fishing, rain or no rain.
I'm going to be gone all day."

He stood for a moment at the door, his fish-line
in his hand, swinging the heavy sinker back and
forth. He looked at Trina as she cleared away the
breakfast things.

" So long," said he, nodding his huge square-cut
head. This amiability in the matter of leave tak
ing was unusual. Trina put the dishes down and
came 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. " You do 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 do pretty soon."

" / guess so," growled McTeague, allowing her
to kiss him.

The canary was stirring nimbly in its cage, and
just now broke out into a shrill trilling, its little
throat bulging and quivering. The dentist stared
at it. " Say," he remarked slowly, " I think I'll take
that bird of mine 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
341

McTeague

the bird-store man cheat you. That's a good
songster; and with the cage, you ought to make him
give you five dollars. 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 out of her pocket and
recounted it. " It's sixty cents, all right," she said
proudly. " But I do believe that clime is too
smooth." She looked at it critically. The clock
on the power-house of the Sutter Street cable struck
eight. " Eight o'clock already," she exclaimed. " I
must get to work." She cleared the breakfast
things from the table, and drawing up her chair and
her workbox began painting the sets of Noah's ark
animals she had whittled the day before. She
worked steadily all the morning. At noon she
lunched, warming over the coffee left from break
fast, and frying a couple of sausages. By one she
was bending over her table again. Her fingers —
some of them lacerated by McTeague's teeth — flew,
and the little pile of cheap toys in the basket at her
elbow grew steadily.

" Where do all the toys go to? " she murmured.
" The thousands and thousands of these Noah's
arks that I have made — 'horses and chickens and
elephants — and always there never seems to be
enough. It's a good thing for me that children
break their things, and that they all have to have
342

McTeague

birthdays and Christmases." She dipped her brush
into a pot of Vandyke brown and painted one of the
whittled toy horses in two strokes. Then a touch 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 paint dried it almost imme
diately, and she tossed the completed little horse
into 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 the power-house on Sutter Street
struck half-past seven. " I know he's drinking
somewhere," she cried, apprehensively. " He had
the money from his sign with him."

At eight o'clock she threw a shawl over her head
and went over to the harness shop. If anybody
would know where McTeague was it would be
Heise. But the harness-maker had seen nothing
of him since the day before.

" He was in here yesterday afternoon, and we
had a drink or two at Frenna's. Maybe he's been
in there to-day."

"Oh, won't you go in and see?" said Trina.
" Mac always came home to his supper — he never
likes to miss his meals — and I'm getting frightened
about him."

Heise went into the barroom next door, and re
turned with no definite news. Frenna had not seen
the dentist since he had come in with the harness-
maker the previous afternoon. Trina even humbled
herself to ask of the Ryers — with whom they had

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McTeague

quarrelled — if they knew anything of the dentist's
whereabouts, but received a contemptuous nega
tive.

" Maybe he's come in while I've been out/' said
Trina to herself. She went down Polk Street
again, going towards the flat. The rain had
stopped, but the sidewalks were still glistening. The
cable cars trundled by, loaded with theatregoers.
The barbers were just closing their shops. The
candy store on the corner was brilliantly lighted
and was filling up, while the green and yellow lamps
from the drug store directly opposite threw kaleido
scopic reflections deep down into the shining sur
face of the asphalt. A band of Salvationists began
to play and pray in front of Frenna's saloon. Trina
hurried on down the gay street, with its evening's
brilliancy and small activities, her shawl over her
head, one hand lifting her faded skirt from off the
wet pavements. She turned into the alley, entered
Zerkow's old home by the ever-open door, and ran
up-stairs to the room. Nobody.

" Why, isn't this funny," she exclaimed, half
aloud, standing on the threshold, her little milk-
White forehead curdling to a frown, one sore finger
on her lips. Then a great fear seized upon her.
Inevitably she associated the house with a scene of
violent death.

" No, no," she said to the darkness, " Mac is all
right. He can take care of himself." But for all
that she had a clear-cut vision of her husband's
body, bloated with sea-water, his blond hair stream
ing like kelp, rolling inertly in shifting waters.

" He couldn't have fallen off the rocks," she de-

344

McTeague

clared firmly. " There — there he is now." She
heaved a great sigh of relief as a heavy tread
sounded in the hallway below. She ran to the
banisters, looking over, and calling, " Oh, Mac! Is
that you, Mac? " It was the German whose family
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 the corner of the alley and Polk
Street, watching and waiting, craning her neck to
see down the street. Once, even, she went out
upon the sidewalk in front of the flat and sat down
for a moment upon the horse-block there. She
could not help remembering the day when she had
been driven up to that horse-block in a hack. Her
mother and father and Owgooste and the twins
were with her. It was her wedding day. Her wed
ding dress was in a huge tin trunk on the driver's
seat. She had never been happier before in all her
life. She remembered how she got out of the hack
and stood for a moment upon the horse-block, look
ing up at McTeague's windows. She had caught
a glimpse of him at his shaving, the lather still on
his cheek, and they had waved their hands at each
other. Instinctively Trina looked up at the flat be
hind her; looked up at the bay window where her
husband's " Dental Parlors " had been. It was all
dark; the windows had the blind, sightless appear
ance imparted by vacant, untenanted rooms. A
rusty iron rod projected mournfully from one of the
window ledges.

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McTeague

" There's where our sign hung once," said Trina.
She turned her head and looked down Polk Street
towards where the Other Dentist had his rooms,
and there, overhanging the street from his window,
newly furbished and brightened, hung the huge
tooth, her birthday present to her husband, flashing
and glowing in the white glare of the electric lights
like a beacon of defiance and triumph.

" Ah, no; ah, no," whispered Trina, choking back
a sob. " Life isn't so gay. But I wouldn't mind,
no I wouldn't mind anything, if only Mac was home
all right." She got up from the horse-block and
stood again on the corner of the alley, watching
and listening.

It grew later. The hours passed. Trina kept at
her post. The noise of approaching footfalls grew
less and less frequent. Little by little Polk Street
dropped back into solitude. Eleven o'clock struck
from the power-house clock; lights were extin
guished; at one o'clock the cable stopped, leaving
an abrupt and numbing silence in the air. All at
once it seemed very still. The only noises were the
occasional footfalls of a policeman and the persistent
calling of ducks and geese in the closed market
across the way. The street was asleep.

When it is night and dark, and one is awake and
alone, one's thoughts take the color of the surround
ings; become gloomy, sombre, and very dismal.
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."

346

McTeague

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 al
ready by another way. But suppose — suppose —
suppose."

She ran up the stairs, opened the door of the
room, and paused, out of breath. The room was
dark and empty. With cold, trembling fingers she
lighted the lamp, and, turning about, looked at her
trunk. The lock was burst.

" No, no, no," cried Trina, " it's not true; it's not
true." She dropped on her knees before the trunk,
and tossed back the lid, and plunged her hands
down into the corner underneath her wedding dress,
where she always kept the savings. The brass
match-safe and the chamois-skin bag were there.
They were empty.

Trina flung herself full length upon the floor,
burying her face in her arms, 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, he couldn't have done it. Oh, how
could he have done it? All my money, all my little
savings — and deserted me. He's gone, my money's
gone, my dear money — my dear, dear gold pieces
that I've worked so hard for. Oh, to have deserted
me — gone for good — gone and never coming back
— gone with my gold pieces. Gone — gone — gone.
I'll never see them again, and I've worked 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 you can have all the
money — half of it. Oh, give me back my money.
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McTeague

Give me back my money, and I'll forgive you. You
can leave me then if you want to. Oh, my money.
Mac, Mac, you've gone for good. You don't love
me any more, 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 clutching the heavy coils of her thick
black hair tore it again and again. She struck her
forehead with her clenched fists. Her little body
shook from head to foot with the violence of her
sobbing. She ground her small teeth together and
beat her head upon the floor with all her strength.

Her hair was uncoiled and hanging a tangled,
dishevelled mass far below her waist; her dress was
torn; a spot of blood was upon her forehead; her
eyes were swollen; her cheeks flamed vermilion
from the fever that raged in her veins. Old Miss
Baker found her thus towards five o'clock the next
morning.

What had happened between one o'clock and
dawn of that fearful night Trina never remembered.
She could only recall herself, as in a picture, kneel
ing before her broken and rifled trunk, and then —
weeks later, so it seemed to her — she woke to find
herself in her own bed with an iced bandage 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 below had been awakened some
hours after midnight by the sounds of Trina's weep
ing. She had come up-stairs and into the room to
find Trina stretched face downward upon the floor,
half conscious and sobbing, in the throes of an
348

McTeague

hysteria for which there was no relief. The woman,
terrified, had called her husband, and between them
they had got Trina upon the bed. Then the Ger
man woman happened to remember that Trina had
friends in the big flat near by, and had sent her hus
band to fetch the retired dressmaker, while she her
self remained behind to undress Trina and put her
to bed. Miss Baker had come over at once, and be
gan to cry herself at the sight of the dentist's poor
little wife. She did not stop to ask what the trouble
was, and indeed it would have been useless to at
tempt to get any coherent explanation from Trina
at that time. Miss Baker had 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 on Trina's head; had combed and recombed
her wonderful thick hair; and had sat down by the
side of the bed, holding her hot hand, with its poor
maimed fingers, waiting patiently until Trina should
be able to speak.

Towards morning Trina awoke — or perhaps it
was a mere regaining of consciousness — looked a
moment at Miss Baker, then about the room until
her eyes fell upon her trunk with its broken lock.
Then she turned over upon the pillow and began to
sob again. She refused to answer any of the little
dressmaker's questions, shaking her head violently,
her face hidden in the pillow.

By breakfast time her fever had increased to such
a point that Miss Baker took matters into her own
hands and had the German woman call a doctor.
He arrived some twenty minutes later. He was a
big, kindly fellow who lived over the drug store

349

McTeague

on the corner. He had a deep voice and a tremen
dous striding gait less suggestive of a physician
than of a sergeant of a cavalry troop.

By the time of his arrival little Miss Baker had
divined intuitively the entire trouble. She heard
the doctor's swinging tramp in the entry below, and
heard the German woman saying:

" Righd oop der stairs, at der back of der halle.
Der room mit der door oppen."

Miss Baker met the doctor at the landing, she
told him in a whisper of the trouble.

" Her husband's deserted her, I'm afraid, doctor,
and took all of her money — a good deal of it. It's
about killed the poor child. She was out of 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 the door. The big doctor stood
for a moment looking down at Trina rolling her
head from side to side upon the pillow, her face
scarlet, her enormous mane of hair spread out on
either side of her. The little dressmaker remained
at his elbow, looking from him to Trina.

" Poor little woman! " said the doctor; " poor lit
tle 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, and taking Trina's wrist, " a little
fever, eh?"

Trina opened her eyes and looked at him, and
then at Miss Baker. She did not seem in the least
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McTeague

surprised at the unfamiliar faces. She appeared to
consider it all as a matter of course.

" Yes," she said, with a long, tremulous breath,
" I have a fever, and my head — my head aches and
aches."

The doctor prescribed rest and mild opiates.
Then his eye fell upon the fingers of Trina's right
hand. He looked at them sharply. A deep red
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 was very wrong indeed.
For days Trina had noticed it. The fingers of her
right hand had swollen as never before, aching and
discolored. Cruelly lacerated by McTeague's bru
tality as they were, she had nevertheless gone on
about her work on the Noah's ark animals, con
stantly in contact with the " non-poisonous " paint.
She told as much to the doctor in answer to 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 the
entire hand — or even worse."

" And my work! " exclaimed Trina.

351

XIX.

One can hold a scrubbing-brush with two good
fingers and the stumps of two others even if both
joints of the thumb are gone, but it takes consider
able practice to get used to it.

Trina became a scrub-woman. She had taken
council of Selina, and through her had obtained the
position of care-taker in a little memorial kinder
garten over on Pacific Street. Like Polk Street, it
was an accommodation street, but running through
a much poorer and more sordid quarter. Trina had
a little room over the kindergarten schoolroom. It
was not an unpleasant room. It looked out upon a
sunny little court floored with boards and used as
the children's playground. Two great cherry trees
grew here, the leaves almost brushing against the
window of Trina's room and filtering the sunlight
so that it fell in round golden spots upon the floor
of the room. " Like gold pieces," Trina said to
herself.

Trina's work consisted in taking care of the kin
dergarten rooms, scrubbing the floors, washing the
windows, dusting and airing, and carrying out the
ashes. Besides this she earned some five dollars
.a month by washing down the front steps of some
big flats on Washington Street, and by cleaning
out vacant houses after the tenants had left. She
saw no one. Nobody knew her. She went about
352

McTeague

her work from dawn to dark, and often entire days
passed when she did not hear the sound of her own
voice. She was alone, a solitary, abandoned woman,
lost in the lowest eddies of the great city's tide — the
tide that always ebbs.

When Trina had been discharged from the hospi
tal after the operation on her fingers, she found her
self alone in the world, alone with her five thousand
dollars. The interest of this would support her,
and yet allow her to save a little.

But for a time Trina had thought of giving up the
fight altogether and of joining her family in the
southern part of the State. But even while she
hesitated about this she received a long letter from
her mother, an answer to one she herself had written
just before the amputation of her right-hand fingers
— the last letter she would ever be able to write.
Mrs. Sieppe's letter was one long lamentation; she
had her own misfortunes to bewail as well as those
of her daughter. The carpet-cleaning and uphols
tery business had failed. Mr. Sieppe and Owgooste
had left for New Zealand with a colonization, com
pany, whither Mrs. Sieppe and the twins were to
follow them as soon as the colony established itself.
So far from helping Trina in her ill fortune, it was
she, her mother, who might some day in the near
future be obliged to turn to Trina for aid. So Trina
had given up the idea of any help from her family.
For that matter she needed none. She still had her
five thousand, and Uncle Oelbermann paid her the
interest with a machine-like regularity. Now that
McTeague had left her, there was one less mouth
to feed; and with this saving, together with the
23 353

McTeague

little she could earn as scrub-woman, Trina could
almost manage to make good the amount she lost
by being obliged to cease work upon the Noah's
ark animals.

