See." And the clerk drew a long, sonorous wail from the depths of McTeague's old concertina.
"Well, it's mine," growled the dentist.
The other laughed.

"It's yours for eleven dollars." "It's mine," persisted McTeague.

"I want it." "Go 'long with you, Mac.

What do you mean ?" "I mean that it's mine, that's what I mean.

You got no right to it.
It was STOLEN from me, that's what I mean," he added, a sullen anger flaming up in his little eyes.
The clerk raised a shoulder and put the concertina on an upper shelf.
"You talk to the boss about that; t'ain't none of my affair.