On that particular morning the McTeagues had risen a half hour earlier
than usual and taken a hurried breakfast in the kitchen on the deal
table with its oilcloth cover. Trina was house-cleaning that week and
had a presentiment of a hard day's work ahead of her, while McTeague
remembered a seven o'clock appointment with a little German shoemaker.
At about eight o'clock, when the dentist had been in his office for over
an hour, Trina descended upon the bedroom, a towel about her head
and the roller-sweeper in her hand. She covered the bureau and sewing
machine with sheets, and unhooked the chenille portieres between the
bedroom and the sitting-room. As she was tying the Nottingham lace
curtains at the window into great knots, she saw old Miss Baker on the
opposite sidewalk in the street below, and raising the sash called down
to her.
“Oh, it's you, Mrs. McTeague,” cried the retired dressmaker, facing
about, her head in the air. Then a long conversation was begun, Trina,
her arms folded under her breast, her elbows resting on the
window ledge, willing to be idle for a moment; old Miss Baker, her
market-basket on her arm, her hands wrapped in the ends of her worsted
shawl against the cold of the early morning. They exchanged phrases,
calling to each other from window to curb, their breath coming from
their lips in faint puffs of vapor, their voices shrill, and raised to
dominate the clamor of the waking street. The newsboys had made their
appearance on the street, together with the day laborers. The cable cars
had begun to fill up; all along the street could be seen the shopkeepers
taking down their shutters; some were still breakfasting. Now and then
a waiter from one of the cheap restaurants crossed from one sidewalk to
another, balancing on one palm a tray covered with a napkin.
“Aren't you out pretty early this morning, Miss Baker?” called Trina.
“No, no,” answered the other. “I'm always up at half-past six, but I
don't always get out so soon. I wanted to get a nice head of cabbage
and some lentils for a soup, and if you don't go to market early, the
restaurants get all the best.”
“And you've been to market already, Miss Baker?”
“Oh, my, yes; and I got a fish--a sole--see.” She drew the sole in
question from her basket.
“Oh, the lovely sole!” exclaimed Trina.
“I got this one at Spadella's; he always has good fish on Friday. How is
the doctor, Mrs. McTeague?”
“Ah, Mac is always well, thank you, Miss Baker.”
“You know, Mrs. Ryer told me,” cried the little dressmaker, moving
forward a step out of the way of a “glass-put-in” man, “that Doctor
McTeague pulled a tooth of that Catholic priest, Father--oh, I forget
his name--anyhow, he pulled his tooth with his fingers. Was that true,
Mrs. McTeague?”
“Oh, of course. Mac does that almost all the time now, 'specially with
front teeth. He's got a regular reputation for it. He says it's brought
him more patients than even the sign I gave him,” she added, pointing to
the big golden molar projecting from the office window.
“With his fingers! Now, think of that,” exclaimed Miss Baker, wagging
her head. “Isn't he that strong! It's just wonderful. Cleaning house
to-day?” she inquired, glancing at Trina's towelled head.
“Um hum,” answered Trina. “Maria Macapa's coming in to help pretty
soon.”
At the mention of Maria's name the little old dressmaker suddenly
uttered an exclamation.
“Well, if I'm not here talking to you and forgetting something I was
just dying to tell you. Mrs. McTeague, what ever in the world do
you suppose? Maria and old Zerkow, that red-headed Polish Jew, the
rag-bottles-sacks man, you know, they're going to be married.”
“No!” cried Trina, in blank amazement. “You don't mean it.”
“Of course I do. Isn't it the funniest thing you ever heard of?”
“Oh, tell me all about it,” said Trina, leaning eagerly from the window.
Miss Baker crossed the street and stood just beneath her.
“Well, Maria came to me last night and wanted me to make her a new gown,
said she wanted something gay, like what the girls at the candy store
wear when they go out with their young men. I couldn't tell what had
got into the girl, until finally she told me she wanted something to get
married in, and that Zerkow had asked her to marry him, and that she was
going to do it. Poor Maria! I guess it's the first and only offer she
ever received, and it's just turned her head.”
“But what DO those two see in each other?” cried Trina. “Zerkow is a
horror, he's an old man, and his hair is red and his voice is gone, and
then he's a Jew, isn't he?”
“I know, I know; but it's Maria's only chance for a husband, and she
don't mean to let it pass. You know she isn't quite right in her head,
anyhow. I'm awfully sorry for poor Maria. But I can't see what Zerkow
wants to marry her for. It's not possible that he's in love with Maria,
it's out of the question. Maria hasn't a sou, either, and I'm just
positive that Zerkow has lots of money.”
