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[Illustration: “BOOKS! YOU GET RIGHT OUT OF THIS DOORWAY!–P. 112.”]

                               THE YOUNG
                               BOOK AGENT

                   Or, Frank Hardy’s Road to Success

                                   BY
                           HORATIO ALGER, JR.

          AUTHOR OF “LOST AT SEA,” “NELSON THE NEWSBOY,” “OUT
             FOR BUSINESS,”  “YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK,” “RAGGED
                      DICK SERIES,” “TATTERED TOM
                             SERIES,” ETC.

                    [Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]

                                NEW YORK
                        STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY
                                  1905

                            Copyright, 1905

                                   BY

                        STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY

                                PREFACE

MANY years ago the author of the present volume resolved to write a long
series of books describing various phases of village and city life,
taking up in their turn the struggles of the bootblacks, the newsboys,
the young peddlers, the street musicians—the lives, in fact, of all
those who, though young in years, have to face the bitter necessity of
earning their own living.

In the present story are described the ups and downs of a boy book
agent, who is forced, through the misfortunes of his father, to help
provide for the family to which he belongs. He knows nothing of selling
books, when he starts, but he acquires a valuable experience rapidly,
and in the end gains a modest success which is well deserved.

It is the custom of many persons in ordinary life to sneer at a book
agent and show him scant courtesy, forgetting that the agent’s business
is a perfectly legitimate one and that he is therefore entitled to due
respect so long as he does that which is proper and gentlemanly. A kind
word costs nothing, and it often cheers up a heart which would otherwise
be all but hopelessly depressed.

After reading this volume it may be thought by some that the hero, Frank
Hardy, is above his class in tact, intelligence, and perseverance. This,
however, is not true. A book agent, or, in fact, an agent of any kind,
must possess all of these qualities in a marked degree, otherwise he
will undoubtedly make a failure of the undertaking. As in every other
calling, to win success one must first deserve it.

                                CONTENTS

                  CHAPTER                                 PAGE
                       I. FRANK AT HOME                      1
                      II. DOWN AT THE WRECK                  9
                     III. DISAGREEABLE NEWS                 17
                      IV. THE HUNT FOR A MISSING MAN        25
                       V. FRANK AT THE STORE                34
                      VI. THE RIVAL MERCHANTS               42
                     VII. A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION      50
                    VIII. FRANK LOOKS FOR WORK              58
                      IX. FRANK MEETS A BOOK AGENT          67
                       X. FRANK GOES TO NEW YORK            76
                      XI. FRANK AS AN AGENT                 86
                     XII. A BRIGHT BEGINNING                96
                    XIII. FRANK ON THE ROAD                108
                     XIV. A BOY RUNAWAY                    118
                      XV. CAUGHT IN A STORM                127
                     XVI. AN IMPORTANT SALE                136
                    XVII. A CURIOUS HAPPENING              145
                   XVIII. THE WOULD-BE ACTOR               153
                     XIX. GIVING AN AUTOGRAPH              162
                      XX. FRANK’S REMARKABLE FIND          171
                     XXI. GABE FLECKER SHOWS HIS HAND      180
                    XXII. THE RIVAL BOOK AGENT             189
                   XXIII. NEWS FROM HOME                   197
                    XXIV. LOST IN A COAL MINE              205
                     XXV. FRANK MEETS FLECKER AGAIN        214
                    XXVI. AN ESCAPE                        224
                   XXVII. AT HOME ONCE MORE                232
                  XXVIII. FRANK STARTS FOR THE SOUTH       242
                    XXIX. A SCENE ON THE TRAIN             249
                     XXX. FRANK MEETS HIS BROTHER MARK     257
                    XXXI. A CLEVER CAPTURE—CONCLUSION      264

                          THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT

                               CHAPTER I

                             FRANK AT HOME

FRANK HARDY came up the short garden path whistling merrily to himself.
He was a tall, good-natured looking boy of sixteen, with dark eyes and
dark, curly hair.

“One more week of school and then hurrah for a long vacation in the
country!” he murmured to himself as he mounted the piazza steps. “Oh,
but won’t we have a dandy time swimming and fishing when we get to
Cloverdale!”

His little dog Frisky was at the door to greet him with short, sharp
barks of pleasure. Frank caught the animal up and began to coddle him.

