_Tickets 1/- and 2/-._
If you win, it will be the same as winning money.
Lottery at Morden House, Blackheath.
Saturday at 4. Come at 3.
And he slung the boards round his neck, and tied up his mouth in one of
those knitted comforters he despises so much at other times, and,
pulling a cap of father's over his bold ears, he got Dicky to let him
out of the side-door. And then the brave boy went right across the heath
and three times up and down the village, till those boys that followed
him and the Goat home went for him near the corner of Wemyss Road, and
he made a fight for it, taking off the boards and using them as shields.
But at last, being far outnumbered, which is no disgrace, he had to
chuck the boards and run for it.
Saturday was fine. We had hung the greenhouse with evergreens and
paper roses that looked almost like real among the green, and Miss
Blake let us have some Chinesy-looking curtains to cover over the
shelves and staging with. And the gardener let us have a lot of azaleas
and things in pots, so that it was all very bowery and flowery.
Alice's stall was the smartest looking, because Miss Blake had let her
have all the ribbons and things that were over from the other bazaar.
H. O.'s stall was also nice--all on silver tea-trays, so as not to be
stickier than needful.
The poetry stall had more flowers on it than any of the others, to make
up for the poetry looking so dull outside. Of course, you could not see
the sweet inside the packets till you opened them. Red azaleas are
prettier than poetry, I think. I think the tropic lands in 'Westward
Ho!' had great trees with flowers like that.
We got the Goat into the stovehouse. He was to be kept a secret till the
very last. And by half-past two we were all ready, and very clean and
dressed. We had all looked out everything we thought anyone could want
to buy, and that we could spare, and some things we could not, and most
of these were on Oswald's table--among others, several boxes of games
we had never cared about; some bags of marbles, which nobody plays now;
a lot of old books; a pair of braces with wool-work on them, that an
aunt once made for Oswald, and, of course, he couldn't wear them; some
bags of odd buttons for people who like sewing these things on; a lot of
foreign stamps, gardening tools, Dicky's engine, that won't go, and a
stuffed parrot, but he was moth-eaten.
About three our friends began to come, Mrs. Leslie, and Lord Tottenham,
and Albert's uncle, and a lot of others. It was a very grand party, and
they admired the bazaar very much, and all bought things. Mrs. Leslie
bought the engine for ten shillings, though we told her honestly it
would never go again, and Albert's uncle bought the parrot, and would
not tell us what he wanted it for. The money was put on a blue dish, so
that everyone could see how it got on, and our hearts were full of joy
as we saw how much silver there was among the pennies, and two or three
gold pieces too. I know now how the man feels who holds the plate at the
door in church.
Noel's poetry stall was much more paying than I thought it would be. I
believe nobody really likes poetry, and yet everyone pretends they do,
either so as not to hurt Noel's feelings, or because they think
well-brought-up people ought to like poetry, even Noel's. Of course,
Macaulay and Kipling are different. I don't mind them so much myself.
Noel wrote a lot of new poetry for the bazaar. It took up all his time,
and even then he had not enough new stuff to wrap up all the sugar
almonds in. So he made up with old poetry that he'd done before.
Albert's uncle got one of the new ones, and said it made him a proud
man. It was:
'How noble and good and kind you are
To come to Victor A. Plunkett's Bazaar.
Please buy as much as you can bear,
For the sufferer needs all you can possibly spare.
I know you are sure to take his part,
Because you have such a noble heart.'
Mrs. Leslie got:
'The rose is red, the violet's blue,
The lily's pale, and so are you.
Or would be if you had seen him fall
Off the top of the ladder so tall.
Do buy as much as you can stand,
And lend the poor a helping hand.'
Lord Tottenham, though, only got one of the old ones, and it happened to
be the 'Wreck of the _Malabar_.' He was an admiral once. But he liked
it. He is a nice old gentleman, but people do say he is 'excentric.'
Father got a poem that said:
'Please turn your eyes round in their sockets,
And put both your hands in your pockets;
Your eyes will show you things so gay,
And I hope you'll find enough in your pockets to pay
For the things you buy.
Good-bye!'
