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Updated: June 11, 2025
The Sieppes had packed their last box and had strapped the last trunk. Trina's two trunks had already been sent to her new home the remodelled photographer's rooms. The B Street house was deserted; the whole family came over to the city on the last day of May and stopped over night at one of the cheap downtown hotels.
They "kept company" a good deal; Marcus took dinner with the Sieppes every Saturday evening at their home at B Street station, across the bay, and Sunday afternoons he and the family usually made little excursions into the suburbs. McTeague began to wonder dimly how it was that on this occasion Marcus had not gone home with his cousin.
Why, it's mine, every single penny of it. Marcus hasn't the least bit of right to it. It's mine, mine. I mean, it's ours, Mac, dear." The elder Sieppes, however, made excuses for Marcus. He had probably been drinking a good deal and didn't know what he was about. He had a dreadful temper, anyhow. Maybe he only wanted to scare McTeague. The week before the marriage the two men were reconciled. Mrs.
Trina still had her mania for family picnics, which had been one of the Sieppes most cherished customs; but now there were other considerations. "I don't know as we can afford it this month, Mac," she said, pouring the chocolate. "I got to pay the gas bill next week, and there's the papering of your office to be paid for some time." "I know, I know," answered her husband.
Marcus ceased to hear from the Sieppes. As for San Francisco, it was as far from him as was London or Vienna. One day, a fortnight after McTeague's flight from San Francisco, Marcus rode into Modoc, to find a group of men gathered about a notice affixed to the outside of the Wells-Fargo office. It was an offer of reward for the arrest and apprehension of a murderer.
The bay window should have been occupied by Trina's sewing machine, but this had been moved to the other side of the room to give place to a little black walnut table with spiral legs, before which the pair were to be married. In one corner stood the parlor melodeon, a family possession of the Sieppes, but given now to Trina as one of her parents' wedding presents.
"No, come on up." "Oh, you come on down." "Oh, you lazy duck!" retorted Marcus, coming down the stairs. "Been out to the Cliff House on a picnic," he explained as he sat down on the bed-lounge, "with my uncle and his people the Sieppes, you know. By damn! it was hot," he suddenly vociferated. "Just look at that! Just look at that!" he cried, dragging at his limp collar.
I'll not be ANYBODY'S best man, I won't." The wedding was to be very quiet; Trina preferred it that way. McTeague would invite only Miss Baker and Heise the harness-maker. The Sieppes sent cards to Selina, who was counted on to furnish the music; to Marcus, of course; and to Uncle Oelbermann. At last the great day, the first of June, arrived.
First of all, he was to get the seats, the third or fourth row from the front, on the left-hand side, so as to be out of the hearing of the drums in the orchestra; he must make arrangements about the rooms with Marcus, must get in the beer, but not the tamales; must buy for himself a white lawn tie so Marcus directed; must look to it that Maria Macapa put his room in perfect order; and, finally, must meet the Sieppes at the ferry slip at half-past seven the following Monday night.
Marcus would exclaim at other times, even when Trina was by. "Don't think of me; I don't count any more. I ain't in it." Marcus seemed to take great pleasure in contemplating the wreck of his life. There is no doubt he enjoyed himself hugely during these days. The Sieppes were at first puzzled as well over this change of front. "Trina has den a new younge man," cried Mr. Sieppe.
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