“Yes!” interrupted the blue coat with a fine scorn; “you wanted to see if you could get into the store and rob it bare. That is what you wanted to see. You're a box-worker, if ever I met one, and if I hadn't come along you would have had this bin cracked and cleaned out in another ten minutes.”
“I told you I found the key,” protested young Jenkins.
“That's all right about your finding the key!” said the policeman in supreme contempt. “You found the key and I found you, and we'll both keep what we've found. That's square, ain't it?”
And in spite of all young Jenkins could say at that late hour of the twenty-four, the faithful officer dragged him to the station, where a faithful sergeant faithfully registered him, and a faithful turnkey locked him faithfully up.
As young Jenkins sat unhappy in his cell, while vermin sparred with him for an opening, he registered a vow that never again would he find anything.
Young Jenkins wouldn't pick up a twenty-dollar gold piece were he to meet one to-day in the street.
AN OCEAN ERROR
No; neither my name nor the name of my vessel can I give. Our navy has a way of courtmartialing its officers who wax garrulous.”