“Glad to see me, eh?” he cried. “Frisky, won’t you be glad when we get
to the country and you can roam all over the fields?”

For answer the dog barked again and wagged his tail vigorously. Still
holding the animal, Frank entered the dining room and passed into the
kitchen, where his mother was assisting the servant in the preparation
of the evening meal.

“Mother, is father back from Philadelphia yet?” he asked, as he hung up
his cap and slipped into the sink pantry to wash his hands.

“Not yet, Frank,” answered Mrs. Hardy.

“He must have quite some business to attend to, to stay away so late. I
thought I was late myself.”

“You are late, Frank—it is quarter after six. I expected your father in
on the half-past five train, but he must have missed that.”

“Then he won’t be here until nearly eight o’clock. Must I wait for my
supper?”

“No; we can have our supper directly. I know you must be hungry.”

“I am, mother. Baseball gives a fellow an appetite, especially if he
runs bases and plays in the field, as I did. We played the Hopeville
Stars and beat them 12 to 7. I made three runs.”

“You must certainly love the game?”

“I do. Sometimes I wish I could be a professional ball player.”

“I shouldn’t wish you to be that, Frank. I want you to go to college and
be a professional man,” added Mrs. Hardy, with a fond smile.

“Oh, I was only talking, mother. But some professional ball players are
college men.”

Frank entered the dining room and sat down to the table. He was soon
joined by his little brother, Georgie, and his sister, Ruth, who was
twelve years of age.

“How do you get along with your lessons?” he asked of Ruth, who had been
practicing on the piano in the parlor.

“I think I am doing real well,” returned the sister, who was very fair,
with golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Professor Hartman says I will
make a good player if I do plenty of practicing. And, oh, I love it so!”
added the girl, enthusiastically.

“The one who loves it is the one who is bound to make a good player,”
said Frank. “Now, there is Dan Dixon. His folks want him to learn to
play the violin, and he takes lessons. But he doesn’t like it at all,
and I am sure he will never make a player.”

“That is true in all things,” came from Mrs. Hardy, as she sat down to
pour the tea. “If one wants to do well at anything, one’s heart must be
in the work. I once knew a girl whose family wanted her to learn how to
paint. She hadn’t any talent for it, and though she took lessons for two
years she never drew or painted anything really worth showing.”

“I know what I like real well,” came from little Georgie. “I’m going to
keep a candy store when I grow up. I like that real well.”

“Good for you, Georgie!” laughed Frank. “Only don’t eat up all the stock
yourself.”

“Will you buy from me when I keep the store?” continued the little
fellow.

“To be sure, I will—or, maybe, I’ll be a salesman for you—and Ruth can
be the cashier.”

“What’s a cashier?”

“The one who takes in the money.”

“No, I want to take in the money myself,” came from Georgie, promptly.

Thus the talking went on, and while it is in progress and the family are
waiting for the return of Mr. Hardy from his business trip, let me take
the opportunity of introducing them more specifically than I have
already done.

The Hardy family were six in number, Mr. Thomas Hardy and his wife;
Mark, who was three years older than Frank, and the children already
introduced.

Mr. Hardy was a flour and feed dealer, and at one time had had the
principal store in that line in Claster, the town in which the family
resided. He had made considerable money, and the family were counted
well to do. But during the past two years two rivals with capital had
come into the field, and trade with the flour and feed merchant had
consequently fallen off greatly.

Mr. Hardy had expected to send his oldest son, Mark, to college, but the
youth had begged to be allowed to take an ocean trip, and had at last
been allowed to ship on a voyage to South America. He was to return home
in seven or eight months, but during the past three months nothing had
been heard of him.

Frank, Ruth, and little Georgie all attended the same school in Claster,
Georgie being in the kindergarten, and Ruth in one of the grammar
grades. Frank was in the graduating class, and after a vacation in the
country, expected to prepare himself for high school. He was just now
deep in his final examinations at the grammar school, and so far had
done well, much to his parents’ satisfaction.

“Mother, what took father to Philadelphia?” asked Frank, after a spell
of silence, during which he had devoted himself to the viands set before
him.

At this question a shade of anxiety crossed Mrs. Hardy’s face.

