Chapter 6

by Frank Norris

　　No, Trina did not know. "Do I love him? Do I love him?" Athousand times she put the question to herself during thenext two or three days. At night she hardly slept, but laybroad awake for hours in her little, gayly painted bed, withits white netting, torturing herself with doubts andquestions. At times she remembered the scene in thestation with a veritable agony of shame, and at other timesshe was ashamed to recall it with a thrill of joy. Nothingcould have been more sudden, more unexpected, than thatsurrender of herself. For over a year she had thought thatMarcus would some day be her husband. They would bemarried, she supposed, some time in the future, she did notknow exactly when; the matter did not take definite shape inher mind. She liked Cousin Mark very well. And thensuddenly this cross-current had set in; this blond giant hadappeared, this huge, stolid fellow, with his immense, crudestrength. She had not loved him at first, that was certain.The day he had spoken to her in his "Parlors" she had onlybeen terrified. If he had confined himself to merelyspeaking, as did Marcus, to pleading with her, to wooing herat a distance, forestalling her wishes, showing her littleattentions, sending her boxes of candy, she could haveeasily withstood him. But he had only to take her in hisarms, to crush down her struggle with his enormous strength,to subdue her, conquer her by sheer brute force, and shegave up in an instant.But why--why had she done so? Why did she feel the desire,the necessity of being conquered by a superior strength?Why did it please her? Why had it suddenly thrilled herfrom head to foot with a quick, terrifying gust of passion,the like of which she had never known? Never at his besthad Marcus made her feel like that, and yet she had alwaysthought she cared for Cousin Mark more than for any oneelse.When McTeague had all at once caught her in his huge arms,something had leaped to life in her--something that hadhitherto lain dormant, something strong and overpowering.It frightened her now as she thought of it, this second selfthat had wakened within her, and that shouted and clamoredfor recognition. And yet, was it to be feared? Was itsomething to be ashamed of? Was it not, after all, natural,clean, spontaneous? Trina knew that she was a pure girl;knew that this sudden commotion within her carried with itno suggestion of vice.Dimly, as figures seen in a waking dream, these ideasfloated through Trina's mind. It was quite beyond herto realize them clearly; she could not know what they meant.Until that rainy day by the shore of the bay Trina had livedher life with as little self-consciousness as a tree. Shewas frank, straightforward, a healthy, natural human being,without sex as yet. She was almost like a boy. At oncethere had been a mysterious disturbance. The woman withinher suddenly awoke.Did she love McTeague? Difficult question. Did she choosehim for better or for worse, deliberately, of her own freewill, or was Trina herself allowed even a choice in thetaking of that step that was to make or mar her life? TheWoman is awakened, and, starting from her sleep, catchesblindly at what first her newly opened eyes light upon. Itis a spell, a witchery, ruled by chance alone, inexplicable--a fairy queen enamored of a clown with ass's ears.McTeague had awakened the Woman, and, whether she would orno, she was his now irrevocably; struggle against it as shewould, she belonged to him, body and soul, for life or fordeath. She had not sought it, she had not desired it. Thespell was laid upon her. Was it a blessing? Was it acurse? It was all one; she was his, indissolubly, for evilor for good.And he? The very act of submission that bound the woman tohim forever had made her seem less desirable in his eyes.Their undoing had already begun. Yet neither of them was toblame. From the first they had not sought each other.Chance had brought them face to face, and mysteriousinstincts as ungovernable as the winds of heaven were atwork knitting their lives together. Neither of them hadasked that this thing should be--that their destinies, theirvery souls, should be the sport of chance. If they couldhave known, they would have shunned the fearful risk. Butthey were allowed no voice in the matter. Why should it allbe?It had been on a Wednesday that the scene in the B Streetstation had taken place. Throughout the rest of the week,at every hour of the day, Trina asked herself the samequestion: "Do I love him? Do I really love him? Is thiswhat love is like?" As she recalled McTeague--recalledhis huge, square-cut head, his salient jaw, his shock ofyellow hair, his heavy, lumbering body, his slow wits--shefound little to admire in him beyond his physical strength,and at such moments she shook her head decisively. "No,surely she did not love him." Sunday afternoon, however,McTeague called. Trina had prepared a little speech forhim. She was to tell him that she did not know what hadbeen the matter with her that Wednesday afternoon; that shehad acted like a bad girl; that she did not love him wellenough to