“I'll bet I know why,” exclaimed Trina, with sudden conviction; “yes,
I know just why. See here, Miss Baker, you know how crazy old Zerkow is
after money and gold and those sort of things.”
“Yes, I know; but you know Maria hasn't----”
“Now, just listen. You've heard Maria tell about that wonderful service
of gold dishes she says her folks used to own in Central America; she's
crazy on that subject, don't you know. She's all right on everything
else, but just start her on that service of gold plate and she'll talk
you deaf. She can describe it just as though she saw it, and she can
make you see it, too, almost. Now, you see, Maria and Zerkow have known
each other pretty well. Maria goes to him every two weeks or so to sell
him junk; they got acquainted that way, and I know Maria's been dropping
in to see him pretty often this last year, and sometimes he comes here
to see her. He's made Maria tell him the story of that plate over and
over and over again, and Maria does it and is glad to, because he's the
only one that believes it. Now he's going to marry her just so's he can
hear that story every day, every hour. He's pretty near as crazy on the
subject as Maria is. They're a pair for you, aren't they? Both crazy
over a lot of gold dishes that never existed. Perhaps Maria'll marry him
because it's her only chance to get a husband, but I'm sure it's more
for the reason that she's got some one to talk to now who believes her
story. Don't you think I'm right?”
“Yes, yes, I guess you're right,” admitted Miss Baker.
“But it's a queer match anyway you put it,” said Trina, musingly.
“Ah, you may well say that,” returned the other, nodding her head. There
was a silence. For a long moment the dentist's wife and the retired
dressmaker, the one at the window, the other on the sidewalk, remained
lost in thought, wondering over the strangeness of the affair.
But suddenly there was a diversion. Alexander, Marcus Schouler's Irish
setter, whom his master had long since allowed the liberty of running
untrammelled about the neighborhood, turned the corner briskly and came
trotting along the sidewalk where Miss Baker stood. At the same moment
the Scotch collie who had at one time belonged to the branch post-office
issued from the side door of a house not fifty feet away. In an instant
the two enemies had recognized each other. They halted abruptly, their
fore feet planted rigidly. Trina uttered a little cry.
“Oh, look out, Miss Baker. Those two dogs hate each other just like
humans. You best look out. They'll fight sure.” Miss Baker sought
safety in a nearby vestibule, whence she peered forth at the scene, very
interested and curious. Maria Macapa's head thrust itself from one of
the top-story windows of the flat, with a shrill cry. Even McTeague's
huge form appeared above the half curtains of the “Parlor” windows,
while over his shoulder could be seen the face of the “patient,” a
napkin tucked in his collar, the rubber dam depending from his mouth.
All the flat knew of the feud between the dogs, but never before had the
pair been brought face to face.
Meanwhile, the collie and the setter had drawn near to each other;
five feet apart they paused as if by mutual consent. The collie turned
sidewise to the setter; the setter instantly wheeled himself flank on to
the collie. Their tails rose and stiffened, they raised their lips over
their long white fangs, the napes of their necks bristled, and they
showed each other the vicious whites of their eyes, while they drew in
their breaths with prolonged and rasping snarls. Each dog seemed to be
the personification of fury and unsatisfied hate. They began to circle
about each other with infinite slowness, walking stiffed-legged and
upon the very points of their feet. Then they wheeled about and began to
circle in the opposite direction. Twice they repeated this motion, their
snarls growing louder. But still they did not come together, and
the distance of five feet between them was maintained with an almost
mathematical precision. It was magnificent, but it was not war. Then the
setter, pausing in his walk, turned his head slowly from his enemy. The
collie sniffed the air and pretended an interest in an old shoe lying
in the gutter. Gradually and with all the dignity of monarchs they
moved away from each other. Alexander stalked back to the corner of
the street. The collie paced toward the side gate whence he had issued,
affecting to remember something of great importance. They disappeared.
Once out of sight of one another they began to bark furiously.
“Well, I NEVER!” exclaimed Trina in great disgust. “The way those two
dogs have been carrying on you'd 'a' thought they would 'a' just torn
each other to pieces when they had the chance, and here I'm wasting the
whole morning----” she closed her window with a bang.
“Sick 'im, sick 'im,” called Maria Macapa, in a vain attempt to promote
a fight.
