McTeague by Frank Norris (leveled readers TXT) 📕

By the time McTeague reached Polk Street his teeth were chattering with the cold. He was wet from head to foot. As he was passing Heise’s harness shop a sudden deluge of rain overtook him and he was obliged to dodge into the vestibule for shelter. He, who loved to be warm, to sleep and to be well fed, was icy cold, was exhausted and footsore from tramping the city. He could look forward to nothing better than a badly-cooked supper at the coffee-joint⁠—hot meat on a cold plate, half done suet pudding, muddy coffee, and bad bread, and he was cold, miserably cold, and wet to the bone. All at once a sudden rage against Trina took possession of him. It was her fault. She knew it was going to rain, and she had not let him have a nickel for car fare⁠—she who had five thousand dollars. She let him walk the streets in the cold and in the rain. “Miser,” he growled behind his mustache. “Miser, nasty little old miser. You’re worse than old Zerkow, always nagging about money, money, and you got five thousand dollars. You got more, an’ you live in that stinking hole of a room, and you won’t drink any decent beer. I ain’t going to stand it much longer. She knew it was going to rain. She knew it. Didn’t I tell her? And she drives me out of my own home in the rain, for me to get money for her; more money, and she takes it. She took that money from me that I earned. ’Twasn’t hers; it was mine, I earned it⁠—and not a nickel for car fare. She don’t care if I get wet and get a cold and die. No, she don’t, as long as she’s warm and’s got her money.” He became more and more indignant at the picture he made of himself. “I ain’t going to stand it much longer,” he repeated.

“Why, hello, Doc. Is that you?” exclaimed Heise, opening the door of the harness shop behind him. “Come in out of the wet. Why, you’re soaked through,” he added as he and McTeague came back into the shop, that reeked of oiled leather. “Didn’t you have any umbrella? Ought to have taken a car.”

“I guess so⁠—I guess so,” murmured the dentist, confused. His teeth were chattering.

“You’re going to catch your death-a-cold,” exclaimed Heise. “Tell you what,” he said, reaching for his hat, “come in next door to Frenna’s and have something to warm you up. I’ll get the old lady to mind the shop.” He called Mrs. Heise down from the floor above and took McTeague into Joe Frenna’s saloon, which was two doors above his harness shop.

“Whiskey and gum twice, Joe,” said he to the barkeeper as he and the dentist approached the bar.

“Huh? What?” said McTeague. “Whiskey? No, I can’t drink whiskey. It kind of disagrees with me.”

“Oh, the hell!” returned Heise, easily. “Take it as medicine. You’ll get your death-a-cold if you stand round soaked like that. Two whiskey and gum, Joe.”

McTeague emptied the pony glass at a single enormous gulp.

“That’s the way,” said Heise, approvingly. “Do you good.” He drank his off slowly.

“I’d⁠—I’d ask you to have a drink with me, Heise,” said the dentist, who had an indistinct idea of the amenities of the barroom, “only,” he added shamefacedly, “only⁠—you see, I don’t believe I got any change.” His anger against Trina, heated by the whiskey he had drank, flamed up afresh. What a humiliating position for Trina to place him in, not to leave him the price of a drink with a friend, she who had five thousand dollars!

“Sha! That’s all right, Doc,” returned Heise, nibbling on a grain of coffee. “Want another? Hey? This my treat. Two more of the same, Joe.”

McTeague hesitated. It was lamentably true that whiskey did not agree with him; he knew it well enough. However, by this time he felt very comfortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood was beginning to circulate in his chilled fingertips and in his soggy, wet feet. He had had a hard day of it; in fact, the last week, the last month, the last three or four months, had been hard. He deserved a little consolation. Nor could Trina object to this. It wasn’t costing a cent. He drank again with Heise.

“Get up here to the stove and warm yourself,” urged Heise, drawing up a couple of chairs and cocking his feet upon the guard. The two fell to talking while McTeague’s draggled coat and trousers smoked.

“What a dirty turn that was that Marcus Schouler did you!” said Heise, wagging his head. “You ought to have fought that, Doc, sure. You’d been practising too long.” They discussed this question some ten or fifteen minutes and then Heise rose.

“Well, this ain’t earning any money. I got to get back to the shop.” McTeague got up as well, and the pair started for the door. Just as they were going out Ryer met them.

“Hello, hello,” he cried. “Lord, what a wet day! You two are going the wrong way. You’re going to have a drink with me. Three whiskey punches, Joe.”

“No, no,” answered McTeague, shaking his head. “I’m going back home. I’ve had two glasses of whiskey already.”

“Sha!” cried Heise, catching his arm. “A strapping big chap like you ain’t afraid of a little whiskey.”

“Well, I⁠—I⁠—I got to go right afterwards,” protested McTeague.

About half an hour after the dentist had left to go down town, Maria Macapa had come in to see Trina. Occasionally Maria dropped in on Trina in this fashion and spent an hour or so chatting with her while she worked. At first Trina had been inclined to resent these intrusions of the Mexican woman, but of late she had begun to tolerate them. Her day was long and cheerless at the best, and there was no one to talk to. Trina even fancied that old Miss Baker had come to