What could it mean?
He was expecting nothing.
Never since he had first furnished his room had packing-cases been left for him in this fashion.

No mistake was possible.

There were his name and address unmistakably.

"Dr.McTeague, dentist--Polk Street, San Francisco, Cal.," and the red Wells Fargo tag.
Seized with the joyful curiosity of an overgrown boy, he pried off the boards with the corner of his fireshovel.

The case was stuffed full of excelsior.