"Twenty-five cents apiece, or $5.50 for the pile."

"Take 'em," said the spokesman, and paying the money he and his
companion dumped the magazines out of the window.

Back to the "baggage" went Edison, and returned with his basket of
fruit, candy, chewing-gum, and other things. Again the transaction,
and goods, basket, and all went through the window.

Then Edison rushed once more to the "baggage." He piled everything he
could lay any claim to into his supply box, some things old, some new,
some unsalable, dragged the box through the train, crossing its open
platforms between coaches with some difficulty, and at last drew up
nearly breathless before these reckless buyers. Quickly he pulled off
his coat, hat, collar, tie, and shoes, and piled them on top of the
box and announced: "Everything I've got is for sale!" The price was
paid, and the young men directed their servant, who was near by, to
drag the box to the back of the coach and throw it out, which order
was obeyed.

The newsbutch with a chuckle went forward to tell his friend the
baggage man about his "streak of luck," while he fondly fingered a fat
little roll of bills down deep in his trousers. His entire stock in
trade had been transmuted into the coin of the realm, his profits were
secure, his losses were nil. He had found a good thing, he had
recognized an opportunity, and he had let no grass grow under his feet
while he laid hold upon it and reaped the golden harvest.

Fellows, there is something like that, only far better, offering to
you this moment. It is the _treasure_--not of perishable value like