Little by little her sorrow over the loss of her
precious savings overcame the grief of McTeague's
desertion of her. Her avarice had grown to be her
one dominant passion; her love of money for the
money's sake brooded in her heart, driving out by
degrees every other natural affection. She grew
thin and meagre; her flesh clove tight to her small
skeleton; her small pale mouth and little uplifted
chin grew to have a certain feline eagerness of ex
pression; her long, narrow eyes glistened contin
ually, as if they caught and held the glint of metal.
One day as she sat in her room, the empty brass
match-box and the limp chamois bag in her hands,
she suddenly exclaimed:

" I could have forgiven him if he had only gone
away and left me my money. I could have — yes, I
could have forgiven him even this " — she looked at
the stumps of her fingers. " But now," her teeth
closed tight 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 after day she took them from
her trunk and wept over them as other women weep
over 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 her husband
spending her savings by handfuls; squandering her
beautiful gold pieces that she had been at such pains
to polish with soap and ashes. The thought filled

354

McTeague

her with an unspeakable anguish. She would wake
at night from a dream of McTeague revelling down
her money, and ask of the darkness, " How much
did he spend to-day? How many of the gold pieces
are left? Has he broken either of the two twenty-
dollar pieces yet? What did he 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 veritable
frenzy. She even denied herself lights and fuel in
order to put by a quarter or so, grudging every
penny she was obliged to spend. She did her own
washing and cooking. Finally she sold her wed
ding dress, that had hitherto lain in the bottom of
her trunk.

The day she moved from Zerkow's old house, she
came suddenly upon the dentist's concertina under
a heap of old clothes in the closet. Within twenty
minutes she had sold it to the dealer in second-hand
furniture, returning to her room with seven dollars
in her pocket, happy for the first time since Mc
Teague had left her.

But for all that the match-box and the bag refused
to fill up; after three weeks of the most rigid econ
omy they contained but eighteen dollars and some
small change. What was that compared with four
hundred? Trina told herself that she must have
her money in hand. . She longed to see again the
heap of it upon her work-table, where she could
plunge her hands into it, her face into it, feeling the
cool, smooth metal upon her cheeks. At such mo
ments she would see in her imagination her wonder
ful five thousand dollars piled in columns, shining
355

McTeague

and gleaming somewhere at the bottom of Uncle
Oelbermann's vault. She would look at the paper
that Uncle Oelbermann had given her, and tell her
self that it represented five thousand dollars. But
in the end this ceased to satisfy her, she must have
the money itself. She must have her four hundred
dollars 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 herself before Uncle Oelbermann as
he sat in his office in the wholesale toy store, and
told him she wanted to have four hundred dollars of
her money.

" But this is very irregular, you know, Mrs. Mc
Teague," said the great man. " Not business-like
at all."

But his niece's misfortunes and the sight of her
poor maimed hand appealed to him. He opened
his check-book. " You understand, of course," he
said, " that this will reduce the amount of your in
terest by just so much."

" I know, I know. I've thought of that," said
Trina.

" Four hundred, did you say?" remarked Uncle
Oelbermann, taking the cap from his fountain pen.

" Yes, four hundred," exclaimed Trina, quickly,
her eyes glistening.

Trina cashed the check and returned home with
the money — all in twenty-dollar pieces as she had
desired — in an ecstasy of delight. For half of that
night she sat up playing with her money, counting
it and recounting it, polishing the duller pieces until
356

McTeague

they shone. Altogether there were twenty twenty-
dollar gold pieces.

" Oh-h, you beauties ! " murmured Trina, run
ning her palms over them, fairly quivering with
pleasure. " You beauties ! Is there anything pret
tier 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 them in patterns — triangles, cir
cles, and squares— or built them all up into a pyra
mid which she afterward overthrew for the sake of
hearing the delicious clink of the pieces tumbling
against each other. Then at last she put them away
in the brass match-box and chamois bag, delighted
beyond words that they were once more full and
heavy.

Then, a few days after, the thought of the money
still remaining in Uncle Oelbermann's keeping re
turned to her. It was hers, all hers — all that four
thousand six hundred. She could have as much
of it or as little of it as she chose. She only had to
ask. For a week Trina resisted, knowing very well
that taking from her capital was proportionately re
ducing her monthly income. Then at last she
yielded.

" Just to make it an even five hundred, anyhow,"
she told herself. That day she drew a hundred dol
lars more, in twenty-dollar gold pieces as before.
From that time Trina began to draw steadily upon
her capital, a little at a time. It was a passion with
her, a mania, a veritable mental disease; a tempta
tion such as drunkards only know.

357

McTeague

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 the morning, as she
made her coffee on the oil stove, or when she woke
in the night, a brusque access of cupidity would
seize upon her. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glis
tened, her breath came short. At times she would
leave 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 store and draw
against her money. Now it would be a hundred
dollars, now sixty; now she would content herself
with only twenty; and once, after a fortnight's ab
stinence, she permitted herself a positive debauch
of five hundred. Little by little she drew her capi
tal from Uncle Oelbermann, and little by little her
original interest of twenty-five dollars a month
dwindled.

One day she presented herself again in the office
of the wholesale toy store.

" Will you let me have a check for two hundred
dollars, Uncle Oelbermann? " she said.

The great man laid down his fountain pen and
leaned back in his swivel chair with great delibera
tion.

" I don't understand, Mrs. McTeague," he said.
" Every week you come here and draw out a little
of your money. I've told you that it is not at all
regular or business-like for me to let you have it
this way. And more than this, it's a great incon
venience to me to give you these checks at unstated
times. If you wish to draw out the whole amount
let's have some understanding. Draw it in monthly

McTeague

installments of, say, five hundred dollars, 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 it over and done
with?"

" No, no," cried Trina, with instinctive apprehen
sion, refusing, she did not know why. " No, I'll
leave it with you. I won't draw out any more."

She took her departure, but paused on the pave
ment outside the store, and stood for a moment lost
in thought, her eyes beginning to glisten and her
breath coming short. Slowly she turned about and
reentered the store; she came back into the office,
and stood trembling at the corner of Uncle Oelber-
mann's desk. He looked up sharply. Twice Trina
tried to get her voice, and when it did come to her,
she could hardly recognize it. Between breaths she
said:

" Yes, all right — I'll — you can give me — will you
give me a check for thirty-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 sack upon the
middle of her bed. Then she opened her trunk, and
taking thence the brass match-box and the chamois-
skin bag added their contents to the pile. Next she
laid herself upon the bed and gathered the gleaming
heaps of gold pieces to her with both arms, burying
her face in them with long sighs of unspeakable
delight.

It was a little past noon, and the day was fine and

359

McTeague

warm. The leaves of the huge cherry trees threw
off a certain pungent aroma that entered through
the open window, together with long thin shafts of
golden sunlight. Below, in the kindergarten, the
children were singing gayly and marching to the
jangling of the piano. Trina heard nothing, saw
nothing. She lay on her bed, her eyes closed, her
face buried in a pile of gold that she encircled with
both her arms.

Trina even told herself at last that she was happy
once more. McTeague became a memory — a mem
ory that faded a little every day — dim and indistinct
in the golden splendor of five thousand dollars.

" And yet," Trina would say, " I did love Mac,
loved him dearly, only a little 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? It must be because he stole
my money. That is it. I couldn't forgive anyone
that — 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 of the 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 main thing. Her passion for
it excluded every other sentiment. There it was
in 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 not have it out
where she could see and touch it. One evening
she had even spread all the gold pieces between the
sheets, and had then gone to bed, stripping herself,
360

McTeague

and had slept all night upon the money, taking a
strange and ecstatic pleasure in the touch of the
smooth flat pieces the length of her entire body.

One night, some three months after she had come
to live at the kindergarten, Trina was awakened by
a sharp tap on the pane of the window. She sat up
quickly in bed, her heart beatirfg thickly, her eyes
rolling wildly in the direction of her trunk. The
tap was repeated. Trina rose and went fearfully to
the window. The little court below was bright
with moonlight, and standing just on the edge of
the shadow thrown by one of the cherry trees was
McTeague. A bunch of half-ripe cherries was in
his hand. He was eating them and throwing the
pits at the window. As he caught sight of her, he
made an eager sign for her to raise the sash. Re
luctant and wondering, Trina obeyed, and the den
tist came 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 above a whisper, " let me in, will
you, huh? Say, will you? I'm regularly starv
ing, and I haven't slept in a Christian bed for two
weeks."

At sight at him standing there in the moonlight,
Trina could only think of him as the man who had
beaten and bitten her, had deserted her and stolen
her money, had made her suffer as she had never
suffered before in all her life. Now that he had
spent the money that he had stolen from her, he was
whining to come back — -so that he might steal more,
361

McTeague

no doubt. Once in her room he could not help but
smell out her five thousand dollars. Her indigna
tion 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 four hundred dollars, I guess."

" Well— well— I— well— " faltered the dentist.
" Never mind now. Give me something to eat, an*
let me in an' sleep. I've been sleeping in the Plaza
for the last ten nights, and say, I — Damn it, Trina,
I ain't had anything to eat since "

" Where's the four hundred dollars you robbed
me of when you deserted me?" returned Trina,
coldly.

" Well, I've spent it," growled the dentist. " But
you can't see me starve, 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 so enor
mous, nor the square-cut head so huge. The
moonlight made deep black shadows 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?"
362

McTeague

" 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's truth. 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 got a 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 a dollar. Give me half a dol

Say, give me a dime, an' I can get a cup of coffee."

" No."

The dentist paused and looked at her with curi
ous intentness, bewildered, nonplussed.

" Say, you — you must be crazy, Trina. I — I —
wouldn't let a dog go 'hungry."

" Not even if he'd bitten you, perhaps."

The dentist stared again.

There was another pause. McTeague looked up
at her in silence, a mean and vicious twinkle coming
into His small eyes. He uttered a low exclamation,
and then checked himself.

" Well, look here, for the last time. I'm starving.
I've got nowhere to sleep. Will you give me some
money, or something to eat? Will you let me in? "

* No— no— no."

Trina could fancy she almost saw the brassy
glint in her husband's eyes. He raised one enor
mous lean fist. Then he growled:

" If I had hold of you for a minute, by God, I'd
make you dance. An' I will yet, I will yet. Don't
you be afraid of that."

363

McTeague

He turned about, the moonlight showing like a
layer of snow upon his massive shoulders. Trina
watched him as he passed under the shadow of the
cherry trees and crossed the little court. She heard
his great feet grinding on the board flooring. He
disappeared.

Miser though she was, Trina was only human,
and the echo of the dentist's heavy feet had not died
away before she began to be sorry for what she had
done. She stood by the open window in her night
gown, her finger upon her lips.

" He did looked pinched," she said half aloud.
" Maybe he was hungry. I ought to have given
him something. I wish I had, I wish I had. Oh,"
she cried, suddenly, with a frightened gesture of
both hands, " what have I come to be that I would
see Mac — my husband — that I would see him starve
rather than give him money? No, no. It's too
dreadful. I will give him some. 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 two days he was speaking
the truth. The week before he had spent the last
of the four hundred dollars in the bar of a sailor'-s
lodging-house near the water front, and since that
time had lived a veritable hand-to-mouth existence.

He had spent her money here and there about the
city in royal fashion, absolutely reckless of the mor
row, feasting and drinking for the most part with
companions he picked up heaven knows where,
acquaintances of twenty-four hours, whose names
364

McTeague

he forgot in two days. Then suddenly he found
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 went back to Polk Street in the evening, walk
ing on the dark side of the street, lurking in the
shadows, ashamed to have any of his old-time
friends see him. He entered Zerkow's old house
and knocked at the door of 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, giving him
other reasons to explain the loss of her fingers;
neither had she told him of her husband's robbery.
So when the dentist had asked where Trina could
be found, Uncle Oelbermann, believing that Mc
Teague was seeking a reconciliation, had told him
without hesitation, and, he added:

" 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
got it all now, I guess."

" Ah, she's got it all."

The dentist went away from his bootless visit to
his wife shaking with rage, hating her with all the
strength of a crude and primitive nature. He
clenched his fists till his knuckles whitened, his
teeth ground furiously upon one another.

" Ah, if I had hold of you once, I'd make you
dance. She had five thousand dollars in that room,
while I stood there, not twenty feet away, and told
365

McTeague

her I was starving, and she wouldn't give me a dime
to get a cup of coffee with; not a dime to get a cup
of coffee. Oh, if I once get my hands on you!"
His wrath strangled him. He clutched at the dark
ness in front of him, his breath fairly whistling be
tween his teeth.

That night he walked the streets until the morn
ing, wondering what now he was to do to fight the
wolf away. The morning of the next day towards
ten o'clock he was on Kearney Street, still walking,
still tramping the streets, since there was nothing
else for him to do. By and by he paused on a cor
ner near a music store, finding a momentary amuse
ment in watching two or three men loading a piano
upon a dray. Already half its weight was sup
ported by the dray's backboard. One of the men,
a big mulatto, almost hidden under the mass of
glistening rosewood, was guiding its course, while
the other two heaved and tugged in the rear. Some
thing in the street frightened the horses and they
shied abruptly. The end of the piano was twitched
sharply from the backboard. There was a cry, the
mulatto staggered and fell with the falling piano,
and its weight dropped squarely upon his thigh,
which broke with a resounding crack.

An hour later McTeague had found his job. The
music store engaged him as handler at six dollars
a week. McTeague's enormous strength, useless
all his life, stood him in good stead at last.

