by Frank Norris
One afternoon in September, about four months after the McTeagues had left their suite, Trina was at her work by the window. She had whittled some half-dozen sets of animals, and was now busy painting them and making the arks. Little pots of “non-poisonous” paint stood at her elbow on the table, together with a box of labels that read, “Made in France.” Her huge clasp-knife was stuck into the under side of the table. She was now occupied solely with the brushes and the glue pot. She turned the little figures in her fingers with a wonderful lightness and deftness, painting the chickens Naples yellow, the elephants blue gray, the horses Vandyke brown, adding a dot of Chinese white for the eyes and sticking in the ears and tail with a drop of glue. The animals once done, she put together and painted the arks, some dozen of them, all windows and no doors, each one opening only by a lid which was half the roof. She had all the work she could handle these days, for, from this time till a week before Christmas, Uncle Oelbermann could take as many “Noah’s ark sets” as she could make.
Suddenly Trina paused in her work, looking expectantly toward the door. McTeague came in.
“Why, Mac,” exclaimed Trina. “It’s only three o’clock. What are you home so early for? Have they discharged you?”
“They’ve fired me,” said McTeague, sitting down on the bed.
“Fired you! What for?”
“I don’ know. Said the times were getting hard an’ they had to let me go.”
Trina let her paint-stained hands fall into her lap.
“OH!” she cried. “If we don’t have the HARDEST luck of any two people I ever heard of. What can you do now? Is there another place like that where they make surgical instruments?”
“Huh? No, I don’ know. There’s three more.”
“Well, you must try them right away. Go down there right now.”
“Huh? Right now? No, I’m tired. I’ll go down in the morning.”
“Mac,” cried Trina, in alarm, “what are you thinking of? You talk as though we were millionaires. You must go down this minute. You’re losing money every second you sit there.” She goaded the huge fellow to his feet again, thrust his hat into his hands, and pushed him out of the door, he obeying the while, docile and obedient as a big cart horse. He was on the stairs when she came running after him.
“Mac, they paid you off, didn’t they, when they discharged you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have some money. Give it to me.”
The dentist heaved a shoulder uneasily.
“No, I don’ want to.”
“I’ve got to have that money. There’s no more oil for the stove, and I must buy some more meal tickets to-night.”
“Always after me about money,” muttered the dentist; but he emptied his pockets for her, nevertheless.
“I — you’ve taken it all,” he grumbled. “Better leave me something for car fare. It’s going to rain.”
“Pshaw! You can walk just as well as not. A big fellow like you ‘fraid of a little walk; and it ain’t going to rain.”
Trina had lied again both as to the want of oil for the stove and the commutation ticket for the restaurant. But she knew by instinct that McTeague had money about him, and she did not intend to let it go out of the house. She listened intently until she was sure McTeague was gone. Then she hurriedly opened her trunk and hid the money in the chamois bag at the bottom.
The dentist presented himself at every one of the makers of surgical instruments that afternoon and was promptly turned away in each case. Then it came on to rain, a fine, cold drizzle, that chilled him and wet him to the bone. He had no umbrella, and Trina had not left him even five cents for car fare. He started to walk home through the rain. It was a long way to Polk Street, as the last manufactory he had visited was beyond even Folsom Street, and not far from the city front.
