“That’s the idea,” exclaimed Heise, delighted at his success.  “Come on, boys, now let’s drink.”  Their elbows crooked and they drank silently.

Their picnic that day was very jolly.  Nothing had changed at Schuetzen Park since the day of that other memorable Sieppe picnic four years previous.  After lunch the men took themselves off to the rifle range, while Selina, Trina, and the other two women put away the dishes.  An hour later the men joined them in great spirits.  Ryer had won the impromptu match which they had arranged, making quite a wonderful score, which included three clean bulls’ eyes, while McTeague had not been able even to hit the target itself.

Their shooting match had awakened a spirit of rivalry in the men, and the rest of the afternoon was passed in athletic exercises between them.  The women sat on the slope of the grass, their hats and gloves laid aside, watching the men as they strove together.  Aroused by the little feminine cries of wonder and the clapping of their ungloved palms, these latter began to show off at once.  They took off their coats and vests, even their neckties and collars, and worked themselves into a lather of perspiration for the sake of making an impression on their wives.  They ran hundred-yard sprints on the cinder path and executed clumsy feats on the rings and on the parallel bars.  They even found a huge round stone on the beach and “put the shot” for a while.  As long as it was a question of agility, Marcus was easily the best of the four; but the dentist’s enormous strength, his crude, untutored brute force, was a matter of wonder for the entire party.  McTeague cracked English walnuts—­taken from the lunch baskets—­in the hollow of his arm, and tossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their best mark.  Heise believed himself to be particularly strong in the wrists, but the dentist, using but one hand, twisted a cane out of Heise’s two with a wrench that all but sprained the harnessmaker’s arm.  Then the dentist raised weights and chinned himself on the rings till they thought he would never tire.

His great success quite turned his head; he strutted back and forth in front of the women, his chest thrown out, and his great mouth perpetually expanded in a triumphant grin.  As he felt his strength more and more, he began to abuse it; he domineered over the others, gripping suddenly at their arms till they squirmed with pain, and slapping Marcus on the back so that he gasped and gagged for breath.  The childish vanity of the great fellow was as undisguised as that of a schoolboy.  He began to tell of wonderful feats of strength he had accomplished when he was a young man.  Why, at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer with a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had just stiffened out and trembled all over and died without getting up.

McTeague told this story again, and yet again.  All through the afternoon he could be overheard relating the wonder to any one who would listen, exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details.  Why, the heifer had just frothed at the mouth, and his eyes had rolled up—­ah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like that—­and the butcher had said his skull was all mashed in—­just all mashed in, sure, that’s the word—­just as if from a sledge-hammer.