And he laughed and seemed pleased; but when Mrs. Morrison, Albert's
mother, got that poem about the black beetle that was poisoned she was
not so pleased, and she said it was horrid, and made her flesh creep.
You know the poem. It says:
'Oh, beetle, how I weep to see
Thee lying on thy poor back:
It is so very sad to see
You were so leggy and black.
I wish you were crawling about alive again,
But many people think this is nonsense and a shame.'
Noel _would_ recite, no matter what we said, and he stood up on a chair,
and everyone, in their blind generousness, paid sixpence to hear him.
It was a long poem of his own about the Duke of Wellington, and it
began:
'Hail, faithful leader of the brave band
Who went to make Napoleon understand
He couldn't have everything his own way.
We taught him this on Waterloo day.'
I heard that much; but then he got so upset and frightened no one could
hear anything till the end, when it says:
'So praise the heroes of Waterloo,
And let us do our duty like they had to do.'
Everyone clapped very much, but Noel was so upset he nearly cried, and
Mrs. Leslie said:
'Noel, I'm feeling as pale as a lily again! Take me round the garden to
recover myself.'
She was as red as usual, but it saved Noel from making a young ass of
himself. And we got seventeen shillings and sixpence by his reciting. So
that was all right.
We might as well not have sent out those circulars, because only the
people we had written to ourselves came. Of course, I don't count those
five street boys, the same Oswald had the sandwich-board fight with.
They came, and they walked round and looked at the things; but they had
no money to spend, it turned out, and only came to be disagreeable and
make fun. So Albert's uncle asked them if they did not think their
families would be lonely without them, and he and I saw them off at the
gate. Then they stood outside and made rude noises. And another stranger
came, and Oswald thought perhaps the circular was beginning to bear
fruit. But the stranger asked for the master of the house, and he was
shown in. Oswald was just shaking up the numbers in his hat for the
lottery of the Goat, and Alice and Dora were selling the tickets for
half a crown each to our visitors, and explaining the dreadful misery of
the poor man that all this trouble was being taken for, and we were all
enjoying ourselves very much, when Sarah came to say Master Oswald was
to go in to master's study at once. So he went, wondering what on earth
he could have been up to now. But he could not think of anything in
particular. But when his father said, 'Oswald, this gentleman is a
detective from Scotland Yard,' he was glad he had told about the fives
ball and the ladder, because he knew his father would now stand by him.
But he did wonder whether you could be sent to prison for leaving a
ladder in a slippery place, and how long they would keep you there for
that crime.
Then my father held out one of the fatal circulars, and said:
'I suppose this is some of your work? Mr. Biggs here is bound in honour
to do his best to find out when people break the laws of the land. Now,
lotteries are illegal, and can be punished by law.'
Oswald gloomily wondered how much the law could do to you. He said:
'We didn't know, father.'
Then his father said:
'The best thing you can do is to tell this gentleman all about it.'
So Oswald said:
'Augustus Victor Plunkett fell off a ladder and broke his arm, and
perhaps it was our fault for meddling with the ladder at all. So we
wanted to do something to help him, and father said we might have a
bazaar. It is happening now, and we had three pounds two and sevenpence
last time I counted the bazaar.'
'But what about the lottery?' said Mr. Biggs, who did not look as if he
would take Oswald to prison just then, as our young hero had feared. In
fact, he looked rather jolly. 'Is the prize money?'
'No--oh no; only it's so valuable it's as good as winning money.'
'Then it's only a raffle,' said Mr. Biggs; 'that's what it is, just a
plain raffle. What _is_ the prize?'
'Are we to be allowed to go on with it?' asked the wary Oswald.
'Why, yes,' said Mr. Biggs; 'if it's not money, why not? What is the
valuable object?'
'Come, Oswald,' said his father, when Oswald said nothing, 'what is the
object of _virtu_?'
'I'd rather not say,' said Oswald, feeling very uncomfortable.
Mr. Biggs said something about duty being duty, and my father said:
'Come, Oswald, don't be a young duffer. I dare say it's nothing to be
ashamed of.'
'I should think not indeed,' said Oswald, as his fond thoughts played
with that beautiful Goat.
