Frank Norris .............................................................................................................................................1

It was Sunday, and, according to his custom on that day, McTeague took his dinner at two in the afternoon at

the car conductors' coffeejoint on Polk Street. He had a thick gray soup; heavy, underdone 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

Once in his office, or, as he called it on his signboard, "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, drinking his beer, and smoking his huge porcelain pipe while his food

digested; cropfull, 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

beervery flat and stale by this timeand taking down his concertina from the bookcase, where in week

days it kept the company of seven volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist," played upon it some halfdozen

McTeague looked forward to these Sunday afternoons as a period of relaxation and enjoyment. He invariably

spent them in the same fashion. These were his only pleasuresto eat, to smoke, to sleep, and to play upon

The six lugubrious airs that he knew, always carried him back to the time when he was a carboy 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, hardworking shiftboss of the mine. Every other Sunday he became an irresponsible

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 bunkhouse. 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 charlatan operate. He had read many of the necessary books, but he was too hopelessly stupid to get much

Then one day at San Francisco had come the news of his mother's death; she had left him some moneynot

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 oldtime carboy. Often he dispensed with forceps and extracted a refractory tooth with his thumb and

finger. His head was squarecut, 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 one room. It was a corner room on the second floor over the branch

postoffice, and faced the street. McTeague made it do for a bedroom as well, sleeping on the big

bedlounge 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 operating chair, his dental engine, and

the movable rack on which he laid out his instruments. Three chairs, a bargain at the secondhand store,

ranged themselves against the wall with military precision underneath 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 bedlounge hung a rifle manufacturer's advertisement calendar which he never used. The other ornaments

were a small marbletopped centre table covered with back numbers of "The American System 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

But for one thing, McTeague would have been perfectly contented. Just outside his window was his

signboarda modest affairthat read: "Doctor 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, something gorgeous and attractive. He would have it some day, on that he was resolved;

When he had finished the last of his beer, McTeague slowly wiped his lips and huge yellow mustache with

the side of his hand. Bulllike, he heaved himself laboriously up, and, going to the window, stood looking

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; stationers' stores, where illustrated weeklies were tacked upon bulletin boards; barber shops

with cigar stands in their vestibules; sadlooking plumbers' 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 powerhouse 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 postoffice 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

On week days the street was very lively. It woke 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 fileplumbers' 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 longhandled shovels 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 descriptionconductors and "swing men" of the cable

company going on duty; heavyeyed night clerks from the drug stores on their way home to sleep;

roundsmen returning to the precinct police station to make their night report, and Chinese market gardeners

teetering past under their heavy baskets. The cable cars began to fill up; all along the street could be seen the

Between seven and eight the street breakfasted. Now and then a waiter from one of the cheap restaurants

crossed from one sidewalk to the other, balancing 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 powerhouse clock. Their employers followed an hour or so lateron the cable cars for the most part

whiskered gentlemen with huge stomachs, reading the morning papers with great gravity; bank cashiers and

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 moment 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 preoccupied.

Towards eleven o'clock the ladies from the great avenue a block above Polk Street made their appearance,

promenading the sidewalks leisurely, deliberately. They were at their morning's marketing. They were

handsome women, beautifully dressed. They knew by name their butchers and grocers and vegetable men.

From his window McTeague saw them in front of the stalls, gloved and veiled and daintily shod, the

subservient provision men at their elbows, scribbling hastily in the order books. They all seemed to know one

another, these grand ladies from the fashionable avenue. Meetings took place here and there; a conversation

was begun; others arrived; groups were formed; little impromptu receptions 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 arosethe mingled shuffling of feet, the rattle of wheels, the heavy

trundling of cable cars. At four o'clock the 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 hour. 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 electric 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

theatregoersmen in high hats and young girls in furred opera cloaks. On the sidewalks were groups and

couplesthe plumbers' apprentices, the girls of the ribbon counters, the little families that lived on the

second stories over their shops, the dressmakers, the small doctors, the harness makersall the various

inhabitants 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

Then, little by little, Polk Street dropped back to solitude. Eleven o'clock struck from the powerhouse 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 ugly noises were the occasional footfalls of a policeman and the persistent calling of

Day after day, McTeague saw the same panorama unroll itself. The bay window of his "Dental Parlors" was

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, McTeague 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 picnickers. 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

As the car approached McTeague's window the young man got up and swung himself off the platform,

Marcus Schouler was the dentist's one intimate friend. The acquaintance had begun at the car conductors'

coffeejoint, 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 McTeague. On different

occasions McTeague had treated Marcus for an ulcerated tooth and had refused to accept payment. Soon it

McTeague, listening, heard Marcus go upstairs 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 banisters.

"Been out to the Cliff House on a picnic," he explained as he sat down on the bedlounge, "with my uncle

and his peoplethe 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 isit is, for a

factand you got your stove going." He began to tell about the picnic, talking very loud and fast, gesturing

furiously, 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."

In recounting a certain dispute with an awkward bicyclist, in which it appeared he had become involved,

Marcus quivered with rage. "'Say that again,' says I to um. 'Just say 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 downwhat?' I say it's outrageous. I'd a knifed him in another

"Oh, and we had an accident," shouted the other, suddenly off on another tack. "It was awful. Trina was in the

swing therethat's my cousin Trina, you know who I meanand 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 Schouler was stuck on his cousin Trina. They "kept company" a

good deal; Marcus took dinner with the Sieppes every Saturday evening at their home at B Street station,

across the bay, and Sunday afternoons he and the family usually made little excursions 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 happens, 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."

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 McTeague's flat. He was

an Englishman and an expert dog surgeon, but Marcus Schouler was a bungler in the profession. His father

had been a veterinary 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 McTeague's education. Somehow he managed to impress Old Grannis, a gentle, simpleminded

old man, with a sense of his fitness, bewildering him with a torrent of empty phrases that he delivered with

"You'd better come along with me, Mac," observed Marcus. "We'll get the duck's dog, and then we'll take a

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 mansionlike 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 remained below on the sidewalk, gazing stupidly at the curtained windows, the marble steps, and

After they had taken the dog to the hospital and 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 halftruths of political economyit was impossible to say whereand 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 discussed it at the top of his voice, vociferating, shaking his fists, exciting himself with his own

noise. He was continually making use of the stock phrases of the professional politicianphrases he had

caught at some of the ward "rallies" and "ratification 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 personal interests," "eyes blinded by party prejudice." McTeague listened to

"There's where the evil lies," Marcus would cry. "The masses must learn selfcontrol; it stands to reason.

Look at the figures, look at the figures. Decrease the number of wage earners and you increase wages, don't

"It's the capitalists that's ruining the cause of labor," shouted Marcus, banging the table with his fist till the

beer glasses danced; "whitelivered drones, traitors, with their livers white as snow, eatun the bread of

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

After his breakfast the following Monday morning, McTeague looked over the appointments he had written

down in the bookslate 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 appointment 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

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 acquaintances; 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 pre occupation, suddenly seized

with a great embarrassment, the timidity of a second childhood. He went on about his business, disturbed and

thoughtful. 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 chance

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 Grannisthe 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 oldfashioned likeness, with its curling hair and high stock? It was

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 Grannis took down his little binding apparatus from the second shelf of his clothes closet and began his

favorite occupation of binding pamphletspamphlets 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

spongegold, 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 sufficient 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 noncohesive gold, cutting it

transversely into small pieces that could be inserted edgewise 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 shaping it with the soldering pliers; "cylinders" for commencing 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 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' coffeejoint, he

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 aflutter with excitement. Something

extraordinary had happened. She had found out that the wallpaper in Old Grannis's room was the same as

"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 wallpaper being the samethe pattern from my room continues right

into hisI declare, I believe at one time that was all one room. Think of it, do you suppose it was? It almost

amounts to our occupying the same room. I don't knowwhy, reallydo you think I should speak to the

landlady about it? He bound pamphlets last night until halfpast 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 preposterous to imagine any mystery connected with Old Grannis.

Miss Baker had chosen to invent the little fiction, had created the title and the unjust stepfather from some

She took her place in the operating chair. McTeague began the filling. There was a long silence. It was

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. McTeague turned, one foot on the

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

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 calendar, the canary in its little gilt prison, and the tumbled blankets on the

unmade bedlounge 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 suppose? He can pull out your teeth with his fingers; yes, he can. What do you think of that? With his

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 McTeague's bed.

Suddenly Marcus exclaimed under his breath: "Now we'll have some fun. It's the girl that takes care of the

rooms. She's a greaser, and she's queer in the head. She ain't regularly crazy, but I don't know, she's queer.

Y'ought to hear her go on about a gold dinner service she says her folks used to own. Ask her what her name

"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.

"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

"Name is MariaMirandaMacapa." Then, after a pause, she added, as though she had but that moment

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, delivered in a rapid

undertone: "Name is MariaMirandaMacapa." Then, as if struck with an after thought, "Had a flying

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 SpanishAmerican. 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 Marcus watched her curiously. There was a silence. The corundum

burr in McTeague's engine hummed in a prolonged monotone. The canary bird chittered occasionally. The

room was warm, and the 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 postoffice 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 furtively from her pocket. "Buy a ticket in the lottery?" she inquired, looking

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

"Buy a ticket," urged Maria, thrusting the bundle toward Trina. "Try your luck. The butcher on the next block

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

"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 nodding 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 narrow and blue, like the halfopen 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 blueblack 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

marvellous 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

She was dressed all in black, very modest and plain. The effect of her pale face in all this contrasting black

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

McTeague and Trina were left alone. He was embarrassed, troubled. These young girls disturbed and

perplexed him. He did not like them, obstinately cherishing that intuitive suspicion of all things

femininethe perverse dislike of an overgrown 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

She took her place in the operating chair and told 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

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, picking 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

McTeague put the mirror into her mouth, touching one and another of her teeth with the handle of an

excavator. By and by he straightened up, wiping the moisture from the mirror on his coatsleeve.

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

"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 called necrosis. It don't often happen. It'll have

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 removed; one hole like that was bad enough; but twoah, no, it was not to

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

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 something, something in the

way of a crown or bridge. "Let's look at that again," he said, picking up his mirror. He began to study the

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, evidently 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 the two teeth on either side of the gapone in the first molar and one in the palatine surface

of the cuspid; might he not drill a socket in the remaining root and sockets in the molar and cuspid, and,

partly by bridging, partly by crowning, fill in the gap? He made up 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.

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

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 timea thing that had

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

restaurantspreferred another dentist, a young fellow just graduated from the college, a 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 suddenly 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, milkblue eyes; her little outthrust chin; her heavy, huge tiara of black hair. At night

he lay awake for hours under the thick blankets of the bedlounge, 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 ofparis

moulds at the washstand in the corner behind the screen he turned over in his mind all that had happened, 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 elephantine sentiment, wagging his head at it, heaving tremendous sighs. What a folly!

At two o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Trina arrived and took her place in the operating

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 perfume, 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 enormous bones and corded

muscles. He drew a short breath through his nose; his jaws suddenly gripped together viselike.

But this was only at timesa 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 Parlors," silent, only for the scraping of the instruments and the pouring of budburrs 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 appointments and stolen meetings under the moon.

By degrees the operation progressed. One day, just after McTeague had put in the temporary guttapercha

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 exceptiona spot of white caries on the lateral surface of an incisor. McTeague filled

it with gold, enlarging the cavity with hardbits and hoeexcavators, and burring in afterward with halfcone

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 harrowinghe

sweated under itto be forced to torture her, of all women in the world; could anything be worse than that?

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

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

the symptoms closely. Her breathing became short and irregular; there was a slight twitching of the muscles.

When her thumbs turned inward toward the palms, he took the sponge away. She passed off very quickly,

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

Suddenly the animal in the man stirred and woke; the evil instincts that in him were so close to the surface

It was a crisisa 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 worldthe 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

Dizzied and bewildered with the shock, the like 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

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

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 moment 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 was disturbed, still trembling, still vibrating with the throes of the crisis, but he was the master;

But for all that, the brute was there. Long dormant, it was now at last alive, awake. From now on he would

feel its presence continually; would feel it tugging at its chain, watching its opportunity. Ah, the pity of it!

Why could he not always love her purely, cleanly? What was this perverse, vicious thing that lived within

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

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 mallet. By and by she said, "I never

felt a thing," and then she smiled at him very prettily beneath the rubber dam. McTeague turned to her

suddenly, his mallet in one hand, his pliers holding a pellet of spongegold 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

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

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

"No, no," she exclaimed, refusing without knowing why, suddenly seized with a fear of him, the intuitive

feminine fear of the male. McTeague could only repeat the same thing over and over again. Trina, more and

more frightened at his huge handsthe hands of the oldtime carboyhis immense squarecut head and

his enormous brute strength, cried out: "No, no," behind the rubber dam, shaking her head violently, holding

out her hands, and shrinking down before him in the 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

Once every two months Maria Macapa set the entire flat in commotion. She roamed the building from garret

to cellar, searching each corner, ferreting through every old box and trunk and barrel, groping 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 castoff garments. It was one

of her perquisites. She sold the junk to Zerkow, the ragsbottlessacks 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,

however, 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 sodawater 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

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 "keeping company" after

"Got any junk, Mister Grannis?" inquired Maria, standing in the door, a very dirty, halffilled pillowcase

"No, nothingnothing that I can think of, Maria," replied Old Grannis, terribly vexed at the interruption, yet

not wishing to be unkind. "Nothing I think of. Yet, however perhapsif 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 pamphlets, 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

"What you alus sewing up them books for, Mister Grannis?" asked Maria, as she began rummaging 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, "II'm sure I can't quite say; a little habit,

you know; a diversion, aait occupies one, you know. I don't smoke; it takes the place of a pipe,

"Here's this old yellow pitcher," said Maria, coming out of the closet with it in her hand. "The handle's

Old Grannis did want the pitcher; true, he never used it now, but he had kept it a long time, and somehow he

held to it as old people hold to trivial, worthless things that they have had for many years.

"If you insist, Maria, but I would much rather" he rubbed his chin, perplexed and annoyed, hating to

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

"AhMariaI say, youyou might leave the doorah, don't quite shut itit's a bit close in here at

times." Maria grinned, and swung the door wide. Old Grannis was horribly embarrassed; positively, Maria

"Got any junk?" cried Maria at Miss Baker's door. The little old lady was sitting close to the wall in her

"Now, Maria," she said plaintively, "you are always after junk; you know I never have anything laying 'round

It was true. The retired dressmaker's tiny room was a marvel of neatness, from the little red table, with its

three Gorham spoons laid in exact parallels, to the decorous geraniums and mignonettes growing 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; 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.

"Lookahere 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

"Ain't that right, Mister Grannis?" called Maria; "didn't you gi' me this pitcher?" Old Grannis affected not to

hear; perspiration stood on his forehead; his timidity overcame him as if he were a tenyearold schoolboy.

Maria opened Miss Baker's closet unconcernedly. "What's the matter with these old shoes?" she exclaimed,

turning about with a pair of halfworn 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

"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

pillowcase 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 she brought the two old people face to face. Each time they were forced to

"These here are firstrate 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

Nothing could have been more horribly constrained, more awkward. The two old people suffered 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 binding. 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

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. Marcus had sworn at her, excitedly vociferating; "No, by damn! No, he

hadn't a thing for her; he hadn't, for a fact. It was a 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 whiskey flasks, an iron grate, and ten centsthe latter because he said she wore her hair like a

After coming from Miss Baker's room Maria knocked at McTeague's door. The dentist was lying on the

bedlounge in his stocking feet, doing nothing apparently, gazing up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Since he had spoken to Trina Sieppe, asking 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 immensely 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 goodby to each other. He felt that he

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 infinite 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

Besides this, the jealousy of Marcus Schouler harassed him. Maria Macapa, coming into his "Parlor" to ask

for junk, found him flung at length upon the bedlounge, 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, belonged 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. Marcus, as usual, was invited to be one of the party.

McTeague was in agony. It was his first experience, and he suffered all the worse for it because he was

totally unprepared. What miserable complication was this in which he found himself involved? 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

"Huh? What? What is it?" exclaimed McTeague, suddenly rousing up from the lounge. Often Maria did very

well in the "Dental Parlors." McTeague was continually breaking things which he was too stupid to have

mended; for him anything that was broken was lost. Now it was a cuspidor, now a fireshovel for the little

"I don't knowI don't remember," muttered McTeague. Maria roamed about the room, McTeague following

her in his huge stockinged feet. All at once she pounced upon a sheaf of old hand instruments in a coverless

cigarbox, 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

"Say, Doctor, I can have these, can't I?" exclaimed 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

"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 "mats" of

spongegold 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

A little before supper time Maria completed her search. The flat was cleaned of its junk from top to bottom.

The dirty pillowcase was full to bursting. She took advantage of the supper hour to carry her bundle around

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

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, dustblackened, rustcorroded. Everything was

there, every trade was represented, 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 abidingplace, the almshouse, of

Maria found Zerkow himself in the back room, cooking some sort of a meal over an alcohol stove. Zerkow

was a Polish Jewcuriously enough his hair was fiery red. He was a dry, shrivelled old man of sixty odd. He

had the thin, eager, catlike lips of the covetous; eyes that had grown keen as those of a lynx from long

searching amidst muck and debris; and clawlike, prehensile fingersthe fingers of a man who accumulates,

but never disburses. It was impossible to look at Zerkow and not know instantly that greed inordinate,

insatiable greedwas the dominant passion of the man. He was the Man with the Rake, groping hourly in

the muckheap 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

"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 dismissed the matter with a movement of his head.

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

Then a long wrangle began. Every bit of junk in Maria's pillowcase was discussed and weighed and

disputed. They clamored into each other's faces over Old Grannis's cracked pitcher, over Miss Baker's silk

gaiters, over Marcus Schouler's whiskey flasks, reaching the climax of disagreement when it came to

"Ah, no, no!" shouted Maria. "Fifteen cents for the lot! I might as well make you a Christmas present!

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

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

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

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

"Well, see here a minute, we'llyou'll have a drink before you go, won't you? Just to show that it's all right

Zerkow took down a whiskey bottle and a red 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

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

"Ah, you know," returned the other. "The plate your father owned in Central America a long time ago. Don't

"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.

"Tell us about it again," said Zerkow, his bloodless lower lip moving against the upper, his clawlike fingers

He was breathing short, his limbs trembled a little. 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 whiskey. "Now, go

on," repeated Zerkow; "let's have the story." Maria squared her elbows on the deal table, looking straight in

"Well, it was this way," she began. "It was when I was little. My folks must have been rich, oh, rich into the

millionscoffee, I guessand there was a large house, but I can only remember the plate. Oh, that service

of plate! It was wonderful. There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of them gold. You should

have seen the sight when the leather trunk was opened. It fair dazzled your eyes. It was a yellow blaze like a

fire, like a sunset; 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 glitter 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 creamjugs 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 punchbowl with a ladle, and the bowl

was all carved out with figures and bunches of grapes. Why, just only that punchbowl 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 goldred,

shining, pure gold, orange redand 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 plainsolid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold; nothing but

Maria paused, shaking her head, thinking over the vanished splendor. Illiterate enough, unimaginative enough

on all other subjects, her distorted wits called up this picture with marvellous distinctness. It was plain she

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 possessed 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 governments?

It was not impossible. Of Maria Macapa's past prior to the time of her appearance at the "flat" absolutely

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

But what misery Zerkow endured as he listened to her tale! For he chose to believe it, forced himself 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, somewhere close by, under his eyes, under his

fingers; it was red, gleaming, ponderous. He gazed about him wildly; nothing, nothing but the sordid junk

shop and the rustcorroded tins. What exasperation, 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

"Go on, go on," he whispered; "let's have it all over again. Polished like a mirror, hey, and heavy? Yes, I

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

When Maria had gone, Zerkow returned to the back room of the shop, and stood in front of the alcohol stove,

"A million dollars," he muttered in his rasping, guttural whisper, his fingertips wandering over his thin,

catlike lips. "A golden service worth a million dollars; a punch bowl worth a fortune; red gold plates,

The days passed. McTeague had finished the operation 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 McTeague still felt himself shambling and ungainly in her presence; but that constraint

and embarrassment that had followed upon McTeague's blundering declaration broke up little by little. In

spite of themselves they were gradually resuming the same relative positions they had occupied when they

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 elseMarcus, no doubtor at least for some finer grained man. She should have

gone to some other dentist; the young fellow on the corner, for instance, 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 salmonpink neckties and his astonishing waistcoats.

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

"What you got to do this afternoon, Mac?" inquired 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 forward to an afternoon

passed in his operating chair as usual. On leaving his "Parlors" he had put ten cents into his pitcher and had

"What do you say we take a walk, huh?" said Marcus. "Ah, that's the thinga 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

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 afternoon, 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 dry as a haybin. Before

starting on their walk they had gone around to the little dog hospital, and Marcus had let out four of the

"Look at that dog," he cried to McTeague, showing him a finelybred 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 billiardroom. 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

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

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:

"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

"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, presumably, 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

McTeague began dimly to feel that life was too much 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 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

"Say, Mac, go on; let's have ut straight," urged Marcus, leaning toward him. "Has any duck been doing you

"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 situation had got beyond him. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep

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

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

"I tell you, Mark, I can't help it. I don't know how it happened. It came on so slow that I was,

thatthatthat it was done before I knew it, before I could help myself. I know we're pals, us two, and I

knew howhow you and Miss Sieppe were. I know now, I knew then; but that wouldn't have made any

difference. Before I knew itititthere 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

thereMiss 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 breathoh, 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. IIit'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'sit'soh, it's everything! IIwhy, Mark,

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 enormous 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

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, 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 girlthe

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 timea year, perhaps,

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 heMarcus? No, he would not; if it came to that, no, he would not. Yet he knew he

liked Trina. He could sayyes, he could sayhe loved her. She was his "girl." The Sieppes acknowledged

him as Trina's "young man." Marcus came back to the table and sat down sideways upon it.

"I don' know," answered McTeague, in great distress. "I don' want anything toto come between us, Mark."

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

Marcus was thinking hard. He could see very clearly that McTeague loved Trina more than he did; that in

some strange way this huge, brutal fellow was capable of a greater passion than himself, who was twice as

"Well, say, Mac," he cried, striking the table with his fist, "go ahead. I guess youyou want her pretty bad.

