If you're not here in an hour I'll sell it again." Young Cowperwood made no reply.

He hurried out and ran fast; first, to his mother's grocer, whose store was within a block of his home.
Thirty feet from the door he slowed up, put on a nonchalant air, and strolling in, looked about for Castile soap.

There it was, the same kind, displayed in a box and looking just as his soap looked.
"How much is this a bar, Mr.Dalrymple ?" he inquired.
"Sixteen cents," replied that worthy.
"If I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just like this, would you take them ?" "The same soap ?" "Yes, sir." Mr.Dalrymple calculated a moment.
"Yes, I think I would," he replied, cautiously.
"Would you pay me to-day ?" "I'd give you my note for it.

Where is the soap ?" He was perplexed and somewhat astonished by this unexpected proposition on the part of his neighbor's son.

He knew Mr.Cowperwood well--and Frank also.
"Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day ?" "Yes, I will," he replied.