packing cases and one zinc box. This latter was full of books and papers. These went to the purchaser, it seemed, along with the "good will" of the business.
The eight packing cases were tremendously heavy. A glance at their contents showed Frank a confused jumble. There were hammers and hatchets with their handles burned off, saws and chisels, blackened, and some of them burned out of shape by the fire. There were nails, tacks, hinges, keys, door knobs, in fact a confusing mass of mixed hardware of every description.
Frank and his man could not handle four of the cases alone. The lad had to hire a couple of men to help them load these onto the wagons. As they got all ready to start for home, the custodian came up with a little wizened man with a Jewish cast of countenance, and introduced him as Mr. Moss.
"There's a lot of junk not worth carting away over at the ruins,'* explained the custodian to Frank. "This man wants to buy it."
"All right," said Frank, "let him make an offer."
"Mein frient, two dollars would be highway robbery for dot oldt stuff," asserted the junk dealer, with a characteristic shrug of his shoulders.
