parasol.

"That's for luck, maybe," she said, with a brightening face. "Let's see
what it says about a parasol;" and she turned over her dream-book.

"For a maiden to dream she loses her parasol shows that her sweetheart
is false and will never marry her--5, 51, 56."

"But you didn't dream about a parasol, Pinky."

"That's no matter; it's just as good as a dream. 5, 51, 56 is the row.
Put that down for the second, Fan."

As Mrs. Bray was writing out these numbers the clock on the mantel
struck five.

"8, 12, 60," said Pinky, turning to the clock; "that's the clock row."

And Mrs. Bray put down these figures also.

"That's three rows," said Pinky, "and we want ten." She arose, as she
spoke, and going to the front window, looked down upon the street.

"There's an organ-grinder; it's the first thing I saw;" and she came
back fingering the leaves of her dream-book. "Put down 40, 50, 26."

Mrs. Bray wrote the numbers on her slip of paper.

"It's November; let's find the November row." Pinky consulted her book
again. "Signifies you will have trouble through life--7, 9, 63. That's
true as preaching; I was born in November, and I've had it all trouble.
How many rows does that make?"

"Five."

"Then we will cut cards for the rest;" and Pinky drew a soiled pack from
her pocket, shuffled the cards and let her friends cut them.

"Ten of diamonds;" she referred to the dream-book. "10, 13, 31; put that
down."

The cards were shuffled and cut again.

"Six of clubs--6, 35, 39."

Again they were cut and shuffled. This time the knave of clubs was
turned up.

"That's 17, 19, 28," said Pinky, reading from her book.

The next cut gave the ace of clubs, and the policy numbers were 18, 63,
75.

"Once more, and the ten rows will be full;" and the cards were cut
again.

"Five of hearts--5, 12, 60;" and the ten rows were complete.

"There's luck there, Fan; sure to make a hit," said Pinky, with almost
childish confidence, as she gazed at the ten rows of figures. "One
of 'em can't help coming out right, and that would be fifty
dollars--twenty-five for me and twenty-five for you; two rows would give
a hundred dollars, and the whole ten a thousand. Think of that, Fan!
five hundred dollars apiece."

"It would break Sam McFaddon, I'm afraid," remarked Mrs. Bray.

"Sam's got nothing to do with it," returned Pinky.

"He hasn't?"

"No."

"Who has, then?"

"His backer."

"What's that?"

"Oh, I found it all out--I