Old Miss Baker came out of the vestibule, pursing her lips, quite
put out at the fiasco. “And after all that fuss,” she said to herself
aggrievedly.
The little dressmaker bought an envelope of nasturtium seeds at the
florist's, and returned to her tiny room in the flat. But as she slowly
mounted the first flight of steps she suddenly came face to face with
Old Grannis, who was coming down. It was between eight and nine, and
he was on his way to his little dog hospital, no doubt. Instantly Miss
Baker was seized with trepidation, her curious little false curls shook,
a faint--a very faint--flush came into her withered cheeks, and her
heart beat so violently under the worsted shawl that she felt obliged
to shift the market-basket to her other arm and put out her free hand to
steady herself against the rail.
On his part, Old Grannis was instantly overwhelmed with confusion. His
awkwardness seemed to paralyze his limbs, his lips twitched and turned
dry, his hand went tremblingly to his chin. But what added to Miss
Baker's miserable embarrassment on this occasion was the fact that the
old Englishman should meet her thus, carrying a sordid market-basket
full of sordid fish and cabbage. It seemed as if a malicious fate
persisted in bringing the two old people face to face at the most
inopportune moments.
Just now, however, a veritable catastrophe occurred. The little old
dressmaker changed her basket to her other arm at precisely the wrong
moment, and Old Grannis, hastening to pass, removing his hat in a
hurried salutation, struck it with his fore arm, knocking it from her
grasp, and sending it rolling and bumping down the stairs. The sole fell
flat upon the first landing; the lentils scattered themselves over the
entire flight; while the cabbage, leaping from step to step, thundered
down the incline and brought up against the street door with a shock
that reverberated through the entire building.
The little retired dressmaker, horribly vexed, nervous and embarrassed,
was hard put to it to keep back the tears. Old Grannis stood for a
moment with averted eyes, murmuring: “Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.
I--I really--I beg your pardon, really--really.”
Marcus Schouler, coming down stairs from his room, saved the situation.
“Hello, people,” he cried. “By damn! you've upset your basket--you have,
for a fact. Here, let's pick um up.” He and Old Grannis went up and down
the flight, gathering up the fish, the lentils, and the sadly battered
cabbage. Marcus was raging over the pusillanimity of Alexander, of which
Maria had just told him.
“I'll cut him in two--with the whip,” he shouted. “I will, I will, I say
I will, for a fact. He wouldn't fight, hey? I'll give um all the fight
he wants, nasty, mangy cur. If he won't fight he won't eat. I'm going
to get the butcher's bull pup and I'll put um both in a bag and shake um
up. I will, for a fact, and I guess Alec will fight. Come along, Mister
Grannis,” and he took the old Englishman away.
Little Miss Baker hastened to her room and locked herself in. She was
excited and upset during all the rest of the day, and listened eagerly
for Old Grannis's return that evening. He went instantly to work binding
up “The Breeder and Sportsman,” and back numbers of the “Nation.” She
heard him softly draw his chair and the table on which he had placed his
little binding apparatus close to the wall. At once she did the same,
brewing herself a cup of tea. All through that evening the two old
people “kept company” with each other, after their own peculiar fashion.
“Setting out with each other” Miss Baker had begun to call it. That they
had been presented, that they had even been forced to talk together, had
made no change in their relative positions. Almost immediately they
had fallen back into their old ways again, quite unable to master their
timidity, to overcome the stifling embarrassment that seized upon them
when in each other's presence. It was a sort of hypnotism, a thing
stronger than themselves. But they were not altogether dissatisfied with
the way things had come to be. It was their little romance, their
last, and they were living through it with supreme enjoyment and calm
contentment.
Marcus Schouler still occupied his old room on the floor above the
McTeagues. They saw but little of him, however. At long intervals the
dentist or his wife met him on the stairs of the flat. Sometimes he
would stop and talk with Trina, inquiring after the Sieppes, asking her
if Mr. Sieppe had yet heard of any one with whom he, Marcus, could “go
in with on a ranch.” McTeague, Marcus merely nodded to. Never had the
quarrel between the two men been completely patched up. It did not seem
possible to the dentist now that Marcus had ever been his “pal,” that
they had ever taken long walks together. He was sorry that he had
treated Marcus gratis for an ulcerated tooth, while Marcus daily
recalled the fact that he had given up his “girl” to his friend--the
girl who had won a fortune--as the great mistake of his life. Only
once since the wedding had he called upon Trina, at a time when he knew
McTeague would be out. Trina had shown him through the rooms and had
told him, innocently enough, how gay was their life there. Marcus had
come away fairly sick with envy; his rancor against the dentist--and
against himself, for that matter--knew no bounds. “And you might 'a' had
it all yourself, Marcus Schouler,” he muttered to himself on the stairs.
