 CHAPTER XI On that particular morning, the MacTigues had risen a half hour earlier than usual and taken a hurried breakfast in the kitchen on the deal table with his oil cloth cover. Trina was house cleaning that week and had a presentiment of a hard day's work ahead of her, while MacTigues remembered a 7 o'clock appointment with the little German shoemaker. At about 8 o'clock, when the dentist had been in his office for over an hour, Trina descended upon the bedroom, a towel about her head and the roller sweeper in her hand. She covered the bureau and sewing machine with sheets and unhooked the chenille portiers between the bedroom and the sitting room. As she was tying the knotting M lace curtains at the window into great knots, she saw Old Miss Baker on the opposite sidewalk in the street below and raising the sash called down to her. Oh, it's you, Mrs. MacTigues 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 market basket 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 news boys 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, bouncing on one palm a tray covered with a napkin. Aren't you out pretty early this morning, Miss Baker? Called Trina. No, no, answered the other. I'm always up at half past six, but I don't always get out so soon. I wanted to get a nice head of cabbage and some lentils for a soup, and if you don't go to market early the restaurants get all the best. And you've been to market already, Miss Baker? Oh, my, yes, and I got a fish, a soul, see? She drew the soul in question from her basket. Oh, the lovely soul, exclaimed Trina. I got this one at Spadellas. He always has good fish on Friday. How is a doctor, Mrs. McTeague? Ah, Mac is always well. Thank you, Miss Baker. You know, Mrs. Ryder told me, cried the little dressmaker, moving forward a step out of the way of a glass-put-in man, that Dr. McTeague pulled a tooth of that Catholic priest, Father—oh, I forget his name. Anyhow, he pulled his tooth with his fingers. Was that true, Mrs. McTeague? Oh, of course. Mac does that almost all the time now, especially with front teeth. He's got a regular reputation for it. He says it's brought him more patience than even the sign I gave him, she added, pointing to the big golden muller projecting from the office window. 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 toweled head. Mm-hmm, answered Trina. Maria Macapa's coming in to help pretty soon. At the mention of Maria's name, the little old dressmaker suddenly uttered an exclamation. What, if I'm not here talking to you and forgetting something I was just dying to tell you, Mrs. McTeague, whatever in the world do you suppose? Maria and old Zerkow, that red-headed Polish Jew, the rag-bottle sex-man, you know they're going to be married. No, cried Trina, in blank amazement. You don't mean it. Of course I do. Isn't it the funniest thing you ever heard of? Oh, tell me all about it, said Trina, leaning eerily from the window. Miss Baker crossed the street and stood just beneath her. Well, Maria came to me last night and wanted me to make her a new gown. Said she wanted something gay, like what the girls at the candy store wear when they go out with their young men. I couldn't tell what had got into the girl until finally she told me she wanted something to get married in. And that Zerkow had asked her to marry him, and that she was going to do it. Poor Maria. I guess it's the first and only offer she ever received, and it's just turned her head. But what do those two see in each other? cried Trina. Zerkow is a whore, he's an old man, and his hair is red and his voice is gone, and then he's a Jew, isn't he? I know, I know, but it's Maria's only chance for her 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 sue, either, and I'm just positive that Zerkow has lots of money. I'll bet I know why, exclaimed Trina, with sudden conviction. Yes I know just why. See here, Miss Baker, you know how crazy old Zerkow is after money and gold and those sort of things. Yes I know, but you know Maria hasn't. Now just listen. You've heard Maria tell about that wonderful service of gold dishes she says her folks used to own in Central America. She's crazy on that subject, don't you know? She's all right on everything else, but just start her on that service of gold plate and she'll talk you deaf. She can describe it just as though she saw it, and she can make you see it too, almost. Now you see Maria and Zerkow have known each other pretty well. Maria goes to him every two weeks or so to sell him junk. They got acquainted that way, and I 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 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 will marry him because it's her only chance to get a husband. But I'm sure it's for more the reason that she's got someone to talk to now who believes her story. Don't you think I'm right? Yes, yes, I guess you're right," admitted Miss Baker. "'But it's a queer match, anyway, you put it,' said Trina, musingly. "'Ah, you may well say that,' returned the other, nodding her head. There was a silence. For a long moment the dentist's wife and the retired dressmaker, the one at the window, the other on the sidewalk, remained lost in thought, wondering over the strangeness of the affair. But suddenly there was a diversion. Alexander, Marcus Scholler's Irish setter, whom his master had long since allowed the liberty of running untrammeled about the neighborhood, turned the corner briskly and came trotting along the sidewalk where Miss Baker stood. At the same time, the scotch collie, who had, at one time, belonged to the branch post office, 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 forefeet planted rigidly. Trina uttered a little cry. "'Oh, look out, Miss Baker. Those two dogs hate each other just like humans. You best look out. They'll fight, sure.' Miss Baker sought safety in a nearby vestibule, when she peered forth at the scene, very interested and curious. Maria Macapas had thrust itself from one of the top-story windows of the flat with a shrill cry. Even MacTig'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 face. Meanwhile, the collie and the setter had drawn near to each other. Five feet apart they paused as if by mutual consent. The collie turned side-wise to the setter. The setter instantly wheeled himself flank onto the collie. Their tails rose and stiffened. They raised their lips over their long white fangs. The nape 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 stiff-legged and upon the very points of their feet. Then they wheeled about and began to circle in the opposite direction. Twice they repeated this 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. In 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, once he had issued, affecting to remember something of great importance. They disappeared. Once out of sight of one another, they began to bark furiously. Well, I never, exclaimed Trina, in great disgust. The way those two dogs have been carrying on, you'd have thought they would have just torn each other to pieces when they had the chance. And here I'm wasting the whole morning. She closed her window with the bang. Sikkim, Sikkim, 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 fuss, she said to herself, clearly, the little dressmaker bought an envelope of nasturtium seeds at the floors 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 faint, a very faint flush came into her withered cheeks, and her heart beat so violently under the worsted shawl that she felt obliged to shift the market basket to her other arm and put out her free hand to steady herself against the rail. On his part, old Grannis was instantly 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 bringing the two old people face to face at the most inopportune moments. 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 forearm, knocking it from her grasp, and sending it rolling and bumping down the stairs. The soul fell flat upon the first landing. The lentils scattered themselves over the entire flight, while the cabbage, leaping from step to step, thundered down the incline and brought up against the street door with a shock that reverberated throughout the entire building. The little retired dressmaker, horribly vexed, nervous and embarrassed, was hard put to it to keep back the tears. Old Grannis stood for a moment with averted eyes, murmuring, oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I, I really, I beg your pardon, really, really. Marcus Shuller, coming downstairs from his room, saved the situation. Hello, people, he cried. By dam, you've upset your basket, you have? For a fact. Here, let's pick him 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 pucille anemity of Alexander, of which Maria had just told him. I'll cut him in two, with the whip, he shouted. I will, I will, I say I will for a fact. He wouldn't fight, hey? I'll give him 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 bullpup and I'll put him both in a bag and shake him up. I will for a fact, and I guess Alec will fight. Come along, Mr. Grannis. And he took the old Englishman away. 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' 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 and calm contentment. Marcus Schuller is still occupied his old room on the floor above the McTeague's. 