CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 J\s^ 
 
 STEPHEN E. WHICHER 
 MEMORIAL BOOK COLLECTION 
 
 Gift of 
 MRS. ELIZABETH T. WHICHER 
 
 UNDERGRADUATE LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2472.M17 1903 
 
 McTeague / 
 
 3 1924 014 220 796 
 
 Date Due 
 
 
 Ul>T 
 
 
 
 
 p^ 
 
 kwiA 
 
 
 
 5a. 
 
 
 
 
 ^^E===K, 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 WWiLgyT 1 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN 
 
 U. S, A, 
 
 tgj CAT - 
 
 NO. 23233 
 
McTEAGUE 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Moran of the Lady Letty 
 
 nrao, pp. 275, $1.00 
 
CROWNED MASTERPIECES 
 OF MODERN FICTION 
 SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION 
 
 jflcCeape 
 
 BY 
 
 jfrank Borris 
 
 Author of "The Pit," "The Octopus," " Blix," Etc., Etc. 
 
 NEW TORK ? DOUBLEDAY 
 PAGE & COMPANY 3 1903 
 
Copyright, i8gg, by 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 
 
2»eOicate& to 
 L. E. GATES 
 
 OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014220796 
 
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 less 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 .had 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, filling 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 windbw 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- 
 
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 
 
McTeague 
 
 bicyclist, in which it appeared he had become in- 
 volved, Marcus quivered with rage. " ' Say that 
 again,' says I to um. 'J ust sa y that 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." 
 
 McTeague 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." 
 
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 Mc- 
 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 
 
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." 
 
 M 
 
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 
 l'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 curious 
 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 
 
 25 
 
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 binding 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 oc- 
 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 ficition, 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 was 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! " 
 
 Maria Macapa 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. 
 
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 
 
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 
 
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'tong, 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 foe 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 which 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 wis 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 land, 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 in 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'stiny 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. 
 
 " 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 vagvte 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. 
 
 " 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 
 
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 fingers 
 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 Granhis'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 um." 
 
 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 J 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!" 
 
 48 
 
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 waiscoats. 
 
 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 swearing 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 
 'um 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 jangling 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 : 
 
 51 
 
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 
 
 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 
 fixed. 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, 
 
 S4 
 
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 of 
 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 
 thrfie 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, wliere 
 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 to 
 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 
 two 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." 
 
 61 
 
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 voice 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." i, 
 
 " 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, suddenly 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. Onee more Mc- 
 Teague felt himself saved. 
 
 " To der beach! " shouted Mr. Sieppe. They had 
 checked their baskets at the peanut stand. The 
 72 
 
McTeague 
 
 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 
 tol' 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 trufHe. 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, so 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. 
 
 7S 
 
Mcl^eague 
 
 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 Facific. 
 
 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 rhe 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 shook 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!" 
 83 
 
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, to 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. 
 
 Dimly, 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 she 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 
 " 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 ^night 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 McTeague 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 tamales! " 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? " 
 
 93 
 
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 
 94 
 
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 filled 
 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 was 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 
 9 8 
 
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. The 
 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 
 
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 fingers. 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 
 
 IOI 
 
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 girj 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- 
 
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- 
 ful! 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 " things 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 
 oblige8 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! " 
 
 s 
 
 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." 
 
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 
 ' 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 in the paper that 
 Miss Sieppe had won. We all came down to Mr. 
 Schouler's room and waited for you to come home. 
 I think he must 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 
 
 ■ 
 
 " I'll go bring him down," shouted Marcus; " he's 
 got to join us." 
 
 Miss Baker was in great agitation. 
 
 " I — I hardly think you'd better," she murmured; 
 " he— he — I don't think he drinks beer." 
 
 " He takes his amusement in sewin' 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, Doktor 
 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." 
 H7 
 
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 
 
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, und sing from morgen to 
 night. Und Owgooste, he is sbh 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 ! " 
 
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 dose 
 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 tite-h-tHe. 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 fingers trembled and clawed at 
 his mouth; his breath grew short. 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ! " he exclaimed, " give it here, give 
 it here; give it to me, Maria. That's a good girl, 
 come give it to me." 
 
 They haggled as usual over the price, but to-night 
 ■ Maria was too excited over other matters to spend 
 much time in bickering over a few cents. 
 
 " Look here, Zerkow," she said as soon as the 
 125 
 
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 
 have 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 
 
MgTeague 
 
 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!" 
 
