McTeague by Frank Norris (leveled readers TXT) 📕

pounding upon his door. He opened it to let in Maria Macapa, her hair dishevelled and her eyes starting with terror.

“Oh, Mister Schouler,” she gasped, “lock the door quick. Don’t let him get me. He’s got a knife, and he says sure he’s going to do for me, if I don’t tell him where it is.”

“Who has? What has? Where is what?” shouted Marcus, flaming with excitement upon the instant. He opened the door and peered down the dark hall, both fists clenched, ready to fight⁠—he did not know whom, and he did not know why.

“It’s Zerkow,” wailed Maria, pulling him back into the room and bolting the door, “and he’s got a knife as long as that. Oh, my Lord, here he comes now! Ain’t that him? Listen.”

Zerkow was coming up the stairs, calling for Maria.

“Don’t you let him get me, will you, Mister Schouler?” gasped Maria.

“I’ll break him in two,” shouted Marcus, livid with rage. “Think I’m afraid of his knife?”

“I know where you are,” cried Zerkow, on the landing outside. “You’re in Schouler’s room. What are you doing in Schouler’s room at this time of night? Come outa there; you oughta be ashamed. I’ll do for you yet, my girl. Come outa there once, an’ see if I don’t.”

“I’ll do for you myself, you dirty Jew,” shouted Marcus, unbolting the door and running out into the hall.

“I want my wife,” exclaimed the Jew, backing down the stairs. “What’s she mean by running away from me and going into your room?”

“Look out, he’s got a knife!” cried Maria through the crack of the door.

“Ah, there you are. Come outa that, and come back home,” exclaimed Zerkow.

“Get outa here yourself,” cried Marcus, advancing on him angrily. “Get outa here.”

“Maria’s gota come too.”

“Get outa here,” vociferated Marcus, “an’ put up that knife. I see it; you needn’t try an’ hide it behind your leg. Give it to me, anyhow,” he shouted suddenly, and before Zerkow was aware, Marcus had wrenched it away. “Now, get outa here.”

Zerkow backed away, peering and peeping over Marcus’s shoulder.

“I want Maria.”

“Get outa here. Get along out, or I’ll put you out.” The street door closed. The Jew was gone.

“Huh!” snorted Marcus, swelling with arrogance. “Huh! Think I’m afraid of his knife? I ain’t afraid of anybody,” he shouted pointedly, for McTeague and his wife, roused by the clamor, were peering over the banisters from the landing above. “Not of anybody,” repeated Marcus.

Maria came out into the hall.

“Is he gone? Is he sure gone?”

“What was the trouble?” inquired Marcus, suddenly.

“I woke up about an hour ago,” Maria explained, “and Zerkow wasn’t in bed; maybe he hadn’t come to bed at all. He was down on his knees by the sink, and he’d pried up some boards off the floor and was digging there. He had his dark-lantern. He was digging with that knife, I guess, and all the time he kept mumbling to himself, ‘More’n a hundred pieces, an’ every one of ’em gold; more’n a hundred pieces, an’ every one of ’em gold.’ Then, all of a sudden, he caught sight of me. I was sitting up in bed, and he jumped up and came at me with his knife, an’ he says, ‘Where is it? Where is it? I know you got it hid somewhere. Where is it? Tell me or I’ll knife you.’ I kind of fooled him and kept him off till I got my wrapper on, an’ then I run out. I didn’t dare stay.”

“Well, what did you tell him about your gold dishes for in the first place?” cried Marcus.

“I never told him,” protested Maria, with the greatest energy. “I never told him; I never heard of any gold dishes. I don’ know where he got the idea; he must be crazy.”

By this time Trina and McTeague, Old Grannis, and little Miss Baker⁠—all the lodgers on the upper floors of the flat⁠—had gathered about Maria. Trina and the dentist, who had gone to bed, were partially dressed, and Trina’s enormous mane of black hair was hanging in two thick braids far down her back. But, late as it was, Old Grannis and the retired dressmaker had still been up and about when Maria had aroused them.

“Why, Maria,” said Trina, “you always used to tell us about your gold dishes. You said your folks used to have them.”

“Never, never, never!” exclaimed Maria, vehemently. “You folks must all be crazy. I never heard of any gold dishes.”

“Well,” spoke up Miss Baker, “you’re a queer girl, Maria; that’s all I can say.” She left the group and returned to her room. Old Grannis watched her go from the corner of his eye, and in a few moments followed her, leaving the group as unnoticed as he had joined it. By degrees the flat quieted down again. Trina and McTeague returned to their rooms.

“I guess I’ll go back now,” said Maria. “He’s all right now. I ain’t afraid of him so long as he ain’t got his knife.”

“Well, say,” Marcus called to her as she went downstairs, “if he gets funny again, you just yell out; I’ll hear you. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Marcus went into his room again and resumed his wrangle with the refractory boots. His eye fell on Zerkow’s knife, a long, keen-bladed hunting-knife, with a buckhorn handle. “I’ll take you along with me,” he exclaimed, suddenly. “I’ll just need you where I’m going.”

Meanwhile, old Miss Baker was making tea to calm her nerves after the excitement of Maria’s incursion. This evening she went so far as to make tea for two, laying an extra place on the other side of her little tea-table, setting out a cup and saucer and one of the Gorham silver spoons. Close upon the other side of the partition Old Grannis bound uncut numbers of the “Nation.”

“Do you know what I think, Mac?” said Trina, when the couple had returned to their rooms. “I think Marcus is going away.”

“What? What?” muttered the dentist, very