r the monkey died, Smokey fell ill. He hated to get up
in the morning. He was just as dead-tired in the morning as when he lay
down. His smokiness turned from a soft coal to an anthracite hue, and he
went off his feed. Jimmy thought maybe Smokey needed a little Christian
Science and walloped him as an experiment. Smokey took it as he would
have taken anything from Jimmy, but he said--and his eyes were probably
as big and solemn as an owl's:

"Jimmy," said he, "dey ain't no use'n you-all wallopin' me. Hones',
Jimmy, Ah tinks Ah's a moughty sick li'l nigger."

That stuck in Jimmy's mind. He was sorry he had applied what he thought
was practical Christian Science. He tried Smokey with therapeutic
treatment. He gave him a cone of strawberry ice-cream. When Smokey ate
only half of it, Jimmy knew it was a grave case and that something ought
to be done about it.

That night after Smokey had crawled into the packing case where he was
in the habit of sleeping--usually with the lid on--Jimmy talked over the
crisis with the organ-grinder and the janitor. The janitor thought corn
whiskey was good and went out to get some. He didn't come back that
night and brought no whiskey when he turned up two days later. The
organ-grinder, embittered by the loss of his monkey, had little faith in
the medical profession; and in this Jimmy concurred. The newsboy,
however, read the papers he sold, and was under the impression that
Jimmy ought to get out into the country. Also, he wasn't sure that it
was the best thing for Smokey to sleep in that packing-case with the lid
on. Lacking funds, however, they were compelled to table the motion that
Smokey be sent to the woods. Meanwhile Smokey got thinner and weaker and
finally he hadn't the strength to push the lid off when he needed more
air. It was then that the Lord provided.

One of Smokey's patrons was Pat Mulcahy, who drives the engine of the
Montreal Express out of Grand Central every evening at 6.55. Smokey had
been in the habit of taking a latest evening edition through to Pat in
his engine cab. Mulcahy didn't get his paper one night, but next evening
Jimmy turned up alongside the big locomotive and said:

"Here's yer paper, Mister Mulcahy. Smokey's down an' out. I tink he's
got de Ol' Con. He worried hisself near stiff last night 'cos he fergot
t' tell me youse was partic'lar 'bout gettin' de final. But don't youse
worry, Mister, I'm runnin' the whole biz till Smokey's to rights
again--s