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 Sipas, asking her if Mr. Sipa had yet heard of anyone with whom he, Marcus, could go in with on a ranch. McTeague, Marcus merely nodded to. Never had the quarrel between the two men completely patched up. It had not seemed 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 grottis for an ulcerated tooth, while Marcus daily recalled the fact that he had given up his girl to his friend, the girl who had won a fortune, as a 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 dentist and against himself for that matter knew no bounds. And you might have had it all yourself, Marcus Scholler. He muttered to himself on the stairs, you mushhead, you damn fool. Meanwhile, Marcus was becoming involved in the politics of his ward. As secretary of the Polk Street Improvement Club, which soon developed into quite an affair and began to assume the proportions of a Republican political machine, he found he could make a little, a very little more than enough to live on. At once, he had given up his position as old Grenes' 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 probably 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 offense, 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 himself some $400 to the good. When Nectig came out of his parlors at noon of the day upon which Trina had heard the news of Maria Makapa's intended marriage, he found Trina burning coffee on a shovel in the sitting room. Try as she would, Trina could never quite eradicate from the 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 pastils and Chinese punk and even as now, coffee on a shovel, all to no purpose. Indeed, the only drawback to their delightful home was a general unpleasant smell that pervaded it. A smell that arose partly from the photographer's chemicals, partly from the cooking in the little kitchen and partly from the ether and creosote of the dentist parlors. As Nectig came into 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, Mectig looked vaguely about the room, rolling his eyes. During the three years of their married life, the Mectigs 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 melodian 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 Mectig's broad cloth 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 Mectig, his mouth full of codfish. Heis looked in on me this morning. He says, what's the matter with the basket picnic over at Schwetz and Park next Tuesday? You know, the paper hangers are going to be in the parlors all that day, so I'll have a holiday. That's what made Heis think of it. Heis says he'll get the riars to go too. It's the anniversary of their wedding day. We'll ask Selena to go. She can meet us on the other side. Come on, let's go, huh, will you? Trina still had her mania for family picnics, which had been one of the SIPA's most cherished customs, but now there were other considerations. I don't know as we can afford it this month, Mac, she said, pouring the chocolate. I got to pay the gas bill next week and there's the papering of your office to be paid for some time. I know, I know, answered her husband, but I got a new patient this week, had two molars and an upper incisor filled at the very first sitting, and he's going to bring his children round. He's a barber on the next block. Well, you pay half, then, said Trina. It'll cost three or four dollars at the very least and, mind, the Heises pay their own fare both ways, Mac, and everybody gets their own lunch. Yes, she added, after her pause, all right and have Selena join us. I haven't seen Selena in months. I guess I'll have to put up a lunch for her, though, Admin and Trina, the way we did last time because she lives in a boarding house now and they make a fuss about putting up a lunch. They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year. It was May and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired. The party assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock laden with baskets. The mctigues came last of all. Ryre and his wife had already boarded the boat. They met the Heises in the waiting room. Hello, doctor, cried the harness maker as the mctigues came up. This is what you'd call an old folks picnic, all married people this time. The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started and sat down to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outside this morning because of the fineness of the weather. Oh, we're going to have lots of fun, cried Trina. If it's anything I do love, it's a picnic. Do you remember our first picnic, Mac? Sure, sure, replied the dentist. We had a goth truffle. And August lost his steamboat, put in Trina, and Papa smacked him. I remember it just as well. Why, look there, said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up the companion way. Ain't that Mr. Shoulder? It was, Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party, he gaped at them a moment in blank astonishment and then ran up, his eyes wide. Well, by damn, he exclaimed, excitedly, what's up? Where are you all going, anyhow? Say, ain't it 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, Mr. Heise, how do, Mr. Ryre? The dentist who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting he ignored completely. McTig settled himself in his seat, growling inarticulately behind his mustache. Say, say, what's all up, anyhow? cried Marcus again. It's a picnic, exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once, and Trina added, we're going over to the same old Schwetz and Park again, but you're all fixed up yourself, cousin Mark. You look as though you were going somewhere yourself. In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair of slate blue trousers, a black 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 taking a holiday myself today. I had a bit of business to do over at Oakland, and I thought I'd go up to B Street afterward and see Selena. I haven't called on, but the party uttered an exclamation. Why, Selena is going with us. She's going to meet us at the Schwetz and Park Station, explained Trina. Marcus's business in Oakland was a fiction. He was crossing the bay that morning solely to see Selena. Marcus had taken up with Selena 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 Selena on this occasion, he was genuinely disappointed. His vexation had once assumed the form of exasperation against McTig. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah, McTig was coming between him and Selena 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 again to mutter behind his mustache. Well, say, began Mrs. Ryre with some hesitation, looking to Ryre for approval. Why can Marcus come along with us? Why, of course, exclaimed Mrs. Hyes, disregarding her husband's vigorous nudges. I guess we got lunch enough to go around. All right, don't you say so, Mrs. McTig? Thus appealed to, Trina could only concur. Why, of course, cousin Mark, she said. Of course, come along with us if you want to. Why, you bet I will, cried Marcus, enthusiastic and an instant. Say, this is out of sight. It is for a fact, a picnic, ah, sure, and we'll meet Selena at the station. Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the harness maker proposed that the men of the party should go down to the bar on the lower deck and shake for the drinks. The idea had an immediate success. Have to see you on that, said Ryre. By damn, we'll have a drink. Yes, sir, we will for a fact. Sure, sure, drinks, that's the word. At the bar, Hyes and Ryre ordered cocktails. Marcus called for a creme vette in order to astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glass of beer. Say, look here, suddenly exclaimed Hyes as they took their glasses. Look here, you fellas. He had turned to Marcus and the dentist. You two fellas have had a grouch at each other for the last year or so. Now, what's the matter with your shaking hands and calling quits? McTeague was at once overcome with a great feeling of magnanimity. He put out his great hand. I got nothing against Marcus, he growled. Well, I don't care if I shake, admitted Marcus, a little shame-facedly as their palms touched. I guess that's all right. That's the idea, exclaimed Hyes, delighted at his success. Come on, boys, now let's drink. Their elbows croaked and they drank silently. Their picnic that day was very jolly. Nothing had changed at Schwetzen Park since the day of that other memorable Sipa picnic four years previous. After lunch, the men took themselves off to the rifle range, while Selena, Trina, and the other two women put away the dishes. An hour later, the men joined them in great spirits. Ryre had won the impromptu match which they had arranged, making quite a wonderful score, which included three clean bullseyes while McTig 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 100 yard sprints on the cinder path and executed clumsy feats on the rings and on the parallel bars. They even found a huge round stone on the beach and put the shot for 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. McTig cracked English walnuts, taken from the lunch baskets in the hollow of his arm and tossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their best mark. Hies believed himself to be particularly strong in the wrists, but the dentist, using but one hand, twisted a cane out of Hies' 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 triumph and 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. While at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer with a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had just stiffened out and trembled all over and died without getting up. Nick Teague told this story again and yet again. All through the afternoon, he could be overheard relating the wonder to anyone who would listen, exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details. Why, the heifer had just fraught at the mouth and his eyes had rolled up. Ah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like that, and the butcher had said his skull was all mashed in, just all mashed in, sure, that's the word, just as if from a sledgehammer. Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the dentist on the boat, Marcus' 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, gloring in the admiring glances of the women. Ah, one-horse dentist he muttered between his teeth. Ah, zinc-plugger, cow-killer. I'd like to show you once, you overgrown mucker, you, you, cow-killer. When he rejoined the group, he found them preparing for a wrestling bout. I tell you what, said Hize, we'll have a tournament. Marcus and I will wrestle and Doc and Ryre, and then the winners will wrestle each other. The women clapped their hands excitedly. This would be exciting. Trina cried, better let me hold your money, Mac, and your keys so as you won't lose them out of your pockets. The men gave their valuables into the keeping of their wives and promptly set to work. The dentist thrust Ryre down without even changing his grip. Marcus and the harness maker struggled together for a few moments till Hize all at once slipped on a bit of turf and fell backwards. As they toppled over together, Marcus ride themself from under his opponent, and as they reached the ground, forced down first one shoulder and then the other. All right, all right. Panted the harness maker, good naturedly. I'm down. It's up to you and Doc now, he added, as he got to his feet. The match between McTig 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 half-nelsons. The men drew back to allow them a free space as they faced each other, while Trina and the other women rose to their feet in their excitement. I bet Mac will throw him all the same, said Trina. Already, cried Ryder. 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 McTig 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. Marcus wrenched himself over and fell face downward on the ground. McTig rose on the instant with a great laugh of exultation. You're down, he exclaimed. Marcus leaped to his feet. Down nothing, he vasivirated with clenched fists. Down nothing, by damn. You got to throw me so as my shoulders touch. McTig was stalking about, swelling with pride. Oh, you're down, I threw you. Didn't I throw him, Trina? Oh, you can't wrestle me. Marcus capered with rage. You didn't, you didn't, you didn't, and you can't. You got to give me another try. The other men came crowding up. Everybody was talking at once. He's right, you didn't throw him. Both his shoulders at the same time. Trina clapped and waved her hand at McTig 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 wrestle. You've got to throw a man so as shoulders touch. You got to give me another bout. That's straight, put in highs. Both his shoulders down at the same time. Try it again. You and Shuler have another try. McTig was bewildered by so much simultaneous talk. He could not make out what it was all about. Could he have offended Marcus again? What? What? Huh, what is it? He exclaimed in perplexity, looking from one to the other. Come on, you must wrestle me again, shouted Marcus. Sure, sure, cried the dentist. I'll wrestle you again. I'll wrestle everybody, he cried, suddenly struck with an idea. Trina looked on in some apprehension. Marcus so mad, she said, half aloud. Yes, admitted Selena. Mr. Shuler's got an awful quick temper, but he ain't afraid of anything. Already, shouted Ryar. This time Marcus was more careful. Twice as McTig rusted him, he slipped cleverly away. But as the dentist came in a third time with his head bowed, Marcus, raising himself to his full height, caught him with both arms around the neck. The dentist gripped at him and rent away the sleeve of his shirt. There was a great laugh. Keep your shirt on, cried Mrs. Ryar. 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. McTig crashed down upon him like the collapse of a felled ox. Now you gotta turn him on his back, shouted heist to the dentist. He ain't down if you don't. With his huge salient chin digging into Marcus' 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. Selena broke the silence, calling out shrilly. Ain't Dr. McTig just that strong? Marcus heard it and his fury came instantly to a head. Rage at his defeat at the hands of the dentist and before Selena's eyes, the hate he still bore his old time pal and the impotent wrath of his own powerlessness were suddenly unleashed. God damn you, get off of me. He cried under his breath, spitting the words as a snake spits its venom. The little audience uttered a cry. With the oath, Marcus had twisted his head and had bitten through the lobe of the dentist's ear. There was a sudden flash of bright red blood. Then followed a terrible scene. The brute that in McTig 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 base 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 high-pitched sound that issued from his wide open mouth. There was nothing articulate. It was something no longer human. It was rather an echo from the jungle. Slogish enough and slow to anger on ordinary occasions, McTig, when finally aroused, became another man. His rage was a kind of obsession, an evil mania, the drunkenness of passion, the exalted and perverted fury of the berserker, blind and deaf, a thing insensitive. As he rose, he caught Marcus's wrist in both his hands. He did not strike, he did not know what he was doing. His only idea was to batter the life out of the man before him, to crush and annihilate him upon the instant. Gripping his enemy in his enormous hands, hard and knotted and covered with a stiff fell of yellow hair, the hands of the old-time carboy, he swung him wide as a hammer thrower swings his hammer. Marcus's feet flipped from the ground. He spun through the air about McTig as helpless as a bundle of clothes. Oh, 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 McTig 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, everyone was crying out at once. Highs and Ryan ran in between the two men. Selena turned her head away. Trina was wringing her hands and crying in an agony of dread. Oh, stop them, stop them, don't let them fight. Oh, it's too awful. Here, here, doc, quit. Don't make a fool of yourself, cried Highs, clinging to the dentist. That's enough now. Listen to me, will you? Oh, Mac, Mac, cried Trina, running to her husband. Mac, dear, listen, it's me, it's Trina. Look at me, you. Get hold of his other arm, will you, Ryre? Panted Highs, quick. Mac, Mac, cried Trina, her arms about his neck. For God's sake, hold up, doc, will you? shouted the harness maker. You don't want to kill him, do you? Mrs. Ryre and Highs' lame wife were filling the air with their outcries. Selena 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-slave had been torn, dangled at his side. The back of the hand twisted where the palm should have been. The shirt itself was a mass of grass stains and was spotted with the dentist's blood. But MacTig, in the center 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 seized 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, Highs. He exclaimed suddenly, trying to strike the harness maker. Let go of me, will you? Little by little they pacified him, or rather, for he paid but little attention to what was said to him. His bestial fury lapsed by degrees. He turned away and let fall his arms, drawing long breaths and looking stupidly about him, now searching helplessly upon the ground, now gazing vaguely into the circle of faces about him. His ear bled as though it would never stop. Say, Doctor, as Thies, what's the best thing to do? Huh? answered McTeague. What? What do you mean? What is it? What do we do to stop this bleeding here? McTeague did not answer but looked intently at the blood-stained bosom of his shirt. Mac, cried Trena, her face close to his, tell us something, the best thing we can do to stop your ear bleeding. Colodium, said the dentist. But we can't get to that right away, we... There's some ice in our lunch basket, broke in highs. We brought it for the beer and take the napkins and make a bandage. Ice, muttered the dentist. Sure, ice, that's the word. Mrs. Hies and the Ryers were looking after Marcus's broken arm. Selena sat on the slope of the grass, gasping and sobbing. Trena tore the napkins into strips and crushing some of the ice made a bandage for her husband's head. The party resolved itself into two groups, the Ryers and Mrs. Hies bending over Marcus while the harness maker and Trena came and went about nictig sitting on the ground. His shirt, a mere blur of red and white detaching itself violently from the background of pale green 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 egg shells and discarded sardine tins or 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 Selena. All at once she began to giggle hysterically again, then cried out with a peel of laughter, oh, what a way for our picnic to end. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Nictig. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Nictig by Frank Norris. Chapter 12. Now then, Maria, said Zerkow, his cracked, strained voice just rising above a whisper, hitching his chair closer to the table. Now then, my girl, let's have it all over again. Tell us about the gold plate, the service. Begin with, there were over a hundred pieces and every one of them gold. I don't know what you're talking about, Zerkow, answered Maria. There never was no gold plate, no gold service. I guess you must have dreamed it. Maria and the red-headed Polish Jew had been married about a month after the Mictig'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 10 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 unrecredited. It had not even a name, a strange, hybrid little being, come and gone within a fortnight's time, yet combining in its puny little body the blood of the Hebrew, the Pole and the Spaniard. But the birth of this child had peculiar 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 service of gold plate for the hundredth time. 