His antics were, however, suddenly interrupted by the Colonel, who just then came up to him and asked to see his ticket. Hilbert held it up so that the Colonel could see the number upon it.
"Sixty-seven," said the Colonel. "That is not worth much. Nobody thinks she'll go less than 270. However," he added, in a careless tone, "I'll give you twelve shillings for it. That is two shillings over what you paid for it—nearly half a dollar.[C] You'd better make sure of half a dollar than run the risk of losing every thing on such a poor ticket as that."
"Would you?" said Hilbert, turning to Rollo.
"I don't know," replied Rollo, shaking his head. "I don't know any thing about it."
"No," said Hilbert, turning to the Colonel again; "I believe I will keep my ticket, and take my chance."
The Colonel said, "Very well; just as you please;" and then went away. Hilbert had, after this, several other offers, all which he declined; and in about a quarter of an hour the Colonel met him again, as if accidentally, and began to talk about his ticket. He said that all the tickets under 270 were selling at a low price, as almost every body believed that the ship's run would be more than that; but still, he said, he would give a pound for Hilbert's ticket, if he wished to sell it. "Thus," said he, "you'll get back the half sovereign you paid, and another half sovereign besides, and make sure of it."
But the more the people seemed to wish to buy Hilbert's ticket, the less inclined he was to part with it. So he refused the Colonel's offer, and put the card safely away in his wallet. In one sense he was right in refusing to sell his chance; for as the whole business of making such a lottery, and buying and selling the tickets afterward, and betting on the result, is wrong, the less one does about it the better. Every new transaction arising of it is a new sin. It could easily be shown, by reasoning on the philosophy of the thing, why it is wrong, if there were time and space for it here. But this is not necessary, as every man has a feeling in his own conscience that there is a wrong in such transactions. It is only bad characters, in general, that seek such amusements. When others adventure in them a little, they make apologies for it. They say they are not in the habit of betting, or of venturing in lotteries, or that they don't approve of it—but will do it this once. Then, when people lose their money, the chagrin which they feel is always deepened and imbittered by remorse and self-condemnation; while the pleasure which those feel who gain is greatly marred by a sort of guilty feeling, which they cannot shake off, at having taken the money of their friends and companions by such means. All these indications, and many others which might be pointed out, show that there is a deep-seated and permanent instinct in the human heart which condemns such things; and nobody can engage in them without doing violence to this instinct, and thus committing a known wrong.
In regard to most of the men who were engaged in the lottery, they had so often done such things before that their consciences had become pretty well seared and hardened. There was one man, however, who decided to take a ticket against considerable opposition that was made to it by the moral sentiments of his heart. This was Maria's brother. He had been confined to his berth most of the voyage, but was now better; and he had been walking up and down the deck with a friend. He looked pale and dejected, however, and seemed still quite feeble.
His friend, whom he called Charles, seeing that they were going on with a lottery near the paddle boxes, proposed that they should both go and buy tickets.
"Come," said he, "Chauncy, that will amuse you."