The eight packing cases were tremendously heavy. A glance at their contents showed Frank a confused jumble. There were hammers and hatchets with their handles burned off, saws and chisels, blackened, and some of them burned out of shape by the fire. There were nails, tacks, hinges, keys, door knobs, in fact a confusing mass of mixed hardware of every description. Frank and his man could not handle four of the cases alone. The lad had to hire a couple of men to help them load these onto the wagons. As they got all ready to start for home, the custodian came up with a little wizened man with a Jewish cast of countenance, and introduced him as Mr. Moss. “There’s a lot of junk not worth carting away over at the ruins,” explained the custodian to Frank. “This man wants to buy it.” “All right,” said Frank, “let him make an offer.” “Mein frient, two dollars would be highway robbery for dot oldt stuff,” asserted the junk dealer, with a characteristic shrug of his shoulders. “Is that your offer, Mr. Moss?” asked Frank in a business-like tone. “I vill gif it chust to spite oldt Isaacs, my combetitor,” declared Moss. “Well, we will go and take a look at the stuff,” said Frank. “Mein frient, dot vos useless,” insisted Moss. “Time ish monish. Tree tollars!” “No,” said Frank definitely. “I always calculate to know what I’m about.” He left the wagons, and accompanied by Moss soon reached the blackened ruins of the hardware store. Just as they arrived there, a shrewd-faced little urchin approaching them halted, and gave both a keen look. “Hoo!” he yelled--“I must tell vader!” Moss threw his cane after the disappearing urchin, and looked perturbed and anxious. “Dot vos de stuff,” he explained, pointing out two cindery piles back of the ruins. “Why,” said Frank, poking in and out among the debris, “there is quite a heap of it.” “Ashes, mein frient, ashes,” suavely observed the junk dealer. “Not at all,” retorted Frank. “Here is a stove, all but the top. Here are a lot of hoes and rakes, twisted a little, but not entirely worthless. Both heaps are nearly all solid metal. There must be over a ton of iron here.” “Four tollars--I tell you vot I do: four tollars,” said Moss fervently. Frank shook his head and continued to look calculatingly at the blackened heaps. “Five tollars,” spoke Moss with sudden unction. “Mein tear younug frient--cash. Say nodings. Dere vos de monish.” But Frank looked resolutely away from the bank note tendered as a near shout rang out. A stout, clumsy man had come lumbering around the corner at his best gait, in a frantic state of excitement. He was in his shirt sleeves, drenched with perspiration and waving his arms wildly. Beside him ran the urchin Frank had before noticed. It was apparent that he had succeeded in satisfying his father that a sale of the fire debris was on. “Mishter, Mishter,” he called, “it is Ezekiels Isaacs. I vill puy de goods. How mooch is offered?”