“He’ll ’ave the same chance as all of you,” he ses.  “No more and no less.”

“I’d feel more easy in my mind, though, if’e wasn’t in it,” ses Bill Chambers, staring at Bob.  “I never knew ’im to lose anything yet.”

“You don’t know everything, Bill,” ses Bob, shaking his ’ead.  “You don’t know me; else you wouldn’t talk like that.  I’ve never been caught doing wrong yet, and I ’ope I never shall.”

“It’s all right, Bill,” ses George Kettle.  “Mr. Smith’ll see fair, and I’d sooner win Bob Pretty’s money than anybody’s.”

“I ’ope you will, mate,” ses Bob; “that’s what I joined for.”

“Bob’s money is as good as anybody else’s,” ses George Kettle, looking round at the others.  “It don’t signify to me where he got it from.”

“Ah, I don’t like to hear you talk like that George,” ses Bob Pretty.  “I’ve thought more than once that you ’ad them ideas.”

He drank up his beer and went off ’ome, shaking his ’cad, and, arter three or four of’em ’ad explained to George Kettle wot he meant, George went off ’ome, too.

The week afore Christmas, Smith, the landlord, said as ’ow he ’ad got enough money, and three days arter we all came up ’ere to see the prize drawn.  It was one o’ the biggest hampers Smith could get; and there was a fine, large turkey in it, a large goose, three pounds o’ pork sausages, a bottle o’ whiskey, a bottle o’ rum, a bottle o’ brandy, a bottle o’ gin, and two bottles o’ wine.  The hamper was all decorated with holly, and a little flag was stuck in the top.

On’y men as belonged was allowed to feel the turkey and the goose, and arter a time Smith said as ’ow p’r’aps they’d better leave off, and ’e put all the things back in the hamper and fastened up the lid.

“How are we going to draw the lottery?” ses John Biggs, the blacksmith.

“There’ll be twenty-three bits o’ paper,” ses Smith, “and they’ll be numbered from one to twenty-three.  Then they’ll be twisted up all the same shape and put in this ’ere paper bag, which I shall ’old as each man draws.  The chap that draws the paper with the figger on it wins.”

He tore up twenty-three bits o’ paper all about the same size, and then with a black-lead pencil ’e put the numbers on, while everybody leaned over ‘im to see fair play.  Then he twisted every bit o’ paper up and held them in his ’and.

“Is that satisfactory?” he ses.

“Couldn’t be fairer,” ses Bill Chambers.

“Mind,” ses Smith, putting them into a tall paper bag that had ’ad sugar in it and shaking them up, “Number I wins the prize.  Who’s going to draw fust?”

All of ’em hung back and looked at each other; they all seemed to think they’d ’ave a better chance when there wasn’t so many numbers left in the bag.

“Come on,” ses Smith, the landlord.  “Some-body must be fust.”

“Go on, George Kettle,” ses Bob Pretty.  “You’re sure to win.  I ’ad a dream you did.”