Chapter 14

by Frank Norris

　　"Well, what do you think?" said Trina.She and McTeague stood in a tiny room at the back of theflat and on its very top floor. The room was whitewashed.It contained a bed, three cane-seated chairs, and a woodenwashstand with its washbowl and pitcher. From its singleuncurtained window one looked down into the flat's dirtyback yard and upon the roofs of the hovels that bordered thealley in the rear. There was a rag carpet on the floor. Inplace of a closet some dozen wooden pegs were affixed to thewall over the washstand. There was a smell of cheap soapand of ancient hair-oil in the air."That's a single bed," said Trina, "but the landlady saysshe'll put in a double one for us. You see----""I ain't going to live here," growled McTeague."Well, you've got to live somewhere," said Trina,impatiently. "We've looked Polk Street over, and thisis the only thing we can afford.""Afford, afford," muttered the dentist. "You with your fivethousand dollars, and the two or three hundred you got savedup, talking about 'afford.' You make me sick.""Now, Mac," exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down inone of the cane-seated chairs; "now, Mac, let's have thisthing----""Well, I don't figure on living in one room," growled thedentist, sullenly. "Let's live decently until we can get afresh start. We've got the money.""Who's got the money?""We've got it.""We!""Well, it's all in the family. What's yours is mine, andwhat's mine is yours, ain't it?""No, it's not; no, it's not," cried Trina, vehemently."It's all mine, mine. There's not a penny of it belongs toanybody else. I don't like to have to talk this way to you,but you just make me. We're not going to touch a penny ofmy five thousand nor a penny of that little money I managedto save--that seventy-five.""That two hundred, you mean.""That seventy-five. We're just going to live on theinterest of that and on what I earn from Uncle Oelbermann--on just that thirty-one or two dollars.""Huh! Think I'm going to do that, an' live in such a roomas this?"Trina folded her arms and looked him squarely in the face."Well, what are you going to do, then?""Huh?""I say, what are you going to do? You can go on andfind something to do and earn some more money, and thenwe'll talk.""Well, I ain't going to live here.""Oh, very well, suit yourself. I'M going to live here.""You'll live where I tell you," the dentist suddenlycried, exasperated at the mincing tone she affected."Then you'll pay the rent," exclaimed Trina, quiteas angry as he."Are you my boss, I'd like to know? Who's the boss, you orI?""Who's got the money, I'd like to know?" cried Trina,flushing to her pale lips. "Answer me that, McTeague,who's got the money?""You make me sick, you and your money. Why, you're amiser. I never saw anything like it. When I waspractising, I never thought of my fees as my own; we lumpedeverything in together.""Exactly; and I'M doing the working now. I'm workingfor Uncle Oelbermann, and you're not lumping in anythingnow. I'm doing it all. Do you know what I'm doing,McTeague? I'm supporting you.""Ah, shut up; you make me sick.""You got no right to talk to me that way. I won't letyou. I--I won't have it." She caught her breath. Tearswere in her eyes."Oh, live where you like, then," said McTeague, sullenly."Well, shall we take this room then?""All right, we'll take it. But why can't you take a littleof your money an'--an'--sort of fix it up?""Not a penny, not a single penny.""Oh, I don't care what you do." And for the rest of theday the dentist and his wife did not speak.This was not the only quarrel they had during these dayswhen they were occupied in moving from their suite and inlooking for new quarters. Every hour the question of moneycame up. Trina had become more niggardly than ever since theloss of McTeague's practice. It was not mere economy withher now. It was a panic terror lest a fraction of a cent ofher little savings should be touched; a passionate eagernessto continue to save in spite of all that had happened.Trina could have easily afforded better quarters than thesingle whitewashed room at the top of the flat, but she madeMcTeague believe that it was impossible."I can still save a little," she said to herself, after theroom had been engaged; "perhaps almost as much as ever.I'll have three hundred dollars pretty soon, and Mac thinksit's only two hundred. It's almost two hundred and fifty;and I'll get a good deal out of the sale."But this sale was a long agony. It lasted a week.Everything