marry him; that she had told him as much oncebefore.McTeague saw her alone in the little front parlor. Theinstant she appeared he came straight towards her. She sawwhat he was bent upon doing. "Wait a minute," she cried,putting out her hands. "Wait. You don't understand. Ihave got something to say to you." She might as well havetalked to the wind. McTeague put aside her hands with asingle gesture, and gripped her to him in a bearlike embracethat all but smothered her. Trina was but a reed before thatgiant strength. McTeague turned her face to his and kissedher again upon the mouth. Where was all Trina's resolvethen? Where was her carefully prepared little speech?Where was all her hesitation and torturing doubts of thelast few days? She clasped McTeague's huge red neck withboth her slender arms; she raised her adorable little chinand kissed him in return, exclaiming: "Oh, I do love you! Ido love you!" Never afterward were the two so happy as atthat moment.A little later in that same week, when Marcus and McTeaguewere taking lunch at the car conductors' coffee-joint, theformer suddenly exclaimed:"Say, Mac, now that you've got Trina, you ought to do morefor her. By damn! you ought to, for a fact. Why don't youtake her out somewhere--to the theatre, or somewhere? Youain't on to your job."Naturally, McTeague had told Marcus of his success withTrina. Marcus had taken on a grand air."You've got her, have you? Well, I'm glad of it, old man. Iam, for a fact. I know you'll be happy with her. Iknow how I would have been. I forgive you; yes, I forgiveyou, freely."McTeague had not thought of taking Trina to the theatre."You think I ought to, Mark?" he inquired, hesitating.Marcus answered, with his mouth full of suet pudding:"Why, of course. That's the proper caper.""Well--well, that's so. The theatre--that's the word.""Take her to the variety show at the Orpheum. There's agood show there this week; you'll have to take Mrs. Sieppe,too, of course," he added. Marcus was not sure of himselfas regarded certain proprieties, nor, for that matter, wereany of the people of the little world of Polk Street. Theshop girls, the plumbers' apprentices, the smalltradespeople, and their like, whose social position was notclearly defined, could never be sure how far they could goand yet preserve their "respectability." When they wishedto be "proper," they invariably overdid the thing. It wasnot as if they belonged to the "tough" element, who had noappearances to keep up. Polk Street rubbed elbows with the"avenue" one block above. There were certain limits whichits dwellers could not overstep; but unfortunately for them,these limits were poorly defined. They could never be sureof themselves. At an unguarded moment they might be takenfor "toughs," so they generally erred in the otherdirection, and were absurdly formal. No people have akeener eye for the amenities than those whose socialposition is not assured."Oh, sure, you'll have to take her mother," insisted Marcus."It wouldn't be the proper racket if you didn't."McTeague undertook the affair. It was an ordeal. Never inhis life had he been so perturbed, so horribly anxious. Hecalled upon Trina the following Wednesday and madearrangements. Mrs. Sieppe asked if little August might beincluded. It would console him for the loss of hissteamboat."Sure, sure," said McTeague. "August too--everybody," headded, vaguely."We always have to leave so early," complained Trina, "inorder to catch the last boat. Just when it's becominginteresting."At this McTeague, acting upon a suggestion of MarcusSchouler's, insisted they should stay at the flat overnight. Marcus and the dentist would give up their rooms tothem and sleep at the dog hospital. There was a bed therein the sick ward that old Grannis sometimes occupied when abad case needed watching. All at once McTeague had an idea,a veritable inspiration."And we'll--we'll--we'll have--what's the matter with havingsomething to eat afterward in my "Parlors?""Vairy goot," commented Mrs. Sieppe. "Bier, eh? And somedamales.""Oh, I love tamales!" exclaimed Trina, clasping herhands.McTeague returned to the city, rehearsing his instructionsover and over. The theatre party began to assume tremendousproportions. First of all, he was to get the seats, thethird or fourth row from the front, on the left-hand side,so as to be out of the hearing of the drums in theorchestra; he must make arrangements about the rooms withMarcus, must get in the beer, but not the tamales; must buyfor himself a white lawn tie--so Marcus directed; must lookto it that Maria Macapa put his room in perfect order; and,finally, must meet the Sieppes at the ferry slip at half-past seven the following Monday night.The real labor of the affair began with the buying of thetickets. At the theatre McTeague got into wrong entrances;was sent from one wicket to another; was bewildered,confused; misunderstood directions; was at one momentsuddenly convinced that he had not enough money with him,and started to return home. Finally he found himself at thebox-office wicket."Is it here you buy your seats?""How many?""Is