“He went on very important business, Frank. I cannot explain to you
exactly what it was. He was to see Mr. Garrison, the man he used to buy
flour from.”

“Jabez Garrison?”

“Yes.”

“I never liked that man, mother; did you?”

“I really can’t say, Frank—I never had much to do with him.”

“I saw him at the store several times—doing business with father. He
somehow put me in mind of a snake.”

“Oh, Frank!” burst in Ruth.

“A man don’t look like a snake,” was little Georgie’s sober comment.

“That is not a very complimentary thing to say, Frank,” said Mrs. Hardy,
somewhat severely.

“I can’t help it, mother. He has such an oily, smooth manner about him.”

“Your father has spoken of him as a very good friend in business. I
believe he gave your father prices which were better than he could get
elsewhere.”

“Well, he didn’t look it. If I were father, I’d keep my eyes on him.”

“He went to Philadelphia to make inquiries about Mr. Garrison. I cannot
tell you more than that just now.”

“Didn’t father loan him some money?”

“Not exactly that; but he went his security when Mr. Garrison was made
treasurer of a certain benevolent order in Philadelphia.”

“How much security?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“That’s a big sum of money.”

“Yes, Frank—but I was told that it was more a matter of form than
anything else.”

“I don’t see it, mother. If Jabez Garrison had a lot of money to handle,
he could steal it if he wanted to.”

“Frank, you are certainly not in love with Mr. Garrison. Did he ever say
anything to you?”

“Not a word. Only I don’t like his looks, that’s all.”

Further talk on this subject was cut off by Ruth, who chanced to look
out of the bay window of the dining room.

“There goes the hospital ambulance,” she cried. “Somebody must be hurt.”

Frank, filled with curiosity, leaped up and ran to the front door, and
then down to the gate.

“What’s the trouble?” he asked of a boy who was running past.

“Big accident on the railroad, down at Barber’s Cut,” answered the boy.
“Freight train ran into the Philadelphia local, and about a dozen
passengers have been killed or hurt.”

“The Philadelphia local!” echoed Frank, and for the moment his heart
almost stopped beating. “Can father have been on that train?”

He ran back into the house and told his mother the news. Mrs. Hardy was
almost prostrated, but quickly recovered.

“I will go down and see if your father is in that wreck,” she said.
“Frank, you can go along.” And a moment later they set out for the scene
of the disaster.

                               CHAPTER II

                           DOWN AT THE WRECK

CLASTER was a thriving town of four thousand inhabitants, with several
churches and schools, a bank, two weekly newspapers, and six blocks of
stores. There was a neat railroad station at which two score of trains
stopped daily, bound either north or south, for the line ran from
Philadelphia to Jersey City.

Barber’s Cut was a nasty curve on the line, just south of the town. Here
there was a rocky hill, and in one spot the cut was twenty feet deep. At
the end of the cut was a hollow where a railroad bridge crossed Claster
Creek.

Frank and his mother found a great many of the townspeople hurrying to
the scene of the wreck. All sorts of rumors were afloat, and it was said
the passenger cars were on fire, and the helpless inmates were being
roasted alive. The local fire department was called out, but fortunately
the fire was confined to a freight car loaded with unfinished wagon
wheels, so but comparatively little damage was done through the
conflagration.

The rumor that a dozen passengers had been killed or hurt was false. But
four people on the passenger train had been injured, and only one
severely—this man having several ribs crushed in and an arm broken.

“I don’t see anything of father,” said Frank, after he and his mother
had looked at three of the injured persons. “I guess he wasn’t on this
train after all.”

“It is very fortunate.”

“Your father was on this train,” said a man standing near. “I was
talking to him just a short while before the smash-up occurred.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Mrs. Hardy. “Then where is he now?”

“There he is!” burst out Frank, and pointed to a form which four men
were carrying from a wrecked car. “Mother, he is—is hurt. You had better
go back and I’ll—I’ll tend to him.” Frank found he could scarcely speak,
he was so agitated.

“My husband!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and ran forward with Frank at her
side. “Oh, tell me, he is not—not dead?”

“No, ma’am, he isn’t dead,” came promptly from one of the men. “He got
his foot crushed, and he’s fainted, that’s all.”

