“Yes, I know; but you know Maria hasn’t——­”

“Now, just listen.  You’ve heard Maria tell about that wonderful service of gold dishes she says her folks used to own in Central America; she’s crazy on that subject, don’t you know.  She’s all right on everything else, but just start her on that service of gold plate and she’ll talk you deaf.  She can describe it just as though she saw it, and she can make you see it, too, almost.  Now, you see, Maria and Zerkow have known each other pretty well.  Maria goes to him every two weeks or so to sell him junk; they got acquainted that way, and I know Maria’s been dropping in to see him pretty often this last year, and sometimes he comes here to see her.  He’s made Maria tell him the story of that plate over and over and over again, and Maria does it and is glad to, because he’s the only one that believes it.  Now he’s going to marry her just so’s he can hear that story every day, every hour.  He’s pretty near as crazy on the subject as Maria is.  They’re a pair for you, aren’t they?  Both crazy over a lot of gold dishes that never existed.  Perhaps Maria’ll marry him because it’s her only chance to get a husband, but I’m sure it’s more for the reason that she’s got some one to talk to now who believes her story.  Don’t you think I’m right?”

“Yes, yes, I guess you’re right,” admitted Miss Baker.

“But it’s a queer match anyway you put it,” said Trina, musingly.

“Ah, you may well say that,” returned the other, nodding her head.  There was a silence.  For a long moment the dentist’s wife and the retired dressmaker, the one at the window, the other on the sidewalk, remained lost in thought, wondering over the strangeness of the affair.

But suddenly there was a diversion.  Alexander, Marcus Schouler’s Irish setter, whom his master had long since allowed the liberty of running untrammelled about the neighborhood, turned the corner briskly and came trotting along the sidewalk where Miss Baker stood.  At the same moment the Scotch collie who had at one time belonged to the branch post-office issued from the side door of a house not fifty feet away.  In an instant the two enemies had recognized each other.  They halted abruptly, their fore feet planted rigidly.  Trina uttered a little cry.

“Oh, look out, Miss Baker.  Those two dogs hate each other just like humans.  You best look out.  They’ll fight sure.”  Miss Baker sought safety in a nearby vestibule, whence she peered forth at the scene, very interested and curious.  Maria Macapa’s head thrust itself from one of the top-story windows of the flat, with a shrill cry.  Even McTeague’s huge form appeared above the half curtains of the “Parlor” windows, while over his shoulder could be seen the face of the “patient,” a napkin tucked in his collar, the rubber dam depending from his mouth.  All the flat knew of the feud between the dogs, but never before had the pair been brought face to face.