On the other hand, Trina’s little room was the centre around which revolved another and different order of things.  The dressmaker came and went, congratulatory visitors invaded the little front parlor, the chatter of unfamiliar voices resounded from the front steps; bonnet-boxes and yards of dress-goods littered the beds and chairs; wrapping paper, tissue paper, and bits of string strewed the floor; a pair of white satin slippers stood on a corner of the toilet table; lengths of white veiling, like a snow-flurry, buried the little work-table; and a mislaid box of artificial orange blossoms was finally discovered behind the bureau.

The two systems of operation often clashed and tangled.  Mrs. Sieppe was found by her harassed husband helping Trina with the waist of her gown when she should have been slicing cold chicken in the kitchen.  Mr. Sieppe packed his frock coat, which he would have to wear at the wedding, at the very bottom of “Trunk C.”  The minister, who called to offer his congratulations and to make arrangements, was mistaken for the expressman.

McTeague came and went furtively, dizzied and made uneasy by all this bustle.  He got in the way; he trod upon and tore breadths of silk; he tried to help carry the packing-boxes, and broke the hall gas fixture; he came in upon Trina and the dress-maker at an ill-timed moment, and retiring precipitately, overturned the piles of pictures stacked in the hall.

There was an incessant going and coming at every moment of the day, a great calling up and down stairs, a shouting from room to room, an opening and shutting of doors, and an intermittent sound of hammering from the laundry, where Mr. Sieppe in his shirt sleeves labored among the packing-boxes.  The twins clattered about on the carpetless floors of the denuded rooms.  Owgooste was smacked from hour to hour, and wept upon the front stairs; the dressmaker called over the banisters for a hot flatiron; expressmen tramped up and down the stairway.  Mrs. Sieppe stopped in the preparation of the lunches to call “Hoop, Hoop” to the greyhound, throwing lumps of coal.  The dog-wheel creaked, the front door bell rang, delivery wagons rumbled away, windows rattled—­the little house was in a positive uproar.

Almost every day of the week now Trina was obliged to run over to town and meet McTeague.  No more philandering over their lunch now-a-days.  It was business now.  They haunted the house-furnishing floors of the great department houses, inspecting and pricing ranges, hardware, china, and the like.  They rented the photographer’s rooms furnished, and fortunately only the kitchen and dining-room utensils had to be bought.

The money for this as well as for her trousseau came out of Trina’s five thousand dollars.  For it had been finally decided that two hundred dollars of this amount should be devoted to the establishment of the new household.  Now that Trina had made her great winning, Mr. Sieppe no longer saw the necessity of dowering her further, especially when he considered the enormous expense to which he would be put by the voyage of his own family.