“I believe Marcus has been packing up, the last two or three days. I wonder if he's going away.”
“Who's going away?” said McTeague, blinking at her.
“Oh, go to bed,” said Trina, pushing him goodnaturedly. “Mac, you're the stupidest man I ever knew.”
But it was true. Marcus was going away. Trina received a letter the next morning from her mother. The carpet-cleaning and upholstery business in which Mr. Sieppe had involved himself was going from bad to worse. Mr. Sieppe had even been obliged to put a mortgage upon their house. Mrs. Sieppe didn't know what was to become of them all. Her husband had even begun to talk of emigrating to New Zealand. Meanwhile, she informed Trina that Mr. Sieppe had finally come across a man with whom Marcus could “go in with on a ranch,” a cattle ranch in the southeastern portion of the State. Her ideas were vague upon the subject, but she knew that Marcus was wildly enthusiastic at the prospect, and was expected down before the end of the month. In the meantime, could Trina send them fifty dollars?
“Marcus IS going away, after all, Mac,” said Trina to her husband that day as he came out of his “Parlors” and sat down to the lunch of sausages, mashed potatoes, and chocolate in the sitting-room.
“Huh?” said the dentist, a little confused. “Who's going away? Schouler going away? Why's Schouler going away?”
Trina explained. “Oh!” growled McTeague, behind his thick mustache, “he can go far before I'LL stop him.”
“And, say, Mac,” continued Trina, pouring the chocolate, “what do you think? Mamma wants me—wants us to send her fifty dollars. She says they're hard up.”
“Well,” said the dentist, after a moment, “well, I guess we can send it, can't we?”
“Oh, that's easy to say,” complained Trina, her little chin in the air, her small pale lips pursed. “I wonder if mamma thinks we're millionaires?”