“It seems to me that you are born under a lucky star, No. 91,” said Paul to himself. “In a single evening I have received a sum of money equal to half a year’s wages. If old Jerry only knew it, I should not dare to fall asleep in the same room with him.” He took the green car whose terminus was the Grand Street Ferry, and in less than half an hour he reached the door of his humble lodging. He went upstairs and entered the bed chamber--which contrasted so strongly with the handsomely furnished hotel room which he had just left. He expected to find old Jerry fast asleep, but he was mistaken. The old man was lying on his poor bed in a cramped position, his eyes open, moaning piteously. “What is the matter, Jerry?” he asked, approaching the bed. “I am sick, Paul,” said the old man. “I--I am feeling very miserable! Do you think I am going to die?” CHAPTER XXV. OLD JERRY’S WEALTH. Old Jerry certainly did look weak and miserable. His face seemed thinner and paler than usual; his thin gray hair looked quite disordered, and there were dark rings around his eyes. “You look sick,” answered Paul, pityingly. “Do you think I am going to die?” asked the old man, tremulously. “Oh, no, not yet awhile,” answered Paul, in a cheering voice. “But you must have a doctor.” “No, no; I can’t afford it,” said Jerry, in alarm. “Doctors charge so much. They--they seem to think a man is made of money.” “Would you rather die,” Paul exclaimed, impatiently, “than pay for a doctor’s attendance? What good will your money do you if you die?” “You--you might ask the druggist for some medicine to help me. That would be much cheaper.” “That won’t do you; you need a doctor. If you don’t have one, you may die before morning.” Jerry was thoroughly frightened now. He made no further resistance, and Paul summoned a doctor having an office on Grand Street. When he saw Jerry, and felt his pulse, he looked grave. “I think he is going to have a low fever,” he said. “Is it catching?” asked Mrs. Hogan, nervously, for Paul had waked her up, and asked her to come in. The doctor smiled. “O, no,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed. Pardon me for asking,” he said, turning to Paul, “but does your grandfather--I suppose he is your grandfather--eat regularly and sufficiently?” “I am afraid not, sir.” “He has lowered his system, I should judge, by lack of nourishing food, and at present his vitality is very low.” “I can easily believe it, doctor,” said Paul. “I will speak to you on the subject later. Do you think he is going to have a fever?” “Yes, a low fever, as I said--the revenge of outraged nature for a violation of her rules.” “Am I going to die?” asked Jerry, his parchment skin assuming a greenish hue. “I--I want to live; I am not ready to die.” “That depends on whether you follow my rules.” “I will if--if you don’t make me spend too much money; I am poor--miserably poor.”