“But I don't know,” said the Other Dentist, reflectively. “If it will help you out any—I guess you're pretty hard up—I'll—well, I tell you what—I'll give you five dollars for it.”
“All right, all right.”
On the following Thursday morning McTeague woke to hear the eaves dripping and the prolonged rattle of the rain upon the roof.
“Raining,” he growled, in deep disgust, sitting up in bed, and winking at the blurred window.
“It's been raining all night,” said Trina. She was already up and dressed, and was cooking breakfast on the oil stove.
McTeague dressed himself, grumbling, “Well, I'll go, anyhow. The fish will bite all the better for the rain.”
“Look here, Mac,” said Trina, slicing a bit of bacon as thinly as she could. “Look here, why don't you bring some of your fish home sometime?”
“Huh!” snorted the dentist, “so's we could have 'em for breakfast. Might save you a nickel, mightn't it?”
“Well, and if it did! Or you might fish for the market. The fisherman across the street would buy 'em of you.”
“Shut up!” exclaimed the dentist, and Trina obediently subsided.