Chapter 13

by Frank Norris

　　One morning about a week after Marcus had left for thesouthern part of the State, McTeague found an oblong letterthrust through the letter-drop of the door of his "Parlors."The address was typewritten. He opened it. The letter hadbeen sent from the City Hall and was stamped in one cornerwith the seal of the State of California, very official; theform and file numbers superscribed.McTeague had been making fillings when this letter arrived.He was in his "Parlors," pottering over his movable rackunderneath the bird cage in the bay window. He was making"blocks" to be used in large proximal cavities and"cylinders" for commencing fillings. He heard the postman'sstep in the hall and saw the envelopes begin to shuttlethemselves through the slit of his letter-drop. Then camethe fat oblong envelope, with its official seal, thatdropped flatwise to the floor with a sodden, dull impact.The dentist put down the broach and scissors and gatheredup his mail. There were four letters altogether. Onewas for Trina, in Selina's "elegant" handwriting; anotherwas an advertisement of a new kind of operating chair fordentists; the third was a card from a milliner on the nextblock, announcing an opening; and the fourth, contained inthe fat oblong envelope, was a printed form with blanks leftfor names and dates, and addressed to McTeague, from anoffice in the City Hall. McTeague read it throughlaboriously. "I don' know, I don' know," he muttered,looking stupidly at the rifle manufacturer's calendar. Thenhe heard Trina, from the kitchen, singing as she made aclattering noise with the breakfast dishes. "I guess I'llask Trina about it," he muttered.He went through the suite, by the sitting-room, where thesun was pouring in through the looped backed Nottinghamcurtains upon the clean white matting and the varnishedsurface of the melodeon, passed on through the bedroom, withits framed lithographs of round-cheeked English babies andalert fox terriers, and came out into the brick-pavedkitchen. The kitchen was clean as a new whistle; thefreshly blackened cook stove glowed like a negro's hide; thetins and porcelain-lined stew-pans might have been of silverand of ivory. Trina was in the centre of the room, wipingoff, with a damp sponge, the oilcloth table-cover, on whichthey had breakfasted. Never had she looked so pretty.Early though it was, her enormous tiara of swarthy hair wasneatly combed and coiled, not a pin was so much as loose.She wore a blue calico skirt with a white figure, and a beltof imitation alligator skin clasped around her small,firmly-corseted waist; her shirt waist was of pink linen, sonew and crisp that it crackled with every movement, whilearound the collar, tied in a neat knot, was one ofMcTeague's lawn ties which she had appropriated. Hersleeves were carefully rolled up almost to her shoulders,and nothing could have been more delicious than the sight ofher small round arms, white as milk, moving back and forthas she sponged the table-cover, a faint touch of pink comingand going at the elbows as they bent and straightened. Shelooked up quickly as her husband entered, her narrow eyesalight, her adorable little chin in the air; her lipsrounded and opened with the last words of her song, sothat one could catch a glint of gold in the fillings of herupper teeth.The whole scene--the clean kitchen and its clean brickfloor; the smell of coffee that lingered in the air; Trinaherself, fresh as if from a bath, and singing at her work;the morning sun, striking obliquely through the white muslinhalf-curtain of the window and spanning the little kitchenwith a bridge of golden mist--gave off, as it were, a noteof gayety that was not to be resisted. Through the openedtop of the window came the noises of Polk Street, alreadylong awake. One heard the chanting of street cries, theshrill calling of children on their way to school, the merryrattle of a butcher's cart, the brisk noise of hammering, orthe occasional prolonged roll of a cable car trundlingheavily past, with a vibrant whirring of its jostled glassand the joyous clanging of its bells."What is it, Mac, dear?" said Trina.McTeague shut the door behind him with his heel and handedher the letter. Trina read it through. Then suddenly hersmall hand gripped tightly upon the sponge, so that thewater started from it and dripped in a little patteringdeluge upon the bricks.The letter--or rather printed notice--informed McTeague thathe had never received a diploma from a dental college, andthat in consequence he was forbidden to practise hisprofession any longer. A