“Hello, Mark,” said the dentist, “you here already?”
“Hello,” returned the other, indifferently, helping himself to tomato catsup. There was a silence. After a long while Marcus suddenly looked up.
“Say, Mac,” he exclaimed, “when you going to pay me that money you owe me?”
McTeague was astonished.
“Huh? What? I don't—do I owe you any money, Mark?”
“Well, you owe me four bits,” returned Marcus, doggedly. “I paid for you and Trina that day at the picnic, and you never gave it back.”
“Oh—oh!” answered McTeague, in distress. “That's so, that's so. I—you ought to have told me before. Here's your money, and I'm obliged to you.”
“It ain't much,” observed Marcus, sullenly. “But I need all I can get now-a-days.”
“Are you—are you broke?” inquired McTeague.
“And I ain't saying anything about your sleeping at the hospital that night, either,” muttered Marcus, as he pocketed the coin.