Chapter 10

by Frank Norris

　　That summer passed, then the winter. The wet season beganin the last days of September and continued all throughOctober, November, and December. At long intervals wouldcome a week of perfect days, the sky without a cloud, theair motionless, but touched with a certain nimbleness, afaint effervescence that was exhilarating. Then,without warning, during a night when a south wind blew, agray scroll of cloud would unroll and hang high over thecity, and the rain would come pattering down again, at firstin scattered showers, then in an uninterrupted drizzle.All day long Trina sat in the bay window of the sitting-roomthat commanded a view of a small section of Polk Street. Asoften as she raised her head she could see the big market, aconfectionery store, a bell-hanger's shop, and, farther on,above the roofs, the glass skylights and water tanks of thebig public baths. In the nearer foreground ran the streetitself; the cable cars trundled up and down, thumpingheavily over the joints of the rails; market carts by thescore came and went, driven at a great rate by preoccupiedyoung men in their shirt sleeves, with pencils behind theirears, or by reckless boys in blood-stained butcher's aprons.Upon the sidewalks the little world of Polk Street swarmedand jostled through its daily round of life. On fine daysthe great ladies from the avenue, one block above, invadedthe street, appearing before the butcher stalls, intent upontheir day's marketing. On rainy days their servants--theChinese cooks or the second girls--took their places. Theseservants gave themselves great airs, carrying their bigcotton umbrellas as they had seen their mistresses carrytheir parasols, and haggling in supercilious fashion withthe market men, their chins in the air.The rain persisted. Everything in the range of Trina'svision, from the tarpaulins on the market-cart horses to thepanes of glass in the roof of the public baths, lookedglazed and varnished. The asphalt of the sidewalks shonelike the surface of a patent leather boot; every hollow inthe street held its little puddle, that winked like an eyeeach time a drop of rain struck into it.Trina still continued to work for Uncle Oelbermann. In themornings she busied herself about the kitchen, the bedroom,and the sitting-room; but in the afternoon, for two or threehours after lunch, she was occupied with the Noah's arkanimals. She took her work to the bay window, spreading outa great square of canvas underneath her chair, to catch thechips and shavings, which she used afterwards for lightingfires. One after another she caught up the littleblocks of straight-grained pine, the knife flashed betweenher fingers, the little figure grew rapidly under her touch,was finished and ready for painting in a wonderfully shorttime, and was tossed into the basket that stood at herelbow.But very often during that rainy winter after her marriageTrina would pause in her work, her hands falling idly intoher lap, her eyes--her narrow, pale blue eyes--growing wideand thoughtful as she gazed, unseeing, out into the rain-washed street.She loved McTeague now with a blind, unreasoning love thatadmitted of no doubt or hesitancy. Indeed, it seemed to herthat it was only after her marriage with the dentistthat she had really begun to love him. With the absolutefinal surrender of herself, the irrevocable, ultimatesubmission, had come an affection the like of which she hadnever dreamed in the old B Street days. But Trina loved herhusband, not because she fancied she saw in him any of thosenoble and generous qualities that inspire affection. Thedentist might or might not possess them, it was all one withTrina. She loved him because she had given herself to himfreely, unreservedly; had merged her individuality into his;she was his, she belonged to him forever and forever.Nothing that he could do (so she told herself), nothing thatshe herself could do, could change her in this respect.McTeague might cease to love her, might leave her, mighteven die; it would be all the same, she was his.But it had not been so at first. During those long, rainydays of the fall, days when Trina was left alone for hours,at that time when the excitement and novelty of thehoneymoon were dying down, when the new household wassettling into its grooves, she passed through many an hourof misgiving, of doubt, and even of actual regret.Never would she forget one Sunday afternoon in particular.She had been married but three weeks. After dinner she andlittle Miss Baker had gone for a bit of a walk to takeadvantage of an hour's sunshine and to look at somewonderful geraniums in a florist's window on Sutter Street.They had been caught in a shower, and on returning to theflat the little dressmaker had insisted on fetchingTrina up to her tiny room and brewing her a cup of strongtea, "to take the chill off." The two women had chatted overtheir teacups the better part of the afternoon, then Trinahad returned to her rooms. For nearly three hours McTeaguehad been out of her thoughts, and as she came through theirlittle suite, singing softly to herself, she suddenly cameupon him quite unexpectedly. Her husband was in the "DentalParlors," lying back in his operating chair, fast asleep.The little stove was crammed with coke, the room wasoverheated, the air thick and foul with the odors of ether,of coke gas, of stale beer and cheap tobacco. The dentistsprawled his gigantic limbs over the worn velvet