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 the 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. Someday, 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 ever. This service of plate had come to be Zerkow's mania. On this particular evening, about a week after the child's burial, in the wretched back room of the junk shop, Zerkow had made Maria sit down to the table opposite him, the whiskey bottle and the red-glass tumbler with its broken base between them, and had said, Now then, Maria, tell us that story of the gold dishes again. Maria stared at him, an expression of perplexity coming into her face. What gold dishes, said she. The ones your people used to own in Central America. Come on, Maria, begin, begin. The Jew craned himself forward, his lean fingers clawing eagerly at his lips. What gold plate, said Maria, frowning at him as she drank her whiskey. What gold plate? I don't know what you're talking about, Zerkow. Zerkow sat back in his chair, staring at her. Why, your people's gold dishes, what they used to eat off of, you've told me about it a hundred times. You're crazy, Zerkow, said Maria. Push the bottle here, will you? Come now, insisted Zerkow, sweating with desire. Come now, my girl, don't be a fool. Let's have it, let's have it, begin now. There were more than a hundred pieces and every one of them gold. Oh, you know, come on, come on. 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 and 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 perhensile fingers curled into fists. He was menacing, terrible in his rage. He leaned over Maria, his fists in her face. I believe you've got it, he yelled. I believe you've got it and are hiding it from me. Where is it? Where is it? Is it here? He rolled his eyes wildly about the room. Hey, hey, he went on, shaking Maria by the shoulders. Where is it? Is it here? Tell me where it is. Tell me or I'll do for you. It ain't here, cried Maria, wrenching from him. It ain't anywhere. What gold plate? What are you talking about? I don't remember nothing about no gold plate at all. No, Maria did not remember. The trouble and turmoil of her mind consequent upon the birth of her child seemed to have readjusted her disordered ideas upon this point. Hermania 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 recently. The day before, perhaps, or that very day, or that very hour, that very hour. Look out for yourself, he whispered, hoarsely to his wife. Look out for yourself, my girl. I'll hunt for it, and hunt for it, and hunt for it. And some day I'll find it. I will, you'll see. I'll find it, I'll find it. And if I don't, I'll find a way that'll make you tell me where it is. I'll make you speak. Believe me, I will. I will, my girl. Trust me for that. And at night Maria would sometimes wake to find Zerkow gone from the bed, and would see him burrowing into some corner by the light of his dark lantern, and would hear him mumbling to himself. There were more than a hundred pieces, and every one of them gold. When the leather trunk was open it fair dazzled your eyes. Why, just that punch-bow was worth a fortune, I guess. Solid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold, nothing but gold. Gold, heaps and heaps of it. What a glory. I'll find it yet, I'll find it. It's here somewhere's, hid somewhere's in this house. 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 make you speak. I don't know. I don't know, cried Maria, dodging his blows. I'd tell you, Zerkow, if I knew, but I don't know nothing about it. How can I tell you if I don't know? Then one evening matters reached a crisis. Marcus Scholler was in his room, the room in the flat just over McTig's parlours, 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 whir 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 hat box in his hand. He was raging at the perverseness of a pair of boots that refused to fit in his trunk, no matter how he arranged them. I've tried you so, and I've tried you so, he exclaimed fiercely between his teeth, and you won't go. He began to swear horribly, grabbing at the boots with his free hand. Pretty soon I won't take you at all, I won't, for a fact. He was interrupted by a rush of feet upon the back stairs, and a clamorous pounding upon his door. He opened it to let in Maria Macapa, her hair disheveled, and her eyes starting with terror. Oh, Mr. Scholar, she gassed. Lock the door quick. Don't let him get me. He's got a knife, and he says sure he's going to do for me, if I don't tell him where it is. Who has? What has? Where is what? shouted Marcus, flaming with excitement upon the instant. He opened the door and peered down the dark hall, both fists clenched, ready to fight. He did not know whom, and he did not know why. It's Zerkow, welled Maria, pulling him back into the room and bolting the door, and he's got a knife as long as that. Oh, my Lord, here he comes now. Ain't that him? Listen. Zerkow is coming up the stairs, calling for Maria. Don't you let him get me, will you, Mr. Scholar? Gassed Maria. I'll break him in two, shouted Marcus, livid with rage. Think I'm afraid of his knife? I know where you are, cried Zerkow, on the landing outside. You're in Scholar's room. What are you doing in Scholar's room at this time of night? Come out of there, you ought to be ashamed. I'll do for you yet, my girl. Come out of there once and see if I don't. I'll do for you myself, you dirty Jew, shouted Marcus, unbolting the door and running out into the hall. I want my wife, exclaimed the Jew, backing down the stairs. What you mean by running away from me and going into your room? Look out, he's got a knife, cried Maria through the crack of the door. Ah, there you are. Come out of that and come back home, exclaimed Zerkow. Get out of here yourself, cried Marcus, advancing on him angrily. Get out of here. Maria's gotta come too. Get out of here, both separated Marcus, and put up that knife. I see it. You needn't try and hide it behind your leg. Give it to me, anyhow. He shouted suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus had wrenched it away. Now, get out of here. Zerkow backed away, peering and peeping over Marcus' shoulder. I want Maria. Get out of here. Get along out or I'll put you out. The street door closed. The Jew was gone. Ha, snorted Marcus, swelling with arrogance. Ha, think I'm afraid of his knife? I ain't afraid of anybody, he shouted pointedly, for Mckteek and his wife, roused by the clamor, were peering over the banisters from the landing above. Not of anybody, repeated Marcus. Maria came out into the hall. Is he gone? Is he sure gone? What was the trouble, inquired Marcus, suddenly. 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 than a hundred pieces and every one of them gold, more than a hundred pieces and every one of them 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, and 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, and then I run out. I didn't dare stay. Well, what did you tell him about your gold dishes for in the first place? Cried Marcus. I never told him, protested Maria with the greatest energy. I never told him. I never heard of any gold dishes. I don't know where he got the idea. He must be crazy. By this time Trina and McTeague, old Grannis and little Miss Baker, all the lodgers on the upper floors of the flat had gathered about Maria. Trina and the dentist who had gone to bed were partially dressed, and Trina's enormous mane of black hair was hanging in two thick braids far down her back. But late as it was, old Grannis and the retired dressmaker had still been up and about when Maria had aroused them. Why, Maria, said Trina, you always used to tell us about your gold dishes. You said your folks used to have them. Never, never, never, exclaimed Maria vehemently. You folks must all be crazy. I never heard of any gold dishes. Well, spoke up, Miss Baker. You're a queer girl, Maria. That's all I can say. She left the group and returned to her room. Old Grannis watched her go from the corner of his eye, and in a few moments followed her, leaving the group as unnoticed as he had joined it. By degrees, the flat quieted down again. Trina and McTeague returned to their rooms. I guess I'll go back now, said Maria. He's all right now. I ain't afraid of him so long as he ain't got his knife. Well, say, Marcus called to her as she went downstairs. If he gets funny again, you just yell out. I'll hear you. I won't let him hurt you. Marcus went into his room again and resumed his wrangle with the refractory boots. His eye fell on Zerkow's knife, a long, keen-bladed hunting knife with a buckhorn handle. I'll take you along with me, he exclaimed, suddenly. I'll just need you where I'm going. Meanwhile, old Miss Baker was making tea to calm her nerves after the excitement of Maria's incursion. This evening she went so far as to make tea for two, laying an extra place on the other side of her little tea table, setting out a cup and saucer and one of the Gorham's silver spoons. Close upon the other side of the partition, old Greenis bound uncut numbers of the nation. Do you know what I think, Mac, said Trina, when the couple had returned to their rooms? I think Marcus is going away. What? What? I thought of the dentist, very sleepy and stupid. What are you saying? What's that about Marcus? I believe Marcus has been packing up, the last two or three days. I wonder if he's going away. Who's going away? said Mac Teague, blanking at her. Oh, go to bed! said Trina, pushing him good naturally. 