“All right,” he said, suddenly holding out the sixpence that represented his sole worldly assets, and receiving Ticket number 33.
“Don’t forget it was me what suggested it,” said Ginger.
“Yes, an’ don’t forget it was my sixpence,” said William sternly.
William was not usually lucky, but on this occasion the number 33 was drawn, and William, purple with embarrassment, bore off his gloomy-looking trophy. Accompanied by Ginger he took it to the old barn.
They scraped off the head and shoulders of the mournful and inadequately clothed female, and they scraped off the gloomy trees, and they scraped off the elaborate columns. To their surprise and indignation no priceless old master stood revealed. Being thorough in all they did, they finally scraped away the entire canvas and the back.
“Well,” said William, raising himself sternly from the task when nothing scrapable seemed to remain, “an’ will you kin’ly tell me where this valu’ble ole master is?”
“Who said definite there was a valu’ble ole master?” said Ginger in explanation. “’F you kin’ly remember right p’raps you’ll kin’ly remember that I said that an aunt of mine said that she saw in the paper that someone’d scraped away an ole picture an’ found a valu’ble ole master. I never said——”
William was arranging the empty oval frame round his neck.
“P’raps now,” he interrupted ironically, “you’d like to start scratchin’ away the frame, case you find a valu’ble ole master frame underneath.”
“Will it hoop?” said Ginger with interest, dropping hostilities for the moment.