of theoperating chair; his coat and vest and shoes were off, andhis huge feet, in their thick gray socks, dangled over theedge of the foot-rest; his pipe, fallen from his half-openmouth, had spilled the ashes into his lap; while on thefloor, at his side stood the half-empty pitcher of steambeer. His head had rolled limply upon one shoulder, hisface was red with sleep, and from his open mouth came aterrific sound of snoring.For a moment Trina stood looking at him as he lay thus,prone, inert, half-dressed, and stupefied with the heat ofthe room, the steam beer, and the fumes of the cheaptobacco. Then her little chin quivered and a sob rose toher throat; she fled from the "Parlors," and locking herselfin her bedroom, flung herself on the bed and burst into anagony of weeping. Ah, no, ah, no, she could not love him.It had all been a dreadful mistake, and now it wasirrevocable; she was bound to this man for life. If it wasas bad as this now, only three weeks after her marriage, howwould it be in the years to come? Year after year, monthafter month, hour after hour, she was to see this same face,with its salient jaw, was to feel the touch of thoseenormous red hands, was to hear the heavy, elephantine treadof those huge feet--in thick gray socks. Year after year,day after day, there would be no change, and it would lastall her life. Either it would be one long continuedrevulsion, or else--worse than all--she would come to becontent with him, would come to be like him, would sink tothe level of steam beer and cheap tobacco, and all herpretty ways, her clean, trim little habits, would beforgotten, since they would be thrown away upon her stupid,brutish husband. "Her husband!" That, was her husbandin there--she could yet hear his snores--for life, for life.A great despair seized upon her. She buried her face in thepillow and thought of her mother with an infinite longing.Aroused at length by the chittering of the canary, McTeaguehad awakened slowly. After a while he had taken down hisconcertina and played upon it the six very mournful airsthat he knew.Face downward upon the bed, Trina still wept. Throughoutthat little suite could be heard but two sounds, thelugubrious strains of the concertina and the noise ofstifled weeping.That her husband should be ignorant of her distress seemedto Trina an additional grievance. With perverseinconsistency she began to wish him to come to her, tocomfort her. He ought to know that she was in trouble, thatshe was lonely and unhappy."Oh, Mac," she called in a trembling voice. But theconcertina still continued to wail and lament. Then Trinawished she were dead, and on the instant jumped up and raninto the "Dental Parlors," and threw herself into herhusband's arms, crying: "Oh, Mac, dear, love me, love mebig! I'm so unhappy.""What--what--what--" the dentist exclaimed, starting upbewildered, a little frightened."Nothing, nothing, only love me, love me always andalways."But this first crisis, this momentary revolt, as much amatter of high-strung feminine nerves as of anything else,passed, and in the end Trina's affection for her "old bear"grew in spite of herself. She began to love him more andmore, not for what he was, but for what she had given up tohim. Only once again did Trina undergo a reaction againsther husband, and then it was but the matter of an instant,brought on, curiously enough, by the sight of a bit of eggon McTeague's heavy mustache one morning just afterbreakfast.Then, too, the pair had learned to make concessions, littleby little, and all unconsciously they adapted theirmodes of life to suit each other. Instead of sinking toMcTeague's level as she had feared, Trina found that shecould make McTeague rise to hers, and in this saw a solutionof many a difficult and gloomy complication.For one thing, the dentist began to dress a little better,Trina even succeeding in inducing him to wear a high silkhat and a frock coat of a Sunday. Next he relinquished hisSunday afternoon's nap and beer in favor of three or fourhours spent in the park with her--the weather permitting.So that gradually Trina's misgivings ceased, or when theydid assail her, she could at last meet them with a shrug ofthe shoulders, saying to herself meanwhile, "Well, it's donenow and it can't be helped; one must make the best of it."During the first months of their married life these nervousrelapses of hers had alternated with brusque outbursts ofaffection when her only fear was that her husband's love didnot equal her own. Without an instant's warning, she wouldclasp him about the neck, rubbing her cheek against his,murmuring:"Dear old Mac, I love you so, I love you so. Oh, aren't wehappy together, Mac, just us two and no one else? You loveme as much as I love you, don't you, Mac? Oh, if youshouldn't--if you shouldn't."But by the middle of the winter Trina's emotions,oscillating at first from one extreme to another, commencedto settle themselves to an equilibrium of calmness andplacid quietude. Her household duties began more and more toabsorb her attention, for she was an admirable housekeeper,keeping the little suite in marvellous good order andregulating the schedule of expenditure with an economy thatoften bordered on positive niggardliness. It was a passionwith her to save money. In the bottom of her trunk, in thebedroom, she hid a brass match-safe that answered thepurposes of a savings bank. Each time she added a quarter ora half dollar to the little store