“Maria’s gota come too.”

“Get outa here,” vociferated Marcus, “an’ put up that knife.  I see it; you needn’t try an’ hide it behind your leg.  Give it to me, anyhow,” he shouted suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus had wrenched it away.  “Now, get outa here.”

Zerkow backed away, peering and peeping over Marcus’s shoulder.

“I want Maria.”

“Get outa here.  Get along out, or I’ll put you out.”  The street door closed.  The Jew was gone.

“Huh!” snorted Marcus, swelling with arrogance.  “Huh!  Think I’m afraid of his knife?  I ain’t afraid of anybody,” he shouted pointedly, for McTeague and his wife, roused by the clamor, were peering over the banisters from the landing above.  “Not of anybody,” repeated Marcus.

Maria came out into the hall.

“Is he gone?  Is he sure gone?”

“What was the trouble?” inquired Marcus, suddenly.

“I woke up about an hour ago,” Maria explained, “and Zerkow wasn’t in bed; maybe he hadn’t come to bed at all.  He was down on his knees by the sink, and he’d pried up some boards off the floor and was digging there.  He had his dark-lantern.  He was digging with that knife, I guess, and all the time he kept mumbling to himself, ‘More’n a hundred pieces, an’ every one of ’em gold; more’n a hundred pieces, an’ every one of ’em gold.’  Then, all of a sudden, he caught sight of me.  I was sitting up in bed, and he jumped up and came at me with his knife, an’ he says, ’Where is it?  Where is it?  I know you got it hid somewhere.  Where is it?  Tell me or I’ll knife you.’  I kind of fooled him and kept him off till I got my wrapper on, an’ then I run out.  I didn’t dare stay.”

“Well, what did you tell him about your gold dishes for in the first place?” cried Marcus.

“I never told him,” protested Maria, with the greatest energy.  “I never told him; I never heard of any gold dishes.  I don’ know where he got the idea; he must be crazy.”

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.  But, late as it was, Old Grannis and the retired dressmaker had still been up and about when Maria had aroused them.

“Why, Maria,” said Trina, “you always used to tell us about your gold dishes.  You said your folks used to have them.”

“Never, never, never!” exclaimed Maria, vehemently.  “You folks must all be crazy.  I never heard of any gold dishes.”

“Well,” spoke up Miss Baker, “you’re a queer girl, Maria; that’s all I can say.”  She left the group and returned to her room.  Old Grannis watched her go from the corner of his eye, and in a few moments followed her, leaving the group as unnoticed as he had joined it.  By degrees the flat quieted down again.  Trina and McTeague returned to their rooms.