it here--""What night do you want 'em? Yes, sir, here's the place."McTeague gravely delivered himself of the formula he hadbeen reciting for the last dozen hours."I want four seats for Monday night in the fourth row fromthe front, and on the right-hand side.""Right hand as you face the house or as you face thestage?" McTeague was dumfounded."I want to be on the right-hand side," he insisted,stolidly; adding, "in order to be away from the drums.""Well, the drums are on the right of the orchestra as youface the stage," shouted the other impatiently; "you want tothe left, then, as you face the house.""I want to be on the right-hand side," persisted thedentist.Without a word the seller threw out four tickets with amagnificent, supercilious gesture."There's four seats on the right-hand side, then, and you'reright up against the drums.""But I don't want to be near the drums," protested McTeague,beginning to perspire."Do you know what you want at all?" said the ticket sellerwith calmness, thrusting his head at McTeague. The dentistknew that he had hurt this young man's feelings."I want--I want," he stammered. The seller slammed down aplan of the house in front of him and began to explainexcitedly. It was the one thing lacking to completeMcTeague's confusion."There are your seats," finished the seller, shoving thetickets into McTeague's hands. "They are the fourth rowfrom the front, and away from the drums. Now are yousatisfied?""Are they on the right-hand side? I want on the right--no,I want on the left. I want--I don' know, I don' know."The seller roared. McTeague moved slowly away, gazingstupidly at the blue slips of pasteboard. Two girls tookhis place at the wicket. In another moment McTeague cameback, peering over the girls' shoulders and calling to theseller:"Are these for Monday night?"The other disdained reply. McTeague retreated againtimidly, thrusting the tickets into his immense wallet. Fora moment he stood thoughtful on the steps of the entrance.Then all at once he became enraged, he did not know exactlywhy; somehow he felt himself slighted. Once more he cameback to the wicket."You can't make small of me," he shouted over the girls'shoulders; "you--you can't make small of me. I'll thump youin the head, you little--you little--you little--little--little pup." The ticket seller shrugged his shoulderswearily. "A dollar and a half," he said to the two girls.McTeague glared at him and breathed loudly. Finally hedecided to let the matter drop. He moved away, but on thesteps was once more seized with a sense of injury andoutraged dignity."You can't make small of me," he called back a last time,wagging his head and shaking his fist. "I will--I will--Iwill--yes, I will." He went off muttering.At last Monday night came. McTeague met the Sieppes at theferry, dressed in a black Prince Albert coat and his bestslate-blue trousers, and wearing the made-up lawn necktiethat Marcus had selected for him. Trina was very pretty inthe black dress that McTeague knew so well. She wore a pairof new gloves. Mrs. Sieppe had on lisle-thread mits, andcarried two bananas and an orange in a net reticule. "ForOwgooste," she confided to him. Owgooste was in aFauntleroy "costume" very much too small for him. Alreadyhe had been crying."Woult you pelief, Doktor, dot bube has torn his stockunalreatty? Walk in der front, you; stop cryun. Where is dotberliceman?"At the door of the theatre McTeague was suddenly seized witha panic terror. He had lost the tickets. He tore throughhis pockets, ransacked his wallet. They were nowhere to befound. All at once he remembered, and with a gasp of reliefremoved his hat and took them out from beneath thesweatband.The party entered and took their places. It was absurdlyearly. The lights were all darkened, the ushers stood underthe galleries in groups, the empty auditorium echoing withtheir noisy talk. Occasionally a waiter with his tray andclean white apron sauntered up and doun the aisle. Directlyin front of them was the great iron curtain of the stage,painted with all manner of advertisements. From behind thiscame a noise of hammering and of occasional loud voices.While waiting they studied their programmes. First wasan overture by the orchestra, after which came "TheGleasons, in their mirth-moving musical farce, entitled'McMonnigal's Court-ship.'" This was to be followed by "TheLamont Sisters, Winnie and Violet, serio-comiques and skirtdancers." And after this came a great array of other"artists" and "specialty performers," musical wonders,acrobats, lightning artists, ventriloquists, and last ofall, "The feature of the evening, the crowning scientificachievement of the nineteenth century, the kinetoscope."McTeague was excited, dazzled. In five years he had notbeen twice to the theatre. Now he beheld himself invitinghis "girl" and her mother to accompany him. He began tofeel that he was a man of the world. He ordered a cigar.Meanwhile the house was filling up. A few side bracketswere turned on. The ushers ran up and down the aisles,stubs of tickets between their thumb and finger, and fromevery part of the auditorium