By the time McTeague reached Polk Street his teeth were chattering with the cold. He was wet from head to foot. As he was passing Heise’s harness shop a sudden deluge of rain overtook him and he was obliged to dodge into the vestibule for shelter. He, who loved to be warm, to sleep and to be well fed, was icy cold, was exhausted and footsore from tramping the city. He could look forward to nothing better than a badly-cooked supper at the coffee-joint — hot meat on a cold plate, half done suet pudding, muddy coffee, and bad bread, and he was cold, miserably cold, and wet to the bone. All at once a sudden rage against Trina took possession of him. It was her fault. She knew it was going to rain, and she had not let him have a nickel for car fare — she who had five thousand dollars. She let him walk the streets in the cold and in the rain. “Miser,” he growled behind his mustache. “Miser, nasty little old miser. You’re worse than old Zerkow, always nagging about money, money, and you got five thousand dollars. You got more, an’ you live in that stinking hole of a room, and you won’t drink any decent beer. I ain’t going to stand it much longer. She knew it was going to rain. She KNEW it. Didn’t I TELL her? And she drives me out of my own home in the rain, for me to get money for her; more money, and she takes it. She took that money from me that I earned. ’Twasn’t hers; it was mine, I earned it — and not a nickel for car fare. She don’t care if I get wet and get a cold and DIE. No, she don’t, as long as she’s warm and’s got her money.” He became more and more indignant at the picture he made of himself. “I ain’t going to stand it much longer,” he repeated.
“Why, hello, Doc. Is that you?” exclaimed Heise, opening the door of the harness shop behind him. “Come in out of the wet. Why, you’re soaked through,” he added as he and McTeague came back into the shop, that reeked of oiled leather. “Didn’t you have any umbrella? Ought to have taken a car.”
“I guess so — I guess so,” murmured the dentist, confused. His teeth were chattering.
“YOU’RE going to catch your death-a-cold,” exclaimed Heise. “Tell you what,” he said, reaching for his hat, “come in next door to Frenna’s and have something to warm you up. I’ll get the old lady to mind the shop.” He called Mrs. Heise down from the floor above and took McTeague into Joe Frenna’s saloon, which was two doors above his harness shop.
“Whiskey and gum twice, Joe,” said he to the barkeeper as he and the dentist approached the bar.
“Huh? What?” said McTeague. “Whiskey? No, I can’t drink whiskey. It kind of disagrees with me.”
“Oh, the hell!” returned Heise, easily. “Take it as medicine. You’ll get your death-a-cold if you stand round soaked like that. Two whiskey and gum, Joe.”
McTeague emptied the pony glass at a single enormous gulp.
“That’s the way,” said Heise, approvingly. “Do you good.” He drank his off slowly.
“I’d — I’d ask you to have a drink with me, Heise,” said the dentist, who had an indistinct idea of the amenities of the barroom, “only,” he added shamefacedly, “only — you see, I don’t believe I got any change.” His anger against Trina, heated by the whiskey he had drank, flamed up afresh. What a humiliating position for Trina to place him in, not to leave him the price of a drink with a friend, she who had five thousand dollars!
“Sha! That’s all right, Doc,” returned Heise, nibbling on a grain of coffee. “Want another? Hey? This my treat. Two more of the same, Joe.”
McTeague hesitated. It was lamentably true that whiskey did not agree with him; he knew it well enough. However, by this time he felt very comfortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood was beginning to circulate in his chilled finger-tips and in his soggy, wet feet. He had had a hard day of it; in fact, the last week, the last month, the last three or four months, had been hard. He deserved a little consolation. Nor could Trina object to this. It wasn’t costing a cent. He drank again with Heise.
“Get up here to the stove and warm yourself,” urged Heise, drawing up a couple of chairs and cocking his feet upon the guard. The two fell to talking while McTeague’s draggled coat and trousers smoked.
“What a dirty turn that was that Marcus Schouler did you!” said Heise, wag
ging his head. “You ought to have fought that, Doc, sure. You’d been practising too long.” They discussed this question some ten or fifteen minutes and then Heise rose.
“Well, this ain’t earning any money. I got to get back to the shop.” McTeague got up as well, and the pair started for the door. Just as they were going out Ryer met them.
“Hello, hello,” he cried. “Lord, what a wet day! You two are going the wrong way. You’re going to have a drink with me. Three whiskey punches, Joe.”
“No, no,” answered McTeague, shaking his head. “I’m going back home. I’ve had two glasses of whiskey already.”
“Sha!” cried Heise, catching his arm. “A strapping big chap like you ain’t afraid of a little whiskey.”
“Well, I — I — I got to go right afterwards,” protested McTeague.
