Bart was thoroughly mystified at the strange conduct of Baker, and very
much disappointed at not finding him, now that he sought the mysterious
man.
McCarthy had gone home, and Lem Wacker was not in evidence. Some boys
were guarding a pile of stuff that had been purchased and thrown aside.
Bart set at work cleaning up the package coverings that littered the
place inside and outside.
Things were back to normal when the afternoon express came in. It was
nearly two hours late, and closing time.
There was the usual grist of store packages, which Darry attended to,
and several special envelopes. These Bart placed in the safe along with
the proceeds of the day derived from the sale, barely glancing over the
duplicate receipt he had signed for the messenger.
He noticed that two of the specials were for the local bank, and the
third for the big pickle factory of Martin & Company, at the edge of the
town.
"Both closed up by this time," ruminated Bart. "We can't deliver
to-night. Anything very urgent among that stuff, Darry?"
"Nothing," replied his young assistant.
"You can go home, then," directed Bart. "Pretty tired, eh? A big day's
work, this.
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