“Oh, that’s easy to say,” complained Trina, her little chin in the air, her small pale lips pursed.  “I wonder if mamma thinks we’re millionaires?”

“Trina, you’re getting to be regular stingy,” muttered McTeague.  “You’re getting worse and worse every day.”

“But fifty dollars is fifty dollars, Mac.  Just think how long it takes you to earn fifty dollars.  Fifty dollars!  That’s two months of our interest.”

“Well,” said McTeague, easily, his mouth full of mashed potato, “you got a lot saved up.”

Upon every reference to that little hoard in the brass match-safe and chamois-skin bag at the bottom of her trunk, Trina bridled on the instant.

“Don’t talk that way, Mac.  ‘A lot of money.’  What do you call a lot of money?  I don’t believe I’ve got fifty dollars saved.”

“Hoh!” exclaimed McTeague.  “Hoh!  I guess you got nearer a hundred an’ fifty.  That’s what I guess you got.”

“I’ve not, I’ve not,” declared Trina, “and you know I’ve not.  I wish mamma hadn’t asked me for any money.  Why can’t she be a little more economical?  I manage all right.  No, no, I can’t possibly afford to send her fifty.”

“Oh, pshaw!  What will you do, then?” grumbled her husband.

“I’ll send her twenty-five this month, and tell her I’ll send the rest as soon as I can afford it.”

“Trina, you’re a regular little miser,” said McTeague.

“I don’t care,” answered Trina, beginning to laugh.  “I guess I am, but I can’t help it, and it’s a good fault.”

Trina put off sending this money for a couple of weeks, and her mother made no mention of it in her next letter.  “Oh, I guess if she wants it so bad,” said Trina, “she’ll speak about it again.”  So she again postponed the sending of it.  Day by day she put it off.  When her mother asked her for it a second time, it seemed harder than ever for Trina to part with even half the sum requested.  She answered her mother, telling her that they were very hard up themselves for that month, but that she would send down the amount in a few weeks.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Mac,” she said to her husband, “you send half and I’ll send half; we’ll send twenty-five dollars altogether.  Twelve and a half apiece.  That’s an idea.  How will that do?”

“Sure, sure,” McTeague had answered, giving her the money.  Trina sent McTeague’s twelve dollars, but never sent the twelve that was to be her share.  One day the dentist happened to ask her about it.

“You sent that twenty-five to your mother, didn’t you?” said he.

“Oh, long ago,” answered Trina, without thinking.

In fact, Trina never allowed herself to think very much of this affair.  And, in fact, another matter soon came to engross her attention.