“What is it—­what is it?” exclaimed McTeague, rolling his eyes.

“What are you going to do with it, Trina?” inquired Marcus.

“You’re a rich woman, my dear,” said Miss Baker, her little false curls quivering with excitement, “and I’m glad for your sake.  Let me kiss you.  To think I was in the room when you bought the ticket!”

“Oh, oh!” interrupted Trina, shaking her head, “there is a mistake.  There must be.  Why—­why should I win five thousand dollars?  It’s nonsense!”

“No mistake, no mistake,” screamed Maria.  “Your number was 400,012.  Here it is in the paper this evening.  I remember it well, because I keep an account.”

“But I know you’re wrong,” answered Trina, beginning to tremble in spite of herself.  “Why should I win?”

“Eh?  Why shouldn’t you?” cried her mother.

In fact, why shouldn’t she?  The idea suddenly occurred to Trina.  After all, it was not a question of effort or merit on her part.  Why should she suppose a mistake?  What if it were true, this wonderful fillip of fortune striking in there like some chance-driven bolt?

“Oh, do you think so?” she gasped.

The stranger in the drab overcoat came forward.

“It’s the agent,” cried two or three voices, simultaneously.

“I guess you’re one of the lucky ones, Miss Sieppe,” he said.  “I suppose you have kept your ticket.”

“Yes, yes; four three oughts twelve—­I remember.”

“That’s right,” admitted the other.  “Present your ticket at the local branch office as soon as possible—­the address is printed on the back of the ticket—­and you’ll receive a check on our bank for five thousand dollars.  Your number will have to be verified on our official list, but there’s hardly a chance of a mistake.  I congratulate you.”

All at once a great shrill of gladness surged up in Trina.  She was to possess five thousand dollars.  She was carried away with the joy of her good fortune, a natural, spontaneous joy—­the gaiety of a child with a new and wonderful toy.

“Oh, I’ve won, I’ve won, I’ve won!” she cried, clapping her hands.  “Mamma, think of it.  I’ve won five thousand dollars, just by buying a ticket.  Mac, what do you say to that?  I’ve got five thousand dollars.  August, do you hear what’s happened to sister?”

“Kiss your mommer, Trina,” suddenly commanded Mrs. Sieppe.  “What efer will you do mit all dose money, eh, Trina?”

“Huh!” exclaimed Marcus.  “Get married on it for one thing.”  Thereat they all shouted with laughter.  McTeague grinned, and looked about sheepishly.  “Talk about luck,” muttered Marcus, shaking his head at the dentist; then suddenly he added: 

“Well, are we going to stay talking out here in the hall all night?  Can’t we all come into your ‘Parlors’, Mac?”

“Sure, sure,” exclaimed McTeague, hastily unlocking his door.

“Efery botty gome,” cried Mrs. Sieppe, genially.  “Ain’t ut so, Doktor?”