However, it was a position that involved a certain amount of ciphering, and McTeague had been obliged to throw it up in two days.
Then for a time they had entertained a wild idea that a place on the police force could be secured for McTeague.

He could pass the physical examination with flying colors, and Ryer, who had become the secretary of the Polk Street Improvement Club, promised the requisite political "pull." If McTeague had shown a certain energy in the matter the attempt might have been successful; but he was too stupid, or of late had become too listless to exert himself greatly, and the affair resulted only in a violent quarrel with Ryer.
McTeague had lost his ambition.

He did not care to better his situation.
All he wanted was a warm place to sleep and three good meals a day.
At the first--at the very first--he had chafed at his idleness and had spent the days with his wife in their one narrow room, walking back and forth with the restlessness of a caged brute, or sitting motionless for hours, watching Trina at her work, feeling a dull glow of shame at the idea that she was supporting him.

This feeling had worn off quickly, however.

Trina's work was only hard when she chose to make it so, and as a rule she supported their misfortunes with a silent fortitude.
Then, wearied at his inaction and feeling the need of movement and exercise, McTeague would light his pipe and take a turn upon the great avenue one block above Polk Street.