wagged a sympathizing and curious head on the other side.
"Invoiced at twelve dollars," said the friend. "That ain't no twelve-dollar box, Dorry!"
Tommy, whose hurry had been displaced by the idlest, sauntering air, craned his neck forward. "That's right," said he; "there ain't twelve dollars' worth of truck in that box. The government's got a great head, running this kind of lottery business. Things of value are bound to be claimed."
The junk-dealer playfully cocked one eye. "You trying to buy that box, my Christian friend?"
"Big finds in those boxes sometimes," remarked the junk-dealer's crony.
"Big disappointments, too," said Tommy. "I bet that you'll be swearing mad when you open that box."
"How much do you bet?" sneered the junk-dealer, trying his screw-driver on the heads of the screws.
"Well, I'll bet five dollars to a nickel you can't sell the whole contents of that box for twelve dollars. How's that?"
Two or three men drew nearer, and instantly a dozen more were drawn by the sight of them, as is the way of a crowd.
"Is it a kind of game?" inquired one man.
"I'm not likely to make much by it," said Tommy; "five dollars to a nickel!"
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"SHE WALKED IN WITH A QUICK STEP . . . HER DIM EYES WANDERING ANXIOUSLY OYER THE ARRAY OF BOXES. . . ."
"Let's see your money," said the reporter, glancing out of the tail of his eye at the dealer, whom he knew slightly.
The dealer laughed. He wasn't afraid of games, he said, and he proffered his nickel to the reporter. Tommy gravely placed a bank-note beside it.
"Well," said the dealer, "I don't object to giving you all a peep, but who's to decide as to the value?"
"You can pick two men, and I'll pick one," said Tommy, carelessly. As he anticipated, the dealer chose his friend and the reporter. Tommy hit at random on a grave and rubicund man who had the
