They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year—it was May—and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired. The party assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock, laden with baskets. The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer and his wife had already boarded the boat. They met the Heises in the waiting-room.
“Hello, Doctor,” cried the harness-maker as the McTeagues came up. “This is what you'd call an old folks' picnic, all married people this time.”
The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and sat down to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outside this morning because of the fineness of the weather.
“Oh, we're going to have lots of fun,” cried Trina. “If it's anything I do love it's a picnic. Do you remember our first picnic, Mac?”
“Sure, sure,” replied the dentist; “we had a Gotha truffle.”
“And August lost his steamboat,” put in Trina, “and papa smacked him. I remember it just as well.”
“Why, look there,” said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up the companion-way. “Ain't that Mr. Schouler?”
It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party he gaped at them a moment in blank astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide.
“Well, by damn!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “What's up? Where you all going, anyhow? Say, ain't ut queer we should all run up against each other like this?” He made great sweeping bows to the three women, and shook hands with “Cousin Trina,” adding, as he turned to the men of the party, “Glad to see you, Mister Heise. How do, Mister Ryer?” The dentist, who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting, he ignored completely. McTeague settled himself in his seat, growling inarticulately behind his mustache.
“Say, say, what's all up, anyhow?” cried Marcus again.
“It's a picnic,” exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once; and Trina added, “We're going over to the same old Schuetzen Park again. But you're all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look as though you were going somewhere yourself.”
In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair of slate-blue trousers, a black “cutaway,” and a white lawn “tie” (for him the symbol of the height of elegance). He carried also his cane, a thin wand of ebony with a gold head, presented to him by the Improvement Club in “recognition of services.”
“That's right, that's right,” said Marcus, with a grin. “I'm takun a holiday myself to-day. I had a bit of business to do over at Oakland, an' I thought I'd go up to B Street afterward and see Selina. I haven't called on——”
But the party uttered an exclamation.
“Why, Selina is going with us.”
“She's going to meet us at the Schuetzen Park station” explained Trina.
Marcus's business in Oakland was a fiction. He was crossing the bay that morning solely to see Selina. Marcus had “taken up with” Selina a little after Trina had married, and had been “rushing” her ever since, dazzled and attracted by her accomplishments, for which he pretended a great respect. At the prospect of missing Selina on this occasion, he was genuinely disappointed. His vexation at once assumed the form of exasperation against McTeague. It was all the dentist's fault. Ah, McTeague was coming between him and Selina now as he had come between him and Trina. Best look out, by damn! how he monkeyed with him now. Instantly his face flamed and he glanced over furiously at the dentist, who, catching his eye, began again to mutter behind his mustache.
“Well, say,” began Mrs. Ryer, with some hesitation, looking to Ryer for approval, “why can't Marcus come along with us?”
“Why, of course,” exclaimed Mrs. Heise, disregarding her husband's vigorous nudges. “I guess we got lunch enough to go round, all right; don't you say so, Mrs. McTeague?”
Thus appealed to, Trina could only concur.
“Why, of course, Cousin Mark,” she said; “of course, come along with us if you want to.”
“Why, you bet I will,” cried Marcus, enthusiastic in an instant. “Say, this is outa sight; it is, for a fact; a picnic—ah, sure—and we'll meet Selina at the station.”
Just as the boat was passing Goat Island, the harness-maker proposed that the men of the party should go down to the bar on the lower deck and shake for the drinks. The idea had an immediate success.
“Have to see you on that,” said Ryer.
“By damn, we'll have a drink! Yes, sir, we will, for a fact.”
“Sure, sure, drinks, that's the word.”
At the bar Heise and Ryer ordered cocktails, Marcus called for a “creme Yvette” in order to astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glass of beer.
“Say, look here,” suddenly exclaimed Heise as they took their glasses. “Look here, you fellahs,” he had turned to Marcus and the dentist. “You two fellahs have had a grouch at each other for the last year or so; now what's the matter with your shaking hands and calling quits?”
McTeague was at once overcome with a great feeling of magnanimity. He put out his great hand.
“I got nothing against Marcus,” he growled.
“Well, I don't care if I shake,” admitted Marcus, a little shamefacedly, as their palms touched. “I guess that's all right.”
“That's the idea,” exclaimed Heise, delighted at his success. “Come on, boys, now let's drink.” Their elbows crooked and they drank silently.
Their picnic that day was very jolly. Nothing had changed at Schuetzen Park since the day of that other memorable Sieppe picnic four years previous. After lunch the men took themselves off to the rifle range, while Selina, Trina, and the other two women put away the dishes. An hour later the men joined them in great spirits. Ryer had won the impromptu match which they had arranged, making quite a wonderful score, which included three clean bulls' eyes, while McTeague had not been able even to hit the target itself.
Their shooting match had awakened a spirit of rivalry in the men, and the rest of the afternoon was passed in athletic exercises between them. The women sat on the slope of the grass, their hats and gloves laid aside, watching the men as they strove together. Aroused by the little feminine cries of wonder and the clapping of their ungloved palms, these latter began to show off at once. They took off their coats and vests, even their neckties and collars, and worked themselves into a lather of perspiration for the sake of making an impression on their wives. They ran hundred-yard sprints on the cinder path and executed clumsy feats on the rings and on the parallel bars. They even found a huge round stone on the beach and “put the shot” for a while. As long as it was a question of agility, Marcus was easily the best of the four; but the dentist's enormous strength, his crude, untutored brute force, was a matter of wonder for the entire party. McTeague cracked English walnuts—taken from the lunch baskets—in the hollow of his arm, and tossed the round stone a full five feet beyond their best mark. Heise believed himself to be particularly strong in the wrists, but the dentist, using but one hand, twisted a cane out of Heise's two with a wrench that all but sprained the harnessmaker's arm. Then the dentist raised weights and chinned himself on the rings till they thought he would never tire.
His great success quite turned his head; he strutted back and forth in front of the women, his chest thrown out, and his great mouth perpetually expanded in a triumphant grin. As he felt his strength more and more, he began to abuse it; he domineered over the others, gripping suddenly at their arms till they squirmed with pain, and slapping Marcus on the back so that he gasped and gagged for breath. The childish vanity of the great fellow was as undisguised as that of a schoolboy. He began to tell of wonderful feats of strength he had accomplished when he was a young man. Why, at one time he had knocked down a half-grown heifer