“Ah, go on!” he exclaimed; “no speech.”

“Ah, get up and say somethun, anyhow,” persisted Marcus; “you ought to do it.  It’s the proper caper.”

McTeague heaved himself up; there was a burst of applause; he looked slowly about him, then suddenly sat down again, shaking his head hopelessly.

“Oh, go on, Mac,” cried Trina.

“Get up, say somethun, anyhow,” cried Marcus, tugging at his arm; “you got to.”

Once more McTeague rose to his feet.

“Huh!” he exclaimed, looking steadily at the table.  Then he began: 

“I don’ know what to say—­I—­I—­I ain’t never made a speech before; I—­I ain’t never made a speech before.  But I’m glad Trina’s won the prize—­”

“Yes, I’ll bet you are,” muttered Marcus.

“I—­I—­I’m glad Trina’s won, and I—­I want to—­I want to—­I want to—­want to say that—­you’re—­all—­welcome, an’ drink hearty, an’ I’m much obliged to the agent.  Trina and I are goin’ to be married, an’ I’m glad everybody’s here to-night, an’ you’re—­all—­welcome, an’ drink hearty, an’ I hope you’ll come again, an’ you’re always welcome—­an’—­I—­an’—­an’—­That’s—­about—­all—­I—­gotta say.”  He sat down, wiping his forehead, amidst tremendous applause.

Soon after that the company pushed back from the table and relaxed into couples and groups.  The men, with the exception of Old Grannis, began to smoke, the smell of their tobacco mingling with the odors of ether, creosote, and stale bedding, which pervaded the “Parlors.”  Soon the windows had to be lowered from the top.  Mrs. Sieppe and old Miss Baker sat together in the bay window exchanging confidences.  Miss Baker had turned back the overskirt of her dress; a plate of cake was in her lap; from time to time she sipped her wine with the delicacy of a white cat.  The two women were much interested in each other.  Miss Baker told Mrs. Sieppe all about Old Grannis, not forgetting the fiction of the title and the unjust stepfather.

“He’s quite a personage really,” said Miss Baker.

Mrs. Sieppe led the conversation around to her children.  “Ach, Trina is sudge a goote girl,” she said; “always gay, yes, und sing from morgen to night.  Und Owgooste, he is soh smart also, yes, eh?  He has der genius for machines, always making somethun mit wheels und sbrings.”

“Ah, if—­if—­I had children,” murmured the little old maid a trifle wistfully, “one would have been a sailor; he would have begun as a midshipman on my brother’s ship; in time he would have been an officer.  The other would have been a landscape gardener.”

“Oh, Mac!” exclaimed Trina, looking up into the dentist’s face, “think of all this money coming to us just at this very moment.  Isn’t it wonderful?  Don’t it kind of scare you?”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” muttered McTeague, shaking his head.  “Let’s buy a lot of tickets,” he added, struck with an idea.

“Now, that’s how you can always tell a good cigar,” observed the agent to Marcus as the two sat smoking at the end of the table.  “The light end should be rolled to a point.”