"Hullo, Mac." "Hullo, Mark." But McTeague's presence made Marcus uneasy, rousing in him at once a sense of wrong.

He twisted to and fro in his chair, shrugging first one shoulder and then another.

Quarrelsome at all times, the heat of the previous discussion had awakened within him all his natural combativeness.

Besides this, he was drinking his fourth cocktail.
McTeague began filling his big porcelain pipe.

He lit it, blew a great cloud of smoke into the room, and settled himself comfortably in his chair.