Of course it was of no importance to set him right about the material; as for that, I didn't care a jolly hang if he thought they were made of linoleum! But it gave me the idea of just peeking into a corner of the parcel to satisfy myself that its contents were of filmy black silk--and they were! I went no further; not for all the gold of what's-its-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.