Chapter 4

by Frank Norris

　　The days passed. McTeague had finished the operation onTrina's teeth. She did not come any more to the "Parlors."Matters had readjusted themselves a little between the twoduring the last sittings. Trina yet stood upon her reserve,and McTeague still felt himself shambling and ungainly inher presence; but that constraint and embarrassment that hadfollowed upon McTeague's blundering declaration broke uplittle by little. In spite of themselves they weregradually resuming the same relative positions they hadoccupied when they had first met.But McTeague suffered miserably for all that. He neverwould have Trina, he saw that clearly. She was too good forhim; too delicate, too refined, too prettily made for him,who was so coarse, so enormous, so stupid. She was forsomeone else--Marcus, no doubt--or at least for some finer-grained man. She should have gone to some other dentist;the young fellow on the corner, for instance, the poser, therider of bicycles, the courser of grey-hounds. McTeaguebegan to loathe and to envy this fellow. He spied upon himgoing in and out of his office, and noted his salmon-pinkneckties and his astonishing waistcoats.One Sunday, a few days after Trina's last sitting, McTeaguemet Marcus Schouler at his table in the car conductors'coffee-joint, next to the harness shop."What you got to do this afternoon, Mac?" inquired theother, as they ate their suet pudding."Nothing, nothing," replied McTeague, shaking his head. Hismouth was full of pudding. It made him warm to eat, andlittle beads of perspiration stood across the bridge of hisnose. He looked forward to an afternoon passed in hisoperating chair as usual. On leaving his "Parlors" he hadput ten cents into his pitcher and had left it at Frenna'sto be filled."What do you say we take a walk, huh?" said Marcus. "Ah,that's the thing--a walk, a long walk, by damn! It'll beouta sight. I got to take three or four of the dogs out forexercise, anyhow. Old Grannis thinks they need ut. We'llwalk out to the Presidio."Of late it had become the custom of the two friends to takelong walks from time to time. On holidays and on thoseSunday afternoons when Marcus was not absent with theSieppes they went out together, sometimes to the park,sometimes to the Presidio, sometimes even across the bay.They took a great pleasure in each other's company, butsilently and with reservation, having the masculine horrorof any demonstration of friendship.They walked for upwards of five hours that afternoon, outthe length of California Street, and across the PresidioReservation to the Golden Gate. Then they turned, and,following the line of the shore, brought up at the CliffHouse. Here they halted for beer, Marcus swearing that hismouth was as dry as a hay-bin. Before starting on theirwalk they had gone around to the little dog hospital, andMarcus had let out four of the convalescents, crazed withjoy at the release."Look at that dog," he cried to McTeague, showing him afinely-bred Irish setter. "That's the dog that belongedto the duck on the avenue, the dog we called for that day.I've bought 'um. The duck thought he had the distemper, andjust threw 'um away. Nothun wrong with 'um but a littlecatarrh. Ain't he a bird? Say, ain't he a bird? Look athis flag; it's perfect; and see how he carries his tail on aline with his back. See how stiff and white his whiskersare. Oh, by damn! you can't fool me on a dog. That dog's awinner."At the Cliff House the two sat down to their beer in a quietcorner of the billiard-room. There were but two players.Somewhere in another part of the building a mammoth music-box was jangling out a quickstep. From outside came thelong, rhythmical rush of the surf and the sonorous barkingof the seals upon the seal rocks. The four dogs curledthemselves down upon the sanded floor."Here's how," said Marcus, half emptying his glass. "Ah-h!"he added, with a long breath, "that's good; it is, for afact."For the last hour of their walk Marcus had done nearly allthe talking. McTeague merely answering him by uncertainmovements of the head. For that matter, the dentist hadbeen silent and preoccupied throughout the whole afternoon.At length Marcus noticed it. As he set down his glass witha bang he suddenly exclaimed:"What's the matter with you these days, Mac? You got a beanabout somethun, hey? Spit ut out.""No, no," replied McTeague, looking about on the floor,rolling his eyes; "nothing, no, no.""Ah, rats!" returned the other. McTeague kept silence. Thetwo billiard players