“That's the way,” said Heise, approvingly. “Do you good.” He drank his off slowly.
“I'd—I'd ask you to have a drink with me, Heise,” said the dentist, who had an indistinct idea of the amenities of the barroom, “only,” he added shamefacedly, “only—you see, I don't believe I got any change.” His anger against Trina, heated by the whiskey he had drank, flamed up afresh. What a humiliating position for Trina to place him in, not to leave him the price of a drink with a friend, she who had five thousand dollars!
“Sha! That's all right, Doc,” returned Heise, nibbling on a grain of coffee. “Want another? Hey? This my treat. Two more of the same, Joe.”
McTeague hesitated. It was lamentably true that whiskey did not agree with him; he knew it well enough. However, by this time he felt very comfortably warm at the pit of his stomach. The blood was beginning to circulate in his chilled finger-tips and in his soggy, wet feet. He had had a hard day of it; in fact, the last week, the last month, the last three or four months, had been hard. He deserved a little consolation. Nor could Trina object to this. It wasn't costing a cent. He drank again with Heise.
“Get up here to the stove and warm yourself,” urged Heise, drawing up a couple of chairs and cocking his feet upon the guard. The two fell to talking while McTeague's draggled coat and trousers smoked.
“What a dirty turn that was that Marcus Schouler did you!” said Heise, wagging his head. “You ought to have fought that, Doc, sure. You'd been practising too long.” They discussed this question some ten or fifteen minutes and then Heise rose.
“Well, this ain't earning any money. I got to get back to the shop.” McTeague got up as well, and the pair started for the door. Just as they were going out Ryer met them.
“Hello, hello,” he cried. “Lord, what a wet day! You two are going the wrong way. You're going to have a drink with me. Three whiskey punches, Joe.”
“No, no,” answered McTeague, shaking his head. “I'm going back home. I've had two glasses of whiskey already.”
“Sha!” cried Heise, catching his arm. “A strapping big chap like you ain't afraid of a little whiskey.”