"It's the number of my automobile license." Kirk sighed at the memory of his new French car. "You don't object to such gambling?"
"Hardly," laughed Edith, "when I have a ticket for the same drawing.
Every one does it, you know."
"If I win the capital prize I'll come to the next party and claim all the dances you will allow me."
"Not much encouragement in that for a lonely lady."
"Oh, I'm the luckiest chap in the world. The drawing comes off next Sunday, and it happens that I've been shifted to No. 6 for a few trips, so I'll have a chance to see the fun."
"If you were a little less quixotic and weren't so remarkably afraid of getting more than your deserts, you could come to all these dances."
"I'm sorry," he acknowledged, "but I have to do things in my own way."
It was a welcome change for him to sleep as late as he wished on Sunday morning, and he enjoyed the privilege to the full. Inasmuch as No. 6 did not leave until one o'clock, he had ample time in which to witness the lottery drawing, a thing he had been curious to see since he had first heard of it. This form of gambling was well recognized, it seemed; not only the natives, but all classes of Canal Zone workers, engaged in it freely. On every street corner women sold tickets day after day, and, as the drawings were conducted under rigid government supervision, the lottery had come to be regarded as a sort of public institution, quite as reputable as an ordinary church raffle.
Allan, vastly excited, was of course waiting to accompany him, and, when Kirk had finished a leisurely breakfast, the two strolled idly down into the city.
"Oh, boss," exclaimed the negro, "I feel that we shall h'experience good-fartune to-day."