The canary was stirring nimbly in its cage, and just now broke out into
a shrill trilling, its little throat bulging and quivering. The dentist
stared at it. "Say," he remarked slowly, "I think I'll take that bird of
mine along."
"Sell it?" inquired Trina.
"Yes, yes, sell it."
"Well, you ARE coming to your senses at last," answered Trina,
approvingly. "But don't you let the bird-store man cheat you. That's a
good songster; and with the cage, you ought to make him give you five
dollars. You stick out for that at first, anyhow."
McTeague unhooked the cage and carefully wrapped it in an old newspaper,
remarking, "He might get cold. Well, so long," he repeated, "so long."
"Good-by, Mac."
When he was gone, Trina took the sixty cents she had stolen from him out
of her pocket and recounted it. "It's sixty cents, all right," she said
proudly. "But I DO believe that dime is too smooth." She looked at it
critically. The clock on the power-house of the Sutter Street cable
struck eight. "Eight o'clock already," she exclaimed. "I must get to
work." She cleared the breakfast things from the table, and drawing up
her chair and her workbox began painting the sets of Noah's ark animals
she had whittled the day before.
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