"Well, you've got to live somewhere," said Trina, impatiently. "We've
looked Polk Street over, and this is the only thing we can afford."
"Afford, afford," muttered the dentist. "You with your five thousand
dollars, and the two or three hundred you got saved up, talking about
'afford.' You make me sick."
"Now, Mac," exclaimed Trina, deliberately, sitting down in one of the
cane-seated chairs; "now, Mac, let's have this thing----"
"Well, I don't figure on living in one room," growled the dentist,
sullenly. "Let's live decently until we can get a fresh start. We've got
the money."
"Who's got the money?"
"WE'VE got it."
"We!"
"Well, it's all in the family. What's yours is mine, and what's mine is
yours, ain't it?"
"No, it's not; no, it's not," cried Trina, vehemently. "It's all mine,
mine. There's not a penny of it belongs to anybody else. I don't like to
have to talk this way to you, but you just make me. We're not going to
touch a penny of my five thousand nor a penny of that little money I
managed to save--that seventy-five."
"That TWO hundred, you mean."
"That SEVENTY-FIVE. We're just going to live on the interest of that
and on what I earn from Uncle Oelbermann--on just that thirty-one or two
dollars.
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