went--everything but the few big pieces that wentwith the suite, and that belonged to the photographer. Themelodeon, the chairs, the black walnut table before whichthey were married, the extension table in the sitting-room,the kitchen table with its oilcloth cover, the framedlithographs from the English illustrated papers, the verycarpets on the floors. But Trina's heart nearly broke whenthe kitchen utensils and furnishings began to go. Everypot, every stewpan, every knife and fork, was an old friend.How she had worked over them! How clean she had kept them!What a pleasure it had been to invade that little brick-paved kitchen every morning, and to wash up and put torights after breakfast, turning on the hot water at thesink, raking down the ashes in the cook-stove, going andcoming over the warm bricks, her head in the air, singing ather work, proud in the sense of her proprietorship and herindependence! How happy had she been the day after hermarriage when she had first entered that kitchen and knewthat it was all her own! And how well she remembered herraids upon the bargain counters in the house-furnishingdepartments of the great down-town stores! And now it wasall to go. Some one else would have it all, while she wasrelegated to cheap restaurants and meals cooked by hiredservants. Night after night she sobbed herself to sleep atthe thought of her past happiness and her presentwretchedness. However, she was not alone in her unhappiness."Anyhow, I'm going to keep the steel engraving an' the stonepug dog," declared the dentist, his fist clenching. When ithad come to the sale of his office effects McTeague hadrebelled with the instinctive obstinacy of a boy, shuttinghis eyes and ears. Only little by little did Trina inducehim to part with his office furniture. He fought over everyarticle, over the little iron stove, the bed-lounge, themarble-topped centre table, the whatnot in the corner,the bound volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist," the riflemanufacturer's calendar, and the prim, military chairs. Averitable scene took place between him and his wife beforehe could bring himself to part with the steel engraving of"Lorenzo de' Medici and His Court" and the stone pug dogwith its goggle eyes."Why," he would cry, "I've had 'em ever since--ever since Ibegan; long before I knew you, Trina. That steelengraving I bought in Sacramento one day when it wasraining. I saw it in the window of a second-hand store, anda fellow gave me that stone pug dog. He was a druggist.It was in Sacramento too. We traded. I gave him a shaving-mug and a razor, and he gave me the pug dog."There were, however, two of his belongings that even Trinacould not induce him to part with."And your concertina, Mac," she prompted, as they weremaking out the list for the second-hand dealer. "Theconcertina, and--oh, yes, the canary and the bird cage.""No.""Mac, you must be reasonable. The concertina wouldbring quite a sum, and the bird cage is as good as new.I'll sell the canary to the bird-store man on KearneyStreet.""No.""If you're going to make objections to every single thing,we might as well quit. Come, now, Mac, the concertina andthe bird cage. We'll put them in Lot D.""No.""You'll have to come to it sooner or later. I'M givingup everything. I'm going to put them down, see.""No."And she could get no further than that. The dentist did notlose his temper, as in the case of the steel engraving orthe stone pug dog; he simply opposed her entreaties andpersuasions with a passive, inert obstinacy that nothingcould move. In the end Trina was obliged to submit.McTeague kept his concertina and his canary, even going sofar as to put them both away in the bedroom, attachingto them tags on which he had scrawled in immense roundletters, "Not for Sale."One evening during that same week the dentist and his wifewere in the dismantled sitting-room. The room presentedthe appearance of a wreck. The Nottingham lace curtainswere down. The extension table was heaped high with dishes,with tea and coffee pots, and with baskets of spoons andknives and forks. The melodeon was hauled out into themiddle of the floor, and covered with a sheet marked "LotA," the pictures were in a pile in a corner, the chenilleportieres were folded on top of the black walnut table. Theroom was desolate, lamentable. Trina was going over theinventory; McTeague, in his shirt sleeves, was smoking hispipe, looking stupidly out of the window. All at once therewas a brisk rapping at the door."Come in," called