Chapter 19

by Frank Norris

　　One can hold a scrubbing-brush with two good fingers and thestumps of two others even if both joints of the thumb aregone, but it takes considerable practice to get used to it.Trina became a scrub-woman. She had taken council ofSelina, and through her had obtained the position of care-taker in a little memorial kindergarten over on PacificStreet. Like Polk Street, it was an accommodation street,but running through a much poorer and more sordid quarter.Trina had a little room over the kindergarten schoolroom.It was not an unpleasant room. It looked out upon a sunnylittle court floored with boards and used as the children'splayground. Two great cherry trees grew here, the leavesalmost brushing against the window of Trina's room andfiltering the sunlight so that it fell in round golden spotsupon the floor of the room. "Like gold pieces," Trina saidto herself.Trina's work consisted in taking care of the kindergartenrooms, scrubbing the floors, washing the windows, dustingand airing, and carrying out the ashes. Besides this sheearned some five dollars a month by washing down the frontsteps of some big flats on Washington Street, and bycleaning out vacant houses after the tenants had left. Shesaw no one. Nobody knew her. She went about her work fromdawn to dark, and often entire days passed when she did nothear the sound of her own voice. She was alone, a solitary,abandoned woman, lost in the lowest eddies of the greatcity's tide--the tide that always ebbs.When Trina had been discharged from the hospital after theoperation on her fingers, she found herself alone in theworld, alone with her five thousand dollars. The interestof this would support her, and yet allow her to save alittle.But for a time Trina had thought of giving up the fightaltogether and of joining her family in the southern part ofthe State. But even while she hesitated about this shereceived a long letter from her mother, an answer to one sheherself had written just before the amputation of her right-hand fingers--the last letter she would ever be able towrite. Mrs. Sieppe's letter was one long lamentation; shehad her own misfortunes to bewail as well as those of herdaughter. The carpet-cleaning and upholstery business hadfailed. Mr. Sieppe and Owgooste had left for New Zealandwith a colonization company, whither Mrs. Sieppe and thetwins were to follow them as soon as the colony establisheditself. So far from helping Trina in her ill fortune, itwas she, her mother, who might some day in the near futurebe obliged to turn to Trina for aid. So Trina had given upthe idea of any help from her family. For that matter sheneeded none. She still had her five thousand, and UncleOelbermann paid her the interest with a machine-likeregularity. Now that McTeague had left her, there was oneless mouth to feed; and with this saving, together with thelittle she could earn as scrub-woman, Trina couldalmost manage to make good the amount she lost by beingobliged to cease work upon the Noah's ark animals.Little by little her sorrow over the loss of her precioussavings overcame the grief of McTeague's desertion of her.Her avarice had grown to be her one dominant passion; herlove of money for the money's sake brooded in her heart,driving out by degrees every other natural affection. Shegrew thin and meagre; her flesh clove tight to her smallskeleton; her small pale mouth and little uplifted chin grewto have a certain feline eagerness of expression; her long,narrow eyes glistened continually, as if they caught andheld the glint of metal. One day as she sat in her room,the empty brass match-box and the limp chamois bag in herhands, she suddenly exclaimed:"I could have forgiven him if he had only gone away and leftme my money. I could have--yes, I could have forgiven himeven this"--she looked at the stumps of her fingers."But now," her teeth closed tight and her eyes flashed,"now--I'll--never--forgive--him--as-long--as--I--live."The empty bag and the hollow, light match-box troubled her.Day after day she took them from her trunk and wept overthem as other women weep over a dead baby's shoe. Her fourhundred dollars were gone, were gone, were gone. She wouldnever see them again. She could plainly see her husbandspending her savings by handfuls; squandering her beautifulgold pieces that she had been at such pains to polish withsoap and ashes. The thought filled her with an unspeakableanguish. She would wake at night from a dream of McTeaguerevelling down her money, and ask of the darkness, "How muchdid he spend to-day? How many of the gold pieces are left?Has he broken either of the two twenty-dollar pieces yet?What did he spend it for?"The instant she was out of the hospital Trina had begun tosave again, but now it was with an eagerness that amountedat times to a veritable frenzy. She even denied herselflights and fuel in order to put by a quarter