It had been a dreadful wrench for Trina to break in upon her precious five thousand.  She clung to this sum with a tenacity that was surprising; it had become for her a thing miraculous, a god-from-the-machine, suddenly descending upon the stage of her humble little life; she regarded it as something almost sacred and inviolable.  Never, never should a penny of it be spent.  Before she could be induced to part with two hundred dollars of it, more than one scene had been enacted between her and her parents.

Did Trina pay for the golden tooth out of this two hundred?  Later on, the dentist often asked her about it, but Trina invariably laughed in his face, declaring that it was her secret.  McTeague never found out.

One day during this period McTeague told Trina about his affair with Marcus.  Instantly she was aroused.

“He threw his knife at you!  The coward!  He wouldn’t of dared stand up to you like a man.  Oh, Mac, suppose he had hit you?”

“Came within an inch of my head,” put in McTeague, proudly.

“Think of it!” she gasped; “and he wanted part of my money.  Well, I do like his cheek; part of my five thousand!  Why, it’s mine, every single penny of it.  Marcus hasn’t the least bit of right to it.  It’s mine, mine.—­I mean, it’s ours, Mac, dear.”

The elder Sieppes, however, made excuses for Marcus.  He had probably been drinking a good deal and didn’t know what he was about.  He had a dreadful temper, anyhow.  Maybe he only wanted to scare McTeague.

The week before the marriage the two men were reconciled.  Mrs. Sieppe brought them together in the front parlor of the B Street house.

“Now, you two fellers, don’t be dot foolish.  Schake hands und maig ut oop, soh.”

Marcus muttered an apology.  McTeague, miserably embarrassed, rolled his eyes about the room, murmuring, “That’s all right—­that’s all right—­that’s all right.”

However, when it was proposed that Marcus should be McTeague’s best man, he flashed out again with renewed violence.  Ah, no! ah, no!  He’d make up with the dentist now that he was going away, but he’d be damned—­yes, he would—­before he’d be his best man.  That was rubbing it in.  Let him get Old Grannis.

“I’m friends with um all right,” vociferated Marcus, “but I’ll not stand up with um.  I’ll not be ANYBODY’S best man, I won’t.”

The wedding was to be very quiet; Trina preferred it that way.  McTeague would invite only Miss Baker and Heise the harness-maker.  The Sieppes sent cards to Selina, who was counted on to furnish the music; to Marcus, of course; and to Uncle Oelbermann.

At last the great day, the first of June, arrived.  The Sieppes had packed their last box and had strapped the last trunk.  Trina’s two trunks had already been sent to her new home—­the remodelled photographer’s rooms.  The B Street house was deserted; the whole family came over to the city on the last day of May and stopped over night at one of the cheap downtown hotels.  Trina would be married the following evening, and immediately after the wedding supper the Sieppes would leave for the South.