she laughed and sang witha veritable childish delight; whereas, if the butcher ormilkman compelled her to pay an overcharge she was unhappyfor the rest of the day. She did not save this moneyfor any ulterior purpose, she hoarded instinctively, withoutknowing why, responding to the dentist's remonstrances with:"Yes, yes, I know I'm a little miser, I know it."Trina had always been an economical little body, but it wasonly since her great winning in the lottery that she hadbecome especially penurious. No doubt, in her fear lesttheir great good luck should demoralize them and lead tohabits of extravagance, she had recoiled too far in theother direction. Never, never, never should a penny of thatmiraculous fortune be spent; rather should it be added to.It was a nest egg, a monstrous, roc-like nest egg, not solarge, however, but that it could be made larger. Alreadyby the end of that winter Trina had begun to make up thedeficit of two hundred dollars that she had been forced toexpend on the preparations for her marriage.McTeague, on his part, never asked himself now-a-dayswhether he loved Trina the wife as much as he had lovedTrina the young girl. There had been a time when to kissTrina, to take her in his arms, had thrilled him from headto heel with a happiness that was beyond words; even thesmell of her wonderful odorous hair had sent a sensation offaintness all through him. That time was long past now.Those sudden outbursts of affection on the part of hislittle woman, outbursts that only increased in vehemence thelonger they lived together, puzzled rather than pleased him.He had come to submit to them good-naturedly, answering herpassionate inquiries with a "Sure, sure, Trina, sure I loveyou. What--what's the matter with you?"There was no passion in the dentist's regard for his wife.He dearly liked to have her near him, he took an enormouspleasure in watching her as she moved about their rooms,very much at home, gay and singing from morning till night;and it was his great delight to call her into the "DentalParlors" when a patient was in the chair and, while he heldthe plugger, to have her rap in the gold fillings with thelittle box-wood mallet as he had taught her. But thattempest of passion, that overpowering desire that hadsuddenly taken possession of him that day when he had givenher ether, again when he had caught her in his arms inthe B Street station, and again and again during the earlydays of their married life, rarely stirred him now. On theother hand, he was never assailed with doubts as to thewisdom of his marriage.McTeague had relapsed to his wonted stolidity. He neverquestioned himself, never looked for motives, never went tothe bottom of things. The year following upon the summer ofhis marriage was a time of great contentment for him; afterthe novelty of the honeymoon had passed he slipped easilyinto the new order of things without a question. Thus hislife would be for years to come. Trina was there; he wasmarried and settled. He accepted the situation. The littleanimal comforts which for him constituted the enjoyment oflife were ministered to at every turn, or when they wereinterfered with--as in the case of his Sunday afternoon'snap and beer--some agreeable substitute was found. In herattempts to improve McTeague--to raise him from the stupidanimal life to which he had been accustomed in his bachelordays--Trina was tactful enough to move so cautiously andwith such slowness that the dentist was unconscious of anyprocess of change. In the matter of the high silk hat, itseemed to him that the initiative had come from himself.Gradually the dentist improved under the influence of hislittle wife. He no longer went abroad with frayed cuffsabout his huge red wrists--or worse, without any cuffs atall. Trina kept his linen clean and mended, doing most ofhis washing herself, and insisting that he should change hisflannels--thick red flannels they were, with enormous bonebuttons--once a week, his linen shirts twice a week, and hiscollars and cuffs every second day. She broke him of thehabit of eating with his knife, she caused him to substitutebottled beer in the place of steam beer, and she induced himto take off his hat to Miss Baker, to Heise's wife, and tothe other women of his acquaintance. McTeague no longerspent an evening at Frenna's. Instead of this he brought acouple of bottles of beer up to the rooms and shared it withTrina. In his "Parlors" he was no longer gruff andindifferent to his female patients; he arrived at that stagewhere he could work and talk to them at the same time;he even accompanied them to the door, and held it open forthem when the operation was finished, bowing them out withgreat nods of his huge square-cut head.Besides all this, he began to observe the broader, largerinterests of life, interests that affected him not as anindividual, but as a member of a class, a profession, or apolitical party. He read the papers, he subscribed to adental magazine; on Easter, Christmas, and New Year's hewent to church with Trina. He commenced to have opinions,convictions--it was not fair to deprive tax-paying women ofthe privilege to vote; a university education should not bea prerequisite for admission to a dental college; theCatholic priests were to be restrained in their efforts togain control of the public schools.But most wonderful of all, McTeague began to have ambitions--very vague, very confused ideas of something better--ideasfor the most