“Ah, the Chinese cigar-makers,” cried Marcus, in a passion, brandishing his fist.  “It’s them as is ruining the cause of white labor.  They are, they are for a fact.  Ah, the rat-eaters!  Ah, the white-livered curs!”

Over in the corner, by the stand of shelves, Old Grannis was listening to Maria Macapa.  The Mexican woman had been violently stirred over Trina’s sudden wealth; Maria’s mind had gone back to her younger days.  She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, her eyes wide and fixed.  Old Grannis listened to her attentively.

“There wa’n’t a piece that was so much as scratched,” Maria was saying.  “Every piece was just like a mirror, smooth and bright; oh, bright as a little sun.  Such a service as that was—­platters and soup tureens and an immense big punchbowl.  Five thousand dollars, what does that amount to?  Why, that punch-bowl alone was worth a fortune.”

“What a wonderful story!” exclaimed Old Grannis, never for an instant doubting its truth.  “And it’s all lost now, you say?”

“Lost, lost,” repeated Maria.

“Tut, tut!  What a pity!  What a pity!”

Suddenly the agent rose and broke out with: 

“Well, I must be going, if I’m to get any car.”

He shook hands with everybody, offered a parting cigar to Marcus, congratulated McTeague and Trina a last time, and bowed himself out.

“What an elegant gentleman,” commented Miss Baker.

“Ah,” said Marcus, nodding his head, “there’s a man of the world for you.  Right on to himself, by damn!”

The company broke up.

“Come along, Mac,” cried Marcus; “we’re to sleep with the dogs to-night, you know.”

The two friends said “Good-night” all around and departed for the little dog hospital.

Old Grannis hurried to his room furtively, terrified lest he should again be brought face to face with Miss Baker.  He bolted himself in and listened until he heard her foot in the hall and the soft closing of her door.  She was there close beside him; as one might say, in the same room; for he, too, had made the discovery as to the similarity of the wallpaper.  At long intervals he could hear a faint rustling as she moved about.  What an evening that had been for him!  He had met her, had spoken to her, had touched her hand; he was in a tremor of excitement.  In a like manner the little old dressmaker listened and quivered.  He was there in that same room which they shared in common, separated only by the thinnest board partition.  He was thinking of her, she was almost sure of it.  They were strangers no longer; they were acquaintances, friends.  What an event that evening had been in their lives!

Late as it was, Miss Baker brewed a cup of tea and sat down in her rocking chair close to the partition; she rocked gently, sipping her tea, calming herself after the emotions of that wonderful evening.

Old Grannis heard the clinking of the tea things and smelt the faint odor of the tea.  It seemed to him a signal, an invitation.  He drew his chair close to his side of the partition, before his work-table.  A pile of half-bound “Nations” was in the little binding apparatus; he threaded his huge upholsterer’s needle with stout twine and set to work.