"Let's go in and ask Mr. Hitter what to do about our boat," suggested
Ned.
They found the agent counting over a roll of bills.
"Been robbing a bank?" asked Bob cheerfully. "Guess I'd better tell
dad to look out for his money."
"That was paid by the man who was just in in here," replied the agent.
"Queer chap. Seemed as if he didn't want to be found out. First he was
going to ship his stuff by fast freight, and then he concluded it
would be better by express, though it cost a lot more. But he had
plenty of money."
"Who was he?" asked Jerry.
"That's another funny part of it. He didn't tell me his name, though I
hinted I'd have to have it to give him a receipt. He said to make it
out X. Y. Z., and I done it. That's the way them boxes come, several
days ago, from Boston. They arrived by express, consigned to X. Y. Z.,
and was to be called for. I thought of everybody in town, but there
ain't nobody with them initials. I was just wondering what to do with
'em when in be comes an' claims 'em."
"What's in em?" asked Jerry.
"Blessed if I know," responded Mr. Hitter. "I couldn't git that out of
him, either, though I hinted that I ought to know if it was dynamite,
or anything dangerous."
"What did he say?" inquired Ned.
"He said it wasn't dynamite, but that's all he would say, an' I didn't
have no right to open 'em. He paid me the expressage, and seemed quite
anxious to know just when I could ship the boxes, and when they'd
arrive in San Francisco.
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