It was empty.
Next day he went to Uncle Oelbermann's store and asked news of Trina.
Trina had not told Uncle Oelbermann of McTeague's brutalities, giving him other reasons to explain the loss of her fingers; neither had she told him of her husband's robbery.

So when the dentist had asked where Trina could be found, Uncle Oelbermann, believing that McTeague was seeking a reconciliation, had told him without hesitation, and, he added: "She was in here only yesterday and drew out the balance of her money.
She's been drawing against her money for the last month or so.

She's got it all now, I guess." "Ah, she's got it all." The dentist went away from his bootless visit to his wife shaking with rage, hating her with all the strength of a crude and primitive nature.
He clenched his fists till his knuckles whitened, his teeth ground furiously upon one another.
"Ah, if I had hold of you once, I'd make you dance.

She had five thousand dollars in that room, while I stood there, not twenty feet away, and told her I was starving, and she wouldn't give me a dime to get a cup of coffee with; not a dime to get a cup of coffee.

Oh, if I once get my hands on you!" His wrath strangled him.