Near the station Trina and McTeague sat on the roadbed of the tracks, at
the edge of the mud bank, making the most out of the landscape, enjoying
the open air, the salt marshes, and the sight of the distant water. From
time to time McTeague played his six mournful airs upon his concertina.

After a while they began walking up and down the tracks, McTeague
talking about his profession, Trina listening, very interested and
absorbed, trying to understand.

"For pulling the roots of the upper molars we use the cowhorn forceps,"
continued the dentist, monotonously. "We get the inside beak over the
palatal roots and the cow-horn beak over the buccal roots--that's the
roots on the outside, you see. Then we close the forceps, and that
breaks right through the alveolus--that's the part of the socket in the
jaw, you understand."

At another moment he told her of his one unsatisfied desire. "Some day
I'm going to have a big gilded tooth outside my window for a sign. Those
big gold teeth are beautiful, beautiful--only they cost so much, I can't
afford one just now."

"Oh, it's raining," suddenly exclaimed Trina, holding out her palm.
They turned back and reached the station in a drizzle. The afternoon was
closing in dark and rainy. The tide was coming back, talking and lapping
for miles along the mud bank. Far off across the flats, at the edge of
the town, an electric car went by, stringing out a long row of diamond
sparks on the overhead wires.

"Say, Miss Trina," said McTeague, after a while, "what's the good of
waiting any longer? Why can't us two get married?"