One morning in November, about ten o’clock, Trina pasted a “Made in France” label on the bottom of a Noah’s ark, and leaned back in her chair with a long sigh of relief.  She had just finished a large Christmas order for Uncle Oelbermann, and there was nothing else she could do that morning.  The bed had not yet been made, nor had the breakfast things been washed.  Trina hesitated for a moment, then put her chin in the air indifferently.

“Bah!” she said, “let them go till this afternoon.  I don’t care when the room is put to rights, and I know Mac don’t.”  She determined that instead of making the bed or washing the dishes she would go and call on Miss Baker on the floor below.  The little dressmaker might ask her to stay to lunch, and that would be something saved, as the dentist had announced his intention that morning of taking a long walk out to the Presidio to be gone all day.

But Trina rapped on Miss Baker’s door in vain that morning.  She was out.  Perhaps she was gone to the florist’s to buy some geranium seeds.  However, Old Grannis’s door stood a little ajar, and on hearing Trina at Miss Baker’s room, the old Englishman came out into the hall.

“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.”

“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.”