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defer!
    You haven’t a choice! You will come to Draw,
in accordance with Zorgledom Chivalry Law!”
    Â 
    The stranger gave Morty the shallowest bow.
“You hereby are hero material now.”
Then he turned on his heels and turned up his nose,
and he left with his scroll and his marvelous clothes.
    Â 
    â€œFat chance!” Morty called. “Like I’m gonna go!
I won’t be some stooge in a lottery show!”
But then, when he turned and he looked at his Pop,
the old guy was grinning—he just couldn’t stop.
    Â 
    â€œJust imagine!” he said. “To be given the chance,
to rescue the world, by the seat of your pants!
That’s what it means to be chosen, you see,
and if I was still young…they might’ve picked me.”
Old Bortlebee seemed to have stars in his eyes.
“Aw, Morty!” he mooned. “What a wonderful prize!”
    Â 
    â€œWell, sure,” Morty said. “Maybe for you .
But what if I won? I don’t know what I’d do.”
From his pillow, old Bortlebee lifted his head.
“We’re different. I know that,” he quietly said.
    â€œBut look at me here. I’m sick to the core.
Each morning I’m worse than the morning before.”
    Â 
    He gazed at his son, looked him right in the eye.
“It’s true: Someday soon I will probably die.
Before then, I want you, my one only son,
to have an adventure …and maybe some fun!
    Â 
    I know your chances—well, they’re not very good.
You likely won’t win, but just maybe you could .
So think of this thing as my ultimate hope.
My one last request…at the end of my rope.”
    Â 
    For a moment, Morty said nothing at all.
He looked out the window, and then at the wall.
He looked at his Pop, who seemed thoroughly drained,
whose expression was hopeful, yet equally pained.
    Â 
    Then Morty looked down at the slip in his hand.
“I’ll do it,” he nodded. “But I don’t understand…
The details , they seem just a little bit thin.
Like the actual prize—what will I win?”
    Â 
    Old Bortlebee angled his mouth in a smile.
The answer, he said, would come in a while…

Chapter 5
    the lottery draw

    The following night, by the Underwood Mall, at the Zorgledom Central Community Hall, a billboard was posted, inspiring awe: Welcome, it said, to the Lottery Draw!
    Â 
    Hundreds of zorgles awaited inside.
They came from all points, from far and from wide.
Muscular zorgles, zorgles of might,
zorgles renowned to be good in a fight.
    There was also a stage and an orchestra band—
who started to play! The show was at hand!
    Â 
    The curtains rose up and everyone cheered.
Before them was something stupendously weird:
A contraption like nothing that
you’ve ever seen:
An incredibly intricate marble machine!
    It bristled with pulleys and spiraling tracks,
suspended with rivets and wire and wax;
    Â 
    with miniature bridges, with pillars and piers;
with levers and winches and clutches and gears;
with pedals and treadles and spinners and spars;
with pendulous pivots and balancing bars;
with motors and rotors and rollers and ramps;
with flickering bulbs and electrical lamps;
with flingers and swingers and hinges and hubs;
with grabbers and funnels and buckets and tubs;
with clockwork propellers, mechanical cranks,
and panels and chimneys and channels and planks!
    Nobody spoke.
Who there would dare?
An odd sort of peace had come into the air.
    Â 
    The host of the night, the Lottery Boss,
leapt up on the stage and sauntered across.
A plump little fellow, this captain of chance,
who twitched like his jacket was crawling with ants.
    Â 
    â€œGood evening!” he bellowed. “Welcome, as well!
Are you anxious to start? You are, I can tell!
This machine, as you know, just off to my rear
is the reason you’ve come. It’s the reason we’re here!
And what a machine! Why, isn’t it nice?
It’s the Hero Selection