But in the end this ceased to satisfy
her, she must have the money itself. She must have her four hundred
dollars back again, there in her trunk, in her bag and her match-box,
where she could touch it and see it whenever she desired.
At length she could stand it no longer, and one day presented herself
before Uncle Oelbermann as he sat in his office in the wholesale toy
store, and told him she wanted to have four hundred dollars of her
money.
"But this is very irregular, you know, Mrs. McTeague," said the great
man. "Not business-like at all."
But his niece's misfortunes and the sight of her poor maimed hand
appealed to him. He opened his check-book. "You understand, of course,"
he said, "that this will reduce the amount of your interest by just so
much."
"I know, I know. I've thought of that," said Trina.
"Four hundred, did you say?" remarked Uncle Oelbermann, taking the cap
from his fountain pen.
"Yes, four hundred," exclaimed Trina, quickly, her eyes glistening.
Trina cashed the check and returned home with the money--all in
twenty-dollar pieces as she had desired--in an ecstasy of delight. For
half of that night she sat up playing with her money, counting it and
recounting it, polishing the duller pieces until they shone.
Pages:
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423