could be heard the sharp clap-clapping of the seats as the ushers flipped them down. Abuzz of talk arose. In the gallery a street gamin whistledshrilly, and called to some friends on the other side of thehouse."Are they go-wun to begin pretty soon, ma?" whined Owgoostefor the fifth or sixth time; adding, "Say, ma, can't I havesome candy?" A cadaverous little boy had appeared in theiraisle, chanting, "Candies, French mixed candies, popcorn,peanuts and candy." The orchestra entered, each mancrawling out from an opening under the stage, hardly largerthan the gate of a rabbit hutch. At every instant now thecrowd increased; there were but few seats that were nottaken. The waiters hurried up and down the aisles, theirtrays laden with beer glasses. A smell of cigar-smokefilled the air, and soon a faint blue haze rose from allcorners of the house."Ma, when are they go-wun to begin?" cried Owgooste. As hespoke the iron advertisement curtain rose, disclosing thecurtain proper underneath. This latter curtain was quite anaffair. Upon it was painted a wonderful picture. A flightof marble steps led down to a stream of water; two whiteswans, their necks arched like the capital letter S,floated about. At the head of the marble steps were twovases filled with red and yellow flowers, while at the footwas moored a gondola. This gondola was full of red velvetrugs that hung over the side and trailed in the water. Inthe prow of the gondola a young man in vermilion tights helda mandolin in his left hand, and gave his right to a girl inwhite satin. A King Charles spaniel, dragging a leading-string in the shape of a huge pink sash, followed the girl.Seven scarlet roses were scattered upon the two loweststeps, and eight floated in the water."Ain't that pretty, Mac?" exclaimed Trina, turning to thedentist."Ma, ain't they go-wun to begin now-wow?" whined Owgooste.Suddenly the lights all over the house blazed up. "Ah!"said everybody all at once."Ain't ut crowdut?" murmured Mr. Sieppe. Every seat wastaken; many were even standing up."I always like it better when there is a crowd," said Trina.She was in great spirits that evening. Her round, pale facewas positively pink.The orchestra banged away at the overture, suddenlyfinishing with a great flourish of violins. A short pausefollowed. Then the orchestra played a quick-step strain,and the curtain rose on an interior furnished with two redchairs and a green sofa. A girl in a short blue dress andblack stockings entered in a hurry and began to dust the twochairs. She was in a great temper, talking very fast,disclaiming against the "new lodger." It appeared that thislatter never paid his rent; that he was given to late hours.Then she came down to the footlights and began to sing in atremendous voice, hoarse and flat, almost like a man's. Thechorus, of a feeble originality, ran:"Oh, how happy I will be,When my darling's face I'll see;Oh, tell him for to meet me in the moonlight,Down where the golden lilies bloom."The orchestra played the tune of this chorus a secondtime, with certain variations, while the girl danced to it.She sidled to one side of the stage and kicked, then sidledto the other and kicked again. As she finished with thesong, a man, evidently the lodger in question, came in.Instantly McTeague exploded in a roar of laughter. The manwas intoxicated, his hat was knocked in, one end of hiscollar was unfastened and stuck up into his face, his watch-chain dangled from his pocket, and a yellow satin slipperwas tied to a button-hole of his vest; his nose wasvermilion, one eye was black and blue. After a shortdialogue with the girl, a third actor appeared. He wasdressed like a little boy, the girl's younger brother. Hewore an immense turned-down collar, and was continuallydoing hand-springs and wonderful back somersaults. The"act" devolved upon these three people; the lodger makinglove to the girl in the short blue dress, the boy playingall manner of tricks upon him, giving him tremendous digs inthe ribs or slaps upon the back that made him cough, pullingchairs from under him, running on all fours between his legsand upsetting him, knocking him over at inopportune moments.Every one of his falls was accentuated by a bang upon thebass drum. The whole humor of the "act" seemed to consistin the tripping up of the intoxicated lodger.This horse-play delighted McTeague beyond measure. Heroared and shouted every time the lodger went down, slappinghis knee, wagging his head. Owgooste crowed shrilly,clapping his hands and continually asking, "What did he say,ma? What did he say?" Mrs. Sieppe laughed immoderately, herhuge fat body shaking like a mountain of jelly. Sheexclaimed from time to time, "Ach, Gott, dot fool!" EvenTrina was moved, laughing demurely, her lips closed, puttingone hand with its new glove to her mouth.The performance went on. Now it was the "musical marvels,"two men extravagantly made up as negro minstrels, withimmense shoes and plaid vests. They seemed to be able towrestle a tune out of almost anything--glass bottles, cigar-box fiddles, strings of sleigh-bells, even graduated