ediate
neighborhood--which was rather sordid. The house was a wooden two-story
arrangement, built by a misguided contractor in a sort of hideous
Queen Anne style, all scrolls and meaningless mill work, with a cheap
imitation of stained glass in the light over the door. There was a
microscopic front yard full of dusty calla-lilies. The front door
boasted an electric bell. But for the McTeagues it was an ideal home.
Their idea was to live in this little house, the dentist retaining
merely his office in the flat. The two places were but around the corner
from each other, so that McTeague could lunch with his wife, as usual,
and could even keep his early morning appointments and return to
breakfast if he so desired.

However, the house was occupied. A Hungarian family lived in it.
The father kept a stationery and notion "bazaar" next to Heise's
harness-shop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a third violin
in the orchestra of a theatre. The family rented the house unfurnished
for thirty-five dollars, paying extra for the water.

But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their way home from their
usual walk turned into the cross street on which the little house was
situated, they became promptly aware of an unwonted bustle going on
upon the sidewalk in front of it. A dray was back against the curb,
an express wagon drove away loaded with furniture; bedsteads,
looking-glasses, and washbowls littered the sidewalks. The Hungarian
family were moving out.

"Oh, Mac, look!" gasped Trina.

"Sure, sure," muttered the dentist.

After that they spoke but little. For upwards of an hour the two stood
upon the sidewalk opposite, watching intently all that went forward,
absorbed, excited.

On the evening of the next day they returned and visited the house,
finding a great delight in going from room to room and imagining
themselves installed therein. Here would be the bedroom, here the
dining-room, here a charming little parlor. As they came out upon the
front steps once more they met the owner, an enormous, red-faced fellow,
so fat that his walking seemed merely a certain movement of his feet by
which he pushed his stomach along in front of him. Trina talked with him
a few moments, but arrived at no understanding, and the two went away
after giving him their address. At supper that night McTeague said:

"Huh--what do you think, Trina?"

Trina put her chin in the air, tilting back her heavy tiara of swarthy
hair.

"I am