He took a brush and marked his ten spots, five above and five below the centre panel, and handed it to the manager, who wrote his name in Chinese characters down the margin. There was just time for this when the ceremony of drawing the winning numbers began. The manager brought out a cylindrical bamboo vessel and placed in it the eighty characters found on the tickets, each written on a small piece of paper and rolled into a little pill or ball. Then he looked up at the Klondyker. “You likee mix ’em up?” he asked. The stranger assented, and, having stirred up the pellets, was gravely handed a dime by the treasurer of the company. The pellets were then drawn forth, one by one, and placed in four bowls in rotation till all were disposed of. The manager now nodded to Coffin, who came up to the table. “You shake ’em dice?” said the Chinaman. Coffin nodded. “You see this die?” he explained to the Klondyker. “It’s numbered up to four, and the number decides which bowl contains the lucky numbers on the ticket. Here goes! _Three!_” The third bowl was accordingly emptied, and the numbers on the pellets of rolled paper were read off and entered in a book. The Chinese now began to show signs of excitement. Tickets were produced from the pockets of their dark blouses and were scanned with interest as the winning numbers were called out one by one. They crowded to the shoulder of the manager as he unfolded the pellets, and jabbered unintelligible oaths and blessings as the characters were revealed. Coffin beckoned to one who appeared to have no investment, and showed him the joint ticket, asking him to point out the spots as they were read. The first five were unmarked, but then to their delight the long nail of the Chinaman’s finger pointed to three spots in succession. In another minute two more marked characters won, and then, after a series of failures, the last two numbers read proved to be Coffin’s selection. The Chinaman’s eyes snapped, and he cried out a few words, spreading the news over the room. In an instant the two white men were surrounded, and a babel of ejaculations began. “What the devil does it mean? Do we win?” asked the Klondyker. “Do we win! Can a duck swim? We’ve got seven lucky spots! Twenty-four hundred dollars, if we don’t have to divide with some son of a she-monkey!” and Coffin, grabbing his hat in his right hand, pranced about the room and began on the Harvard yell. The Chinamen, shocked at the noise, and in imminent fear of attracting attention to the illegal enterprise, had grabbed him and stifled his fifth “Rah!” when, suddenly, with a hoarse yelp, the watchman at the look-out burst into the room, giving the alarm for a raid of the police, and threw two massive oaken bars across the iron door. In an instant the tickets, pellets, and books were swept into a sack, and the men scattered in all directions, sweeping down tables and over chairs to escape arrest.