“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.