“Never mind, dear; never mind,” cried Trina, through her tears.  “It’ll all come right in the end, and we’ll be poor together if we have to.  You can sure find something else to do.  We’ll start in again.”

“Look at the slate there,” said McTeague, pulling away from her and reaching down the slate on which he kept a record of his appointments.  “Look at them.  There’s Vanovitch at two on Wednesday, and Loughhead’s wife Thursday morning, and Heise’s little girl Thursday afternoon at one-thirty; Mrs. Watson on Friday, and Vanovitch again Saturday morning early—­at seven.  That’s what I was to have had, and they ain’t going to come.  They ain’t ever going to come any more.”

Trina took the little slate from him and looked at it ruefully.

“Rub them out,” she said, her voice trembling; “rub it all out;” and as she spoke her eyes brimmed again, and a great tear dropped on the slate.  “That’s it,” she said; “that’s the way to rub it out, by me crying on it.”  Then she passed her fingers over the tear-blurred writing and washed the slate clean.  “All gone, all gone,” she said.

“All gone,” echoed the dentist.  There was a silence.  Then McTeague heaved himself up to his full six feet two, his face purpling, his enormous mallet-like fists raised over his head.  His massive jaw protruded more than ever, while his teeth clicked and grated together; then he growled: 

“If ever I meet Marcus Schouler—­” he broke off abruptly, the white of his eyes growing suddenly pink.

“Oh, if ever you do,” exclaimed Trina, catching her breath.

CHAPTER 14

“Well, what do you think?” said Trina.

She and McTeague stood in a tiny room at the back of the flat and on its very top floor.  The room was whitewashed.  It contained a bed, three cane-seated chairs, and a wooden washstand with its washbowl and pitcher.  From its single uncurtained window one looked down into the flat’s dirty back yard and upon the roofs of the hovels that bordered the alley in the rear.  There was a rag carpet on the floor.  In place of a closet some dozen wooden pegs were affixed to the wall over the washstand.  There was a smell of cheap soap and of ancient hair-oil in the air.

“That’s a single bed,” said Trina, “but the landlady says she’ll put in a double one for us.  You see——­”

“I ain’t going to live here,” growled McTeague.

“Well, you’ve got to live somewhere,” said Trina, impatiently.  “We’ve looked Polk Street over, and this is the only thing we can afford.”

“Afford, afford,” muttered the dentist.  “You with your five thousand dollars, and the two or three hundred you got saved up, talking about ‘afford.’  You make me sick.”

“Now, Mac,” exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down in one of the cane-seated chairs; “now, Mac, let’s have this thing——­”

“Well, I don’t figure on living in one room,” growled the dentist, sullenly.  “Let’s live decently until we can get a fresh start.  We’ve got the money.”