"
Why Maria should associate the release of the mythical squirrel with
her name could not be said. About Maria the flat knew absolutely nothing
further than that she was Spanish-American. Miss Baker was the oldest
lodger in the flat, and Maria was a fixture there as maid of all work
when she had come. There was a legend to the effect that Maria's people
had been at one time immensely wealthy in Central America.
Maria turned again to her work. Trina and Marcus watched her curiously.
There was a silence. The corundum burr in McTeague's engine hummed in a
prolonged monotone. The canary bird chittered occasionally. The room was
warm, and the breathing of the five people in the narrow space made the
air close and thick. At long intervals an acrid odor of ink floated up
from the branch post-office immediately below.
Maria Macapa finished her work and started to leave. As she passed near
Marcus and his cousin she stopped, and drew a bunch of blue tickets
furtively from her pocket. "Buy a ticket in the lottery?" she inquired,
looking at the girl. "Just a dollar."
"Go along with you, Maria," said Marcus, who had but thirty cents in his
pocket. "Go along; it's against the law.
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