“Thank Heaven it is no worse!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and when the men
laid her husband on the grass above the cut, she knelt beside him, and
sent Frank down to the creek for some water with which to wash Mr.
Hardy’s face, for it was covered with dust and dirt.

As Frank ran down to the creek for the water he saw something shiny
lying in the grass. He picked the object up, and was surprised to learn
that it was a silver spectacle case, containing a fine pair of
gold-rimmed spectacles.

“Somebody dropped those in the excitement,” he reasoned. “I’ll have to
look for the owner later;” and he shoved the case into his pocket.

Of the four that had been hurt two were removed to the hospital and the
others were taken to their homes. Mr. Hardy was carried to his
residence, and there his physician and his family did all they could to
make him comfortable.

“The foot is in rather bad shape,” said Doctor Basswood. “Yet I feel
certain I can bring it around so you can walk on it as before. But it
will take time.”

“How much time, doctor?” questioned Mr. Hardy, faintly.

“Four or five months, and perhaps longer. But that is much better than
having your foot amputated.”

“True. But I can’t afford to lay around the house for six months.”

At this the physician shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s the best I can do, Mr. Hardy.”

“Oh, it is not your fault, doctor. But——” Mr. Hardy paused.

“You are thinking of your store?”

“Yes.”

“It is a pity your son, Frank, isn’t older. He might be able to run it
for you.”

“Unfortunately, Frank knows little or nothing about the business. I have
kept him at school.”

“Perhaps you can get a good man to run it for you.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know what I’ll do yet.”

“What do you do when you go away, as you did to-day?”

“I lock the place up, and leave a slate out for orders. Trade is not as
brisk as it used to be.”

“You mean as it was before Benning and Jack Peterson started in the
business?”

“That’s it. The town can’t support three flour and feed stores.”

“Won’t your old customers stick by you?”

“A few of them do; but both Benning and Peterson are doing their best to
get the trade away from me. They offer all sorts of inducements, and
sometimes sell at less than the goods cost, just to get a customer.”

“Nobody in business can afford to do that very long.”

“They want to drive me out, and each wants to drive out the other. Then
the one who is left will make prices to suit himself;” and here Mr.
Hardy had to stop talking, for he felt very much exhausted.

In the meantime Frank had been sent down to the drug store for several
articles which the doctor had said were needed for the injured man.
While he was waiting for the articles a burly and rather pleasant-faced
man came in and purchased a handful of cigars.

“Is there an optician in town?” questioned the man of the druggist. “I
was in that wreck, and somehow I lost my glasses, and I want to get
another pair.”

“The watchmaker across the way keeps spectacles,” answered the druggist.
“But if he can fit you or not I don’t know.”

“I’ll try him,” said the man, and started for the door.

“Excuse me,” put in Frank, stepping up. “What sort of spectacles did you
drop?”

“Did you find them?”

“Perhaps I did.”

“Mine were in a silver case. They are thick glasses, with a gold frame.”

“Then these must be yours,” and Frank drew the case from his pocket and
passed it over.

“They are mine!” cried the burly man, and looked well pleased to have
his property returned to him. “Where did you find them?”

“In the grass between the wreck and the creek. I was down at the creek
getting some water for my father, who was hurt. I almost stepped on the
case.”

“I see. So your father was hurt. Which one was he?”

“He had his foot crushed.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. They took him to your home up the street.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope the hurt isn’t serious?”

“It’s bad enough. But Doctor Basswood says he can save the foot.”

“Well, that’s a great consolation. It’s no fun to have a foot cut off.
May I ask your name?”

“Frank Hardy.”

“Mine is Philip Vincent. I am very much obliged for returning the
glasses to me.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Vincent. I was going to hunt up the owner as
soon as everything was all right at our house.”

“These glasses are a very fine pair, and I prize them exceedingly. Let
me reward you for returning them,” and Philip Vincent put his hand in
his pocket.

“I don’t want a reward, sir,” said Frank, promptly.

“But I want to show you that I appreciate having them returned,”
insisted the burly gentleman.

“It’s all right.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m in the book business in New York. I’ll
send you a good boy’s book. How will that suit you?” and the gentleman
smiled blandly.

“I must say I never go back on a good story book,” answered Frank,
honestly.

“Most boys like to read. I suppose you go to school here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I shan’t forget you,” concluded Philip Vincent, and shaking
hands, he left the drug store.

