“Never mind, dear; never mind,” cried
Trina, through her tears. “It’ll
all come right in the end, and we’ll be poor
together if we have to. You can sure find something
else to do. We’ll start in again.”
“Look at the slate there,” said McTeague,
pulling away from her and reaching down the slate
on which he kept a record of his appointments.
“Look at them. There’s Vanovitch at
two on Wednesday, and Loughhead’s wife Thursday
morning, and Heise’s little girl Thursday afternoon
at one-thirty; Mrs. Watson on Friday, and Vanovitch
again Saturday morning early—at seven.
That’s what I was to have had, and they ain’t
going to come. They ain’t ever going to
come any more.”
Trina took the little slate from him and looked at
it ruefully.
“Rub them out,” she said, her voice trembling;
“rub it all out;” and as she spoke her
eyes brimmed again, and a great tear dropped on the
slate. “That’s it,” she said;
“that’s the way to rub it out, by me crying
on it.” Then she passed her fingers over
the tear-blurred writing and washed the slate clean.
“All gone, all gone,” she said.
“All gone,” echoed the dentist. There
was a silence. Then McTeague heaved himself up
to his full six feet two, his face purpling, his enormous
mallet-like fists raised over his head. His massive
jaw protruded more than ever, while his 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 her breath.
“Well, what do you think?” said Trina.
She and McTeague stood in a tiny room at the back
of the flat and on its very top floor. The room
was whitewashed. It contained a bed, three cane-seated
chairs, and a wooden washstand with its washbowl and
pitcher. From its single uncurtained window one
looked down into the flat’s dirty back yard
and upon the roofs of the hovels that bordered the
alley in the rear. There was a rag carpet on the
floor. In place of a closet some dozen wooden
pegs were affixed to the wall over the washstand.
There was a smell of cheap soap and of ancient hair-oil
in the air.
“That’s a single bed,” said Trina,
“but the landlady says she’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 this is the only thing we can
afford.”
“Afford, afford,” muttered the dentist.
“You with your five thousand dollars, and the
two or three hundred you got saved up, talking about
‘afford.’ You make me sick.”
“Now, Mac,” exclaimed Trina, deliberately,
sitting down in one of the cane-seated chairs; “now,
Mac, let’s have this thing——”
“Well, I don’t figure on living in one
room,” growled the dentist, sullenly. “Let’s
live decently until we can get a fresh start.
We’ve got the money.”