or so, grudgingevery penny she was obliged to spend. She did her ownwashing and cooking. Finally she sold her wedding dress,that had hitherto lain in the bottom of her trunk.The day she moved from Zerkow's old house, she came suddenlyupon the dentist's concertina under a heap of old clothes inthe closet. Within twenty minutes she had sold it to thedealer in second-hand furniture, returning to her room withseven dollars in her pocket, happy for the first time sinceMcTeague had left her.But for all that the match-box and the bag refused to fillup; after three weeks of the most rigid economy theycontained but eighteen dollars and some small change. Whatwas that compared with four hundred? Trina told herselfthat she must have her money in hand. She longed to seeagain the heap of it upon her work-table, where she couldplunge her hands into it, her face into it, feeling thecool, smooth metal upon her cheeks. At such moments shewould see in her imagination her wonderful five thousanddollars piled in columns, shining and gleaming somewhere atthe bottom of Uncle Oelbermann's vault. She would look atthe paper that Uncle Oelbermann had given her, and tellherself that it represented five thousand dollars. But inthe end this ceased to satisfy her, she must have the moneyitself. She must have her four hundred dollars back again,there in her trunk, in her bag and her match-box, where shecould touch it and see it whenever she desired.At length she could stand it no longer, and one daypresented herself before Uncle Oelbermann as he sat in hisoffice in the wholesale toy store, and told him she wantedto have four hundred dollars of her money."But this is very irregular, you know, Mrs. McTeague," saidthe great man. "Not business-like at all."But his niece's misfortunes and the sight of her poor maimedhand appealed to him. He opened his check-book. "Youunderstand, of course," he said, "that this will reduce theamount of your interest by just so much.""I know, I know. I've thought of that," said Trina."Four hundred, did you say?" remarked Uncle Oelbermann,taking the cap from his fountain pen."Yes, four hundred," exclaimed Trina, quickly, her eyesglistening.Trina cashed the check and returned home with the money--allin twenty-dollar pieces as she had desired--in an ecstasy ofdelight. For half of that night she sat up playing with hermoney, counting it and recounting it, polishing the dullerpieces until they shone. Altogether there were twentytwenty-dollar gold pieces."Oh-h, you beauties!" murmured Trina, running her palms overthem, fairly quivering with pleasure. "You beauties!Is there anything prettier than a twenty-dollar gold piece?You dear, dear money! Oh, don't I love you! Mine, mine,mine--all of you mine."She laid them out in a row on the ledge of the table, orarranged them in patterns--triangles, circles, and squares--or built them all up into a pyramid which she afterwardoverthrew for the sake of hearing the delicious clink of thepieces tumbling against each other. Then at last she putthem away in the brass match-box and chamois bag, delightedbeyond words that they were once more full and heavy.Then, a few days after, the thought of the money stillremaining in Uncle Oelbermann's keeping returned to her. Itwas hers, all hers--all that four thousand six hundred. Shecould have as much of it or as little of it as she chose.She only had to ask. For a week Trina resisted, knowingvery well that taking from her capital was proportionatelyreducing her monthly income. Then at last she yielded."Just to make it an even five hundred, anyhow," she toldherself. That day she drew a hundred dollars more, intwenty-dollar gold pieces as before. From that time Trinabegan to draw steadily upon her capital, a little at a time.It was a passion with her, a mania, a veritable mentaldisease; a temptation such as drunkards only know.It would come upon her all of a sudden. While she was abouther work, scrubbing the floor of some vacant house; or inher room, in the morning, as she made her coffee on the oilstove, or when she woke in the night, a brusque accessof cupidity would seize upon her. Her cheeks flushed, hereyes glistened, her breath came short. At times she wouldleave her work just as it was, put on her old bonnet ofblack straw, throw her shawl about her, and go straight toUncle Oelbermann's store and draw against her money. Now itwould be a hundred dollars, now sixty; now she would contentherself with only twenty; and once, after a fortnight'sabstinence, she permitted herself a positive debauch of fivehundred. Little by little she drew her capital from UncleOelbermann, and little by little her original interest oftwenty-five dollars a month dwindled.One day she presented herself again in the office of thewhole-sale toy store."Will you let me have a check for two hundred dollars, UncleOelbermann?" she said.The great man laid down his