“What a pleasant kind of a man,” thought Frank. “I’d like to see more of
him.” And then he wondered what sort of a story book Mr. Vincent would
send him.

A little later Frank obtained the articles needed from the druggist, and
then he started for home. He did not dream of the disagreeable surprise
which was in store for him.

                           DISAGREEABLE NEWS

“HOW is father feeling?” asked Frank, when he entered the house with his
packages under his arm.

“I think he is a little feverish,” answered Mrs. Hardy.

“Does his foot hurt him much?”

“He says not. Doctor Basswood put something on to ease the pain.” Mrs.
Hardy paused for a moment. “Your father brought bad news from
Philadelphia,” she continued.

“What bad news, mother?”

“It is about Mr. Garrison. He has got into trouble with that benevolent
order.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“There is a shortage in the funds of the order.”

“For which Jabez Garrison is responsible?”

“So they claim.”

“What does Mr. Garrison say about it?”

“He told your father that it would all be straightened out in a week.”

“Does father believe it?”

“He won’t say. He is much worried, and I don’t wish to ask too many
questions for fear it might make your father worse.”

“Didn’t I say Garrison was a snake?” went on Frank. “I am sorry father
trusted him.”

“So am I—now. But it can’t be helped.”

“Do you know what father was going to do about it?”

“He said he had intended to go to Philadelphia again next Monday. But of
course, he can’t go now.”

“Can’t I go for him?”

“Possibly, although I don’t see what you can do.”

“I could have a talk with Mr. Garrison and also with the other men who
are interested in the order.”

“Well, we’ll wait and see how matters turn,” said Mrs. Hardy, with a
sigh.

The accident had happened on Saturday, and during Sunday Mr. Hardy was
decidedly feverish, so that the doctor had to come and attend him twice.
The night to follow was an anxious one for the whole family, but by
Monday noon the sufferer felt much better, although, on account of his
crushed foot, he did not dare to move.

The store had been closed, but before and after school Frank delivered
the orders that were left on the slate, and also went to such customers
as his father mentioned. Trade was indeed slow, and the boy could
readily see that the two rivals of his parent were doing the larger
portion of the business. And this was not to be wondered at, since each
had a fine location and made a very attractive display. If the truth
must be told, Mr. Hardy was a bit old-fashioned in his ways, and he
allowed his rivals to go ahead of him without much of a protest.

“I wish I knew all about the store,” thought Frank. “I’d go in for all
the business there was.”

A letter had been sent to Jabez Garrison by Mrs. Hardy—the letter being
dictated by her husband—but Wednesday passed without any answer being
received. On this day Frank returned from school, stating that the final
examination was at an end.

“And I received ninety-three per cent. out of a possible hundred,” said
he, with just a little pride.

“You have certainly done very well,” answered Mrs. Hardy, and gave him a
fond kiss. “Then you are sure of your grammar-school diploma?”

“Of course.”

“I am very glad to hear it, Frank.”

“How is father?”

“No different from what he was this morning. He is very anxious to hear
from Mr. Garrison.”

“Then you have no word yet?”

“None whatever.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Neither do I.”

“Perhaps I’d better go to Philadelphia for him after all.”

“He says he will wait another day.”

The next day passed and still no word was received.

“Frank, do you think you could talk to Mr. Garrison?” questioned the
boy’s father.

“Yes, sir—if you’ll tell me about what you’ll want me to say.”

“I want to find out just how he stands in relation to that benevolent
order. If you can’t find out from him I want you to go to Mr. Bardwell
Mason, the secretary. Here is his address on a card. I want to know
exactly how matters stand.”

“What shall I do if I find Mr. Garrison has used up some money that
doesn’t belong to him?”

“Tell him for me that he must straighten out the matter at once. If he
does not I shall apply to the authorities for protection.”

“Could the authorities make you pay that ten thousand dollars if Jabez
Garrison didn’t pay it?”

“Certainly, if he was in arrears that amount.”

“It’s a big sum of money, father.”

“To lose that amount would ruin me, Frank.”

“Ruin you?”

“Yes. Business is so bad that I need the money to help matters along. If
I lose the cash I’ll have to close up or sell out.”

“Then I think you ought to get after Mr. Garrison without delay—or let
me get after him.”