part borrowed from Trina. Some day, perhaps,he and his wife would have a house of their own. What adream! A little home all to themselves, with six rooms and abath, with a grass plat in front and calla-lilies. Thenthere would be children. He would have a son, whose namewould be Daniel, who would go to High School, and perhapsturn out to be a prosperous plumber or house painter. Thenthis son Daniel would marry a wife, and they would all livetogether in that six-room-and-bath house; Daniel would havelittle children. McTeague would grow old among them all.The dentist saw himself as a venerable patriarch surroundedby children and grandchildren.So the winter passed. It was a season of great happinessfor the McTeagues; the new life jostled itself into itsgrooves. A routine began.On weekdays they rose at half-past six, being awakened bythe boy who brought the bottled milk, and who hadinstructions to pound upon the bedroom door in passing.Trina made breakfast--coffee, bacon and eggs, and a roll ofVienna bread from the bakery. The breakfast was eaten inthe kitchen, on the round deal table covered with the shinyoilcloth table-spread tacked on. After breakfast thedentist immediately betook himself to his "Parlors" to meethis early morning appointments--those made with the clerksand shop girls who stopped in for half an hour on their wayto their work.Trina, meanwhile, busied herself about the suite, clearingaway the breakfast, sponging off the oilcloth table-spread,making the bed, pottering about with a broom or duster orcleaning rag. Towards ten o'clock she opened the windows toair the rooms, then put on her drab jacket, her little roundturban with its red wing, took the butcher's and grocer'sbooks from the knife basket in the drawer of the kitchentable, and descended to the street, where she spent adelicious hour--now in the huge market across the way, nowin the grocer's store with its fragrant aroma of coffee andspices, and now before the counters of the haberdasher's,intent on a bit of shopping, turning over ends of veiling,strips of elastic, or slivers of whalebone. On the streetshe rubbed elbows with the great ladies of the avenue intheir beautiful dresses, or at intervals she met anacquaintance or two--Miss Baker, or Heise's lame wife, orMrs. Ryer. At times she passed the flat and looked up atthe windows of her home, marked by the huge golden molarthat projected, flashing, from the bay window of the"Parlors." She saw the open windows of the sitting-room,the Nottingham lace curtains stirring and billowing in thedraft, and she caught sight of Maria Macapa's towelled headas the Mexican maid-of-all-work went to and fro in thesuite, sweeping or carrying away the ashes. Occasionally inthe windows of the "Parlors" she beheld McTeague's roundedback as he bent to his work. Sometimes, even, they saw eachother and waved their hands gayly in recognition.By eleven o'clock Trina returned to the flat, her brown netreticule--once her mother's--full of parcels. At once sheset about getting lunch--sausages, perhaps, with mashedpotatoes; or last evening's joint warmed over or made into astew; chocolate, which Trina adored, and a side dish or two--a salted herring or a couple of artichokes or a salad. Athalf-past twelve the dentist came in from the "Parlors,"bringing with him the smell of creosote and of ether.They sat down to lunch in the sitting-room. They told eachother of their doings throughout the forenoon; Trina showedher purchases, McTeague recounted the progress of anoperation. At one o'clock they separated, the dentistreturning to the "Parlors," Trina settling to her work onthe Noah's ark animals. At about three o'clock she put thiswork away, and for the rest of the afternoon was variouslyoccupied--sometimes it was the mending, sometimes the wash,sometimes new curtains to be put up, or a bit of carpet tobe tacked down, or a letter to be written, or a visit--generally to Miss Baker--to be returned. Towards fiveo'clock the old woman whom they had hired for that purposecame to cook supper, for even Trina was not equal to thetask of preparing three meals a day.This woman was French, and was known to the flat asAugustine, no one taking enough interest in her to inquirefor her last name; all that was known of her was that shewas a decayed French laundress, miserably poor, her tradelong since ruined by Chinese competition. Augustine cookedwell, but she was otherwise undesirable, and Trina lostpatience with her at every moment. The old French woman'smost marked characteristic was her timidity. Trina couldscarcely address her a simple direction without Augustinequailing and shrinking; a reproof, however gentle, threw herinto an agony of confusion; while Trina's anger promptlyreduced her to a state of nervous collapse, wherein she lostall power of speech, while her head began to bob and nodwith an incontrollable twitching of the muscles, much likethe oscillations of the head of a toy donkey. Her timiditywas exasperating, her very presence in the room unstrung thenerves, while her morbid eagerness to avoid offence onlyserved to develop in her a clumsiness that was at timesbeyond belief. More than once Trina had decided that shecould no longer put up with Augustine but each time she hadretained her as she reflected upon her admirably cookedcabbage soups and tapioca puddings, and--which in Trina'seyes was her chiefest recommendation--the pittance for whichshe was contented to work.Augustine