Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."
Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg, hasn't he?
Who's drawing for him?"
"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her husband." Mr.
Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and
everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the
lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while
Mrs. Dunbar answered.
"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this
year."
"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy
drawing this year?"
A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I'm drawing for my mother and me." He blinked
his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow,
lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it."
"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"
"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.
A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All ready?" he
called. "Now, I'll read the names--heads of families first--and the men come up and take a paper out of
the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn.
Everything clear?