of its inmate in acrobatic exercises; across the foot of the bed lay a
well-dressed gorilla's skin, and at a small table, and absorbing the
contents of a pot of beer, sat the wearer of this discarded robe. This
was the haunt of the African gorilla. He told his story in a few words.

"When you and I were used to talk with each other along the Tallapoosa
and Athens wire, I never thought to meet you as a live gorilla; but
here I am. After the war was over and the Government discharged so many
telegraph operators, it was hard scratching for a while; and after you
and I left the Decapolis office, I was well-nigh broke more than once,
only a few cents standing between me and beggary. But I kept a stiff
upper lip and struggled up to Cincinnati, where I met with Coriander.
He was out there with his menagerie and was about to come on to this
city and open a big show. He is a great old villain, but he has the
sweetest, nicest little daughter that ever was given to man. You
haven't seen Clara Coriander, have you? No? Well, you have not seen the
loveliest and best girl in the world, then. But, as I was saying, old
Coriander was preparing for a year's campaign in this city, and
allotted a great deal on a real, live gorilla which had been captured
in the wilds of Africa somewhere. Oh, curse that gorilla; I wish I had
been dead before I ever heard of him."

And here Jack groaned.

"I love Clara Coriander. I suppose you have guessed that out already.
But it was the old story; poor young man, without fortune or friends;
cruel parents determined that their only daughter shall not marry a
beggar; young lady inconsolable and devoted to aforesaid young man, but
dreadfully afraid of papa, whose only child she is. Well, Coriander
came on here and I followed, the old man giving me the job of writing