“If dey got innybody hyuh ain’t picked a number for dis raffle, dey better come on now an’ choose; so we kin put ’um all in de hat together, an’ leave Bennee commence shakin’ ’um up. ’Cause you know dis thing gotta go thoo straight like a lotry.... Square deal to evvybody, ’dout inny prefyun.” (Preference.) Each member present had a number; and Carmelite had the list with their names “marked-up on de paper.” They were all sure that the drawing would be fair and square. Duckery would call the numbers and Bennee would handle the blanks. Dink’s harmonious comb was playing a pleasant obligato as the drawing began, and all eyes were looking on with eager expectation. “Number foteen!” Duckery called out, taking the slip from the hat with a flourish. “Nothin’ ain’ wrote on dis’n,” Bennee informed him, unfolding the blank and examining it on both sides. Duckery looked at him with an ominous scowl, exclaiming: “Ole country nigger, ain’t you never took part in a raffle befo’?... Dat ain’ de way you gotta call back to me w’en I calls out de number.... If dey ain’ got nothin’ on de paper, all you gotta say to me is _Blank_.... ’Till you picks out de paper got _Prize_ marked-up on it.... Now go ’head, an’ do de thing right.... An’ lissen good so you kin un’stan’ de numbers w’en I calls ’um.” “Da’s right, Duckery,” came Carmelite’s earnest approval. “You make dis thing go thoo straight. ’Cause I don’ wan’ have none y’all niggers say I had dese numbers fixed-up befo’ han’. An’ say I robbed ’um out a dime, ’cause dey ain’ had de luck to win de quilt.” “I know you ain’ talkin’ to me,” she heard Scilla’s sharp staccato call out. “I know I ain’ goin’ bother my good self ’bout raisin’ no trouble over one li’l ole dry dime I done paid out on any quilt.” “Number nine,” Duckery called in a loud voice. “Dis’n blank, too,” Bennee answered innocently. Duckery rolled his eyes and glared at him intently, while everybody laughed at Bennee’s forgetfulness. “Number fifty-two,” Duckery called, fixing his gaze sternly on Bennee. “Blank,” Bennee answered with a pleased grin; satisfied that he was learning the intricacies of the game. “Number nineteen,” Duckery called gaily; seeing Mozella looking at him with keen anticipation. “Blank,” came Bennee’s announcement. “Law ...d!” reverberated Mozella’s exclamation of disappointment. “I sho thought my number nineteen was goin’ bring me good luck.... Da’s de number o’ de day my sister baby was bawn.... An’ bawn wid one teeth in de front ’is mouth, too.” “O g’way from hyuh, gal,” scoffed Keziah, giving Mozella a playful push. “Ugly an’ ill-formed as yo’ sister baby is,—’tain no wonder yo’ li’l dime done went astray.” Much displeased at being interrupted by the laughter that followed Keziah’s comment, Duckery looked at the women and shouted crossly: “Quit y’all wranglin’, for Gawd sake! An’ lemme git thoo playin’ wid dis hat-full o’ papers.... You think I wan’ stay hyuh all night?”