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 magnificent, so heroic, that he almost sobbed. Marcus made a sweeping gesture of

"Mac, I'll give her up to you. I won't stand between 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 sacrificing 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

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

"That's all right, that's all right," returned Marcus Schouler, bravely, and it occurred to him to add, "You'll be

happy together. Tell her for metell hertell her" Marcus could not go on. He wrung the dentist's

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 tremendous 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,

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! Sure, you never could tell

what he would do next. Marcus slipped the ball out, wiped it on the tablecloth, and passed it to McTeague.

McTeague fell suddenly grave. The matter was serious. He parted his thick mustaches and opened his

enormous jaws like an anaconda. The ball disappeared inside his mouth. Marcus applauded vociferously,

shouting, "Good work!" McTeague reached for the money and put it in his vest pocket, nodding his head with

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 excitement 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

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

By the time the affair was over and the group dispersed it was after five. Marcus and McTeague decided they

would ride home on the cars. But they soon found this impossible. The dogs would not follow. Only

Alexander, Marcus's new setter, kept his place at the rear of the car. The other three lost their senses

immediately, running wildly about the streets with their heads in the air, or suddenly 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

There was a minute back yard in the rear, where Marcus had made a kennel for Alexander out of an old water

barrel. Before he thought of his own supper Marcus put Alexander to bed and fed him a couple of dog

biscuits. McTeague had followed him to the yard to keep him company. Alexander settled to his supper at

"What you going to do about thisabout thataboutabout my cousin now, Mac?" inquired Marcus.

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 affair 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 desire in himin him, a clumsy giant, with hands like wooden mallets? She had told him once that she

McTeague started. He had not thought of calling 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

"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 Washington'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

"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

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 selfrespecting 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

A thin board fence separated the flat's back yard from that used by the branch postoffice. In the latter place

lived a collie dog. He and Alexander 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.

"By damn!" cried Marcus, "they don't love each other. Just listen; wouldn't that make a fight if the two got

Wednesday morning, Washington's Birthday, McTeague rose very early and shaved himself. Besides 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

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

Marcus often ran back and forth between his room and the dentist's "Parlors" in all sorts of undress. Old Miss

Baker had seen him thus several times through her halfopen door, as she sat in her room listening and

waiting. The old dressmaker was shocked out of all expression. She was outraged, 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 apparitions,

her little false curls shaking, talking loud and shrill to any one in reach of her voice.

"Well," Marcus would shout, "shut your door, then, if you don't want to see. Look out, now, here I come

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

Maria sat on the next to the lowest step, her chin propped by her two fists. The redheaded Polish Jew, the

"Now, just once more, Maria," he was saying. "Tell it to us just once more." Maria's voice came up the

"There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of them goldjust that punchbowl was worth a

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

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

"Ah, gone, gone! Think of it! The punchbowl gone, and the engraved ladle, and the plates and goblets. What

On the lower steps of that cheap flat, the Mexican woman and the redhaired Polish Jew mused long over

Marcus and the dentist spent Washington's Birthday across the bay. The journey over was one long agony to

McTeague. He shook with a formless, 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 outrageous affront. She would freeze him with a stare; he would be shown the door, would be

As they got off the local train at B Street station they suddenly collided with the whole tribe of Sieppesthe

mother, father, three children, and Trinaequipped for one of their eternal picnics. They were to go to

Schuetzen Park, within walking 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. Sieppe explained this to him. She was an immense old lady with a

pink face and wonderful hair, absolutely white. The Sieppes were a GermanSwiss family.

"We go to der park, Schuetzen Park, mit alle dem childern, a little eggskursion, 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 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 shoulder was slung a Springfield rifle, while his breast was decorated by

Trina was delighted. McTeague was dumfounded. 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

Meanwhile, Mr. Sieppe toiled and perspired. Upon him devolved the responsibility of the excursion. He

"Owgooste!" he shouted to the little boy with the black greyhound, "you will der hound und 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 campstuhl und basket number four. Dat is comprehend, hay? When we make der

start, you childern will in der advance march. Dat is your orders. But we do not start," he exclaimed,

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 handpainting at twentyfive cents an hour. McTeague was presented. They all

began to talk at once, filling the little stationhouse with a confusion of tongues.

"Attention!" cried Mr. Sieppe, his goldheaded cane in one hand, his Springfield in the other. "Attention! We

depart." The four little boys moved off ahead; the greyhound suddenly began to bark, and tug at his leash.

"Vorwarts!" shouted Mr. Sieppe, waving his rifle and assuming the attitude of a lieutenant of infantry leading

Mrs. Sieppe walked with her husband, who constantly 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 procession.

"We go off on these picnics almost every week," said Trina, by way of a beginning, "and almost every

"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

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

"Never went on a picnic?" she cried, astonished. "Oh, you'll see what fun we'll have. In the morning father

and the children dig clams in the mud by the shore, an' we bake them, andoh, there's thousands of things to

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

"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

"I was a carboy; all the carboys used to swim in the reservoir by the ditch every Thursday evening. One of

them was bit by a rattlesnake once while he was dressing. He was a Frenchman, named Andrew. He swelled

"Oh, how I hate snakes! They're so crawly and graceful but, just the same, I like to watch them. You know

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

"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

"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 passengers 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 out so that they bore a faint

resemblance to opened scissors. A great contention arose among the children for the possession of these

"scissors." Mr. Sieppe was obliged to intervene. He reflected gravely. It was a matter of tremendous moment.

"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.

"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 McTeague. "She's forewoman in a glove store, and she's got

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

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

"Do you know many people in the city? Do you know anybody named Oelbermann? That's my uncle. He has

"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

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

"The Catholics are trying to get control of the schools," observed McTeague, suddenly remembering one of

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

"Oh, they teach them to make things out of straw and toothpickskind of a play place to keep them off the

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

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

"Oh, can you? I wish you'd brought it along. Next time you will. I hope you'll come often on our picnics.

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

"Yes. He and I took a lot of dogs from his hospital out for a walk to the Cliff House last Sunday, but we had

to walk all the way home, because they wouldn't follow. You've been out to the Cliff House?"

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

"Oh, I'd like to go off in one of those big sailing ships. Just away, and away, and away, anywhere. They're

"Papa and mamma came over in a sailing ship. They were twentyone days. Mamma's uncle used to be a

"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 dopay 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

"III only got a quarter," mumbled the dentist, 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."

"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

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

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

From one of the larger parcels Mrs. Sieppe had drawn forth a small tin steamboatAugust's birthday

presenta gaudy little toy which could be steamed up and navigated by means of an alcohol lamp. Her trial

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

"Obey!" thundered Mr. Sieppe. August subsided. 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.

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

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

"Soh," observed the father, "he gommence. Attention! I put him in der water." He was very excited. The

perspiration dripped from the back of his neck. The little boat was launched. It hissed more furiously than

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

"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.

Instantly Mr. Sieppe boxed his ears. There was a lamentable scene. August rent the air with his outcries; his

"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

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 pelief. Now, no more. We will der glams ge dig, Mommer, a fire. Ach, himmel! we

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 goldheaded cane

What a day that was for McTeague! What a nevertobe forgotten day! He was with Trina constantly. They

laughed togethershe 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 enormous mouth distended,

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 weinerwurst and frankfurter sausages. There was unsalted butter. There

were pretzels. There was cold underdone chicken, which one ate in slices, plastered with a wonderful kind of

mustard that did not sting. There were dried apples, that gave Mr. Sieppe the hiccoughs. There were a dozen

bottles of beer, and, last of all, a crowning achievement, a marvellous Gotha truffle. After lunch came

tobacco. 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 the reports

of his rifle on the range. The others swarmed over the park, now around the swings, now in the Casino, now

At halfpast 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 contrivance for pumping water from the cistern that interested McTeague at once. It was a

dogwheel, 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 doorstep,

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 so above the Sieppes's. At nine o'clock Mr. Sieppe showed McTeague to his

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

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 flowers. Near it, against the wall, was a black walnut bureau. A worktable 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

And that was all. But it was Trina's room. McTeague 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

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. McTeague felt all the delight of her presence without the embarrassment that

usually accompanied it. He was near to hernearer than he had ever been before. He saw into her daily life,

her little ways and manners, her habits, her very thoughts. And was there not in the air of that 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 hair brush 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 hairher 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 blackfor,

curiously enough, it was his very first impression of Trina that came back to him nownot the Trina of the

later occasions, not the Trina of the blue cloth skirt and white sailor. He saw her as he had seen her the day

that Marcus had introduced them: saw her pale, round face; her narrow, halfopen 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 hairthe poise that thrust out her chin a little, with the movement that was so confiding, so

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.

Trina's clothes were hanging thereskirts and waists, jackets, and stiff white petticoats. What a vision! For

an instant McTeague caught his breath, spellbound. If he had suddenly discovered Trina herself there, smiling

at him, holding out her hands, he could hardly have been more overcome. 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 declaration, and still others, and othersa 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 herselfher mouth, her hands, her neck;

the indescribably sweet, fleshly aroma that was a part of her, pure and clean, and redolent of youth and

freshness. All at once, seized with an unreasoned impulse, McTeague opened his huge arms and gathered the

little garments close to him, plunging his face deep amongst them, savoring their delicious odor with long

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

But Marcus made the most of his renunciation of his cousin. He remembered his pose from time to time. He

made McTeague unhappy and bewildered by wringing his hand, by venting sighs that seemed to tear his heart

out, or by giving evidences 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

Forgive what? McTeague was all at sea, was harassed with the thought of some shadowy, irreparable injury

"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 contemplating the wreck of his

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

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

One Wednesday afternoon in the second week in March McTeague came over to call on Trina, bringing his

concertina with him, as was his custom nowadays. As he got off the train at the station he was surprised to

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

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 immense salt flats, here and there broken by

winding streams of black water. They were covered with a growth of wiry grass, strangely discolored in

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 electriclight pole that, with its

supports and outriggers, looked for all the world like an immense grasshopper on its hind legs.

Across the flats, at the fringe of the town, were the dump heaps, the figures of a few Chinese ragpickers

moving over them. Far to the left the view was shut off by the immense redbrown drum of the gasworks;

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 seagulls 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

But farther on, across the yellow waters of the bay, beyond Goat Island, lay San Francisco, a blue line of

hills, rugged with roofs and spires. Far to the westward opened the Golden Gate, a bleak cutting in the

The station at B Street was solitary; no trains passed at this hour; except the distant ragpickers, not a soul

was in sight. The wind blew strong, carrying with it the mingled smell of salt, of tar, of dead seaweed, and of

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 distant water. From

After a while they began walking up and down the tracks, McTeague talking about his profession, Trina

"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 cowhorn beak over the buccal

rootsthat's the roots on the outside, you see. Then we close the forceps, and that breaks right through the

At another moment he told her of his one unsatisfied desire. "Some day I'm going to have a big gilded tooth

outside my window for a sign. Those big gold teeth are beautiful, beautifulonly they cost so much, I can't

"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

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

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

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

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 intangible, 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 inaccessible? Perhaps he dimly saw that this must be so, that it belonged to

the changeless order of thingsthe 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?

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 narrow blue eyes brimming. Suddenly she put her head between

"Say, say, Miss Trina, listenlisten 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 soso,"she could not find any words. "Let me go alone," she

"Goodby," 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 pleadinga mere matter of wordsshe was strong

"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,

"I got her, by God! I got her, by God!" At the same time he thought better of himself; his selfrespect

increased enormously. The man that could 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.

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

"You don' know, you don' know? Where haf your sensus gone, Trina? You kiss der doktor. You cry, and you

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

No, Trina did not know. "Do I love him? Do I love him?" A thousand times she put the question 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 unexpected, 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 crosscurrent 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 her struggle with his enormous strength, to subdue her, conquer

But whywhy 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 Marcus 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 hersomething

that had hitherto lain dormant, something 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 commotion within her carried with it no suggestion of

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 selfconsciousness 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

Did she love McTeague? Difficult question. Did she choose him for better or for worse, deliberately, 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 awakened, 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, inexplicable a fairy queen

McTeague had awakened the Woman, and, whether she would or no, she was his now irrevocably; 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,

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 instincts as ungovernable as the

winds of heaven were at work knitting their lives together. Neither of them had asked that this thing should

bethat 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 allowed 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 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 McTeaguerecalled his huge, squarecut head, his salient jaw, his

shock of yellow hair, his heavy, lumbering body, his slow witsshe found little to admire in him beyond his

physical 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 embrace 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: "Oh, I do love you! I do

A little later in that same week, when Marcus and McTeague were taking lunch at the car conductors'

"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 somewhereto the theatre, or somewhere? You ain't on to your job."

Naturally, McTeague had told Marcus of his success 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

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

"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 tradespeople, and their like, whose social position was not 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 defined. They could never be sure of

themselves. At an unguarded moment they might be taken for "toughs," so they generally erred in the other

direction, and were absurdly formal. No people have a keener eye for the amenities than those whose social

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

McTeague undertook the affair. It was an ordeal. Never in his life had he been so perturbed, so horribly

anxious. He called upon Trina the following Wednesday and made arrangements. Mrs. Sieppe asked if little

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

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 hospital. There was a

bed there in the sick ward that old Grannis sometimes occupied when a bad case needed watching. All at

"And we'llwe'llwe'll havewhat's the matter with having something to eat afterward in my "Parlors?"

McTeague returned to the city, rehearsing his instructions 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

lefthand 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 tieso

Marcus directed; must look to it that Maria Macapa put his room in perfect order; and, finally, must meet the

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

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 righthand side."

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

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

"Well, the drums are on the right of the orchestra as you face the stage," shouted the other impatiently; "you

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

"There's four seats on the righthand side, then, and you're right up against the drums."

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

"Do you know what you want at all?" said the ticket seller with calmness, thrusting his head at McTeague.

"I wantI 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 thing lacking to complete McTeague's confusion.

"There are your seats," finished the seller, shoving the tickets into McTeague's hands. "They are the fourth

"Are they on the righthand side? I want on the rightno, I want on the left. I wantI don' know, I don'

The seller roared. McTeague moved slowly away, gazing stupidly at the blue slips of pasteboard. Two girls

took his place at the wicket. In another moment McTeague came back, peering over the girls' shoulders and

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; "youyou can't make small of me. I'll

thump you in the head, you littleyou littleyou littlelittle little pup." The ticket seller shrugged his

McTeague glared at him and breathed loudly. Finally he decided to let the matter drop. He moved away, but

"You can't make small of me," he called back a last time, wagging his head and shaking his fist. "I willI

At last Monday night came. McTeague met the Sieppes at the ferry, dressed in a black Prince Albert coat and

his best slateblue trousers, and wearing the madeup 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 lislethread 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

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

At the door of the theatre McTeague was suddenly 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 doun the aisle. Directly in front of them was the great iron

curtain of the stage, painted with all manner of advertisements. From behind this came a noise of hammering

While waiting they studied their programmes. First was an overture by the orchestra, after which came "The

Gleasons, in their mirthmoving musical farce, entitled 'McMonnigal's Courtship.'" This was to be followed

by "The Lamont Sisters, Winnie and Violet, seriocomiques 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

kinetoscope." 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

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 auditorium 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 gowun to begin pretty soon, ma?" whined Owgooste for the fifth or sixth time; adding, "Say, ma,

can't I have some candy?" A cadaverous little boy had appeared in their aisle, chanting, "Candies, French

mixed candies, popcorn, 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 cigarsmoke filled the air, and soon a faint blue haze rose from all corners of the house.

"Ma, when are they gowun to begin?" cried Owgooste. As he spoke the iron advertisement curtain rose,

disclosing the curtain proper underneath. 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 letter 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, dragging a

leading string in the shape of a huge pink sash, followed the girl. Seven scarlet roses were scattered upon

"Ma, ain't they gowun to begin nowwow?" whined Owgooste. Suddenly the lights all over the house

"Ain't ut crowdut?" murmured Mr. 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,

The orchestra banged away at the overture, suddenly finishing with a great flourish of violins. A short pause

followed. Then the orchestra played a quickstep 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 entered in a hurry and began

to dust the two chairs. She was in a great temper, talking very fast, disclaiming 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

footlights and began to sing in a tremendous voice, hoarse and flat, almost like a man's. The chorus, of a

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

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, evidently the lodger in question, came in. Instantly McTeague exploded in a roar of laughter.

The 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 buttonhole 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 turneddown

collar, and was continually doing handsprings and wonderful back somersaults. The "act" devolved upon

these three people; 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 horseplay 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 "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

anythingglass bottles, cigar box fiddles, strings of sleighbells, even graduated brass tubes, which they

"That's what you call musicians," he announced gravely. "Home, Sweet Home," played upon a trombone.

The acrobats left him breathless. They were dazzling young men with beautifully parted hair, continually

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 intoxicated lodger and who had turned such marvellous somersaults. Trina

could not bear to watch their antics. She turned away her head with a little shudder. "It always makes me

The beautiful young lady, "The Society Contralto," in evening dress, who sang the sentimental songs, and

carried the sheets of music at which she never looked, pleased McTeague less. Trina, however, was

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

"Ah! as YOU were going down the street yesterday YOU saw a girl at a window, and this girl she was a

The other comedian went on. The joke was suddenly evolved. A certain phrase led to a song, which was sung

with lightning rapidity, each performer making precisely the same gestures at precisely the same instant.

They were irresistible. McTeague, though he caught but a third of the jokes, could have listened all night.

The musicians disappeared through the rabbit hutch, and the audience stirred and stretched itself. Most of the

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

But almost immediately after drinking his lemonade Owgooste was seized with a sudden restlessness. He

twisted and wriggled in his seat, swinging his legs violently, looking about him with eyes full of a vague

distress. At length, just as the musicians were returning, he stood up and whispered energetically in his

The performance was resumed. A lightning artist 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 gallery. He drew portraits of the President, of Grant, of Washington, of

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 smellsthe

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 another, their eyes

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, oxlike stare. But

he was uneasy. He danced from one foot to the other, and at intervals appealed in hoarse whispers to his

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

"Maah, say, ma." At times his monotonous plaint reached his mother's consciousness. She suddenly realized

"Owgooste, will you sit down?" She caught him up all at once, and jammed him down into his place. "Be

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 flutelike 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

"Ach, dot is heavunly; joost like der old country. Mein gran'mutter used to be one of der mos' famous

"Maah," began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as the yodlers had departed. He could not keep still an instant;

"Pehave!" exclaimed his mother, shaking him by the arm; "loog, der leedle girl is watchun you. Dis is der last

"I don't caare; I'm sleepy." At length, to their great relief, he went to sleep, his head against his mother's

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

"Look at that horse move his head," he cried excitedly, quite carried away. "Look at that cable car

comingand the man going across the street. See, here comes a truck. Well, I never in all my life! What

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

"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 unfortunate Irish

comedian went through his "act" to the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppe woke Owgooste, very

cross and sleepy, and began getting her "things together." As soon as he was awake Owgooste began

"Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Take ut home to popper. Where is der hat of

But at this moment a dreadful accident happened to Owgooste; his distress reached its climax; his fortitude

collapsed. What a misery! It was a veritable catastrophe, deplorable, lamentable, a thing beyond words! For a

moment he gazed wildly about him, helpless and petrified with astonishment and terror. Then his grief found

utterance, and the closing strains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wail of infinite sadness.

"Owgooste, what is ut?" cried his mother eyeing him with dawning suspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you

done? You haf ruin your new Vauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed; without more ado she smacked him

soundly. Then it was that Owgooste touched the limit of his misery, his unhappiness, his horrible discomfort;

his utter wretchedness was complete. He filled the air with his doleful outcries. The more he was smacked

Trina's face was scarlet. "Nothing, nothing," she exclaimed hastily, looking away. "Come, we must be going.

It's about over." The end of the show and the breaking up of the audience tided over the embarrassment of the

The party filed out at the tail end of the audience. Already the lights were being extinguished and the ushers

McTeague and the Sieppes took an uptown car that would bring them near Polk Street. The car was crowded;

McTeague and Owgooste were obliged to stand. The little boy fretted to be taken in his mother's lap, but Mrs.

"Wasn'twasn't that magic lantern wonderful, where the figures moved? Wonderfulah, wonderful! And

wasn't that first act funny, where the fellow fell down all the time? And that musical act, and the fellow with

They got off at Polk Street and walked up a block to the flat. The street was dark and empty; opposite the flat,

in the back of the deserted market, the ducks and geese were calling persistently.

As they were buying their tamales from the halfbreed Mexican at the street corner, McTeague observed:

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

Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of 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

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

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

"Whatwhatwhat," 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

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

"Miss Sieppe, Miss Sieppe, your ticket has won five thousand dollars," cried Maria. "Don't you remember the

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

"You're a rich woman, my dear," said Miss Baker, 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!"

"Oh, oh!" interrupted Trina, shaking her head, "there is a mistake. There must be. Whywhy should I win

"No mistake, no mistake," screamed Maria. "Your number was 400,012. Here it is in the paper this evening. I

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

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 suppose a mistake? What if it were true, this wonderful fillip of fortune

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

"That's right," admitted the other. "Present your ticket at the local branch office as soon as possiblethe

address is printed on the back of the ticketand 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

All at once a great shrill of gladness surged up in Trina. She was to possess five thousand dollars. She was

carried away with the joy of her good fortune, a natural, spontaneous joythe gaiety of a child with a new

"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 thousand dollars. August,

"Kiss your mommer, Trina," suddenly commanded Mrs. Sieppe. "What efer will you do mit all dose money,

"Huh!" exclaimed Marcus. "Get married on it for one thing. Thereat they all shouted with laughter.

McTeague grinned, and looked about sheepishly. "Talk about luck," muttered Marcus, shaking his head at the

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

"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. Anything 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

"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

"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 bureauoh, suppose it should be stolen now," she suddenly exclaimed.

