“She's gone out,” he said, uncertainly, and in a half whisper, “went out about half an hour ago. I—I think she went to the drug store to get some wafers for the goldfish.”
“Don't you go to your dog hospital any more, Mister Grannis?” said Trina, leaning against the balustrade in the hall, willing to talk a moment.
Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in his carpet slippers and faded corduroy jacket that he wore when at home.
“Why—why,” he said, hesitating, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You see I'm thinking of giving up the little hospital.”
“Giving it up?”
“You see, the people at the book store where I buy my pamphlets have found out—I told them of my contrivance for binding books, and one of the members of the firm came up to look at it. He offered me quite a sum if I would sell him the right of it—the—patent of it—quite a sum. In fact—in fact—yes, quite a sum, quite.” He rubbed his chin tremulously and looked about him on the floor.
“Why, isn't that fine?” said Trina, good-naturedly. “I'm very glad, Mister Grannis. Is it a good price?”
“Quite a sum—quite. In fact, I never dreamed of having so much money.”
“Now, see here, Mister Grannis,” said Trina, decisively, “I want to give you a good piece of advice. Here are you and Miss Baker——” The old Englishman started nervously—“You and Miss Baker, that have been in love with each other for——”
“Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subject—if you would please—Miss Baker is such an estimable lady.”