departed. The huge music-box struckinto a fresh tune."Huh!" exclaimed Marcus, with a short laugh, "guess you'rein love."McTeague gasped, and shuffled his enormous feet under thetable."Well, somethun's bitun you, anyhow," pursued Marcus."Maybe I can help you. We're pals, you know. Better tellme what's up; guess we can straighten ut out. Ah, goon; spit ut out."The situation was abominable. McTeague could not rise toit. Marcus was his best friend, his only friend. They were"pals" and McTeague was very fond of him. Yet they wereboth in love, presumably, with the same girl, and now Marcuswould try and force the secret out of him; would rushblindly at the rock upon which the two must split, stirredby the very best of motives, wishing only to be of service.Besides this, there was nobody to whom McTeague would havebetter preferred to tell his troubles than to Marcus, andyet about this trouble, the greatest trouble of his life, hemust keep silent; must refrain from speaking of it to Marcusabove everybody.McTeague began dimly to feel that life was too much for him.How had it all come about? A month ago he was perfectlycontent; he was calm and peaceful, taking his littlepleasures as he found them. His life had shaped itself;was, no doubt, to continue always along these same lines. Awoman had entered his small world and instantly there wasdiscord. The disturbing element had appeared. Wherever thewoman had put her foot a score of distressing complicationshad sprung up, like the sudden growth of strange andpuzzling flowers."Say, Mac, go on; let's have ut straight," urged Marcus,leaning toward him. "Has any duck been doing you dirt?" hecried, his face crimson on the instant."No," said McTeague, helplessly."Come along, old man," persisted Marcus; "let's have ut.What is the row? I'll do all I can to help you."It was more than McTeague could bear. The situation had gotbeyond him. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep in hispockets, his head rolled forward."It's--it's Miss Sieppe," he said."Trina, my cousin? How do you mean?" inquired Marcussharply."I--I--I don' know," stammered McTeague, hopelesslyconfounded."You mean," cried Marcus, suddenly enlightened, "thatyou are--that you, too."McTeague stirred in his chair, looking at the walls of theroom, avoiding the other's glance. He nodded his head, thensuddenly broke out:"I can't help it. It ain't my fault, is it?"Marcus was struck dumb; he dropped back in his chairbreathless. Suddenly McTeague found his tongue."I tell you, Mark, I can't help it. I don't know how ithappened. It came on so slow that I was, that--that--thatit was done before I knew it, before I could help myself. Iknow we're pals, us two, and I knew how--how you and MissSieppe were. I know now, I knew then; but that wouldn'thave made any difference. Before I knew it--it--it--there Iwas. I can't help it. I wouldn't 'a' had ut happen foranything, if I could 'a' stopped it, but I don' know, it'ssomething that's just stronger than you are, that's all.She came there--Miss Sieppe came to the parlors there threeor four times a week, and she was the first girl I had everknown,--and you don' know! Why, I was so close to her Itouched her face every minute, and her mouth, and smelt herhair and her breath--oh, you don't know anything about it.I can't give you any idea. I don' know exactly myself; Ionly know how I'm fixed. I--I--it's been done; it's toolate, there's no going back. Why, I can't think of anythingelse night and day. It's everything. It's--it's--oh, it'severything! I--I--why, Mark, it's everything--I can'texplain." He made a helpless movement with both hands.Never had McTeague been so excited; never had he made solong a speech. His arms moved in fierce, uncertaingestures, his face flushed, his enormous jaws shut togetherwith a sharp click at every pause. It was like somecolossal brute trapped in a delicate, invisible mesh,raging, exasperated, powerless to extricate himself.Marcus Schouler said nothing. There was a long silence.Marcus got up and walked to the window and stood lookingout, but seeing nothing. "Well, who would have thought ofthis?" he muttered under his breath. Here was a fix.Marcus cared for Trina. There was no doubt in his mindabout that. He looked forward eagerly to the Sundayafternoon excursions. He liked to be with Trina. He, too,felt the charm of the little girl--the charm of the small,pale forehead; the little chin thrust out as if inconfidence and innocence; the heavy, odorous crown of blackhair. He liked her immensely. Some