McTeague had not thought of taking Trina to the theatre.

"You think I ought to, Mark?" he inquired, hesitating. Marcus answered,
with his mouth full of suet pudding:

"Why, of course. That's the proper caper."

"Well--well, that's so. The theatre--that's the word."

"Take her to the variety show at the Orpheum. There's a good show there
this week; you'll have to take Mrs. Sieppe, too, of course," he added.
Marcus was not sure of himself as regarded certain proprieties, nor, for
that matter, were any of the people of the little world of Polk Street.
The shop girls, the plumbers' apprentices, the small tradespeople, and
their like, whose social position was not clearly defined, could never
be sure how far they could go and yet preserve their "respectability."
When they wished to be "proper," they invariably overdid the thing.
It was not as if they belonged to the "tough" element, who had no
appearances to keep up. Polk Street rubbed elbows with the "avenue"
one block above. There were certain limits which its dwellers could not
overstep; but unfortunately for them, these limits were poorly defined.
They could never be sure of themselves. At an unguarded moment they
might be taken for "toughs," so they generally erred in the other
direction, and were absurdly formal. No people have a keener eye for the
amenities than those whose social position is not assured.

"Oh, sure, you'll have to take her mother," insisted Marcus. "It
wouldn't be the proper racket if you didn't."