“Ah!” said he, wagging his head and looking
about the sitting-room, “you people have got
the best fixed rooms in the whole flat. Yes, sir;
you have, for a fact.” He glanced from
the lithograph framed in gilt and red plush—the
two little girls at their prayers—to the
“I’m Grandpa” and “I’m
Grandma” pictures, noted the clean white matting
and the gay worsted tidies over the chair backs, and
appeared to contemplate in ecstasy the framed photograph
of McTeague and Trina in their wedding finery.
“Well, you two are pretty happy together, ain’t
you?” said he, smiling good-humoredly.
“Oh, we don’t complain,” answered
Trina.
“Plenty of money, lots to do, everything fine,
hey?”
“We’ve got lots to do,” returned
Trina, thinking to head him off, “but we’ve
not got lots of money.”
But evidently Marcus wanted no money.
“Well, Cousin Trina,” he said, rubbing
his knee, “I’m going away.”
“Yes, mamma wrote me; you’re going on
a ranch.”
“I’m going in ranching with an English
duck,” corrected Marcus. “Mr. Sieppe
has fixed things. We’ll see if we can’t
raise some cattle. I know a lot about horses,
and he’s ranched some before—this
English duck. And then I’m going to keep
my eye open for a political chance down there.
I got some introductions from the President of the
Improvement Club. I’ll work things somehow,
oh, sure.”
“How long you going to be gone?” asked
Trina.
Marcus stared.
“Why, I ain’t ever coming back,”
he vociferated. “I’m going to-morrow,
and I’m going for good. I come to say good-by.”
Marcus stayed for upwards of an hour that evening.
He talked on easily and agreeably, addressing himself
as much to McTeague as to Trina. At last he rose.
“Well, good-by, Doc.”
“Good-by, Marcus,” returned McTeague.
The two shook hands.
“Guess we won’t ever see each other again,”
continued Marcus. “But good luck to you,
Doc. Hope some day you’ll have the patients
standing in line on the stairs.”
“Huh! I guess so, I guess so,” said
the dentist.
“Good-by, Cousin Trina.”
“Good-by, Marcus,” answered Trina.
“You be sure to remember me to mamma, and papa,
and everybody. I’m going to make two great
big sets of Noah’s ark animals for the twins
on their next birthday; August is too old for toys.
But you can tell the twins that I’ll make them
some great big animals. Good-by, success to you,
Marcus.”
“Good-by, good-by. Good luck to you both.”
“Good-by, Cousin Mark.”
“Good-by, Marcus.”
He was gone.
One morning about a week after Marcus had left for
the southern part of the State, McTeague found an
oblong letter thrust through the letter-drop of the
door of his “Parlors.” The address
was typewritten. He opened it. The letter
had been sent from the City Hall and was stamped in
one corner with the seal of the State of California,
very official; the form and file numbers superscribed.
