Far to the westward opened the Golden Gate, a bleak cutting in the
sand-hills, through which one caught a glimpse of the open Pacific.
The station at B Street was solitary; no trains passed at this hour;
except the distant rag-pickers, not a soul was in sight. The wind blew
strong, carrying with it the mingled smell of salt, of tar, of dead
seaweed, and of bilge. The sky hung low and brown; at long intervals a
few drops of rain fell.
Near the station Trina and McTeague sat on the roadbed of the tracks, at
the edge of the mud bank, making the most out of the landscape, enjoying
the open air, the salt marshes, and the sight of the distant water. From
time to time McTeague played his six mournful airs upon his concertina.
After a while they began walking up and down the tracks, McTeague
talking about his profession, Trina listening, very interested and
absorbed, trying to understand.
"For pulling the roots of the upper molars we use the cowhorn forceps,"
continued the dentist, monotonously. "We get the inside beak over the
palatal roots and the cow-horn beak over the buccal roots--that's the
roots on the outside, you see. Then we close the forceps, and that
breaks right through the alveolus--that's the part of the socket in the
jaw, you understand.
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