“Well, nothun will, you bet!” vociferated the other.  “No, sir; you bet not, Mac.”

Marcus was thinking hard.  He could see very clearly that McTeague loved Trina more than he did; that in some strange way this huge, brutal fellow was capable of a greater passion than himself, who was twice as clever.  Suddenly Marcus jumped impetuously to a resolution.

“Well, say, Mac,” he cried, striking the table with his fist, “go ahead.  I guess you—­you want her pretty bad.  I’ll pull out; yes, I will.  I’ll give her up to you, old man.”

The sense of his own magnanimity all at once overcame Marcus.  He saw himself as another man, very noble, self-sacrificing; he stood apart and watched this second self with boundless admiration and with infinite pity.  He was so good, so magnificent, so heroic, that he almost sobbed.  Marcus made a sweeping gesture of resignation, throwing out both his arms, crying: 

“Mac, I’ll give her up to you.  I won’t stand between you.”  There were actually tears in Marcus’s eyes as he spoke.  There was no doubt he thought himself sincere.  At that moment he almost believed he loved Trina conscientiously, that he was sacrificing himself for the sake of his friend.  The two stood up and faced each other, gripping hands.  It was a great moment; even McTeague felt the drama of it.  What a fine thing was this friendship between men! the dentist treats his friend for an ulcerated tooth and refuses payment; the friend reciprocates by giving up his girl.  This was nobility.  Their mutual affection and esteem suddenly increased enormously.  It was Damon and Pythias; it was David and Jonathan; nothing could ever estrange them.  Now it was for life or death.

“I’m much obliged,” murmured McTeague.  He could think of nothing better to say.  “I’m much obliged,” he repeated; “much obliged, Mark.”

“That’s all right, that’s all right,” returned Marcus Schouler, bravely, and it occurred to him to add, “You’ll be happy together.  Tell her for me—­tell her—–­tell her——­” Marcus could not go on.  He wrung the dentist’s hand silently.

It had not appeared to either of them that Trina might refuse McTeague.  McTeague’s spirits rose at once.  In Marcus’s withdrawal he fancied he saw an end to all his difficulties.  Everything would come right, after all.  The strained, exalted state of Marcus’s nerves ended by putting him into fine humor as well.  His grief suddenly changed to an excess of gaiety.  The afternoon was a success.  They slapped each other on the back with great blows of the open palms, and they drank each other’s health in a third round of beer.

Ten minutes after his renunciation of Trina Sieppe, Marcus astounded McTeague with a tremendous feat.

“Looka here, Mac.  I know somethun you can’t do.  I’ll bet you two bits I’ll stump you.”  They each put a quarter on the table.  “Now watch me,” cried Marcus.  He caught up a billiard ball from the rack, poised it a moment in front of his face, then with a sudden, horrifying distension of his jaws crammed it into his mouth, and shut his lips over it.