"I want to pay for that soap," he suggested.

"Now?"

"Yes. Will you give me a receipt?"

"Yep."

"Do you deliver this?"

"No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-four hours."

That difficulty did not trouble him.

"All right," he said, and pocketed his paper testimony of purchase.

The auctioneer watched him as he went out. In half an hour he was back
with a drayman--an idle levee-wharf hanger-on who was waiting for a job.

Frank had bargained with him to deliver the soap for sixty cents. In
still another half-hour he was before the door of the astonished Mr.
Dalrymple whom he had come out and look at the boxes before attempting
to remove them. His plan was to have them carried on to his own home
if the operation for any reason failed to go through. Though it was his
first great venture, he was cool as glass.

"Yes," said Mr. Dalrymple, scratching his gray head reflectively. "Yes,
that's the same soap. I'll take it. I'll be as good as my word. Where'd
you get it, Frank?"