In another moment McTeague came back, peering over the girls' shoulders and calling to the seller: "Are these for Monday night ?" The other disdained reply.

McTeague retreated again timidly, thrusting the tickets into his immense wallet.

For a moment he stood thoughtful on the steps of the entrance.

Then all at once he became enraged, he did not know exactly why; somehow he felt himself slighted.

Once more he came back to the wicket.
"You can't make small of me," he shouted over the girls' shoulders; "you--you can't make small of me.