legal extract bearing upon thecase was attached in small type."Why, what's all this?" said Trina, calmly, without thoughtas yet."I don' know, I don' know," answered her husband."You can't practise any longer," continued Trina,--"'isherewith prohibited and enjoined from further continuing----'" She re-read the extract, her forehead lifting andpuckering. She put the sponge carefully away in its wirerack over the sink, and drew up a chair to the table,spreading out the notice before her. "Sit down," she said toMcTeague. "Draw up to the table here, Mac, and let's seewhat this is.""I got it this morning," murmured the dentist. "It just nowcame. I was making some fillings--there, in the'Parlors,' in the window--and the postman shoved it throughthe door. I thought it was a number of the 'American Systemof Dentistry' at first, and when I'd opened it and looked atit 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?" exclaimed McTeague."How did you learn to be a dentist? Did you go to acollege?""I went along with a fellow who came to the mine once. Mymother sent me. We used to go from one camp to another. Isharpened his excavators for him, and put up his notices inthe towns--stuck them up in the post-offices and on thedoors of the Odd Fellows' halls. He had a wagon.""But didn't you never go to a college?""Huh? What? College? No, I never went. I learned fromthe fellow."Trina rolled down her sleeves. She was a little paler thanusual. She fastened the buttons into the cuffs and said:"But do you know you can't practise unless you're graduatedfrom a college? You haven't the right to call yourself,'doctor.'"McTeague stared a moment; then:"Why, I've been practising ten years. More--nearly twelve.""But it's the law.""What's the law?""That you can't practise, or call yourself doctor, unlessyou've got a diploma.""What's that--a diploma?""I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper that--that--oh,Mac, we're ruined." Trina's voice rose to a cry."What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist? Ain't I adoctor? Look at my sign, and the gold tooth you gave me.Why, I've been practising nearly twelve years."Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat, andpretended to resettle a hair-pin at the back of her head."I guess it isn't as bad as that," she said, very quietly."Let's read this again. 'Herewith prohibited andenjoined 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 faceflushing. "They don't know how good a dentist you are.What difference does a diploma make, if you're a first-classdentist? I guess that's all right. Mac, didn't you ever goto a dental college?""No," answered McTeague, doggedly. "What was the good? Ilearned how to operate; wa'n't that enough?""Hark," said Trina, suddenly. "Wasn't that the bell of youroffice?" They had both heard the jangling of the bell thatMcTeague had hung over the door of his "Parlors." Thedentist looked at the kitchen clock."That's Vanovitch," said he. "He's a plumber round onSutter Street. He's got an appointment with me to have abicuspid pulled. I got to go back to work." He rose."But you can't," cried Trina, the back of her hand upon herlips, her eyes brimming. "Mac, don't you see? Can't youunderstand? You've got to stop. Oh, it's dreadful!Listen." She hurried around the table to him and caught hisarm in both her hands."Huh?" growled McTeague, looking at her with a puzzledfrown."They'll arrest you. You'll go to prison. You can't work--can't work any more. We're ruined."Vanovitch was pounding on the door of the sitting-room."He'll be gone in a minute," exclaimed McTeague."Well, let him go. Tell him to go; tell him to come again.""Why, he's got an appointment with me," exclaimedMcTeague, his hand upon the door.Trina caught him back. "But, Mac, you ain't a dentist anylonger; 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 dentistjust the same? Listen, he's pounding there again. No, I'mgoing, sure.""Well, of course, go," said Trina, with sudden reaction."It ain't possible they'll make you stop. If you're agood dentist, that's all that's wanted. Go on, Mac; hurry,before he goes."McTeague went out, closing the door. Trina stood for amoment looking intently at the bricks at her feet. Then shereturned to the table, and sat down again before the notice,and, resting her head in both her fists, read it yet anothertime. Suddenly the conviction seized upon her that it wasall true. McTeague would be obliged to stop work, no matterhow good a dentist he was. But why had the authorities atthe City Hall waited this long before serving the notice?All at once Trina snapped her fingers, with a quick flash ofintelligence."It's Marcus that's done it," she cried.