"All just as they were left. Nothing opened, nothing tampered with."

"You are right, ma'am. All locked but the brown-paper parcel, and that
sealed."

The Mistress was leaning on Miss Martin's desk at the bar-window, and she
taps the open book that lays upon the desk,--she has a pretty-made hand
to be sure,--and bobs her head over it and laughs.

"Come," says she, "Christopher. Pay me Somebody's bill, and you shall
have Somebody's Luggage."

I rather took to the idea from the first moment; but,

"It mayn't be worth the money," I objected, seeming to hold back.

"That's a Lottery," says the Mistress, folding her arms upon the book,--it
ain't her hands alone that's pretty made, the observation extends right
up her arms. "Won't you venture two pound sixteen shillings and sixpence
in the Lottery? Why, there's no blanks!" says the Mistress; laughing and
bobbing her head again, "you _must_ win. If you lose, you must win! All
prizes in this Lottery! Draw a blank, and remember, Gentlemen-Sportsmen,
you'll still be entitled to a black portmanteau, a black bag, a desk, a
dressing-case, a sheet of brown paper, a hat-box, and an umbrella
strapped to a walking-stick!"

To make short of it, Miss Martin come round me, and Mrs. Pratchett come
round me, and the Mistress she was completely round me already, and all
the women in the house come round me, and if it had been Sixteen two
instead of Two sixteen, I should have thought myself well out of it. For