"The train is a few minutes late tonight." There being no one else at the office, except the night manager and two clerks, Dick and Reade felt that they would not be in the way if they waited for Dave.
Twenty minutes later the wagon drove up with the packages and cases that had arrived on the 8:50 train.
"You two can give a hand, if you like," invited Dave, as the packages were being passed up to the counter, checked and taken care of.
Prescott and Reade pitched in, working with a will.
"Here, don't shoot this box through as fast as you've done the others," counseled Dick, as he picked up a small box, some eighteen inches long and about a foot square at the end.

"The label says, 'Extra fragile.

Value two hundred and fifty dollars.'" Dave reached out to receive it, as Dick laid it carefully on the counter.
"Packages of that value have to be handled with caution," muttered Dave.

"When a fellow puts on a valuation like that, it means that he intends to make claim for any damage whatever." "Hold on," muttered Dick, eyeing the counter.

"There's something leaking from the box now." Dave took his hands away, then bent over to have a look with Dick.
A very tiny puddle of some very thick, syrupy stuff was slowly forming on the counter.
"I wonder if the contents _have_ been damaged ?" muttered Dave, uneasily.