McTeague and Trina had no apprehensions as to their finances.  They could be sure, in fact, of a tidy little income.  The dentist’s practice was fairly good, and they could count upon the interest of Trina’s five thousand dollars.  To McTeague’s mind this interest seemed woefully small.  He had had uncertain ideas about that five thousand dollars; had imagined that they would spend it in some lavish fashion; would buy a house, perhaps, or would furnish their new rooms with overwhelming luxury—­luxury that implied red velvet carpets and continued feasting.  The oldtime miner’s idea of wealth easily gained and quickly spent persisted in his mind.  But when Trina had begun to talk of investments and interests and per cents, he was troubled and not a little disappointed.  The lump sum of five thousand dollars was one thing, a miserable little twenty or twenty-five a month was quite another; and then someone else had the money.

“But don’t you see, Mac,” explained Trina, “it’s ours just the same.  We could get it back whenever we wanted it; and then it’s the reasonable way to do.  We mustn’t let it turn our heads, Mac, dear, like that man that spent all he won in buying more tickets.  How foolish we’d feel after we’d spent it all!  We ought to go on just the same as before; as if we hadn’t won.  We must be sensible about it, mustn’t we?”

“Well, well, I guess perhaps that’s right,” the dentist would answer, looking slowly about on the floor.

Just what should ultimately be done with the money was the subject of endless discussion in the Sieppe family.  The savings bank would allow only three per cent., but Trina’s parents believed that something better could be got.

“There’s Uncle Oelbermann,” Trina had suggested, remembering the rich relative who had the wholesale toy store in the Mission.

Mr. Sieppe struck his hand to his forehead.  “Ah, an idea,” he cried.  In the end an agreement was made.  The money was invested in Mr. Oelbermann’s business.  He gave Trina six per cent.

Invested in this fashion, Trina’s winning would bring in twenty-five dollars a month.  But, besides this, Trina had her own little trade.  She made Noah’s ark animals for Uncle Oelbermann’s store.  Trina’s ancestors on both sides were German-Swiss, and some long-forgotten forefather of the sixteenth century, some worsted-leggined wood-carver of the Tyrol, had handed down the talent of the national industry, to reappear in this strangely distorted guise.

She made Noah’s ark animals, whittling them out of a block of soft wood with a sharp jack-knife, the only instrument she used.  Trina was very proud to explain her work to McTeague as he had already explained his own to her.

“You see, I take a block of straight-grained pine and cut out the shape, roughly at first, with the big blade; then I go over it a second time with the little blade, more carefully; then I put in the ears and tail with a drop of glue, and paint it with a ‘non-poisonous’ paint—­Vandyke brown for the horses, foxes, and cows; slate gray for the elephants and camels; burnt umber for the chickens, zebras, and so on; then, last, a dot of Chinese white for the eyes, and there you are, all finished.  They sell for nine cents a dozen.  Only I can’t make the manikins.”