day he would speak; hewould ask her to marry him. Marcus put off this matter ofmarriage to some future period; it would be some time--ayear, perhaps, or two. The thing did not take definiteshape in his mind. Marcus "kept company" with his cousinTrina, but he knew plenty of other girls. For the matter ofthat, he liked all girls pretty well. Just now thesingleness and strength of McTeague's passion startled him.McTeague would marry Trina that very afternoon if she wouldhave him; but would he--Marcus? No, he would not; if itcame to that, no, he would not. Yet he knew he liked Trina.He could say--yes, he could say--he loved her. She was his"girl." The Sieppes acknowledged him as Trina's "youngman." Marcus came back to the table and sat down sidewaysupon it."Well, what are we going to do about it, Mac?" he said."I don' know," answered McTeague, in great distress. "Idon' want anything to--to come between us, Mark.""Well, nothun will, you bet!" vociferated the other. "No,sir; you bet not, Mac."Marcus was thinking hard. He could see very clearly thatMcTeague loved Trina more than he did; that in some strangeway this huge, brutal fellow was capable of a greaterpassion than himself, who was twice as clever. SuddenlyMarcus jumped impetuously to a resolution."Well, say, Mac," he cried, striking the table with hisfist, "go ahead. I guess you--you want her pretty bad. I'llpull out; yes, I will. I'll give her up to you, old man."The sense of his own magnanimity all at once overcameMarcus. He saw himself as another man, very noble, self-sacrificing; he stood apart and watched this second selfwith boundless admiration and with infinite pity. Hewas so good, so magnificent, so heroic, that he almostsobbed. Marcus made a sweeping gesture of resignation,throwing out both his arms, crying:"Mac, I'll give her up to you. I won't stand between you."There were actually tears in Marcus's eyes as he spoke.There was no doubt he thought himself sincere. At thatmoment he almost believed he loved Trina conscientiously,that he was sacrificing himself for the sake of his friend.The two stood up and faced each other, gripping hands. Itwas a great moment; even McTeague felt the drama of it.What a fine thing was this friendship between men! thedentist treats his friend for an ulcerated tooth and refusespayment; the friend reciprocates by giving up his girl.This was nobility. Their mutual affection and esteemsuddenly increased enormously. It was Damon and Pythias; itwas David and Jonathan; nothing could ever estrange them.Now it was for life or death."I'm much obliged," murmured McTeague. He could think ofnothing better to say. "I'm much obliged," he repeated;"much obliged, Mark.""That's all right, that's all right," returned MarcusSchouler, bravely, and it occurred to him to add, "You'll behappy together. Tell her for me--tell her---tell her----"Marcus could not go on. He wrung the dentist's handsilently.It had not appeared to either of them that Trina mightrefuse McTeague. McTeague's spirits rose at once. InMarcus's withdrawal he fancied he saw an end to all hisdifficulties. Everything would come right, after all. Thestrained, exalted state of Marcus's nerves ended by puttinghim into fine humor as well. His grief suddenly changed toan excess of gaiety. The afternoon was a success. Theyslapped each other on the back with great blows of the openpalms, and they drank each other's health in a third roundof beer.Ten minutes after his renunciation of Trina Sieppe, Marcusastounded McTeague with a tremendous feat."Looka here, Mac. I know somethun you can't do. I'll betyou two bits I'll stump you." They each put a quarter onthe table. "Now watch me," cried Marcus. He caught upa billiard ball from the rack, poised it a moment in frontof his face, then with a sudden, horrifying distension ofhis jaws crammed it into his mouth, and shut his lips overit.For an instant McTeague was stupefied, his eyes bulging.Then an enormous laugh shook him. He roared and shouted,swaying in his chair, slapping his knee. What a josher wasthis Marcus! Sure, you never could tell what he would donext. Marcus slipped the ball out, wiped it on thetablecloth, and passed it to McTeague."Now let's see you do it."McTeague fell suddenly grave. The matter was serious. Heparted his thick mustaches and opened his enormous jaws likean anaconda. The ball disappeared inside his mouth. Marcusapplauded vociferously, shouting, "Good work!" McTeaguereached for the money and put it in his vest pocket, noddinghis head with a