To make everything safe and sure, I further instructed him to stand at the depot when the train was in and make sure the parcel went into the express car, then to take a train the next day and come back to San Francisco by an indirect route which would protect him in case anything happened to the package en route. I put in a couple of anxious weeks, but he showed up in due time with the good news that he had located the junk without trouble and sent it along exactly as he had promised. He called for it at the express office the next day, but it hadn’t arrived. Not caring to make too much fuss over a package valued at twenty-five dollars, we waited a few days before he went back for it. The express office was in Montgomery Street then, and I stood in the Palace Hotel entrance where I could look across the street and see him showing the receipt and arguing with the clerks. His willingness to go to the office every day convinced me he was on the square. He had a receipt for the package; I assumed it had gone astray.