After his breakfast the following Monday morning, McTeague looked over the appointments he had written down in the book-slate that hung against the screen.

His writing was immense, very clumsy, and very round, with huge, full-bellied l's and h's.

He saw that he had made an appointment at one o'clock for Miss Baker, the retired dressmaker, a little old maid who had a tiny room a few doors down the hall.

It adjoined that of Old Grannis.
Quite an affair had arisen from this circumstance.

Miss Baker and Old Grannis were both over sixty, and yet it was current talk amongst the lodgers of the flat that the two were in love with each other.
Singularly enough, they were not even acquaintances; never a word had passed between them.