I reckon he spent all he had.

And one day--it's six years ago this winter--Jim came into my back room, sat down on my sofy, like as you see him in that chair, and never moved again without help.

He was struck all of a heap, and never seemed to know what ailed him.

The doctors came and said as how it was caused all along of his way of life--for Jim was mighty free and wild-like--and that he would never get better, and couldn't last long anyway.

They advised me to send him to Frisco to the hospital, for he was no good to anyone and would be a baby all his life.