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Updated: May 15, 2025
Why should she suppose a mistake? What if it were true, this wonderful fillip of fortune striking in there like some chance-driven bolt? "Oh, do you think so?" she gasped. The stranger in the drab overcoat came forward. "It's the agent," cried two or three voices, simultaneously. "I guess you're one of the lucky ones, Miss Sieppe," he said. "I suppose you have kept your ticket."
As McTeague's party stepped into the doorway a half-dozen voices cried: "Yes, it's them." "Is that you, Mac?" "Is that you, Miss Sieppe?" "Is your name Trina Sieppe?" Then, shriller than all the rest, Maria Macapa screamed: "Oh, Miss Sieppe, come up here quick. Your lottery ticket has won five thousand dollars!" "What nonsense!" answered Trina. "Ach Gott! What is ut?" cried Mrs.
Then Trina and the dentist were married. The guests stood in constrained attitudes, looking furtively out of the corners of their eyes. Mr. Sieppe never moved a muscle; Mrs. Sieppe cried into her handkerchief all the time. At the melodeon Selina played "Call Me Thine Own," very softly, the tremulo stop pulled out. She looked over her shoulder from time to time.
We breathe der freshes air, a celubration, a pignic bei der seashore on. Ach, dot wull be soh gay, ah?" "You bet it will. It'll be outa sight," cried Marcus, enthusiastic in an instant. "This is m' friend Doctor McTeague I wrote you about, Mrs. Sieppe." "Ach, der doktor," cried Mrs. Sieppe. McTeague was presented, shaking hands gravely as Marcus shouldered him from one to the other. Mr.
What is the row? I'll do all I can to help you." It was more than McTeague could bear. The situation had got beyond him. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep in his pockets, his head rolled forward. "It's it's Miss Sieppe," he said. "Trina, my cousin? How do you mean?" inquired Marcus sharply. "I I I don' know," stammered McTeague, hopelessly confounded.
However, while the unfortunate Irish comedian went through his "act" to the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppe woke Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began getting her "things together." As soon as he was awake Owgooste began fidgeting again. "Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Take ut home to popper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf you got mein handkerchief, Trina?"
"Papa and mamma came over in a sailing ship. They were twenty-one days. Mamma's uncle used to be a sailor. He was captain of a steamer on Lake Geneva, in Switzerland." "Halt!" shouted Mr. Sieppe, brandishing his rifle. They had arrived at the gates of the park. All at once McTeague turned cold. He had only a quarter in his pocket.
It was a dog-wheel, a huge revolving box in which the unhappy black greyhound spent most of his waking hours. It was his kennel; he slept in it. From time to time during the day Mrs. Sieppe appeared on the back doorstep, crying shrilly, "Hoop, hoop!" She threw lumps of coal at him, waking him to his work. They were all very tired, and went to bed early.
He had written of their coming, but the picnic had been decided upon after the arrival of his letter. Mrs. Sieppe explained this to him. She was an immense old lady with a pink face and wonderful hair, absolutely white. The Sieppes were a German-Swiss family. "We go to der park, Schuetzen Park, mit alle dem childern, a little eggs-kursion, eh not soh?
At length, after an interminable period of waiting, Mr. Sieppe appeared at the door. "Are you reatty?" he asked in a sepulchral whisper. "Gome, den." It was like King Charles summoned to execution. Mr. Sieppe preceded them into the hall, moving at a funereal pace. He paused. Suddenly, in the direction of the sitting-room, came the strains of the parlor melodeon. Mr.
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