“You mushhead, you damn fool!”
Meanwhile, Marcus was becoming involved in the politics of his ward. As
secretary of the Polk Street Improvement Club--which soon developed
into quite an affair and began to assume the proportions of a Republican
political machine--he found he could make a little, a very little more
than enough to live on. At once he had given up his position as Old
Grannis's assistant in the dog hospital. Marcus felt that he needed a
wider sphere. He had his eye upon a place connected with the city pound.
When the great railroad strike occurred, he promptly got himself engaged
as deputy-sheriff, and spent a memorable week in Sacramento, where he
involved himself in more than one terrible melee with the strikers.
Marcus had that quickness of temper and passionate readiness to take
offence which passes among his class for bravery. But whatever were
his motives, his promptness to face danger could not for a moment be
doubted. After the strike he returned to Polk Street, and throwing
himself into the Improvement Club, heart, soul, and body, soon became
one of its ruling spirits. In a certain local election, where a huge
paving contract was at stake, the club made itself felt in the ward, and
Marcus so managed his cards and pulled his wires that, at the end of the
matter, he found himself some four hundred dollars to the good.
When McTeague came out of his “Parlors” at noon of the day upon which
Trina had heard the news of Maria Macapa's intended marriage, he found
Trina burning coffee on a shovel in the sitting-room. Try as she would,
Trina could never quite eradicate from their rooms a certain faint
and indefinable odor, particularly offensive to her. The smell of the
photographer's chemicals persisted in spite of all Trina could do to
combat it. She burnt pastilles and Chinese punk, and even, as now,
coffee on a shovel, all to no purpose. Indeed, the only drawback to
their delightful home was the general unpleasant smell that pervaded
it--a smell that arose partly from the photographer's chemicals, partly
from the cooking in the little kitchen, and partly from the ether and
creosote of the dentist's “Parlors.”
As McTeague came in to lunch on this occasion, he found the table
already laid, a red cloth figured with white flowers was spread, and as
he took his seat his wife put down the shovel on a chair and brought
in the stewed codfish and the pot of chocolate. As he tucked his napkin
into his enormous collar, McTeague looked vaguely about the room,
rolling his eyes.
During the three years of their married life the McTeagues had made but
few additions to their furniture, Trina declaring that they could not
afford it. The sitting-room could boast of but three new ornaments. Over
the melodeon hung their marriage certificate in a black frame. It was
balanced upon one side by Trina's wedding bouquet under a glass case,
preserved by some fearful unknown process, and upon the other by the
photograph of Trina and the dentist in their wedding finery. This latter
picture was quite an affair, and had been taken immediately after the
wedding, while McTeague's broadcloth was still new, and before Trina's
silks and veil had lost their stiffness. It represented Trina, her veil
thrown back, sitting very straight in a rep armchair, her elbows well
in at her sides, holding her bouquet of cut flowers directly before
her. The dentist stood at her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other
thrust into the breast of his “Prince Albert,” his chin in the air, his
eyes to one side, his left foot forward in the attitude of a statue of a
Secretary of State.
“Say, Trina,” said McTeague, his mouth full of codfish, “Heise looked in
on me this morning. He says 'What's the matter with a basket picnic over
at Schuetzen Park next Tuesday?' You know the paper-hangers are going
to be in the 'Parlors' all that day, so I'll have a holiday. That's what
made Heise think of it. Heise says he'll get the Ryers to go too. It's
the anniversary of their wedding day. We'll ask Selina to go; she can
meet us on the other side. Come on, let's go, huh, will you?”
Trina still had her mania for family picnics, which had been one of the
Sieppes most cherished customs; but now there were other considerations.
“I don't know as we can afford it this month, Mac,” she said, pouring
the chocolate. “I got to pay the gas bill next week, and there's the
papering of your office to be paid for some time.”
“I know, I know,” answered her husband. “But I got a new patient this
week, had two molars and an upper incisor filled at the very first
sitting, and he's going to bring his children round. He's a barber on
the next block.”
“Well you pay half, then,” said Trina. “It'll cost three or four dollars
at the very least; and mind, the Heises pay their own fare both ways,
Mac, and everybody gets their OWN lunch. Yes,” she added, after a pause,
“I'll write and have Selina join us. I haven't seen Selina in months. I
guess I'll have to put up a lunch for her, though,” admitted Trina, “the
way we did last time, because she lives in a boarding-house now, and
they make a fuss about putting up a lunch.”
