Suddenly Trina paused in her work, looking expectantly toward the door. McTeague came in.
“Why, Mac,” exclaimed Trina. “It's only three o'clock. What are you home so early for? Have they discharged you?”
“They've fired me,” said McTeague, sitting down on the bed.
“Fired you! What for?”
“I don' know. Said the times were getting hard an' they had to let me go.”
Trina let her paint-stained hands fall into her lap.
“OH!” she cried. “If we don't have the HARDEST luck of any two people I ever heard of. What can you do now? Is there another place like that where they make surgical instruments?”
“Huh? No, I don' know. There's three more.”
“Well, you must try them right away. Go down there right now.”
“Huh? Right now? No, I'm tired. I'll go down in the morning.”