“I say, what ARE you going to do? You can go on and find something to do and earn some more money, and THEN we'll talk.”
“Well, I ain't going to live here.”
“Oh, very well, suit yourself. I'M going to live here.”
“You'll live where I TELL you,” the dentist suddenly cried, exasperated at the mincing tone she affected.
“Then YOU'LL pay the rent,” exclaimed Trina, quite as angry as he.
“Are you my boss, I'd like to know? Who's the boss, you or I?”
“Who's got the MONEY, I'd like to know?” cried Trina, flushing to her pale lips. “Answer me that, McTeague, who's got the money?”
“You make me sick, you and your money. Why, you're a miser. I never saw anything like it. When I was practising, I never thought of my fees as my own; we lumped everything in together.”
“Exactly; and I'M doing the working now. I'm working for Uncle Oelbermann, and you're not lumping in ANYTHING now. I'm doing it all. Do you know what I'm doing, McTeague? I'm supporting you.”
“Ah, shut up; you make me sick.”