The crowd had melted away, Bob Haven was totally engrossed with the magnificent prize he had drawn, and Darry was busily engaged in closing up the records of the sale.
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."
"Say, Bart," spoke up Darry, as he dallied at the door, "who was the fellow that bought that last package?"