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."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Trina. "You're in love with each other, and the whole flat knows it; and you two have been living here side by side year in and year out, and you've never said a word to each other. It's all nonsense. Now, I want you should go right in and speak to her just as soon as she comes home, and say you've come into money and you want her to marry you."
"Impossible — impossible!" exclaimed the old Englishman, alarmed and perturbed. "It's quite out of the question. I wouldn't presume."