He slept in a tiny back room opening from the
storeroom of the music store. He was in some
sense a watchman as well as handler, and went the
rounds of the store twice every night. His room

McTeague

4vas a box of a place that reeked with odors of stale
tobacco smoke. The former occupant had papered
the walls with newspapers and had pasted up figures
cut out from the posters of some Kiralfy ballet,
very gaudy. By the one window, chittering all day
in its little gilt prison, hung the canary bird, a tiny
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 effect it had upon him was to
increase the viciousness and bad temper that had
developed in him since the beginning of his misfor
tunes. He terrorized his fellow-handlers, powerful
men though they were. For a gruff word, for an
awkward movement in lading the pianos, for a
surly look or a muttered oath, the dentist's elbow
would crook and his hand contract to a mallet-like
fist. As often as not the blow followed, colossal in
its force, 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, would
she? She'd turn him out of doors while she hid her
five thousand dollars in the bottom of her trunk.
Aha, he would see about that some day. She
couldn't make small of him. Ah, no. She'd dance
all right — all right. McTeague was not an im
aginative man by nature, but he would lie
awake nights, his clumsy wits galloping and
frisking under the lash of the alcohol, and fancy
himself thrashing his wife, till a sudden frenzy
of rage would overcome him, and he would shake
367

McTeague

all over, rolling upon the bed and biting the mat
tress.

On a certain day, about a week after Christmas
of that year, McTeague was on one of the top floors
of the music store, where the second-hand instru
ments were kept, helping to move about and re
arrange some old pianos. As he passed by one of
the counters he paused abruptly, his eye caught by
an object that was strangely familiar.

" Say," he inquired, addressing the clerk in
charge, " say, where'd this come 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 stops and
a bit of shellac, and we'll make it about's good as
new. Good tone. See." And the clerk drew a long,
sonorous wail from the depths of McTeague's old
concertina.

" Well, if s mine," growled the dentist.

The other laughed. " It's yours for eleven dol
lars."

" 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 anger flaming up
in his little eyes.

The clerk raised a shoulder and put the con
certina on an upper shelf.

" You talk to the boss about that; t'ain't none
of my affair. If you want to buy it, it's eleven dol
lars."

The dentist had been paid off the day before
368

McTeague

and had four dollars in his wallet at the moment.
He gave the money to the clerk.

" Here, there's part of the money. You — you
put that concertina aside for me, an' I'll give you
the rest in a week or so — I'll give it to you to
morrow," he exclaimed, struck with a sudden idea.

McTeague had sadly missed his concertina.
Sunday afternoons when there was no work to be
done, he was accustomed to lie flat on his back on
his springless bed in the little room in the rear of
the music store, his coat and shoes off, reading the
paper, drinking steam beer from a pitcher, and
smoking his pipe. But he could no longer play his
six lugubrious airs upon his concertina, and it was
a deprivation. He often wondered where it was
gone. It had been lost, no doubt, in the general
wreck of his fortunes. Once, even, the dentist had
taken a concertina from the lot kept by the music
store. It was a Sunday and no one was about. But
he found he could not play upon it. The stops were
arranged upon 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 the
remaining seven.

The clerk had told him the concertina had been
sold on Polk Street to the second-hand store there.
Trina had sold it. McTeague knew it. Trina had
sold his concertina — had stolen it and sold it — his
concertina, his beloved concertina, that he had had
all his life. Why, barring the canary, there was not
one of all his belongings that McTeague had cher
ished more dearly. His steel engraving of "Lor-
24 369

McTeague

enzo de' Medici and his Court " might be lost, his
stone pug dog might go, but his concertina!

" And she sold it — stole it from me and sold it.
Just because I happened to 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 him like a returning surge.
He saw her small, prim mouth, her narrow blue
eyes, her black mane of hair, and uptilted chin, and
hated her the more because of them. Aha, he'd
show her; he'd make her dance. He'd get that
seven dollars from her, or he'd know the reason
why. He went through his work that day, heaving
and hauling at the ponderous pianos, handling them
with the ease of a lifting crane, impatient for the
coming of evening, when he could be left to his own
devices. As often as he had a moment to spare he
went down the street to the nearest saloon and
drank a pony of whiskey. Now and then as
he fought and struggled with the vast masses of
ebony, rosewood, and mahogany on the upper
floor of the music store, raging and charing at
their inertness and unwillingness, while the whis
key pirouetted in his brain, he would mutter to
himself:

" An' / got to do this. I got to work like a dray
horse while she sits at home 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 suc
cession. After supper he was obliged to go out
with the dray to deliver a concert grand at the Odd
370

McTeague

Fellows' Hall, where a piano " recital " was to take
place.

" Ain't you coming back with us? " asked one of
the handlers as he climbed upon the driver's seat
after the piano had been put in place.

"No, no," returned the dentist; "I got some
thing else to do." The brilliant lights of a saloon
near the City Hall caught his eye. He decided he
would have another drink of whiskey. It was about
eight o'clock.

The following day was to be a fete day at the
kindergarten, the Christmas and New Year festivals
combined. All that afternoon the little two-story
building on Pacific Street had been filled with a
number of grand ladies of the Kindergarten Board,
who were hanging up ropes of evergreen and sprays
of holly, 'and arranging a great Christmas tree that
stood in the centre of the ring in the schoolroom.
The whole place was pervaded with a pungent, piney
odor. Trina had been very busy since the early
morning, coming and going at everybody's call,
now running down the street after another tack-
hammer or a fresh supply of cranberries, now tying
together the ropes of evergreen and passing them
up to one of the grand ladies as she carefully bal
anced herself on a step-ladder. By evening every
thing 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. Mc
Teague, I think that will be all. Sweep up the pine
needles 'here — you see they are all over the floor —
and look through all the rooms, and tidy up gen-
37i

McTeague

erally. Good night — 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 and cooked herself a bit of supper.
Then she came down-stairs 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 the
children hung their hats and coats. This cloak
room opened off the back of the main schoolroom.
Trina cast a critical glance into both of these rooms.
There had been a great deal of going and coming
in them during the day, and she decided that the
first thing to do Would be to scrub the floors. She
went up again to her room overhead and heated
some water over her oil stove; then, re-descending,
set to work vigorously.

By nine o'clock she had almost finished with the
schoolroom. She was down on her hands and
knees in the midst of a steaming muck of soapy
water. 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 the strain of her position, and with one
smoking hand, white and parboiled with the hot
water, brushed her hair, already streaked with gray,
out of her weazened, pale face and the corners of
her mouth.

It was very quiet. A gas-jet without a globe lit
up the place with a crude, raw light. The cat who
lived on the premises, preferring to be dirty rather
than to be wet, had got into the coal scuttle, and

372

McTeague

over its rim watched her sleepily with a long, com
placent purr.

All at once he stopped purring, leaving an abrupt
silence in the air like the sudden shutting off of a
stream of water, while his eyes grew wide, two lam
bent disks of yellow in the heap of black fur.

" Who is there? " cried Trina, sitting back on her
heels. In the stillness that succeeded, the water
dripped from her hands with the steady tick of a
clock. Then a brutal fist swung open the street
door of the schoolroom and McTeague came in.
He was drunk; not with that drunkenness which
is stupid, maudlin, wavering on its feet, but with
that which is alert, unnaturally intelligent, vicious,
perfectly steady, deadly wicked. Trina only had to
look once at him, and in an instant, with some
strange sixth sense, born of the occasion, knew
what she had to expect.

She jumped up and ran from him into the little
cloakroom. She locked and bolted the door after
her, and leaned her weight against it, panting and
trembling, 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 across the
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 — look here — -
listen here. It wasn't my fault. I'll give you some
money. You can come back. I'll do anything you
want. Won't you just listen to me? Oh, don't! I'll

373

McTeague

scream. I can't help it, you know. The people
will hear."

McTeague came towards her slowly, his immense
feet dragging and grinding on the floor; his enor
mous fists, hard as wooden mallets, swinging at his
sides. Trina backed from him to the corner of the
room, cowering before him, holding her elbow
crooked in front of her face, watching him with
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 thou
sand dollars. I want every nickel of it! You
understand? "

"I haven't it. It isn't here. Uncle Oelber-
mann's got it."

" That's a lie. He told me that you came and got
it. You've had it long enough; now / want it. Do
you hear? "

" Mac, I can't give you that money. I — I won't
give it to you," Trina cried, 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."

374

McTeague

" No, no."

Usually the dentist was slow in his movements,
but now the alcohol had awakened in him an ape
like agility. He kept his small dull eyes upon her,
and all at once sent his fist into the middle of her
face with the suddenness of a relaxed spring.

Beside herself with terror, Trina turned and
fought him back ; fought for her miserable life with
the exasperation and strength of a harassed cat;
and with such energy and such wild, unnatural
force, that even McTeague for the moment drew
back from her. But her resistance was the one
thing to drive him to the top of his fury. He came
back at her again, his eyes drawn to two fine
twinkling points, and his enormous fists, clenched
till the knuckles whitened, raised in the air.

Then it became abominable.

In the schoolroom outside, behind the coal scut
tle, the cat listened to the sounds of stamping and
struggling and the muffled noise of blows, wildly
terrified, his eyes bulging like brass knobs. At last
the sounds stopped on a sudden; he heard nothing
more. Then McTeague came out, closing the
door. The cat followed him with distended eyes as
he crossed the room and disappeared through the
street door.

The dentist paused for a moment on the" sidewalk,
looking carefully up and down the street. It was
deserted and quiet. He turned sharply to the right
and went down a narrow passage that led into the
little court yard behind the school. A candle was
burning in Trina's room. He went up by the out
side stairway and entered.
375

McTeague

The trunk stood locked in one corner of the
room. The dentist took the lid-lifter from the little
oil stove, put it underneath the lock-clasp and
wrenched it open. Groping beneath a pile of
dresses he found the chamois-skin bag, the little
brass match-box, and, at the very bottom, carefully
thrust into one corner, the canvas sack crammed
to the mouth with twenty-dollar gold pieces. He
emptied the chamois-skin bag and the match-box
into the pockets of his trousers. But the canvas
sack was too bulky to hide about his clothes.

" I guess I'll just naturally have to carry you," he
muttered. He blew out the candle, closed the door,
and gained the street again.

The dentist crossed the city, going back to the
music store. It was a little after eleven o'clock.
The night was moonless, filled with a gray blur of
faint light that seemed to come from all quarters
of the horizon at once. From time to time there
were sudden explosions of a southeast wind at the
street corners. McTeague went on, slanting his
head against the gusts, to keep his cap from blow
ing off, carrying the sack close to his side. Once
he looked critically at the sky.

" I bet it'll rain to-morrow," he muttered, " if this
wind works round to the south."

Once in his little den behind the music store, he
washed his hands and forearms, and put on his
working clothes, blue overalls and a jumper, over
cheap trousers and vest. Then he got together his
small belongings — 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, and
376

McTeague

which he believed to be valuable. He stripped his
blanket from his bed and rolled up in it all these
objects, together with the canvas sack, fastening
the roll with a half hitch such as miners use, the
instincts of the old-time car-boy coming back to
him in his present confusion of mind. He changed
his pipe and his knife — a huge jacknife with a yel
lowed bone handle — to the pockets of his overalls.

Then at last he stood with his hand on the door,
holding up the lamp before blowing it out, looking
about to make sure he was ready to go. The waver
ing light woke his canary. It stirred and began to
chitter feebly, very sleepy and cross at being awak
ened. McTeague started, staring at it, and re
flecting. He believed that it would be a long time
before anyone came into that room again. The
canary would be days without food; it was likely it
would starve, would die there, hour by hour, in its
little gilt prison. McTeague resolved to take it
with him. He took down the cage, touching it
gently with his enormous hands, and tied a couple
of sacks about it to shelter the little bird from the
sharp night wind.

Then he went out, locking all the doors behind
him, and turned toward the ferry slips. The boats
had ceased running hours ago, but 'he told himself
that by waiting till four o'clock he could get across
the bay on the tug that took over the morning
papers.

Trina lay unconscious, just as she had fallen
under the last of McTeague's blows, her body
twitching with an occasional hiccough that stirred
377

McTeague

the pool of blood in which she lay face downward.
Towards morning she died with a rapid series of
hiccoughs that sounded like a piece of clockwork
running down.

The thing had been done in the cloakroom where
the kindergarten children hung their hats and coats.
There was no other entrance except by going
through the main schoolroom. McTeague going
out had shut the door of the cloakroom, but had
left the street door open; so when the children
arrived in the morning, they entered as usual.

About half-past eight, two or three five-year-olds,
one a little colored girl, came into the schoolroom
of the kindergarten with a great chatter of voices,
going across to the cloakroom to hang up their
hats and coats as they had been taught.

Half way across the room one of them stopped
and put her small nose in the air, crying, " Um-o-o,
what a f unnee smell ! " Trie others began to sniff
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's the 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 little cloakroom,
winding his tail slowly back and forth, excited, very
eager. At times he would draw back and make
a strange little clacking noise down in his throat.

"Ain't he funnee?" said the little girl again.

The cat slunk swiftly away as the children came up.

Then the tallest of the little girls swung the door of

the little cloakroom wide open and they all ran in.

378

XX.

