A Hungarian family lived in it.
The father kept a stationery and notion "bazaar" next to Heise's harness-shop on Polk Street, while the oldest son played a third violin in the orchestra of a theatre.

The family rented the house unfurnished for thirty-five dollars, paying extra for the water.
But one Sunday as Trina and McTeague on their way home from their usual walk turned into the cross street on which the little house was situated, they became promptly aware of an unwonted bustle going on upon the sidewalk in front of it.

A dray was back against the curb, an express wagon drove away loaded with furniture; bedsteads, looking-glasses, and washbowls littered the sidewalks.

The Hungarian family were moving out.
"Oh, Mac, look!" gasped Trina.
"Sure, sure," muttered the dentist.
After that they spoke but little.

For upwards of an hour the two stood upon the sidewalk opposite, watching intently all that went forward, absorbed, excited.
On the evening of the next day they returned and visited the house, finding a great delight in going from room to room and imagining themselves installed therein.