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. Sipa had involved himself was going from bad to worse. Mr. Sipa had even been obliged to put a mortgage upon their house. Mrs. Sipa didn't know what was to become of them all. Her husband had even begun to talk of immigrating to New Zealand. Meanwhile, she informed Trina that Mr. Sipa had finally come across a man with whom Marcus could go in with on a ranch, a cattle ranch in the southeastern portion of the state. Her ideas were vague upon the subject, but she knew that Marcus was wildly enthusiastic at the prospect and was expected down before the end of the month. In the meantime, could Trina send them fifty dollars? Marcus is going away, after all, Mac, said Trina to her husband that day as he came out of his parlours and sat down to the lunch of sausages, mashed potatoes, and chocolate in the sitting-room. Ha! said the dentist, a little confused. Who's going away? Shoulder going away? Why Shoulder going away? Trina explained. Oh! growled McTig, 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? Mama wants me. Wants us to send her fifty dollars. She says they're hard up. Well, said the dentist, after a moment. Well, I guess we can send it, can't we? Oh! That's easy to say, complained Trina, her little chin in the air, her small pale lips pursed. I wonder if Mama thinks we're millionaires. Trina, you're getting to be regular stingy, muttered McTig, you're getting worse and worse every day. But fifty dollars is fifty dollars, Mac. Just think how long it takes you to earn fifty dollars. Fifty dollars. That's two months of our interest. Well, said McTig, easily, his mouth full of mashed potato. You got a lot saved up. Upon every reference to that little hoard in the brass match safe and a chamoiskin bag at the bottom of her trunk, Trina bridled on the instant. Don't talk that way, Mac. A lot of money. What do you call a lot of money? I don't believe I've got fifty dollars saved. Oh! exclaimed McTig. Oh! I guess you got near a hundred and fifty. That's what I guess you got. I've not. I've not, declared Trina. And you know I've not. I wish Mama 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 her fifty. Oh, sure! What will you do then? Grumbled her husband. I'll send her twenty-five this month and tell her I'll send the rest as soon as I can afford it. Trina, you're a regular little miser, said McTig. 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. Mama 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 all send half. We'll send twenty-five dollars altogether, twelve and a half a piece. That's an idea. How will that do? Sure. Sure, McTig had answered, giving her the money. Trina sent McTig's twelve dollars, but never sent the twelve that was to be her share. One day the dentist happened to ask her about it. You sent that twenty-five to your mother, didn't you? Said he. Oh, long ago, answered Trina, without thinking. In fact Trina never allowed herself to think very much of this affair, and in fact another matter soon came to engross her attention. One Sunday evening Trina and her husband were in their sitting-room together. It was dark, but the lamp had not been lit. McTig had brought up some bottles of beer from the vine-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 McTig's lap in the bay window, and had looped back the Nottingham curtains so the two could look out into the darkened street, and watched the moon coming up over the glass roof of the huge public baths. On occasions they sat like this for an hour or so, flandering, Trina cuddling herself down upon McTig'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 both her small arms and whisper in his ear, "'Do you love me, Mac-deer? Love me big? Big? Sure. Do you love me as much as you did when we were married?' Puzzled McTig would answer, "'Well, you know it, don't you, Trina? But I want you to say so. Say so always and always.' "'Well, I do. Of course I do. Say it, then. I love you. But you don't say it of your own accord.' "'Well, what?' "'What?' "'What?' "'I don't understand,' stammered the dentist, bewildered. There was a knock on the door, confused and embarrassed as if they were not married, Trina scrambled off McTig'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. McTig glared at him, struck speechless, confused beyond expression. Marcus Schuller perfectly at his ease stood in the doorway, smiling with great affability. "'Say,' he remarked, "'Can I come in?' Taken all aback, Trina could only answer. "'Why, I suppose so. Yes, of course. Come in.' "'Yes, yes, come in,' exclaimed the dentist, suddenly, speaking without thought. "'Have some beer,' he added, struck with an idea. "'No, thanks, doctor,' said Marcus, pleasantly. McTig 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 a penny, not a penny.' She said her teeth together hard. "'Well,' said Marcus, "'How's business, doctor?' "'Oh,' said McTig, uneasily, "'Oh, I don't know. I guess—'I guess,' he broke off in helpless embarrassment. They had all sat down by now. Marcus continued, holding his hat in his cane, the black wand of ebony with the gold top presented to him by the Improvement Club. "'Ah,' said he, wagging his head and looking about the sitting room, "'You people have got the best fixed rooms in the whole flat. "'Yes, sir, you have, for a fact?' He glanced from the lithograph framed in gilt and red plush, the two little girls of their prayers, to the, I'm Grandpa, and I'm Grandma pictures, noted the clean white matting and the gay worsted tidies over the chair-backs, and appeared to contemplate in ecstasy the framed photograph of McTig and Trina in their wedding finery. "'Well, the two of you are pretty happy together, ain't you?' said he, smiling good-humoredly. "'Oh, we don't complain,' answered Trina. "'Punty of money, lots to do. Everything fine, hey?' "'We've got lots to do,' returned Trina, thinking to head him off. "'But we've not got lots of money. But evidently Marcus wanted no money.' "'Well, cousin Trina,' he said, rubbing his knee. "'I'm going away.' "'Yes, Mama wrote me. You're going on a ranch.' "'I'm going and ranching with an English duck,' corrected Marcus. "'Mr. Seba has fixed things. We'll see if we can't raise some cattle. I know a lot about horses, and he's ranched some before, this English duck, and then I'm going to keep my eye open for a political chance down there. I got some introductions from the president of the Improvement Club. "'I'll work things somehow, oh, sure.' "'How long are you going to be gone?' asked Trina.' Marcus stared. "'Why, I ain't ever coming back,' he visciferated. "'I'm going to-morrow, and I'm going for good. I come to say good-bye.' Marcus stayed for upwards of an hour that evening. He talked on easily and agreeably, addressing himself as much to McTig as to Trina. At last he rose. "'Well, good-bye, duck.' "'Good-bye, Marcus,' returned McTig. The two shook hands. "'Guess we won't ever see each other again,' continued Marcus. "'But good luck to you, duck. Hope some day you'll have the patients standing in line on the stairs.' "'Huh. I guess so. I guess so,' said the dentist. "'Good-bye, cousin Trina.' "'Good-bye, Marcus,' answered Trina. "'You be sure to remember me to Mama 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'll make them some great big animals.' "'Good-bye.' "'Success to you, Marcus.' "'Good-bye. Good-bye. Good-luck to you both.' "'Good-bye, cousin Mark.' "'Good-bye, Marcus.' He was gone.' CHAPTER XII. One morning, about a week after Marcus had left for the southern part of the state, MacTig found an oblong letter thrust through the letter drop 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 state of California. Very official, the form and file numbers superscribed. MacTig had been making fillings when this letter arrived. He was in his parlors, pottering over his movable rack underneath the birdcage in the bay window. He was making blocks to be used in large proximal cavities and cylinders for commencing fillings. He heard the postman step in the hall and saw the envelopes begin to shuttle themselves through the slit of his letter drop. Then came the fat oblong envelope with its official seal that dropped flatwise to the floor with a sudden, dull impact. The dentist put down the brooch and scissors and gathered up his mail. There were four letters altogether. One was for Trina and Selena'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 MacTig from an office in the city hall. MacTig read it through laboriously. I don't know. I don't know, he muttered, looking stupidly at the rifle manufacturer's calendar. Then he heard Trina from the kitchen, singing as she made a clattering noise with the breakfast dishes. I guess I'll ask Trina about it, he muttered. He went through the suite by the sitting room, where the sun was pouring in through the looped-backed Nottingham curtains upon the clean white matting and the vartist surface of the melodian, passed on through the bedroom with its framed lithographs of round-cheeked English babies and alert fox terriers, and came out into the brick-paved kitchen. The kitchen was clean as a new whistle, the freshly blackened cookstove glowed like a negro's