* * * * * * * * * * * * *It was like a clap of thunder. McTeague was stunned,stupefied. He said nothing. Never in his life had he beenso taciturn. At times he did not seem to hear Trina when shespoke to him, and often she had to shake him by the shoulderto arouse his attention. He would sit apart in his"Parlors," turning the notice about in his enormous clumsyfingers, reading it stupidly over and over again. Hecouldn't understand. What had a clerk at the City Hall todo with him? Why couldn't they let him alone?"Oh, what's to become of us now?" wailed Trina. "What'sto become of us now? We're paupers, beggars--and all sosudden." And once, in a quick, inexplicable fury, totallyunlike anything that McTeague had noticed in her before, shehad started up, with fists and teeth shut tight, and hadcried, "Oh, if you'd only killed Marcus Schouler thattime he fought you!"McTeague had continued his work, acting from sheer force ofhabit; his sluggish, deliberate nature, methodical,obstinate, refusing to adapt itself to the new conditions."Maybe Marcus was only trying to scare us," Trina had said."How are they going to know whether you're practising ornot?""I got a mould to make to-morrow," McTeague said, "andVanovitch, that plumber round on Sutter Street, he'scoming again at three.""Well, you go right ahead," Trina told him, decisively; "yougo right ahead and make the mould, and pull every tooth inVanovitch's head if you want to. Who's going to know?Maybe they just sent that notice as a matter of form. MaybeMarcus got that paper and filled it in himself."The two would lie awake all night long, staring up into thedark, talking, talking, talking."Haven't you got any right to practise if you've not been toa dental college, Mac? Didn't you ever go?" Trina would askagain and again."No, no," answered the dentist, "I never went. I learntfrom the fellow I was apprenticed to. I don' know anythingabout a dental college. Ain't I got a right to do as Ilike?" he suddenly exclaimed."If you know your profession, isn't that enough?" criedTrina."Sure, sure," growled McTeague. "I ain't going to stop forthem.""You go right on," Trina said, "and I bet you won't hearanother word about it.""Suppose I go round to the City Hall and see them," hazardedMcTeague."No, no, don't you do it, Mac," exclaimed Trina. "Because,if Marcus has done this just to scare you, they won't knowanything about it there at the City Hall; but they'll beginto ask you questions, and find out that you never hadgraduated from a dental college, and you'd be just as badoff as ever.""Well, I ain't going to quit for just a piece of paper,"declared the dentist. The phrase stuck to him. All daylong he went about their rooms or continued at his work inthe "Parlors," growling behind his thick mustache: "I ain'tgoing to quit for just a piece of paper. No, I ain't goingto quit for just a piece of paper. Sure not."The days passed, a week went by, McTeague continued hiswork as usual. They heard no more from the City Hall,but the suspense of the situation was harrowing. Trina wasactually sick with it. The terror of the thing was ever attheir elbows, going to bed with them, sitting down with themat breakfast in the kitchen, keeping them company allthrough the day. Trina dared not think of what would betheir fate if the income derived from McTeague's practicewas suddenly taken from them. Then they would have to fallback on the interest of her lottery money and the pittanceshe derived from the manufacture of the Noah's ark animals,a little over thirty dollars a month. No, no, it was not tobe thought of. It could not be that their means oflivelihood was to be thus stricken from them.A fortnight went by. "I guess we're all right, Mac," Trinaallowed herself to say. "It looks as though we were allright. How are they going to tell whether you're practisingor not?"That day a second and much more peremptory notice was servedupon McTeague by an official in person. Then suddenly Trinawas seized with a panic terror, unreasoned, instinctive. IfMcTeague persisted they would both be sent to a prison, shewas sure of it; a place where people were chained to thewall, in the dark, and fed on bread and water."Oh, Mac, you've got to quit," she wailed. "You can't goon. They can make you stop. Oh, why didn't you go to adental college? Why didn't you find out that you had tohave 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 prettythings; sell the pictures and the melodeon, and--Oh, it'stoo