But he was restless during the night. Every now
and then he was awakened by noises to which he had
long since become accustomed. Now it was the
cackling of the geese in the deserted market across
the street; now it was the stoppage of the cable,
the sudden silence coming almost like a shock; and
now it was the infuriated barking of the dogs in the
back yard—Alec, the Irish setter, and the
collie that belonged to the branch post-office raging
at each other through the fence, snarling their endless
hatred into each other’s faces. As often
as he woke, McTeague turned and looked for the tooth,
with a sudden suspicion that he had only that moment
dreamed the whole business. But he always found
it—Trina’s gift, his birthday from
his little woman—a huge, vague bulk, looming
there through the half darkness in the centre of the
room, shining dimly out as if with some mysterious
light of its own.
CHAPTER 9
Trina and McTeague were married on the first day of
June, in the photographer’s rooms that the dentist
had rented. All through May the Sieppe household
had been turned upside down. The little box of
a house vibrated with excitement and confusion, for
not only were the preparations for Trina’s marriage
to be made, but also the preliminaries were to be
arranged for the hegira of the entire Sieppe family.
They were to move to the southern part of the State
the day after Trina’s marriage, Mr. Sieppe having
bought a third interest in an upholstering business
in the suburbs of Los Angeles. It was possible
that Marcus Schouler would go with them.
Not Stanley penetrating for the first time into the
Dark Continent, not Napoleon leading his army across
the Alps, was more weighted with responsibility, more
burdened with care, more overcome with the sense of
the importance of his undertaking, than was Mr. Sieppe
during this period of preparation. From dawn
to dark, from dark to early dawn, he toiled and planned
and fretted, organizing and reorganizing, projecting
and devising. The trunks were lettered, A, B,
and C, the packages and smaller bundles numbered.
Each member of the family had his especial duty to
perform, his particular bundles to oversee. Not
a detail was forgotten—fares, prices, and
tips were calculated to two places of decimals.
Even the amount of food that it would be necessary
to carry for the black greyhound was determined.
Mrs. Sieppe was to look after the lunch, “der
gomisariat.” Mr. Sieppe would assume charge
of the checks, the money, the tickets, and, of course,
general supervision. The twins would be under
the command of Owgooste, who, in turn, would report
for orders to his father.
Day in and day out these minutiae were rehearsed.
The children were drilled in their parts with a military
exactitude; obedience and punctuality became cardinal
virtues. The vast importance of the undertaking
was insisted upon with scrupulous iteration. It
was a manoeuvre, an army changing its base of operations,
a veritable tribal migration.
