That seemed to suit everybody; so Mrs. Todd waddled up and drew out a number.
It was number eighteen, and you never seen such a scramble to look over tickets. One after another, I hear ’em cussin’ their luck. Tombstone and his wife are talkin’ their numbers out loud, and they ain’t hittin’ nowhere near the right number. The room is kinda still after the countin’ is all done, and when Testament clears his throat, it sounds like somebody tearin’ a horse blanket.
“Who has the lucky number?” he asks. “Who has eighteen?”
Nobody speaks, and I suddenly realize that I’ve got that number in my pocket. It’s the one I couldn’t find when I was in that poker game. I manage to unhook that big coat, and I got the ticket out. It’s number eighteen.
I stepped out on the platform and handed it to Testament, who squints at it over his glasses.
“Ike Harper wins,” he says.
The crowd is kinda dumb over it all. Magpie grabs me by the arm and hustles me back through the curtain.
“I’ve won me a horseless carriage,” says I. “One ticket was all I had.”
“Jist enough to start a killin’,” says Magpie. “Why didn’t you keep that ticket out of sight. Now, they’ll swear it was a brace game, and instead of peace on earth, it’ll be pieces of Piperock scattered over the earth. Scenery, git Testament off the platform, and let’s start the show before they git time to start anythin’. Ike, you danged fool, we swore to Paradise that there wasn’t a ticket held in Piperock. That’s why they spent all their money. Somebody git that quartette to sing. Dirty Shirt, you do it. Tell Muley Bowles to start it. Where’s your whiskers, Ike?”
“The camel done et ’em.”