had a husband. He was a spirit-medium--a"professor." At times he held seances in the largerrooms of the flat, playing vigorously upon a mouth-organ andinvoking a familiar whom he called "Edna," and whom heasserted was an Indian maiden.The evening was a period of relaxation for Trina andMcTeague. They had supper at six, after which McTeaguesmoked his pipe and read the papers for half an hour, whileTrina and Augustine cleared away the table and washed thedishes. Then, as often as not, they went out together. Oneof their amusements was to go "down town" after dark andpromenade Market and Kearney Streets. It was very gay; agreat many others were promenading there also. All of thestores were brilliantly lighted and many of them still open.They walked about aimlessly, looking into the shop windows.Trina would take McTeague's arm, and he, very muchembarrassed at that, would thrust both hands into hispockets and pretend not to notice. They stopped before thejewellers' and milliners' windows, finding a great delightin picking out things for each other, saying how they wouldchoose this and that if they were rich. Trina did most ofthe talking. McTeague merely approving by a growl or amovement of the head or shoulders; she was interested in thedisplays of some of the cheaper stores, but he found anirresistible charm in an enormous golden molar with fourprongs that hung at a corner of Kearney Street. Sometimesthey would look at Mars or at the moon through the streettelescopes or sit for a time in the rotunda of a vastdepartment store where a band played every evening.Occasionally they met Heise the harness-maker and his wife,with whom they had become acquainted. Then the evening wasconcluded by a four-cornered party in the Luxembourg, aquiet German restaurant under a theatre. Trina had a tamaleand a glass of beer, Mrs. Heise (who was a decayed writingteacher) ate salads, with glasses of grenadine and currantsyrups. Heise drank cocktails and whiskey straight, andurged the dentist to join him. But McTeague was obstinate,shaking his head. "I can't drink that stuff," he said. "Itdon't agree with me, somehow; I go kinda crazy aftertwo glasses." So he gorged himself with beer andfrankfurter sausages plastered with German mustard.When the annual Mechanic's Fair opened, McTeague and Trinaoften spent their evenings there, studying the exhibitscarefully (since in Trina's estimation education meantknowing things and being able to talk about them). Wearyingof this they would go up into the gallery, and, leaningover, look down into the huge amphitheatre full of light andcolor and movement.There rose to them the vast shuffling noise of thousands offeet and a subdued roar of conversation like the sound of agreat mill. Mingled with this was the purring of distantmachinery, the splashing of a temporary fountain, and therhythmic jangling of a brass band, while in the pianoexhibit a hired performer was playing upon a concert grandwith a great flourish. Nearer at hand they could catch endsof conversation and notes of laughter, the noise of movingdresses, and the rustle of stiffly starched skirts. Hereand there school children elbowed their way through thecrowd, crying shrilly, their hands full of advertisementpamphlets, fans, picture cards, and toy whips, while the airitself was full of the smell of fresh popcorn.They even spent some time in the art gallery. Trina'scousin Selina, who gave lessons in hand painting at two bitsan hour, generally had an exhibit on the walls, which theywere interested to find. It usually was a bunch of yellowpoppies painted on black velvet and framed in gilt. Theystood before it some little time, hazarding their opinions,and then moved on slowly from one picture to another. Trinahad McTeague buy a catalogue and made a duty of finding thetitle of every picture. This, too, she told McTeague, as akind of education one ought to cultivate. Trina professedto be fond of art, having perhaps acquired a taste forpainting and sculpture from her experience with the Noah'sark animals."Of course," she told the dentist, "I'm no critic, I onlyknow what I like." She knew that she liked the "IdealHeads," lovely girls with flowing straw-colored hair andimmense, upturned eyes. These always had for title,"Reverie," or "An Idyll," or "Dreams of Love.""I think those are lovely, don't you, Mac?" she said."Yes, yes," answered McTeague, nodding his head, bewildered,trying to understand. "Yes, yes, lovely, that's the word.Are you dead sure now, Trina, that all that's hand-paintedjust like the poppies?"Thus the winter passed, a year went by, then two. Thelittle life of Polk Street, the life of small traders, drugclerks, grocers, stationers, plumbers, dentists, doctors,spirit-mediums, and the like, ran on monotonously in itsaccustomed grooves. The first three years of their marriedlife wrought little change in the fortunes of the McTeagues.In the third summer the branch post-office was moved fromthe ground floor of the flat to a corner farther up thestreet in order to be near the cable line that ran mailcars. Its place was taken by a German saloon, called a"Wein Stube," in the face of the protests of every femalelodger. A few months later quite a little flurry ofexcitement ran through the street on the occasion of "ThePolk Street Open Air Festival," organized to celebrate theintroduction there of electric lights. The festival lastedthree days and was quite an affair. The street was