The bigness of the hull creation, and the smallness of me, and the gait at which everything was racing and rushing ahead, made me want to grab hold of something solid and hang on.
I reached out my hand, and it hit something solid all right.

It was a feller who was wheeling out a hand truck loaded with boxes from the shipping department.

I had been standing by the shipping department door, and I reached right agin him.
He wants to know if I am drunk or a blanked fool.

So after some talk of that kind I borrows a chew of tobacco of him and we gets right well acquainted.
I helped him finish loading his wagon and rode over to the freight depot with him and helped him unload her.

Lifting one of them boxes down from the wagon I got such a shock I like to of dropped her.
Fur she was marked so many dozen, glass, handle with care, and she was addressed to Dr.Hartley L.Kirby, Atlanta, Ga.
I managed to get that box onto the platform without busting her, and then I sets down on top of her awful weak.
"What's the matter ?" asts the feller I was with.
"Nothing," says I.
"You look sick," he says.