er-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 a