fountain pen and leaned back inhis swivel chair with great deliberation."I don't understand, Mrs. McTeague," he said. "Every weekyou come here and draw out a little of your money. I've toldyou that it is not at all regular or business-like for me tolet you have it this way. And more than this, it's a greatinconvenience to me to give you these checks at unstatedtimes. If you wish to draw out the whole amount let's havesome understanding. Draw it in monthly installments of,say, five hundred dollars, or else," he added, abruptly,"draw it all at once, now, to-day. I would even prefer itthat way. Otherwise it's--it's annoying. Come, shall Idraw you a check for thirty-seven hundred, and have it overand done with?""No, no," cried Trina, with instinctive apprehension,refusing, she did not know why. "No, I'll leave it withyou. I won't draw out any more."She took her departure, but paused on the pavement outsidethe store, and stood for a moment lost in thought, her eyesbeginning to glisten and her breath coming short. Slowlyshe turned about and reentered the store; she came back intothe office, and stood trembling at the corner of UncleOelbermann's desk. He looked up sharply. Twice Trinatried to get her voice, and when it did come to her, shecould hardly recognize it. Between breaths she said:"Yes, all right--I'll--you can give me--will you give me acheck for thirty-seven hundred? Give me all of mymoney."A few hours later she entered her little room over thekindergarten, bolted the door with shaking fingers, andemptied a heavy canvas sack upon the middle of her bed.Then she opened her trunk, and taking thence the brassmatch-box and chamois-skin bag added their contents to thepile. Next she laid herself upon the bed and gathered thegleaming heaps of gold pieces to her with both arms, buryingher face in them with long sighs of unspeakable delight.It was a little past noon, and the day was fine and warm.The leaves of the huge cherry trees threw off a certainpungent aroma that entered through the open window, togetherwith long thin shafts of golden sunlight. Below, in thekindergarten, the children were singing gayly and marchingto the jangling of the piano. Trina heard nothing, sawnothing. She lay on her bed, her eyes closed, her faceburied in a pile of gold that she encircled with both herarms.Trina even told herself at last that she was happy oncemore. McTeague became a memory--a memory that faded a littleevery day--dim and indistinct in the golden splendor of fivethousand dollars."And yet," Trina would say, "I did love Mac, loved himdearly, only a little while ago. Even when he hurt me, itonly made me love him more. How is it I've changed sosudden? How could I forget him so soon? It must bebecause he stole my money. That is it. I couldn't forgiveanyone that--no, not even my mother. And I never--never--will forgive him."What had become of her husband Trina did not know. Shenever saw any of the old Polk Street people. There was noway she could have news of him, even if she had cared tohave it. She had her money, that was the main thing. Herpassion for it excluded every other sentiment. There it wasin the bottom of her trunk, in the canvas sack, thechamois-skin bag, and the little brass match-safe. Not aday passed that Trina did not have it out where she couldsee and touch it. One evening she had even spread all thegold pieces between the sheets, and had then gone to bed,stripping herself, and had slept all night upon the money,taking a strange and ecstatic pleasure in the touch of thesmooth flat pieces the length of her entire body.One night, some three months after she had come to live atthe kindergarten, Trina was awakened by a sharp tap on thepane of the window. She sat up quickly in bed, her heartbeating thickly, her eyes rolling wildly in the direction ofher trunk. The tap was repeated. Trina rose and wentfearfully to the window. The little court below was brightwith moonlight, and standing just on the edge of the shadowthrown by one of the cherry trees was McTeague. A bunch ofhalf-ripe cherries was in his hand. He was eating them andthrowing the pits at the window. As he caught sight of her,he made an eager sign for her to raise the sash. Reluctantand wondering, Trina obeyed, and the dentist came quicklyforward. He was wearing a pair of blue overalls; a navy-blue flannel shirt without a cravat; an old coat, faded,rain-washed, and ripped at the seams; and his woollen cap."Say, Trina," he exclaimed, his heavy bass voice pitchedjust above a whisper, "let me in, will you, huh? Say, willyou? I'm regularly starving, and I haven't slept in aChristian bed for two weeks."At sight at him standing there in the moonlight, Trina couldonly think of him as the man who had beaten and bitten her,had deserted her and stolen her money, had made her sufferas she had never suffered before in all her life. Now thathe had spent the money that