He began
to tell of wonderful feats of strength he had accomplished when he was a
young man. Why, at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer
with a blow of his fist between the eyes, sure, and the heifer had just
stiffened out and trembled all over and died without getting up.
McTeague told this story again, and yet again. All through the afternoon
he could be overheard relating the wonder to any one who would listen,
exaggerating the effect of his blow, inventing terrific details. Why,
the heifer had just frothed at the mouth, and his eyes had rolled
up--ah, sure, his eyes rolled up just like that--and the butcher had
said his skull was all mashed in--just all mashed in, sure, that's the
word--just as if from a sledge-hammer.
Notwithstanding his reconciliation with the dentist on the boat,
Marcus's gorge rose within him at McTeague's boasting swagger. When
McTeague had slapped him on the back, Marcus had retired to some little
distance while he recovered his breath, and glared at the dentist
fiercely as he strode up and down, glorying in the admiring glances of
the women.
"Ah, one-horse dentist," he muttered between his teeth. "Ah,
zinc-plugger, cow-killer, I'd like to show you once, you overgrown
mucker, you--you--COW-KILLER!"
When he rejoined the group, he found them preparing for a wrestling
bout.
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