I guessed that, having failed with them in the daily drawings, he would
shift the figures after some notion of magical significance and venture a
ticket, whole or fractional, in the monthly drawing.

Scarcely ten days after, as I sat at breakfast with my newspaper spread
beside my plate, I fairly spilled my coffee as my eye fell upon the name
of P.T.B. Manouvrier, of No.--St. Peter Street. Old Pastropbon had drawn
seventy-five thousand dollars in the lottery.



IV


All the first half of the day, wherever I was, in the street-car, at my
counting-desk, on the exchange, no matter to what I gave my attention, my
thought was ever on my friend the taxidermist. At luncheon it was the
same. He was rich! And what, now? What next? And what--ah! what?-at last?
Would the end be foul or fair? I hoped, yet feared. I feared again; and
yet I hoped.

A familiar acquaintance, a really good fellow, decent, rich, "born of
pious parents," and determined to have all the ready-made refinements and
tastes that pure money could buy, came and sat with me at my lunch table.

"I wonder," he began, "if you know where you are, or what you're here for.
I've been watching you for five minutes and I don't believe you do. See
here; what sort of an old donkey is that bird-stuffer of yours?"