dreadful!""Huh? Huh? What? What?" exclaimed the dentist,bewildered. "I ain't going to quit for just a piece ofpaper. Let them put me out. I'll show them. They--theycan't make small of me.""Oh, that's all very fine to talk that way, but you'll haveto quit.""Well, we ain't paupers," McTeague suddenly exclaimed, anidea entering his mind. "We've got our money yet. You'vegot your five thousand dollars and the money you've beensaving up. People ain't paupers when they've got overfive 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 tobe any 'until.' We've got the interest of that fivethousand and we've got what Uncle Oelbermann gives me, alittle over thirty dollars a month, and that's all we'vegot. You'll have to find something else to do.""What will I find to do?"What, indeed? McTeague was over thirty now, sluggish andslow-witted at best. What new trade could he learn at thisage?Little by little Trina made the dentist understand thecalamity that had befallen them, and McTeague at last begancancelling his appointments. Trina gave it out that he wassick."Not a soul need know what's happened to us," she said toher husband.But it was only by slow degrees that McTeague abandoned hisprofession. Every morning after breakfast he would go intohis "Parlors" as usual and potter about his instruments, hisdental engine, and his washstand in the corner behind hisscreen where he made his moulds. Now he would sharpen a"hoe" excavator, now he would busy himself for a whole hourmaking "mats" and "cylinders." Then he would look over hisslate where he kept a record of his appointments.One day Trina softly opened the door of the "Parlors" andcame in from the sitting-room. She had not heard McTeaguemoving about for some time and had begun to wonder what hewas doing. She came in, quietly shutting the door behindher.McTeague had tidied the room with the greatest care. Thevolumes of the "Practical Dentist" and the "American Systemof Dentistry" were piled upon the marble-top centre-table inrectangular blocks. The few chairs were drawn up againstthe wall under the steel engraving of "Lorenzo de'Medici" with more than usual precision. The dental engineand the nickelled trimmings of the operating chair had beenfurbished till they shone, while on the movable rack in thebay window McTeague had arranged his instruments with thegreatest neatness and regularity. "Hoe" excavators,pluggers, forceps, pliers, corundum disks and burrs, eventhe boxwood mallet that Trina was never to use again, allwere laid out and ready for immediate use.McTeague himself sat in his operating chair, lookingstupidly out of the windows, across the roofs opposite, withan unseeing gaze, his red hands lying idly in his lap.Trina came up to him. There was something in his eyes thatmade her put both arms around his neck and lay his huge headwith its coarse blond hair upon her shoulder."I--I got everything fixed," he said. "I got everythingfixed an' ready. See, everything ready an' waiting, an'--an'--an' nobody comes, an' nobody's ever going to come anymore. Oh, Trina!" He put his arms about her and drew herdown closer to him."Never mind, dear; never mind," cried Trina, through hertears. "It'll all come right in the end, and we'll be poortogether if we have to. You can sure find something else todo. We'll start in again.""Look at the slate there," said McTeague, pulling away fromher and reaching down the slate on which he kept a record ofhis appointments. "Look at them. There's Vanovitch at twoon Wednesday, and Loughhead's wife Thursday morning, andHeise's little girl Thursday afternoon at one-thirty; Mrs.Watson on Friday, and Vanovitch again Saturday morningearly--at seven. That's what I was to have had, and theyain't going to come. They ain't ever going to come anymore."Trina took the little slate from him and looked at itruefully."Rub them out," she said, her voice trembling; "rub it allout;" and as she spoke her eyes brimmed again, and a greattear dropped on the slate. "That's it," she said; "that'sthe way to rub it out, by me crying on it." Then shepassed her fingers over the tear-blurred writing and washedthe slate clean. "All gone, all gone," she said."All gone," echoed the dentist. There was a silence. ThenMcTeague heaved himself up to his full six feet two, hisface purpling, his enormous mallet-like fists raised overhis head. His massive jaw protruded more than ever, whilehis teeth clicked and grated together; then he growled:"If ever I meet Marcus Schouler--" he broke off abruptly,the white of his eyes growing suddenly pink."Oh, if ever you do," exclaimed Trina, catching herbreath.