Frank Norris - Essential Novelists - Frank Norris

On their way home they discussed the performance.

“I—I like best der yodlers.”

“Ah, the soloist was the best—the lady who sang those sad songs.”

“Wasn't—wasn't that magic lantern wonderful, where the figures moved? Wonderful—ah, wonderful! And wasn't that first act funny, where the fellow fell down all the time? And that musical act, and the fellow with the burnt-cork face who played 'Nearer, My God, to Thee' on the beer bottles.”

They got off at Polk Street and walked up a block to the flat. The street was dark and empty; opposite the flat, in the back of the deserted market, the ducks and geese were calling persistently.

As they were buying their tamales from the half-breed Mexican at the street corner, McTeague observed:

“Marcus ain't gone to bed yet. See, there's a light in his window. There!” he exclaimed at once, “I forgot the doorkey. Well, Marcus can let us in.”

Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of the flat when the bolt was shot back. In the hall at the top of the long, narrow staircase there was the sound of a great scurrying. Maria Macapa stood there, her hand upon the rope that drew the bolt; Marcus was at her side; Old Grannis was in the background, looking over their shoulders; while little Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange man in a drab overcoat at her side. As McTeague's party stepped into the doorway a half-dozen voices cried:

“Yes, it's them.”

“Is that you, Mac?”

“Is that you, Miss Sieppe?”

“Is your name Trina Sieppe?”

Then, shriller than all the rest, Maria Macapa screamed:

“Oh, Miss Sieppe, come up here quick. Your lottery ticket has won five thousand dollars!”

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“WHAT NONSENSE!” ANSWERED Trina.

“Ach Gott! What is ut?” cried Mrs. Sieppe, misunderstanding, supposing a calamity.

“What—what—what,” stammered the dentist, confused by the lights, the crowded stairway, the medley of voices. The party reached the landing. The others surrounded them. Marcus alone seemed to rise to the occasion.

“Le' me be the first to congratulate you,” he cried, catching Trina's hand. Every one was talking at once.

“Miss Sieppe, Miss Sieppe, your ticket has won five thousand dollars,” cried Maria. “Don't you remember the lottery ticket I sold you in Doctor McTeague's office?”

“Trina!” almost screamed her mother. “Five tausend thalers! five tausend thalers! If popper were only here!”

“What is it—what is it?” exclaimed McTeague, rolling his eyes.

“What are you going to do with it, Trina?” inquired Marcus.

“You're a rich woman, my dear,” said Miss Baker, her little false curls quivering with excitement, “and I'm glad for your sake. Let me kiss you. To think I was in the room when you bought the ticket!”

“Oh, oh!” interrupted Trina, shaking her head, “there is a mistake. There must be. Why—why should I win five thousand dollars? It's nonsense!”

“No mistake, no mistake,” screamed Maria. “Your number was 400,012. Here it is in the paper this evening. I remember it well, because I keep an account.”

“But I know you're wrong,” answered Trina, beginning to tremble in spite of herself. “Why should I win?”

“Eh? Why shouldn't you?” cried her mother.

In fact, why shouldn't she? The idea suddenly occurred to Trina. After all, it was not a question of effort or merit on her part. Why should she suppose a mistake? What if it were true, this wonderful fillip of fortune striking in there like some chance-driven bolt?

“Oh, do you think so?” she gasped.

The stranger in the drab overcoat came forward.

“It's the agent,” cried two or three voices, simultaneously.

“I guess you're one of the lucky ones, Miss Sieppe,” he said. “I suppose you have kept your ticket.”

“Yes, yes; four three oughts twelve—I remember.”

“That's right,” admitted the other. “Present your ticket at the local branch office as soon as possible—the address is printed on the back of the ticket—and you'll receive a check on our bank for five thousand dollars. Your number will have to be verified on our official list, but there's hardly a chance of a mistake. I congratulate you.”

All at once a great shrill of gladness surged up in Trina. She was to possess five thousand dollars. She was carried away with the joy of her good fortune, a natural, spontaneous joy—the gaiety of a child with a new and wonderful toy.

“Oh, I've won, I've won, I've won!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Mamma, think of it. I've won five thousand dollars, just by buying a ticket. Mac, what do you say to that? I've got five thousand dollars. August, do you hear what's happened to sister?”

“Kiss your mommer, Trina,” suddenly commanded Mrs. Sieppe. “What efer will you do mit all dose money, eh, Trina?”

“Huh!” exclaimed Marcus. “Get married on it for one thing.” Thereat they all shouted with laughter. McTeague grinned, and looked about sheepishly. “Talk about luck,” muttered Marcus, shaking his head at the dentist; then suddenly he added:

“Well, are we going to stay talking out here in the hall all night? Can't we all come into your 'Parlors', Mac?”

“Sure, sure,” exclaimed McTeague, hastily unlocking his door.

“Efery botty gome,” cried Mrs. Sieppe, genially. “Ain't ut so, Doktor?”

“Everybody,” repeated the dentist. “There's—there's some beer.”

“We'll celebrate, by damn!” exclaimed Marcus. “It ain't every day you win five thousand dollars. It's only Sundays and legal holidays.” Again he set the company off into a gale of laughter. Anything was funny at a time like this. In some way every one of them felt elated. The wheel of fortune had come spinning close to them. They were near to this great sum of money. It was as though they too had won.

“Here's right where I sat when I bought that ticket,” cried Trina, after they had come into the “Parlors,” and Marcus had lit the gas. “Right here in this chair.” She sat down in one of the rigid chairs under the steel engraving. “And, Marcus, you sat here——”

“And I was just getting out of the operating chair,” interposed Miss Baker.

“Yes, yes. That's so; and you,” continued Trina, pointing to Maria, “came up and said, 'Buy a ticket in the lottery; just a dollar.' Oh, I remember it just as plain as though it was yesterday, and I wasn't going to at first——”

“And don't you know I told Maria it was against the law?”

“Yes, I remember, and then I gave her a dollar and put the ticket in my pocketbook. It's in my pocketbook now at home in the top drawer of my bureau—oh, suppose it should be stolen now,” she suddenly exclaimed.

“It's worth big money now,” asserted Marcus.

“Five thousand dollars. Who would have thought it? It's wonderful.” Everybody started and turned. It was McTeague. He stood in the middle of the floor, wagging his huge head. He seemed to have just realized what had happened.

“Yes, sir, five thousand dollars!” exclaimed Marcus, with a sudden unaccountable mirthlessness. “Five thousand dollars! Do you get on to that? Cousin Trina and you will be rich people.”

“At six per cent, that's twenty-five dollars a month,” hazarded the agent.

“Think of it. Think of it,” muttered McTeague. He went aimlessly about the room, his eyes wide, his enormous hands dangling.

“A cousin of mine won forty dollars once,” observed Miss Baker. “But he spent every cent of it buying more tickets, and never won anything.”

Then the reminiscences began. Maria told about the butcher on the next block who had won twenty dollars the last drawing. Mrs. Sieppe knew a gasfitter in Oakland who had won several times; once a hundred dollars. Little Miss Baker announced that she had always believed that lotteries were wrong; but, just the same, five thousand was five thousand.