Finally, the smoke cleared. When it did, I was almost sorry, because I saw several little guys and girls crying and scratching themselves. Their moms and dads started arguing about why the kids were crying. Everyone, it seemed, was suddenly mad at someone else.

The old guy was nowhere to be seen.

Pandora was sitting on the couch, looking stunned. “Hades?” she said. “That wasn’t a first-aid kit, was it?”

I shook my head. “This time Zeus disguised himself and the old box he gave you.”

Epi came over and sat down beside Pandora. “What a mess!” he said. “Zeus packed all sort of miseries into that little box.”

Pandora took a deep breath. “Well, shall we go see what’s happening with the book party?”

Epi, Pandy, and I went back outside. The party wasn’t going well. They guys and girls waiting to buy a book were complaining that the line was too long. Dionysus had run out of wine. He was trying to serve grape juice, but the guys and girls didn’t want that. Cupid had run out of arrows. The goddess of marriage, Hera, was sitting on the front steps with her head in her hands.

Pandora went and sat down beside her. “Hera?” she said. “Did you hear the one about the chicken?”

“Tell me,” Hera said wearily. “I need cheering up.”

Pandora smiled and said, “This guy goes to the park and sees a girl playing checkers with a chicken. They play game after game. Finally the guy walks over to the girl and says, ‘Wow! That’s amazing!’ And the girl looks up at him and says, ‘Not really. She hasn’t won a game all day.’”

Hera wrinkled her nose. “Why, that’s awful!” she said, and she burst out laughing.

All the guys and girls standing around started laughing, too. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little myself. Partly over how strange it seemed for Pandora to be telling a joke!

“Pandora!” Epi said, laughing. “Where did you ever hear that joke?”

I don’t remember,” she said. “It seems I’ve always known it.”

“Hey, you’re not talking in question anymore,” I pointed out.

“That’s true,” Pandora shrugged. “The box is open. I guess Zeus’s gift of extreme curiosity has worn off.”

“Tell another joke, Pandora,” said Hera.

“Another one?” said Pandora. She seemed baffled by the idea.

I thought back to the day when Pandora had been changed from a statue into a girl. Thalia, the muse of comedy, had given her the gift of being able to tell a great joke. It looked as if the checkers-playing chicken was it—a great joke.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed, and Zeus, undisguised, appeared on the porch. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“So, Pandora,” Zeus said, in his oiliest voice, “you opened that box. Couldn’t stand not knowing what was in there, could you?”

What was sticking out of his robe pocket?

“That’s not exactly what happened, Zeus,” said Pandora. “And you know it!”

“You opened the box,” Zeus insisted. He turned to face me. “Hades! You lost the bet. Now pay up!”

“Hey, Zeus, what’s this?” I yanked on the corner of the thing sticking out of his pocket and pulled out a floppy hat. “My ankle!” I said, imitating his old mortal’s voice. “Ooooh, my broken ankle!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zeus said. He grabbed the hat and tried to stuff it into his pocket, as if that would make us forget. “Trying to weasel out of the bet, no doubt. Well, it won’t work. You owe me, Hades. Plus interest!”

“No way,” I told him. “Pandora never opened the box. You may have tricked her into trying to open it. But I pulled the box away from her. She couldn’t help it if she ended up holding the lid.”

“That’s true,” said Epi. “I was there. I saw it.”

“Why do you need so much money anyway, Zeus?” asked Pandora. “Money alone has never made anyone happy, not even a god.”

“Oh, what would you know about it?” scoffed Zeus. He looked around. “I thought this was a party. Where are the snacks?”

“Over here, dear,” said Hera. She took his arm. “I’ll show you.” And they went off together to the immortals’ food table.

Then Epi sighed. “It’s awful that the box of miseries was opened,” he said. “Life was perfect. Now it will never be the same.”

“We had a good run,” said Pandora. “We can’t complain.”

Had someone given her the gift of optimism? It seemed so.

“And you know,” Pandora went on, “all this misery has given me an idea for another book.”

I had to smile. Was this my gift coming into play? The gift of always being able to make a good living?

“It will be a book that will make guys and girls laugh in times of trouble,” Pandora was saying. “A book that will make them smile when they are down. A book they’ll want to read over and over and share with friends.”

“What kind of book can do all that?” I asked.

“A joke book, Hades,” she said. “Have you heard any good ones lately?”