n the background, looking over their shoulders; while
little Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange man in a drab
overcoat at her side. As McTeague's party stepped into the doorway a
half-dozen voices cried:

"Yes, it's them."

"Is that you, Mac?"

"Is that you, Miss Sieppe?"

"Is your name Trina Sieppe?"

Then, shriller than all the rest, Maria Macapa screamed:

"Oh, Miss Sieppe, come up here quick. Your lottery ticket has won five
thousand dollars!"

CHAPTER 7

"What nonsense!" answered Trina.

"Ach Gott! What is ut?" cried Mrs. Sieppe, misunderstanding, supposing a
calamity.

"What--what--what," stammered the dentist, confused by the lights, the
crowded stairway, the medley of voices. The party reached the landing.
The others surrounded them. Marcus alone seemed to rise to the occasion.

"Le' me be the first to congratulate you," he cried, catching Trina's
hand. Every one was talking at once.

"Miss Sieppe, Miss Sieppe, your ticket has won five thousand dollars,"
cried Maria. "Don't you remember the lottery ticket I sold you in Doctor
McTeague's office?"

"Trina!" almost screamed her mother. "Five tausend thalers! five tausend
thalers! If popper were only here!"

"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