“Come right up with your nickel. Here’s a gal knows a good thing even if she did swallow two teeth.”
Had this remark been made about Lizzie’s teeth at another time she would have fired a red-headed retort, but now she thought of only the album.
She exchanged her five pennies for the gum, and with trembling fingers unrolled the tissue paper and let the stomach and voice read the name from the slip of paper—“Lead pencil,” was announced.
Poor Lizzie’s heart sank, and the stomach and voice was telling the crowd that there were a few pencils in the lot, and showed them a box containing five pencils.
At this Lizzie cheered up—she decided that if no one else won those pencils and she was unlucky five more times she would still have five cents left with which to win the album.
She won five more pencils, had given a last look at the last five pennies, unrolled the slip of paper and given it to her nearest neighbour to read—“lead pencil,” was read.
“Since they ain’t no more pencils I’ll take the album,” announced Lizzie triumphantly.
“Got more, sissy,” said the stomach and voice, taking a few from his pocket and placing them in the box, handing one to Lizzie.
The crowd jeered and left. Lizzie was too dazed to go, and, sitting on a soapbox in the alley, stared at the album. She heard the shrill whistle the stomach and voice gave, and a few minutes later saw the winners appear, returning the articles they had won. She wondered why they did this, and, as a new crowd was coming, drew closer to the cart.
She listened again to the same harangue and saw the umbrella winner take another chance. She gave a start when he thundered “umbrella”—she saw through the performance, and her cheeks glowed with indignation.