placed a little irregularly in the arch. But, fortunately, there were
cavities in the two teeth on either side of the gap--one in the first
molar and one in the palatine surface of the cuspid; might he not drill
a socket in the remaining root and sockets in the molar and cuspid, and,
partly by bridging, partly by crowning, fill in the gap? He made up his
mind to do it.

Why he should pledge himself to this hazardous case McTeague was puzzled
to know. With most of his clients he would have contented himself with
the extraction of the loose tooth and the roots of the broken one. Why
should he risk his reputation in this case? He could not say why.

It was the most difficult operation he had ever performed. He bungled
it considerably, but in the end he succeeded passably well. He extracted
the loose tooth with his bayonet forceps and prepared the roots of the
broken one as if for filling, fitting into them a flattened piece of
platinum wire to serve as a dowel. But this was only the beginning;
altogether it was a fortnight's work. Trina came nearly every other day,
and passed two, and even three, hours in the chair.

By degrees McTeague's first awkwardness and suspicion vanished entirely.
The two became good friends. McTeague even arrived at that point where
he could work and talk to her at the same time--a thing that had never
before been possible for him.

Never until then had McTeague become so well acquainted with a girl of
Trina's age. The younger women of Polk Street--the shop girls, the
young women of the soda fountains, the waitresses in the cheap
restaurants--preferred another dentist, a young fellow just graduated
from the college, a poser, a rider of bicycles, a man about town, who