“You didn't throw him.”
“Both his shoulders at the same time.”
Trina clapped and waved her hand at McTeague from where she stood on the little slope of lawn above the wrestlers. Marcus broke through the group, shaking all over with excitement and rage.
“I tell you that ain't the WAY to rastle. You've got to throw a man so's his shoulders touch. You got to give me another bout.”
“That's straight,” put in Heise, “both his shoulders down at the same time. Try it again. You and Schouler have another try.”
McTeague was bewildered by so much simultaneous talk. He could not make out what it was all about. Could he have offended Marcus again?
“What? What? Huh? What is it?” he exclaimed in perplexity, looking from one to the other.
“Come on, you must rastle me again,” shouted Marcus.
“Sure, sure,” cried the dentist. “I'll rastle you again. I'll rastle everybody,” he cried, suddenly struck with an idea. Trina looked on in some apprehension.
“Mark gets so mad,” she said, half aloud.