ts-name
would I have profaned the package with further investigation.

"Why, sir, I don't think you need be worrying but what they're all
right," and the big policeman nodded confidently; "in fact there don't
seem to be no damage at all." He added meditatively: "Which is some
wonder, considering how we had to roughhouse Foxy Grandpa before we
softened him down in his cell th' other night." Here his cheeks swelled
and he sent a long sheaf of brown liquid at a grasshopper on the freshly
whitened door-stones--and got it, too, neatly missing the polished toe
of Jenkins' boot. "No, sir!"--emphatically--"I don't think you'll be
hearing any holler from your lady friend when she goes to--_eh_,
what?"--he stared at Jenkins blankly, for Jenkins had coughed--"Oh,
excuse _me_!"--and his big hand lifted apologetically to his mouth,
while his eyes rolled upward--"What I just meant was that I know they're
all to the good; I went _all_ over 'em!"

"_Oh!_" I muttered, turning rather faint. I dropped the parcel and
Jenkins picked it up. By Jove, for a moment, he came jolly near having
to pick _me_ up, too, I was that shocked and prostrated!

"The _only_ thing--the only thing 'tall--" I had to wait through an
agonizing moment while his tongue gathered his wad and peremptorily
expelled it, this time enlivening the cold, dead monotony of the
silver-gray macadam--"was her--I mean, was the pants."

"Ah-h!" I put my hand to my side and looked at Jenkins appealingly, but
he was looking upward, his eyes kind of cast over like a bird's; the
lines of his mouth tightened to an arch--and I knew _he_ was suffering
too! But we _must_ try to stand it a little longer--just a little!

Through one instant's respite, Mr. O'Keefe's thick tongue was occupied
in striving to glutenize the entire wrapper of a much crushed and
awfully yellow cigar. Then he separated a mouthful from the end and
proceeded:

"I did notice with the legs, that one of 'em was just a bit longer than
th' other, and down at the station we was a wondering if--" the brown
head of a crackling match drew a long, curving what-you-call-it on the
smooth, creamy masonry, and he paused to pump madly, striving to coax a
draft of smoke--"we wondered if 'twas--_intentional_." His eyes sought
mine inquiringly.

By Jove, I was so frozen with horror, I couldn't even look away; just
stood there, helpless, you know, and my jolly monocle hanging
limp--couldn't have lifted it to have saved my life!