call yourself doctor, unless you've got a
diploma."

"What's that--a diploma?"

"I don't know exactly. It's a kind of paper that--that--oh, Mac, we're
ruined." Trina's voice rose to a cry.

"What do you mean, Trina? Ain't I a dentist? Ain't I a doctor? Look
at my sign, and the gold tooth you gave me. Why, I've been practising
nearly twelve years."

Trina shut her lips tightly, cleared her throat, and pretended to
resettle a hair-pin at the back of her head.

"I guess it isn't as bad as that," she said, very quietly. "Let's
read this again. 'Herewith prohibited and enjoined from further
continuing----'" She read to the end.

"Why, it isn't possible," she cried. "They can't mean--oh, Mac, I do
believe--pshaw!" she exclaimed, her pale face flushing. "They don't
know how good a dentist you are. What difference does a diploma make, if
you're a first-class dentist? I guess that's all right. Mac, didn't you
ever go to a dental college?"

"No," answered McTeague, doggedly. "What was the good? I learned how to
operate; wa'n't that enough?"

"Hark," said Trina, suddenly. "Wasn't that the bell of your office?"
They had both heard the jangling of the bell that McTeague had hung over
the door of his "Parlors." The dentist looked at the kitchen clock.

"That's Vanovitch," said he. "He's a plumber round on Sutter Street.
He's got an appointment with me to have a bicuspid pulled. I got to go
back to work." He rose.

"But you can't," cried Trina, the back of her hand upon her lips, her
eyes brimming. "Mac, don't you see? Can't you understand? You've got to
stop. Oh, it's dreadful! Listen." She hurried around the table to him
and caught his arm in both her hands.

"Huh?" growled McTeague, looking at her with a puzzled frown.

"They'll arrest you. You'll go to prison. You can't work--can't work any
more. We're ruined."

Vanovitch was pounding on the door of the sitting-room.

"He'll be gone in a minute," exclaimed McTeague.

"Well, let him go. Tell him to go; tell him to come again."

"Why, he's got an APPOINTMENT with me," exclaimed McTeague, his hand
upon the door.

Trina caught him back. "But, Mac, you ain't a dentist any longer; you
ain't a doctor. You haven't the right to work. You never went to a
dental college."

"Well, suppose I never went to a college, ain't I a dentist just the
same? Listen, he's pounding there again. No, I'm going, sure."

"Well, of course, go," said Trina, with sudden reaction. "It ai