"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

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

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

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

"A cousin of mine won forty dollars once," observed Miss Baker. "But he spent every cent of it buying more

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 gasfitter 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

"It's all right when you win, ain't it, Miss Baker?" observed Marcus, with a certain sarcasm. What was the

But the agent was full of stories. He told his experiences, 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 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 competencies; of

gamblers who played the lottery as they would play a faro bank, turning in their winnings 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 coincidencesthree capital prizes drawn consecutively by the

same town; a ticket bought by a millionaire and given to his bootblack, who won a thousand dollars upon it;

the same number winning the same amount an indefinite number of times; and so on to infinity. Invariably 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

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

The "Dental Parlors" were in great confusion. Empty beer bottles stood on the movable rack where the

instruments were kept; plates and napkins 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 Practical 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, rushing about here and there, opening beer bottles, serving the tamales,

slapping McTeague upon the back, laughing and joking continually. He made McTeague sit at the head of the

table, with Trina at his right and the agent at his left; hewhen he sat down at alloccupied the foot, Maria

Macapa at his left, while next to her was Mrs. Sieppe, opposite Miss Baker. Owgooste had been put to bed

"Where's Old Grannis?" suddenly exclaimed Marcus. Sure enough, where had the old Englishman gone? He

"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

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

"II hardly think you'd better," she murmured; "heheI don't think he drinks beer."

"II must apologize," stammered Old Grannis, as he stood in the doorway. "I had not quite

expectedIfind find myself a little unprepared." He was without collar and cravat, owing to Marcus

Schouler's precipitate haste. He was annoyed beyond words that Miss Baker saw him thus. Could anything be

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

The two old people were speechless, avoiding each other's gaze. It had come at last; they were to know each

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. Grannis; Mr.

Grannis, this is Miss Baker." Neither spoke. Like two little children they faced each other, awkward,

constrained, tonguetied with embarrassment. Then Miss Baker put out her hand shyly. Old Grannis touched

"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 uncertainly to his chin. Miss Baker flushed ever so slightly, but

Maria Macapa passed suddenly between them, carrying a half empty beer bottle. The two old people fell back

"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 hothouse

It was in the midst of this little impromptu supper that the engagement of Trina and the dentist was

announced. In a pause in the chatter of conversation Mrs. Sieppe leaned forward and, speaking to the agent,

"Vell, you know also my daughter Trina get married bretty soon. She and der dentist, Doktor McTeague, eh,

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

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

"He's lucky enough already," growled Marcus under his breath, relapsing for a moment into one of those

Trina flushed crimson, drawing shyly nearer her mother. McTeague grinned from ear to ear, looking around

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

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. There was an instant silence. "This is indeed a happy occasion. II am

glad to be here tonight; to be a witness to such good fortune; to partake in thesein 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 thinkin fact, I am sure I can speak for the great institution, the great

company I represent. The company congratulates Miss Sieppe. WetheyahThey wish her every

happiness her new fortune can procure her. It has been my duty, myahcheerful duty to call upon the

winners of large prizes and to offer the felicitation of the company. I have, in my experience, called upon

many such; but never have I seen 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 happyhappy 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

"Outa sight, outa sight," he vociferated, clapping his hands. "Very well said. To the health of the bride.

In an instant the whole table was clamoring for the dentist to speak. McTeague was terrified; he gripped the

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

"Nonono," muttered the other. "No speech." The company rattled upon the table with their beer glasses,

insisting upon a speech. McTeague settled obstinately into his chair, very red in the face, shaking his head

"Ah, get up and say somethun, anyhow," persisted 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 suddenly sat

"I don' know what to sayIII ain't never made a speech before; II ain't never made a speech before.

thatyou'reallwelcome, 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'reallwelcome, an' drink hearty, an' I hope you'll

come again, an' you're always welcomean'I an'an'That'saboutallIgotta say." He sat

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 exchanging 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 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.

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 soh smart also, yes, eh? He has der genius for

"Ah, ififI 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

"Oh, Mac!" exclaimed Trina, looking up into the dentist's face, "think of all this money coming to us just at

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

"Now, that's how you can always tell a good cigar," observed the agent to Marcus as the two sat smoking at

"Ah, the Chinese cigarmakers," 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 rateaters! Ah, the whitelivered curs!"

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

"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 wasplatters and soup tureens and an

immense big punch bowl. Five thousand dollars, what does that amount to? Why, that punchbowl alone

"What a wonderful story!" exclaimed Old Grannis, never for an instant doubting its truth. "And it's all lost

He shook hands with everybody, offered a parting cigar to Marcus, congratulated McTeague and Trina a last

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

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

The two friends said "Goodnight" all around and departed for the little dog hospital.

Old Grannis hurried to his room furtively, terrified 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 closing 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 wallpaper. 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 dressmaker listened and quivered. HE was there in that same

room which they shared in common, separated only by the thinnest board partition. He was thinking of her,

she was almost sure of it. They were strangers no longer; they were acquaintances, friends. What an event

Late as it was, Miss Baker brewed a cup of tea and sat down in her rocking chair close to the partition; she

rocked gently, sipping her tea, calming herself after the emotions of that wonderful evening.

Old Grannis heard the clinking of the tea things and smelt the faint odor of the tea. It seemed to him a signal,

an invitation. He drew his chair close to his side of the partition, before his worktable. A pile of halfbound

"Nations" was in the little binding apparatus; he threaded his huge upholsterer's needle with stout twine and

It was their teteatete. Instinctively they felt each other's presence, felt each other's thought coming to them

through the thin partition. It was charming; they were perfectly happy. There in the stillness that settled over

the flat in the half hour after midnight the two old people "kept company," enjoying after their fashion their

On the way to her room in the garret Maria Macapa paused under the single gasjet 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 noncohesive 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 redheaded Polish Jew, sat up late,

taking account of the week's ragpicking. 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

postoffice, answered with a snarl. Then in an instant the endless feud between 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; 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!

"Who is it? Who is it?" cried the ragpicker from within, in his hoarse voice, that was half whisper, starting

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

"Ah, Maria," cried Zerkow, obsequiously opening 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 produced 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

"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

They haggled as usual over the price, but tonight Maria was too excited over other matters to spend much

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

It was as though a knife had been run through the Jew; a spasm of an almost physical pain twisted his

facehis 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 thousand 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 meme who have worked for it, fought for it,

starved for it, am dying for it every day. Think of it, Maria, five thousand dollars, all bright, heavy

"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 punchbowl. Why, that punchbowl was worth a

"And it rang when you hit it with your knuckles, didn't it?" prompted Zerkow, eagerly, his lips trembling, his

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

"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 blackyou know how I

Then he plied her with questionsquestions 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 noisethese 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

The redheaded 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 tormented Maria into a

second repetition of the storyinto a third. The more his mind dwelt upon it, the sharper grew his desire.

Then, with Maria's refusal to continue the tale, came the reaction. Zerkow awoke as from some ravishing

dream. The plate was gone, was irretrievably lost. There was nothing in that miserable room but grimy rags

and rustcorroded iron. What torment! what agony! to be so nearso 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

"And you, YOU had it once," gasped Zerkow, clawing at her arm; "you had it once, all your own. Think of it,

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 thinking of the great thing that

had happened that night, and was trying to realize what its effect would be upon his lifehis life and Trina's.

As soon as they had found themselves in the street, Marcus had relapsed at once to a sullen silence, which

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 Marcus. "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 lifeto give up the girl, yesbut this," he stamped his foot

with rage"to throw five thousand dollars out of the windowto stuff it into the pockets of someone else,

when it might have been yours, when you might have had Trina AND the moneyand all for what? Because

we were pals . Oh, 'pals' is all rightbut five thousand dollarsto have played it right into his handsGod

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 bursting. Once in

"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, 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; andwhat do you supposeI saw a pair of Nottingham lace curtains for

FORTYNINE 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 lookingglass.

"No, nonot 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;

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

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 good, and they could count upon the interest of Trina's five thousand

dollars. To McTeague's mind this interest seemed woefully small. He had had uncertain ideas about that five

thousand dollars; had imagined that they would spend it in some lavish fashion; would buy a house, perhaps,

or would furnish their new rooms with overwhelming luxuryluxury that implied red velvet carpets and

continued 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 miserable little twenty or

"But don't you see, Mac," explained Trina, "it's ours just the same. We could get it back whenever 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

"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

"There's Uncle Oelbermann," Trina had suggested, remembering the rich relative who had the wholesale toy

Mr. Sieppe struck his hand to his forehead. "Ah, an idea," he cried. In the end an agreement was made. The

Invested in this fashion, Trina's winning would bring in twentyfive 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 GermanSwiss, and some longforgotten forefather of the sixteenth century, some

worstedleggined woodcarver of the Tyrol, had handed down the talent of the national industry, to reappear

She made Noah's ark animals, whittling them out of a block of soft wood with a sharp jackknife, the only

instrument she used. Trina was very proud to explain her work to McTeague as he had already explained his

"You see, I take a block of straightgrained 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 'nonpoisonous' paintVandyke 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

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, McTeague's profession, the interest of the five thousand dollars, and

Trina's whittling, made a respectable little sum taken altogether. Trina declared they could even lay by

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 instinct of a hardy and

penurious mountain racethe instinct which saves without any thought, without idea of

consequencesaving for the sake of saving, hoarding without knowing why. Even McTeague did not know

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 discourse upon the rents of rooms and the cost of light and fuel with a brusque

outburst of affection that set him all atremble with delight. All at once she would set down her chocolate,

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

Trina took an infinite enjoyment in playing with McTeague's great squarecut head, rumpling his hair till it

stood on end, putting her fingers in his eyes, or stretching his ears out straight, and watching the effect with

her head on one side. It was like a little child playing with some gigantic, goodnatured Saint Bernard.

One particular amusement they never wearied of. The two would lean across the table towards each other,

McTeague folding his arms under his breast. Then Trina, resting on her elbows, would part his mustachethe

great blond mustache of a vikingwith 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 forefinger, drawing it to a fine end.

Then all at once McTeague would make a fearful snorting noise through his nose. Invariablythough she

was expecting 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

But these delicious teteatetes with Trina were offset by a certain coolness that Marcus Schouler began to

affect towards the dentist. At first McTeague was unaware of it; but by this time even his slow wits began to

perceive that his best friendhis "pal"was not the same to him as formerly. They continued to meet at

lunch nearly every day but Friday at the car conductors' coffeejoint. 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 harnessmaker, 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

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

"Hello," returned the other, indifferently, helping himself to tomato catsup. There was a silence. After a long

"Well, you owe me four bits," returned Marcus, doggedly. "I paid for you and Trina that day at the picnic,

"Ohoh!" answered McTeague, in distress. "That's so, that's so. Iyou ought to have told me before. Here's

"It ain't much," observed Marcus, sullenly. "But I need all I can get nowadays."

"And I ain't saying anything about your sleeping at the hospital that night, either," muttered Marcus, as he

"Well, you'd 'a' had to sleep SOMEWHERES, wouldn't you?" flashed out Marcus. "You 'a' had to pay half a

"All right, all right," cried the dentist, hastily, feeling in his pockets. "I don't want you should be out anything

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

"I tell you I won't touch your money," exclaimed the other through his clenched teeth, white with passion.

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

"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

At the corner of Polk Street, between the flat and the car conductors' coffeejoint, was Frenna's. It was a

corner grocery; advertisements for cheap butter and eggs, painted in green markingink upon wrapping

paper, stood about on the sidewalk outside. The doorway was decorated with a huge Milwaukee 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 gorgeouslycolored tobacco advertisements and colored

lithographs of trotting horses. On the wall behind the bar was a model of a fullrigged ship enclosed in a

It was at this place that the dentist used to leave 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

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 discussions with Heise the harnessmaker, and with one or two old

German, habitues of the place. These discussions Marcus carried on, as was his custom, at the top of his

voice, gesticulating fiercely, banging the table with his fists, brandishing the plates and glasses, exciting

On a certain Saturday evening, a few days after the scene at the coffeejoint, 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 McTeague's

"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 contract 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 doI doI 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 observation of the

"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 II am crushed by a tyranny, 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."

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 times, the heat of the

previous discussion had awakened within him all his natural combativeness. Besides this, he was drinking his

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

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

But Marcus was far from being appeased. McTeague could not hear the talk that followed between him and

the harness maker, but it seemed to him that Marcus was telling Heise of some injury, some grievance, and

that the latter was trying to pacify him. All at once their talk grew louder. Heise laid a retaining hand upon his

companion's coat sleeve, but Marcus swung himself around in his chair, and, fixing his eyes on McTeague,

McTeague gaped at him, bewildered. He removed his pipe from his mouth a second time, and stared at

"If I had my rights," cried Marcus, bitterly, "I'd have part of that money. It's my dueit's only justice." The

"If it hadn't been for me," Marcus continued, addressing himself directly to McTeague, "you wouldn't have

had a cent of itno, 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 goby. Why, where would you have been TODAY if

it hadn't been for me?" Marcus shouted in a sudden exasperation, "You'd a been plugging teeth at two bits an

"No, I don't, Heise," returned Marcus, with a plaintive, aggrieved air. "But it's too much sometimes when you

think of it. He stole away my girl's affections, and now that he's rich and prosperous, and has got five

thousand dollars that I might have had, he gives me the goby; he's played me for a sucker. Look here," he

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

"NowNOW," clamored the other, turning to the harness maker, as though this explained everything.

"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

"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, onehorse dentist! Ah, tencent zinc pluggerhoodlumMUCKER! Get

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 outbreak as well as by its unreasonableness. Why 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 misinterpret 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 jackknife lay open in his palm; it shot forward as he flung it, glinted sharply by McTeague's

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

Thereon a great babel of exclamation arose. The tension of that all but fatal instant snapped, and speech

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

"Guess I'll keep this toadstabber," he observed. "That fellow won't come round for it in a hurry; goodsized

"Whatwhatwhat did he do it for?" stammered 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

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

"He can't make small of ME," he exclaimed, suddenly. "I'll show Marcus SchoulerI'll show

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

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

It was this that had roused him. The thrown knife, the attempt on his life, was beyond his solution; but the

As though they had been little children, McTeague set Frenna and the harnessmaker aside, and strode out at

"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 zincplugger, 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 woodwork,

tearing off the lock. Nobodythe 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 McTeague reached his room he stumbled over, in the darkness, a big packingbox that stood in the

hallway just outside his door. Puzzled, he stepped over it, and lighting the gas in his room, dragged it inside

It was addressed to him. What could it mean? He was expecting nothing. Never since he had first furnished

his room had packingcases been left for him in this fashion. No mistake was possible. There were his name

and address unmistakably. "Dr. McTeague, dentistPolk Street, San Francisco, Cal.," and the red Wells

Seized with the joyful curiosity of an overgrown boy, he pried off the boards with the corner of his fireshovel.

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 tomorrow to put it in place." McTeague tore away the excelsior. Suddenly he uttered an

It was the Tooththe famous golden molar with its huge prongshis 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

"Ain't sheain't she just ajust a JEWEL," exclaimed McTeague under his breath, "a JEWELyes, just a

Very carefully he removed the rest of the excelsior, and lifting the ponderous Tooth from its box, set it upon

the marbletop centre table. How immense it looked in that little room! The thing was tremendous,

overpoweringthe tooth of a gigantic 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

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 histhe very thing he wantedhow had she remembered? 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

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.

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 thing out of the corner of one eye, while the brilliant colors of the unused rifle

manufacturer's calendar 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,

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

"An' now he breaks into my roominto 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:

He went to bed himself, turning out the gas, but leaving the windowcurtains 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.

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 yardAlec, the Irish setter, and the collie that belonged to the branch

postoffice 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 itTrina's gift, his birthday from his little

woman a huge, vague bulk, looming there through the half darkness in the centre of the room, shining

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 preliminaries 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

Not Stanley penetrating for the first time into the Dark Continent, not Napoleon leading his army across the

Alps, was more weighted with responsibility, more burdened with care, more overcome with the sense of the

importance of his undertaking, than was Mr. Sieppe during this period of preparation. From dawn to dark,

from dark to early dawn, he toiled and planned and fretted, organizing 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 particular bundles to oversee. Not a detail was forgotten

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 greyhound 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

Day in and day out these minutiae were rehearsed. The children were drilled in their parts with a military

exactitude; obedience and punctuality became cardinal virtues. The vast importance of the undertaking was

insisted upon with scrupulous iteration. It was a manoeuvre, an army changing its base of operations, a

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 parlor, the chatter of

unfamiliar voices resounded from the front steps; bonnetboxes and yards of dressgoods 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 snowflurry, buried the little worktable;

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 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 arrangements, was mistaken for the

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 packingboxes, and broke the hall gas fixture; he

came in upon Trina and the dressmaker at an illtimed moment, and retiring precipitately, overturned the

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 packingboxes. 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 banisters 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 dogwheel creaked, the front door bell rang, delivery wagons

Almost every day of the week now Trina was obliged to run over to town and meet McTeague. No more

philandering over their lunch nowadays. It was business now. They haunted the housefurnishing 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 diningroom 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 establishment 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

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 godfromthemachine,

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 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

"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,

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

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

Marcus muttered an apology. McTeague, miserably embarrassed, rolled his eyes about the room, murmuring,

However, when it was proposed that Marcus should be McTeague's best man, he flashed out again with

renewed violence. Ah, no! ah, NO! He'd make up with the dentist now that he was going away, but he'd be

damnedyes, he wouldbefore he'd be his best man. That was rubbing it in. Let him get Old Grannis.

"I'm friends with um all right," vociferated Marcus, "but I'll not stand up with um. I'll not be ANYBODY'S

The wedding was to be very quiet; Trina preferred it that way. McTeague would invite only Miss Baker and

Heise the harnessmaker. The Sieppes sent cards to Selina, who was counted on to furnish the music; to

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 homethe 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 married the following evening, and immediately

McTeague spent the day in a fever of agitation, frightened out of his wits each time that Old Grannis left his

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 halfformed thoughts. He found

himself continually wondering what Miss Baker would think of it. During all that day he was in a reflective

"Marriage is aa noble institution, is it not, Doctor?" he observed to McTeague. "Thethe foundation of

society. It is not good that man 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

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

The rooms were three in numberfirst, the sittingroom, which was also the diningroom; then the

The sittingroom 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 possession of the Sieppes, but given now to Trina

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 pictures were hung on

either side of the mantelpiece. The other picture was quite an affair, very large and striking. It was a colored

lithograph of two little goldenhaired girls in their night gowns. They were kneeling down and saying their

prayers; their eyesvery large and very bluerolled upward. This picture had for name, "Faith," and was

A door hung with chenille portieresa bargain at two dollars and a halfadmitted one to the bedroom. The

bedroom could boast a carpet, threeply ingrain, the design being bunches of red and green flowers in yellow

baskets on a white ground. The wallpaper was admirable hundreds and hundreds of tiny Japanese

mandarins, all identically alike, helping hundreds of almondeyed ladies into hundreds of impossible junks,

while hundreds of bamboo palms overshadowed the pair, and hundreds of longlegged 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 moonfaced little girls.

Back of the bedroom was the kitchen, a creation of Trina's, a dream of a kitchen, with its range, its

porcelainlined sink, its copper boiler, and its overpowering array of flashing tinware. Everything was new;

Maria Macapa and a waiter from one of the restaurants in the street were to prepare the wedding supper here.

Maria had already put in an appearance. The fire was crackling in the new 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

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

The presents had been set out on the extension table in the sittingroom. Besides the parlor melodeon, Trina's

parents had given her an icewater set, and a carving knife and fork with elkhorn 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 Schoulerafter impressing upon Trina that his gift was to HER, and not to McTeaguehad

sent a chatelaine watch of German silver; Uncle Oelbermann's present, however, had been awaited with a

good deal of curiosity. What would he send? He was very rich; in a sense Trina was his protege. 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 whatwhatI don't make it out," McTeague 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

"We've no use of toys," muttered McTeague, looking at her in perplexity. Old Grannis smiled discreetly,

The other box was heavy, bound with withes at the edges, the letters and stamps burnt in.

"I thinkI really think it's champagne," said Old Grannis in a whisper. So it was. A full case of Monopole.

What a wonder! None of them had seen the like before. Ah, this Uncle Oelbermann! That's what it was to be

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 McTeague's "Parlors." At the door Old Grannis excused himself.

At four o'clock McTeague began to dress, shaving himself first before the handglass that was hung against

the woodwork of the bay window. While he shaved he sang with strange inappropriateness:

But as he stood before the mirror, intent upon his shaving, there came a roll of wheels over the cobbles in

front of the house. He rushed to the window. Trina had arrived with her father and mother. He saw her get

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 innocence 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 hesitation. 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

The dentist finished dressing. He wore a suit bought for the occasiona ready made "Prince Albert" coat too

short in the sleeves, striped "blue" trousers, and new patent leather shoesveritable instruments of torture.

Around his collar was a wonderful necktie that Trina had given him; it was of salmonpink satin; in its centre

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

"Are you reatty?" he asked in a sepulchral whisper. "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 in the air.

He left them at the door of the sittingroom, 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

The dentist and Old Grannis entered the sittingroom; the minister stood behind the little table in the bay

window, holding a book, one finger marking the place; he was rigid, erect, impassive. On either side of him,

in a semicircle, stood the invited guests. A little pockmarked 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 harnessmaker, in yellow gloves, intently studying

the pattern of the matting; and Owgooste, in his Fauntleroy "costume," stupefied and a little frightened,

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

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

Trina entered. She was dressed in white silk, a crown of orange blossoms was around her swarthy

hairdressed high for the first timeher veil reached to the floor. Her face was pink, but otherwise she was

calm. She looked quietly around the room as she crossed it, until her glance rested on McTeague, smiling at

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 "lacepaper" 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

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

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 glittering. Trina sank at his

side very gracefully, setting 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 advantage 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

All at once the ceremony was over before any one expected it. The guests kept their positions for a moment,

eyeing one another, each fearing to make the first move, not quite certain as to whether or not everything

were finished. But the couple faced the room, Trina throwing back her veil. Sheperhaps McTeague as

wellfelt that there was a certain inadequateness about the ceremony. Was that all there was to it? Did just

those few muttered 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

But Trina had no time to dwell upon this. Marcus 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. McTeague," he said, feeling very noble and heroic. The strain of the

previous moments was relaxed immediately, the guests crowded around the pair, shaking handsa babel of

"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 together."

"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 forehead.