Trina, apprehensively. Now-a-days atevery unexpected visit she anticipated a fresh calamity.The door opened to let in a young man wearing a checkedsuit, a gay cravat, and a marvellously figured waistcoat.Trina and McTeague recognized him at once. It was theOther Dentist, the debonair fellow whose clients were thebarbers and the young women of the candy stores and soda-water fountains, the poser, the wearer of waistcoats, whobet money on greyhound races."How'do?" said this one, bowing gracefully to the McTeaguesas they stared at him distrustfully."How'do? They tell me, Doctor, that you are going out ofthe profession."McTeague muttered indistinctly behind his mustache andglowered at him."Well, say," continued the other, cheerily, "I'd like totalk business with you. That sign of yours, that big goldentooth that you got outside of your window, I don't supposeyou'll have any further use for it. Maybe I'd buy it if wecould agree on terms."Trina shot a glance at her husband. McTeague began toglower again."What do you say?" said the Other Dentist."I guess not," growled McTeague"What do you say to ten dollars?""Ten dollars!" cried Trina, her chin in the air."Well, what figure do you put on it?"Trina was about to answer when she was interrupted byMcTeague."You go out of here.""Hey? What?""You go out of here."The other retreated toward the door."You can't make small of me. Go out of here."McTeague came forward a step, his great red fist clenching.The young man fled. But half way down the stairs he pausedlong enough to call back:"You don't want to trade anything for a diploma, do you?"McTeague and his wife exchanged looks."How did he know?" exclaimed Trina, sharply. They hadinvented and spread the fiction that McTeague was merelyretiring from business, without assigning any reason. Butevidently every one knew the real cause. The humiliationwas complete now. Old Miss Baker confirmed their suspicionson this point the next day. The little retired dressmakercame down and wept with Trina over her misfortune, and didwhat she could to encourage her. But she too knew thatMcTeague had been forbidden by the authorities frompractising. Marcus had evidently left them no loophole ofescape."It's just like cutting off your husband's hands, my dear,"said Miss Baker. "And you two were so happy. When I firstsaw you together I said, 'What a pair!'"Old Grannis also called during this period of the breakingup of the McTeague household."Dreadful, dreadful," murmured the old Englishman, his handgoing tremulously to his chin. "It seems unjust; it does.But Mr. Schouler could not have set them on to do it. Ican't quite believe it of him.""Of Marcus!" cried Trina. "Hoh! Why, he threw his knife atMac one time, and another time he bit him, actually bit himwith his teeth, while they were wrestling just for fun.Marcus would do anything to injure Mac.""Dear, dear," returned Old Grannis, genuinely pained. "Ihad always believed Schouler to be such a good fellow.""That's because you're so good yourself, Mr. Grannis,"responded Trina."I tell you what, Doc," declared Heise the harness-maker,shaking his finger impressively at the dentist, "you mustfight it; you must appeal to the courts; you've beenpractising too long to be debarred now. The statute oflimitations, you know.""No, no," Trina had exclaimed, when the dentist had repeatedthis advice to her. "No, no, don't go near the law courts.I know them. The lawyers take all your money, and youlose your case. We're bad off as it is, without lawingabout it."Then at last came the sale. McTeague and Trina, whom MissBaker had invited to her room for that day, sat there sideby side, holding each other's hands, listening nervously tothe turmoil that rose to them from the direction of theirsuite. From nine o'clock till dark the crowds came andwent. All Polk Street seemed to have invaded the suite,lured on by the red flag that waved from the front windows.It was a fete, a veritable holiday, for the wholeneighborhood. People with no thought of buying presentedthemselves. Young women--the candy-store girls andflorist's apprentices--came to see the fun, walking arm inarm from room to room, making jokes about the prettylithographs and mimicking the picture of the two littlegirls saying their prayers."Look here," they would cry, "look here what she used forcurtains--Nottingham lace, actually! Whoever thinks ofbuying Nottingham lace now-a-days? Say, don't that jaryou?""And a melodeon," another one would exclaim, lifting thesheet. "A melodeon, when you can rent a piano