The day was very hot, and the silence of high
noon lay close and thick between the steep slopes
of the canons like an invisible, muffling fluid. At
intervals the drone of an insect bored the air and
trailed slowly to silence again. Everywhere were
pungent, aromatic smells. The vast, moveless heat
seemed to distil countless odors from the brush —
odors of warm sap, of pine needles, and of tar-weed,
and above all the medicinal odor of witch hazel. As
far as one could look, uncounted multitudes of trees
and manzanita bushes were quietly and motion-
lessly growing, growing, growing. A tremendous,
immeasurable Life pushed steadily heavenward
without a sound, without a motion. At turns of the
road, on the higher points, canons disclosed them
selves far away, gigantic grooves in the landscape,
deep blue in the distance, opening one into another,
ocean-deep, silent, huge, and suggestive of colossal
primeval forces held in reserve. At their bottoms
they were solid, massive; on their crests they broke
delicately into fine serrated edges where the pines
and redwoods outlined their million of tops against
the high white horizon. Here and there the moun
tains lifted themselves out of the narrow river beds
in groups like giant lions rearing their heads after
drinking. The entire region was untamed. In
some places east of the Mississippi nature is cosey,

379

McTeague

intimate, small, and homelike, like a good-natured
housewife. In Placer County, California, she is a
vast, unconquered brute of the Pliocene epoch, sav
age, 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 drill and dy
namite, boring into the vitals of them, or tearing
away great yellow gravelly scars in the flanks of
them, sucking their blood, extracting gold.

Here and there at long distances upon the canon
sides rose the headgear of a mine, surrounded with
its few unpainted houses, and topped by its never-
failing feather of black smoke. On near approach
one heard the prolonged thunder of the stamp-mill,
the crusher, the insatiable monster, gnashing the
rocks to powder with its long iron teeth, vomiting
them out again in a thin stream of wet gray mud.
Its enormous maw, fed night and day with the car
boys' loads, gorged itself with gravel, and spat out
the gold, grinding the rocks between its jaws,
glutted, as it were, with the very entrails of the
earth, and growling over its endless meal, like some
savage animal, some legendary dragon, some fabu
lous beast, symbol of inordinate and monstrous
gluttony.

McTeague had left the Overland train at Colfax,
and the same afternoon had ridden some eight miles
across the mountains in the stage that connects
Colfax with Iowa Hill. Iowa Hill was a small one-
street town, the headquarters of the mines of the
district. Originally it had been built upon the
summit of a mountain, but the sides of this moun-
380

McTeague

tain have long since been " hydraulicked " away, so
that the town now clings to a mere back bone, and
the rear windows of the houses on both sides of the
street look down over sheer precipices, into vast
pits hundreds of feet deep.

The dentist stayed over night at the Hill, and the
next morning started off on foot farther into the
mountains. He still wore his blue overalls and
juniper; his woollen cap was pulled down over his
eyes; on his feet were hob-nailed boots he had
bought at the store in Colfax; his blanket roll was
over his back; in his left hand swung the bird cage
wrapped in sacks.

Just outside the town he paused, as if suddenly
remembering something.

" There ought to be a trail just off the road here,"
he muttered. " There used to be a trail — a short
cut."

The next instant, without moving from his posi-
tiony he saw where it opened just before him. His
instinct had halted him at the exact spot. The trail
zigzagged down the abrupt descent of the canon,
debouching into a gravelly river bed.

"Indian River," muttered the dentist. "I re
member — I remember. I ought to hear the Morn
ing Star's stamps from here." He cocked his head.
A low, sustained roar, like a distant cataract, came
to his ears from across the river. " That's right,"
he said, contentedly. He crossed the river and re
gained the road beyond. The slope rose under his
feet; a little farther on he passed the Morning Star
mine, smoking and thundering. McTeague pushed
steadily on. The road rose with the rise of the
381

McTeague

mountain, turned at a sharp angle where a great
live-oak grew, and held level for nearly a quarter
of a mile. Twice again the dentist left the road
and took to the trail that cut through deserted hy
draulic pits. He knew exactly where to look for
these trails; not once did his instinct deceive him.
He recognized familiar points at once. Here was
Cold Canon, where invariably, winter and summer,
a chilly wind was blowing; here was where the road
to Spencer's branched off; here was Bussy's old
place, where at one time there were so many dogs;
here was Delmue's cabin, where unlicensed whiskey
used to be sold; here was the plank bridge with its
one rotten board; and here the flat overgrown with
manzanita, where he once had shot three quail.

At noon, after he had been tramping for some
two hours, he halted at a point where the road
dipped suddenly. A little to the right of him, and
flanking the road, an enormous yellow gravel-pit
like an emptied lake gaped to heaven. Farther on,
in the distance, a canon zigzagged toward the hori
zon, rugged with pine-clad mountain crests. Nearer
at hand, and directly in the line of the road, was an
irregular cluster of unpainted cabins. A dull, pro
longed roar vibrated in the air. McTeague nodded
his head as if satisfied.

" That's the place," he muttered.

He reshouldered his blanket roll and descended
the road. At last he halted again. He stood be
fore a low one-story building, differing from the
others in that it was painted. A verandah, shut in
with mosquito netting, surrounded it. McTeague
dropped his blanket roll on a lumber pile outside,
382

McTeague

and came up and knocked at the open door. Some
one called to him to come in.

McTeague entered, rolling his eyes about him,
noting the changes that had been made since he had
last seen this place. A partition had been knocked
down, making one big room out of the two former
small ones. A counter and railing stood inside the
door. There was a telephone on the wall In one
corner he also observed a stack of surveyor's instru
ments; a big drawing-board straddled on spindle
legs across one end of the room, a mechanical draw
ing of some kind, no doubt the plan of the mine,
unrolled upon it; a chromo representing a couple of
peasants in a ploughed field (Millet's " Angelus ")
was nailed unframed upon the wall, and hanging
from the same wire nail that secured one of its
corners in place was a bullion bag and a cartridge
belt with a loaded revolver in the pouch.

The dentist approached the counter and leaned
his elbows upon it. Three men were in the room —
a tall, lean young man, with a thick head of hair
surprisingly gray, who was playing with a half-
grown great Dane puppy; another fellow about as
young, but with a jaw almost as salient as Mc-
Teague's, stood at the letter-press taking a copy of a
letter; a third man, a little older than the other two,
was pottering over a transit. This latter was mas
sively built, and wore overalls and low boots
streaked and stained and spotted in every direction
with gray mud. The dentist looked slowly from
one to the other; then at length, " Is the foreman
about? " he asked.

The man in the muddy overalls came forward.
383

McTeague

" What you want? "

He spoke with a strong German accent.

The old invariable formula came back to Mc
Teague on the instant.

"What's the show for a job?"

At once the German foreman became preoccu
pied, looking aimlessly out of the 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 remembered too.

" No. American."

" How long sence you mine? "

" Oh, year or two."

" Show your hends." McTeague exhibited his
hard, calloused 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 pre
pared for this.

"Huh? What?"

"What's the name?"

McTeague's eye was caught by a railroad calen
dar hanging over the desk. There was no time to
think.

" Burlington," he said, loudly.
384

McTeague

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 gome find me bei der mill at
sex o'clock, und I set you to work."

Straight as a homing pigeon, and following a
blind and unreasoned instinct, McTeague had re
turned to the Big Dipper mine. Within a week's
time it seemed to him as though he had never been
away. He picked up his life again exactly where
he had left it the day when his mother had sent him
away with the travelling dentist, the charlatan who
had set up his tent by the bunk house. The house
McTeague had once lived in was still there, occu
pied by one of the shift bosses and his family. The
dentist passed 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 sounded
a prolonged alarm upon a crowbar bent in the form
of a triangle, that hung upon the porch of the
boarding-house. McTeague rose and dressed, and
with his shift had supper. Their lunch-pails were
distributed to them. Then he made his way to the
tunnel mouth, climbed into a car in the waiting ore
train, and was hauled into the mine.

Once inside, the hot evening air turned to a cool
dampness, and the forest odors gave place to the
smell of stale dynamite smoke, suggestive of burn
ing rubber. A cloud of steam came from Mc-
Teague's mouth; underneath, the water swashed
and rippled around the car-wheels, while the light
from the miner's candlesticks threw wavering blurs
25 385

McTeague

of pale yellow over the gray rotting quartz of the
roof and walls. Occasionally McTeague bent down
his head to avoid the lagging of the roof or the pro
jections of an overhanging shute. From car to
car all along the line the miners called to one an
other as the train trundled along, joshing and
laughing.

A mile from the entrance the train reached the
breast where McTeague's gang worked. The men
clambered from the cars and took up the labor
where the day shift had left it, burrowing their way
steadily through a primeval river bed.

The candlesticks thrust into the crevices of the
gravel strata lit up faintly the half dozen moving
figures befouled with sweat and with wet gray
mould. The picks struck into the loose gravel with
a yielding shock. The long-handled shovels clinked
amidst the piles of bowlders and scraped dully in the
heaps of rotten quartz. The Burly drill boring for
blasts broke out from time to time in an irregular
chug-chug, chug-chug, while the engine that
pumped the water from the mine coughed and
strangled at short intervals.

McTeague tended the chuck. In a way he was
the assistant of the man who worked the Burly. It
was 'his duty to replace tfie drills in the Burly, put
ting in longer ones as the hole got deeper and
deeper. From time to time he rapped the drill with
a pole-pick when it stuck fast or fitchered.

Once it even occurred to him that there was a
resemblance between his present work and the pro
fession he had been forced to abandon. In the
Burly drill he saw a queer counterpart of his old-
386

McTeague

time dental engine; and what were the drills and
chucks but enormous hoe excavators, hard bits, and
burrs? It was the same work he had so often per
formed in his " Parlors," only magnified, made
monstrous, distorted, and grotesqued, the carica
ture of dentistry.

He passed his nights thus in the midst of the play
of crude and simple forces — the powerful attacks of
the Burly drills; the great exertions of bared, bent
backs overlaid with muscle; the brusque, resistless
expansion of dynamite; and the silent, vast, Titanic
force, mysterious and 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 mountains took him back again like a
returning prodigal, and vaguely, without knowing
why, he yielded to their influence — their immensity,
their enormous power, crude and blind, reflecting
themselves in his own nature, huge, strong, brutal
in its simplicity. And this, though he only saw
the mountains at night. They appeared far different
then than in the daytime. At twelve o'clock he
came out of the mine and lunched on the contents
of his dinner-pail, sitting upon the embankment of
the track, eating with both hands, and looking
around him with a steady ox-like gaze. The moun
tains rose sheer from every side, heaving their gi
gantic crests far up into the night, the black peaks
crowding together, and looking now less like beasts
than like a company of cowled giants. In the day
time they were silent: but at night they seemed to
stir and rouse themselves. Occasionally the stamp-
387

McTeague

mill stopped, its thunder ceasing abruptly. Then
one could hear the noises that the mountains made
in their living. From the canon, from the crowding
crests, from the whole immense landscape, there
rose a steady and prolonged sound, coming from all
sides at once. It was that incessant and muffled
roar which disengages itself from all vast bodies,
from oceans, from cities, from forests, from sleeping
armies, and which is like the breathing of an in
finitely great monster, alive, palpitating.

McTeague returned to his work. At six in the
morning his shift was taken off, and he went out of
the mine and back to the bunk house. All day long
he slept, flung at length upon the strong-smelling
blankets — slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion,
crushed and overpowered with the work, flat and
prone upon his belly, till again in the evening the
cook sounded the alarm upon the crowbar bent into
a triangle.

Every alternate week the shifts were changed.
The second week McTeague's shift worked in the
daytime and slept at night. Wednesday night of
this second week the dentist woke suddenly. He
sat up in his bed in the bunk house, looking about
him from side to side; an alarm clock hanging on
the wall, over a lantern, marked half-past three.

" What was it? " muttered the dentist. " I won
der what it was." The rest of the shift were sleep-
ing soundly, filling the room with the rasping sound
of snoring. Everything was in its accustomed
place; nothing stirred. Bint for all that McTeague
got up and lit his miner's candlestick and went care
fully about the room, throwing the light into the
388

McTeague

dark corners, peering under all the beds, including
his own. Then he went to the door and stepped
outside. The night was warm and still; the moon,
very low, and canted on her side like a galleon
foundering. The camp was very quiet; nobody was
in sight. " I wonder what it was," muttered the
dentist. " There was something — why did I wake
up? Huh?" He made a circuit about the bunk
house, unusually alert, his small eyes twinkling
rapidly, seeing everything. All was quiet. An old
dog who invariably slept on the steps of the bunk
house had not even wakened. McTeague went
back to bed, but did not sleep.

" There was something," he muttered, looking in
a puzzled way at his canary in the cage that hung
from the wrall 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 feel something — right now; feel it now. I won
der — I don' know — I don' know."

Once more he got up, and this time dressed him
self. He made a complete tour of the camp, look
ing and listening, for what he did not know. He
even went to the outskirts of the camp and for
nearly half an hour watched 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 some
thing, he could not say what, annoyed him inces
santly. He went wide around sharp corners. At
389

McTeague

every moment he looked sharply over his shoulder.
He even went to bed with his clothes and cap on,
and at every hour during the night would get up
and prowl about the bunk house, one ear turned
down the wind, his eyes gimleting the 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 animal cunning, what brute
instinct clamored for recognition and obedience?
What lower faculty was it that roused his suspicion,
that drove him out into the night a score of times
between dark and dawn, his head in the air, his eyes
and ears keenly alert?

One night as he stood on the steps of the bunk
house, peering into the shadows of the camp, he
uttered an exclamation as of a man suddenly en
lightened. He turned back into the house, drew
from under his bed the blanket roll in which he
kept his money hid, and took the canary down from
the wall. He strode to the door and disappeared
into the night. When the sheriff of Placer County
and the two deputies from San Francisco reached
the Big Dipper mine, McTeague had been gone
two days.

390

XXI.

" Well," said one of the deputies, as he backed
-the horse into the shafts of the buggy in which the
pursuers had driven over from the Hill, " we've
about as good as got him. It isn't hard to follow a
man who carries a bird cage with him wherever
he goes."

McTeague crossed the mountains on foot the
Friday and Saturday of that week, going over
through Emigrant Gap, following the line of the
Overland railroad. He reached Reno Monday
night. By degrees a vague plan of action outlined
itself in the dentist's mind.

