look otherwise, and who was there to be pleased when she was all prinked out? Surely not a great brute of a husband who bit you like a dog, and kicked and pounded you as though you were made of iron. Ah, no, better let things go, and take it as easy as you could. Hump your back, and it was soonest over.
The one room grew abominably dirty, reeking with the odors of cooking and of 'non-poisonous' paint. The bed was not made until late in the afternoon, sometimes not at all. Dirty, unwashed crockery, greasy knives, sodden fragments of yesterday's meals cluttered the table, while in one corner was the heap of evil-smelling, dirty linen. Cockroaches appeared in the crevices of the woodwork, the wall-paper bulged from the damp walls and began to peel. Trina had long ago ceased to dust or to wipe the furniture with a bit of rag. The grime grew thick upon the window panes and in the corners of the room. All the filth of the alley invaded their quarters like a rising muddy tide.
Between the windows, however, the faded photograph of the couple in their wedding finery looked down upon the wretchedness, Trina still holding her set bouquet straight before her, McTeague standing at her side, his left foot forward, in the attitude of a Secretary of State; while near by hung the canary, the one thing the dentist clung to obstinately, piping and chittering all day in its little gilt prison.
And the tooth, the gigantic golden molar of French gilt, enormous and ungainly, sprawled its branching prongs in one corner of the room, by the footboard of the bed. The McTeague's had come to use it as a sort of substitute for a table. After breakfast and supper Trina piled the plates and greasy dishes upon it to have them out of the way.
One afternoon the Other Dentist, McTeague's old-time rival, the wearer of marvellous waistcoats, was surprised out of all countenance to receive a visit from McTeague. The Other Dentist was in his operating room at the time, at work upon a plaster-of-paris mould. To his call of ''Come right in. Don't you see the sign, 'Enter without knocking'?' McTeague came in. He noted at once how airy and cheerful was the room. A little fire coughed and tittered on the hearth, a brindled greyhound sat on his haunches watching it intently, a great mirror over the mantle offered to view an array of actresses' pictures thrust between the glass and the frame, and a big bunch of freshly- cut violets stood in a glass bowl on the polished cherrywood table. The Other Dentist came forward briskly, exclaiming cheerfully:
'Oh, Doctor — Mister McTeague, how do? how do?'
The fellow was actually wearing a velvet smoking jacket. A cigarette was between his lips; his patent leather boots reflected the firelight. McTeague wore a black surah neglige shirt without a cravat; huge buckled brogans, hob-nailed, gross, encased his feet; the hems of his trousers were spotted with mud; his coat was frayed at the sleeves and a button was gone. In three days he had not shaved; his shock of heavy blond hair escaped from beneath the visor of his woollen cap and hung low over his forehead. He stood with awkward, shifting feet and uncertain eyes before the dapper young fellow who reeked of the barber shop, and whom he had once ordered from his rooms.
'What can I do for you this morning, Mister McTeague? Something wrong with the teeth, eh?'
'No, no.' McTeague, floundering in the difficulties of his speech, forgot the carefully rehearsed words with which he had intended to begin this interview.
'I want to sell you my sign,' he said, stupidly. 'That big tooth of French gilt — YOU know — that you made an offer for once.'
'Oh, I don't want that now,' said the other loftily. 'I prefer a little quiet signboard, nothing pretentious — just the name, and 'Dentist' after it. These big signs are vulgar. No, I don't want it.'
McTeague remained, looking about on the floor, horribly embarrassed, not knowing whether to go or to stay.
'But I don't know,' said the Other Dentist, reflectively. 'If it will help you out any — I guess you're pretty hard up — I'll — well, I tell you what — I'll give you five dollars for it.'
'All right, all right.'
On the following Thursday morning McTeague woke to hear the eaves dripping and the prolonged rattle of the rain upon the roof.
'Raining,' he growled, in deep disgust, sitting up in bed, and winking at the blurred window.
'It's been raining all night,' said Trina. She was already up and dressed, and was cooking breakfast on the oil stove.
McTeague dressed himself, grumbling, 'Well, I'll go, anyhow. The fish will bite all the better for the rain.'
'Look here, Mac,' said Trina, slicing a bit of bacon as thinly as she could. 'Look here, why don't you bring some of your fish home sometime?'
'Huh!' snorted the dentist, 'so's we could have 'em for breakfast. Might save you a nickel, mightn't it?'
'Well, and if it did! Or you might fish for the market. The fisherman across the street would buy 'em of you.'
'Shut up!' exclaimed the dentist, and Trina obediently subsided.
'Look here,' continued her husband, fumbling in his trousers pocket and bringing out a dollar, 'I'm sick and tired of coffee and bacon and mashed potatoes. Go over to the market and get some kind of meat for breakfast. Get a steak, or chops, or something.
'Why, Mac, that's a whole dollar, and he only gave you five for your sign. We can't afford it. Sure, Mac. Let me put that money away against a rainy day. You're just as well off without meat for breakfast.'
'You do as I tell you. Get some steak, or chops, or something.'
'Please, Mac, dear.'
'Go on, now. I'll bite your fingers again pretty soon.'
'But—'
The dentist took a step towards her, snatching at her hand.
'All right, I'll go,' cried Trina, wincing and shrinking. 'I'll go.'
She did not get the chops at the big market, however. Instead, she hurried to a cheaper butcher shop on a side street two blocks away, and bought fifteen cents' worth of chops from a side of mutton some two or three days old. She was gone some little time.
'Give me the change,' exclaimed the dentist as soon as she returned. Trina handed him a quarter; and when McTeague was about to protest, broke in upon him with a rapid stream of talk that confused him upon the instant. But for that matter, it was never difficult for Trina to deceive the dentist. He never went to the bottom of things. He would have believed her if she had told him the chops had cost a dollar.
'There's sixty cents saved, anyhow,' thought Trina, as she clutched the money in her pocket to keep it from rattling.
Trina cooked the chops, and they breakfasted in silence. 'Now,' said McTeague as he rose, wiping the coffee from his thick mustache with the hollow of his palm, 'now I'm going fishing, rain or no rain. I'm going to be gone all day.'
He stood for a moment at the door, his fish-line in his hand, swinging the heavy sinker back and forth. He looked at Trina as she cleared away the breakfast things.
'So long,' said he, nodding his huge square-cut head. This amiability in the matter of leave taking was unusual. Trina put the dishes down and came up to him, her little chin, once so adorable, in the air:
'Kiss me good-by, Mac,' she said, putting her arms around his neck. 'You DO love me a little yet, don't you, Mac? We'll be happy again some day. This is hard times now, but we'll pull out. You'll find something to do pretty soon.'
'I guess so,' growled McTeague, allowing her to kiss him.
The canary was stirring nimbly in its cage, and just now broke out into a shrill trilling, its little throat bulging and quivering. The dentist stared at it. 'Say,' he remarked slowly, 'I think I'll take that bird of mine along.'
'Sell it?' inquired Trina.
'Yes, yes, sell it.'
'Well, you ARE coming to your senses at last,' answered Trina, approvingly. 'But don't you let the bird-store man cheat you. That's a good songster; and with the cage, you ought to make him give you five dollars. You stick out for that at first, anyhow.'
McTeague unhooked the cage and carefully wrapped it in an old newspaper, remarking, 'He might get cold. Well, so long,' he repeated, 'so long.'
'Good-by, Mac.'
