Part 4 (2/2)

Pinny was perusing the clipping in his hand. ”Wot did you say,” he piped suddenly; ”_wot's_ the number?”

”Nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven,” repeated Charles-Norton.

The pale youth seemed to collapse. His chin went forward on his green tie, his back slid down the back of his chair, his hands dropped limp upon the table. ”Well, I'll be eternally dod-gum-good-blasted,” he said weakly.

”You've done it,” he continued, solemnly; ”you've gone and done it.” He looked at his clipping again. ”Lemme see your ticket,” he said. He placed the ticket and the clipping side by side; his stubby, black-fringed finger slid from one to the other.

”You've done it, partner,” he repeated, with the same funereal intoning.

”Nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven! And I've held that ticket in my hands, right in these hands! Eight hundred dollars.--Nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven wins eight hundred dollars”--his tongue lingered, as if it tasted it, upon each opulent number--”Eight hundred dollars; that's what you win. And all owing to me, too.”

Charles-Norton had forgotten his ham-and-eggs. He took the ticket and the clipping from Pinny's nerveless fingers and compared them. 19897! That was right. He had won eight hundred dollars. ”Where do you cash in?” he exclaimed with a sudden ferocity.

”I'll take you to it,” murmured Pinny, still in a daze. ”Gee--and I had that ticket in this here pair of hands. I'll take yuh to it. It's down town. No trouble getting the money. You'll treat on it, eh? You'll treat, won't yuh?”

His sharp face was almost beneath Charles-Norton's chin; his pale eyes rolled upward wistfully. A sudden gust of pity went through Charles-Norton. ”Surely,” he said. ”Better than that; we'll share.”

He paused, coughed. A wave of prudence was modifying his impulse--the prudence that inevitably comes with wealth. ”I'll give you--I'll give you twenty-five dollars!” he announced.

”Come on!” said Pinny; ”come on--we're losing time, eating in this joint.

Say, you'll have all you want to eat now, won't yuh--oysters and wine and grape-fruit and everything. And girls, eh? Autos and wine and girls--Gee!”

And his eyes remained fixed on the vision of splendor, of the splendor of Charles-Norton, missed so narrowly by himself.

Together they went down to the offices of the Little Texas, where after having been warmly congratulated by an oily man with a diamond stud, and after signing seven feet of doc.u.ments and testimonials, Charles-Norton was given a long yellow check, which was forthwith photographed, as was also Charles-Norton. Then the fat, oily man, the clerk who had prepared the doc.u.ments, Pinny, and Charles-Norton went downstairs and, standing up against a polished walnut counter, drank to the long life of the Little Texas and to the success of Charles-Norton. After which the courteous oily man introduced Charles-Norton to the cas.h.i.+er of a bank, where Charles-Norton deposited his check, receiving in return a little yellow deposit-book, and a long green check-book.

With Pinny, Charles-Norton rode back toward the office. They stopped at the square, and stood a while watching the fountain, each a bit uncertain. Finally Pinny put out his hand. ”Well, so long, old man,” he said; ”so long.”

”So long,” said Charles-Norton, indecisively.

But Pinny still stood there, abashed and uncertain. ”You was going to--but you've changed yer mind, I suppose; I suppose you've changed yer mind--You was going to----” His eyes were on the ground; he shuffled one foot gently. ”You was going to----”

”Oh, of course!” cried Charles-Norton. ”I was going to give you a share of the swag--of course, of course, of course!”

They sat on a bench. Charles-Norton took out of his pocket the long check-book and opened it out, with a little crackling sound, on its first clean page. He took out his fountain pen. ”No. 1,” he wrote down with great decision. He paused, looking about him for a moment, in enjoyment of this new occupation. ”June 19,” he wrote on, slowly, languorously.

”Pay to the order of,” the page said next. ”Of _Frank Theodore Pinny_,”

wrote Charles-Norton. ”Dollars,” the check said next, at the end of a blank line. Charles-Norton paused, pen poised above paper.

”Twenty-five,” he thought. That is what he had promised. ”_T-w-e-n-t-y_,”

he wrote. The pen stopped again, hovering hesitatingly above the paper.

”Twenty-five is a whole lot,” he thought. ”Just for selling a ticket.

Just for selling a piece of cardboard!” And eight hundred dollars was not so much, either. An hour before, eight hundred dollars had seemed an immense sum. Now it seemed a modest amount, a very modest amount. And twenty-five, twenty-five to give away--that seemed quite big. ”Pay to the order of Frank Theodore Pinny,” he re-read, ”twenty----”

The pen made a sudden descent. ”And no-hundredths,” it wrote swiftly.

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