“We've got lots to do,” returned Trina, thinking to head him off, “but we've not got lots of money.”
But evidently Marcus wanted no money.
“Well, Cousin Trina,” he said, rubbing his knee, “I'm going away.”
“Yes, mamma wrote me; you're going on a ranch.”
“I'm going in ranching with an English duck,” corrected Marcus. “Mr. Sieppe has fixed things. We'll see if we can't raise some cattle. I know a lot about horses, and he's ranched some before—this English duck. And then I'm going to keep my eye open for a political chance down there. I got some introductions from the President of the Improvement Club. I'll work things somehow, oh, sure.”
“How long you going to be gone?” asked Trina.
Marcus stared.
“Why, I ain't EVER coming back,” he vociferated. “I'm going to-morrow, and I'm going for good. I come to say good-by.”
Marcus stayed for upwards of an hour that evening. He talked on easily and agreeably, addressing himself as much to McTeague as to Trina. At last he rose.
“Well, good-by, Doc.”