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." "What do you mean, Mac ?" cried Trina, apprehensively.
"Well, we can live on THAT money until--until--until--" he broke off with an uncertain movement of his shoulders, looking about him stupidly.
"Until WHEN ?" cried Trina.

"There ain't ever going to be any 'until.' We've got the INTEREST of that five thousand and we've got what Uncle Oelbermann gives me, a little over thirty dollars a month, and that's all we've got.

You'll have to find something else to do." "What will I find to do ?" What, indeed?
McTeague was over thirty now, sluggish and slow-witted at best.

What new trade could he learn at this age?
Little by little Trina made the dentist understand the calamity that had befallen them, and McTeague at last began cancelling his appointments.
Trina gave it out that he was sick.
"Not a soul need know what's happened to us," she said to her husband.
But it was only by slow degrees that McTeague abandoned his profession.
Every morning after breakfast he would go into his "Parlors" as usual and potter about his instruments, his dental engine, and his washstand in the corner behind his screen where he made his moulds.