" Mexico," he muttered to himself. " Mexico,
that's the place. They'll watch the coast and they'll
watch the Eastern trains, but they won't think of
Mexico."

The sense of pursuit which had harassed him
during the last week of his stay at the Big Dipper
mine had worn off, and he believed himself to be
very cunning.

" I'm pretty far ahead now, I guess," he said.
At Reno he boarded a south-bound freight on the
line of the Carson and Colorado railroad, paying for
a passage in the caboose. " Freights don' run on
schedule time," he muttered, " and a conductor on
a passenger train makes it his business to study
faces. I'll stay with this train as far as.it goes."
391

McTeague

The freight worked slowly southward, through
western Nevada, the country becoming hourly more
and more desolate and abandoned. After leaving
Walker Lake the sage-brush country began, and
the freight rolled heavily over tracks that threw
off visible layers of heat. At times it stopped whole
half days on sidings or by water tanks, and the
engineer and fireman came back to the caboose and
played poker with the conductor and train crew.
The dentist sat apart, behind the stove, smoking
pipe after pipe of cheap tobacco. Sometimes he
joined in the poker games. He had learned poker
when a boy at the mine, and after a few deals his
knowledge returned to him; but for the most part
he was taciturn and unsociable, and rarely spoke to
the others unless spoken to first. The crew recog
nized the type, and the impression gained ground
among them that he had " done for " a livery-stable
keeper at Truckee and was trying to get down into
Arizona.

McTeague heard .two brakemen discussing him
one night as they stood outside by the halted train.
"The livery-stable keeper called him a bastard;
that's what Picachos told me," one of them re
marked, " and started 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 got the
law on him so's he couldn't practise any more, an'
he was sore about it."

Near a place called Queen's the train reentered

California, and McTeague observed with relief that

the line of track which had hitherto held westward

curved sharply to the south again. The train was

392

McTeague

unmolested; occasionally the crew fought with a
gang of tramps who attempted to ride the brake
beams, and once in the northern part of Inyo
County, while they were halted at a water tank, an
immense Indian buck, blanketed to the ground,
approached McTeague as he stood on the roadbed
stretching his 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
and deserving of charity; the signature was illegible.
The dentist stared at the letter, returned it to the
buck, and regained the train just as it started.
Neither had spoken; the buck did not move from
his position, and fully five minutes afterward, when
the slow-moving freight was miles away, the dentist
looked back and saw him still standing motionless
between the rails, a forlorn and solitary point of
red, lost in the immensity of the surrounding white
blur of the desert.

At length the mountains began again, rising up
on either side of the track; vast, naked hills of white
sand and red rock, spotted with blue shadows. Here
and there a patch of green was spread like a gay
table-cloth over the sand. All at once Mount
Whitney leaped over the horizon. Independence
was reached and passed ; the freight, nearly emptied
by now, and much shortened, rolled along the
shores of Owen Lake. At a place called Keeler it
stopped definitely. It was the terminus of the road.

The town of Keeler was a one-street town, not
unlike Iowa Hill — the post-office, the bar and hotel,
the Odd Fellows' Hall, and the livery stable being
the principal buildings.

393

McTeague

"Where to now?" muttered McTeague to him
self as he sat on the edge of the 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 enormous satisfaction. " Where to now? " he
muttered again. " This is as far as the railroad
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 down to supper now, an' then
I'll hang aroun' the bar this evening till I get the
lay of this land. Maybe this is fruit country, though
it looks more like a cattle country. Maybe it's a
mining country. If it's a mining country," he con
tinued, puckering his heavy eyebrows, " if it's a
mining country, an' the mines are far enough off
the roads, maybe I'd better get to the mines an' lay
quiet for a month before I try to get any farther
south."

He washed* the cinders and dust of a week's rail
roading from his face and hair, put on a fresh pair
of boots, and went down to supper. The dining-
room was of the invariable type of the smaller in
terior towns of California. There was but one table,
covered with oilcloth; rows of benches answered for
chairs; a railroad map, a chromo with a gilt frame
protected by mosquito netting, hung on the walls,
together with a yellowed photograph of the proprie
tor in Masonic regalia. Two waitresses whom the
guests — all men — called by their first names, came
and went with large trays.
394

McTeague

Through the windows outside McTeague ob
served a great number of saddle horses tied to trees
and fences. Each one of these horses had a riata
on the pommel of the saddle. He sat down to the
table, eating his thick hot soup, watching his neigh
bors covertly, listening to everything that was said.
It did not take him long to gather that the country
to the east and south of Keeler was a cattle country.

Not far off, across a range of hills, was the Pana-
mint Valley, where the big cattle ranges were.
Every now and then this name was tossed to and
fro across the table in the flow of conversation —
" Over in the Panamint." " Just going down for a
rodeo in the Panamint." " Panamint brands."
" 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 the other side
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 she was silver; and when
the skunks at Washington lowered the price of
silver, where was I? Fitchered, b'God! "

" I was looking for a job."

" Well, it's mostly cattle down here in the Pana
mint, but since the strike over at Gold Gulch some
of the boys 'have gone prospecting. There's gold
in them damn Panamint Mountains. If you can
find a good long ' contact ' of country rocks you
395

McTeague

ain't far from it. There's a couple of fellars from
Redlands has located four claims around Gold
Gulch. They got a vein eighteen inches wide, an'
Peters says you can trace it for more'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'morrow after some ponies of mine,
an' I'm going to have a look around. You say
you've been a miner? "

" Yes, yes."

" If you're going over that way, you might come
along and see if we can't find a contact, or copper
sulphurets, or something. Even if we don't find
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 Mc
Teague, promptly. Why he should change his
name again the dentist could not say. " Carter "
came to his mind at once, and he answered without
reflecting that he had registered as " Burlington "
when he 'had arrived at the hotel.

" Well, my name's Cribbens," answered the
other. The two shook hands solemnly.

" You're about finished? " continued Cribbens,
pushing back. " Le's go out in 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 discussing the probability of finding gold

in the Panamint hills. It soon became evident that

they held differing theories. McTeague clung,

396

McTeague

to the old prospector's idea that there was no
way of telling where gold was until you actu
ally saw it. Cribbens had evidently read a
good many books upon the subject, and had
already prospected in something of a scientific
manner.

" Shucks! " he exclaimed. " Gi' me a long dis
tinct contact between sedimentary and igneous
rocks, an' I'll sink a shaft without ever seeing
1 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 different lines," said Cribbens. He
tucked the corners of his mustache into his mouth
and sucked the tobacco juice from them. For a
moment he was thoughtful, then he blew out his
mustache abruptly, and exclaimed:

" Say, Carter, le's make a go of this. You got a
little cash I suppose — fifty dollars or so?"

"Huh? Yes— I— I-

" Well, / 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 you
say? "

" 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 mer
chandise store of Keeler — picks, shovels, prospect
ors' hammers, a couple of cradles, pans, bacon,
397

McTeague

flour, coffee, and the like, and they bought a burro
on which to pack their kit.

" Say, by jingo, you ain't got a horse," suddenly
exclaimed Cribbens as they came out of the store.
" You can't get around this country without a pony
of some kind/'

Cribbens already owned and rode a buckskin
cayuse that had to be knocked in the head and
stunned before it could be saddled. " I got an
extry saddle an' a headstall at the hotel that you
can use/' he said, " but you'll have to get a horse."

In the end the dentist bought a mule at the livery
stable for forty dollars. It turned out to be a good
bargain, however, for the mule was a good traveller
and seemed actually to fatten on sage-brush and
potato parings. When the actual transaction took
place, McTeague had been obliged 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
his blankets and disclosed the sack, whistled in
amazement.

" An' me asking you if you had fifty dollars! " he
exclaimed. " You carry your mine right around
with you, don't you? '"

" Huh, I guess so," muttered the dentist. " I —
I just sold a claim I had up in El Dorado County,"
he added.

At five o'clock on a magnificent May morning
the " pardners " jogged out of Keeler, driving the
burro before them. Cribbens rode his cayuse, Mc
Teague following in his rear on the mule.

" Say," remarked Cribbens, " why in thunder
don't you leave that fool canary behind at the hotel?
398

McTeague

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 with me."

" Well, that's the craziest idea I ever heard of,"
remarked Cribbens, " to take a canary along pros
pecting. Why not kid gloves, and be done with
it?"

They travelled leisurely to the southeast during
the day, following a well-beaten cattle road, and
that evening camped on a spur of some hills at the
head of the Panamint Valley where there was a
spring. The next day they crossed the Panamint
itself.

" That's a smart looking valley," observed the
dentist.

" Now you're talking straight talk," returned
Cribbens, sucking his mustache. The valley was
beautiful, wide, level, and very green. Everywhere
were herds of cattle, scarcely less wild than deer.
Once or twice cowboys passed them on the road,
big-boned fellows, picturesque in their broad hats,
hairy trousers, jingling spurs, and revolver belts,
surprisingly like the pictures McTeague remem
bered to have seen. Everyone of them knew Crib
bens, and almost invariably joshed him on his ven
ture.

" Say, Crib, ye'd best take a wagon train with ye
to bring your dust back."

Cribbens resented their humor, and after they
had passed, chewed fiercely on his mustache.

" I'd like to make a strike, b'God! if it was only
to get the laugh on them joshers."

399

McTeague

By noon they were climbing the eastern slope of
the Panamint Range. Long since they had aban
doned the road; vegetation ceased; not a tree was in
sight. They followed faint cattle trails that led
from one water hole to another. By degrees these
water holes grew dryer and dryer, and at three
o'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 forehead with the back of his hand.

"Huh!" snorted the other more grimly than
ever. The motionless air was like the mouth of a
furnace. Cribbens's pony lathered and panted. Mc-
Teague's mule began to droop his long ears. Only
the little burro plodded resolutely on, picking the
trail where McTeague could see but trackless sand
and stunted sage. Towards evening Cribbens, who
was in the lead, drew rein on the summit of the
hills.

Behind them was the beautiful green Panamint
Valley, but before and below 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. In the immediate foreground a
broken system of arroyos, and little canons tumbled
down to meet it. To the north faint blue hills shoul
dered themselves 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 to
prospect. Gold Gulch " — he pointed with the butt
of his quirt — " is about eighteen or nineteen miles

400

McTeague

along here to the north of us. Those hills way
over yonder to the northeast are the Telescope
hills."

" What do you call the desert out yonder? " Mc-
Teague's eyes wandered over the illimitable stretch
of alkali that stretched out forever and forever to the
east, to the north, and to the south.

"That," said Cribbens, "that's Death Valley."

There was a long pause. The horses panted ir
regularly, the sweat dripping from their heaving
bellies. Cribbens and the dentist sat motionless in
their saddles, looking out over that abominable
desolation, silent, troubled.

" God! " ejaculated Cribbens at length, under his
breath, with a shake of his head. Then he seemed
to rouse himself. " Well," he remarked, " first
thing we got to do now is to find water."

This was a long and difficult task. They de
scended into one little canon after another, followed
the course of numberless arroyos, and even 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 or twice through
his nostrils.

" Smells it, the son of a gun! " exclaimed Crib
bens. The dentist let the animal have his head, and
in a few minutes he had brought them to the bed of
a tiny canon where a thin stream of brackish water
filtered over a ledge of rocks.

" We'll camp here," observed Cribbens, " but we

can't turn the horses loose. We'll have to picket

'em with the lariats. I saw some loco-weed back

here a piece, and if they get to eating that, they'll

26 401

McTeague

sure go plum crazy. 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 direc
tions along the slope of the range, examining rocks,
picking and chipping at ledges and bowlders, look
ing for signs, prospecting. McTeague went up
into the little canons where the streams had cut
through the bed rock, searching for veins of quartz,
breaking out this quartz when he had found it,
pulverizing and panning it. Cribbens hunted for
" contacts," closely examining country rocks
and out-crops, continually on the lookout for
spots where sedimentary and igneous rock came
together.

One day, after a week of prospecting, they met
unexpectedly on the slope of an arroyo. It was late
in the afternoon. " Hello, pardner," exclaimed
Cribbens as he came down to where McTeague
was bending over his pan. " What luck? "

The dentist emptied his pan and straightened up.
" Nothing, nothing. You struck anything? "

" Not a trace. Guess we might as well be mov
ing towards camp." They returned together, Crib
bens telling the dentist of a group of antelope he
had seen.

" We migiht lay off to-morrow, an' see if we can
plug a couple of them fellers. Antelope steak
would go pretty well after beans an' bacon an' coffee
week in an' week out."

McTeague was answering, wlien Cribbens inter
rupted him with an exclamation of profound dis
gust. " I thought we were the first to prospect
402

McTeague

along in here, an' now look at that. Don't it make
you sick?"

He pointed out evidences of an abandoned pros
pector's camp just before them — charred ashes,
empty tin cans, one or two gold-miner's pans, and
a broken pick. " Don't that make you sick? " mut
tered CribbenC, sucking his mustache furiously.
' To think of us mushheads going over ground
that's been 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
of ours is pretty low."

" Yes, yes, I guess so," assented the dentist.
" There ain't any gold here."

"Yes, there is," protested Cribbens doggedly;
" there's gold all through these hills, if we could
only strike it. I tell you what, pardner, I got a
place in mind where I'll bet no one ain't prospected
— least not very many. There don't very many
care to try an' get to it. It's over on the other side
of Death Valley. It's called Gold Mountain, an5
there's only one mine been located there, an' it's
paying like a nitrate bed. There ain'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 Range fur 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 Pana-
mint some hundred or so miles, maybe two hun
dred, an' fetch around by the Armagosa River, way
to the south'erd. We could prospect on the way.
But I guess the Armagosa'd be dried up at this sea
son. Anyhow," he concluded, " we'll move camp
403

McTeague

to the south to-morrow. We got to get new feed
an' water for the horses. We'll see if we can knock
over a couple of antelope to-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 side of one of the smaller
gulches. " Here's some slate here; I ain't seen no
slate around here yet. Let's see where it goes to."

