or Mrs. Sieppe urged some one of the company
to have his or her plate refilled. They were constantly employed in
dishing potatoes or carving the goose or ladling gravy. The hired waiter
circled around the room, his limp napkin over his arm, his hands full
of plates and dishes. He was a great joker; he had names of his own
for different articles of food, that sent gales of laughter around the
table. When he spoke of a bunch of parsley as "scenery," Heise all but
strangled himself over a mouthful of potato. Out in the kitchen Maria
Macapa did the work of three, her face scarlet, her sleeves rolled
up; every now and then she uttered shrill but unintelligible outcries,
supposedly addressed to the waiter.

"Uncle Oelbermann," said Trina, "let me give you another helping of
prunes."

The Sieppes paid great deference to Uncle Oelbermann, as indeed did the
whole company. Even Marcus Schouler lowered his voice when he addressed
him. At the beginning of the meal he had nudged the harness-maker and
had whispered behind his hand, nodding his head toward the wholesale toy
dealer, "Got thirty thousand dollars in the bank; has, for a fact."

"Don't have much to say," observed Heise.

"No, no. That's his way; never opens his face."

As the evening wore on, the gas and two lamps were lit. The company were
still eating. The men, gorged with food, had unbuttoned their vests.
McTeague's cheeks were distended, his eyes wide, his huge, salient jaw
moved with a machine-like regularity; at intervals he drew a series of
short breaths through his nose. Mrs. Sieppe wiped her forehead with her
napkin.

"Hey, dere, poy, gif me some more oaf dat--what you
call--'bubble-water.'"

That was how the waiter had spoken of the champagne--"bubble-water."
The guests had shouted applause, "Outa sight." He was a heavy josher was
that waiter.

Bottle after bottle was opened, the women stopping their ears as the
corks were drawn. All of a sudden the dentist uttered an exclamation,
clapping his hand to his nose, his face twisting sharply.

"Mac, what is it?" cried Trina in alarm.

"That champagne came to my nose," he cried, his eyes watering. "It
stings like everything."

"Great BEER, ain't ut?" shouted Marcus.

"Now, Mark," remonstrated Trina in a low voice. "Now, Mark, you just
shut up; that isn't funny any more. I don't want you should make fun of
Mac. He called it beer on purpose. I guess HE knows."

Throughout the meal old Miss Baker had oc