"Pills," said Pod, "just pills," and with his usual suavity added, "A very dainty but effective cathartic, the best remedy in the world for a morbid patrolman. I know you feel out of sorts, Mr. Cop, but the contents of one of these boxes taken internally will make you imagine you are not only the chief of the Chicago police but the Mayor of the city and the President of the United States combined."
The Professor then handed the man a small box, and proceeded to free me. And, do you know, I choked Michigan Boulevard for an hour before I was got "right side up with care."
We next moved on to the Columbus Statue, which then stood in a barren spot between the road and the lake shore, where a photographer waited to take some rare views of our outfit. The bombastic policeman ordered us off the grass, although there was nothing but gravel in sight. Cheese was raving mad and so annoyed by the cop's impertinence that he boldly made a bluff at eating the sculptured stone wreath off the statue, just to worry him.
"Mac A'Rony, please keep your ears still for one moment, will you?" said the photographer, as he took hold of my flaps and pushed them forward, adding, "Now keep them there."
As he let go they flew back into a natural position like blades of whalebone. Next he twisted my nose almost out of shape, and addressed me as if I were a lady. "Now, smile gently—there!" Such a grin as I gave! The instant he removed the black cloth from the camera, a familiar lump came up in my throat, and I brayed. My efforts to restrain myself joggled my ears out of gear and completely shook the smile off my face. But I was "took," body and bra'in's, with the whole outfit.
How I shudder, when I gaze upon those photographs; my drooping eyes, and my lazy body—all taken together made a picture so perfectly asinine that one can almost detect the bray leaving my mouth. I have always been ashamed of that picture of real life. Like all donkeys, I was disappointed because my photo did not flatter me. Besides, my master's eagerness to keep his contract to advertise a patent medicine led him to drape Don in a gray blanket, on which, "Throw physic to the dogs," was brilliantly embroidered—words which helped make Shakespeare immortal, but caused Don to blush.
It was a long jaunt to Illinois street. Several times my burden threatened to come off. And once I almost made a free distribution of pills by falling in front of an electric car, which was brought to a stand only six inches from me.
I caused a sensation, to say the least. And when Cheese brayed in terror, a multitude flocked to the scene. The passengers were thrown out of their seats, some of them pitched off the front platform on the top of me, and screamed with fright.
Pod, of course, flew into a rage. He accused me of attempting suicide; but Cheese loyally defended me and said, "Such a load of medicine is enough to prostrate a herd of elephants."
Soon afterward, on turning a corner, the wind blew Pod's hat off, and it went flying under the wheels of a cable car which completely ironed the curl out of the hat rim on one side, and gathered a crowd on the other.