But he was restless during the night.  Every now and then he was awakened by noises to which he had long since become accustomed.  Now it was the cackling of the geese in the deserted market across the street; now it was the stoppage of the cable, the sudden silence coming almost like a shock; and now it was the infuriated barking of the dogs in the back yard—­Alec, the Irish setter, and the collie that belonged to the branch post-office raging at each other through the fence, snarling their endless hatred into each other’s faces.  As often as he woke, McTeague turned and looked for the tooth, with a sudden suspicion that he had only that moment dreamed the whole business.  But he always found it—­Trina’s gift, his birthday from his little woman—­a huge, vague bulk, looming there through the half darkness in the centre of the room, shining dimly out as if with some mysterious light of its own.

CHAPTER 9

Trina and McTeague were married on the first day of June, in the photographer’s rooms that the dentist had rented.  All through May the Sieppe household had been turned upside down.  The little box of a house vibrated with excitement and confusion, for not only were the preparations for Trina’s marriage to be made, but also the preliminaries were to be arranged for the hegira of the entire Sieppe family.

They were to move to the southern part of the State the day after Trina’s marriage, Mr. Sieppe having bought a third interest in an upholstering business in the suburbs of Los Angeles.  It was possible that Marcus Schouler would go with them.

Not Stanley penetrating for the first time into the Dark Continent, not Napoleon leading his army across the Alps, was more weighted with responsibility, more burdened with care, more overcome with the sense of the importance of his undertaking, than was Mr. Sieppe during this period of preparation.  From dawn to dark, from dark to early dawn, he toiled and planned and fretted, organizing and reorganizing, projecting and devising.  The trunks were lettered, A, B, and C, the packages and smaller bundles numbered.  Each member of the family had his especial duty to perform, his particular bundles to oversee.  Not a detail was forgotten—­fares, prices, and tips were calculated to two places of decimals.  Even the amount of food that it would be necessary to carry for the black greyhound was determined.  Mrs. Sieppe was to look after the lunch, “der gomisariat.”  Mr. Sieppe would assume charge of the checks, the money, the tickets, and, of course, general supervision.  The twins would be under the command of Owgooste, who, in turn, would report for orders to his father.

Day in and day out these minutiae were rehearsed.  The children were drilled in their parts with a military exactitude; obedience and punctuality became cardinal virtues.  The vast importance of the undertaking was insisted upon with scrupulous iteration.  It was a manoeuvre, an army changing its base of operations, a veritable tribal migration.