I produced the square of paper I had received from Big Sam.
"What does that say?" I asked.
Kwan Luey took the paper, and drew his eyelids together till there showed but two narrow slanting slits between them as he pretended to examine it.
"Him say--him say--I look-em book and see what him say." And with his bland smile still rendering his face innocent of meaning, he retired to his office. He reappeared a moment later.
"Him say you dlaw two hund' fitty dollah," was his announcement.
The comedy of the lottery ticket was being played out to the end. I was convinced that the paper was a direct order from Big Sam to pay me the money, but as I looked into the brown mask of Kwan Luey's face I recognized the folly of attempting to draw from him any word that he was unwilling to speak. But as he counted twelve twenty-dollar gold pieces and a ten into my hand I could not forbear saying:
"And what does Big Sam expect me to do with the money?"
I thought I detected a slight movement of Kwan Luey's eyes--a momentary contraction of the lids, as though a beam of light had flashed across them and was gone. It was the only sign of surprise I could detect.
"You sabby Big Sam?" he asked blandly.
"Yes, I sabby Big Sam."