Now-a-days at every unexpected visit she anticipated a fresh calamity.

The door opened to let in a young man wearing a checked suit, a gay cravat, and a marvellously figured waistcoat.

Trina and McTeague recognized him at once.

It was the Other Dentist, the debonair fellow whose clients were the barbers and the young women of the candy stores and soda-water fountains, the poser, the wearer of waistcoats, who bet money on greyhound races.
"How'do ?" said this one, bowing gracefully to the McTeagues as they stared at him distrustfully.
"How'do?
They tell me, Doctor, that you are going out of the profession." McTeague muttered indistinctly behind his mustache and glowered at him.
"Well, say," continued the other, cheerily, "I'd like to talk business with you.

That sign of yours, that big golden tooth that you got outside of your window, I don't suppose you'll have any further use for it.
Maybe I'd buy it if we could agree on terms." Trina shot a glance at her husband.