“I want that money,” he said, pausing in front of her.

“What money?” cried Trina.

“I want that money.  You got it—­that five thousand dollars.  I want every nickel of it!  You understand?”

“I haven’t it.  It isn’t here.  Uncle Oelbermann’s got it.”

“That’s a lie.  He told me that you came and got it.  You’ve had it long enough; now I want it.  Do you hear?”

“Mac, I can’t give you that money.  I—­I won’t give it to you,” Trina cried, with sudden resolution.

“Yes, you will.  You’ll give me every nickel of it.”

“No, no.”

“You ain’t going to make small of me this time.  Give me that money.”

“No.”

“For the last time, will you give me that money?”

“No.”

“You won’t, huh?  You won’t give me it?  For the last time.”

“No, no.”

Usually the dentist was slow in his movements, but now the alcohol had awakened in him an ape-like agility.  He kept his small eyes upon her, and all at once sent his fist into the middle of her face with the suddenness of a relaxed spring.

Beside herself with terror, Trina turned and fought him back; fought for her miserable life with the exasperation and strength of a harassed cat; and with such energy and such wild, unnatural force, that even McTeague for the moment drew back from her.  But her resistance was the one thing to drive him to the top of his fury.  He came back at her again, his eyes drawn to two fine twinkling points, and his enormous fists, clenched till the knuckles whitened, raised in the air.

Then it became abominable.

In the schoolroom outside, behind the coal scuttle, the cat listened to the sounds of stamping and struggling and the muffled noise of blows, wildly terrified, his eyes bulging like brass knobs.  At last the sounds stopped on a sudden; he heard nothing more.  Then McTeague came out, closing the door.  The cat followed him with distended eyes as he crossed the room and disappeared through the street door.

The dentist paused for a moment on the sidewalk, looking carefully up and down the street.  It was deserted and quiet.  He turned sharply to the right and went down a narrow passage that led into the little court yard behind the school.  A candle was burning in Trina’s room.  He went up by the outside stairway and entered.

The trunk stood locked in one corner of the room.  The dentist took the lid-lifter from the little oil stove, put it underneath the lock-clasp and wrenched it open.  Groping beneath a pile of dresses he found the chamois-skin bag, the little brass match-box, and, at the very bottom, carefully thrust into one corner, the canvas sack crammed to the mouth with twenty-dollar gold pieces.  He emptied the chamois-skin bag and the matchbox into the pockets of his trousers.  But the canvas sack was too bulky to hide about his clothes.  “I guess I’ll just naturally have to carry you,” he muttered.  He blew out the candle, closed the door, and gained the street again.