The thrown knife, the attempt on
his life, was beyond his solution; but the breaking of his pipe he
understood clearly enough.
"I'll show him," he exclaimed.
As though they had been little children, McTeague set Frenna and the
harness-maker aside, and strode out at the door like a raging elephant.
Heise stood rubbing his shoulder.
"Might as well try to stop a locomotive," he muttered. "The man's made
of iron."
Meanwhile, McTeague went storming up the street toward the flat, wagging
his head and grumbling to himself. Ah, Marcus would break his pipe,
would he? Ah, he was a zinc-plugger, was he? He'd show Marcus Schouler.
No one should make small of him. He tramped up the stairs to Marcus's
room. The door was locked. The dentist put one enormous hand on the knob
and pushed the door in, snapping the wood-work, tearing off the lock.
Nobody--the room was dark and empty. Never mind, Marcus would have to
come home some time that night. McTeague would go down and wait for him
in his "Parlors." He was bound to hear him as he came up the stairs.
As McTeague reached his room he stumbled over, in the darkness, a big
packing-box that stood in the hallway just outside his door.
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