for a dollar aweek; and say, I really believe they used to eat in thekitchen.""Dollarn-half, dollarn-half, dollarn-half, give me two,"intoned the auctioneer from the second-hand store. By noonthe crowd became a jam. Wagons backed up to the curboutside and departed heavily laden. In all directionspeople could be seen going away from the house,carrying small articles of furniture--a clock, a waterpitcher, a towel rack. Every now and then old Miss Baker,who had gone below to see how things were progressing,returned with reports of the foray."Mrs. Heise bought the chenille portieres. Mister Ryer madea bid for your bed, but a man in a gray coat bid over him.It was knocked down for three dollars and a half. TheGerman shoe-maker on the next block bought the stone pugdog. I saw our postman going away with a lot of thepictures. Zerkow has come, on my word! the rags-bottles-sacks man; he's buying lots; he bought all Doctor McTeague'sgold tape and some of the instruments. Maria's there too.That dentist on the corner took the dental engine, andwanted to get the sign, the big gold tooth," and so on andso on. Cruelest of all, however, at least to Trina, waswhen Miss Baker herself began to buy, unable to resist abargain. The last time she came up she carried a bundle ofthe gay tidies that used to hang over the chair backs."He offered them, three for a nickel," she explained toTrina, "and I thought I'd spend just a quarter. You don'tmind, now, do you, Mrs. McTeague?""Why, no, of course not, Miss Baker," answered Trina,bravely."They'll look very pretty on some of my chairs," went on thelittle old dressmaker, innocently. "See." She spread oneof them on a chair back for inspection. Trina's chinquivered."Oh, very pretty," she answered.At length that dreadful day was over. The crowd dispersed.Even the auctioneer went at last, and as he closed the doorwith a bang, the reverberation that went through the suitegave evidence of its emptiness."Come," said Trina to the dentist, "let's go down and look--take a last look."They went out of Miss Baker's room and descended to thefloor below. On the stairs, however, they were met by OldGrannis. In his hands he carried a little package. Was itpossible that he too had taken advantage of theirmisfortunes to join in the raid upon the suite?"I went in," he began, timidly, "for--for a few moments.This"--he indicated the little package he carried--"this wasput up. It was of no value but to you. I--I ventured tobid it in. I thought perhaps"--his hand went to his chin,"that you wouldn't mind; that--in fact, I bought it for you--as a present. Will you take it?" He handed the packageto Trina and hurried on. Trina tore off the wrappings.It was the framed photograph of McTeague and his wife intheir wedding finery, the one that had been takenimmediately after the marriage. It represented Trinasitting very erect in a rep armchair, holding her weddingbouquet straight before her, McTeague standing at her side,his left foot forward, one hand upon her shoulder, and theother thrust into the breast of his "Prince Albert" coat, inthe attitude of a statue of a Secretary of State."Oh, it was good of him, it was good of him," criedTrina, her eyes filling again. "I had forgotten to put itaway. Of course it was not for sale."They went on down the stairs, and arriving at the door ofthe sitting-room, opened it and looked in. It was late inthe afternoon, and there was just light enough for thedentist and his wife to see the results of that day of sale.Nothing was left, not even the carpet. It was a pillage, adevastation, the barrenness of a field after the passage ofa swarm of locusts. The room had been picked and strippedtill only the bare walls and floor remained. Here wherethey had been married, where the wedding supper had takenplace, where Trina had bade farewell to her father andmother, here where she had spent those first few hard monthsof her married life, where afterward she had grown to behappy and contented, where she had passed the long hours ofthe afternoon at her work of whittling, and where she andher husband had spent so many evenings looking out of thewindow before the lamp was lit--here in what had been herhome, nothing was left but echoes and the emptiness ofcomplete desolation. Only one thing remained. On the wallbetween the windows, in its oval glass frame, preserved bysome unknown and fearful process, a melancholy relic of avanished happiness, unsold, neglected, and forgotten, athing that nobody wanted, hung Trina's wedding bouquet.