McTeague followed him along the side of the
gulch. Cribbens went on ahead, muttering to him
self from time to time:

" Runs right along here, even enough, and here's
water too. Didn't know this 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 the back 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 at it, will
you? That's grano-diorite on slate. Couldn't
want it any more distinct than that. God! if we
could only find the quartz between the two now."

" Well, there it is," exclaimed McTeague.
"Look on ahead there; ain't that quartz?"

" You're shouting right out loud," vociferated
Cribbens, looking where McTeague was pointing.
His face went suddenly pale. He turned to the
dentist, his eyes wide.

" By God, pardner," he exclaimed, breathlessly,
" By God—" he broke off abruptly.
404

McTeague

"That's what you been looking for, ain't it?"
asked the dentist

" Looking for! Looking for! " Cribbens checked
himself. " That's slate all right, and that's grano-
diorite, / know " — he bent down and examined the
rock — "and here's the quartz between 'em; there
can't be no mistake about that. Gi' me that ham
mer," he cried, excitedly. " Come on, git to work.
Jab into the quartz with your pick; git out some
chunks of it." Cribbens went down on his hands
and knees, attacking the quartz vein furiously. The
dentist followed his example, swinging his pick with
enormous force, splintering the rocks at every
stroke. Cribbens was talking to himself in his
excitement.

" Got you this time, you son of a gun! By God!
I guess we got you this time, at last. Looks like it,
anyhow. Get a move on, pardner. There ain't
anybody 'round, is there? Hey? " Without look
ing, he drew his revolver 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 our claim. I guess we got it this tide, pard
ner. Come on." He gathered up the chunks of
quartz he had broken out, and put them in his hat
and started 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 too much. Maybe we're fooled.
Lord, that damn camp's a long ways off. Oh, I
ain't goin' to fool along this way. Come on, pard
ner." He broke into a run. McTeague followed
405

McTeague

at a lumbering gallop. Over the scorched, parched
ground, 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 Crib-
bens. " I 'can't, can you? 'Twouldn't be visible
nohow, I guess. Hurry up. Lord, we ain't ever
going 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 the lumps to fine dust in the iron
mortar while Cribbens set up the tiny scales and
got out the " spoons " from their outfit.

" That's fine enough," Cribbens exclaimed, im
patiently. " Now we'll spoon her. Gi' me the
water."

Cribbens scooped up a spoonful of the fine white
powder and began to spoon it carefully. The two
were on their hands and knees upon the ground,
their heads close together, still panting with excite
ment and the exertion of their run.

" Can't do it," exclaimed Cribbens, sitting back
on his heels, " hand shakes so. You take it, pard
ner. Careful, now."

McTeague took the horn spoon and began rock
ing it gently in his huge fingers, sluicing the water
over the edge a little at a time, each movement
washing away a little more of the powdered quartz.
The two watched it with the intensest eagerness.

"Don't see it yet; don't see it yet," whispered
Cribbens, chewing his mustache. " Leetle faster,
406

McTeague

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 Mc
Teague spooned it steadily. Then at last a thin
streak of a foreign substance began to show just
along the edge. It was yellow.

Neither spoke. Cribbens dug his nails into the
sand, and ground his mustache between his teeth.
The yellow streak broadened as the quartz sediment
washed away. Cribbens whispered:

" We got it, pardner. That's gold."

McTeague washed the last of the white quartz
dust away, 'and let the water trickle after it. A
pinch of gold, fine as flour, was left in the bottom
of the spoon.

" There you are," he said. The two looked at
each other. Then Cribbens rose into the air with a
great leap and a yell that could have been heard 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 with incon
ceivable rapidity. " Put it there, old man," he
shouted, gripping McTeague's palm.

"That's gold, all right," muttered McTeague,
studying the contents of the 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 her out
an' put up the location notice. We'll take our full
acreage, you bet. You — we haven't weighed this
yet. Where's the scales? " He weighed the pinch

407

McTeague

of gold with shaking hands. " Two grains," he
cried. " That'll run five dollars to the ton. Rich,
it's rich; it's the richest kind of pay, pardner. We're
millionaires. Why don't you say something? Why
don't you get excited? W'hy don't you run around
an' do something? "

"Huh!" said McTeague, rolling his eyes.
" Huh! / know, I know, we've struck it pretty rich."

" Come on," exclaimed Cribbens, jumping up
again. " We'll stake 'her out an' put up the loca
tion notice. Lord, suppose anyone should have
come on 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'll tell you
those right now. Bring the rifle, pardner, an' if
you see anyone, 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 think those other mushheads had
their camp within gunshot of her and never located
her. Guess they didn't know the meaning of a
' contact.' Oh, I knew 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 more
chunks of quartz in the vein.

" I'll spoon this too, just for the fun of it, when I
get home," he explained, as they tramped back to
the camp.

" Well," said the dentist, " we got the laugh on
those cowboys,"

McTeague

"Have we?" shouted Cribbens. "Have we?
Just wait and see the rush for this place when we tell
'em about it down in Keeler. Say, what'll we call
her?"

" I don' know, I don' know."

" We might call her the ' Last Chance.' Twas
our last chance, wasn't it? We'd 'a' gone antelope
shooting to-morrow, 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 canon. Cribbens, looking back, saw him stand
ing motionless in his tracks.

"What's up?" asked Cribbens a second time.

McTeague slowly turned his head and looked
over one shoulder, then over the other. Suddenly
he wheeled sharply about, cocking the Winchester
and tossing it to his shoulder.

Cribbens ran back to his side, whipping out his
revolver.

" What is it? " he cried. " See anybody? " He
peered on ahead through the gathering 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 den
tist, lowering the rifle. " There was something."

" What? "

" Something — didn't you notice? "

"Notice what?"

" I don' know. Something — something or
other."

409

McTeague

"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 fool
ishly.

" What d'you think you saw — anybody on the
claim?"

" I didn't see anything. I didn't hear any
thing either. I had an idea, that's all; came all
of a sudden, like that. Something, I don' know
what."

" I guess you just imagined something. There
ain't anybody within twenty miles of us, I guess."

" Yes, I guess so, just imagined it, that's the
word."

Half an hour later they had the fire going. Mc
Teague was frying strips of bacon over the coals,
and Cribbens was still chattering and exclaiming
over their great strike. All at once McTeague put
down the frying-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 eastern horizon. " 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 and
410

McTeague

making plans. At last Cribbens rolled over on his
side and slept. The dentist could not sleep.

What! It was warning him again, that strange
sixth sense, that obscure brute instinct. It was
aroused again and clamoring to be obeyed. Here,
in these desolate barren hills, twenty miles from the
nearest human being, it stirred and woke and row-
elled him to be moving on. It had goaded him to
flight from the Big Dipper mine, and he had
obeyed. But now it was different; now he had sud
denly become rich ; he had lighted on a treasure — a
treasure far more valuable than the Big Dipper
mine itself. How was he to leave that? He could
not move on now. He turned about in his blankets.
No, he would not move on. Perhaps it was his
fancy, after all. He saw nothing, heard nothing.
The emptiness of primeval desolation stretched
from him leagues and leagues upon either hand.
The gigantic silence of the night lay close over
everything, like a muffling Titanic palm. Of what
was he suspicious? In that treeless waste an object
could be seen at half a day's journey distant. In
that vast silence the click of a pebble was as audible
as a pistol-shot. And yet therq was nothing, noth
ing.

The dentist settled himself in his blankets and
tried to sleep. In five minutes he was sitting up,
staring into the blue-gray shimmer of the moon
light, straining his ears, watching and listening in
tently. Nothing was in sight. The browned and
broken flanks of the Panamint hills lay quiet and
familiar under the moon. The burro moved its
head with a clinking of its bell; and McTeague's
411

McTeague

mule, dozing on three legs, changed its weight to
another foot, with a long breath. Everything fell
silent again.

" What is it? " muttered the dentist. " If I could
only see something, hear something."

He threw off the blankets, and, rising, climbed to
the summit of the nearest hill and looked back in
the direction in which he and Cribbens had travelled
a fortnight before. For half an hour he waited,
watching and listening in vain. But as he returned
to camp, and prepared to roll his blankets about
him, the strange impulse rose in him again abruptly,
never so strong, never so insistent. It seemed as
though he were bitted and ridden; as if some un
seen 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 leave the claim, and leave a
fortune ! What a fool I'd be, when I can't see any
thing or hear anything. To leave a fortune ! No, I
won't. No, by God!" He drew Cribbens's Win
chester toward him and slipped a cartridge into the
magazine.

" No," he growled. " Whatever 'happens, I'm
going to stay. If anybody comes — " He de
pressed the lever of the rifle, and sent the cartridge
clashing into the breech.

" I ain't going to sleep," he muttered under his
mustache. " I can't sleep; I'll watch." He rose
a second time, clambered to the nearest hilltop
and sat down, drawing the blanket around him, and
laying the Winchester across his knees. The hours
412

McTeague

passed. The dentist sat on the hilltop a motionless,
crouching figure, inky black against the pale blur
of the sky. By and by the edge of the eastern hori
zon began to grow blacker and more distinct in out
line. The dawn was coming. Once more Mc
Teague felt the mysterious intuition of approaching
danger; an unseen hand seemed reining his head
eastward; a spur was in his flanks that seemed
to urge him to hurry, hurry, hurry. The influ
ence grew stronger with every moment. The
dentist set his great jaws together and held his
ground.

" No," he growled between his set teeth. " No,
I'll stay." He made a long circuit around the camp,
even going as far as the first stake of the new claim,
his Winchester cocked, his ears pricked, his eyes
alert. There was nothing; yet as plainly as though
it were shouted at the very nape of 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 the cocked rifle ready, " I — I'd
show him."

He returned to camp. Cribbens was snoring.
The burro had come down to the stream for its
morning drink. The mule was awake and brows
ing. McTeague stood irresolutely by the cold
ashes of the camp-fire, looking from side to side
with all the suspicion and wariness of a tracked
stag. Stronger and stronger grew the strange im
pulse. It seemed to him that on the next instant
he must perforce wheel sharply eastward and rush
away headlong in a clumsy, lumbering gallop. He

McTeague

fought against it with all the ferocious obstinacy
of his simple brute nature.

" Go, and leave the mine? Go and leave a mil
lion dollars? No, no, I won't go. No, I'll stay.
Ah," he exclaimed, under his breath, with a shake
of his huge head, like >an exasperated and 'harassed
brute, " all, show yourself, will you? " He brought
the rifle to his shoulder and covered point after point
along the range of hills to the west. " Come on,
show yourself. Come on a little, all of you. I ain't
afraid of you; but don't skulk this way. You ain't
going to drive me away from my mine. I'm going
to stay."

An hour passed. Then two. The stars winked
out, and the dawn whitened. The air became
warmer. The whole east, clean of clouds, flamed
opalescent from horizon to zenith, crimson at the
base, where the earth blackened against it; at the
top fading from pink to pale yellow, to green, to
light blue, to the turquoise iridescence of the desert
sky. The long, thin shadows of the early hours
drew backward like receding serpents, then sud
denly 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 the Pana-
mint hills, following an old and faint cattle trail.
Before him he drove his mule, laden with blankets,
provisions for six days, Cribbens's rifle, and a
canteen full of water. Securely bound to the pom
mel of the saddle was the canvas sack with its pre
cious five thousand dollars, all in twenty-dollar gold
414

McTeague

pieces. But strange enough in that horrid waste
of sand and sage was the object that McTeague
himself persistently carried — the canary in its cage,
about which he had carefully wrapped a couple of
old flour-bags.

At about five o'clock that morning McTeague
had crossed several trails which seemed to be con
verging, and, guessing that they led to a water hole,
had followed one of them and had brought up at a
sort of small sun-dried sink which nevertheless con
tained a little water at the bottom. He had watered
the mule here, refilled the canteen, and drank deep
himself. He had also dampened the old flour-sacks
around the bird cage to protect the little canary as
far as possible from the heat that he knew would in
crease now with every hour. He had made ready
to go forward again, but had paused irresolute
again, hesitating for the last time.

" I'm a fool," he growled, scowling back at the
range behind him. " I'm a fool. What's the mat
ter with me? I'm just walking right away from a
million 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 like that."
He had wheeled the mule about, and had started to
return on his tracks, grinding his teeth fiercely, in
clining his head forward as though butting against
a wind that would beat him back. " Go on, go on,"
he cried, sometimes addressing the mule, sometimes
himself. " Go on, go back, go back. I will go
back." It was as though he were climbing a hill
that grew steeper with every stride. The strange
impelling instinct fought his advance yard by yard.
415

McTeague

By degrees the dentist's steps grew slower; he
stopped, went forward again cautiously, almost feel
ing his way, like someone approaching a pit in the
darkness. He stopped again, hesitating, gnashing
his teeth, clinching his fists with blind fury. Sud
denly he turned the mule about, and once more set
his face to the eastward.

" I can't," he cried aloud to the desert; " I can't,
I can't. It's 'Stronger than I am. I can't go back.
Hurry now, hurry, hurry, hurry."

He hastened on furtively, his head and shoulders
bent. At times one could 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 his forehead and
shaded his small, twinkling eyes. At times, with
a vague, nearly automatic gesture, he reached his
hand forward, the fingers prehensile, and directed
towards the 'horizon, as if he would clutch it and
draw it nearer; and at intervals he muttered,
" Hurry, hurry, hurry on, hurry on." For now at
last McTeague was afraid.