For upwards of half an hour the guests stood about in groups, filling the little sittingroom with a great

This was a tremendous task, in which nearly all the guests were obliged to assist. The sittingroom was

transformed into a diningroom. The presents were removed from the extension table and the table drawn out

to its full length. The cloth was laid, the chairsrented from the dancing academy hard bydrawn up, the

dishes set out, and the two bouquets of cut flowers taken from the twins under their shrill protests, and

There was a great coming and going between the kitchen and the sittingroom. Trina, who was allowed to do

nothing, sat in the bay window and fretted, calling to her mother from time to time:

They were all very gay, laughing over their mistakes, getting in one another's way, rushing into the

sittingroom, their hands full of plates or knives or glasses, and darting out again after more. Marcus and Mr.

Sieppe took their coats off. Old Grannis 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

In a wonderfully short time everything was ready. Marcus Schouler resumed his coat, wiping his forehead,

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

trepidation he sat down beside the retired dressmaker. Neither of them spoke. Old Grannis dared not move,

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 restaurant, hired as Maria's assistant, rose from a bending posture, a

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 exclaiming with a long breath of satisfaction: "That's the best beer I ever drank."

There was a roar of laughter. Especially was Marcus tickled over 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,

What a wonderful supper that was! There was oyster soup; there were sea bass and barracuda; there was a

gigantic roast goose stuffed with chestnuts; there were eggplant and sweet potatoesMiss Baker called

them "yams." There was calf's head in oil, over which Mr. Sieppe went into ecstasies; there was lobster salad;

there were rice pudding, 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 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

There was but little conversation, and that only of the food; one exchanged opinions with one's neighbor as to

the soup, the eggplant, 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 himself 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

The Sieppes paid great deference to Uncle Oelbermann, as indeed did the whole company. Even Marcus

Schouler lowered his voice when he addressed him. At the beginning of the meal he had nudged the

harnessmaker and had whispered behind his hand, nodding his head toward the wholesale toy dealer, "Got

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. McTeague's cheeks were distended, his eyes wide, his huge, salient

jaw moved with a machine like regularity; at intervals he drew a series of short breaths through his nose.

That was how the waiter had spoken of the champagne "bubblewater." The guests had shouted applause,

Bottle after bottle was opened, the women stopping their ears as the corks were drawn. All of a sudden the

dentist uttered an exclamation, clapping his hand to his nose, his face twisting sharply.

"That champagne came to my nose," he cried, his eyes watering. "It stings like everything."

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

Throughout the meal old Miss Baker had occupied herself largely with Owgooste and the twins, who had

been given a table by themselvesthe 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, oxlike, expressionless.

The next instant both of the old people were overwhelmed with confusion. What! They had spoken to each

other after all these years of silence; they had for the first time addressed remarks to each other.

The old dressmaker was in a torment of embarrassment. How was it she had come to speak? She had neither

planned nor wished it. Suddenly the words had escaped her, he had answered, and it was all overover

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

yearsthat companionship, that intimacy with his fellowlodger, that delightful acquaintance which was

only to ripen at some far distant time, he could not exactly say whenbehold, it had suddenly come to a

head, here in this overcrowded, overheated room, in the midst of all this feeding, surrounded by odors of

hot dishes, accompanied by the sounds of incessant mastication. How different he had imagined it would be!

They were to be alonehe and Miss Bakerin 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

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 childhood, 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

At last that great supper was over, everything had been eaten; the enormous roast goose had dwindled to a

very skeleton. Mr. Sieppe had reduced the calf's head to a mere skull; a row of empty champagne

bottles"dead soldiers," as the facetious waiter had called themlined the mantelpiece. 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 been washed; crumbs of bread, potato parings, nutshells, and bits of cake littered the table;

coffee and icecream stains and spots of congealed gravy marked the position of each plate. It was a

devastation, 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!"

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 remains 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

The company had left the table and had assembled about the melodeon, where Selina was seated. At first they

attempted some of the popular songs of the day, but were obliged to give over as none of them knew any of

the words beyond the first line of the chorus. Finally they pitched upon "Nearer, My God, to Thee," as the

only song which they all knew. Selina sang the "alto," very much off the key; Marcus intoned the bass,

scowling fiercely, his chin drawn into his collar. They sang in very slow time. The song became a dirge, a

At the end of the song, Uncle Oelbermann put on his hat without a word of warning. Instantly there was a

"Not going so soon, Uncle Oelbermann?" protested Trina, politely. He only nodded. Marcus sprang forward

Then Uncle Oelbermann delivered himself of an oracular phrase. No doubt he had been meditating it during

These were the only words he had spoken the entire evening. He departed; the company was profoundly

About twenty minutes later, when Marcus Schouler was entertaining the guests by eating almonds, shells and

"Hafbast 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 together, with

tremendous commanding gestures. The sleeping twins were suddenly shaken into a dazed consciousness;

Owgooste, whom the almondeating of Marcus Schouler had petrified with admiration, was smacked to a

Old Grannis, with a certain delicacy that was one of his characteristics, felt instinctively that the gueststhe

mere outsidersshould depart before the family began its leavetaking of Trina. He withdrew unobtrusively,

after a hasty goodnight 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

"If you hear of anybody down there," he went on, speaking to Mr. Sieppe, "that wants to go in for ranching,

Marcus bade the Sieppes farewell. He and Heise went out together. One heard them, as they descended the

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

Trina watched them go, one by one, with an increasing feeling of uneasiness and vague apprehension. Soon

"Well, Trina," exclaimed Mr. Sieppe, "gootpy; perhaps you gome visit us somedime."

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

McTeague was miserable. He stood apart from the group, in a corner. None of them seemed to think of him;

"Write to me very often, mamma, and tell me about everythingabout August and the twins."

"It is dime," cried Mr. Sieppe, nervously. "Gootpy, Trina. Mommer, Owgooste, say gootpy, den we must

go. Gootpy, Trina." He kissed her. Owgooste and the twins were lifted up. "Gome, gome," insisted Mr.

"Gootpy, Trina," exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, crying harder than ever. "Doktorwhere is der doktorDoktor,

pe goot to her, eh? pe vairy goot, eh, won't you? Zum day, Dokter, you vill haf a daughter, den you know

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

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 McTeague 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, II'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' grysohsoh soh, dere's nuttun to pe 'fraid oaf. Dere, go

She loosened Trina's arms and started down the stairs. Trina leaned over the banisters, straining her eyes after

For another moment Trina stood leaning over the banisters, looking down into the empty stairway. It was

dark. There was nobody. Theyher father, her mother, the childrenhad left her, left her alone. She faced

about toward the rooms faced her husband, faced her new home, the new life that was to begin now.

The hall was empty and deserted. The great flat around her seemed new and huge and strange; she felt

horribly alone. Even Maria and the hired waiter were gone. On one of the floors above she heard a baby

crying. She stood there an instant in the dark hall, in her wedding finery, looking about her, listening. From

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 sittingroom 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

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

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,

"No, no," cried Trina, shrinking from him. Suddenly seized with the fear of himthe intuitive feminine fear

of the maleher whole being quailed before him. She was terrified at his huge, squarecut head; his

"No, noI'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

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

"What are you afraid of, Trina?" he said, reassuringly. "I don't want to frighten you."

She looked at him wildly, her adorable little chin 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 almost in a whisper:

But the dentist did not heed her. An immense joy seized upon himthe joy of possession. Trina was his very

Those instincts that in him were so close to the surface suddenly leaped to life, shouting and clamoring, not to

be resisted. He loved her. Ah, did he not love her? The smell of her hair, of her neck, rose to him.

Suddenly he caught her in both his huge arms, crushing down her 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

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

That summer passed, then the winter. The wet season began in the last days of September and continued all

through October, November, and December. 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 effervescence 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

All day long Trina sat in the bay window of the sittingroom 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

bellhanger'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 bloodstained butcher's

aprons. Upon the sidewalks the little world of Polk Street swarmed and jostled through its daily round of life.

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 marketing. On rainy days their servantsthe Chinese cooks or the

second girlstook their places. These servants gave themselves great airs, carrying their big cotton

umbrellas as they had seen their mistresses carry their parasols, and haggling in supercilious fashion with the

The rain persisted. Everything in the range of Trina's vision, from the tarpaulins on the marketcart 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

Trina still continued to work for Uncle Oelbermann. In the mornings she busied herself about the kitchen, the

bedroom, and the sittingroom; 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 afterwards for lighting fires. One after

another she caught up the little blocks of straightgrained 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,

But very often during that rainy winter after her marriage Trina would pause in her work, her hands falling

idly into her lap, her eyesher narrow, pale blue eyesgrowing wide and thoughtful as she gazed,

She loved McTeague now with a blind, unreasoning 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

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 excitement and novelty of the honeymoon were dying down, when the new

household was settling into its grooves, she passed through many an hour of misgiving, of doubt, and even of

Never would she forget one Sunday afternoon in particular. She had been married but three weeks. After

dinner she and little Miss Baker had gone for a bit of a walk to take advantage of an hour's sunshine and to

look at some wonderful geraniums in a florist's window on Sutter Street. They had been caught in a shower,

and on returning 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 returned to her rooms. For nearly three hours McTeague had been

out of her thoughts, and as she came through their little suite, singing softly to herself, she suddenly came

upon him quite unexpectedly. 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 tobacco. 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 footrest; his pipe, fallen from his halfopen mouth, had spilled the ashes

into his lap; while on the floor, at his side stood the halfempty pitcher of steam beer. His head had rolled

limply upon one shoulder, his face was red with sleep, and from his open mouth came a terrific sound of

For a moment Trina stood looking at him as he lay thus, prone, inert, halfdressed, and stupefied with the

heat of the room, the steam beer, and the 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 feetin 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

elseworse than allshe 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

forgotten, since they would be thrown away upon her stupid, brutish husband. "Her husband!" THAT, was

her husband in thereshe could yet hear his snoresfor life, for life. A great despair seized upon her. She

buried her face in the pillow and thought of her mother with an infinite longing.

Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary, McTeague had awakened slowly. After a while he had

taken down his concertina and played upon it the six very mournful airs that he knew.

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

That her husband should be ignorant of her distress 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

"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 instant 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."

"Whatwhatwhat" the dentist exclaimed, starting up bewildered, a little frightened.

But this first crisis, this momentary revolt, as much a matter of highstrung feminine nerves as of anything

else, passed, and in the end Trina's affection 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 concessions, little by little, and all unconsciously they adapted their

modes of life to suit each other. Instead of sinking to McTeague's level as she had feared, Trina found that

she could make McTeague rise to hers, and in this saw a solution of many a difficult and gloomy

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 herthe 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, murmuring:

"Dear old Mac, I love you so, I love you so. Oh, aren't we happy together, Mac, just us two and no one else?

You love me as much as I love you, don't you, Mac? Oh, if you shouldn'tif 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 attention, for she was an admirable housekeeper, keeping the little suite in marvellous

good order and regulating the schedule of expenditure with an economy that often bordered on positive

niggardliness. It was a passion with her to save money. In the bottom of her trunk, in the bedroom, she hid a

brass matchsafe 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 purpose, she hoarded instinctively, without knowing why, responding to the dentist's

Trina had always been an economical little body, but it was only since her great winning in the lottery 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 miraculous fortune be spent; rather should it be added to. It was a nest egg, a monstrous,

roclike 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

McTeague, on his part, never asked himself nowadays whether he loved Trina the wife as much as he had

loved Trina the young girl. There had 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 increased in vehemence the longer they lived

together, puzzled rather than pleased him. He had come to submit to them goodnaturedly, answering her

passionate inquiries with a "Sure, sure, Trina, sure I love you. Whatwhat'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 boxwood mallet as

he had taught her. But that tempest of passion, that overpowering desire 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

McTeague had relapsed to his wonted stolidity. He never questioned himself, never looked for motives, never

went to the bottom of things. The year following upon the summer of his marriage was a time of great

contentment for him; after the novelty of the honeymoon had passed he slipped easily into the new order of

things without a question. 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 withas in the case of his Sunday afternoon's

nap and beersome agreeable substitute was found. In her attempts to improve McTeagueto raise him

from the stupid animal life to which he had been accustomed in his bachelor daysTrina 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 influence of his little wife. He no longer went abroad with frayed

cuffs about his huge red wristsor 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 flannelsthick red flannels they

were, with enormous bone buttonsonce 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. McTeague 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 indifferent 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

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, convictionsit was not fair to deprive taxpaying 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

But most wonderful of all, McTeague began to have ambitions very vague, very confused ideas of

something betterideas 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 callalilies. 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 prosperous plumber or house painter.

Then this son Daniel would marry a wife, and they would all live together in that sixroomandbath house;

Daniel would have little children. McTeague would grow old among them all. The dentist saw himself as a

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

On weekdays they rose at halfpast six, being awakened by the boy who brought the bottled milk, and who

had instructions to pound upon the bedroom door in passing. Trina made breakfastcoffee, 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 tablespread tacked on. After breakfast the dentist immediately betook

himself to his "Parlors" to meet his early morning appointmentsthose made with the clerks and shop girls

Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the suite, clearing away the breakfast, sponging off the oilcloth

tablespread, making the bed, pottering 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 hournow in the 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 twoMiss Baker, or Heise's lame wife, or Mrs. Ryer. At times she

passed the flat and looked up at the windows 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 sittingroom, the

Nottingham lace curtains stirring and billowing in the draft, and she caught sight of Maria Macapa's towelled

head as the Mexican maidofallwork went to and fro in the suite, sweeping or carrying away the ashes.

Occasionally 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 reticuleonce her mother'sfull of parcels. At

once she set about getting lunchsausages, perhaps, with mashed potatoes; or last evening's joint warmed

over or made into a stew; chocolate, which Trina adored, and a side dish or two a salted herring or a

couple of artichokes or a salad. At halfpast 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 sittingroom. They told each other of their

doings throughout the forenoon; Trina showed her purchases, McTeague recounted the progress of an

operation. At one o'clock they separated, the dentist 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 occupiedsometimes 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 Bakerto be

returned. Towards five o'clock the old woman whom they had hired for that purpose came to cook supper, for

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 twitching of the muscles, much like the oscillations of the head

of a toy donkey. Her timidity was exasperating, 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 Augustine but each time she had

retained her as she reflected upon her admirably cooked cabbage soups and tapioca puddings, andwhich in

Trina's eyes was her chiefest recommendationthe pittance for which she was contented to work.

Augustine had a husband. He was a spiritmediuma "professor." At times he held seances in the larger

rooms of the flat, playing vigorously upon a mouthorgan and invoking a familiar whom he called "Edna,"

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 Augustine 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 promenading 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' windows, finding a great delight in picking out things for each other,

saying how they would choose this and that if they were rich. Trina did most of the talking. McTeague

merely approving by a growl or a movement of the head or shoulders; she was interested 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 harnessmaker and his wife, with whom they had become acquainted. Then

the evening was concluded by a fourcornered 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 cocktails and whiskey straight, and urged the

dentist to join him. But McTeague was obstinate, shaking his head. "I can't drink that stuff," he said. "It don't

agree with me, somehow; I go kinda crazy after two glasses." So he gorged himself with beer and frankfurter

When the annual Mechanic's Fair opened, McTeague and Trina often spent their evenings there, studying the

exhibits carefully (since in Trina's estimation 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 down into the huge

There rose to them the vast shuffling noise of thousands of feet and a subdued roar of conversation 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, crying shrilly, their hands full of advertisement pamphlets, 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 exhibit 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 picture to another. Trina had McTeague buy a catalogue

and made a duty of finding the title of every picture. This, too, she told McTeague, as a kind of education one

ought to cultivate. Trina professed to be fond of art, having perhaps acquired a taste for painting and

"Of course," she told the dentist, "I'm no critic, I only know what I like." She knew that she liked the "Ideal

Heads," lovely girls with flowing strawcolored hair and immense, upturned eyes. These always had for title,

"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 handpainted 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, spiritmediums, and the like, ran on monotonously in

its accustomed grooves. The first three years of their married life wrought little change in the fortunes of the

McTeagues. In the third summer the branch postoffice 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 processions and

"floats" and brass bands. Marcus Schouler was in his element during the whole time 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 brokendown cabhorse over the cobbles. He carried a baton covered

with yellow 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 dentist would mutter:

The result of the festival was the organizing of a body known as the "Polk Street Improvement Club," of

which Marcus was elected secretary. McTeague and Trina often heard of him in this capacity through Heise

the harnessmaker. 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

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 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

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 arrangement of the rooms, commenting upon its immediate

neighborhoodwhich was rather sordid. The house was a wooden twostory 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

callalilies. 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

However, the house was occupied. A Hungarian family lived in it. The father kept a stationery and notion

"bazaar" next to Heise's harnessshop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a third violin in the

orchestra of a theatre. The family rented the house unfurnished for thirtyfive dollars, paying extra for the

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, lookingglasses, and washbowls littered the sidewalks. The Hungarian family were moving out.

After that they spoke but little. For upwards of an hour the two stood upon the sidewalk opposite, watching

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 installed therein. Here would be the bedroom, here the diningroom, here

a charming little parlor. As they came out upon the front steps once more they met the owner, an enormous,

redfaced fellow, so fat that his walking seemed merely a certain movement of his feet by which he pushed

his stomach 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:

"I am not so sure yet. Thirtyfive dollars and the water extra. I don't think we can afford it, Mac."

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, besides," went on McTeague, exasperated at Trina's persistent

economies. "How much money have you got in that little brass matchsafe in the bottom of your trunk?

Pretty near a hundred dollars, I guessah, sure." He shut his eyes and nodded his great head in a knowing

Trina had more than that in the brass matchsafe in question, but her instinct of hoarding had led her to keep

"A hundred dollars! What are you talking of, Mac? I've not got fifty. I've not got THIRTY."

"Oh, let's take that little house," broke in McTeague. "We got the chance now, and it may never come again.

"I don't know," said Trina, hesitating. "Wouldn't it be lovely to have a house all to ourselves? But let's not

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."

"Well, then, suppose you sign for the first month's rent, and we'll call it a bargain. That's business, you

"Oh, that's all right," answered the owner, easily. "I guess if the head of the family wants a thing, that's

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 plasterofparis mould he was making and went out into the kitchen and found her chopping up

"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 morning, and she said the

Hungarians moved out because 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."

"Wellwell," 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,

anyhowto 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

"Well, I guess we can stand thirtyfive dollars," mumbled the dentist, "if we've got to."

"Thirtyfive dollars just thrown out of the window," cried Trina, her teeth clicking, every instinct of her

parsimony aroused. "Oh, you the thickwittedest man that I ever knew. Do you think we're millionaires? Oh,

to think of losing thirtyfive 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. Suddenly she rose to her feet and slammed the

choppingbowl down upon the table. "Well, I won't pay a nickel of it," she exclaimed.

"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'llwe'll share and share alike. Why, you saidyou told me you'd take the

"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

"Why, you got a whole hundred dollars saved up in your matchsafe," shouted the dentist, throwing 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 hundred dollars. You won't touch it; you won't touch my money, I

"It's mine! It's mine! It's mine!" cried Trina, her face scarlet, her teeth clicking like the snap of a closing

"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,

Trina shrugged her shoulders with a great affectation 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

"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

"Ah, don't try and be smart," cried McTeague. "Come, now, yes or no, will you pay your half?"

"Miser!" shouted McTeague. "Miser! you're worse than old Zerkow. All right, all right, keep your money. I'll

"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

"I'd like to have my kitchen to myself, please," she said in a mincing way, irritating to a last degree. The

For nearly a week the breach between them remained unhealed. Trina only spoke to the dentist in

monosyllables, while he, exasperated at her calmness and frigid reserve, sulked in his "Dental Parlors,"

muttering terrible things beneath his mustache, 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

There was no formal reconciliation between the dentist and his little woman. Their relations readjusted

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 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, thirtyfive dollars, 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 halfwhittled figure between her

fingers. If not thirtyfive dollars, then at least fifteen or sixteen, her share of it. But a feeling of reluctance, a

"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 basket 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 changehalf

dollars and dollars for the most part, with here and there a gold piece. Long since the little brass matchbox

had overflowed. Trina kept the surplus in a chamoisskin sack she had made from an old chest protector. Just

now, yielding to an impulse which often seized her, she drew out the matchbox and the chamois sack, and

emptying the contents on the bed, counted them carefully. It came to one hundred and sixtyfive dollars, all

told. She counted it and recounted it and made little piles of it, and rubbed the gold pieces between the folds

"Ah, yes, ten dollars is all I can afford to give Mac," said Trina, "and even then, think of it, ten dollarsit

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 tendollar 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 drawstring. It was a lamentable sight. Trina looked longingly at the ten broad pieces in her hand.

Then suddenly all her intuitive desire of saving, her instinct of hoarding, her love of money for the money's

"No, no, no," she said. "I can't do it. It may be mean, but I can't help it. It's stronger than I." She returned the

money to the bag and locked it and the brass matchbox in her trunk, turning the key with a long breath of

She was a little troubled, however, as she went back into the sittingroom 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."

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 housecleaning that week and had

a presentiment of a hard day's work ahead of her, while McTeague remembered a seven o'clock appointment

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 rollersweeper in her hand. She covered the bureau and sewing

machine with sheets, and unhooked the chenille portieres between the bedroom and the sittingroom. As she

was tying the Nottingham lace curtains at the window into great knots, she saw old Miss Baker on the

"Oh, it's you, Mrs. McTeague," cried the retired 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 marketbasket on her arm, her hands wrapped in the

ends of her worsted shawl against the cold of the early morning. They exchanged phrases, calling to each

other from window to curb, their breath coming from their lips in faint 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.

"No, no," answered the other. "I'm always up at halfpast 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

"Oh, my, yes; and I got a fisha solesee." She drew the sole in question from her basket.

"I got this one at Spadella's; he always has good fish on Friday. How is the doctor, Mrs. McTeague?"

"You know, Mrs. Ryer told me," cried the little dressmaker, moving forward a step out of the way of a

"glassputin" man, "that Doctor McTeague pulled a tooth of that Catholic priest, Fatheroh, I forget his

nameanyhow, he pulled his tooth with his fingers. Was that true, Mrs. 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

"With his fingers! Now, think of that," exclaimed Miss Baker, wagging her head. "Isn't he that strong! It's just

wonderful. Cleaning house today?" she inquired, glancing at Trina's towelled head.