he had stolen from her, he waswhining to come back--so that he might steal more, no doubt.Once in her room he could not help but smell out her fivethousand dollars. Her indignation rose."No," she whispered back at him. "No, I will not let youin.""But listen here, Trina, I tell you I am starving,regularly----""Hoh!" interrupted Trina scornfully. "A man can'tstarve with four hundred dollars, I guess.""Well--well--I--well--" faltered the dentist. "Never mindnow. Give me something to eat, an' let me in an' sleep.I've been sleeping in the Plaza for the last ten nights, andsay, I--Damn it, Trina, I ain't had anything to eat since--""Where's the four hundred dollars you robbed me of when youdeserted me?" returned Trina, coldly."Well, I've spent it," growled the dentist. "But youcan't see me starve, Trina, no matter what's happened.Give me a little money, then.""I'll see you starve before you get any more of mymoney."The dentist stepped back a pace and stared up at her wonder-stricken. His face was lean and pinched. Never had the jawbone looked so enormous, nor the square-cut head so huge.The moonlight made deep black shadows in the shrunkencheeks."Huh?" asked the dentist, puzzled. "What did you say?""I won't give you any money--never again--not a cent.""But do you know that I'm hungry?""Well, I've been hungry myself. Besides, I don'tbelieve you.""Trina, I ain't had a thing to eat since yesterday morning;that's God's truth. Even if I did get off with your money,you can't see me starve, can you? You can't see me walkthe streets all night because I ain't got a place to sleep.Will you let me in? Say, will you? Huh?""No.""Well, will you give me some money then--just a little?Give me a dollar. Give me half a dol--Say, give me adime, an' I can get a cup of coffee.""No."The dentist paused and looked at her with curiousintentness, bewildered, nonplussed."Say, you--you must be crazy, Trina. I--I--wouldn't let adog go hungry.""Not even if he'd bitten you, perhaps."The dentist stared again.There was another pause. McTeague looked up at her insilence, a mean and vicious twinkle coming into his smalleyes. He uttered a low exclamation, and then checkedhimself."Well, look here, for the last time. I'm starving. I've gotnowhere to sleep. Will you give me some money, or somethingto eat? Will you let me in?""No--no--no."Trina could fancy she almost saw the brassy glint in herhusband's eyes. He raised one enormous lean fist. Then hegrowled:"If I had hold of you for a minute, by God, I'd make youdance. An' I will yet, I will yet. Don't you be afraid ofthat."He turned about, the moonlight showing like a layer of snowupon his massive shoulders. Trina watched him as he passedunder the shadow of the cherry trees and crossed the littlecourt. She heard his great feet grinding on the boardflooring. He disappeared.Miser though she was, Trina was only human, and the echo ofthe dentist's heavy feet had not died away before she beganto he sorry for what she had done. She stood by the openwindow in her nightgown, her finger upon her lips."He did looked pinched," she said half aloud. "Maybe hewas hungry. I ought to have given him something. I wish Ihad, I wish I had. Oh," she cried, suddenly, with afrightened gesture of both hands, "what have I come to bethat I would see Mac--my husband--that I would see himstarve rather than give him money? No, no. It's toodreadful. I will give him some. I'll send it to himto-morrow. Where?--well, he'll come back." She leaned fromthe window and called as loudly as she dared, "Mac, oh,Mac." There was no answer.When McTeague had told Trina he had been without food fornearly two days he was speaking the truth. The week beforehe had spent the last of the four hundred dollars in the barof a sailor's lodging-house near the water front, and sincethat time had lived a veritable hand-to-mouth existence.He had spent her money here and there about the city inroyal fashion, absolutely reckless of the morrow, feastingand drinking for the most part with companions hepicked up heaven knows where, acquaintances of twenty-fourhours, whose names he forgot in two days. Then suddenly hefound himself at the end of his money. He no longer had anyfriends. Hunger rode him and rowelled him. He was nolonger well fed, comfortable. There was no longer a warmplace for him to sleep. He went back to Polk Street in theevening, walking on the dark side of the street, lurking inthe shadows, ashamed to have any of his old-time friends seehim. He entered Zerkow's old house and knocked at the doorof the room Trina and he had occupied. It was empty.Next day he went to Uncle Oelbermann's store and asked newsof Trina. Trina had not told Uncle Oelbermann of McTeague'sbrutalities, giving him other reasons to explain the loss ofher fingers; neither had she told him of her husband'srobbery. So when the dentist had asked where Trina could befound, Uncle