His plans were uncertain. He remembered
what Cribbens had said about the Armagosa Moun
tains in the country on the other side of Death
Valley. It was all hell to get into that country,
Cribbens 'had said, and not many men went there,
because of the terrible valley of alkali that barred
the way, a horrible vast sink of white sand and salt
below even the sea level, the dry bed, no doubt, of
some prehistoric lake. But McTeague resolved to
make a circuit of the valley, keeping to the south,
416

McTeague

until he should strike the Armagosa River. He
would make a circuit of the valley and come up on
the other side. He would get into that country
around Gold Mountain in the Armagosa hills,
barred off from the world by the leagues of the red-
hot alkali of Death Valley. " They " would hardly
reac'h him there. He would stay at Gold Moun
tain two or three months, and then work his way
down into Mexico.

McTeague tramped steadily forward, still descend
ing the lower irregularities of the Panamint Range.
By nine o'clock the slope flattened out abruptly;
the hills were behind him; before him, to the east,
all was level. He had reached the region where
even the sand and sage-brush begin to dwindle,
giving place to white, powdered alkali. The trails
were numerous, but old and faint; and they had
been made by cattle, 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," muttered the dentist, " I ought to find
water up in the arroyos from time to time."

At once he uttered an exclamation. The mule
had begun to squeal and lash out with alternate
hoofs, his eyes rolling, his ears flattened. He ran
a few steps, halted, and squealed again. Then, sud
denly wheeling at right angles, set off on a jog trot
to the north, squealing and kicking from time to
time. McTeague ran after him shouting and swear
ing, but for a long time the mule would not allow
himself to be caught. He seemed more bewildered
than frightened.

27 417

McTeague

" He's eatun some of that loco-weed that Crib-
bens spoke about," panted McTeague. " Whoa,
there; steady, you." At length the mule stopped
of his own accord, and seemed to come to his
senses again. McTeague came up and took
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 hori
zon was one vast span of blue, whitening as it
dipped earthward. Miles upon miles to the east
and southeast the desert unrolled itself, white,
naked, inhospitable, palpitating and shimmering
under the sun, unbroken by so much as a rock or
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 sage-brush; here the
earths and sands were yellow, ochre, and rich, deep
red, the hollows and canons picked out with intense
blue shadows. It seemed strange that such bar
renness could exhibit this radiance of color, but
nothing could have been more beautiful than the
deep red of the higher bluffs and ridges, seamed
with purple shadows, standing sharply out against
the pale-blue whiteness of the horizon.

By nine o'clock the sun stood high in the sky.
The heat was intense; the atmosphere was thick and
heavy with it. McTeague gasped for breath and
wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead,
his cheeks, and his neck. Every inch and pore of
418

McTeague

his skin was tingling and pricking under the merci
less lash of the sun's rays.

" If it gets much hotter," he muttered, with a
long breath, " If it gets much hotter, I — I don'
know — " he wagged his head and wiped the sweat
from 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 tiny
flakes under his feet. The twigs of the sage-brush
snapped like brittle pipestems as he pushed through
them. It grew hotter. At eleven the earth was
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 disk of molten brass
swimming in the burnt-out blue of the sky. Mc
Teague stripped oft his woollen shirt, and even un
buttoned his flannel undershirt, tying a handker
chief 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 visibly shimmering and palpitating under it.
At noon a mirage appeared on the hills to the
northwest. McTeague halted the mule, and drank
from the tepid 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,
grinding footsteps died away, the silence, vast,
illimitable, enfolded him like an immeasurable tide.
From all that gigantic landscape, that colossal reach
of baking sand, there arose not a single sound. Not
a twig rattled, not an insect hummed, not a bird or
419

McTeague

beast invaded that huge solitude with call or cry.
Everything as far as the eye could reach, to north,
to south, to east, and west, lay inert, absolutely quiet
and moveless under the remorseless scourge of the
noon sun. The very shadows shrank away, hiding
under sage-bushes, retreating to the farthest nooks
and crevices in the canons of the hills. All the
world was one gigantic blinding glare, silent, mo
tionless. " If it gets much hotter," murmured the
dentist again, moving his head from side to side,
" If it gets much hotter, I don' know what I'll do."

Steadily the heat increased. At three o'clock it
was even more terrible than it had been at noon.

" Ain't it ever going to let up? " groaned the den
tist, rolling his eyes at the sky of hot blue brass.
Then, as he spoke, the stillness was abruptly stabbed
through and through by a shrill sound that seemed
to come from all sides at once. It ceased; then, as
McTeague took another forward step, began again
with the suddenness of a blow, shriller, nearer at
hand, a hideous, prolonged note that brought both
man and mule to an instant halt.

" I know what that is," exclaimed the dentist. His
eyes searched the ground swiftly until he saw what
he expected he should see — the round thick coil, the
slowly waving clover-shaped head and erect whir
ring tail with its vibrant rattles.

For fully thirty seconds the man and snake re
mained looking into each other's eyes. Then the
snake uncoiled and swiftly wound from sight amidst
the sage-brush. McTeague drew breath again, and
his eyes once more beheld the illimitable leagues of
quivering sand and alkali.
420

McTeague

" Good Lord! What a country! " he exclaimed.
But his voice was trembling as he urged forward
the mule once more.

Fiercer and fiercer grew the heat as the afternoon
advanced. At four McTeague stopped again. He
was dripping at every pore, but there was no relief
in perspiration. The very touch of his clothes upon
his body was unendurable. The mule's ears were
drooping and his tongue lolled from his mouth.
The cattle trails seemed to be drawing together
toward a common point ; perhaps a water 'hole was
near by.

" I'll have to lay up, sure," muttered the dentist.
" I ain't made to travel in such heat as this."

He drove the mule up into one of the larger
canons and halted in the shadow of a pile of red
rock. After a long search he found water, a few
quarts, warm and brackish, at the bottom of a hollow
of sun-cracked 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 turn
ing him loose to find what nourishment 'he might.
A few hours later the sun set in a cloudless glory of
red and gold, and the heat became by degrees less
intolerable. McTeague cooked his supper, chiefly
coffee and bacon, and watched the twilight come on,
revelling in the delicious coolness of the evening.
As he spread his blankets on the ground he resolved
that hereafter he would travel only at night, laying
up in the daytime in the shade of the canons.
He was exhausted with his terrible day's march.
Never in his life had sleep seemed so sweet to
him.

421

McTeague

But suddenly he was broad awake, his jaded
senses all alert.

" What was that? " he muttered. " I thought I
heard something — saw something."

He rose to 'his feet, reaching for the Winchester.
Desolation lay still around him. There was not a
sound but his own breathing; on the face of the
desert not a grain of sand was in motion. Mc
Teague looked furtively and quickly from side to
side, his teeth set, his eyes rolling. Once more the
rowel was in his flanks, once more an unseen hand
reined 'him toward the east. After all the miles of
that dreadful day's flight 'he was no better off than
when he started. If anything, he was worse, for
never had that mysterious instinct in him been more
insistent than now; never had the impulse toward
precipitate flight been stronger; never had the spur
bit deeper. Every nerve of his body cried aloud
for rest; yet every instinct seemed aroused and alive,
goading him to hurry on, to hurry on.

"What is it, then? What is it?" he cried, be
tween his teeth. " Can't I ever get rid of you?
Ain't I ever going to shake you off? Don' keep it
up this way. Show yourselves. Let's have it out
right away. Come on. I ain't afraid if you'll only
come on; but don't skulk this way." Suddenly he
cried aloud in a frenzy of exasperation, " Damn you,
come on, will you? -Come on and have it out."
His rifle was at his shoulder, <he was covering bush
after bush, rock after rock, aiming at every denser
shadow. All at once, and quite involuntarily, his
forefinger crooked, and the rifle spoke and flamed.
The canons roared back the echo, tossing it out far
422

McTeague

over the desert in a rippling, widening wave of
sound.

McTeague lowered the rifle hastily, with an ex
clamation of dismay.

" You fool," he said to -himself, " you fool.
You've done it now. They could hear that miles
away. You've done it now."

He stood listening intently, the rifle smoking in
his 'hands. The last echo died away. The smoke
vanished, the vast silence closed upon the passing
echoes of the rifle as the ocean closes upon a ship's
wake. Nothing moved; yet McTeague bestirred
himself sharply, rolling up his blankets, resaddling
the mule, getting his outfit together again. From
time to time he muttered:

" Hurry now; hurry on. You fool, you've done
it now. They could hear that miles away. Hurry
now. They ain't far off now."

As he depressed the lever of the rifle to reload
it, he found that the magazine was empty. He
clapped his hands to his sides, feeling rapidly first
in one pocket, then in another. He had forgotten
to take extra cartridges with him. McTeague
swore under his breath as he flung the rifle away.
Henceforth he must travel unarmed.

A little more water had gathered in the mud hole
near which he had camped. He watered the mule
for the last time and wet the sacks around the can
ary's cage. Then once more he set forward.

But there was a change in the direction of Mc-

Teague's flight. Hitherto he had held to the south,

keeping upon the very edge of the hills; now he

turned sharply at right angles. The slope fell away

423

McTeague

beneath his hurrying feet; the sage-brush dwindled,
and at length ceased; the sand gave place to a fine
powder, white as snow; and an hour after he ha.d
fired the rifle his mule's hoofs were crisping and
cracking the sun-baked flakes of alkali on the sur
face of Death Valley.

Tracked and harried, as he felt himself to be, from
one camping place to another, McTeague had sud
denly resolved to make one last effort to rid himself
of the enemy that seemed to hang upon his heels.
He would strike straight out into that horrible wil
derness where even the beasts were afraid. He
would cross Death Valley at once and put its arid
wastes between him and his pursuer.

" You don't dare follow me now," he muttered,
as he hurried on. " Let's see you come out here
after me."

He hurried on swiftly, urging the mule to a rapid
racking walk. Towards four o'clock the sky in
front of him began to flush pink and golden. Mc
Teague halted and breakfasted, pushing on again
immediately afterward. The dawn flamed and
glowed like a brazier, and the sun rose a vast red-
hot coal floating in fire. An hour passed, then
another, and another. It was about nine o'clock.
Once more the dentist paused, and stood panting
and blowing, his arms dangling, his eyes screwed
up and blinking as he looked about him.

Far behind him the Panamint hills were already
but blue hummocks on the horizon. Before him
and upon either side, to the north and to the east
and to the south, stretched primordial desolation.
League upon league the infinite reaches of daz-
424

McTeague

zling white alkali laid themselves out like an im
measurable scroll unrolled from horizon to horizon;
not a bush, not a twig relieved that horrible monot
ony. Even the sand of the desert would have been
a welcome sight; a single clump of sage-brush
would have fascinated the eye; but this was worse
than the desert. It was abominable, this hideous
sink of alkali, this bed of some primeval lake lying
so far below the level of the ocean. The great
mountains of Placer County had been merely in
different to man; but this awful sink of alkali was
openly and unreservedly iniquitous and malignant.

McTeague had told himself that the heat upon the
lower slopes of the Panamint .had been dreadful;
here in Death Valley it became a thing of terror.
There was no longer any shadow but his own. He
was scorc'hed and parched from head to heel. It
seemed to him that the smart of his tortured body
could not -have been keener if he had been flayed.

" If it gets much 'hotter," he muttered, wringing
the sweat from his thick fell of 'hair and mustache,
" If it gets much hotter, I don' know what I'll do."
He was thirsty, and drank a little from his canteen.
" I ain't got any too much water," 'he murmured,
shaking the canteen. " I got to get out of this place
in a hurry, sure."

By eleven o'clock the heat had increased to such
an extent that McTeague could feel the burning of
the ground come pringling and stinging through
the soles of his boots. Every step he took threw
up clouds of impalpable alkali dust, salty and chok
ing, so that he strangled and coughed and sneezed
with it.

425

McTeague

" Lord! what a country! " exclaimed the dentist.

An hour later, the mule stopped and lay down,
his jaws wide open, his ears dangling. McTeague
washed his mouth with a handful of water and for
a 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 a steam
ship. The sun, small and contracted, swam molten
overhead.

" I can't stand it," said McTeague at length.
" I'll have to stop and make some kinda shade."

The mule was crouched upon the ground, pant
ing rapidly, with half-closed eyes. The dentist re
moved the saddle, and unrolling his blanket,
propped it up as best he could between him and the
sun. As he stooped down to crawl beneath it, his
palm touched the ground. He snatched it away
with a cry of pain. The surface alkali was oven-hot;
he was obliged to scoop out a trench in it before he
dared to lie down.

By degrees the dentist began to doze. He had
had little or no sleep the night before, and the hurry
of his flight under the blazing sun had exhausted
him. But his rest was broken; between waking and
sleeping, all manner of troublous images galloped
through 'his brain. He thought he was back in the
Panamint hills again with Cribbens. They had
just discovered the mine and were returning toward
camp. McTeague saw himself as another man,
striding along over the sand and sage-brush. At
once he saw himself stop and wheel sharply about,
peering back suspiciously. There was something
behind him; something was following him. He
426

McTeague

looked, as it were, over the shoulder of this other
McTeague, and saw down there, in the half light of
the canon, something dark crawling upon the
ground, an indistinct gray figure, man or brute, he
did not know. Then he saw another, and another;
then another. A score of black, crawling objects
were following him, crawling from bush to bush,
converging upon him. " They " were after him,
were closing in upon him, were within touch of his
hand, were at his feet — were at his throat.

McTeague jumped up with a shout, oversetting
the blanket. There was nothing in sight. For
miles around, the alkali was empty, solitary, quiver
ing and shimmering under the pelting fire of the
afternoon's sun.

But once more the spur bit into his body, goad
ing him on. There was to be 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 brute felt an
enemy, scented the trackers, clamored and strug
gled and fought, and would not be gainsaid.

" I can't go on," groaned McTeague, his eyes
sweeping the horizon behind him, " 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, scarcely less exhausted than himself, and
pushed on once more over the scorching alkali and
under the blazing sun.

