When he spoke of a bunch of parsley as "scenery," Heise all but
strangled himself over a mouthful of potato. Out in the kitchen Maria
Macapa did the work of three, her face scarlet, her sleeves rolled
up; every now and then she uttered shrill but unintelligible outcries,
supposedly addressed to the waiter.
"Uncle Oelbermann," said Trina, "let me give you another helping of
prunes."
The Sieppes paid great deference to Uncle Oelbermann, as indeed did the
whole company. Even Marcus Schouler lowered his voice when he addressed
him. At the beginning of the meal he had nudged the harness-maker and
had whispered behind his hand, nodding his head toward the wholesale toy
dealer, "Got thirty thousand dollars in the bank; has, for a fact."
"Don't have much to say," observed Heise.
"No, no. That's his way; never opens his face."
As the evening wore on, the gas and two lamps were lit. The company were
still eating. The men, gorged with food, had unbuttoned their vests.
McTeague's cheeks were distended, his eyes wide, his huge, salient jaw
moved with a machine-like regularity; at intervals he drew a series of
short breaths through his nose. Mrs. Sieppe wiped her forehead with her
napkin.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209