Their entrance was greeted with a burst of loud applause that testified both to the pleasure all experienced on beholding the managers of the Christiania Lottery, and to the impatience with which the crowd was awaiting the beginning of the drawing.
There were six little girls, as we have remarked before, and there were also six urns upon a table that occupied the middle of the platform. Each of these urns contained ten numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0, representing the units, tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands of the number one million. There was no seventh urn, for the million column, because it had been agreed that six ciphers drawn simultaneously should represent one million, as in this way the chances of success would be equally divided among all the numbers.
It had also been settled that the numbers should be drawn in succession from the urns, beginning with that to the left of the audience. The winning number would thus be formed under the very eyes of the spectators, first by the figure in the column of hundreds of thousands, then in the columns of tens of thousands, and so on until the column of units was reached, and the reader can judge with what emotion each person watched his chances of success increase with the drawing of each figure.
As the clock struck three, the president waved his hand, and declared the drawing begun.
The prolonged murmur that greeted the announcement lasted several minutes, after which quiet was gradually established.
The president rose, and though evidently much excited, made a short speech suited to the occasion, in which he expressed regret that there was not a prize for each ticket holder; then he ordered the drawing of the first series of prizes, which consisted, as we have before remarked, of ninety prizes, and which would therefore consume a considerable length of time.
The six little girls began to perform their duties with automaton-like regularity, but the audience did not lose patience for an instant. It is true, however, that as the value of the prizes increased with each drawing, the excitement increased proportionately, and no one thought of leaving his seat, not even those persons whose tickets had been already drawn, and who had consequently nothing more to expect.
This went on for about an hour without producing any incident of particular interest, though people noticed that number 9672 had not been drawn, which would have taken away all chance of its winning the capital prize.
“That is a good omen for Sandgoist!” remarked one of the professor’s neighbors.
“It would certainly be an extraordinary thing if a man like that should meet with such a piece of good luck, even though he has the famous ticket,” remarked another.
“A famous ticket, indeed!” replied Sylvius Hogg; “but don’t ask me why, for I can’t possibly tell you.”
Then began the drawing of the second series of prizes, nine in number. This promised to be very interesting—the ninety-first prize being one of a thousand marks; the ninety-second, one of two thousand marks, and so on, up to the ninety-ninth, which was one of nine thousand. The third class, the reader must recollect, consisted of the capital prize only.
Number 72,521 won a prize of five thousand marks. This ticket belonged to a worthy seaman of Christiania, who was loudly cheered and who received with great dignity the congratulations lavished upon him.
Another number, 823,752, won a prize of six thousand marks, and how great was Sylvius Hogg’s delight when he learned from Joel that it belonged to the charming Siegfrid of Bamble.
An incident that caused no little excitement followed. When the ninety-seventh prize was drawn, the one consisting of seven thousand marks, the audience feared for a moment that Sandgoist was the winner of it. It was won, however, by ticket number 9627, which was within only forty-five points of Ole Kamp’s number.
The two drawings that followed were numbers very widely removed from each other: 775 and 76,287.
The second series was now concluded, and the great prize of one hundred thousand marks alone remained to be drawn.
The excitement of the assemblage at that moment beggars all description.
At first there was a long murmur that extended from the large hall into the courtyards and even into the street. In fact, several minutes elapsed before quiet was restored. A profound silence followed, and in this calmness there was a certain amount of stupor—the stupor one experiences on seeing a prisoner appear upon the place of execution. But this time the still unknown victim was only condemned to win a prize of one hundred thousand marks, not to lose his head; that is, unless he lost it from ecstasy.
Joel sat with folded arms, gazing straight ahead of him, being the least moved, probably, in all that large assembly. Hulda, her head bowed upon her breast, was thinking only of her poor Ole. As for Sylvius Hogg—but any attempt to describe the state of mind in which Sylvius Hogg found himself would be worse than useless.
“We will now conclude with the drawing of the one hundred thousand mark prize,” announced the president.
What a voice! It seemed to proceed from the inmost depths of this solemn-looking man, probably because he was the owner of several tickets which, not having yet been drawn, might still win the capital prize.
The first little girl drew a number from the left urn, and exhibited it to the audience.
“Zero!” said the president.
The zero did not create much of a sensation, however. The audience somehow seemed to have been expecting it.
“Zero!” said the president, announcing the figure drawn by the second little girl.
Two zeros. The chances were evidently increasing for all numbers between one and nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, and everyone recollected that Ole Kamp’s ticket bore the number 9672.
Strange