garlandedwith yellow and white bunting; there were processions and"floats" and brass bands. Marcus Schouler was in hiselement during the whole time of the celebration. He wasone of the marshals of the parade, and was to be seen atevery hour of the day, wearing a borrowed high hat andcotton gloves, and galloping a broken-down cab-horse overthe cobbles. He carried a baton covered with yellow andwhite calico, with which he made furious passes andgestures. His voice was soon reduced to a whisper bycontinued shouting, and he raged and fretted over triflestill he wore himself thin. McTeague was disgusted with him.As often as Marcus passed the window of the flat the dentistwould mutter:"Ah, you think you're smart, don't you?"The result of the festival was the organizing of a bodyknown as the "Polk Street Improvement Club," of which Marcuswas elected secretary. McTeague and Trina often heardof him in this capacity through Heise the harness-maker.Marcus had evidently come to have political aspirations. Itappeared that he was gaining a reputation as a maker ofspeeches, delivered with fiery emphasis, and occasionallyreprinted in the "Progress," the organ of the club--"outraged constituencies," "opinions warped by personalbias," "eyes blinded by party prejudice," etc.Of her family, Trina heard every fortnight in letters fromher mother. The upholstery business which Mr. Sieppe hadbought was doing poorly, and Mrs. Sieppe bewailed the dayshe had ever left B Street. Mr. Sieppe was losing moneyevery month. Owgooste, who was to have gone to school, hadbeen forced to go to work in "the store," picking waste.Mrs. Sieppe was obliged to take a lodger or two. Affairswere in a very bad way. Occasionally she spoke of Marcus.Mr. Sieppe had not forgotten him despite his own troubles,but still had an eye out for some one whom Marcus could "goin with" on a ranch.It was toward the end of this period of three years thatTrina and McTeague had their first serious quarrel. Trinahad talked so much about having a little house of their ownat some future day, that McTeague had at length come toregard the affair as the end and object of all their labors.For a long time they had had their eyes upon one house inparticular. It was situated on a cross street close by,between Polk Street and the great avenue one block above,and hardly a Sunday afternoon passed that Trina and McTeaguedid not go and look at it. They stood for fully half anhour upon the other side of the street, examining everydetail of its exterior, hazarding guesses as to thearrangement of the rooms, commenting upon its immediateneighborhood--which was rather sordid. The house was awooden two-story arrangement, built by a misguidedcontractor in a sort of hideous Queen Anne style, allscrolls and meaningless mill work, with a cheap imitation ofstained glass in the light over the door. There was amicroscopic front yard full of dusty calla-lilies. Thefront door boasted an electric bell. But for the McTeaguesit was an ideal home. Their idea was to live in this littlehouse, the dentist retaining merely his office in theflat. The two places were but around the corner from eachother, so that McTeague could lunch with his wife, as usual,and could even keep his early morning appointments andreturn to breakfast if he so desired.However, the house was occupied. A Hungarian family livedin it. The father kept a stationery and notion "bazaar"next to Heise's harness-shop on Polk Street, while theoldest son played a third violin in the orchestra of atheatre. The family rented the house unfurnished forthirty-five dollars, paying extra for the water.But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their way home fromtheir usual walk turned into the cross street on which thelittle house was situated, they became promptly aware of anunwonted bustle going on upon the sidewalk in front of it.A dray was back against the curb, an express wagon droveaway loaded with furniture; bedsteads, looking-glasses, andwashbowls littered the sidewalks. The Hungarian family weremoving out."Oh, Mac, look!" gasped Trina."Sure, sure," muttered the dentist.After that they spoke but little. For upwards of an hourthe two stood upon the sidewalk opposite, watching intentlyall that went forward, absorbed, excited.On the evening of the next day they returned and visited thehouse, finding a great delight in going from room to roomand imagining themselves installed therein. Here would bethe bedroom, here the dining-room, here a charming littleparlor. As they came out upon the front steps once more theymet the owner, an enormous, red-faced fellow, so fat thathis walking seemed merely a certain movement of his feet bywhich he pushed his stomach along in front of him. Trinatalked with him a few moments, but arrived at nounderstanding, and the two went away after giving him theiraddress. At supper that night McTeague said:"Huh--what do you think, Trina?"Trina put her chin in the air, tilting back her heavy tiaraof swarthy hair."I am not so sure yet. Thirty-five dollars and thewater extra. I don't think we can afford it, Mac.""Ah, pshaw!" growled the dentist, "sure we can.""It isn't only that," said Trina, "but it'll cost so much tomake the change.""Ah, you talk's though we were paupers. Ain't we got fivethousand dollars?"Trina flushed on the instant, even to the lobes of her tinypale ears, and put her lips together."Now, Mac, you know I don't want you should talk like that.That money's