sullen
silence, which McTeague was too abstracted to notice.

They entered the tiny office of the hospital with its red carpet, its
gas stove, and its colored prints of famous dogs hanging against the
walls. In one corner stood the iron bed which they were to occupy.

"You go on an' get to bed, Mac," observed Marcus. "I'll take a look at
the dogs before I turn in."

He went outside and passed along into the yard, that was bounded on
three sides by pens where the dogs were kept. A bull terrier dying of
gastritis recognized him and began to whimper feebly.

Marcus paid no attention to the dogs. For the first time that evening he
was alone and could give vent to his thoughts. He took a couple of turns
up and down the yard, then suddenly in a low voice exclaimed:

"You fool, you fool, Marcus Schouler! If you'd kept Trina you'd have
had that money. You might have had it yourself. You've thrown away your
chance in life--to give up the girl, yes--but this," he stamped his foot
with rage--"to throw five thousand dollars out of the window--to stuff
it into the pockets of someone else, when it might have been yours, when
you might have had Trina AND the money--and all for what? Because we
were pals. Oh, 'pals' is all right--but five thousand dollars--to have
played it right into his hands--God DAMN the luck!"

CHAPTER 8

The next two months were delightful. Trina and McTeague saw each other
regularly, three times a week. The dentist went over to B Street Sunday
and Wednesday afternoons as usual; but on Fridays it was Trina who came
to the city. She spent the morning between nine and twelve o'clock down
town, for the most part in the cheap department stores, doing the weekly
shopping for herself and the family. At noon she took an uptown car and
met McTeague at the corner of Polk Street. The two lunched together at
a small uptown hotel just around the corner on Sutter Street. They
were given a little room to themselves. Nothing could have been more
delicious. They had but to close the sliding door to shut themselves off
from the whole world.

Trina would arrive breathless from her raids upon the bargain counters,
her pale cheeks flushed, her hair blown about her face and into the
corners of her lips, her mother's net reticule stuffed to bursting. Once
in their tiny private room, she would drop into her chair with a little
groan.

"Oh, MAC, I am so tired; I've just been all OVER town. Oh, it's good to
sit down. Jus