"What is it, Mac, dear?" said Trina.
McTeague shut the door behind him with his heel and handed her the
letter. Trina read it through. Then suddenly her small hand gripped
tightly upon the sponge, so that the water started from it and dripped
in a little pattering deluge upon the bricks.
The letter--or rather printed notice--informed McTeague that he had
never received a diploma from a dental college, and that in consequence
he was forbidden to practise his profession any longer. A legal extract
bearing upon the case was attached in small type.
"Why, what's all this?" said Trina, calmly, without thought as yet.
"I don' know, I don' know," answered her husband.
"You can't practise any longer," continued Trina,--"'is herewith
prohibited and enjoined from further continuing----'" She re-read
the extract, her forehead lifting and puckering. She put the sponge
carefully away in its wire rack over the sink, and drew up a chair to
the table, spreading out the notice before her. "Sit down," she said to
McTeague. "Draw up to the table here, Mac, and let's see what this is."
"I got it this morning," murmured the dentist. "It just now came. I was
making some fillings--there, in the 'Parlors,' in the window--and the
postman shoved it through the door.
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