hide. The tins and porcelain-lined stupans might have been of silver and of ivory. Trina was in the center of the room, wiping off with a damn sponge, the oil clothed table cover on which they had breakfasted. Never had she looked so pretty. Early though it was, her enormous tiara of swarthy hair was neatly combed and coiled. Not a pin was so much as loose. She wore a blue calico skirt with a white figure, and a belt of imitation alligator skin clasped around her small, firmly corseted waist. Her shirt waist was of pink linen, so new and crisp that it crackled with every movement, while around the collar, tied in a neat knot, was one of McTig'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 table cover, 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 scene, the clean kitchen and its clean brick floor, the smell of coffee that lingered in the air, Trina herself, fresh as if from a bath, and singing at her work, the morning sun, striking obliquely through the white muslin half curtain of the window, and spanning the little kitchen with a bridge of golden mist, gave off as it were a note of gaiety 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 pass with a vibrant whirring of its jostled glass and the joyous clanging of its bells. What is it, Mac, dear? said Trina. Mithig shut the door behind him with his heel and handed her the letter. Trina read it through. Then suddenly her small hand gripped tightly upon the sponge, so that the water started from it and dripped in a little pattering deluge upon the bricks. The letter, or rather printed notice, informed MacTig that he had never received a diploma from a dental college, and that in consequence he was forbidden to practice his profession any longer. A legal extract bearing upon the case was attached in small type. Why, what's all this, said Trina, calmly, without thought as yet? I don't know. I don't know, answered her husband. You can't practice any longer, continued Trina, is here with prohibited and enjoined from further continuing. She re-riding 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 MacTig. Draw up to the table here, Mac, and let's see what this is. I got it this morning, murmured the dentist. It just now came. I was making some fillings, there in the parlours, in the window, and 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? Huh? What? What? Did you go to MacTig? How did you learn to be a dentist? Did you go to a college? I went along with a fellow who came to the mine once. My mother sent me. We used to go from one camp to another. I sharpened his excavators for him and put up his notices in the towns, stuck them up in the post offices and on the doors of the odd fellow's halls. He had a wagon. But didn't you never go to a college? Huh? What? College? No, I never went. I learned from the fellow. Trina rolled down her sleeves. She was a little paler than usual. She fastened the buttons into the cuffs and said, But do you know you can't practice unless you're graduated from a college? You haven't the right to call yourself doctor. MacTig stared a moment then. Why, I've been practicing ten years, more, nearly twelve. But it's the law. What's the law? That you can't practice or call yourself doctor unless you've got a diploma. What's that, a diploma? I don't know exactly. It's the kind of paper that—that— Oh, Mac, we're ruined. Trina's voice rose to a cry. What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist? Ain't I a doctor? Look at my sign and the gold tooth you gave me. Why, I've been practicing nearly twelve years. 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. Her worth prohibited and enjoined from further continuing. She read to the end. Why, it isn't possible, she cried. They can't mean— Oh, Mac, I do believe— Pshaw! She 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 first class dentist? I guess that's all right. Mac, didn't you ever go to a dental college? No, answered MacTig, doggedly. What was the good? I learned how to operate. Wasn'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 MacTig had hung over the door of his parlors. The dentist looked at the kitchen clock. That's Vonovich, said he. He's a plumber round on Sutter Street. He's got an appointment with me to have a bicuspid pulled. I got to go back to work. He rose. But you can't, cried Trina, the back of her hand upon her lips, her eyes brimming. Mac, don't you see? Can't you understand? You've got to stop. Oh, it's dreadful. Listen. She hurried around the table to him and caught his arm in both her hands. Huh! growled MacTig, looking at her with a puzzled frown. They'll arrest you. You'll go to prison. You can't work. Can't work any more. We're ruined." Vonovich was pounding on the door of the sitting-room. He'll be gone in a minute, exclaimed MacTig. Well, let him go. Tell him to go. Tell him to come again. Why, he's got an appointment with me, exclaimed MacTig, his hand upon the door. Trina caught him back. But Mac, you ain't a dentist any longer. You ain't a doctor. You haven't the right to work. You never went to a dental college. Well, suppose I never went to a college. Ain't I a dentist just the same? Listen, he's pounding there again. No, I'm going, sure. Well, of course. Go, said Trina, with sudden reaction. It ain't possible, though, make you stop. Sure, good dentist, that's all that's wanted. Go on, Mac. Hurry before he goes. MacTig 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. MacTig would be obliged to stop work, no matter how good a dentist he was. And 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 intelligence. It's Marcus that's done it, she cried. It was like a clap of thunder. MacTig 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 parlours, turning the notice about in his enormous clumsy fingers, reading it stupidly over and over again. He couldn't understand. What had a clerk at the city hall to do with him? Why couldn't they let him alone? Oh, what's to become of us now? Welled Trina. What's to become of us now? Were paupers, beggars, and also sudden. And once in a quick inexplicable fury, totally unlike anything that MacTig had noticed in her before, she had started up, with fists and teeth shut tight, and had cried. Oh, if you'd only killed Marcus shoulder that time he fought you! MacTig had continued his work, acting from sheer force of habit, his sluggish, deliberate nature, methodical, obstinate, refusing to adapt itself to the new conditions. Maybe Marcus was only trying to scare us, Trina had said. How are they going to know whether you're practicing or not? I've got a mold to make tomorrow, MacTig said, and Vonovich, that plumber around on Sutter Street, he's coming again at three. Well, you go right ahead, Trina told him decisively. You go right ahead and make the mold, and pull every tooth in Vonovich's head if you want to. Who's going to know? Maybe they just sent that notice as a matter of form. Maybe Marcus got that paper and filled it in himself. The two would lie awake all night long, stirring up into the dark, talking, talking, talking. Haven't you got any right to practice if you've not been to a dental college, Mac? Didn't you ever go? Trina would ask again and again. No, no, answered the dentist. I never went. I learnt from the fellow I was a princess to. I don't know anything about a dental college. And I got a right to do as I like, he suddenly exclaimed. If you know your profession, isn't that enough? cried Trina. Sure, sure, growled MacTig. I ain't going to stop for them. You go right on, Trina said, and I bet you won't hear another what about it. Suppose I go round to the city hall and see them, hazarded MacTig. 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 the 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, MacTig 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 MacTig's practice was suddenly taken from them. Then they would have to fall back on the interest of her lottery money, and the piton she derived from the manufacture of the Noah's Ark animals, a little over thirty dollars a month. No, no, it was not to be thought of. It could not be that their means of livelihood was to be thus stricken from them. A fortnight went by. I guess we're all right, Mac, Trina allowed herself to say. It looks as though we were all right. How are they going to tell whether you're practicing or not? That day a second and much more peremptory notice was served upon MacTig by an official in person. Then suddenly Trina was seized with a panic terror, unreasoned, instinctive. If MacTig persisted they would both be sent to a prison. She was sure of it, a place where people were chained to the wall in the dark, and fed on bread and water. Oh, Mac, you've got to quit, she wailed. You can't go on. They can make you stop. Oh, why didn't you go to a dental college? Why didn't you find out that you had to have a college degree? And now we're paupers, beggars. We've got to leave here. Leave this flat where I've been, where we've been so happy, and sell all the pretty things, sell the pictures in the Melodion, and—oh, it's too dreadful. Huh? Huh? What? What? exclaimed the dentist, bewildered. I ain't going to quit for just a piece of paper. Let them put me out. I'll show them. They—they can't make small of me. Oh, that's all very fine to talk that way, but you'll have to quit. Well, we ain't paupers, MacTig suddenly exclaimed, an idea entering his mind. We've got our money yet. We've got your five thousand dollars, and the money you've been saving up. People ain't paupers when they've got over five thousand dollars. What do you mean, Mac, cried