'Well, then?'
'Well, sir'--Oswald spoke desperately, for he wondered his father had
been so patient so long, and saw that he wasn't going to go on
being--'you see, the great thing is, nobody is to know it's a G---- I
mean, it's a secret. No one's to know what the prize is. Only when
you've won it, it will be revealed.'
'Well,' said my father, 'if Mr. Biggs will take a glass of wine with me,
we'll follow you down to the greenhouse, and he can see for himself.'
Mr. Biggs said something about thanking father kindly, and about his
duty. And presently they came down to the greenhouse. Father did not
introduce Mr. Biggs to anyone--I suppose he forgot--but Oswald did while
father was talking to Mrs. Leslie. And Mr. Biggs made himself very
agreeable to all the ladies.
Then we had the lottery. Everyone had tickets, and Alice asked Mr. Biggs
to buy one. She let him have it for a shilling, because it was the last,
and we all hoped he would win the Goat. He seemed quite sure now that
Oswald was not kidding, and that the prize was not money. Indeed, Oswald
went so far as to tell him privately that the prize was too big to put
in your pocket, and that if it was divided up it would be spoiled, which
is true of Goats, but not of money.
[Illustration: '"Here is your prize," said Oswald.'--Page 31.]
Everyone was laughing and talking, and wondering anxiously whatever the
prize could possibly be. Oswald carried round the hat, and everyone
drew a number. The winning number was six hundred and sixty-six, and
Albert's uncle said afterwards it was a curious coincidence. I don't
know what it meant, but it made Mrs. Leslie laugh. When everyone had
drawn a number, Oswald rang the dinner-bell to command silence, and
there was a hush full of anxious expectation. Then Oswald said:
'The prize number is six hundred and sixty-six. Who has it?'
And Mr. Biggs took a step forward and held out his paper.
'The prize is yours! I congratulate you,' said Oswald warmly.
Then he went into the stovehouse, and hastily placing a wreath of paper
roses on the Goat's head, that Alice had got ready for the purpose, he
got out the Goat by secretly showing it a bit of cocoanut ice, and led
it by the same means to the feet of the happy winner.
'Here is your prize,' said Oswald, with feelings of generous pride. 'I
am very glad you've got him. He'll be a comfort to you, and make up for
all the trouble you've had over our lottery--raffle, I mean.'
And he placed the ungoated end of the rope in the unresisting hand of
the fortunate detective.
Neither Oswald nor any of the rest of us has ever been able to make out
why everyone should have laughed so. But they did. They said the lottery
was the success of the afternoon. And the ladies kept on congratulating
Mr. Biggs.
At last people began to go, and the detective, so unexpectedly made rich
beyond his wildest dreams, said he, too, must be going. He had tied the
Goat to the greenhouse door, and now he moved away. But we all cried
out:
'You've forgotten your Goat!'
'No, I haven't,' he said very earnestly; 'I shall never forget that Goat
to my dying hour. But I want to call on my aunt just close by, and I
couldn't very well take the Goat to see her.'
'I don't see why not,' H. O. said; 'it's a very nice Goat.'
'She's frightened of them,' said he. 'One ran at her when she was a
little girl. But if you will allow me, sir'--and he winked at my father,
which is not manners--'if you'll allow me, I'll call in for the Goat on
my way to the station.'
We got five pounds thirteen and fivepence by the bazaar and the raffle.
We should have had another ten shillings from father, but he had to
give it to Mr. Biggs, because we had put him to the trouble of coming
all the way from Scotland Yard, because he thought our circular was from
some hardened criminal wishing to cheat his trustful fellow-creatures.
We took the money to Augustus Victor Plunkett next morning, and I tell
you he _was_ pleased.
We waited till long after dark for the detective to return for his rich
prize. But he never came. I hope he was not set upon and stabbed in some
dark alley. If he is alive, and not imprisoned, I can't see why he
didn't come back. I often think anxiously of him. Because, of course,
detectives have many enemies among felons, who think nothing of stabbing
people in the back, so that being murdered in a dark alley is a thing
all detectives are constantly liable to.