Trina and McTeague recognized him at once. It was the
Other Dentist, the debonair fellow whose clients were the barbers and
the young women of the candy stores and soda-water fountains, the poser,
the wearer of waistcoats, who bet money on greyhound races.
"How'do?" said this one, bowing gracefully to the McTeagues as they
stared at him distrustfully.
"How'do? They tell me, Doctor, that you are going out of the
profession."
McTeague muttered indistinctly behind his mustache and glowered at him.
"Well, say," continued the other, cheerily, "I'd like to talk business
with you. That sign of yours, that big golden tooth that you got outside
of your window, I don't suppose you'll have any further use for it.
Maybe I'd buy it if we could agree on terms."
Trina shot a glance at her husband. McTeague began to glower again.
"What do you say?" said the Other Dentist.
"I guess not," growled McTeague
"What do you say to ten dollars?"
"Ten dollars!" cried Trina, her chin in the air.
"Well, what figure DO you put on it?"
Trina was about to answer when she was interrupted by McTeague.
"You go out of here."
"Hey? What?"
"You go out of here."
The other retreated toward the door.
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