Trina, apprehensively? Well, we can live on that money until—until—until—he broke off with an uncertain movement of his shoulders, looking about him stupidly. Until when, cried Trina, there ain't ever going to be any until. We've got the interest of that five thousand, and we've got what Uncle Olbermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a month, and that's all we've got. You'll have to find something else to do. What will I find to do? What indeed? MacTig was over thirty now, sluggish and slow-witted at best. What new trade could he learn at this age? Little by little Trina made the dentist understand the calamity that had befallen them, and MacTig at last began canceling his appointments. Trina gave it out that he was sick. Not a soul need know what's happened to us, she said to her husband. But it was only by slow degrees that MacTig abandoned his profession. Every morning after breakfast he would go into his parlours as usual, and potter about his instruments, his dental engine, and his wash stand in the corner behind his screen, where he made his molds. Now he would sharpen a hoe excavator. Now he would busy himself for a whole hour making mats and cylinders, then he would look over his slate where he kept a record of his appointments. One day Trina softly opened the door of the parlours and came in from the sitting room. She had not heard MacTig moving about for some time, and had begun to wonder what he was doing. She came in, quietly shutting the door behind her. MacTig had tidied the room with the greatest care. The volumes of the practical dentist and the American system of dentistry were piled upon the marble-top centre-table and 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 nickled trimmings of the operating chair had been furbished till they shone, while on the movable rack in the bay window MacTig had arranged his instruments with the greatest neatness and regularity. Hoe excavators, pluggers, forceps, pliers, corundum discs and burrs, even the boxwood mallet that Trina was never to use again. All were laid out and ready for immediate use. MacTig himself sat in his operating chair, looking stupidly out of the windows, across the roof's opposite, with an unseen 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-blonde hair upon her shoulder. I—I got everything fixed, he said. I got everything fixed and ready. See everything ready and waiting, and—and—and nobody comes. And nobody's ever going to come any more. Oh, Trina! He put his arms about her and drew her down closer to him. Never mind, dear, never mind, cried Trina, through her tears. It'll all come right in the end, and we'll be poured together if we have to. You can sure find something else to do. We'll start in again. Look at the sleight there, said MacTig, pulling away from her and reaching down the sleight on which he kept a record of his appointments. Look at them. There was Vonovich at two on Wednesday, and Looghead's wife Thursday morning, and Hiza's little girl Thursday afternoon at one-thirty. This was Watson on Friday, and Vonovich again Saturday morning early at seven. That's what I was to have had, and they ain't going to come. They ain't ever going to come any more. Trina took the little sleight from him and looked at it ruefully. "'Rub them out,' she said, her voice trembling. "'Rub it all out.' And as she spoke, her eyes brimmed again, and a great tear dropped on the sleight. "'That's it,' she said. "'That's the way to rub it out, by me crying on it.' Then she passed her fingers over the tear-blurred writing and washed the sleight clean. "'All gone, all gone,' she said. "'All gone,' echoed the dentist. There was a silence. Then MacTig heaved himself up to his full six feet, too, his face purpling, his enormous mallet-like fists raised over his head, his massive jaw protruded more than ever, while his teeth clipped and gritted together. Then he growled. "'If ever I meet Marcus Shuller!' He broke off abruptly, the white of his eyes growing suddenly pink. "'Oh, if ever you do,' exclaimed Trina, catching her breath. CHAPTER XIV Well, what do you think?' said Trina. She and MacTig stood in a tiny room at the back of the flat and on its very top floor. The room was whitewashed. It contained a bed, three cane-seated chairs, and a wooden wash stand with its wash bowl and pitcher. From its single, uncurtained window one looked down into the flat's dirty backyard and upon the roofs of the hovels that boarded 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 wash stand. There was a smell of cheap soap and an ancient hair oil in the air. "'That's a single bed,' said Trina, but the landlady says she'll put in a double one for us. "'You see?' "'I ain't going to live here,' growled MacTig. "'Well, you've got to live somewhere,' said Trina, impatiently. "'We've looked Polk Street over, and this is the only thing we can afford.' "'A forward? A forward!' muttered the dentist. "'You with your five thousand dollars and the two or three hundred you got saved up talking about a forward. "'You make me sick.'" "'Now, Mac!' exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down in one of the cane-seated chairs. "'Now, Mac, let's have this thing. "'Well, I don't figure on living in one room,' growled the dentist sullenly. "'Let's live decently until we can get a fresh start. We've got the money. "'Who's got the money?' "'We've got it.' "'We?' "'Well, it's all in the family. What's yours is mine, and what's mine is yours, ain't it?' "'No, it's not. "'No, it's not,' cried Trina, vehemently. "'It's all mine, mine. "'There's not a penny of it belongs to anybody else. "'I don't like to have to talk this way to you, but you just make me. "'We're not going to touch a penny of my five thousand, "'nor a penny of that little money I managed to save. "'That's seventy-five.'" "'That two hundred, you mean? "'That's seventy-five. "'We're just going to live on the interest of that "'and on what I earned from Uncle Oberman, on just that thirty-one or two dollars. "'Ha! "'Think I'm going to do that, and live in such a room as this?' Trina folded her arms and looked him squarely in the face. "'Well, what are you going to do, then?' "'Huh? "'I say, what are you going to do? "'You can go on and find something to do and earn some more money, "'and then we'll talk. "'Well, I ain't going to live here. "'Oh, very well, suit yourself. "'I'm going to live here.' "'You'll live where I tell you!' "'The dentist suddenly cried, "'exasperated at the mincing tone she affected. "'Then you'll pay the rent,' exclaimed Trina, "'quite as angry as he. "'Are you my boss, I'd like to know? "'Who's the boss, you or I? "'Who's got the money, I'd like to know?' cried Trina, flushing to her pale lips. "'Answer me that, Mictique. "'Who's got the money?' "'You make me sick, you and your money. "'You're a miser. "'I never saw anything like it. "'When I was practicing, 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 Oberman, "'and you're not lumping in anything now. "'I'm doing it all. "'Do you know what I'm doing, Mictique? "'I'm supporting you.' "'Ah, shut up. "'You make me sick. "'You've got no right to talk to me that way. "'I won't let you. "'She caught her breath. "'Tears were in her eyes. "'Oh, live where you like, then,' said Mictique sullenly. "'Well, shall we take this room, then? "'All right, we'll take it. "'But why can't you take a little of your money in "'and sort of fix it up? "'Not a penny. "'Not a single penny. "'Oh, I don't care what you do. "'And for the rest of the day "'the dentist and his wife did not speak. "'This was not the only quarrel "'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 Mictique'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 white-washed room "'but she made Mictique believe that it was impossible. "'I can still save a little,' she said to herself "'after the room had been engaged. "'Perhaps almost as much as ever. "'I'll have three hundred dollars pretty soon "'and Mac thinks it's only two hundred. "'It's almost two hundred and fifty "'and I'll get a good deal out of the sale. "'But the sale was a long agony. "'It lasted a week. "'Everything went. "'Everything but the few big pieces "'that went with the suite. "'The melodian, the chairs, "'the black walnut table before which they were married, "'the extension table in the sitting-room, "'the kitchen table with its oil cloth 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 stoopan, "'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 "'the old brick-paved kitchen every morning "'and to wash up and put to rights after breakfast, "'turning on the hot water at the sink, "'wracking down the ashes in the cook-stove, "'going and coming over the warm bricks, "'her head in the air, singing at her work, "'proud in the sense of her proprietorship "'and her independence! "'How happy had she been "'the day after her marriage "'when she had first entered that kitchen "'and knew that it was all her own! "'And how well she remembered her raids "'upon the bark encounters in the house-furnishing "'and great downtown stores! "'And now it was all to go! "'Someone else would have it all "'while she was relegated to cheap restaurants "'and meals cooked by hired servants. "'Night after night she sobbed herself to sleep "'at the thought of her past happiness "'and her present wretchedness, "'however she was not alone in her unhappiness. "'Anyhow, I'm going to keep the steel engraving "'on the stone pug-dog, "'declared the dentist, his fist clenching. "'When it had come to the sale "'of his office-effects, "'he held 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 