brasstubes, which they rubbed with resined fingers. McTeaguewas stupefied with admiration ."That's what you call musicians," he announced gravely."Home, Sweet Home," played upon a trombone. Think of that!Art could go no farther.The acrobats left him breathless. They were dazzling youngmen with beautifully parted hair, continually makinggraceful gestures to the audience. In one of them thedentist fancied he saw a strong resemblance to the boy whohad tormented the intoxicated lodger and who had turned suchmarvellous somersaults. Trina could not bear to watch theirantics. She turned away her head with a little shudder."It always makes me sick," she explained.The beautiful young lady, "The Society Contralto," inevening dress, who sang the sentimental songs, and carriedthe sheets of music at which she never looked, pleasedMcTeague less. Trina, however, was captivated. She grewpensive over"You do not love me--no;Bid me good-by and go;"and split her new gloves in her enthusiasm when it wasfinished."Don't you love sad music, Mac?" she murmured.Then came the two comedians. They talked with fearfulrapidity; their wit and repartee seemed inexhaustible."As I was going down the street yesterday--""Ah! as you were going down the street--all right.""I saw a girl at a window----""You saw a girl at a window.""And this girl she was a corker----""Ah! as you were going down the street yesterday yousaw a girl at a window, and this girl she was a corker. Allright, go on."The other comedian went on. The joke was suddenly evolved.A certain phrase led to a song, which was sung withlightning rapidity, each performer making precisely the samegestures at precisely the same instant. They wereirresistible. McTeague, though he caught but a third of thejokes, could have listened all night.After the comedians had gone out, the iron advertisementcurtain was let down."What comes now?" said McTeague, bewildered."It's the intermission of fifteen minutes now."The musicians disappeared through the rabbit hutch, and theaudience stirred and stretched itself. Most of the youngmen left their seats.During this intermission McTeague and his party had"refreshments." Mrs. Sieppe and Trina had Queen Charlottes,McTeague drank a glass of beer, Owgooste ate the orange andone of the bananas. He begged for a glass of lemonade,which was finally given him."Joost to geep um quiet," observed Mrs. Sieppe.But almost immediately after drinking his lemonade Owgoostewas seized with a sudden restlessness. He twisted andwriggled in his seat, swinging his legs violently, lookingabout him with eyes full of a vague distress. At length,just as the musicians were returning, he stood up andwhispered energetically in his mother's ear. Mrs. Sieppewas exasperated at once."No, no," she cried, reseating him brusquely.The performance was resumed. A lightning artist appeared,drawing caricatures and portraits with incredible swiftness.He even went so far as to ask for subjects from theaudience, and the names of prominent men were shouted to himfrom the gallery. He drew portraits of the President, ofGrant, of Washington, of Napoleon Bonaparte, of Bismarck, ofGaribaldi, of P. T. Barnum.And so the evening passed. The hall grew very hot, and thesmoke of innumerable cigars made the eyes smart. A thickblue mist hung low over the heads of the audience. The airwas full of varied smells--the smell of stale cigars, offlat beer, of orange peel, of gas, of sachet powders, and ofcheap perfumery.One "artist" after another came upon the stage. McTeague'sattention never wandered for a minute. Trina and hermother enjoyed themselves hugely. At every moment they madecomments to one another, their eyes never leaving the stage."Ain't dot fool joost too funny?""That's a pretty song. Don't you like that kind of a song?""Wonderful! It's wonderful! Yes, yes, wonderful! That'sthe word."Owgooste, however, lost interest. He stood up in his place,his back to the stage, chewing a piece of orange peel andwatching a little girl in her father's lap across the aisle,his eyes fixed in a glassy, ox-like stare. But he wasuneasy. He danced from one foot to the other, and atintervals appealed in hoarse whispers to his mother, whodisdained an answer."Ma, say, ma-ah," he whined, abstractedly chewing his orangepeel, staring at the little girl."Ma-ah, say, ma." At times his monotonous plaint reachedhis mother's consciousness. She suddenly realized what thiswas that was annoying her."Owgooste, will you sit down?" She caught him up all atonce, and jammed him down into his place. "Be quiet, den;loog; listun at der yunge girls."Three young women and a young man who played a zitheroccupied the stage. They were dressed in Tyrolese costume;they were yodlers, and sang in German about "mountain tops"and "bold hunters" and the like. The yodling chorus was amarvel of flute-like modulations. The girls were reallypretty, and were not made up in the least. Their "turn" hada great success. Mrs. Sieppe was entranced. Instantly sheremembered her girlhood and her native Swiss village."Ach, dot is heavunly; joost like der old country. Meingran'mutter used to