ll, good-by, Doc."

"Good-by, Marcus," returned McTeague. The two shook hands.

"Guess we won't ever see each other again," continued Marcus. "But good
luck to you, Doc. Hope some day you'll have the patients standing in
line on the stairs."

"Huh! I guess so, I guess so," said the dentist.

"Good-by, Cousin Trina."

"Good-by, Marcus," answered Trina. "You be sure to remember me to mamma,
and papa, and everybody. I'm going to make two great big sets of Noah's
ark animals for the twins on their next birthday; August is too old
for toys. But you can tell the twins that I'll make them some great big
animals. Good-by, success to you, Marcus."

"Good-by, good-by. Good luck to you both."

"Good-by, Cousin Mark."

"Good-by, Marcus."

He was gone.

CHAPTER 13

One morning about a week after Marcus had left for the southern part
of the State, McTeague found an oblong letter thrust through the
letter-drop of the door of his "Parlors." The address was typewritten.
He opened it. The letter had been sent from the City Hall and was
stamped in one corner with the seal of the State of California, very
official; the form and file numbers superscribed.

McTeague had been making fillings when this letter arrived. He was in
his "Parlors," pottering over his movable rack underneath the bird cage
in the bay window. He was making "blocks" to be used in large proximal
cavities and "cylinders" for commencing fillings. He heard the postman's
step in the hall and saw the envelopes begin to shuttle themselves
through the slit of his letter-drop. Then came the fat oblong envelope,
with its official seal, that dropped flatwise to the floor with a
sodden, dull impact.

The dentist put down the broach and scissors and gathered up his mail.
There were four letters altogether. One was for Trina, in Selina's
"elegant" handwriting; another was an advertisement of a new kind of
operating chair for dentists; the third was a card from a milliner on
the next block, announcing an opening; and the fourth, contained in the
fat oblong envelope, was a printed form with blanks left for names
and dates, and addressed to McTeague, from an office in the City Hall.
McTeague read it through laboriously. "I don' know, I don' know," he
muttered, looking stupidly at the rifle manufacturer's calendar. Then
he heard Trina, from the kitchen, singing as she made a clattering
noise with the breakfast dishes. "I guess I'll ask Trina about it," he
muttered