"First Schouler, now der doktor, eh?
What die tevil, I say!" Weeks passed, February went, March came in very rainy, putting a stop to all their picnics and Sunday excursions.
One Wednesday afternoon in the second week in March McTeague came over to call on Trina, bringing his concertina with him, as was his custom nowadays.

As he got off the train at the station he was surprised to find Trina waiting for him.
"This is the first day it hasn't rained in weeks," she explained, "an' I thought it would be nice to walk." "Sure, sure," assented McTeague.
B Street station was nothing more than a little shed.

There was no ticket office, nothing but a couple of whittled and carven benches.

It was built close to the railroad tracks, just across which was the dirty, muddy shore of San Francisco Bay.

About a quarter of a mile back from the station was the edge of the town of Oakland.