bed lounge, "'the marble top-center table, "'the what-not 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 "'and the steel engraving of Lorenzo de Medici "'and his court, and the stone pug-dog "'with its goggle eyes. "'Why?' he would cry. "'I've had him ever since—ever since "'I began, long before I knew you, Trina. "'That steel engraving I bought in Sacramento "'one day when it was raining. "'I saw it in the window of a second-hand store, "'and a fellow gave me that stone pug-dog. "'He was a drugist. "'It was in Sacramento, too. "'We traded. "'I gave him a shaving mug and a razor, "'and he gave me the pug-dog. "'There were, however, two of his belongings "'that even Trina could not induce him to part with. "'And your concertina, Mac,' she prompted, "'as they were making out the list "'for the second-hand dealer, "'the concertina and, oh yes, "'the canary and the birdcage. "'No. "'Mac, you must be reasonable. "'The concertina would bring quite a sum, "'and the birdcage is as good as new. "'I'll sell the canary to the bird-store "'man on Kearney Street. "'No. "'You'd make objections to every single thing "'we might as well quit. "'Come now, Mac. "'The concertina and the birdcage. "'We'll put them in lot D. "'No. "'You'll have to come to it sooner or later. "'I'm giving up everything. "'I'm going to put them down, see? "'No.' "'And she could get no further than that. "'The dentist did not lose his temper, "'as in the case of the steel engraving "'or the stone pug-dog, "'the persuasions with a passive inert obscenity "'that nothing could move. "'In the end, Trina was obliged to submit. "'Mac T. "'kept his concertina and his canary, "'even going so far as to put them "'both away in the bedroom, "'attaching to them tags on which he had "'scrawled in immense round letters. "'Not for sale. "'One evening during that same week, "'the dentist and his wife were in "'the dismantled sitting-room. "'The room presented the appearance of a wreck. "'The table was heaped high with dishes, "'with tea and coffee-pots, "'and with baskets of spoons and knives and forks. "'The melodian was hauled out into "'the middle of the floor and covered "'with the sheet marked Lot A. "'The pictures were in a pile and a corner. "'The chenille porters were folded "'on top of the black walnut table. "'The room was desolate, lamentable. "'Trina was going over the inventory. "'Mac T. "'in his shirt-sleeves was smoking his pipe, "'looking stupidly out of the window. "'All at once, there was a brisk "'rapping at the door. "'Come in,' called Trina apprehensively. "'Now a day is at every "'unexpected visit she anticipated "'a fresh calamity. "'The door opened to let in a young man "'wearing a Czech suit, a gay cravat, "'and a marvelously-figured waistcoat. "'Trina and Mac Teague recognized "'him at once. "'It was the other dentist, "'the debonair fellow whose clients "'were the barbers and the young women "'the poser, the wearer of waistcoats "'who bet money on greyhound races. "'How do,' said this one, "'dowing gracefully to the Mac Teague "'as they stared at him distrustfully? "'How do? "'They tell me, doctor, that you are going "'out of the profession.' "'Mac Teague muttered indistinctly "'behind his mustache and glowered at him. "'Well, say,' continued the other, cheerily, "'I'd like to talk business with you, "'that sign of yours, that big golden tooth "'that you got outside of your window. "'I suppose you'll have any further use for it? "'Maybe I'd buy it if we could agree on terms.' "'Trina shot a glance at her husband. "'Mac Teague began to glower again. "'What do you say?' said the other dentist. "'I guess not,' growled Mac Teague. "'What do you say to ten dollars?' "'Ten dollars,' cried Trina, "'her chin in the air. "'Well, what figure do you put on it?' "'Trina was about to answer "'when she was interrupted by Mac Teague. "'You go out of here. "'Out of here. "'Hey, what?' "'You go out of here.' The other retreated toward the door. "'You can't make small of me. "'Go out of here.' Mac Teague came forward a step, his great red fist clenching. The young man fled, but halfway down the stairs he paused long enough to call back. "'You don't want to trade anything for a diploma, do you?' Mac Teague and his wife exchanged looks. "'How did he know?' exclaimed Trina sharply. They had invented and spread the fiction that Mac Teague was merely retiring from business without assigning any reason, but evidently everyone 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 Mac Teague had been forbidden by the authorities from practicing. They had no loophole of escape. "'It's just like cutting off your husband's hands, my dear,' said Miss Baker. "'And you two were so happy. When I first saw you together, I said, What a pair!' Old Grannis also called during this period of the breaking up of the Mac Teague household. "'Treadful, dreadful,' murmured the old Englishman, his hand going tremulously to his chin. It seems unjust it does, but Mr. Scholar could not have set him on to do it. I can't quite believe it of him.' "'Of Marcus,' cried Trina. "'Oh, 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 Mac.' "'Dear, dear,' returned Old Grannis, genuinely pained. "'I had always believed Scholar to be such a good fellow. "'That's because you're so good,' responded Trina. "'I tell you what, duck,' declared Hyes the harness-maker, shaking his finger impressively at the dentist. "'You must fight it. You must appeal to the courts. You've been practicing too long to be debarred now. The statute of limitations, you know?' "'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. You'll be in trouble without long about it.' Then at last came the sale. McTig and Trina, whom Miss Baker had invited to a 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 fit, a veritable holiday, for the whole neighborhood. People with no thought of buying presented themselves. Young women, the candy store girls and florist apprentices, came to see the fun walking arm in arm from room to room, making jokes about the pretty lithographs and mimicking the picture of the two little girls saying their prayers. "'Look here,' they would cry. "'Look here,' what she used for curtains. "'Nottingham Lace, actually. Whoever thinks of buying Nottingham Lace nowadays? Say, don't that jar you?' "'And a melodian,' another one would exclaim, lifting the sheet. "'A melodian, when you can rent a piano for a dollar a week and say, "'I really believe they used to eat in the kitchen.'" "'Dollar and half, dollar and half, dollar and half, give me two,' intoned the auctioneer from the second-hand store. By noon the crowd became a jam. Wagons backed up to the curb outside and departed heavily laden. In all directions people could be seen going away from the house, carrying small articles of furniture, a clock, a water pitcher, a towel rack. Every now and then old Miss Baker, who had gone below to see how things were progressing, returned with reports of the foray. Mrs. High's bought the chenille portiers. Mr. 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 a postman going away with a lot of the pictures. Zerkau has come, on my word. The rags bottle sacks men. He's buying lots. He bought all Dr. McTig's gold tape and some of the instruments. Marie is 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 a 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 gay tidies that used to hang over the chair-backs. He offered them three for a nickel, she explained to Trina, and I thought I'd spend just a quarter. You don't mind now, do you, Mrs. McTig? Why, no. Of course not, Miss Baker, answered Trina, bravely. They look very pretty on some of my chairs, went on the little old dressmaker, innocently. See? She spread one of them on a chair-back for inspection. Trina's chin quivered. Oh, very pretty, she answered. At length that dreadful day was over. The crowd dispersed. Even the auctioneer went at last, and as he closed the door with a bang the reverberation that went through the suite gave evidence of its emptiness. Come, said Trina to the dentist, let's go down and look. Take a last look. They went out of Miss Baker's room and descended to the floor below. On the stairs, however, they were met by old Grenis. In his hands he carried a little package. Was it possible that he, too, would make an advantage of their misfortunes to join in the raid upon the suite? I went in. He began timidly. For a few moments, this, he indicated the little package he carried. This was put up. It was of no value, but to you, I ventured to bid it in. I thought perhaps his hand went to his chin. That you wouldn't mind that, in fact I bought it for you as a present. Will you take it? He handed the package to Trina and hurried on. Trina tore off the wrappings. It was the framed photograph of McTig 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, McTig standing at her side, his left foot forward, one hand upon her shoulder, and the other thrust into the breast of his Prince Albert Cote with the attitude of a statue of a Secretary of State. Oh, it was good of him. It was good of him, cried Trina, her eyes filling again. I had forgotten to put it away. Of course, it was not for sale. They went on down the stairs, and arriving at the door of the sitting-room opened it and looked in. It was late in the afternoon, and there was just light enough for the dentist and his wife to see the results of that day of sale. 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 had spent so many evenings looking out of the window before the lamp was lit. Here 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. End of Chapter 14