I'll thump you in the head, you little--you little--you little--little--little pup." The ticket seller shrugged his shoulders wearily.

"A dollar and a half," he said to the two girls.
McTeague glared at him and breathed loudly.

Finally he decided to let the matter drop.

He moved away, but on the steps was once more seized with a sense of injury and outraged dignity.
"You can't make small of me," he called back a last time, wagging his head and shaking his fist.

"I will--I will--I will--yes, I will." He went off muttering.
At last Monday night came.