They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year--it was
May--and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired. The
party assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock, laden with baskets.
The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer and his wife had already boarded
the boat. They met the Heises in the waiting-room.
“Hello, Doctor,” cried the harness-maker as the McTeagues came up. “This
is what you'd call an old folks' picnic, all married people this time.”
The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and sat
down to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outside
this morning because of the fineness of the weather.
“Oh, we're going to have lots of fun,” cried Trina. “If it's anything I
do love it's a picnic. Do you remember our first picnic, Mac?”
“Sure, sure,” replied the dentist; “we had a Gotha truffle.”
“And August lost his steamboat,” put in Trina, “and papa smacked him. I
remember it just as well.”
“Why, look there,” said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up the
companion-way. “Ain't that Mr. Schouler?”
It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party he gaped at
them a moment in blank astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide.
“Well, by damn!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “What's up? Where you all
going, anyhow? Say, ain't ut queer we should all run up against each
other like this?” He made great sweeping bows to the three women, and
shook hands with “Cousin Trina,” adding, as he turned to the men of
the party, “Glad to see you, Mister Heise. How do, Mister Ryer?” The
dentist, who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting, he
ignored completely. McTeague settled himself in his seat, growling
inarticulately behind his mustache.
“Say, say, what's all up, anyhow?” cried Marcus again.
“It's a picnic,” exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once; and
Trina added, “We're going over to the same old Schuetzen Park again. But
you're all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look as though you were
going somewhere yourself.”
In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair of
slate-blue trousers, a black “cutaway,” and a white lawn “tie” (for him
the symbol of the height of elegance). He carried also his cane, a thin
wand of ebony with a gold head, presented to him by the Improvement Club
in “recognition of services.”
“That's right, that's right,” said Marcus, with a grin. “I'm takun a
holiday myself to-day. I had a bit of business to do over at Oakland,
an' I thought I'd go up to B Street afterward and see Selina. I haven't
called on----”
But the party uttered an exclamation.
“Why, Selina is going with us.”
“She's going to meet us at the Schuetzen Park station” explained Trina.
Marcus's business in Oakland was a fiction. He was crossing the bay that
morning solely to see Selina. Marcus had “taken up with” Selina a little
after Trina had married, and had been “rushing” her ever since, dazzled
and attracted by her accomplishments, for which he pretended a great
respect. At the prospect of missing Selina on this occasion, he was
genuinely disappointed. His vexation at once assumed the form of
exasperation against McTeague. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah,
McTeague was coming between him and Selina now as he had come between
him and Trina. Best look out, by damn! how he monkeyed with him now.
Instantly his face flamed and he glanced over furiously at the dentist,
who, catching his eye, began again to mutter behind his mustache.
“Well, say,” began Mrs. Ryer, with some hesitation, looking to Ryer for
approval, “why can't Marcus come along with us?”
“Why, of course,” exclaimed Mrs. Heise, disregarding her husband's
vigorous nudges. “I guess we got lunch enough to go round, all right;
don't you say so, Mrs. McTeague?”
Thus appealed to, Trina could only concur.
“Why, of course, Cousin Mark,” she said; “of course, come along with us
if you want to.”
“Why, you bet I will,” cried Marcus, enthusiastic in an instant. “Say,
this is outa sight; it is, for a fact; a picnic--ah, sure--and we'll
meet Selina at the station.”
Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the harness-maker proposed
that the men of the party should go down to the bar on the lower deck
and shake for the drinks. The idea had an immediate success.
“Have to see you on that,” said Ryer.
“By damn, we'll have a drink! Yes, sir, we will, for a fact.”
“Sure, sure, drinks, that's the word.”
At the bar Heise and Ryer ordered cocktails, Marcus called for a “creme
Yvette” in order to astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glass
of beer.
“Say, look here,” suddenly exclaimed Heise as they took their glasses.
“Look here, you fellahs,” he had turned to Marcus and the dentist. “You
two fellahs have had a grouch at each other for the last year or so; now
what's the matter with your shaking hands and calling quits?”
McTeague was at once overcome with a great feeling of magnanimity. He
put out his great hand.
“I got nothing against Marcus,” he growled.
“Well, I don't care if I shake,” admitted Marcus, a little shamefacedly,
as their palms touched. “I guess that's all right.”
