little catarrh. Ain't he a bird? Say, ain't he a bird? Look at his flag;
it's perfect; and see how he carries his tail on a line with his back.
See how stiff and white his whiskers are. Oh, by damn! you can't fool me
on a dog. That dog's a winner."

At the Cliff House the two sat down to their beer in a quiet corner of
the billiard-room. There were but two players. Somewhere in another part
of the building a mammoth music-box was jangling out a quickstep. From
outside came the long, rhythmical rush of the surf and the sonorous
barking of the seals upon the seal rocks. The four dogs curled
themselves down upon the sanded floor.

"Here's how," said Marcus, half emptying his glass. "Ah-h!" he added,
with a long breath, "that's good; it is, for a fact."

For the last hour of their walk Marcus had done nearly all the talking.
McTeague merely answering him by uncertain movements of the head. For
that matter, the dentist had been silent and preoccupied throughout the
whole afternoon. At length Marcus noticed it. As he set down his glass
with a bang he suddenly exclaimed:

"What's the matter with you these days, Mac? You got a bean about
somethun, hey? Spit ut out."

"No, no," replied McTeague, looking about on the floor, rolling his
eyes; "nothing, no, no."

"Ah, rats!" returned the other. McTeague kept silence. The two billiard
players departed. The huge music-box struck into a fresh tune.