never, never to be touched.""And you've been savun up a good deal, besides," went onMcTeague, exasperated at Trina's persistent economies. "Howmuch money have you got in that little brass match-safe inthe bottom of your trunk? Pretty near a hundred dollars, Iguess--ah, sure." He shut his eyes and nodded his greathead in a knowing way.Trina had more than that in the brass match-safe inquestion, but her instinct of hoarding had led her to keepit a secret from her husband. Now she lied to him withprompt fluency."A hundred dollars! What are you talking of, Mac? I've notgot fifty. I've not got thirty.""Oh, let's take that little house," broke in McTeague. "Wegot the chance now, and it may never come again. Come on,Trina, shall we? Say, come on, shall we, huh?""We'd have to be awful saving if we did, Mac.""Well, sure, I say let's take it.""I don't know," said Trina, hesitating. "Wouldn't it belovely to have a house all to ourselves? But let's notdecide until to-morrow."The next day the owner of the house called. Trina was outat her morning's marketing and the dentist, who had no onein the chair at the time, received him in the "Parlors."Before he was well aware of it, McTeague had concluded thebargain. The owner bewildered him with a world of phrases,made him believe that it would be a great saving tomove into the little house, and finally offered it to him"water free.""All right, all right," said McTeague, "I'll take it."The other immediately produced a paper."Well, then, suppose you sign for the first month's rent,and we'll call it a bargain. That's business, you know,"and McTeague, hesitating, signed."I'd like to have talked more with my wife about it first,"he said, dubiously."Oh, that's all right," answered the owner, easily. "Iguess if the head of the family wants a thing, that'senough."McTeague could not wait until lunch time to tell the news toTrina. As soon as he heard her come in, he laid down theplaster-of-paris mould he was making and went out into thekitchen and found her chopping up onions."Well, Trina," he said, "we got that house. I've taken it.""What do you mean?" she answered, quickly. The dentist toldher."And you signed a paper for the first month's rent?""Sure, sure. That's business, you know.""Well, why did you do it?" cried Trina. "You might haveasked me something about it. Now, what have you done?I was talking with Mrs. Ryer about that house while I wasout this morning, and she said the Hungarians moved outbecause it was absolutely unhealthy; there's water beenstanding in the basement for months. And she told me, too,"Trina went on indignantly, "that she knew the owner, and shewas sure we could get the house for thirty if we'd bargainfor it. Now what have you gone and done? I hadn't made upmy mind about taking the house at all. And now I won'ttake it, with the water in the basement and all.""Well--well," stammered McTeague, helplessly, "we needn't goin if it's unhealthy.""But you've signed a paper," cried Trina, exasperated."You've got to pay that first month's rent, anyhow--toforfeit it. Oh, you are so stupid! There's thirty-five dollars just thrown away. I shan't go into thathouse; we won't move a foot out of here. I've changedmy mind about it, and there's water in the basementbesides.""Well, I guess we can stand thirty-five dollars," mumbledthe dentist, "if we've got to.""Thirty-five dollars just thrown out of the window," criedTrina, her teeth clicking, every instinct of her parsimonyaroused. "Oh, you the thick-wittedest man that I ever knew.Do you think we're millionaires? Oh, to think of losingthirty-five dollars like that." Tears were in her eyes,tears of grief as well as of anger. Never had McTeague seenhis little woman so aroused. Suddenly she rose to her feetand slammed the chopping-bowl down upon the table. "Well,I won't pay a nickel of it," she exclaimed."Huh? What, what?" stammered the dentist, taken all aback byher outburst."I say that you will find that money, that thirty-fivedollars, yourself.""Why--why----""It's your stupidity got us into this fix, and you'll be theone that'll suffer by it.""I can't do it, I won't do it. We'll--we'll share andshare alike. Why, you said--you told me you'd take thehouse if the water was free.""I never did. I never did. How can you stand thereand say such a thing?""You did tell me that," vociferated McTeague, beginning toget angry in his turn."Mac, I didn't, and you know it. And what's more, I won'tpay a nickel. Mr. Heise pays his bill next week, it'sforty-three dollars, and you can just pay the thirty-fiveout of that.""Why, you got a whole hundred dollars saved up in yourmatch-safe," shouted the dentist, throwing out an arm withan awkward gesture. "You pay half and I'll pay half, that'sonly fair.""No, no, no," exclaimed Trina. "It's not a hundreddollars. You won't touch it; you won't touch my money, Itell you.""Ah, how does it happen to be yours, I'd like to know?""It's mine! It's mine! It's mine!" cried Trina, her facescarlet, her teeth clicking like the snap of a closingpurse."It ain't any more yours than it is mine.""Every penny of it is mine.""Ah, what a fine fix you'd get me into," growled thedentist. "I've signed the paper with the owner; that'sbusiness, you know, that's business, you know; and now yougo back on me. Suppose we'd taken the house, we'd 'a' sharedthe rent, wouldn't we, just as we do here?"Trina shrugged her shoulders with a great affectation ofindifference and began chopping the