Oelbermann, believing that McTeague was seekinga reconciliation, had told him without hesitation, and, headded:"She was in here only yesterday and drew out the balance ofher money. She's been drawing against her money for thelast month or so. She's got it all now, I guess.""Ah, she's got it all."The dentist went away from his bootless visit to his wifeshaking with rage, hating her with all the strength of acrude and primitive nature. He clenched his fists till hisknuckles whitened, his teeth ground furiously upon oneanother."Ah, if I had hold of you once, I'd make you dance. She hadfive thousand dollars in that room, while I stood there, nottwenty feet away, and told her I was starving, and shewouldn't give me a dime to get a cup of coffee with; not adime to get a cup of coffee. Oh, if I once get my hands onyou!" His wrath strangled him. He clutched at the darknessin front of him, his breath fairly whistling between histeeth.That night he walked the streets until the morning,wondering what now he was to do to fight the wolf away. Themorning of the next day towards ten o'clock he was onKearney Street, still walking, still tramping the streets,since there was nothing else for him to do. By and byhe paused on a corner near a music store, finding amomentary amusement in watching two or three men loading apiano upon a dray. Already half its weight was supported bythe dray's backboard. One of the men, a big mulatto, almosthidden under the mass of glistening rosewood, was guidingits course, while the other two heaved and tugged in therear. Something in the street frightened the horses and theyshied abruptly. The end of the piano was twitched sharplyfrom the backboard. There was a cry, the mulatto staggeredand fell with the falling piano, and its weight droppedsquarely upon his thigh, which broke with a resoundingcrack.An hour later McTeague had found his job. The music storeengaged him as handler at six dollars a week. McTeague'senormous strength, useless all his life, stood him in goodstead at last.He slept in a tiny back room opening from the storeroom ofthe music store. He was in some sense a watchman as well ashandler, and went the rounds of the store twice every night.His room was a box of a place that reeked with odors ofstale tobacco smoke. The former occupant had papered thewalls with newspapers and had pasted up figures cut out fromthe posters of some Kiralfy ballet, very gaudy. By the onewindow, chittering all day in its little gilt prison, hungthe canary bird, a tiny atom of life that McTeague stillclung to with a strange obstinacy.McTeague drank a good deal of whiskey in these days, but theonly effect it had upon him was to increase the viciousnessand bad temper that had developed in him since the beginningof his misfortunes. He terrorized his fellow-handlers,powerful men though they were. For a gruff word, for anawkward movement in lading the pianos, for a surly look or amuttered oath, the dentist's elbow would crook and his handcontract to a mallet-like fist. As often as not the blowfollowed, colossal in its force, swift as the leap of thepiston from its cylinder.His hatred of Trina increased from day to day. He'd makeher dance yet. Wait only till he got his hands upon her.She'd let him starve, would she? She'd turn him out ofdoors while she hid her five thousand dollars in the bottomof her trunk. Aha, he would see about that some day.She couldn't make small of him. Ah, no. She'd dance allright--all right. McTeague was not an imaginative man bynature, but he would lie awake nights, his clumsy witsgalloping and frisking under the lash of the alcohol, andfancy himself thrashing his wife, till a sudden frenzy ofrage would overcome him, and he would shake all over,rolling upon the bed and biting the mattress.On a certain day, about a week after Christmas of that year,McTeague was on one of the top floors of the music store,where the second-hand instruments were kept, helping to moveabout and rearrange some old pianos. As he passed by one ofthe counters he paused abruptly, his eye caught by an objectthat was strangely familiar."Say," he inquired, addressing the clerk in charge, "say,where'd this come from?""Why, let's see. We got that from a second-hand store up onPolk Street, I guess. It's a fairly good machine; a littletinkering with the stops and a bit of shellac, and we'llmake it about's good as new. Good tone. See." And theclerk drew a long, sonorous wail from the depths ofMcTeague's old concertina."Well, it's mine," growled the dentist.The other laughed. "It's yours for eleven dollars.""It's mine," persisted McTeague. "I want it.""Go 'long with you, Mac. What do you mean?""I mean that it's mine, that's what I mean. You got noright to it. It was stolen from me, that's what Imean," he added, a sullen anger flaming up in his littleeyes.The clerk raised a shoulder and put the concertina on anupper shelf."You