McTeague by Frank Norris (leveled readers TXT) 📕

places were but around the corner from each other, so that McTeague could lunch with his wife, as usual, and could even keep his early morning appointments and return to breakfast if he so desired.

However, the house was occupied. A Hungarian family lived in it. The father kept a stationery and notion “bazaar” next to Heise’s harness-shop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a third violin in the orchestra of a theatre. The family rented the house unfurnished for thirty-five dollars, paying extra for the water.

But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their way home from their usual walk turned into the cross street on which the little house was situated, they became promptly aware of an unwonted bustle going on upon the sidewalk in front of it. A dray was back against the curb, an express wagon drove away loaded with furniture; bedsteads, looking-glasses, and washbowls littered the sidewalks. The Hungarian family were moving out.

“Oh, Mac, look!” gasped Trina.

“Sure, sure,” muttered the dentist.

After that they spoke but little. For upwards of an hour the two stood upon the sidewalk opposite, watching intently all that went forward, absorbed, excited.

On the evening of the next day they returned and visited the house, finding a great delight in going from room to room and imagining themselves installed therein. Here would be the bedroom, here the dining-room, here a charming little parlor. As they came out upon the front steps once more they met the owner, an enormous, red-faced fellow, so fat that his walking seemed merely a certain movement of his feet by which he pushed his stomach along in front of him. Trina talked with him a few moments, but arrived at no understanding, and the two went away after giving him their address. At supper that night McTeague said:

“Huh⁠—what do you think, Trina?”

Trina put her chin in the air, tilting back her heavy tiara of swarthy hair.

“I am not so sure yet. Thirty-five dollars and the water extra. I don’t think we can afford it, Mac.”

“Ah, pshaw!” growled the dentist, “sure we can.”

“It isn’t only that,” said Trina, “but it’ll cost so much to make the change.”

“Ah, you talk’s though we were paupers. Ain’t we got five thousand dollars?”

Trina flushed on the instant, even to the lobes of her tiny pale ears, and put her lips together.

“Now, Mac, you know I don’t want you should talk like that. That money’s never, never to be touched.”

“And you’ve been savun up a good deal, besides,” went on McTeague, exasperated at Trina’s persistent economies. “How much money have you got in that little brass match-safe in the bottom of your trunk? Pretty near a hundred dollars, I guess⁠—ah, sure.” He shut his eyes and nodded his great head in a knowing way.

Trina had more than that in the brass match-safe in question, but her instinct of hoarding had led her to keep it a secret from her husband. Now she lied to him with prompt fluency.

“A hundred dollars! What are you talking of, Mac? I’ve not got fifty. I’ve not got thirty.”

“Oh, let’s take that little house,” broke in McTeague. “We got the chance now, and it may never come again. Come on, Trina, shall we? Say, come on, shall we, huh?”

“We’d have to be awful saving if we did, Mac.”

“Well, sure, I say let’s take it.”

“I don’t know,” said Trina, hesitating. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a house all to ourselves? But let’s not decide until tomorrow.”

The next day the owner of the house called. Trina was out at her morning’s marketing and the dentist, who had no one in the chair at the time, received him in the Parlors. Before he was well aware of it, McTeague had concluded the bargain. The owner bewildered him with a world of phrases, made him believe that it would be a great saving to move into the little house, and finally offered it to him “water free.”

“All right, all right,” said McTeague, “I’ll take it.”

The other immediately produced a paper.

“Well, then, suppose you sign for the first month’s rent, and we’ll call it a bargain. That’s business, you know,” and McTeague, hesitating, signed.

“I’d like to have talked more with my wife about it first,” he said, dubiously.

“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the owner, easily. “I guess if the head of the family wants a thing, that’s enough.”

McTeague could not wait until lunch time to tell the news to Trina. As soon as he heard her come in, he laid down the plaster-of-paris mould he was making and went out into the kitchen and found her chopping up onions.

“Well, Trina,” he said, “we got that house. I’ve taken it.”

“What do you mean?” she answered, quickly. The dentist told her.

“And you signed a paper for the first month’s rent?”

“Sure, sure. That’s business, you know.”

“Well, why did you do it?” cried Trina. “You might have asked something me about it. Now, what have you done? I was talking with Mrs. Ryer about that house while I was out this morning, and she said the Hungarians moved out because it was absolutely unhealthy; there’s water been standing in the basement for months. And she told me, too,” Trina went on indignantly, “that she knew the owner, and she was sure we could get the house for thirty if we’d bargain for it. Now what have you gone and done? I hadn’t made up my mind about taking the house at all. And now I won’t take it, with the water in the basement and all.”

“Well⁠—well,” stammered McTeague, helplessly, “we needn’t go in if it’s unhealthy.”

“But you’ve signed a paper,” cried Trina, exasperated. “You’ve got to pay that first month’s rent, anyhow⁠—to forfeit it. Oh, you are so stupid! There’s thirty-five dollars just thrown away. I shan’t go into that house; we won’t move a foot out of here. I’ve changed my mind about it, and there’s water in the basement besides.”

“Well, I guess we can stand thirty-five dollars,” mumbled the dentist, “if we’ve got to.”

“Thirty-five