onions again."You settle it with the owner," she said. "It's youraffair; you've got the money." She pretended to assume acertain calmness as though the matter was something that nolonger affected her. Her manner exasperated McTeague allthe more."No, I won't; no, I won't; I won't either," he shouted."I'll pay my half and he can come to you for the otherhalf." Trina put a hand over her ear to shut out hisclamor."Ah, don't try and be smart," cried McTeague. "Come, now,yes or no, will you pay your half?""You heard what I said.""Will you pay it?""No.""Miser!" shouted McTeague. "Miser! you're worse than oldZerkow. All right, all right, keep your money. I'll paythe whole thirty-five. I'd rather lose it than be such amiser as you.""Haven't you got anything to do," returned Trina, "insteadof staying here and abusing me?""Well, then, for the last time, will you help me out?"Trina cut the heads of a fresh bunch of onions and gave noanswer."Huh? will you?""I'd like to have my kitchen to myself, please," she said ina mincing way, irritating to a last degree. Thedentist stamped out of the room, banging the door behindhim.For nearly a week the breach between them remained unhealed.Trina only spoke to the dentist in monosyllables, while he,exasperated at her calmness and frigid reserve, sulked inhis "Dental Parlors," muttering terrible things beneath hismustache, or finding solace in his concertina, playing hissix lugubrious airs over and over again, or swearingfrightful oaths at his canary. When Heise paid his bill,McTeague, in a fury, sent the amount to the owner of thelittle house.There was no formal reconciliation between the dentist andhis little woman. Their relations readjusted themselvesinevitably. By the end of the week they were as amicable asever, but it was long before they spoke of the little houseagain. Nor did they ever revisit it of a Sunday afternoon.A month or so later the Ryers told them that the ownerhimself had moved in. The McTeagues never occupied thatlittle house.But Trina suffered a reaction after the quarrel. She beganto be sorry she had refused to help her husband, sorry shehad brought matters to such an issue. One afternoon as shewas at work on the Noah's ark animals, she surprised herselfcrying over the affair. She loved her "old bear" too muchto do him an injustice, and perhaps, after all, she had beenin the wrong. Then it occurred to her how pretty it would beto come up behind him unexpectedly, and slip the money,thirty-five dollars, into his hand, and pull his huge headdown to her and kiss his bald spot as she used to do in thedays before they were married.Then she hesitated, pausing in her work, her knife droppinginto her lap, a half-whittled figure between her fingers.If not thirty-five dollars, then at least fifteen orsixteen, her share of it. But a feeling of reluctance, asudden revolt against this intended generosity, arose inher."No, no," she said to herself. "I'll give him ten dollars.I'll tell him it's all I can afford. It is all I canafford."She hastened to finish the figure of the animal she was thenat work upon, putting in the ears and tail with a dropof glue, and tossing it into the basket at her side. Thenshe rose and went into the bedroom and opened her trunk,taking the key from under a corner of the carpet where shekept it hid.At the very bottom of her trunk, under her bridal dress, shekept her savings. It was all in change--half dollars anddollars for the most part, with here and there a gold piece.Long since the little brass match-box had overflowed. Trinakept the surplus in a chamois-skin sack she had made from anold chest protector. Just now, yielding to an impulse whichoften seized her, she drew out the match-box and the chamoissack, and emptying the contents on the bed, counted themcarefully. It came to one hundred and sixty-five dollars,all told. She counted it and recounted it and made littlepiles of it, and rubbed the gold pieces between the folds ofher apron until they shone."Ah, yes, ten dollars is all I can afford to give Mac," saidTrina, "and even then, think of it, ten dollars--it will befour or five months before I can save that again. But, dearold Mac, I know it would make him feel glad, and perhaps,"she added, suddenly taken with an idea, "perhaps Mac willrefuse to take it."She took a ten-dollar piece from the heap and put the restaway. Then she paused:"No, not the gold piece," she said to herself. "It's toopretty. He can have the silver." She made the change andcounted out ten silver dollars into her palm. But what adifference it made in the appearance and weight of thelittle chamois bag! The bag was shrunken and withered, longwrinkles appeared running downward from the draw-string. Itwas a lamentable sight. Trina looked longingly at the tenbroad pieces in her hand. Then suddenly all her intuitivedesire of saving, her instinct of hoarding, her love ofmoney for the money's sake, rose strong within her."No, no, no," she said. "I can't do it. It may be mean,but I can't help it. It's stronger than I." She returnedthe money to the bag and locked it and the brass match-boxin her trunk, turning the key with a long breath ofsatisfaction.She was a little troubled, however, as she went backinto the sitting-room and took up her work."I didn't use to be so stingy," she told herself. "Since Iwon in the lottery I've become a regular little miser. It'sgrowing on me, but never mind, it's a good fault, and,anyhow, I can't help it."