“That's the idea,” exclaimed Heise, delighted at his success. “Come on,
boys, now let's drink.” Their elbows crooked and they drank silently.
Their picnic that day was very jolly. Nothing had changed at Schuetzen
Park since the day of that other memorable Sieppe picnic four years
previous. After lunch the men took themselves off to the rifle range,
while Selina, Trina, and the other two women put away the dishes.
An hour later the men joined them in great spirits. Ryer had won the
impromptu match which they had arranged, making quite a wonderful score,
which included three clean bulls' eyes, while McTeague had not been able
even to hit the target itself.
Their shooting match had awakened a spirit of rivalry in the men, and
the rest of the afternoon was passed in athletic exercises between them.
The women sat on the slope of the grass, their hats and gloves laid
aside, watching the men as they strove together. Aroused by the little
feminine cries of wonder and the clapping of their ungloved palms, these
latter began to show off at once. They took off their coats and vests,
even their neckties and collars, and worked themselves into a lather of
perspiration for the sake of making an impression on their wives. They
ran hundred-yard sprints on the cinder path and executed clumsy feats on
the rings and on the parallel bars. They even found a huge round
stone on the beach and “put the shot” for a while. As long as it was
a question of agility, Marcus was easily the best of the four; but the
dentist's enormous strength, his crude, untutored brute force, was
a matter of wonder for the entire party. McTeague cracked English
walnuts--taken from the lunch baskets--in the hollow of his arm, and
tossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their best mark. Heise
believed himself to be particularly strong in the wrists, but the
dentist, using but one hand, twisted a cane out of Heise's two with a
wrench that all but sprained the harnessmaker's arm. Then the dentist
raised weights and chinned himself on the rings till they thought he
would never tire.
His great success quite turned his head; he strutted back and forth
in front of the women, his chest thrown out, and his great mouth
perpetually expanded in a triumphant grin. As he felt his strength more
and more, he began to abuse it; he domineered over the others, gripping
suddenly at their arms till they squirmed with pain, and slapping Marcus
on the back so that he gasped and gagged for breath. The childish vanity
of the great fellow was as undisguised as that of a schoolboy. He began
to tell of wonderful feats of strength he had accomplished when he was a
young man. Why, at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer
with a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had just
stiffened out and trembled all over and died without getting up.
McTeague told this story again, and yet again. All through the afternoon
he could be overheard relating the wonder to any one who would listen,
exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details. Why,
the heifer had just frothed at the mouth, and his eyes had rolled
up--ah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like that--and the butcher had
said his skull was all mashed in--just all mashed in, sure, that's the
word--just as if from a sledge-hammer.
Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the dentist on the boat,
Marcus's gorge rose within him at McTeague's boasting swagger. When
McTeague had slapped him on the back, Marcus had retired to some little
distance while he recovered his breath, and glared at the dentist
fiercely as he strode up and down, glorying in the admiring glances of
the women.
“Ah, one-horse dentist,” he muttered between his teeth. “Ah,
zinc-plugger, cow-killer, I'd like to show you once, you overgrown
mucker, you--you--COW-KILLER!”
When he rejoined the group, he found them preparing for a wrestling
bout.
“I tell you what,” said Heise, “we'll have a tournament. Marcus and I
will rastle, and Doc and Ryer, and then the winners will rastle each
other.”
The women clapped their hands excitedly. This would be exciting. Trina
cried:
“Better let me hold your money, Mac, and your keys, so as you won't lose
them out of your pockets.” The men gave their valuables into the keeping
of their wives and promptly set to work.
The dentist thrust Ryer down without even changing his grip; Marcus and
the harness-maker struggled together for a few moments till Heise all at
once slipped on a bit of turf and fell backwards. As they toppled over
together, Marcus writhed himself from under his opponent, and, as they
reached the ground, forced down first one shoulder and then the other.
“All right, all right,” panted the harness-maker, goodnaturedly, “I'm
down. It's up to you and Doc now,” he added, as he got to his feet.
The match between McTeague and Marcus promised to be interesting. The
dentist, of course, had an enormous advantage in point of strength,
but Marcus prided himself on his wrestling, and knew something about
strangle-holds and half-Nelsons. The men drew back to allow them a free
space as they faced each other, while Trina and the other women rose to
their feet in their excitement.
“I bet Mac will throw him, all the same,” said Trina.
“All ready!” cried Ryer.
The dentist and Marcus stepped forward, eyeing each other cautiously.
