"Oh, Mac, you've got to quit," she wailed. "You can't go on. They can
make you stop. Oh, why didn't you go to a dental college? Why didn't you
find out that you had to have a college degree? And now we're paupers,
beggars. We've got to leave here--leave this flat where I've been--where
WE'VE been so happy, and sell all the pretty things; sell the pictures
and the melodeon, and--Oh, it's too dreadful!"
"Huh? Huh? What? What?" exclaimed the dentist, bewildered. "I ain't
going to quit for just a piece of paper. Let them put me out. I'll show
them. They--they can't make small of me."
"Oh, that's all very fine to talk that way, but you'll have to quit."
"Well, we ain't paupers," McTeague suddenly exclaimed, an idea entering
his mind. "We've got our money yet. You've got your five thousand
dollars and the money you've been saving up. People ain't paupers when
they've got over five thousand dollars."
"What do you mean, Mac?" cried Trina, apprehensively.
"Well, we can live on THAT money until--until--until--" he broke off
with an uncertain movement of his shoulders, looking about him stupidly.
"Until WHEN?" cried Trina. "There ain't ever going to be any 'until.'
We've got the INTEREST of that five thousand and we've got what Uncle
Oelbermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a month, and that's
all we've got.
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