"No, signor, Magyar!" he replied, and I shortly found that his knowledge
of Italian was limited to a dozen words. I occupied him by selecting
some photographs, and, much to his surprise, spoke to him in his native
tongue. When he learned I had been in Hungary he was greatly pleased,
and the impatience of other customers for the photographs was the only
thing that prevented him from becoming communicative immediately. As he
left me I slipped into his hand my lottery-ticket, with the remark that
I never had any luck, and hoped he would.

The numbers were, meanwhile, rapidly drawn, the prizes being arranged in
the order of their value, each ticket taken from the hat denoting a
prize, until all were distributed. "Number twenty-eight--a pair of
elegant vases!" "Number sixteen--three bottles of vermouth!" "Number one
hundred and eighty-four--candlesticks and two bottles of vermouth!"
"Number four hundred and ten--three bottles of vermouth and a set of
jewelry!" "Number three hundred and nineteen--five bottles of vermouth!"
and so on, with more bottles of vermouth than anything else. Indeed,
each prize had to be floated on a few litres of the Turin specialty, and
I began to think that perhaps it would have been better, after all, not
to have given my circus friend the ticket, if he were to draw drink with
it.

Many prizes were called out, and at last only two numbers remained. The
excitement was now intense, and it did not diminish when the conductor
of the lottery announced that the last two numbers would draw the two
great prizes of the evening, namely: An order on a Turin tailor for a
suit of clothes, and an order on a jeweller for a gold watch and chain.
The first of these two last numbers was taken out of the hat.