They circled around the impromptu ring. Marcus watching eagerly for an
opening. He ground his teeth, telling himself he would throw McTeague
if it killed him. Ah, he'd show him now. Suddenly the two men caught at
each other; Marcus went to his knees. The dentist threw his vast bulk on
his adversary's shoulders and, thrusting a huge palm against his face,
pushed him backwards and downwards. It was out of the question to resist
that enormous strength. Marcus wrenched himself over and fell face
downward on the ground.
McTeague rose on the instant with a great laugh of exultation.
“You're down!” he exclaimed.
Marcus leaped to his feet.
“Down nothing,” he vociferated, with clenched fists. “Down nothing, by
damn! You got to throw me so's my shoulders touch.”
McTeague was stalking about, swelling with pride.
“Hoh, you're down. I threw you. Didn't I throw him, Trina? Hoh, you
can't rastle ME.”
Marcus capered with rage.
“You didn't! you didn't! you didn't! and you can't! You got to give me
another try.”
The other men came crowding up. Everybody was talking at once.
“He's right.”
“You didn't throw him.”
“Both his shoulders at the same time.”
Trina clapped and waved her hand at McTeague from where she stood on
the little slope of lawn above the wrestlers. Marcus broke through the
group, shaking all over with excitement and rage.
“I tell you that ain't the WAY to rastle. You've got to throw a man so's
his shoulders touch. You got to give me another bout.”
“That's straight,” put in Heise, “both his shoulders down at the same
time. Try it again. You and Schouler have another try.”
McTeague was bewildered by so much simultaneous talk. He could not make
out what it was all about. Could he have offended Marcus again?
“What? What? Huh? What is it?” he exclaimed in perplexity, looking from
one to the other.
“Come on, you must rastle me again,” shouted Marcus.
“Sure, sure,” cried the dentist. “I'll rastle you again. I'll rastle
everybody,” he cried, suddenly struck with an idea. Trina looked on in
some apprehension.
“Mark gets so mad,” she said, half aloud.
“Yes,” admitted Selina. “Mister Schouler's got an awful quick temper,
but he ain't afraid of anything.”
“All ready!” shouted Ryer.
This time Marcus was more careful. Twice, as McTeague rushed at him, he
slipped cleverly away. But as the dentist came in a third time, with his
head bowed, Marcus, raising himself to his full height, caught him with
both arms around the neck. The dentist gripped at him and rent away the
sleeve of his shirt. There was a great laugh.
“Keep your shirt on,” cried Mrs. Ryer.
The two men were grappling at each other wildly. The party could hear
them panting and grunting as they labored and struggled. Their boots
tore up great clods of turf. Suddenly they came to the ground with a
tremendous shock. But even as they were in the act of falling, Marcus,
like a very eel, writhed in the dentist's clasp and fell upon his side.
McTeague crashed down upon him like the collapse of a felled ox.
“Now, you gotta turn him on his back,” shouted Heise to the dentist. “He
ain't down if you don't.”
With his huge salient chin digging into Marcus's shoulder, the dentist
heaved and tugged. His face was flaming, his huge shock of yellow hair
fell over his forehead, matted with sweat. Marcus began to yield despite
his frantic efforts. One shoulder was down, now the other began to go;
gradually, gradually it was forced over. The little audience held its
breath in the suspense of the moment. Selina broke the silence, calling
out shrilly:
“Ain't Doctor McTeague just that strong!”
Marcus heard it, and his fury came instantly to a head. Rage at his
defeat at the hands of the dentist and before Selina's eyes, the hate
he still bore his old-time “pal” and the impotent wrath of his own
powerlessness were suddenly unleashed.
“God damn you! get off of me,” he cried under his breath, spitting the
words as a snake spits its venom. The little audience uttered a cry.
With the oath Marcus had twisted his head and had bitten through the
lobe of the dentist's ear. There was a sudden flash of bright-red blood.
Then followed a terrible scene. The brute that in McTeague lay so close
to the surface leaped instantly to life, monstrous, not to be resisted.
He sprang to his feet with a shrill and meaningless clamor, totally
unlike the ordinary bass of his speaking tones. It was the hideous
yelling of a hurt beast, the squealing of a wounded elephant. He
framed no words; in the rush of high-pitched sound that issued from his
wide-open mouth there was nothing articulate. It was something no longer
human; it was rather an echo from the jungle.
