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Updated: June 20, 2025
The thrown knife, the attempt on his life, was beyond his solution; but the breaking of his pipe he understood clearly enough. "I'll show him," he exclaimed. As though they had been little children, McTeague set Frenna and the harness-maker aside, and strode out at the door like a raging elephant. Heise stood rubbing his shoulder. "Might as well try to stop a locomotive," he muttered.
For Frenna's was one of Marcus Schouler's haunts; a great deal of his time was spent there. He involved himself in fearful political and social discussions with Heise the harness-maker, and with one or two old German, habitues of the place.
Do you remember our first picnic, Mac?" "Sure, sure," replied the dentist; "we had a Gotha truffle." "And August lost his steamboat," put in Trina, "and papa smacked him. I remember it just as well." "Why, look there," said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up the companion-way. "Ain't that Mr. Schouler?" It was Marcus, sure enough.
A woman with a towel round her head raised a window opposite Zerkow's house and called to the woman who had been washing the steps, "What is it, Mrs. Flint?" Heise was already inside the house. He turned to Trina, panting from his run. "Where did you say where was it where?" "In there," said Trina, "farther in the next room." They burst into the kitchen.
He says 'What's the matter with a basket picnic over at Schuetzen Park next Tuesday? You know the paper-hangers are going to be in the 'Parlors' all that day, so I'll have a holiday. That's what made Heise think of it. Heise says he'll get the Ryers to go too. It's the anniversary of their wedding day. We'll ask Selina to go; she can meet us on the other side. Come on, let's go, huh, will you?"
When Heise paid his bill, McTeague, in a fury, sent the amount to the owner of the little house. There was no formal reconciliation between the dentist and his little woman. Their relations readjusted themselves inevitably. By the end of the week they were as amicable as ever, but it was long before they spoke of the little house again. Nor did they ever revisit it of a Sunday afternoon.
"I KNOW he's drinking somewhere," she cried, apprehensively. "He had the money from his sign with him." At eight o'clock she threw a shawl over her head and went over to the harness shop. If anybody would know where McTeague was it would be Heise. But the harness-maker had seen nothing of him since the day before. "He was in here yesterday afternoon, and we had a drink or two at Frenna's.
"Come over here over into the house I found her she's dead." Heise dashed across the street on the run, with Trina at his heels, a trail of spilled whittlings marking his course. The two ran down the alley.
Every now and then old Miss Baker, who had gone below to see how things were progressing, returned with reports of the foray. "Mrs. Heise bought the chenille portieres. Mister Ryer made a bid for your bed, but a man in a gray coat bid over him. It was knocked down for three dollars and a half. The German shoe-maker on the next block bought the stone pug dog.
"You're right," said Pete, "and it's some of ourselves that's to blame for it." "How's that?" said somebody. "Aisy enough," said Pete. "When I came home from Kimberly I met an ould fisherman you know the man, Billy well, you do, Dan Phil Nelly, of Ramsey. 'How's the fishing, Phil? says I. He gave me a Hm! and a heise of his neck, and 'I'm not fishing no more, says he.
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