About half an hour after the dentist had left to go down town, Maria Macapa had come in to see Trina. Occasionally Maria dropped in on Trina in this fashion and spent an hour or so chatting with her while she worked. At first Trina had been inclined to resent these intrusions of the Mexican woman, but of late she had begun to tolerate them. Her day was long and cheerless at the best, and there was no one to talk to. Trina even fancied that old Miss Baker had come to be less cordial since their misfortune. Maria retailed to her all the gossip of the flat and the neighborhood, and, which was much more interesting, told her of her troubles with Zerkow.
Trina said to herself that Maria was common and vulgar, but one had to have some diversion, and Trina could talk and listen without interrupting her work. On this particular occasion Maria was much excited over Zerkow’s demeanor of late.
“He’s gettun worse an’ worse,” she informed Trina as she sat on the edge of the bed, her chin in her hand. “He says he knows I got the dishes and am hidun them from him. The other day I thought he’d gone off with his wagon, and I was doin’ a bit of ir’ning, an’ by an’ by all of a sudden I saw him peeping at me through the crack of the door. I never let on that I saw him, and, honest, he stayed there over two hours, watchun everything I did. I could just feel his eyes on the back of my neck all the time. Last Sunday he took down part of the wall, ‘cause he said he’d seen me making figures on it. Well, I was, but it was just the wash list. All the time he says he’ll kill me if I don’t tell.”
“Why, what do you stay with him for?” exclaimed Trina. “I’d be deathly ‘fraid of a man like that; and he did take a knife to you once.”
“Hoh! HE won’t kill me, never fear. If he’d kill me he’d never know where the dishes were; that’s what HE thinks.”
“But I can’t understand, Maria; you told him about those gold dishes yourself.”
“Never, never! I never saw such a lot of crazy folks as you are.”
“But you say he hits you sometimes.”
“Ah!” said Maria, tossing her head scornfully, “I ain’t afraid of him. He takes his horsewhip to me now and then, but I can always manage. I say, ‘If you touch me with that, then I’ll NEVER tell you.’ Just pretending, you know, and he drops it as though it was red hot. Say, Mrs. McTeague, have you got any tea? Let’s make a cup of tea over the stove.”
“No, no,” cried Trina, with niggardly apprehension; “no, I haven’t got a bit of tea.” Trina’s stinginess had increased to such an extent that it had gone beyond the mere hoarding of money. She grudged even the food that she and McTeague ate, and even brought away half loaves of bread, lumps of sugar, and fruit from the car conductors’ coffee-joint. She hid these pilferings away on the shelf by the window, and often managed to make a very creditable lunch from them, enjoying the meal with the greater relish because it cost her nothing.
“No, Maria, I haven’t got a bit of tea,” she said, shaking her head decisively. “Hark, ain’t that Mac?” she added, her chin in the air. “That’s his step, sure.”
“Well, I’m going to skip,” said Maria. She left hurriedly, passing the dentist in the hall just outside the door. “Well?” said Trina interrogatively as her husband entered. McTeague did not answer. He hung his hat on the hook behind the door and dropped heavily into a chair.
“Well,” asked Trina, anxiously, “how did you make out, Mac?”
Still the dentist pretended not to hear, scowling fiercely at his muddy boots.
“Tell me, Mac, I want to know. Did you get a place? Did you get caught in the rain?”
“Did I? Did I?” cried the dentist, sharply, an alacrity in his manner and voice that Trina had never observed before.
“Look at me. Look at me,” he went on, speaking with an unwonted rapidity, his wits sharp, his ideas succeeding each other quickly. “Look at me, drenched through, shivering cold. I’ve walked the city over. Caught in the rain! Yes, I guess I did get caught in the rain, and it ain’t your fault I didn’t catch my death-a-cold; wouldn’t even let me have a nickel for car fare.”
“But, Mac,” protested Trina, “I didn’t know it was going to rain.”