talk to the boss about that; t'ain't none of my affair.If you want to buy it, it's eleven dollars."The dentist had been paid off the day before and had fourdollars in his wallet at the moment. He gave the money tothe clerk."Here, there's part of the money. You--you put thatconcertina aside for me, an' I'll give you the rest in aweek or so--I'll give it to you tomorrow," heexclaimed, struck with a sudden idea.McTeague had sadly missed his concertina. Sunday afternoonswhen there was no work to be done, he was accustomed to lieflat on his back on his springless bed in the little room inthe rear of the music store, his coat and shoes off, readingthe paper, drinking steam beer from a pitcher, and smokinghis pipe. But he could no longer play his six lugubriousairs upon his concertina, and it was a deprivation. Heoften wondered where it was gone. It had been lost, nodoubt, in the general wreck of his fortunes. Once, even,the dentist had taken a concertina from the lot kept by themusic store. It was a Sunday and no one was about. But hefound he could not play upon it. The stops were arrangedupon a system he did not understand.Now his own concertina was come back to him. He would buyit back. He had given the clerk four dollars. He knewwhere he would get the remaining seven.The clerk had told him the concertina had been sold on PolkStreet to the second-hand store there. Trina had sold it.McTeague knew it. Trina had sold his concertina--had stolenit and sold it--his concertina, his beloved concertina, thathe had had all his life. Why, barring the canary, there wasnot one of all his belongings that McTeague had cherishedmore dearly. His steel engraving of "Lorenzo de' Medici andhis Court" might be lost, his stone pug dog might go, buthis concertina!"And she sold it--stole it from me and sold it. Justbecause I happened to forget to take it along with me. Well,we'll just see about that. You'll give me the money to buyit back, or----"His rage loomed big within him. His hatred of Trina cameback upon him like a returning surge. He saw her small,prim mouth, her narrow blue eyes, her black mane of hair,and up-tilted chin, and hated her the more because of them.Aha, he'd show her; he'd make her dance. He'd get thatseven dollars from her, or he'd know the reason why. Hewent through his work that day, heaving and hauling at theponderous pianos, handling them with the ease of a liftingcrane, impatient for the coming of evening, when he could beleft to his own devices. As often as he had a momentto spare he went down the street to the nearest saloon anddrank a pony of whiskey. Now and then as he fought andstruggled with the vast masses of ebony, rosewood, andmahogany on the upper floor of the music store, raging andchafing at their inertness and unwillingness, while thewhiskey pirouetted in his brain, he would mutter to himself:"An' I got to do this. I got to work like a dray horsewhile she sits at home by her stove and counts her money--and sells my concertina."Six o'clock came. Instead of supper, McTeague drank somemore whiskey, five ponies in rapid succession. After supperhe was obliged to go out with the dray to deliver a concertgrand at the Odd Fellows' Hall, where a piano "recital" wasto take place."Ain't you coming back with us?" asked one of the handlersas he climbed upon the driver's seat after the piano hadbeen put in place."No, no," returned the dentist; "I got something else todo." The brilliant lights of a saloon near the City Hallcaught his eye. He decided he would have another drink ofwhiskey. It was about eight o'clock.The following day was to be a fete day at thekindergarten, the Christmas and New Year festivals combined.All that afternoon the little two-story building on PacificStreet had been filled with a number of grand ladies of theKindergarten Board, who were hanging up ropes of evergreenand sprays of holly, and arranging a great Christmas treethat stood in the centre of the ring in the schoolroom. Thewhole place was pervaded with a pungent, piney odor. Trinahad been very busy since the early morning, coming and goingat everybody's call, now running down the street afteranother tack-hammer or a fresh supply of cranberries, nowtying together the ropes of evergreen and passing them up toone of the grand ladies as she carefully balanced herself ona step-ladder. By evening everything was in place. As thelast grand lady left the school, she gave Trina an extradollar for her work, and said:"Now, if you'll just tidy up here, Mrs. McTeague, I thinkthat will be all. Sweep up the pine needles here--yousee they are all over the floor--and look through all therooms, and tidy up generally. Good night--and a Happy NewYear," she cried pleasantly as she went out.Trina put the dollar away in her trunk before she didanything else and cooked herself a bit of supper. Then shecame downstairs again.The kindergarten was not large. On