“I know, I know,” answered her husband.  “But I got a new patient this week, had two molars and an upper incisor filled at the very first sitting, and he’s going to bring his children round.  He’s a barber on the next block.”

“Well you pay half, then,” said Trina.  “It’ll cost three or four dollars at the very least; and mind, the Heises pay their own fare both ways, Mac, and everybody gets their own lunch.  Yes,” she added, after a pause, “I’ll write and have Selina join us.  I haven’t seen Selina in months.  I guess I’ll have to put up a lunch for her, though,” admitted Trina, “the way we did last time, because she lives in a boarding-house now, and they make a fuss about putting up a lunch.”

They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year—­it was May—­and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired.  The party assembled at the ferry slip at nine o’clock, laden with baskets.  The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer and his wife had already boarded the boat.  They met the Heises in the waiting-room.

“Hello, Doctor,” cried the harness-maker as the McTeagues came up.  “This is what you’d call an old folks’ picnic, all married people this time.”

The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and sat down to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outside this morning because of the fineness of the weather.

“Oh, we’re going to have lots of fun,” cried Trina.  “If it’s anything I do love it’s a picnic.  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.  As he caught sight of the party he gaped at them a moment in blank astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide.

“Well, by damn!” he exclaimed, excitedly.  “What’s up?  Where you all going, anyhow?  Say, ain’t ut queer we should all run up against each other like this?” He made great sweeping bows to the three women, and shook hands with “Cousin Trina,” adding, as he turned to the men of the party, “Glad to see you, Mister Heise.  How do, Mister Ryer?” The dentist, who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting, he ignored completely.  McTeague settled himself in his seat, growling inarticulately behind his mustache.

“Say, say, what’s all up, anyhow?” cried Marcus again.

“It’s a picnic,” exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once; and Trina added, “We’re going over to the same old Schuetzen Park again.  But you’re all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look as though you were going somewhere yourself.”

In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care.  He wore a new pair of slate-blue trousers, a black “cutaway,” and a white lawn “tie” (for him the symbol of the height of elegance).  He carried also his cane, a thin wand of ebony with a gold head, presented to him by the Improvement Club in “recognition of services.”