The dentist put back his head and laughed scornfully. His face was very red, and his small eyes twinkled. “Hoh! no, you didn’t know it was going to rain. Didn’t I TELL you it was?” he exclaimed, suddenly angry again. “Oh, you’re a DAISY, you are. Think I’m going to put up with your foolishness ALL the time? Who’s the boss, you or I?”
“Why, Mac, I never saw you this way before. You talk like a different man.”
“Well, I AM a different man,” retorted the dentist, savagely. “You can’t make small of me ALWAYS.”
“Well, never mind that. You know I’m not trying to make small of you. But never mind that. Did you get a place?”
“Give me my money,” exclaimed McTeague, jumping up briskly. There was an activity, a positive nimbleness about the huge blond giant that had never been his before; also his stupidity, the sluggishness of his brain, seemed to be unusually stimulated.
“Give me my money, the money I gave you as I was going away.”
“I can’t,” exclaimed Trina. “I paid the grocer’s bill with it while you were gone.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“Truly, truly, Mac. Do you think I’d lie to you? Do you think I’d lower myself to do that?”
“Well, the next time I earn any money I’ll keep it myself.”
“But tell me, Mac, DID you get a place?”
McTeague turned his back on her.
“Tell me, Mac, please, did you?”
The dentist jumped up and thrust his face close to hers, his heavy jaw protruding, his little eyes twinkling meanly.
“No,” he shouted. “No, no, NO. Do you hear? NO.”
Trina cowered before him. Then suddenly she began to sob aloud, weeping partly at his strange brutality, partly at the disappointment of his failure to find employment.
McTeague cast a contemptuous glance about him, a glance that embraced the dingy, cheerless room, the rain streaming down the panes of the one window, and the figure of his weeping wife.
“Oh, ain’t this all FINE?” he exclaimed. “Ain’t it lovely?”
“It’s not my fault,” sobbed Trina.
“It is too,” vociferated McTeague. “It is too. We could live like Christians and decent people if you wanted to. You got more’n five thousand dollars, and you’re so damned stingy that you’d rather live in a rat hole — and make me live there too — before you’d part with a nickel of it. I tell you I’m sick and tired of the whole business.”
An allusion to her lottery money never failed to rouse Trina.
“And I’ll tell you this much too,” she cried, winking back the tears. “Now that you’re out of a job, we can’t afford even to live in your rat hole, as you call it. We’ve got to find a cheaper place than THIS even.”
“What!” exclaimed the dentist, purple with rage. “What, get into a worse hole in the wall than this? Well, we’ll SEE if we will. We’ll just see about that. You’re going to do just as I tell you after this, Trina McTeague,” and once more he thrust his face close to hers.
“I know what’s the matter,” cried Trina, with a half sob; “I know, I can smell it on your breath. You’ve been drinking whiskey.”
“Yes, I’ve been drinking whiskey,” retorted her husband. “I’ve been drinking whiskey. Have you got anything to say about it? Ah, yes, you’re RIGHT, I’ve been drinking whiskey. What have YOU got to say about my drinking whiskey? Let’s hear it.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” sobbed Trina, covering her face with her hands. McTeague caught her wrists in one palm and pulled them down. Trina’s pale face was streaming with tears; her long, narrow blue eyes were swimming; her adorable little chin upraised and quivering.
“Let’s hear what you got to say,” exclaimed McTeague.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Trina, between her sobs.
“Then stop that noise. Stop it, do you hear me? Stop it.” He threw up his open hand threateningly. “STOP!” he exclaimed.
Trina looked at him fearfully, half blinded with weeping. Her husband’s thick mane of yellow hair was disordered and rumpled upon his great square-cut head; his big red ears were redder than ever; his face was purple; the thick eyebrows were knotted over the small, twinkling eyes; the heavy yellow mustache, that smelt of alcohol, drooped over the massive, protruding chin, salient, like that of the carnivora; the veins were swollen and throbbing on his thick red neck; while over her head Trina saw his upraised palm, callused, enormous.