"
"What's that--a diploma?"
"I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper that--that--oh, Mac, we're
ruined." Trina's voice rose to a cry.
"What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist? Ain't I a doctor? Look
at my sign, and the gold tooth you gave me. Why, I've been practising
nearly twelve years."
Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat, and pretended to
resettle a hair-pin at the back of her head.
"I guess it isn't as bad as that," she said, very quietly. "Let's
read this again. 'Herewith prohibited and enjoined from further
continuing----'" She read to the end.
"Why, it isn't possible," she cried. "They can't mean--oh, Mac, I do
believe--pshaw!" she exclaimed, her pale face flushing. "They don't
know how good a dentist you are. What difference does a diploma make, if
you're a first-class dentist? I guess that's all right. Mac, didn't you
ever go to a dental college?"
"No," answered McTeague, doggedly. "What was the good? I learned how to
operate; wa'n't that enough?"
"Hark," said Trina, suddenly. "Wasn't that the bell of your office?"
They had both heard the jangling of the bell that McTeague had hung over
the door of his "Parlors." The dentist looked at the kitchen clock.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315