Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in his carpet slippers and
faded corduroy jacket that he wore when at home.
"Why--why," he said, hesitating, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You see
I'm thinking of giving up the little hospital."
"Giving it up?"
"You see, the people at the book store where I buy my pamphlets have
found out--I told them of my contrivance for binding books, and one of
the members of the firm came up to look at it. He offered me quite a sum
if I would sell him the right of it--the--patent of it--quite a sum. In
fact--in fact--yes, quite a sum, quite." He rubbed his chin tremulously
and looked about him on the floor.
"Why, isn't that fine?" said Trina, good-naturedly. "I'm very glad,
Mister Grannis. Is it a good price?"
"Quite a sum--quite. In fact, I never dreamed of having so much money."
"Now, see here, Mister Grannis," said Trina, decisively, "I want to give
you a good piece of advice. Here are you and Miss Baker----" The old
Englishman started nervously--"You and Miss Baker, that have been in
love with each other for----"
"Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subject--if you would please--Miss Baker is
such an estimable lady."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Trina.
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