knowing air.Then suddenly his face grew purple, his jaws movedconvulsively, he pawed at his cheeks with both hands. Thebilliard ball had slipped into his mouth easily enough; now,however, he could not get it out again.It was terrible. The dentist rose to his feet, stumblingabout among the dogs, his face working, his eyes starting.Try as he would, he could not stretch his jaws wide enoughto slip the ball out. Marcus lost his wits, swearing at thetop of his voice. McTeague sweated with terror;inarticulate sounds came from his crammed mouth; he wavedhis arms wildly; all the four dogs caught the excitement andbegan to bark. A waiter rushed in, the two billiard playersreturned, a little crowd formed. There was a veritablescene.All at once the ball slipped out of McTeague's jaws aseasily as it had gone in. What a relief! He dropped into achair, wiping his forehead, gasping for breath.On the strength of the occasion Marcus Schouler invited theentire group to drink with him.By the time the affair was over and the group dispersed itwas after five. Marcus and McTeague decided they wouldride home on the cars. But they soon found this impossible.The dogs would not follow. Only Alexander, Marcus's newsetter, kept his place at the rear of the car. The otherthree lost their senses immediately, running wildly aboutthe streets with their heads in the air, or suddenlystarting off at a furious gallop directly away from the car.Marcus whistled and shouted and lathered with rage in vain.The two friends were obliged to walk. When they finallyreached Polk Street, Marcus shut up the three dogs in thehospital. Alexander he brought back to the flat with him.There was a minute back yard in the rear, where Marcus hadmade a kennel for Alexander out of an old water barrel.Before he thought of his own supper Marcus put Alexander tobed and fed him a couple of dog biscuits. McTeague hadfollowed him to the yard to keep him company. Alexandersettled to his supper at once, chewing vigorously at thebiscuit, his head on one side."What you going to do about this--about that--about--aboutmy cousin now, Mac?" inquired Marcus.McTeague shook his head helplessly. It was dark by now andcold. The little back yard was grimy and full of odors.McTeague was tired with their long walk. All his uneasinessabout his affair with Trina had returned. No, surely shewas not for him. Marcus or some other man would win her inthe end. What could she ever see to desire in him--in him,a clumsy giant, with hands like wooden mallets? She hadtold him once that she would not marry him. Was that notfinal?"I don' know what to do, Mark," he said."Well, you must make up to her now," answered Marcus. "Goand call on her."McTeague started. He had not thought of calling on her.The idea frightened him a little."Of course," persisted Marcus, "that's the proper caper.What did you expect? Did you think you was never going tosee her again?""I don' know, I don' know," responded the dentist, lookingstupidly at the dog."You know where they live," continued Marcus Schouler."Over at B Street station, across the bay. I'll take youover there whenever you want to go. I tell you what, we'llgo over there Washington's Birthday. That's this nextWednesday; sure, they'll be glad to see you." It was good ofMarcus. All at once McTeague rose to an appreciation ofwhat his friend was doing for him. He stammered:"Say, Mark--you're--you're all right, anyhow.""Why, pshaw!" said Marcus. "That's all right, old man. I'dlike to see you two fixed, that's all. We'll go overWednesday, sure."They turned back to the house. Alexander left off eatingand watched them go away, first with one eye, then with theother. But he was too self-respecting to whimper. However,by the time the two friends had reached the second landingon the back stairs a terrible commotion was under way in thelittle yard. They rushed to an open window at the end of thehall and looked down.A thin board fence separated the flat's back yard from thatused by the branch post-office. In the latter place lived acollie dog. He and Alexander had smelt each other out,blowing through the cracks of the fence at each other.Suddenly the quarrel had exploded on either side of thefence. The dogs raged at each other, snarling and barking,frantic with hate. Their teeth gleamed. They tore at thefence with their front paws. They filled the whole nightwith their clamor."By damn!" cried Marcus, "they don't love each other. Justlisten; wouldn't that make a fight if the two got together?Have to try it some day."