“Wall,” sez he, “that dressin’-gown of mine will jest as likely as not be all throwed round and mussed up. It worries me!” sez he.
Sez I, “Don’t worry, Josiah Allen; it is good rep, and it will stand a good overhaulin’ and not hurt it.”
“Wall,” sez he, “them tossels can’t be handled over by all Ireland and come out hull and sound. It is nothin’ but dum foolishness to have to go through all them performances.”
But his worryin’ wuz worse than the reality. For anon we sailed into Cork harbor, and got into the tug that come out to meet us. The officers jest give our things the lightest examination possible. They didn’t throw things around at all, and they wuz real polite, only in one thing—they asked us if we had tobacco or sperits.
With a stern look, calculated to wither him.
Josiah never took his eyes offen that dressin’-gown through the hull of the ordeal, and he wuz foldin’ them tossels lovin’ly as soon as they dropped his satchel, when I wuz lookin’ back and a-wonderin’ at the size of the steamer that loomed up above us some like a cliff.
As I say, the man with the officers asked me if I had sperits or tobacco in my luggage.
I confronted him with a stern look, calculated to wither him, and sez I—
“Do I look like it, sir?”