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 forgetting something I was just dying to tell you. Mrs. McTeague,

what ever in the world do you suppose? Maria and old Zerkow, that redheaded Polish Jew, the

"Oh, tell me all about it," said Trina, leaning eagerly from the window. Miss Baker crossed the street and

"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 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

"But what DO those two see in each other?" cried Trina. "Zerkow is a horror, he's an old man, and his hair is

"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 I 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,

"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."

"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 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. Perhaps 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

"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

But suddenly there was a diversion. Alexander, Marcus Schouler's Irish setter, whom his master had long

since allowed the liberty of running untrammelled about the neighborhood, turned the corner briskly and

came trotting along the sidewalk where Miss Baker stood. At the same moment the Scotch collie who had at

one time belonged to the branch postoffice issued from the side door of a house not fifty feet away. In an

instant the two enemies had recognized each other. They halted abruptly, their fore feet planted rigidly. Trina

"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 topstory 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 depending from

his mouth. All the flat knew of the feud between the dogs, but never before had the pair been brought face to

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 stiffedlegged and upon the very points of

their feet. Then they wheeled about and began to circle in the opposite direction. Twice they repeated this

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 something of great importance. They disappeared. Once out of

"Well, I NEVER!" exclaimed Trina in great disgust. "The way those two dogs have been carrying 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

"Sick 'im, sick 'im," called Maria Macapa, in a vain attempt to promote a fight.

Old Miss Baker came out of the vestibule, pursing her lips, quite put out at the fiasco. "And after all that

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. Instantly Miss Baker was seized with trepidation, her curious little false curls shook, a fainta very

faintflush came into her withered cheeks, and her heart beat so violently under the worsted shawl that she

felt obliged to shift the marketbasket to her other arm and put out her free hand to steady herself against the

On his part, Old Grannis was instantly overwhelmed 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 embarrassment on this occasion was the fact that the old Englishman should meet her thus,

carrying a sordid market basket full of sordid fish and cabbage. It seemed as if a malicious fate persisted in

Just now, however, a veritable catastrophe occurred. The little old dressmaker changed her basket to her other

arm at precisely the wrong moment, and Old Grannis, hastening to pass, removing his hat in a hurried

salutation, struck it with his fore arm, 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

The little retired dressmaker, horribly vexed, nervous and embarrassed, was hard put to it to keep back the

tears. Old Grannis stood for a moment with averted eyes, murmuring: "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. II

"Hello, people," he cried. "By damn! you've upset your basketyou 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 twowith 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.

Little Miss Baker hastened to her room and locked herself in. She was excited and upset during all the rest of

the day, and listened eagerly for Old Grannis's return that evening. He went instantly 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, brewing

herself a cup of tea. All through that evening the two old people "kept company" with each 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 immediately they had fallen back into their old ways again, quite unable to master their timidity, to

overcome 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

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. Sometimes 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

friendthe girl who had won a fortuneas 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. 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 dentistand against himself, for that matterknew no bounds. "And you might

'a' had it all yourself, Marcus Schouler," he muttered to himself on the stairs. "You mushhead, you damn

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 proportions of a

Republican political machinehe 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 hospital. 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

occurred, 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 quickness 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 pulled his wires that, at the end of the matter, he found

When McTeague came out of his "Parlors" at noon of the day upon which Trina had heard the news of Maria

Macapa's intended marriage, he found Trina burning coffee on a shovel in the sittingroom. 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 ita smell that arose

partly from the photographer's chemicals, partly from the cooking in the little kitchen, and partly from the

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 chocolate. As he tucked his napkin into his enormous collar, McTeague looked

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 marriage 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 McTeague'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 forward 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 paperhangers

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

Trina still had her mania for family picnics, which had been one of the Sieppes most cherished customs; but

"I don't know as we can afford it this month, Mac," she said, pouring the chocolate. "I got to pay the gas bill

"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

"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 boardinghouse now, and they

They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the yearit was Mayand 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

"Hello, Doctor," cried the harnessmaker as the McTeagues came up. "This is what you'd call an old folks'

The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and sat down to listen to the band of Italian

musicians who were playing outside this morning because of the fineness of the weather.

"Oh, we're going to have lots of fun," cried Trina. "If it's anything I do love it's a picnic. Do you remember

"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 companionway. "Ain't that Mr.

It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party he gaped at them a moment in blank

"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 completely.

McTeague settled himself in his seat, growling inarticulately behind his mustache.

"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

In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair of slateblue trousers, a black "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 today. 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

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 accomplishments, 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 McTeague. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah, McTeague 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 furiously at the dentist, who, catching his eye, began

"Well, say," began Mrs. Ryer, with some hesitation, looking to Ryer for approval, "why can't Marcus come

"Why, of course," exclaimed Mrs. Heise, disregarding her husband's vigorous nudges. "I guess we got lunch

"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

Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the harnessmaker 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.

At the bar Heise and Ryer ordered cocktails, Marcus called for a "creme Yvette" in order to astonish the

"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;

McTeague was at once overcome with a great feeling of magnanimity. He put out his great hand.

"Well, I don't care if I shake," admitted Marcus, a little shamefacedly, as their palms touched. "I guess that's

"That's the idea," exclaimed Heise, delighted at his success. "Come on, boys, now let's drink." Their elbows

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 perspiration for the sake of making an impression

on their wives. They ran hundredyard 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 a while. As long

as it was a question of agility, Marcus was easily the best of the four; but the dentist's enormous strength, his

crude, untutored brute force, was a matter of wonder for the entire party. McTeague cracked English

walnutstaken from the lunch basketsin 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 began 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 halfgrown heifer with a

blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had just stiffened out and trembled all over and died

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, exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details. Why, the

heifer had just frothed at the mouth, and his eyes had rolled upah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like

thatand the butcher had said his skull was all mashed injust all mashed in, sure, that's the wordjust as

Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the dentist 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,

"Ah, onehorse dentist," he muttered between his teeth. "Ah, zincplugger, cowkiller, I'd like to show you

"I tell you what," said Heise, "we'll have a tournament. Marcus and I will rastle, and Doc and Ryer, and then

"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 harnessmaker struggled

together for a few moments till Heise all at once slipped on a bit of turf and fell backwards. As they toppled

over together, Marcus writhed himself from under his opponent, and, as they reached the ground, forced

"All right, all right," panted the harnessmaker, good naturedly, "I'm down. It's up to you and Doc now," he

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 strangleholds and halfNelsons. The men drew back to allow them a free space as they faced each

The dentist and Marcus stepped forward, eyeing each other cautiously. They circled around the impromptu

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 question to resist that enormous strength.

"Down nothing," he vociferated, with clenched fists. "Down nothing, by damn! You got to throw me so's my

"Hoh, you're down. I threw you. Didn't I throw him, Trina? Hoh, you can't rastle ME."

"You didn't! you didn't! you didn't! and you can't! You got to give me another try."

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

"That's straight," put in Heise, "both his shoulders down at the same time. Try it again. You and Schouler

McTeague was bewildered by so much simultaneous talk. He could not make out what it was all about. Could

"What? What? Huh? What is it?" he exclaimed in perplexity, looking from one to the other.

"Sure, sure," cried the dentist. "I'll rastle you again. I'll rastle everybody," he cried, suddenly struck with an

"Yes," admitted Selina. "Mister Schouler's got an awful quick temper, but he ain't afraid of anything."

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

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 his forehead, matted with sweat. Marcus began to yield

despite his frantic efforts. One shoulder was down, now the other began to go; gradually, gradually it was

forced over. The little audience held its breath in the suspense of the moment. Selina broke the silence,

Marcus heard it, and his fury came instantly to a head. Rage at his defeat at the hands of the dentist and

before Selina's eyes, the hate he still bore his oldtime "pal" and the impotent wrath of his own

"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 bitten through the lobe of the

Then followed a terrible scene. The brute that in McTeague lay so close to the surface leaped instantly 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 speaking tones. It was the hideous yelling of a hurt beast, the squealing of a wounded

elephant. He framed no words; in the rush of highpitched sound that issued from his wideopen 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 and perverted

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

hairthe hands of the oldtime carboyhe swung him wide, as a hammerthrower 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 report 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, bending

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 Ryan ran in between the two men. Selina turned

"Here, here, Doc, quit. Don't make a fool of yourself," cried Heise, clinging to the dentist. "That's enough

"Oh, Mac, Mac," cried Trina, running to her husband. "Mac, dear, listen; it's me, it's Trina, look at me,

"For God's sake, hold up, Doc, will you?" shouted the harnessmaker. "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

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

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.

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 somethingthe best thing we can do to stop your ear

"There's some ice in our lunch basket," broke in Heise. "We brought it for the beer; and take the napkins and

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 napkins into strips, and, crushing some of the ice, made a bandage for her

The party resolved itself into two groups; the Ryers and Mrs. Heise bending over Marcus, while the

harnessmaker 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 palegreen grass. Between the two groups was

the torn and trampled bit of turf, the wrestling ring; the picnic baskets, together with empty beer bottles,

broken eggshells, and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here and there. In the middle of the improvised

wrestling ring the sleeve of Marcus's shirt fluttered occasionally in the sea breeze.

Nobody was paying any attention to Selina. All at once she began to giggle hysterically again, then cried out

"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 platethe service.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zerkow," answered Maria. "There never was no gold plate, no gold

Maria and the redheaded Polish Jew had been married about a month after the McTeague's picnic 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 recovered 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 pronounced disfavor, since it had a mouth to be fed and wants to be provided for. Maria

was out of her head so much of the time that she could scarcely remember 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

But the birth of this child had peculiar consequences. Maria came out of her dementia, and in a few days the

household settled itself again to its sordid regime and Maria went about her duties as usual. Then one

evening, about a week after the child's burial, Zerkow had asked Maria to tell him the story of the famous

Zerkow had come to believe in this story infallibly. He was immovably persuaded that at one time Maria or

Maria's people had possessed these hundred golden dishes. In his perverted mind the hallucination 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 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

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

"The ones your people used to own in Central America. Come on, Maria, begin, begin." The Jew craned

"What gold plate?" said Maria, frowning at him as she drank her whiskey. "What gold plate? I don' know

"Why, your people's gold dishes, what they used to eat off of. You've told me about it a hundred times."

"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 more'n a hundred pieces, and every one of 'em gold.' Oh, YOU know; come

"I don't remember nothing of the kind," protested 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

"I believe you've got it!" he yelled. "I believe you've got it, an' are hiding it from me. Where is it, where is it?

Is it here?" he rolled his eyes wildly about the room. "Hey? hey?" he went on, shaking Maria by the

shoulders. "Where is it? Is it here? Tell me where it is. Tell me, or I'll do for you!"

"It ain't here," cried Maria, wrenching from him. "It ain't anywhere. What gold plate? What are you talking

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 remembered had had some foundation in fact, that her 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

recentlythe 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 seeI'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 speakbelieve me, I will, I will, my

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 darklantern and would hear him mumbling to himself: "There were

more'n a hundred pieces, and every one of 'em goldwhen the leather trunk was opened it fair dazzled your

eyeswhy, just that punch bowl was worth a fortune, I guess; solid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold, nothun

but gold, gold, heaps and heaps of itwhat a glory! I'll find it yet, I'll find it. It's here somewheres, hid

At length his continued ill success began to exasperate 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

"I don' know, I don' know," cried Maria, dodging his blows. "I'd tell you, Zerkow, if I knew; but I don' know

Then one evening matters reached a crisis. Marcus 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 occasional whirr and trundle of a passing

cable car and the persistent calling of ducks and geese in the deserted market directly opposite. Marcus was in

his shirt sleeves, perspiring and swearing with exertion 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 precious silk hat in its hatbox in his hand. He was raging at the perverseness of a

"I've tried you SO, and I've tried you SO," he exclaimed fiercely, between his teeth, "and you won't go." He

began to swear horribly, grabbing at the boots with his free hand. "Pretty soon I won't take you at all; I won't,

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

"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 fighthe did not know whom,

"It's Zerkow," wailed Maria, pulling him back into the room and bolting the door, "and he's got a knife as

"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 ashamed. I'll do for you yet,

"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

"Get outa here yourself," cried Marcus, advancing on him angrily. "Get outa here."

"Get outa here," vociferated Marcus, "an' put up that knife. I see it; you needn't try an' hide it behind your leg.

Give it to me, anyhow," he shouted suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus had wrenched it away.

"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 arrogance. "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

"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 hundred 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 somewhere. 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

"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

By this time Trina and McTeague, Old Grannis, and little Miss Bakerall 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.

"Why, Maria," said Trina, "you always used to tell us about your gold dishes. You said your folks used to

"Never, never, never!" exclaimed Maria, vehemently. "You folks must all be crazy. I never HEARD of any

"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

"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

"Well, say," Marcus called to her as she went down stairs, "if he gets funny again, you just yell out; I'LL hear

Marcus went into his room again and resumed his wrangle with the refractory boots. His eye fell on Zerkow's

knife, a long, keenbladed huntingknife, with a buckhorn handle. "I'll take you along with me," he

Meanwhile, old Miss Baker was making tea to calm her nerves after the excitement of Maria's incursion. This

evening she went so far as to make tea for two, laying an extra place on the other side of her little teatable,

setting out a cup and saucer and one of the Gorham silver spoons. Close upon the other side of the partition

"Do you know what I think, Mac?" said Trina, when the couple had returned to their rooms. "I think Marcus

"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."

"Oh, go to bed," said Trina, pushing him goodnaturedly. "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

"Marcus IS going away, after all, Mac," said Trina to her husband that day as he came out of his "Parlors"

and sat down to the lunch of sausages, mashed potatoes, and chocolate in the sittingroom.

"Huh?" said the dentist, a little confused. "Who's going away? Schouler going away? Why's Schouler going

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 mewants us

"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

"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!

"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 matchsafe and chamoisskin bag at the bottom of her

"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

"Hoh!" exclaimed McTeague. "Hoh! I guess you got nearer a hundred AN' fifty. That's what I guess YOU

"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? I manage all right. No, no, I can't possibly afford to send

"I'll send her twentyfive this month, and tell her I'll send the rest as soon as I can afford it."

"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

twentyfive dollars altogether. Twelve and a half apiece. That's an idea. How will that do?"

"Sure, sure," McTeague had answered, giving her the money. Trina sent McTeague's twelve dollars, but

never sent the twelve that was to be her share. One day the dentist happened to ask her about it.

In fact, Trina never allowed herself to think very much of this affair. And, in fact, another matter soon came

One Sunday evening Trina and her husband were in their sittingroom together. It was dark, but the lamp had

not been lit. McTeague had brought up some bottles of beer from the "Wein Stube" on the ground floor,

where the branch post office used to be. But they had not opened the beer. It was a warm evening in

summer. Trina was sitting on McTeague's lap in the bay window, and had looped back the Nottingham

curtains so the two could look out into the darkened street and watch the moon coming up over the glass roof

of the huge public 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 putting 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

"Do you love me, Mac, dear? Love me BIG, BIG? Sure, do you love me as much as you did when we were

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.

"Yes, yes, come in," exclaimed the dentist, suddenly, speaking without thought. "Have some beer?" he added,

McTeague and Trina were puzzled. What could it all mean? Did Marcus want to become reconciled to his

enemy? "I know." Trina said to herself. "He's going away, and he wants to borrow some money. He won't get

"Oh," said McTeague, uneasily, "oh, I don' know. I guessI guess," he broke off in helpless embarrassment.

They had all sat down by now. Marcus continued, holding his hat and his canethe black wand of ebony

"Ah!" said he, wagging his head and looking about the sittingroom, "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 prayersto 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

"Well, you two are pretty happy together, ain't you?" said he, smiling goodhumoredly.

"We've got lots to do," returned Trina, thinking to head him off, "but we've not got lots of money."

"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 beforethis 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

"Why, I ain't EVER coming back," he vociferated. "I'm going tomorrow, and I'm going for good. I come to

Marcus stayed for upwards of an hour that evening. He talked on easily and agreeably, addressing himself as

"Guess we won't ever see each other again," continued Marcus. "But good luck to you, Doc. Hope some day

"Goodby, 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 can tell the twins that I'll make them some great big animals. Goodby, success to you,

One morning about a week after Marcus had left for the southern part of the State, McTeague found an

oblong letter thrust through the letterdrop of the door of his "Parlors." The address was typewritten. He

opened it. The letter had been sent from the City Hall and was stamped in one corner with the seal of the

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 letterdrop. Then came the fat oblong

envelope, with its official seal, that dropped flatwise 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 altogether.

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 left for names and dates,

and addressed to McTeague, 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

He went through the suite, by the sittingroom, 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 roundcheeked English babies and alert fox terriers, and

came out into the brickpaved kitchen. The kitchen was clean as a new whistle; the freshly blackened cook

stove glowed like a negro's hide; the tins and porcelainlined stewpans might have been of silver and of

ivory. Trina was in the centre of the room, wiping off, with a damp sponge, the oilcloth tablecover, 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, firmlycorseted waist; her shirt

waist was of pink linen, so new and crisp that it crackled with every movement, 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 been more delicious than the sight of her small

round arms, white as milk, moving back and forth as she sponged the tablecover, a faint touch of pink

coming and going at the elbows as they bent and straightened. She looked up quickly as her husband 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 scenethe 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 singing at her work; the morning sun, striking obliquely through the

white muslin halfcurtain of the window and spanning the little kitchen with a bridge of golden mistgave

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

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

The letteror rather printed noticeinformed 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

"You can't practise any longer," continued Trina,"'is herewith prohibited and enjoined from further

continuing '" She reread 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 McTeague. "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 fillingsthere, in the

'Parlors,' in the windowand the postman shoved it through the door. I thought it was a number of the

'American System of Dentistry' at first, and when I'd opened it and looked at it I thought I'd better"

"Say, Mac," interrupted Trina, looking up from the notice, "DIDN'T you ever go to a dental college?"

"I went along with a fellow who came to the mine once. My mother sent me. We used to go from one camp

to another. I sharpened his excavators for him, and put up his notices in the townsstuck them up in the

Trina rolled down her sleeves. She was a little paler than usual. She fastened the buttons into the cuffs and

"But do you know you can't practise unless you're graduated from a college? You haven't the right to call

"That you can't practise, or call yourself doctor, unless you've got a diploma."

"I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper thatthatoh, 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

Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat, and pretended to resettle a hairpin 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 prohibited and enjoined

"Why, it isn't possible," she cried. "They can't meanoh, Mac, I do believepshaw!" she exclaimed, her

pale face flushing. "They don't know how good a dentist you are. What difference does a diploma make, if

you're a firstclass 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

"But you can't," cried Trina, the back of her hand upon her lips, her eyes brimming. "Mac, don't you see?

Can't you understand? You've got to stop. Oh, it's dreadful! Listen." She hurried around the table to him and

"They'll arrest you. You'll go to prison. You can't work can't work any more. We're ruined."

"Why, he's got an APPOINTMENT with me," exclaimed 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

"Well, suppose I never went to a college, ain't I a dentist just the same? Listen, he's pounding there again. No,

"Well, of course, go," said Trina, with sudden reaction. "It ain't possible they'll make you stop. If you're a

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. Suddenly 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

It was like a clap of thunder. McTeague was stunned, stupefied. He said nothing. Never in his 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

"Oh, what's to become of us NOW?" wailed Trina. "What's to become of us now? We're paupers,

beggarsand 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

McTeague had continued his work, acting from sheer force of habit; his sluggish, deliberate nature,

"Maybe Marcus was only trying to scare us," Trina had said. "How are they going to know whether you're

"I got a mould to make tomorrow," McTeague said, "and Vanovitch, that plumber round on Sutter Street,

"Well, you go right ahead," Trina told him, decisively; "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

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

"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 exclaimed.

"You go right on," Trina said, "and I bet you won't hear another word about it."

"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 continued his work as usual. They heard no more from 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 breakfast 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 McTeague'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

A fortnight went by. "I guess we're all right, Mac," Trina allowed herself to say. "It looks as though we were

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,

"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 hereleave this flat where I've been where WE'VE been so happy, and sell all

the pretty things; sell the pictures and the melodeon, andOh, it's too dreadful!"

"Huh? Huh? What? What?" exclaimed the dentist, bewildered. "I ain't going to quit for just a piece of paper.

"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. People ain't paupers when

"Well, we can live on THAT money untiluntiluntil" he broke off with an uncertain movement of his

"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 Oelbermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a month, and that's all

What, indeed? McTeague was over thirty now, sluggish and slowwitted at best. What new trade could he

Little by little Trina made the dentist understand the calamity that had befallen them, and McTeague at last

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

One day Trina softly opened the door of the "Parlors" and came in from the sittingroom. She had not heard

McTeague moving about for some time and had begun to wonder what he was doing. She came in, quietly

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 marbletop centretable 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 dental engine and the nickelled trimmings of the operating 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, pluggers, 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 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

"II got everything fixed," he said. "I got everything fixed an' ready. See, everything ready an' waiting,

an' an'an' nobody comes, an' nobody's ever going to come any more. Oh, Trina!" He put his arms about

"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, pulling 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 onethirty; Mrs. Watson on Friday, and

Vanovitch again Saturday morning earlyat seven. That's what I was to have had, and they ain't going to

"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. "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 tearblurred 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 malletlike fists raised over his head. His massive jaw protruded more

"If ever I meet Marcus Schouler" he broke off abruptly, the white of his eyes growing suddenly pink.

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 caneseated 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

"That's a single bed," said Trina, "but the landlady says she'll put in a double one for us. You see"

"Well, you've got to live somewhere," said Trina, impatiently. "We've looked Polk Street over, and this is the

"Afford, afford," muttered the dentist. "You with your five thousand dollars, and the two or three hundred

"Now, Mac," exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down in one of the caneseated chairs; "now, Mac, let's

"Well, I don't figure on living in one room," growled the dentist, sullenly. "Let's live decently until we can get

"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," 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 savethat seventyfive."

"That SEVENTYFIVE. We're just going to live on the interest of that and on what I earn from Uncle

"I say, what ARE you going to do? You can go on and find something to do and earn some more money, and

"You'll live where I TELL you," the dentist suddenly cried, exasperated at the mincing tone she affected.

"Who's got the MONEY, I'd like to know?" cried Trina, flushing to her pale lips. "Answer me that,

"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

now. I'm doing it all. Do you know what I'm doing, McTeague? I'm supporting you."