the lower floor were buttwo rooms, the main schoolroom and another room, acloakroom, very small, where the children hung their hatsand coats. This cloakroom opened off the back of the mainschoolroom. Trina cast a critical glance into both of theserooms. There had been a great deal of going and coming inthem during the day, and she decided that the first thing todo would be to scrub the floors. She went up again to herroom overhead and heated some water over her oil stove;then, re-descending, set to work vigorously.By nine o'clock she had almost finished with the schoolroom.She was down on her hands and knees in the midst of asteaming muck of soapy water. On her feet were a pair ofman's shoes fastened with buckles; a dirty cotton gown, dampwith the water, clung about her shapeless, stunted figure.From time to time she sat back on her heels to ease thestrain of her position, and with one smoking hand, white andparboiled with the hot water, brushed her hair, alreadystreaked with gray, out of her weazened, pale face and thecorners of her mouth.It was very quiet. A gas-jet without a globe lit up theplace with a crude, raw light. The cat who lived on thepremises, preferring to be dirty rather than to be wet, hadgot into the coal scuttle, and over its rim watched hersleepily with a long, complacent purr.All at once he stopped purring, leaving an abrupt silence inthe air like the sudden shutting off of a stream of water,while his eyes grew wide, two lambent disks of yellow in theheap of black fur."Who is there?" cried Trina, sitting back on her heels. Inthe stillness that succeeded, the water dripped from herhands with the steady tick of a clock. Then a brutalfist swung open the street door of the schoolroom andMcTeague came in. He was drunk; not with that drunkennesswhich is stupid, maudlin, wavering on its feet, but withthat which is alert, unnaturally intelligent, vicious,perfectly steady, deadly wicked. Trina only had to lookonce at him, and in an instant, with some strange sixthsense, born of the occasion, knew what she had to expect.She jumped up and ran from him into the little cloakroom.She locked and bolted the door after her, and leaned herweight against it, panting and trembling, every nerveshrinking and quivering with the fear of him.McTeague put his hand on the knob of the door outside andopened it, tearing off the lock and bolt guard, and sendingher staggering across the room."Mac," she cried to him, as he came in, speaking with horridrapidity, cringing and holding out her hands, "Mac, listen.Wait a minute--look here--listen here. It wasn't my fault.I'll give you some money. You can come back. I'll doanything you want. Won't you just listen to me? Oh,don't! I'll scream. I can't help it, you know. The peoplewill hear."McTeague came towards her slowly, his immense feet draggingand grinding on the floor; his enormous fists, hard aswooden mallets, swinging at his sides. Trina backed from himto the corner of the room, cowering before him, holding herelbow crooked in front of her face, watching him withfearful intentness, ready to dodge."I want that money," he said, pausing in front of her."What money?" cried Trina."I want that money. You got it--that five thousand dollars.I want every nickel of it! You understand?""I haven't it. It isn't here. Uncle Oelbermann's got it.""That's a lie. He told me that you came and got it. You'vehad it long enough; now I want it. Do you hear?""Mac, I can't give you that money. I--I won't give itto you," Trina cried, with sudden resolution."Yes, you will. You'll give me every nickel of it.""No, no.""You ain't going to make small of me this time. Give methat money.""No.""For the last time, will you give me that money?""No.""You won't, huh? You won't give me it? For the last time.""No, no."Usually the dentist was slow in his movements, but now thealcohol had awakened in him an ape-like agility. He kepthis small eyes upon her, and all at once sent his fist intothe middle of her face with the suddenness of a relaxedspring.Beside herself with terror, Trina turned and fought himback; fought for her miserable life with the exasperationand strength of a harassed cat; and with such energy andsuch wild, unnatural force, that even McTeague for themoment drew back from her. But her resistance was the onething to drive him to the top of his fury. He came back ather again, his eyes drawn to two fine twinkling points, andhis enormous fists, clenched till the knuckles whitened,raised in the air.Then it became abominable.In the schoolroom outside, behind the coal scuttle, the catlistened to the sounds of stamping and struggling and themuffled noise of blows, wildly terrified, his eyes bulginglike brass knobs. At last the sounds stopped on a sudden;he heard nothing more. Then McTeague came out, closing thedoor. The cat followed him with distended eyes as hecrossed the room and disappeared