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Updated: June 26, 2025
Miss Baker pointed to the trunk, whispering: "See, there's where she kept her savings. See, he broke the lock." "Well, Mrs. McTeague," said the doctor, sitting down by the bed, and taking Trina's wrist, "a little fever, eh?" Trina opened her eyes and looked at him, and then at Miss Baker. She did not seem in the least surprised at the unfamiliar faces.
"Poor leetle scairt girl, don' gry soh soh soh, dere's nuttun to pe 'fraid oaf. Dere, go to your hoasban'. Listen, popper's galling again; go den; goot-by." She loosened Trina's arms and started down the stairs. Trina leaned over the banisters, straining her eyes after her mother. "What is ut, Trina?" "Oh, good-by, good-by." "Gome, gome, we miss der drain." "Mamma, oh, mamma!"
God!" The days passed. McTeague had finished the operation on Trina's teeth. She did not come any more to the "Parlors." Matters had readjusted themselves a little between the two during the last sittings.
Sieppe had gone McTeague stood motionless in the middle of the room, his elbows pressed close to his sides, looking obliquely from the corners of his eyes. He hardly dared to move. He was in Trina's room. It was an ordinary little room. A clean white matting was on the floor; gray paper, spotted with pink and green flowers, covered the walls.
By this time Trina and McTeague, Old Grannis, and little Miss Baker all the lodgers on the upper floors of the flat had gathered about Maria. Trina and the dentist, who had gone to bed, were partially dressed, and Trina's enormous mane of black hair was hanging in two thick braids far down her back.
McTeague went softly about the room from one object to another, beholding Trina in everything he touched or looked at. He came at last to the closet door. It was ajar. He opened it wide, and paused upon the threshold. Trina's clothes were hanging there skirts and waists, jackets, and stiff white petticoats. What a vision! For an instant McTeague caught his breath, spellbound.
The cat followed him with distended eyes as he crossed the room and disappeared through the street door. The dentist paused for a moment on the sidewalk, looking carefully up and down the street. It was deserted and quiet. He turned sharply to the right and went down a narrow passage that led into the little court yard behind the school. A candle was burning in Trina's room.
"There's Uncle Oelbermann," Trina had suggested, remembering the rich relative who had the wholesale toy store in the Mission. Mr. Sieppe struck his hand to his forehead. "Ah, an idea," he cried. In the end an agreement was made. The money was invested in Mr. Oelbermann's business. He gave Trina six per cent. Invested in this fashion, Trina's winning would bring in twenty-five dollars a month.
She was crying; her handkerchief was rolled into a wad. From time to time she looked at the train of Trina's dress through her tears. Mr. Sieppe marched his daughter to the exact middle of the floor, wheeled at right angles, and brought her up to the minister. He stepped back three paces, and stood planted upon one of his chalk marks, his face glistening with perspiration.
Everything else, however, she made the ark itself, all windows and no door; the box in which the whole was packed; even down to pasting on the label, which read, "Made in France." She earned from three to four dollars a week. The income from these three sources, McTeague's profession, the interest of the five thousand dollars, and Trina's whittling, made a respectable little sum taken altogether.
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