be one of der mos' famous yodlers. WhenI was leedle, I haf seen dem joost like dat.""Ma-ah," began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as the yodlershad departed. He could not keep still an instant; hetwisted from side to side, swinging his legs with incredibleswiftness."Ma-ah, I want to go ho-ome.""Pehave!" exclaimed his mother, shaking him by the arm;"loog, der leedle girl is watchun you. Dis is der last dimeI take you to der blay, you see.""I don't ca-are; I'm sleepy." At length, to their greatrelief, he went to sleep, his head against his mother's arm.The kinetoscope fairly took their breaths away."What will they do next?" observed Trina, in amazement."Ain't that wonderful, Mac?"McTeague was awe-struck."Look at that horse move his head," he cried excitedly,quite carried away. "Look at that cable car coming--and theman going across the street. See, here comes a truck.Well, I never in all my life! What would Marcus say tothis?""It's all a drick!" exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, with suddenconviction. "I ain't no fool; dot's nothun but a drick.""Well, of course, mamma," exclaimed Trina, "it's----"But Mrs. Sieppe put her head in the air."I'm too old to be fooled," she persisted. "It's a drick."Nothing more could be got out of her than this.The party stayed to the very end of the show, though thekinetoscope was the last number but one on the programme,and fully half the audience left immediately afterward.However, while the unfortunate Irish comedian went throughhis "act" to the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppewoke Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began getting her"things together." As soon as he was awake Owgooste beganfidgeting again."Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Takeut home to popper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf yougot mein handkerchief, Trina?"But at this moment a dreadful accident happened to Owgooste;his distress reached its climax; his fortitude collapsed.What a misery! It was a veritable catastrophe, deplorable,lamentable, a thing beyond words! For a moment he gazedwildly about him, helpless and petrified with astonishmentand terror. Then his grief found utterance, and the closingstrains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wailof infinite sadness."Owgooste, what is ut?" cried his mother eyeing him withdawning suspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you done? Youhaf ruin your new Vauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed;without more ado she smacked him soundly. Then it was thatOwgooste touched the limit of his misery, his unhappiness,his horrible discomfort; his utter wretchedness wascomplete. He filled the air with his doleful outcries. Themore he was smacked and shaken, the louder he wept."What--what is the matter?" inquired McTeague.Trina's face was scarlet. "Nothing, nothing," she exclaimedhastily, looking away. "Come, we must be going. It's aboutover." The end of the show and the breaking up of theaudience tided over the embarrassment of the moment.The party filed out at the tail end of the audience.Already the lights were being extinguished and the ushersspreading druggeting over the upholstered seats.McTeague and the Sieppes took an uptown car that would bringthem near Polk Street. The car was crowded; McTeague andOwgooste were obliged to stand. The little boy fretted tobe taken in his mother's lap, but Mrs. Sieppe emphaticallyrefused.On their way home they discussed the performance."I--I like best der yodlers.""Ah, the soloist was the best--the lady who sang those sadsongs.""Wasn't--wasn't that magic lantern wonderful, where thefigures moved? Wonderful--ah, wonderful! And wasn't thatfirst act funny, where the fellow fell down all the time?And that musical act, and the fellow with the burnt-corkface who played 'Nearer, My God, to Thee' on the beerbottles."They got off at Polk Street and walked up a block to theflat. The street was dark and empty; opposite the flat, inthe back of the deserted market, the ducks and geese werecalling persistently.As they were buying their tamales from the half-breedMexican at the street corner, McTeague observed:"Marcus ain't gone to bed yet. See, there's a light in hiswindow. There!" he exclaimed at once, "I forgot thedoorkey. Well, Marcus can let us in."Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of the flatwhen the bolt was shot back. In the hall at the top of thelong, narrow staircase there was the sound of a greatscurrying. Maria Macapa stood there, her hand upon the ropethat drew the bolt; Marcus was at her side; Old Grannis wasin the background, looking over their shoulders; whilelittle Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange man ina drab overcoat at her side. As McTeague's party steppedinto the doorway a half-dozen voices cried:"Yes, it's them.""Is that you, Mac?""Is that you, Miss Sieppe?""Is your name Trina Sieppe?"Then, shriller than all the rest, Maria Macapa screamed:"Oh, Miss Sieppe, come up here quick. Your lottery tickethas won five thousand dollars!"