through the street door.The dentist paused for a moment on the sidewalk, lookingcarefully up and down the street. It was deserted andquiet. He turned sharply to the right and went down a narrowpassage that led into the little court yard behind theschool. A candle was burning in Trina's room. He went upby the outside stairway and entered.The trunk stood locked in one corner of the room. Thedentist took the lid-lifter from the little oil stove, putit underneath the lock-clasp and wrenched it open.Groping beneath a pile of dresses he found the chamois-skinbag, the little brass match-box, and, at the very bottom,carefully thrust into one corner, the canvas sack crammed tothe mouth with twenty-dollar gold pieces. He emptied thechamois-skin bag and the matchbox into the pockets of histrousers. But the canvas sack was too bulky to hide abouthis clothes. "I guess I'll just naturally have to carryyou," he muttered. He blew out the candle, closed thedoor, and gained the street again.The dentist crossed the city, going back to the music store.It was a little after eleven o'clock. The night wasmoonless, filled with a gray blur of faint light that seemedto come from all quarters of the horizon at once. From timeto time there were sudden explosions of a southeast wind atthe street corners. McTeague went on, slanting his headagainst the gusts, to keep his cap from blowing off,carrying the sack close to his side. Once he lookedcritically at the sky."I bet it'll rain to-morrow," he muttered, "if this windworks round to the south."Once in his little den behind the music store, he washed hishands and forearms, and put on his working clothes, blueoveralls and a jumper, over cheap trousers and vest. Thenhe got together his small belongings--an old campaign hat, apair of boots, a tin of tobacco, and a pinchbeck braceletwhich he had found one Sunday in the Park, and which hebelieved to be valuable. He stripped his blanket from hisbed and rolled up in it all these objects, together with thecanvas sack, fastening the roll with a half hitch such asminers use, the instincts of the old-time car-boy comingback to him in his present confusion of mind. He changed hispipe and his knife--a huge jackknife with a yellowed bonehandle--to the pockets of his overalls.Then at last he stood with his hand on the door, holding upthe lamp before blowing it out, looking about to make surehe was ready to go. The wavering light woke his canary. Itstirred and began to chitter feebly, very sleepy and crossat being awakened. McTeague started, staring at it, andreflecting. He believed that it would be a long time beforeanyone came into that room again. The canary would be dayswithout food; it was likely it would starve, would diethere, hour by hour, in its little gilt prison. McTeagueresolved to take it with him. He took down the cage,touching it gently with his enormous hands, and tied acouple of sacks about it to shelter the little bird from thesharp night wind.Then he went out, locking all the doors behind him, andturned toward the ferry slips. The boats had ceased runninghours ago, but he told himself that by waiting till fouro'clock he could get across the bay on the tug that tookover the morning papers.* * * * * * * * * * * * *Trina lay unconscious, just as she had fallen under the lastof McTeague's blows, her body twitching with an occasionalhiccough that stirred the pool of blood in which she layface downward. Towards morning she died with a rapid seriesof hiccoughs that sounded like a piece of clockwork runningdown.The thing had been done in the cloakroom where thekindergarten children hung their hats and coats. There wasno other entrance except by going through the mainschoolroom. McTeague going out had shut the door of thecloakroom, but had left the street door open; so when thechildren arrived in the morning, they entered as usual.About half-past eight, two or three five-year-olds, one alittle colored girl, came into the schoolroom of thekindergarten with a great chatter of voices, going across tothe cloakroom to hang up their hats and coats as they hadbeen taught.Half way across the room one of them stopped and put hersmall nose in the air, crying, "Um-o-o, what a funneesmell!" The others began to sniff the air as well, and one,the daughter of a butcher, exclaimed, "'Tsmells like my pa'sshop," adding in the next breath, "Look, what's the matterwith the kittee?"In fact, the cat was acting strangely. He lay quite flat onthe floor, his nose pressed close to the crevice under thedoor of the little cloakroom, winding his tail slowlyback and forth, excited, very eager. At times he would drawback and make a strange little clacking noise down in histhroat."Ain't he funnee?" said the little girl again. The catslunk swiftly away as the children came up. Then thetallest of the little girls swung the door of the littlecloakroom wide open and they all ran in.