From that time on the fear never left ;him, the
spur never ceased to bite, the instinct that goaded
him to flight never was dumb ; hurry or halt, it was
427

McTeague

all the same. On he went, straight on, chasing the
receding horizon; flagellated with heat; tortured
with thirst; crouching over; looking furtively be
hind, and at times reaching his hand forward, the
fingers prehensile, grasping, as it were, toward the
horizon, that always fled before him.

The sun set upon the third day of McTeague's
flight, night came on, the stars burned slowly into
the cool dark purple of the sky. The gigantic sink
of white alkali glowed like snow. McTeague, now
far into the desert, held steadily on, swinging for
ward with great strides. His enormous strength
held him doggedly to his work. Sullenly, with his
huge jaws gripping stolidly together, he pushed on.
At midnight he stopped.

" Now," he growled, with a certain desperate
defiance, as though he expected to be heard, " Now,
I'm going to lay up and get some sleep. You can
come or not."

He cleared away the hot surface alkali, spread out
his blanket, and slept until the next day's heat
aroused him. His water was so low that he dared
not make coffee now, and so breakfasted without it.
Until ten o'clock he tramped forward, then camped
again in the shade of one of the rare rock ledges,
and " lay up " during the heat of the day. By five
o'clock he was once more on the march.

He travelled on for the greater part of that night,
stopping only once towards three in the morning
to water the mule from the canteen. Again the red-
hot day burned up over the horizon. -Even at six
o'clock it was hot.

" It's going to be worse than ever to-day," he
428

McTeague

groaned. " I wish I could find another rock to
camp by. Ain't I ever going to get out of this
place?"

There was no change in the character of the
desert. Always the same measureless leagues of
white-hot alkali stretched away toward the horizon
on every hand. Here and there the flat, dazzling
surface of the desert broke and raised into long low
mounds, from the summit of which McTeague
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 the ground. Again
and again he ascended the low unevennesses, look
ing and searching for a camping place, shading his
eyes from the glitter of sand and sky.

He tramped forward a little farther, then paused
at length in a hollow between 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.

429

XXII.

Within a month after 'his departure from San
Francisco, Marcus had " gone in on a cattle ranch "
in the Panamint Valley with an Englishman, an ac
quaintance of Mr. Sieppe's. His headquarters were
at a place called Modoc, at the lower extremity of
the valley, about fifty miles by trail to the south of
Keeler.

His life was the life of a cowboy. He realized his
former vision of himself, booted, sombreroed, and
revolvered, passing his days in the saddle and the
better part of his nights around the poker tables in
Modoc's one saloon. To his intense satisfaction
he even involved himself in a gun fight that arose
over a disputed brand, with the result that two
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 one of the
local papers of Independence, the nearest large
town, found its way into the cattle camps on the
ranges, and occasionally one of the Sunday editions
of a Sacramento journal, weeks old, was passed
from hand to 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, Marcus rode into Modoc, to find a
430

McTeague

group of men gathered about a notice affixed to the
outside of the Wells-Fargo office. It was an offer
of reward for the arrest and apprehension of a mur
derer. The crime had been committed in San
Francisco, but the man wanted had been traced as
far as the western portion of Inyo County, and was
believed at that time to be in hiding in either
the Pinto or Panamint hills, in the vicinity of
Keeler.

Marcus reached Keeler on the afternoon of that
same day. Half a mile from the town his pony fell
and -died from exhaustion. Marcus did not stop
even to remove the saddle. He arrived in the bar
room of the hotel in Keeler just after the posse had
been made up. The sheriff, who had come down
from Independence that morning, at first refused
his offer of assistance. He had enough men already
— too many, in fact. The country travelled through
would be hard, and it would be difficult to find water
for 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 ceuld pick um out
in a million. I can identify um, and you fellers
can't. And I knew — I knew — good God! I knew
that girl — his wife — in Frisco. She's a cousin of
mine, she is — she was — I thought once of — This
thing's a personal matter of mine — an' that money
he got away with, that five thousand, belongs
to me by rights. Oh, never mind, I'm going along.
Do you 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 try and stop
431

McTeague

me going. Let's see you once, any two of you."
He filled the barroom 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 general merchandise store, from
Whom Marcus had borrowed a second pony, had
informed them that Cribbens and his partner, whose
description tallied exactly with that given in the
notice of reward, had outfitted at his place with a
view to prospecting in the Panamint hills. The
posse trailed them at once to their first camp at the
head of the valley. It was an easy matter. It was
only necessary to inquire of the cowboys and range
riders of the valley if they had seen and noted the
passage of two men, one of whom carried a bird
cage.

Beyond this first camp the trail was lost, and a
week was wasted in a bootless search around the
mine at Gold Gulch, whither it seemed probable
the partners had gone. Then a travelling peddler,
who included Gold Gulch in his route, brought in
the news of a wonderful strike of gold-bearing
quartz some ten miles to the south on the western
slope of the 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 a cage with him.

The posse made Cribbens's camp three days after
the unaccountable disappearance of his partner.
Their man was gone, but the narrow hoof prints of
a mule, mixed with those of huge hob-nailed boots,
could be plainly followed in the sand. Here they
432

McTeague

picked up the trail and held to it steadily till the
point was reached where, instead of tending south
ward it swerved abruptly to the east. The men
could hardly believe their 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 inhabited locality in that direction.
A discussion began as to the further movements
of the posse.

" I don't figure on going into that alkali sink with
no eight men and horses," declared the sheriff.
" One man can't carry enough water to take him
and his mount across, let alone eight. No, sir. Four
couldn't do it. No, three couldn't. We've got to
make a circuit round the valley and come up on the
other side and head 'him off at Gold Mountain.
That's what we got to do, and ride like hell to do it,
too."

But Marcus protested with all the strength of his
lungs against abandoning the trail now that they
had found it. He argued that they were but a day
and a half behind their man now. There was no
possibility of 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 return
long before their water failed them. He, for one,
would not give up the pursuit, now that they
were so close. In the haste of the departure from
Keeler the sheriff had neglected to swear him in.

23 433

McTeague

He was under no orders. He would do as he
pleased.

" Go on, then, you darn fool," answered the
sheriff. " We'll cut on round the valley, for all that.
It's a gamble he'll be at Gold Mountain before
you're half way across. But if you catch him,
here " — he tossed Marcus a pair 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 out in the desert, Marcus's horse
gave out. In the fury of his impatience he had
spurred mercilessly forward on the trail, and on
the morning of the third day found that his horse
was unable to move. The joints of his legs seemed
locked rigidly. He would go his own length,
stumbling and interfering, then collapse helplessly
upon the ground with a pitiful groan. He was used
up.

Marcus believed himself to be close upon Mc
Teague now. The ashes at his last camp had still
been smoldering. Marcus took what supplies of
food and water he could carry, and hurried on. But
McTeague was farther ahead than he had guessed,
and by evening of his third day upon the desert
Marcus, raging with thirst, had drunk his last
mouthful of water and had flung away the empty
canteen.

" If he ain't got water with um," he said to him
self as he pushed on, " If he ain't got water with
um, by damn! I'll be in a bad way. I will, for a
fact."

At Marcus's shout McTeague looked up and
434

McTeague

around him. For the instant he saw no one. The
white glare of alkali was still unbroken. Then his
swiftly rolling eyes lighted upon a head and shoul
der that protruded above the low crest of the break
directly in front of him. A man was there, lying at
full length upon the ground, covering him with a
revolver. For a few seconds McTeague looked at
the man stupidly, bewildered, confused, as yet with
out definite thought. Then he noticed that the man
was singularly like Marcus Schouler. It was Mar
cus Schouler. How in the world did Marcus
Schouler come to be in that desert? What did he
mean by pointing a pistol at him that way? He'd
best look out or the pistol would go off. Then his
thoughts readjusted themselves with a swiftness
born of a vivid sense of danger. Here was the
enemy at last, the tracker he had felt upon his foot
steps. Now at length he had " come on " and
shown himself, after all those days of skulking.
McTeague was glad of it. He'd show him now.
They two would have it out right then and there.
His rifle! He had thrown it away long since. He
was helpless. Marcus had ordered him to put up
his ihands. 'If he did not, Marcus would kill him.
He had the drop on him. McTeague stared,
scowling fiercely at the levelled pistol. He did not
move.

"Hands up!" shouted Marcus a second time.
" I'll give you three to do it in. One, two "

Instinctively McTeague put his hands above his
head.

Marcus rose and came towards him over the
break.

435

McTeague

" 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; but McTeague 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 some distance away, snorting
nervously, and from time to time flattening his
long 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 he muttered:

" 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
at him sullenly. Marcus had caught his enemy, had
run down the man for whom every officer in the
State had been looking. What should he do with
him now? He couldn't keep him standing there
forever with his hands over his head.

" 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.
436

McTeague

" He acted that way once before," explained Mc
Teague, his hands still in the air. " He ate some
loco-weed back in the hills before I started."

For a moment Marcus hesitated. While he was
catching the mule McTeague might get away. But
where to, in heaven's name? A rat could not 'hide
on the surface of that glistening alkali, and besides,
all McTeague's store of provisions and his priceless
supply of water were on the mule. Marcus ran
after the mule, revolver in hand, shouting and curs
ing. But the mule would not be caught. He acted
as if possessed, squealing, lashing out, and gallop
ing 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
the saddle."

McTeague came up.

" He's eatun some loco-weed," he repeated. " He
went kinda crazy once before."

" 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 and inclose 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 once before."

" Oh, I guess we can catch him," answered Mar
cus, reassuringly.

Already the sense of enmity between the two had
weakened in the face of a common peril. Marcus
let down the hammer of his revolver and slid it back
into the holster.

437

McTeague

The mule was trotting on ahead, snorting and
throwing up great clouds of alkali dust. At every
step the canvas sack jingled, and McTeague's bird
cage, still wrapped in the flour-bags, bumped
against the saddle-pads. By and 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 length of the bridle when the
mule shied from him abruptly and galloped away.

Marcus danced with rage, shaking his fists, and
swearing horribly. Some hundred yards away the
mule paused and began blowing and snuffing in the
alkali 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 terrible heat of the desert sun, the
two men followed the mule, racked with a thirst
that grew fiercer every hour. A dozen times they
could almost touch the canteen of water, and as
often the distraught animal shied away and fled be
fore them. At length Marcus cried:

" It's no use, we can't catch him, and we're kill
ing ourselves with thirst. We got to take our
438

McTeague

chances." He drew his revolver from its holster,
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 and fired.

" You got him," cried McTeague. " No, he's up
again. Shoot him again. He's going to bolt."

Marcus ran on, firing as he ran. The mule, one
foreleg trailing, scrambled along, squealing and
snorting. Marcus fired his last shot. The mule
pitched forward upon his head, then, rolli'ng side
ways, fell upon the canteen, bursting it open and
spilling its entire contents into the sand.

Marcus and McTeague ran up, and Marcus
snatched the battered canteen from under the reek
ing, bloody hide. There was no water left. Mar
cus flung the canteen from him and stood up, facing
McTeague. There was a pause.

" We're dead men," said Marcus.

McTeague looked from him out over the desert.
Chaotic desolation stretched from them on either
hand, flaming and glaring with the afternoon heat.
There was the brazen sky and the leagues upon
leagues of alkali, leper white. There was nothing
more. They were in the heart of Death 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't
thirsty enough for that yet."

" Where's the nearest water? "
439

McTeague

" Well, it's about a hundred miles or more back
of us in the Panamint hills," returned Marcus, dog
gedly. " We'd be crazy long before we reached it.
I tell you, we're done for, by damn, we're done for.
We ain't ever going 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 — some
where."

" 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 with the 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 hear my tongue rubbing
against the roof of my mouth."

" Well, we can't stop here," said Marcus, finally;
"we got to go somewhere. 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 met as the same thought
simultaneously rose in their minds. The canvas
sack with its five thousand dollars was still tied to
the horn of the saddle.

440

McTeague

Marcus had emptied his revolver at the mule, and
though he still wore his cartridge belt, he was for
the moment as unarmed as McTeague.

" I guess," began McTeague coming forward a
step, " I guess, even if we are done for, I'll take —
some of my truck along."

" Hold on," exclaimed Marcus, with rising ag
gressiveness. " Let's talk about 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 an
cient hate, was flaming up again.

" Don't try an' load that gun either," cried Mc
Teague, fixing Marcus with his little eyes.

" Then don't lay your finger on that sack,"
shouted the other. " You're my prisoner, do you
understand? You'll do as I say." Marcus had
drawn the handcuffs from his pocket, and stood
ready with his revolver held as a club. " You
soldiered me out of that money once, and played me
for a sucker, an' it's my turn now. Don't you lay
your finger on that sack."

Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with pas
sion. McTeague did not answer. His eyes drew
to two fine, twinkling points, and his enormous
hands knotted themselves into fists, hard as wooden
mallets. He moved a step nearer to Marcus, then
another.

Suddenly the men grappled, and in another in
stant \vere rolling and struggling upon the hot white
ground. McTeague thrust Marcus backward until
he tripped and fell over the body of the dead mule.
The little bird cage broke from the saddle with the
441

McTeague

violence of their fall, and rolled out upon the
ground, the flour-bags slipping from it. McTeague
tore the revolver from Marcus's grip and struck out
with it blindly. Clouds of alkali dust, fine and pun
gent, enveloped the two fighting men, all but
strangling them.

McTeague did not know how he killed his enemy,
but all at once Marcus grew still beneath his blows.
Then there was a sudden last return of energy. Mc-
Teague's right wrist was caught, something clicked
upon it, then the struggling body fell limp and mo
tionless 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 last struggle had found
strength to handcuff their wrists together. Marcus
was dead now; McTeague was locked to the body.
All about him, vast, interminable, stretched the
measureless leagues of Death Valley.

McTeague remained stupidly looking around
him, now at the distant horizon, now at the ground,
now at the half-dead canary chittering feebly in its
little gilt prison.

THE END.

442