 1 29 
 
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 cduld 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 Noah's ark 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 
 
McTeaguc 
 
 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 f " 
 
 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 tite-h-tites 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 
 
 i 
 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 the 
 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, habituds 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 e.yes 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 fingers 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 Jagging 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 show 
 him— I'll " 
 
 He got up and clapped on his hat. 
 
 " Now, Doctor," remonstrated Heise, standing 
 between him and the door, " don't go make a fool 
 of yourself." 
 
 " Let '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. 
 Heise 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. McTeagae, 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? 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, 
 sitting 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 — 
 151 
 
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 
 152 
 
McTeague 
 
 when she should have been slicing cold 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. 
 153 
 
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 
 154 
 
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, mo.' 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 
 157 
 
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- 1 — 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, 
 159 
 
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 
 hlad 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- 
 160 
 
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 carefulry 
 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. 
 II 161 
 
McTeague 
 
 • At length, after an interminable period of wait- 
 ing, Mr. Sieppe appeared at the door. v. 
 
 " 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, 
 162 
 
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- 
 163 
 
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 
 165 
 
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." 
 
 166 
 
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- 
 167 
 
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 / ever drank." 
 
 There 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 68 
 
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 
 169 
 
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 like 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 
 170 * 
 
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 
 171 
 
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 
 172 
 
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. 
 
 " Ouf," cried Mrs. Sieppe, pushing back, " I haf 
 eatun und eatun, ach, Gott, how I haf eatun! " 
 
 " Ah, dot kaf's het," murmured her husband, 
 passing his tongue over 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 intd his collar. They sang in very 
 slow time. The song became a dirge, a lamentable, 
 prolonged wail of distress : 
 173 
 
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- 
 174 
 
McTeague 
 
 gether, 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 
 175 
 
^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." 
 12 177 
 
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 arid 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. 
 
 178 
 
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 not 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 — ior you're all that I have in the world 
 now." 
 
 1 80 
 
That summer passed, then the winter. The wet 
 season began in the last days pf 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 th.e basket that stood at her 
 elbow. 
 
 182 
 
McTeagvje 
 
 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 
 183 
 
McTeague 
 
 in particular. She had been married but three 
 weeks. After dinner she and little Miss Baker iiad 
 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 halftfmpty 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 aire 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. i 
 
 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 Mc.Teague'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 sq. 
 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 another, 
 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 
 188 
 
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 
 
McTeague 
 
 year following upon the summer of bis 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 
 192 
 
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 fiat 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-; 
 eels. 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 — *o 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, mtich 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 
 i95 
 
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 an 
 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 kinda 
 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 
 1 96 
 
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 " An 
 Idyll," or " Dreams of Love." 
 
 " I think those are lovely, don't you, Mac? " she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered McTeague, nodding his 
 head, bewildered, trying to understand. " 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 T omce 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- N 
 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 was 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 
 
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 
 
McTeague 
 
 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." 
 
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, / 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." 
 
 204 
 
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 anger. 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. 
 
 I" 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 'a' 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 dojt. 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." 
 
 2IO 
 
XI. 
 
 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? " 
 
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 
 for 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 
 219 
 
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. 
 
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 'a' 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 carriage, 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- 
 
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 hav« 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. Heise, 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 
 15 325 
 
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. " 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. 
 
 227 
 
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 
 s 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. i " 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! " 
 
 23G 
 
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 stdry of the famous service of gold plate for 
 the hundredth time. 
 
 Zerkow had come to bejieve 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 would 
 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 fingers 
 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, whereis 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 d'o 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 forgetfulness 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— I 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-bowl 
 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 ear 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. I'll 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? " 
 
 " Loo'k 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. / 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 halt 
 
 " Is he gone? Is he sure gone? " 
 246 
 
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. 
 
 247 
 
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 
 just 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 exeitement 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 hajd 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 goad- 
 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 
 249 
 
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 I'll 
 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." 
 250 
 
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 
 251 
 
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. Lt 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? 
 252 
 
McTeague 
 
 Sure, do you love 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. 
 
 25J 
 
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 wand 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. 
 
 " W.ell, 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 
 
 v. 
 
 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. 
 
 256 
 
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 notiee, " 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 
 
 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. I got to go 
 back to work." He rose. 
 
 " But you can't," cried Trina, the back of hei 
 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. 
 
 Trina 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 
 
McTcague 
 
 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 
 we've 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.' 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. 
 
