The miner's idea of money quickly gained and lavishly squandered, persisted in his mind.
As for Trina, the more her husband stormed, the tighter she drew the strings of the little chamois-skin bag that she hid at the bottom of her trunk underneath her bridal dress.

Her five thousand dollars invested in Uncle Oelbermann's business was a glittering, splendid dream which came to her almost every hour of the day as a solace and a compensation for all her unhappiness.
At times, when she knew that McTeague was far from home, she would lock her door, open her trunk, and pile all her little hoard on her table.

By now it was four hundred and seven dollars and fifty cents.

Trina would play with this money by the hour, piling it, and repiling it, or gathering it all into one heap, and drawing back to the farthest corner of the room to note the effect, her head on one side.

She polished the gold pieces with a mixture of soap and ashes until they shone, wiping them carefully on her apron.