Sluggish enough and slow to anger on ordinary occasions, McTeague when
finally aroused became another man. His rage was a kind of obsession, an
evil mania, the drunkenness of passion, the exalted and perverted fury
of the Berserker, blind and deaf, a thing insensate.
As he rose he caught Marcus's wrist in both his hands. He did not
strike, he did not know what he was doing. His only idea was to batter
the life out of the man before him, to crush and annihilate him upon the
instant. Gripping his enemy in his enormous hands, hard and knotted,
and covered with a stiff fell of yellow hair--the hands of the old-time
car-boy--he swung him wide, as a hammer-thrower swings his hammer.
Marcus's feet flipped from the ground, he spun through the air about
McTeague as helpless as a bundle of clothes. All at once there was a
sharp snap, almost like the report of a small pistol. Then Marcus rolled
over and over upon the ground as McTeague released his grip; his arm,
the one the dentist had seized, bending suddenly, as though a third
joint had formed between wrist and elbow. The arm was broken.
But by this time every one was crying out at once. Heise and Ryan ran in
between the two men. Selina turned her head away. Trina was wringing her
hands and crying in an agony of dread:
“Oh, stop them, stop them! Don't let them fight. Oh, it's too awful.”
“Here, here, Doc, quit. Don't make a fool of yourself,” cried Heise,
clinging to the dentist. “That's enough now. LISTEN to me, will you?”
“Oh, Mac, Mac,” cried Trina, running to her husband. “Mac, dear, listen;
it's me, it's Trina, look at me, you----”
“Get hold of his other arm, will you, Ryer?” panted Heise. “Quick!”
“Mac, Mac,” cried Trina, her arms about his neck.
“For God's sake, hold up, Doc, will you?” shouted the harness-maker.
“You don't want to kill him, do you?”
Mrs. Ryer and Heise's lame wife were filling the air with their
outcries. Selina was giggling with hysteria. Marcus, terrified, but too
brave to run, had picked up a jagged stone with his left hand and stood
on the defensive. His swollen right arm, from which the shirt sleeve had
been torn, dangled at his side, the back of the hand twisted where the
palm should have been. The shirt itself was a mass of grass stains and
was spotted with the dentist's blood.
But McTeague, in the centre of the group that struggled to hold him, was
nigh to madness. The side of his face, his neck, and all the shoulder
and breast of his shirt were covered with blood. He had ceased to cry
out, but kept muttering between his gripped jaws, as he labored to tear
himself free of the retaining hands:
“Ah, I'll kill him! Ah, I'll kill him! I'll kill him! Damn you, Heise,”
he exclaimed suddenly, trying to strike the harness-maker, “let go of
me, will you!”
Little by little they pacified him, or rather (for he paid but little
attention to what was said to him) his bestial fury lapsed by degrees.
He turned away and let fall his arms, drawing long breaths, and looking
stupidly about him, now searching helplessly upon the ground, now gazing
vaguely into the circle of faces about him. His ear bled as though it
would never stop.
“Say, Doctor,” asked Heise, “what's the best thing to do?”
“Huh?” answered McTeague. “What--what do you mean? What is it?”
“What'll we do to stop this bleeding here?”
McTeague did not answer, but looked intently at the blood-stained bosom
of his shirt.
“Mac,” cried Trina, her face close to his, “tell us something--the best
thing we can do to stop your ear bleeding.”
“Collodium,” said the dentist.
“But we can't get to that right away; we--”
“There's some ice in our lunch basket,” broke in Heise. “We brought it
for the beer; and take the napkins and make a bandage.”
“Ice,” muttered the dentist, “sure, ice, that's the word.”
Mrs. Heise and the Ryers were looking after Marcus's broken arm. Selina
sat on the slope of the grass, gasping and sobbing. Trina tore the
napkins into strips, and, crushing some of the ice, made a bandage for
her husband's head.'
The party resolved itself into two groups; the Ryers and Mrs. Heise
bending over Marcus, while the harness-maker and Trina came and went
about McTeague, sitting on the ground, his shirt, a mere blur of red
and white, detaching itself violently from the background of pale-green
grass. Between the two groups was the torn and trampled bit of turf, the
wrestling ring; the picnic baskets, together with empty beer bottles,
broken egg-shells, and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here and
there. In the middle of the improvised wrestling ring the sleeve of
Marcus's shirt fluttered occasionally in the sea breeze.
Nobody was paying any attention to Selina. All at once she began to
giggle hysterically again, then cried out with a peal of laughter:
“Oh, what a way for our picnic to end!”