“I won’t stay in Wayneboro much longer,” Eben inwardly resolved.  “It’s the dullest hole in creation.  I can get along somehow in a large place, but here there’s positively nothing.  Hire out on a farm, indeed!  My father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a thing to his only son, when he’s so well off.  If he would only give me two hundred dollars, I would go to California and trouble him no more.  Plenty of people make money in California, and why shouldn’t I?  If that ticket draws a prize—­”

And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he drew a prize of a thousand dollars.  That wasn’t too much to expect, for there were several of that amount, and several considerably larger.  He pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and how he would tell his father that he could get along without him, displaying at the same time a large roll of bills.  When he reached California he could buy an interest in a mine, and perhaps within three or four years he could return home twenty times as rich as his father.  It was pleasant to think over all this, and almost to persuade himself that the good luck had actually come.  However, he must wait a few days, for the ticket had not yet come, and the lottery would not be drawn for a week.

The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the envelope into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else see it, for unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where he got the money that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that his son had not five dollars by him.

For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was drawn.  If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan for raising money to get away from Wayneboro.

It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant acquittal, that Herbert saw Eben.  He came to the store to buy some groceries for his mother.

“Good-evening, Herbert,” said Eben.

“Eben,” said Herbert, coldly, “except in the way of business, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“You don’t bear malice on account of that little affair, do you, Herbert?” said Eben, smoothly.

“That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious affair to me.”

“I only did my duty,” said Eben.

“Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?”

“I didn’t see who else could have taken the things,” said Eben.

“Probably you know as well as anybody,” said Herbert, contemptuously.

“What do you mean?” demanded Eben, coloring.

“You know better than I do.  How much do I owe you?”

“Thirty-three cents.”

“There is your money,” said Herbert, and walked out of the store.

“I hate that boy!” said Eben, scowling at Herbert’s retreating figure.  “He puts on too many airs, just because a city man’s taken him in charity and is paying his expenses.  Some time I’ll be able to come up with him, I hope.”