"You got no RIGHT to talk to me that way. I won't let you. II won't have it." She caught her breath. Tears

"All right, we'll take it. But why can't you take a little of your money an'an'sort of fix it up?"

"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 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

But this sale was a long agony. It lasted a week. Everything wenteverything 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 sittingroom, 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 sink, raking down the ashes in the cookstove, 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 housefurnishing departments of the great downtown 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.

"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 instinctive

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 bedlounge, the marbletopped 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 himself to part with the steel engraving of "Lorenzo de' Medici and His Court" and the stone pug

"Why," he would cry, "I've had 'em ever sinceever 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 secondhand

store, and a fellow GAVE me that stone pug dog. He was a druggist. It was in Sacramento too. We traded. I

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 secondhand dealer.

"Mac, you MUST be reasonable. The concertina would bring quite a sum, and the bird cage is as good as

"If you're going to make objections to every single thing, we might as well quit. Come, now, Mac, the

"You'll have to come to it sooner or later. I'M giving up everything. I'm going to put them down, see."

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 passive, inert

obstinacy that nothing could move. In 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

One evening during that same week the dentist and his wife were in the dismantled sittingroom. The room

presented the appearance of a wreck. The Nottingham lace curtains were down. The extension 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. Nowadays 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 McTeague 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

"How'do?" said this one, bowing gracefully to the McTeagues as they stared at him distrustfully.

"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

McTeague came forward a step, his great red fist clenching. The young man fled. But half way down the

"How did he know?" exclaimed Trina, sharply. They had invented and spread the fiction that McTeague was

merely retiring from business, without assigning any reason. But evidently every one knew 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 misfortune, and did what she could to

encourage her. But she too knew that McTeague had been forbidden by the authorities from practising.

"It's just like cutting off your husband's hands, my dear," said Miss Baker. "And you two were so happy.

Old Grannis also called during this period of the breaking up of the McTeague household.

"Dreadful, dreadful," murmured the old Englishman, 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 anything to injure

"Dear, dear," returned Old Grannis, genuinely pained. "I had always believed Schouler to be such a good

"I tell you what, Doc," declared Heise the harnessmaker, shaking his finger impressively at the dentist, "you

must fight it; you must appeal to the courts; you've been practising too long to be debarred now. The statute

"No, no," Trina had exclaimed, when the dentist had repeated this advice to her. "No, no, don't go near the

law courts. I know them. The lawyers take all your money, and you lose your case. We're bad off as it is,

Then at last came the sale. McTeague and Trina, whom Miss Baker had invited to her room for that day, sat

there side by side, holding each other's hands, listening nervously to the turmoil that rose to them from the

direction of their suite. From nine o'clock till dark the crowds came and went. All Polk Street seemed to have

invaded the suite, lured on by the red flag that waved from the front windows. It was a fete, a veritable

holiday, for the whole neighborhood. People with no thought of buying presented themselves. Young

womenthe candystore girls and florist's apprenticescame 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

"Look here," they would cry, "look here what she used for curtainsNOTTINGHAM lace, actually!

"And a melodeon," another one would exclaim, lifting the sheet. "A melodeon, when you can rent a piano for

"Dollarnhalf, dollarnhalf, dollarnhalf, give me two," intoned the auctioneer from the secondhand 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 furniturea clock, a

water pitcher, a towel rack. Every now and then old Miss Baker, who had gone below to see how things were

"Mrs. Heise bought the chenille portieres. Mister 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 ragsbottles 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. Cruelest of all, however, at least to Trina, was when Miss

Baker herself began to buy, unable to resist a bargain. The last time she came up she carried a bundle of the

"He offered them, three for a nickel," she explained to Trina, "and I thought I'd spend just a quarter. You

"They'll look very pretty on some of my chairs," went on the little old dressmaker, innocently. "See." She

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.

They went out of Miss Baker's room and descended to the floor below. On the stairs, however, they were met

by Old Grannis. In his hands he carried a little package. Was it possible that he too had taken advantage of

"I went in," he began, timidly, "forfor a few moments. This"he indicated the little package he

carried"this was put up. It was of no value but to you. II ventured to bid it in. I thought perhaps"his

hand went to his chin, "that you wouldn't mind; thatin 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 armchair, 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, in the attitude of a statue of a Secretary of

"Oh, it WAS good of him, it WAS good of him," cried Trina, her eyes filling again. "I had forgotten to put it

They went on down the stairs, and arriving at the door of the sittingroom, 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 farewell 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 lithere in what had been her home, nothing was left but echoes and the

emptiness of complete desolation. Only one thing remained. On the wall between the windows, in its oval

glass frame, preserved by some unknown and fearful process, a melancholy relic of a vanished happiness,

unsold, neglected, and forgotten, a thing that nobody wanted, hung Trina's wedding bouquet.

Then the grind began. It would have been easier for the McTeagues to have faced their misfortunes 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 dayHAD been dwindling for a long time, in fact. He had

become 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 steaming 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 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

"No, no," she would exclaim. "To ride to the park Sunday afternoon, that means ten cents, and I can't afford

There had been a time when Trina had hated the idea of McTeague drinking steam beer as common and

"Say, let's have a bottle of beer tonight. We haven't had a drop of beer in three weeks."

"Drink STEAM beer, then. You've got a nickel. I gave you a quarter day before yesterday."

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 pipe; Trina had made him come

down to "Mastiff," a fivecent tobacco with which he was once contented, but now abhorred. He liked to

wear clean cuffs; Trina allowed him a fresh pair on Sundays only. At first these deprivations angered

McTeague. 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. Sundays he dined at the car conductors' coffeejoint once more, and spent

the afternoon lying full length upon the bed, cropfull, 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 auctioneer 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

"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

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. Immediately after

breakfast Trina sat down to her work of whittling the Noah's ark animals, and McTeague 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 boardinghouse near the water front, and in the

afternoon worked till six. He was home at sixthirty, 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 prepared upon the oil stove. In the

evening they were both so tired that they were in no mood for conversation, and went to bed early, worn out,

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 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 projected into the room from the

walls, and barked shins and scraped elbows. Streaks and spots of the "nonpoisonous" 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

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 halfdozen sets of animals, and was now busy painting them

and making the arks. Little pots of "nonpoisonous" paint stood at her elbow on the table, together with a box

of labels that read, "Made in France." Her huge claspknife 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

Vandyke 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 windows 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

Suddenly Trina paused in her work, looking expectantly toward the door. McTeague came in.

"Why, Mac," exclaimed Trina. "It's only three o'clock. What are you home so early for? Have they

"OH!" she cried. "If we don't have the HARDEST luck of any two people I ever heard of. What can you do

"Mac," cried Trina, in alarm, "what are you thinking of? You talk as though we were millionaires. You must

go down this minute. You're losing money every second you sit there." She 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

"I've got to have that money. There's no more oil for the stove, and I must buy some more meal tickets

"Always after me about money," muttered the dentist; but he emptied his pockets for her, nevertheless.

"Iyou'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

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 McTeague had money about him, and she did not intend to let it go out of the house.

She listened intently until she was sure McTeague was gone. Then she hurriedly opened her trunk and hid the

The dentist presented himself at every one of the makers of surgical instruments that afternoon and 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 manufactory he had visited was beyond

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 footsore from tramping the city. He could look forward to nothing better than a badlycooked

supper at the coffeejointhot 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

fareshe who had five thousand dollars. She let him walk the streets in the cold and in the rain. "Miser," he

growled behind his mustache. "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? 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 itand 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 became more and more indignant at the picture he

"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 soI guess so," murmured the dentist, confused. His teeth were chattering.

"YOU'RE going to catch your deathacold," exclaimed Heise. "Tell you what," he said, reaching 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

"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 it as medicine. You'll get your deathacold if you stand round

"That's the way," said Heise, approvingly. "Do you good." He drank his off slowly.

"I'dI'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, "onlyyou 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

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 comfortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood was beginning to

circulate in his chilled fingertips and in his soggy, wet feet. He had had a hard day of it; in fact, the last

week, the last month, the last three or four months, had been hard. He deserved a little consolation. Nor could

"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 talking while McTeague's draggled coat and trousers smoked.

"What a dirty turn that was that Marcus Schouler did you!" said Heise, wagging his head. "You ought to have

fought that, Doc, sure. You'd been practising too long." They discussed this question some ten or fifteen

"Well, this ain't earning any money. I got to get back to the shop." McTeague got up as well, and the pair

"Hello, hello," he cried. "Lord, what a wet day! You two are going the wrong way. You're going to have a

"No, no," answered McTeague, shaking his head. "I'm going back home. I've had two glasses of whiskey

"Sha!" cried Heise, catching his arm. "A strapping big chap like you ain't afraid of a little whiskey."

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 inclined 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 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

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

"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

"Why, what do you stay with him for?" exclaimed Trina. "I'd be deathly 'fraid of a man like that; and he did

"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

"Ah!" said Maria, tossing her head scornfully, "I ain't afraid of him. He takes his horsewhip to me now and

then, but I can always manage. I say, 'If you touch me with that, then I'll NEVER tell you.' Just pretending,

you know, and he drops it as though it was red hot. Say, Mrs. McTeague, have you got any tea? Let's make a

"No, no," cried Trina, with niggardly apprehension; "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' coffeejoint. 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

"Well, I'm going to skip," said Maria. She left hurriedly, passing the dentist in the hall just outside the door.

"Well?" said Trina interrogatively as her husband entered. McTeague did not answer. He hung his hat on the

"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

"Look at me. Look at me," he went on, speaking 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

The dentist put back his head and laughed scornfully. 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

"Well, I AM a different man," retorted the dentist, savagely. "You can't make small of me ALWAYS."

"Well, never mind that. You know I'm not trying to make small of you. But never mind that. Did you get a

"Give me my money," exclaimed McTeague, jumping up briskly. There was an activity, a positive

nimbleness about the huge blond giant that had never been his before; also his stupidity, the sluggishness of

"I can't," exclaimed Trina. "I paid the grocer's bill with it while you were gone."

"Truly, truly, Mac. Do you think I'd lie to you? Do you think I'd lower myself to do that?"

The dentist jumped up and thrust his face close to hers, his heavy jaw protruding, his little eyes twinkling

Trina cowered before him. Then suddenly she began to sob aloud, weeping partly at his strange brutality,

McTeague cast a contemptuous glance about him, a glance that embraced the dingy, cheerless room, the rain

"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 thousand dollars, and you're so damned stingy that you'd rather live in a rat

holeand make me live there toobefore you'd part with a nickel of it. I tell you I'm sick and tired of the

"And I'll tell you this much too," she cried, winking back the tears. "Now that you're out of a job, we can't

afford even to live in your 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

"I know what's the matter," cried Trina, with a half sob; "I know, I can smell it on your breath. You've been

"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

"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;

"Then stop that noise. Stop it, do you hear me? Stop it." He threw up his open hand threateningly. "STOP!"

Trina looked at him fearfully, half blinded with weeping. Her husband's thick mane of yellow hair was

disordered and rumpled upon his great squarecut 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 throbbing on his thick red neck; while over her head Trina saw his upraised palm, callused,

"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 oldtime carboy. 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

"There," growled the dentist, releasing her, "that's more like. Now," he went on, fixing her with his little eyes,

"now listen to me. I'm beat out. I've walked the city overten miles, I guessan' I'm going to bed, an' I

don't want to be bothered. You understand? I want to be let alone." Trina was silent.

The dentist took off his coat, his collar and necktie, unbuttoned his vest, and slipped his heavysoled boots

from his big feet. Then he stretched himself upon the bed and rolled over towards the wall. In a few minutes

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 unclean 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 worktable, and, burying her face in them, cried and sobbed as

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 "nonpoisonous" 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,

At last Trina raised her head, with a long, trembling breath. She rose, and going over to the washstand,

poured some water from the pitcher 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

"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

A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month. It was a month of the greatest anxiety and unquietude 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 induced her husband to consent to such a

move, bewildering him with a torrent of phrases and marvellous 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 obtained for McTeague a

position in the shipping department 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 examination with flying colors, and Ryer, who had become the

secretary of the Polk Street Improvement 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 firstat the very firsthe 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 brownstone house, and McTeague found interest and amusement in leaning over the

barrier that surrounded 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 harness shop,

and occasionally the day ended with 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, quickwitted, 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

It had begun on the evening of Thanksgiving Day, when Heise had taken McTeague out to dinner with him.

The dentist on this occasion had drunk very freely. He and Heise had returned to Polk Street towards ten

"All right, all right," said McTeague. "Drinks, that's the word. I'll go home and get some money and meet you

"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 aoh, MAC, will you stop? I won't have you pinch me that way."

"Hurry up," answered her husband, calmly, nipping the flesh of her shoulder between his thumb and finger.

"Heise's waiting for me." Trina wrenched from him with a sharp intake of breath, frowning with pain, and

In the end Trina had to comply. She gave him half a dollar from her dress pocket, protesting that it was the

"How can youhow 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,

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 become maudlin or

staggering. Perhaps his nerves were naturally too dull to admit of any excitation; perhaps he did not really

care for the whiskey, and only drank 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 him. She annoyed him because she was so small, so prettily made, so invariably correct

and precise. Her avarice incessantly harassed him. Her industry 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

"Stop working. Stop it, I tell you. Put 'em away. Put 'em all away, or I'll pinch you."

The dentist cuffed her ears. "I won't have you work." He took her knife and her paintpots away, and made

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 chamoisskin 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, 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 mixture 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

"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

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 Sacramento Streets, going into all

the alleys and bystreets, her head in the air, looking for the "Roomstolet" 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

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

timesfortunately 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 hairbrush, or even with his closed fist. His oldtime 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,

The people about the house and the clerks at the provision stores often remarked that Trina's fingertips 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 remember 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 brutality made Trina all the more affectionate; aroused in her a

morbid, unwholesome love of submission, a strange, unnatural pleasure in yielding, in surrendering herself to

Trina's emotions had narrowed with the narrowing 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

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 decrepit 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 dressinggown 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 aggressive moods.

"You never ought to fight um," advised Maria. "It only makes um worse. Just hump your back, and it's

They told each other of their husbands' brutalities, 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 glad when she could exhibit the worst. They exaggerated, they

invented details, and, as if proud of their beatings, as if glorying in their husbands' mishandling, lied to each

other, magnifying their own maltreatment. They had long and excited arguments 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

hairbrushes affected by McTeague. Maria contended that the lash of the whip hurt the most; Trina, that the

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

horseshed for the concealed leather chest he imagined he would find. But he was becoming impatient,

"The way he goes on," Maria told Trina, "is somethun dreadful. He's gettun regularly sick with itgot a

fever every nightdon'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

One morning in November, about ten o'clock, Trina pasted a "Made in France" label on the bottom 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 breakfast things been washed. Trina hesitated for a moment, then put her chin in the air

"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

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

"She's gone out," he said, uncertainly, and in a half whisper, "went out about half an hour ago. II think she

"Don't you go to your dog hospital any more, Mister Grannis?" said Trina, leaning against the balustrade in

Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in his carpet slippers and faded corduroy jacket that he wore

"Whywhy," he said, hesitating, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You see I'm thinking of giving up the little

"You see, the people at the book store where I buy my pamphlets have found outI 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 itthepatent of itquite a sum. In fact in factyes, quite a sum,

"Why, isn't that fine?" said Trina, goodnaturedly. "I'm very glad, Mister Grannis. Is it a good price?"

"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

"Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subjectif you would pleaseMiss 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

"Impossibleimpossible!" exclaimed the old Englishman, alarmed and perturbed. "It's quite out of the

"Really, Mrs. McTeague, IIyou must excuse me. It's a matter so personalsoIOh, yes, I love her.

Miss Baker had said nothing of the kindwould 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

"Now you do just as I tell you, and when she comes home, go right in and see her, and have it over with.

Trina turned about and went downstairs. 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

Old Grannis stood for a long time just as Trina had left him, his hands trembling, the blood coming and going

Then he faced about and entered his room, closing the door behind him. For a long time he sat in his

armchair, drawn close to the wall in front of the table on which stood his piles of pamphlets and his little

"I wonder," said Trina, as she crossed the yard back of Zerkow's house, "I wonder what rent Zerkow and

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, drawing her hands up to her very shoulders, her eyes staring and

"Ohhh!" she exclaimed in a long breath, her voice hardly rising above a whisper. "Ohh, 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 butcher's boy was getting into his

twowheeled cart drawn up in front of the opposite house, while near by a peddler of wild game was coming

"Oh, saysay," 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.

The young fellow drove away, his head over his shoulder, staring at Trina with eyes that were fixed and

"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 ithow, 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 suspiciously. It would not do to tell him. He would go away like the butcher's

"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

delivery 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 harnessmaker 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 and living, buying and selling, walking about

Heise started back from the sudden apparition of a white lipped woman in a blue dressinggown that

"Oh, come over here quick." Trina put her hand to her neck; swallowing something that seemed to be

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 wildgame peddler, a woman who had been washing down the steps

in a neighboring house, and a man in a broadbrimmed hat stood at Zerkow's doorway, looking in from time

"Anything wrong in here?" asked the wildgame 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 opposite Zerkow's house and called to the woman who had been washing the steps,

"LORD!" ejaculated Heise, stopping a yard or so from the body, and bending down to peer into the gray face

"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

"He's done for her sure this trip. Cut her throat. LORD, how she has BLED! Did you ever see so much

that's murderthat's coldblooded murder. He's killed her. Say, we must get a policeman. Come on."

They turned back through the house. Half a dozen people the wildgame peddler, the man with the

broadbrimmed hat, the washwoman, and three other menwere 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 a way slowly

through the throng with clanging bells. Every window had its group. And as Trina and the harnessmaker

tried to force the way from the door of the junk shop the throng suddenly parted right and left before the

passage of two bluecoated policemen who clove a passage through the press, working their elbows

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 harnessmaker and taking

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.

"Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough," answered 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

Where the rumor started, and how, no one knew. But every one seemed persuaded that Zerkow had gone to

"No, he was crazy, I tell youcrazy 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 saloonparties of twos and threesto go over and have a look at the outside of the junk

shop. Heise was the most important man the length and breadth of Polk Street; almost invariably he

accompanied these parties, telling 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. McTeagueyou know, the

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 fallen from one of the wharves. Clutched in both his hands was a sack full of old

and rusty pans, tin dishesfully a hundred of themtin cans, and iron knives and forks, collected from

"And all this," exclaimed Trina, "on account of a set of gold dishes that never existed."

One day, about a fortnight after the coroner's inquest had been held, and when the excitement of the terrible

affair was calming down and Polk Street beginning to resume its monotonous routine, Old Grannis sat in his

clean, wellkept 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,

Old Grannis's occupation was gone. That morning 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

moving 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. 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

But for Old Grannis all was different that evening. There was nothing for him to do. His hands lay idly in his

lap. His table, with its pile of pamphlets, was in a far corner of the room, and, from time to time, stirred with

an uncertain trouble, he turned his head and looked at 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 banknotes. 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 longdelayed affection that had come upon him in his later years filled him with a joy

for which tears seemed to be the natural expression. For thirty years his eyes had not been wet, but tonight 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

rapping 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, carrying a cup of tea on a tiny Japanese tray. She held it toward

"I was making some tea," she said, "and I thought you would like to have a cup."

Never after could the little dressmaker understand 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 setting sun. The next moment she had

been all trepidation. 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 peoplethe courage of the

coward greater than all othersshe had presented herself at the old Englishman's halfopen 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

Old Grannis dropped his hands upon either arm of his chair, and, leaning forward a little, looked at her

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 expression. It was an enormity. Fancy, she had gone into his room, INTO HIS

ROOMMister Grannis's room. She had done thisshe who could not pass him on the stairs without a

qualm. What to do she did not know. She stood, a fixture, on the threshold 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

Old Grannis still kept silence, still bending forward, with wide eyes, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.

Then with the teatray still held straight before her, the little dressmaker exclaimed tearfully:

"Oh, I didn't meanI didn't meanI 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. III'm SO ashamed! I don't know what you will think of

me. I" she caught her breath"improper"she managed to exclaim, "unladylikeyou can never think

"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

dreamedI couldn't believe you would be so good, so kind to me. Oh," he cried, with a sudden sharp breath,

"No, no," exclaimed Miss Baker, ready to sob. "It was unladylike. You willyou 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 meI'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 comecome when he had least expected 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 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

"Oh, won't youwon'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.

"Nono," returned the old Englishman. "Don't go, don't go. I've been so lonely tonightand last night

"Oh, I shouldn't. This isthis is SOYou must think ill of me." Suddenly she sat down, and resting her

"Think ILL of you?" cried Old Grannis, "think ILL of you? Why, you don't knowyou have no ideaall

these yearsliving so close to you, II" he paused suddenly. It seemed to him as if the beating of his

"I thought you were binding your books tonight," 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, itthatthat does you so much

"No, no," returned Old Grannis, drawing up a chair and sitting down. "No, Ithe fact is, I've sold my

"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 without the dreadful embarrassment that used to overwhelm them both

when they met on the stairs. She had often dreamed of this, but had always put it off to some fardistant 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 together, and little by little her embarrassment

"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 worktable 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

"And, yesyesI did too," she answered. "I used to make tea just at that time and sit there for a whole

"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 wallpaper close beside me. Didn't you sit close to the partition?"

"NoI don't knowperhapssometimes. 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 understood 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

That same night McTeague was awakened by a shrill scream, and woke to find Trina's arms around his neck.

"Huh?" cried the dentist, sitting up in bed, raising his clinched fists. "Huh? What? What? What is it? What is

"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 wasOh, she was all covered with blood. Ohh, 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 fistsat what,

he did not knowexclaiming, "What what" bewildered and hopelessly confused. Then when he realized

"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.

"Oh, Mac, I've only you now, and if you don't love me, what is going to become of me?"

