he harness-maker and Trina came and went
about McTeague, sitting on the ground, his shirt, a mere blur of red
and white, detaching itself violently from the background of pale-green
grass. Between the two groups was the torn and trampled bit of turf, the
wrestling ring; the picnic baskets, together with empty beer bottles,
broken egg-shells, and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here and
there. In the middle of the improvised wrestling ring the sleeve of
Marcus's shirt fluttered occasionally in the sea breeze.

Nobody was paying any attention to Selina. All at once she began to
giggle hysterically again, then cried out with a peal of laughter:

"Oh, what a way for our picnic to end!"

CHAPTER 12

"Now, then, Maria," said Zerkow, his cracked, strained voice just rising
above a whisper, hitching his chair closer to the table, "now, then, my
girl, let's have it all over again. Tell us about the gold plate--the
service. Begin with, 'There were over a hundred pieces and every one of
them gold.'"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zerkow," answered Maria. "There
never was no gold plate, no gold service. I guess you must have dreamed
it."

Maria and the red-headed Polish Jew had been married about a month after
the McTeague's picnic which had ended in such lamentable fashion. Zerkow
had taken Maria home to his wretched hovel in the alley back of the
flat, and the flat had been obliged to get another maid of all work.
Time passed, a month, six months, a whole year went by. At length Maria
gave birth to a child, a wretched, sickly child, with not even strength
enough nor wits enough to cry. At the time of its birth Maria was out of
her mind, and continued in a state of dementia for nearly ten days. She
recovered just in time to make the arrangements for the baby's burial.
Neither Zerkow nor Maria was much affected by either the birth or the
death of this little child. Zerkow had welcomed it with pronounced
disfavor, since it had a mouth to be fed and wants to be provided for.
Maria was out of her head so much of the time that she could scarcely
remember how it looked when alive. The child was a mere incident in
their lives, a thing that had come undesired and had gone unregretted.
It had not even a name; a strange, hybrid little being, come and gone
within a fortnight's time, yet combining in its puny little body the
blood of the Hebrew, the Pole, and the Spaniard.

But the birth of this child had pecul