Your
delivery is no good, Bart! It's just struck a new day!"
"S--sh!" warned Bart, as a clock inside the house rang out twelve
silvery strokes. "The clock is wrong. We've got five minutes and a half
yet."
In about two minutes a light flashed in the hall, the front door was
unlocked, and Martin appeared, half-dressed. Bart relievedly put up his
watch. It was just three minutes of twelve.
He instantly placed the express envelope in Martin's hands, slipping
into the vestibule.
"Mr. Martin," he said, "it is necessary for you to verify the contents
of this package. An accident happened to it, as you see."
Martin tore the envelope clear open, and glanced over fifteen bills of
one thousand dollar denomination each.
"All right," he said gruffly.
"Will you sign this receipt?" asked Bart politely, tendering the slip of
paper he had prepared at the office for this especial occasion. "Thank
you," he added, as the pickle man scrawled a penciled signature at the
bottom of the paper.
"I take this money," said Mr. Martin, looking up with a peculiar
expression on his face, "because it is delivered by you, but I shall
return it to Dunn & Son to-morrow.
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