The dentist would turn abruptly away from her, burying his big blond head in the pillow, and covering up his

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 caphe had given up wearing

even a hat since his wife had made him sell his silk hatand went out. He had fallen into the habit of taking

long and solitary walks beyond the suburbs of the city. Sometimes it was to the Cliff House, occasionally to

the Park (where he would sit on the sunwarmed 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, wellkept 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 remain 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

fishline 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, eating 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 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 carboy at the mine. The dentist enjoyed

himself hugely during these days. The instincts of the oldtime miner were returning. In the stress of his

One evening as he reached home after such a tramp, he was surprised to find Trina standing in front of what

"What you doing here'?" growled the dentist as he came up. There was a "Roomstolet" sign on the street

"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 Mariathe very house an' you wake up an' squeal in the night just

"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

"But it won't be any in mine," vociferated the dentist, angrily. "I'll have to live in that dirty rat hole just so's

"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

"All right," said McTeague, and did not make any further protest. His wife looked at him surprised. She could

not understand this sudden acquiescence. 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 circumstance 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 surroundings.

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 brutalities told on her swiftly. Her charming little figure grew coarse, stunted, and

dumpy. She who had once been of a catlike neatness, now slovened all day about the room in a dirty flannel

wrapper, her slippers clapclapping after her as she walked. At last she even neglected her hair, the

wonderful swarthy tiara, the coiffure of a queen, that shaded her little pale forehead. In the morning she

braided it before it was half combed, and piled and coiled it about her head in haphazard fashion. It came

down half a dozen times a day; by evening it was an unkempt, 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 "nonpoisonous" paint. The

bed was not made until late in the afternoon, sometimes not at all. Dirty, unwashed crockery, greasy knives,

sodden fragments of yesterday's meals cluttered the table, while in one corner was the heap of evilsmelling,

dirty linen. Cockroaches appeared in the crevices of the woodwork, the wallpaper 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 the room. All the filth of the alley invaded

Between the windows, however, the faded photograph 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

One afternoon the Other Dentist, McTeague's oldtime 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 plasterofparis mould. To his call of "'Come right in. Don't you see the

sign, 'Enter without knocking'?" McTeague came in. He noted at once how airy and cheerful was the room. A

little fire coughed and tittered on the hearth, a brindled greyhound 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 freshlycut violets stood in a glass bowl on the polished cherrywood table. The

The fellow was actually wearing a velvet smoking jacket. A cigarette was between his lips; his patent leather

boots reflected the firelight. McTeague wore a black surah neglige shirt without a cravat; huge buckled

brogans, hob nailed, gross, encased his feet; the hems of his trousers were spotted 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,

shifting feet and uncertain eyes before the dapper young fellow who reeked of the barber shop, and whom he

"What can I do for you this morning, Mister McTeague? Something wrong with the teeth, eh?"

"No, no." McTeague, floundering in the difficulties of his speech, forgot the carefully rehearsed words with

"I want to sell you my sign," he said, stupidly. "That big tooth of French giltYOU knowthat you made

"Oh, I don't want that now," said the other loftily. "I prefer a little quiet signboard, nothing pretentiousjust

the name, and "Dentist" after it. These big signs are vulgar. No, I don't want it."

McTeague remained, looking about on the floor, horribly embarrassed, not knowing whether to go or to stay.

"But I don't know," said the Other Dentist, reflectively. "If it will help you out anyI guess you're pretty

On the following Thursday morning McTeague woke to hear the eaves dripping and the prolonged rattle of

"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 breakfast on the oil

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

"Huh!" snorted the dentist, "so's we could have 'em for breakfast. Might save you a nickel, mightn't it?"

"Well, and if it did! Or you might fish for the market. The fisherman across the street would buy 'em of you."

"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 kind of meat for

"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."

She did not get the chops at the big market, however. 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

"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 Trina, as she clutched the money in her pocket to keep it from

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

He stood for a moment at the door, his fishline in his hand, swinging the heavy sinker back and forth. He

"So long," said he, nodding his huge squarecut head. This amiability in the matter of leave taking was

unusual. Trina put the dishes down and came up to him, her little chin, once so adorable, in the air:

"Kiss me goodby, 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

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."

"Well, you ARE coming to your senses at last," answered Trina, approvingly. "But don't you let the

birdstore man cheat you. That's a good songster; and with the cage, you ought to make him give you five

McTeague unhooked the cage and carefully wrapped it in an old newspaper, remarking, "He might get cold.

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 powerhouse of the Sutter Street cable struck eight. "Eight o'clock already," she exclaimed.

"I must get to work." She cleared the breakfast things from the table, and drawing up her chair and her

workbox began painting the sets of Noah's ark animals she had whittled the day before. She worked steadily

all the morning. At noon she lunched, warming over the coffee left from breakfast, and frying a couple of

sausages. By one she was bending over her table again. Her fingerssome of them lacerated by McTeague's

teethflew, 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

madehorses and chickens and elephantsand 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 birthdays and Christmases." She dipped her

brush into a pot of Vandyke brown and painted one of the whittled toy horses in two strokes. Then a touch of

ivory black with a small flat brush created the tail and mane, and dots of Chinese white made the eyes. The

turpentine in the paint dried it almost immediately, 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

"I wonder what's keeping Mac," she exclaimed as the clock from the powerhouse on Sutter Street struck

halfpast seven. "I KNOW he's drinking somewhere," she cried, apprehensively. "He had the money from his

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 harnessmaker had seen nothing of him since the day

"He was in here yesterday afternoon, and we had a drink or two at Frenna's. Maybe he's been in there

"Oh, won't you go in and see?" said Trina. "Mac always came home to his supperhe never likes to miss his

Heise went into the barroom next door, and returned with no definite news. Frenna had not seen the dentist

since he had come in with the harnessmaker the previous afternoon. Trina even humbled herself to ask of

the Ryerswith whom they had quarrelledif they knew anything of the dentist's whereabouts, but

"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 kaleidoscopic reflections deep down into the shining surface 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 everopen door, and ran upstairs to

"Why, isn't this FUNNY," she exclaimed, half aloud, standing on the threshold, her little milkwhite

forehead curdling to a frown, one sore finger on her lips. Then a great fear seized upon her. Inevitably she

"No, no," she said to the darkness, "Mac is all right. HE can take care of himself." But for all that she had a

clearcut vision of her husband's body, bloated with sea water, his blond hair streaming like kelp, rolling

"He couldn't have fallen off the rocks," she declared firmly. "ThereTHERE 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

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 horseblock there. She could not help remembering the

day when she had been driven up to that horseblock in a hack. Her mother and father and Owgooste and the

twins were with her. It was her wedding day. Her wedding 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 horseblock, looking 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 behind 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 appearance imparted by vacant, untenanted rooms. A rusty iron

"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

"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 horseblock and stood again on the

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 powerhouse

clock; lights were extinguished; 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 surroundings;

become gloomy, sombre, and very dismal. All at once an idea came to Trina, a dark, terrible idea; worse,

"No, no," she was saying under her breath, "it isn't possible. Maybe he's even come home already by another

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 matchsafe and the chamoisskin 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.

"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 savingsand deserted me. He's gone, my money's gone, my dear

moneymy dear, dear gold pieces that I've worked so hard for. Oh, to have deserted megone for

goodgone and never coming backgone with my gold pieces. Gonegonegone. I'll never see them

again, and I've worked so hard, so so hard for himfor them. No, no, NO, it's not true. It IS true. What will

become of me now? Oh, if you'll only come back you can have all the moneyhalf of it. Oh, give me back

my money. 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

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

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, kneeling before her broken and rifled trunk, and thenweeks later, so it

seemed to her she woke to find herself in her own bed with an iced bandage about her forehead and the

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 weeping. She had come upstairs and into the room to find Trina stretched

face downward upon the floor, halfconscious and sobbing, in the throes of an 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 German woman happened to remember that Trina had friends in the big flat near by, and had sent

her husband to fetch the retired dressmaker, while she herself remained behind to undress Trina and put her to

bed. Miss Baker had come over at once, and began 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 attempt 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 "allnight" 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

Towards morning Trina awokeor perhaps it was a mere regaining of consciousnesslooked 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,

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 on the corner. He had a deep voice and a tremendous striding gait less

By the time of his arrival little Miss Baker had divined intuitively the entire trouble. She heard the doctor's

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 moneya 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

"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 surprised at

"Yes," she said, with a long, tremulous breath, "I have a fever, and my headmy 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,

"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 brutality as they were, she had nevertheless gone on about her work on the Noah's

ark animals, constantly in contact with the "nonpoisonous" paint. She told as much to the doctor in answer

"Why, this is bloodpoisoning, you know," he told her; "the worst kind. You'll have to have those fingers

One can hold a scrubbingbrush with two good fingers and the stumps of two others even if both joints of the

Trina became a scrubwoman. She had taken council of Selina, and through her had obtained the position of

care taker in a little memorial kindergarten 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

Trina's work consisted in taking care of the kindergarten 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 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 tidethe tide that always ebbs.

When Trina had been discharged from the hospital after the operation on her fingers, she found herself alone

in the world, alone with her five thousand dollars. The interest of this would support her, and yet allow her to

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 fingersthe 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 carpetcleaning and upholstery business had failed. Mr. Sieppe

and Owgooste had left for New Zealand with a colonization company, 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 machinelike regularity. Now that McTeague

had left her, there was one less mouth to feed; and with this saving, together with the little she could earn as

scrubwoman, Trina could almost manage to make good the amount she lost by being obliged to cease work

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 expression; her long, narrow eyes glistened continually, as if they caught and held the glint of

metal. One day as she sat in her room, the empty brass matchbox and the limp chamois bag in her hands,

"I could have forgiven him if he had only gone away and left me my money. I could haveyes, I could have

forgiven him even THIS"she looked at the stumps of her fingers. "But now," her teeth closed tight and her

The empty bag and the hollow, light matchbox 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 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 today? How many of the gold

pieces are left? Has he broken either of the two twentydollar 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

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 secondhand furniture,

returning to her room with seven dollars in her pocket, happy for the first time since McTeague had left her.

But for all that the matchbox and the bag refused to fill up; after three weeks of the most rigid economy 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

worktable, where she could plunge her hands into it, her face into it, feeling the cool, smooth metal upon her

cheeks. At such moments she would see in her imagination her wonderful five thousand dollars piled in

columns, shining 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 herself 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 matchbox, where she could touch it and see it whenever

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. McTeague," said the great man. "Not businesslike at all."

But his niece's misfortunes and the sight of her poor maimed hand appealed to him. He opened his

checkbook. "You understand, of course," he said, "that this will reduce the amount of your interest by just

"Four hundred, did you say?" remarked Uncle Oelbermann, taking the cap from his fountain pen.

Trina cashed the check and returned home with the moneyall in twentydollar pieces as she had

desiredin 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 they shone. Altogether there were twenty twentydollar gold

"Ohh, you beauties!" murmured Trina, running her palms over them, fairly quivering with pleasure. "You

beauties! IS there anything prettier than a twentydollar gold piece? You dear, dear money! Oh, don't I

She laid them out in a row on the ledge of the table, or arranged them in patternstriangles, circles, and

squares or built them all up into a pyramid 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

matchbox 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 returned to

her. It was hers, all hersall 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

"Just to make it an even five hundred, anyhow," she told herself. That day she drew a hundred dollars more,

in twentydollar 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 temptation such as drunkards only

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 glistened, 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

abstinence, she permitted herself a positive debauch of five hundred. Little by little she drew her capital from

Uncle Oelbermann, and little by little her original interest of twentyfive dollars a month dwindled.

"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 deliberation.

"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 businesslike for me to let you have it this way. And more

than this, it's a great inconvenience to me to give you these checks at unstated times. If you wish to draw out

the whole amount let's have some understanding. Draw it in monthly installments of, say, five hundred

dollars, or else," he added, abruptly, "draw it all at once, now, today. I would even prefer it that way.

Otherwise it'sit's annoying. Come, shall I draw you a check for thirtyseven hundred, and have it over and

"No, no," cried Trina, with instinctive apprehension, refusing, she did not know why. "No, I'll leave it with

She took her departure, but paused on the pavement 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 Oelbermann'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.

"Yes, all rightI'llyou can give mewill you give me a check for thirtyseven hundred? Give me ALL

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 matchbox and chamoisskin 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

It was a little past noon, and the day was fine and 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

Trina even told herself at last that she was happy once more. McTeague became a memorya memory that

faded a little every daydim 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 thatno, not even my MOTHER.

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 chamoisskin bag, and the little brass matchsafe. 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, 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 halfripe 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. Reluctant and

wondering, Trina obeyed, and the dentist came quickly forward. He was wearing a pair of blue overalls; a

navy blue flannel shirt without a cravat; an old coat, faded, rainwashed, and ripped at the seams; and his

"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 starving, 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 backso that

he might steal more, no doubt. Once in her room he could not help but smell out her five thousand dollars.

"Hoh!" interrupted Trina scornfully. "A man can't starve with four hundred dollars, I guess."

"WellwellIwell" 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, IDamn it, Trina, I ain't had anything to

"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.

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 enormous, nor the squarecut head so huge. The moonlight made deep black

"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

"Well, will you give me some money thenjust a little? Give me a dollar. Give me half a dolSay, give me

The dentist paused and looked at her with curious intentness, bewildered, nonplussed.

There was another pause. McTeague looked up at her in silence, a mean and vicious twinkle coming into his

"Well, look here, for the last time. I'm starving. I've got nowhere to sleep. Will you give me some money, or

Trina could fancy she almost saw the brassy glint in her husband's eyes. He raised one enormous lean fist.

"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

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

Miser though she was, Trina was only human, and the echo of the dentist's heavy feet had not died away

before she began to he sorry for what she had done. She stood by the open window in her nightgown, her

"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 Macmy husbandthat 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 tomorrow. 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 lodginghouse near the

He had spent her money here and there about the city in royal fashion, absolutely reckless of the morrow,

feasting and drinking for the most part with companions he picked up heaven knows where, acquaintances of

twentyfour hours, whose names 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,

walking on the dark side of the street, lurking in the shadows, ashamed to have any of his oldtime friends

see him. He entered Zerkow's old house and knocked at the door of the room Trina and he had occupied. It

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 McTeague was seeking a reconciliation, had told him without hesitation, and, he

"She was in here only yesterday and drew out the balance of her money. She's been drawing against her

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

"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 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 darkness in front of him, his breath fairly whistling between his teeth.

That night he walked the streets until the morning, 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 corner near a music store,

finding a momentary amusement in watching two or three men loading a piano upon a dray. Already half its

weight was supported 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. Something

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

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 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

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 misfortunes. He terrorized

his fellowhandlers, 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

malletlike fist. As often as not the blow followed, colossal in its force, swift as the leap of the piston from its

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 rightall right. McTeague was not an imaginative 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 all over, rolling upon the bed and

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 secondhand instruments were kept, helping to move about and rearrange some old

pianos. As he passed by one of the counters he paused abruptly, his eye caught by an object that was

"Say," he inquired, addressing the clerk in charge, "say, where'd this come from?"

"Why, let's see. We got that from a secondhand 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.

"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

"You talk to the boss about that; t'ain't none of my affair. If you want to buy it, it's eleven dollars."

The dentist had been paid off the day before and had four dollars in his wallet at the moment. He gave the

"Here, there's part of the money. Youyou put that concertina aside for me, an' I'll give you the rest in a

week or soI'll give it to you tomorrow," 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.

The clerk had told him the concertina had been sold on Polk Street to the secondhand store there. Trina had

sold it. McTeague knew it. Trina had sold his concertinahad stolen it and sold ithis 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 cherished more dearly. His steel engraving of "Lorenzo de' Medici and his

"And she sold itstole it from me and sold it. Just because I happened to forget to take it along with me.

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,

"An' I got to do this. I got to work like a dray horse while she sits at home by her stove and counts her

Six o'clock came. Instead of supper, McTeague drank some more whiskey, five ponies in rapid succession.

After supper he was obliged to go out with the dray to deliver a concert grand at the Odd Fellows' Hall, where

"Ain't you coming back with us?" asked one of the handlers as he climbed upon the driver's seat after the

"No, no," returned the dentist; "I got something else to do." The brilliant lights of a saloon near the City Hall

caught his eye. He decided he would have another drink of whiskey. It was about eight o'clock.

The following day was to be a fete day at the kindergarten, the Christmas and New Year festivals combined.

All that afternoon the little twostory 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 tackhammer 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

balanced herself on a stepladder. By evening everything was in place. As the last grand lady left the school,

"Now, if you'll just tidy up here, Mrs. McTeague, I think that will be all. Sweep up the pine needles

hereyou see they are all over the floorand look through all the rooms, and tidy up generally. Good

Trina put the dollar away in her trunk before she did anything else and cooked herself a bit of supper. Then

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 cloakroom 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,

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

It was very quiet. A gasjet 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 over its rim watched

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 lambent 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

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

"Mac," she cried to him, as he came in, speaking with horrid rapidity, cringing and holding out her hands,

"Mac, listen. Wait a minutelook herelisten 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 scream. I can't help

McTeague came towards her slowly, his immense feet dragging and grinding on the floor; his enormous 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

"I want that money. You got itthat five thousand dollars. I want every nickel of it! You understand?"

"That's a lie. He told me that you came and got it. You've had it long enough; now I want it. Do you hear?"

"Mac, I can't give you that money. II WON'T give it to you," Trina cried, with sudden resolution.

Usually the dentist was slow in his movements, but now the alcohol had awakened in him an apelike agility.

He kept his small eyes upon her, and all at once sent his fist into the middle of her face with the suddenness

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,

In the schoolroom outside, behind the coal scuttle, 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

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 outside stairway and entered.

The trunk stood locked in one corner of the room. The dentist took the lidlifter from the little oil stove, put it

underneath the lockclasp and wrenched it open. Groping beneath a pile of dresses he found the

chamoisskin bag, the little brass matchbox, and, at the very bottom, carefully thrust into one corner, the

canvas sack crammed to the mouth with twentydollar gold pieces. He emptied the chamoisskin bag and the

matchbox 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 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 blowing off, carrying the sack close to his side. Once

"I bet it'll rain tomorrow," 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

belongingsan 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 which he believed to be valuable. He stripped his blanket from his bed and

rolled up in it all these objects, together with the canvas sack, fastening the roll with a half hitch such as

miners use, the instincts of the oldtime carboy coming back to him in his present confusion of mind. He

changed his pipe and his knifea huge jackknife with a yellowed bone handleto the pockets of his

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 wavering light woke his canary. It stirred and began to chitter feebly, very

sleepy and cross at being awakened. McTeague started, staring at it, and reflecting. 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

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

Trina lay unconscious, just as she had fallen under the last of McTeague's blows, her body twitching with an

occasional hiccough that stirred the pool of blood in which she lay face downward. Towards morning she

died with a rapid series of hiccoughs that sounded like a piece of clockwork running down.

The thing had been done in the cloakroom where the kindergarten children hung their hats and coats. There

was no other entrance except by going through the main schoolroom. McTeague going out had shut the door

of the cloakroom, but had left the street door open; so when the children arrived in the morning, they entered

About halfpast eight, two or three fiveyearolds, 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

Half way across the room one of them stopped and put her small nose in the air, crying, "Umoo, 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

"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.

The day was very hot, and the silence of high noon lay close and thick between the steep slopes of the

canyons 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 brushodors of warm sap, of pine needles, and of tarweed, 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 motionlessly 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, canyons disclosed

themselves far away, gigantic grooves in the landscape, deep blue in the distance, opening one into another,

oceandeep, 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 mountains 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, intimate, small, and homelike,

like a goodnatured housewife. In Placer County, California, she is a vast, unconquered brute of the Pliocene

But there were men in these mountains, like lice on mammoths' hides, fighting them stubbornly, now with

hydraulic "monitors," now with drill and dynamite, 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 canyon sides rose the headgear of a mine, surrounded with its few

unpainted houses, and topped by its neverfailing feather of black smoke. On near approach one heard the

prolonged thunder of the stampmill, 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 carboys' 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 fabulous 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 onestreet 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 mountain 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,

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 jumper; his woollen cap was pulled down over his eye; 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

"There ought to be a trail just off the road here," he muttered. "There used to be a traila short cut."

The next instant, without moving from his position, 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 canyon, debouching into a

"Indian River," muttered the dentist. "I rememberI remember. I ought to hear the Morning Star's stamps

from here." He cocked his head. A low, sustained roar, like a distant cataract, came to his ears from across the

river. "That's right," he said, contentedly. He crossed the river and regained 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 mountain, turned at a sharp angle where a great

liveoak 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 hydraulic 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 Canyon, 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

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 gravelpit like an emptied lake gaped

to heaven. Farther on, in the distance, a canyon zigzagged toward the horizon, rugged with pineclad

mountain crests. Nearer at hand, and directly in the line of the road, was an irregular cluster of unpainted

cabins. A dull, prolonged roar vibrated in the air. McTeague nodded his head as if satisfied.

He reshouldered his blanket roll and descended the road. At last he halted again. He stood before a low

onestory building, differing from the others in that it was painted. A verandah, shut in with mosquito

netting, surrounded it. McTeague dropped his blanket roll on a lumber pile outside, and came up and knocked

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 instruments; a big drawingboard straddled on spindle legs across one end of the room, a

mechanical drawing 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

The dentist approached the counter and leaned his elbows upon it. Three men were in the rooma tall, lean

young man, with a thick head of hair surprisingly gray, who was playing with a halfgrown great Dane

puppy; another fellow about as young, but with a jaw almost as salient as McTeague's, stood at the

letterpress taking a copy of a letter; a third man, a little older than the other two, was pottering over a transit.

This latter was massively 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

At once the German foreman became preoccupied, looking aimlessly out of the window. There was a silence.

McTeague's eye was caught by a railroad calendar hanging over the desk. There was no time to think.

