And strong men rust, from the gold and the lust That sears the Northland soul. "The Ballad of Yukon Jake" Edward E. Paramore, Jr. Asquith woke up the next morning with two new things in his world. First was a determination to adapt to this strange world. He had dreamt of guns that would not fire and a puppy that looked up at him with frightened eyes. And he knew what that meant. The second was his monkey. He had a monkey. It was a tiny, dappled, fawn-colored thing at first, snuggled next to his head in bed, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. The two events blended together in his mind. The monkey meant that he had been accepted by this world, and he was determined to accept it in return. Whatever that led to, whatever it meant, he was willing to give it a try. The little earthling called for paper and pencil, and he began to write. During the long days of recovery and convalescence Asquith interviewed his fellow patients and he took careful notes as his monkey watched attentively from his shoulder.
