“Suppose I go round to the City Hall and see them,” hazarded McTeague.

“No, no, don’t you do it, Mac,” exclaimed Trina.  “Because, if Marcus has done this just to scare you, they won’t know anything about it there at the City Hall; but they’ll begin to ask you questions, and find out that you never had graduated from a dental college, and you’d be just as bad off as ever.”

“Well, I ain’t going to quit for just a piece of paper,” declared the dentist.  The phrase stuck to him.  All day long he went about their rooms or continued at his work in the “Parlors,” growling behind his thick mustache:  “I ain’t going to quit for just a piece of paper.  No, I ain’t going to quit for just a piece of paper.  Sure not.”

The days passed, a week went by, McTeague continued his work as usual.  They heard no more from the City Hall, but the suspense of the situation was harrowing.  Trina was actually sick with it.  The terror of the thing was ever at their elbows, going to bed with them, sitting down with them at breakfast in the kitchen, keeping them company all through the day.  Trina dared not think of what would be their fate if the income derived from McTeague’s practice was suddenly taken from them.  Then they would have to fall back on the interest of her lottery money and the pittance she derived from the manufacture of the Noah’s ark animals, a little over thirty dollars a month.  No, no, it was not to be thought of.  It could not be that their means of livelihood was to be thus stricken from them.

A fortnight went by.  “I guess we’re all right, Mac,” Trina allowed herself to say.  “It looks as though we were all right.  How are they going to tell whether you’re practising or not?”

That day a second and much more peremptory notice was served upon McTeague by an official in person.  Then suddenly Trina was seized with a panic terror, unreasoned, instinctive.  If McTeague persisted they would both be sent to a prison, she was sure of it; a place where people were chained to the wall, in the dark, and fed on bread and water.

“Oh, Mac, you’ve got to quit,” she wailed.  “You can’t go on.  They can make you stop.  Oh, why didn’t you go to a dental college?  Why didn’t you find out that you had to have a college degree?  And now we’re paupers, beggars.  We’ve got to leave here—­leave this flat where I’ve been—­where we’ve been so happy, and sell all the pretty things; sell the pictures and the melodeon, and—­Oh, it’s too dreadful!”

“Huh?  Huh?  What?  What?” exclaimed the dentist, bewildered.  “I ain’t going to quit for just a piece of paper.  Let them put me out.  I’ll show them.  They—­they can’t make small of me.”

“Oh, that’s all very fine to talk that way, but you’ll have to quit.”

“Well, we ain’t paupers,” McTeague suddenly exclaimed, an idea entering his mind.  “We’ve got our money yet.  You’ve got your five thousand dollars and the money you’ve been saving up.  People ain’t paupers when they’ve got over five thousand dollars.”