"Give dis card to der boardingboss, down at der boarding haus, den gome find me bei der mill at sex

Straight as a homing pigeon, and following a blind and unreasoned instinct, McTeague had returned 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, occupied by one of the shift bosses and his family. The dentist passed it on his way to and from the

He himself slept in the bunk house with some thirty others of his shift. At halfpast five in the evening the

cook at the boardinghouse sounded a prolonged alarm upon a crowbar bent in the form of a triangle, that

hung upon the porch of the boardinghouse. McTeague rose and dressed, and with his shift had supper. Their

lunchpails were distributed to them. Then he made his way to the tunnel mouth, climbed into a car in the

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 burning rubber. A cloud of steam came from McTeague's mouth;

underneath, the water swashed and rippled around the carwheels, while the light from the miner's

candlesticks threw wavering blurs 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 projections of an

overhanging shute. From car to car all along the line the miners called to one another as the train trundled

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

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 longhandled 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 chugchug, chugchug,

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, putting in longer ones as the hole got deeper and deeper. From time to time

Once it even occurred to him that there was a resemblance between his present work and the profession he

had been forced to abandon. In the Burly drill he saw a queer counterpart of his oldtime 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 performed in his "Parlors," only magnified, made monstrous, distorted, and grotesqued, the

He passed his nights thus in the midst of the play of crude and simple forcesthe 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 influencetheir 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 dinnerpail, sitting upon the

embankment of the track, eating with both hands, and looking around him with a steady oxlike gaze. The

mountains rose sheer from every side, heaving their gigantic 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 daytime

they were silent; but at night they seemed to stir and rouse themselves. Occasionally the stampmill stopped,

its thunder ceasing abruptly. Then one could hear the noises that the mountains made in their living. From the

canyon, 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

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 strongsmelling blanketsslept

the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, crushed and overpowered with the work, flat and prone upon his belly, till

again in the evening the cook sounded the alarm upon the crowbar bent into a triangle.

Every alternate week the shifts were changed. The second week McTeague's shift worked in the daytime and

slept at night. Wednesday night of this second week the dentist woke suddenly. He sat up in his bed in the

bunk house, looking about him from side to side; an alarm clock hanging on the wall, over a lantern, marked

"What was it?" muttered the dentist. "I wonder what it was." The rest of the shift were sleeping 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 carefully about the room, throwing

the light into the 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 somethingwhy 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 againthe 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 somethingright now; feel it now. I wonderI don' knowI don' know."

Once more he got up, and this time dressed himself. He made a complete tour of the camp, looking and

listening, for what he did not know. He even went to the outskirts of the camp and for nearly half an hour

watched the road that led into the camp from the direction of Iowa Hill. He saw nothing; not even a rabbit

But from this time on there was a change. The dentist grew restless, uneasy. Suspicion of something, he could

not say what, annoyed him incessantly. He went wide around sharp corners. At 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.

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 enlightened. 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

"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

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

"Mexico," he muttered to himself. "Mexico, that's the place. They'll watch the coast and they'll watch the

The sense of pursuit which had harassed him during the last week of his stay at the Big Dipper mine had

"I'm pretty far ahead now, I guess," he said. At Reno he boarded a southbound 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

The freight worked slowly southward, through western Nevada, the country becoming hourly more and more

desolate and abandoned. After leaving Walker Lake the sagebrush 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 recognized the type, and the impression gained ground among them that he had

"done for" a liverystable 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

liverystable keeper called him a bastard; that's what Picachos told me," one of them remarked, "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

liverystable 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 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 slowmoving 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

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 tablecloth 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

The town of Keeler was a onestreet town, not unlike Iowa Hillthe postoffice, the bar and hotel, the Odd

"Where to now?" muttered McTeague to himself 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 continued, 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

He washed the cinders and dust of a week's railroading from his face and hair, put on a fresh pair of boots,

and went down to supper. The diningroom was of the invariable type of the smaller interior 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 proprietor in Masonic regalia. Two waitresses whom the guestsall men called by their

Through the windows outside McTeague observed 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 neighbors covertly, listening to everything that was said. It did not take him long to

Not far off, across a range of hills, was the Panamint 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

"Well I've mined some too. I had a hole in the ground meself, but she was silver; and when the skunks at

"Well, it's mostly cattle down here in the Panamint, 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 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

"Well, I'm going over to the other side of the range day after t'morrow after some ponies of mine, an' I'm

"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,

"Huh? My name's Carter," answered McTeague, 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

"You're about finished?" continued Cribbens, pushing back. "Le's go out in the bar an' have a drink on it."

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 to the old

prospector's idea that there was no way of telling where gold was until you actually saw it. Cribbens had

evidently read a good many books upon the subject, and had already prospected in something of a scientific

"Shucks!" he exclaimed. "Gi' me a long distinct contact between sedimentary and igneous rocks, an' I'll sink a

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,

"Say, Carter, le's make a go of this. You got a little cash I supposefifty dollars or so?"

"Well, I got about fifty. We'll go pardners on the proposition, an' we'll dally 'round the range yonder an' see

They fitted out the next day at the general merchandise store of Keelerpicks, shovels, prospectors'

hammers, a couple of cradles, pans, bacon, flour, coffee, and the like, and they bought a burro on which to

"Say, by jingo, you ain't got a horse," suddenly exclaimed Cribbens as they came out of the store. "You can't

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

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 sagebrush 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

"An' me asking you if you had fifty dollars!" he exclaimed. "You carry your mine right around with you,

"Huh, I guess so," muttered the dentist. "II 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

"Say," remarked Cribbens, "why in thunder don't you leave that fool canary behind at the hotel? It's going to

be in your way all the time, an' it will sure die. Better break its neck an' chuck it."

"Well, that's the craziest idea I ever heard of," remarked Cribbens, "to take a canary along prospecting. Why

They travelled leisurely to the southeast during the day, following a wellbeaten 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

"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, bigboned fellows, picturesque in their broad hats, hairy trousers, jingling spurs,

and revolver belts, surprisingly like the pictures McTeague remembered to have seen. Everyone of them

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."

By noon they were climbing the eastern slope of the Panamint Range. Long since they had abandoned 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

"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. McTeague'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 sagebrush, unrolled toward the horizon. In the

immediate foreground a broken system of arroyos, and little canyons tumbled down to meet it. To the north

"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 along here to the north of us. Those hills way over yonder to the northeast are the

"What do you call the desert out yonder?" McTeague'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.

There was a long pause. The horses panted irregularly, the sweat dripping from their heaving bellies.

Cribbens and the dentist sat motionless in their saddles, looking out over that abominable desolation, silent,

"God!" ejaculated Cribbens at length, under his breath, with a shake of his head. Then he seemed to rouse

This was a long and difficult task. They descended into one little canyon 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 Cribbens. The dentist let the animal have his head, and in a few

minutes he had brought them to the bed of a tiny canyon where a thin stream of brackish water filtered over a

"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 locoweed back here a piece, and if they get to eating that, they'll sure go plum crazy. The

A new life began for McTeague. After breakfast the "pardners" separated, going in opposite directions along

the slope of the range, examining rocks, picking and chipping at ledges and bowlders, looking for signs,

prospecting. McTeague went up into the little canyons 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 outcrops, continually on the lookout

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

The dentist emptied his pan and straightened up. "Nothing, nothing. You struck anything?"

"Not a trace. Guess we might as well be moving towards camp." They returned together, Cribbens telling the

"We might lay off tomorrow, an' see if we can plug a couple of them fellers. Antelope steak would go pretty

McTeague was answering, when Cribbens interrupted him with an exclamation of profound disgust. "I

thought we were the first to prospect along in here, an' now look at that. Don't it make you sick?"

He pointed out evidences of an abandoned prospector's camp just before themcharred ashes, empty tin

cans, one or two goldminer's pans, and a broken pick. "Don't that make you sick?" muttered 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;

"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 prospectedleast 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 off to the south. Well, no one ain't stuck on crossing the Valley, not if they can help it.

But we could work down the Panamint some hundred or so miles, maybe two hundred, 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 season. Anyhow," he concluded, "we'll move camp to the south tomorrow. We got to get

new feed an' water for the horses. We'll see if we can knock over a couple of antelope tomorrow, and then

"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 himself from time

"Runs right along here, even enough, and here's water too. Didn't know this stream was here; pretty near dry,

"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

"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

"LOOKING for! LOOKING for!" Cribbens checked himself . "That's SLATE all right, and that's grano

diorite, I 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 hammer," 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

"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 looking, 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, pardner. 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, pardner." He broke into a

run. McTeague followed at a lumbering gallop. Over the scorched, parched ground, stumbling and tripping

over sagebrush and sharppointed rocks, under the palpitating heat of the desert sun, they ran and

"See any 'COLOR' in it, pardner?" gasped Cribbens. "I can't, can you? 'Twouldn't be visible nohow, I guess.

"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, impatiently. "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 excitement and the

"Can't do it," exclaimed Cribbens, sitting back on his heels, "hand shakes so. YOU take it, pardner. Careful,

McTeague took the horn spoon and began rocking 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

"Don't see it yet; don't see it yet," whispered Cribbens, chewing his mustache. "LEETLE faster, pardner.

That's the ticket. Careful, steady, now; leetle more, leetle more. Don't see color yet, do you?"

The quartz sediment dwindled by degrees as McTeague spooned it steadily. Then at last a thin streak of a

Neither spoke. Cribbens dug his nails into the sand, and ground his mustache between his teeth. The yellow

McTeague washed the last of the white quartz dust away, and let the water trickle after it. A pinch of gold,

"There you are," he said. The two looked at each other. Then Cribbens rose into the air with a great leap and a

"Yeeeow! 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 inconceivable rapidity. "PUT it there, old man," he shouted, gripping

"That's gold, all right," muttered McTeague, studying the contents of the spoon.

"You bet your greatgrandma's CochinChina 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. Youwe

haven't weighed this yet. Where's the scales?" He weighed the pinch 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

"Huh!" said McTeague, rolling his eyes. "Huh! I 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 location 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,

"To think," exclaimed Cribbens, as he drove the first stake, "to think those other mushheads had their camp

within gunshot of her and never located her. Guess they didn't know the meaning of a 'contact.' Oh, I knew I

They staked out their claim, and Cribbens put up the notice of location. It was dark before they were through.

"I'll spoon this too, just for the fun of it, when I get home," he explained, as they tramped back to the camp.

"Have we?" shouted Cribbens. "HAVE we? Just wait and see the rush for this place when we tell 'em about it

"We might call her the 'Last Chance.' 'Twas our last chance, wasn't it? We'd 'a' gone antelope shooting

tomorrow, and the next day we'd 'a'say, what you stopping for?" he added, interrupting himself. "What's

The dentist had paused abruptly on the crest of a canyon. Cribbens, looking back, saw him standing

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

"What is it?" he cried. "See anybody?" He peered on ahead through the gathering twilight.

"I don' know, I don' know," muttered the dentist, lowering the rifle. "There was something."

"I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything either. I had an idea, that's all; came all of a sudden, like that.

"I guess you just imagined something. There ain't anybody within twenty miles of us, I guess."

Half an hour later they had the fire going. McTeague 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 fryingpan.

"Off there." The dentist made a vague gesture toward the eastern horizon. "Didn't you hear somethingI

But it was not imagination. Until midnight the partners lay broad awake, rolled in their blankets under the

open sky, talking and discussing and making plans. At last Cribbens rolled over on his side and slept. The

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 rowelled 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 suddenly become rich; he had lighted on a

treasurea 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 pistolshot. And yet there was nothing, nothing.

The dentist settled himself in his blankets and tried to sleep. In five minutes he was sitting up, staring into the

bluegray shimmer of the moonlight, straining his ears, watching and listening intently. 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 McTeagues mule, dozing on three legs, changed its weight to

"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 unseen hand were turning him toward the east; some unseen heel spurring him to precipitate and

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 anything or hear anything. To leave a fortune! No, I won't. No, by God!"

He drew Cribbens's Winchester toward him and slipped a cartridge into the magazine.

"No," he growled. "Whatever happens, I'm going to stay. If anybody comes" He depressed the lever of the

"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 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 horizon began to grow blacker and more

distinct in outline. The dawn was coming. Once more McTeague 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 influence grew stronger with every moment. The dentist set his great

"No," he growled between his set teeth. "No, I'll stay." He made a long circuit around the camp, even going

as far as the first stake of the new claim, his Winchester cocked, his ears pricked, his eyes alert. There was

nothing; yet as plainly as though it were shouted at the very nape of his neck he felt an enemy. It was not fear.

"If I could only SEE somethingsomebody," he muttered, as he held the cocked rifle ready, "II'd show

He returned to camp. Cribbens was snoring. The burro had come down to the stream for its morning drink.

The mule was awake and browsing. McTeague stood irresolutely by the cold ashes of the campfire, looking

from side to side with all the suspicion and wariness of a tracked stag. Stronger and stronger grew the strange

impulse. It seemed to him that on the next instant he MUST perforce wheel sharply eastward and rush away

headlong in a clumsy, lumbering gallop. He fought against it with all the ferocious obstinacy of his simple

"Go, and leave the mine? Go and leave a million 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

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 suddenly the sun looked over the shoulder of the world, and it was day.

At that moment McTeague was already eight miles away from the camp, going steadily eastward. He was

descending the lowest spurs of the Panamint hills, following an old and faint cattle trail. Before him he drove

his mule, laden with blankets, provisions for six days, Cribben's rifle, and a canteen full of water. Securely

bound to the pommel of the saddle was the canvas sack with its precious five thousand dollars, all in

twentydollar gold pieces. But strange enough in that horrid waste of sand and sage was the object that

McTeague himself persistently carriedthe canary in its cage, about which he had carefully wrapped a

At about five o'clock that morning McTeague had crossed several trails which seemed to be converging, and,

guessing that they led to a water hole, had followed one of them and had brought up at a sort of small

sundried sink which nevertheless contained 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 floursacks around the bird cage to

protect the little canary as far as possible from the heat that he knew would increase 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 matter 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, inclining 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. By degrees the dentist's steps grew

slower; he stopped, went forward again cautiously, almost feeling his way, like someone approaching a pit in

the darkness. He stopped again, hesitating, gnashing his teeth, clinching his fists with blind fury. Suddenly he

"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,

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,

His plans were uncertain. He remembered what Cribbens had said about the Armagosa Mountains 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, 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 redhot alkali of Death

Valley. "They" would hardly reach him there. He would stay at Gold Mountain two or three months, and then

McTeague tramped steadily forward, still descending 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 sagebrush 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

"If I keep along the edge of the hills where these trails are," muttered the dentist, "I ought to find water up in

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, suddenly 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 swearing, but for a long time the mule would not allow himself to be caught. He seemed more

"He's eatun some of that locoweed that Cribbens 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

"There, there, what's the matter with you?" The mule was docile again. McTeague washed his mouth and set

The day was magnificent. From horizon to horizon 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 canyons picked out with intense blue shadows. It seemed strange that such barrenness 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 paleblue whiteness of the

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 his skin was tingling and pricking under the merciless lash of the sun's rays.

"If it gets much hotter," he muttered, with a long breath, "if it gets much hotter, II 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 sagebrush 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 burntout blue of the sky. McTeague stripped off his woollen shirt, and even

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 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 sagebushes,

retreating to the farthest nooks and crevices in the canyons of the hills. All the world was one gigantic

blinding glare, silent, motionless. "If it gets much hotter," murmured the dentist again, moving his head from

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 dentist, 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 seethe round thick coil, the slowly waving clover shaped head and erect whirring tail

For fully thirty seconds the man and snake remained looking into each other's eyes. Then the snake uncoiled

and swiftly wound from sight amidst the sagebrush. McTeague drew breath again, and his eyes once more

"Good Lord! What a country!" he exclaimed. But his voice was trembling as he urged forward the mule once

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 canyons 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 sunwracked mud;

it was little more than enough to water the mule and refill his canteen. Here he camped, easing the mule of

the saddle, and turning him 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 canyons. He was exhausted with his terrible day's march. Never

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. McTeague 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

"What IS it, then? What is it?" he cried, between 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 canyons roared back the echo, tossing it out far over the desert

"You fool," he said to himself, "you fool. You've done it now. They could hear that miles away. You've done

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

"Hurry now; hurry on. You fool, you've done it now. They could hear that miles away. Hurry now. They ain't

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

A little more water had gathered in the mud hole near which he had camped. He watered the mule for the last

But there was a change in the direction of McTeague'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 beneath his hurrying

feet; the sagebrush 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 sunbaked flakes of alkali

Tracked and harried, as he felt himself to be, from one camping place to another, McTeague had suddenly

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 wilderness where even the beasts were afraid. He would cross Death

"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. McTeague halted and breakfasted, pushing on again immediately afterward.

The dawn flamed and glowed like a brazier, and the sun rose a vast redhot 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 dazzling white alkali laid themselves out like an immeasurable scroll unrolled from

horizon to horizon; not a bush, not a twig relieved that horrible monotony. Even the sand of the desert would

have been a welcome sight; a single clump of sagebrush 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 indifferent to man; but

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

"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 choking, so that he strangled and coughed and sneezed with it.

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 floursacks around the bird

cage. The air was quivering and palpitating like that in the stokehold of a steamship. The sun, small and

"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, panting rapidly, with halfclosed eyes. The dentist removed 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 ovenhot; 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 sagebrush. At once he saw himself stop and wheel sharply

about, peering back suspiciously. There was something behind him; something was following him. He

looked, as it were, over the shoulder of this other McTeague, and saw down there, in the half light of the

canyon, 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

McTeague jumped up with a shout, oversetting the blanket. There was nothing in sight. For miles around, the

alkali was empty, solitary, quivering and shimmering under the pelting fire of the afternoon's sun.

But once more the spur bit into his body, goading him on. There was 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,

"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 fight

never was dumb; hurry or halt, it was all the same. On he went, straight on, chasing the receding horizon;

flagellated with heat; tortured with thirst; crouching over; looking furtively behind, 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 forward 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

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

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 redhot day burned up over the horizon. Even at six o'clock it was hot.

"It's going to be worse than ever today," he groaned. "I wish I could find another rock to camp by. Ain't I

There was no change in the character of the desert. Always the same measureless leagues of whitehot 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, looking and searching for a camping place, shading his

He tramped forward a little farther, then paused at length in a hollow between two breaks, resolving to make

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 acquaintance 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

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

One day, a fortnight after McTeague's flight from San Francisco, Marcus rode into Modoc, to find a 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 murderer. 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

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 barroom 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 alreadytoo 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 knewI

knewgood GOD! I knew that girlhis wifein Frisco. She's a cousin of mine, she isshe wasI

thought once ofThis thing's a personal matter of minean' 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

me going. Let's see you once, any two of you." He filled the barroom with his clamor.

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

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 goldbearing quartz some ten miles to the

south on the western slope of the range. Two men from Keeler had made a strike, the peddler had said, and

added the curious detail that one of the men had a canary bird in a cage with him.

The posse made Cribbens's camp three days after the unaccountable disappearance of his partner. Their man

was gone, but the narrow hoof prints of a mule, mixed with those of huge hobnailed boots, could be plainly

followed in the sand. Here they picked up the trail and held to it steadily till the point was reached where,

instead of tending southward 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

The men decided that this conjecture was true. It was the only inhabited locality in that direction. A

"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. He

"Go on, then, you darn fool," answered the sheriff. "We'll cut on round the valley, for all that. It's a gamble

he'll be at Gold Mountain before you're half way across. But if you catch him, here"he tossed Marcus a

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

Marcus believed himself to be close upon McTeague 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,

"If he ain't got water with um," he said to himself as he pushed on, "If he ain't got water with um, by damn!

At Marcus's shout McTeague looked up and 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 shoulder 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 without definite thought. Then he noticed that the man was singularly like Marcus Schouler.

It WAS Marcus 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 footsteps. 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

"Hands up!" shouted Marcus a second time. "I'll give you three to do it in. One, two"

He came up to McTeague and searched him, going through his pockets; but McTeague had no revolver; not

Marcus grunted, and cast a glance at the mule, who was standing some distance away, snorting nervously,

"Is that it there on the horn of the saddle, there in that canvas sack?" Marcus demanded.

A gleam of satisfaction came into Marcus's eyes, and under his breath he muttered:

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

Marcus moved toward the mule and made as if to reach the bridlerein. The mule squealed, threw up his

head, and galloped to a little distance, rolling his eyes and flattening his ears.

"He acted that way once before," explained McTeague, his hands still in the air. "He ate some locoweed

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 cursing. But the mule would not be caught. He acted as if possessed, squealing, lashing out, and

"Come on," shouted Marcus, furious, turning back to McTeague. "Come on, help me catch him. We got to

Marcus did not finish. A sudden great fear seemed to widen around and inclose the two men. Once their

Already the sense of enmity between the two had weakened in the face of a common peril. Marcus let down

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 flourbags, bumped against the

"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

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

"We've GOT to follow him," exclaimed Marcus as McTeague came up. "There's no water within seventy

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 before them. At length Marcus

"It's no use, we can't catch him, and we're killing ourselves with thirst. We got to take our chances." He drew

"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 sideways, fell upon the

Marcus and McTeague ran up, and Marcus snatched the battered canteen from under the reeking, bloody

hide. There was no water left. Marcus flung the canteen from him and stood up, facing McTeague. There was

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,

"We can drink the mule's blood," said Marcus. "It's been done before. Butbut" he looked down at the

"Well, it's about a hundred miles or more back of us in the Panamint hills," returned Marcus, doggedly.

"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

"Done for?" murmured the other, looking about stupidly. "Done for, that's the word. Done for? Yes, I guess

"Lord, it's hot," said the dentist, finally, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Marcus ground his

"I never WAS so thirsty," continued McTeague. "I'm that dry I can hear my tongue rubbing against the roof

"Well, we can't stop here," said Marcus, finally; "we got to go somewhere. We'll try and get back, but it ain't

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

Marcus had emptied his revolver at the mule, and though he still wore his cartridge belt, he was for the

"I guess," began McTeague coming forward a step, "I guess, even if we are done for, I'll takesome of my

"Hold on," exclaimed Marcus, with rising aggressiveness. "Let's talk about that. I ain't so sure about who

"Don't try an' load that gun either," cried McTeague, fixing Marcus with his little eyes.

"Then don't lay your finger on that sack," shouted the other. "You're my prisoner, do you understand? You'll

do as I say." Marcus had drawn the handcuffs from his pocket, and stood ready with his revolver held as a

club. "You soldiered me out of that money once, and played me for a sucker, an' it's my turn now. Don't you

Marcus barred McTeague's way, white with passion. 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

Suddenly the men grappled, and in another instant 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 violence of their fall, and rolled out upon the ground, the flourbags

slipping from it. McTeague tore the revolver from Marcus's grip and struck out with it blindly. Clouds of

alkali dust, fine and pungent, enveloped the two fighting men, all but strangling them.

McTeague did not know how he killed his enemy, but all at once Marcus grew still beneath his blows. Then

there was a sudden last return of energy. McTeague's right wrist was caught, something licked upon it, then

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

McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at the distant horizon, now at the ground, now at the