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. 
 
 269 
 
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 
 
 " 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 I 
 managed to save — that seventy-five." 
 
 " That two hundred, you mean." 
 
 " That seventy-live. 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. I'm 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. I'm 
 giving up everything. I'm going to put them down, 
 see." 
 
 " No." 
 
 And she could get no further than that. The 
 dentist did not lose 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 dipldma, 
 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 
 
 i 
 
 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, 
 '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 fite, 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 
 
McTea'gue 
 
 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 
 join 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 sfcam 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 
 2S5 
 
McTeague 
 
 pipe; Trina had made him come down to "Mastiff," 
 a five 1 -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 I " 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 
 
 ig 28g 
 
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. 'Twasn'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. 
 
 " You'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 
 
 2g2 
 
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 t 
 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 
 294 
 
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 telf 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 owi* 
 side the door. 
 
 "Well?" said Trina interrogatively a* fcer hus- 
 band entered. McTeague did not- Slffswer. He 
 hung his hat on the hook bebilfef the door and 
 dropped heavily into a chairs 
 
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 
 it 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 ; " I 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 
 3°4 
 
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 Trina, 
 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- 
 3°9 
 
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- 
 3" 
 
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 to give you a good piece of 
 
 advice. Here are you and Miss Baker " The 
 
 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." 
 313 
 
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 
 voice, " 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 yodhg 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 r 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, i 
 
 " 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, in 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 his 
 check. It was large enough, to be sure, 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 of 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. 
 32a 
 
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 filled 
 323 
 
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- 
 324 
 
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 Grannis 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. 
 
 325 
 
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 he 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 
 327 
 
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. 
 
 33° 
 
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 
 
 33S 
 
McTeague 
 
 once been of a cat-like neatness, now slovened all 
 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 comb&l, 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, and 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 
 
McTeague 
 
 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 
 iyou made N 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, 
 338 
 
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 fingers again pretty 
 soon." 
 
 " But " 
 
 The dentist took a step towards her, snatching at 
 her hand. 
 
 " All right, I'll go," cried Trina, wincing and 
 shrinking. " I'll go." 
 
 She did not get the chops at the big market, 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 dime 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.'f 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 6ne 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 
 
 343 
 
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. 
 
 345 
 
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, if 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. 
 347 
 
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 
 350 
 
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, £fs 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 undtrstanding. Draw it in monthly 
 358 
 
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 beating 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, Triria 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 
 
 366 
 
McTeague 
 
 was 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 
 
Mcl'eague 
 
 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, it'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- 
 24 365 
 
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 chafing 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 
 
 Fellow^' 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 fite 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? " 
 
 "Mae, 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 
 
 whiah 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 jn 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 funnee smell ! " The 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- 
 tion, 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 1 
 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 the 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- 
 3S7 
 
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 Jbent 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. But 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 wall at 'his bedside; " something. What 
 was it? There is something now. There it is again 
 — the same thing." He sat up in bed with eyes and 
 ears strained. " What is it? I don' know what it 
 is. I don' hear anything, an' I don' see anything. 
 I 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. 
 
 39° 
 
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 
 itselfin the dentist's mind. 
 
 " Mexico," he muttered to himself. " Mexico, 
 that's the place. They'lfwatch 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 t 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 
 '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 
 
McTcague 
 
 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 4°i 
 
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 might 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, when Cribbens inter- 
 rupted him with an exclamation of profound dis- 
 gust. " I thought we were the first to prospect 
 402 
 
McTeaguc 
 
 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 Cribbens, 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, an' 
 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 of? 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 
 ■' 4°5 
 
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? Why 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 oi 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." 
 
 408 
 
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'U 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 
 
McTeaguc 
 
 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 there 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 
 
McTeagye 
 
 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, hi> 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 
 fie must perforce wheel sharply eastward and rush 
 away headlong in a clumsy, lumbering gallop. He 
 413 
 
A^cTeague 
 
 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, " ah, 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 
 reach 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 off 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 had 
 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- 
 
 4*4 
 
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 scorched 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 ^leep. 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 could 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 qf 
 a mule, mixed with those of huge hob-nailed boots, 
 could be. plainly followed in the sand. Here they 
 
 433 
 
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. 
 2S 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 " j — 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 hands. 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, rolling 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 tflie 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, filing 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 were 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 dus^t, 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 cluttering feebly in its 
 little gilt prison. * 
 
 THE END. 
 
 442