His rage loomed big within him.  His hatred of Trina came back upon him like a returning surge.  He saw her small, prim mouth, her narrow blue eyes, her black mane of hair, and up-tilted chin, and hated her the more because of them.  Aha, he’d show her; he’d make her dance.  He’d get that seven dollars from her, or he’d know the reason why.  He went through his work that day, heaving and hauling at the ponderous pianos, handling them with the ease of a lifting crane, impatient for the coming of evening, when he could be left to his own devices.  As often as he had a moment to spare he went down the street to the nearest saloon and drank a pony of whiskey.  Now and then as he fought and struggled with the vast masses of ebony, rosewood, and mahogany on the upper floor of the music store, raging and chafing at their inertness and unwillingness, while the whiskey pirouetted in his brain, he would mutter to himself: 

“An’ I got to do this.  I got to work like a dray horse while she sits at home by her stove and counts her money—­and sells my concertina.”

Six o’clock came.  Instead of supper, McTeague drank some more whiskey, five ponies in rapid succession.  After supper he was obliged to go out with the dray to deliver a concert grand at the Odd Fellows’ Hall, where a piano “recital” was to take place.

“Ain’t you coming back with us?” asked one of the handlers as he climbed upon the driver’s seat after the piano had been put in place.

“No, no,” returned the dentist; “I got something else to do.”  The brilliant lights of a saloon near the City Hall caught his eye.  He decided he would have another drink of whiskey.  It was about eight o’clock.

The following day was to be a fete day at the kindergarten, the Christmas and New Year festivals combined.  All that afternoon the little two-story building on Pacific Street had been filled with a number of grand ladies of the Kindergarten Board, who were hanging up ropes of evergreen and sprays of holly, and arranging a great Christmas tree that stood in the centre of the ring in the schoolroom.  The whole place was pervaded with a pungent, piney odor.  Trina had been very busy since the early morning, coming and going at everybody’s call, now running down the street after another tack-hammer or a fresh supply of cranberries, now tying together the ropes of evergreen and passing them up to one of the grand ladies as she carefully balanced herself on a step-ladder.  By evening everything was in place.  As the last grand lady left the school, she gave Trina an extra dollar for her work, and said: 

“Now, if you’ll just tidy up here, Mrs. McTeague, I think that will be all.  Sweep up the pine needles here—­you see they are all over the floor—­and look through all the rooms, and tidy up generally.  Good night—­and a Happy New Year,” she cried pleasantly as she went out.

Trina put the dollar away in her trunk before she did anything else and cooked herself a bit of supper.  Then she came downstairs again.