“I do not wish to appear too forward—in case everything turns out right,
Frank. Mr. Garrison has done me some good turns in business in the
past.”

Father and son had a talk lasting the best part of an hour, and then
Frank came up to his room to prepare himself for the journey.

The youth had been to Philadelphia several times during the past two
years, so he knew he would not feel as strange as though the city was
totally new to him.

The wreck on the railroad had been cleared away in a few hours after it
occurred, so there was nothing to hinder the trains from going through
on time. Frank left home at ten in the morning and promised to be back
by eight o’clock in the evening, or else to send a telegram stating why
he was detained. If necessary he was to stop over night at a hotel his
father mentioned to him.

The day was a bright, clear one in late June, and had our hero not had
so much on his mind he would have enjoyed the trip very much. As it was,
however, he could not help but think of what was before him, and of just
how he should approach Mr. Jabez Garrison when he met that individual.

“I mustn’t say too much,” he reasoned. “And yet it won’t do to say too
little. My opinion of it is, that father is altogether too easy on him.
A man who can’t act on the square when he is handling money belonging to
others doesn’t deserve nice treatment.”

It was some time before noon when Frank reached the Quaker City, as
Philadelphia is often called. The ride had made him hungry, but he
determined to call on Jabez Garrison before hunting up a restaurant for
lunch.

The office of the wholesale flour and feed merchant was on Broad Street,
and hither Frank found his way.

“Is Mr. Garrison in?” he asked of the clerk who came forward to meet
him.

“What name, please?”

“Frank Hardy. I was sent here by my father, Thomas Hardy, of Claster.”

“I’ll see if Mr. Garrison will see you. He is very busy at present.”

“Tell him it is very important.”

The clerk walked to the rear of the place and entered a private office,
closing the door behind him.

Frank heard some strong conversation for several minutes and then the
clerk returned.

“Mr. Garrison is very sorry, but just now he cannot see you, as he has
an important account to look after. He says if you will call at three
o’clock this afternoon he will see you, and explain everything to your
father’s entire satisfaction.”

“At three o’clock,” repeated Frank.

“That’s it. Just now he has got to look after an account that is worth
something like fifteen thousand dollars to him.”

“All right then. I’ll call at three o’clock sharp,” said our hero, and
left the place.

The statement the clerk had made was rather reassuring, for if Jabez
Garrison had an account of fifteen thousand dollars coming to him he
certainly could not be in a very bad condition financially.

“Perhaps this unpleasantness will all blow over after all,” thought
Frank. “Father may be right, and I may be misjudging this man.”

He found a restaurant that suited him, and as he had a long time to
wait, took his leisure in eating. Then he visited several department
stores, spending a full hour in the picture and book departments. Books
particularly interested him, and as he had a quarter to spend he let it
go in the purchase of a volume which was slightly soiled, and therefore
sold to him at one-third of its real value.

“I wouldn’t mind owning a bookstore of my own,” he said to himself, as
he set out once again for Jabez Garrison’s offices. “It’s a business
that would just suit me. I wonder if Mr. Philip Vincent has a place as
large as that department I just visited?” And then he wondered when the
gentleman from New York intended to send the book he had promised.

When Frank arrived at the flour dealer’s offices the clerk met him with
rather a troubled look on his face.

“Mr. Garrison isn’t here,” he said. “He went out about two hours ago,
and I can’t say how soon he’ll be back.”

                               CHAPTER IV

                       THE HUNT FOR A MISSING MAN

ON entering the offices Frank had glanced at a clock on the wall and
found it was five minutes past three.

“You don’t know how soon he will be back?” he queried.

“No.”

“If you will remember, I had an appointment at three sharp.”

“I remember it very well.” The clerk hesitated. “Would you mind telling
me what your business was with Mr. Garrison?”

“It was a private matter.”

“Relating to money matters?”

“In a way, yes. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I have reasons. Perhaps you had better sit down and wait for him.”

“That is what I intend to do. If necessary, I’ll wait for him until you
shut up,” added our hero, as he dropped into a chair.

“Then you are bound to see him.”

“I am.”

The clerk said no more, but turned to a set of books and began to write.
Frank remained silent for perhaps ten minutes.

“Did Mr. Garrison say where he was going?” he asked.

“Out to collect a bill.”

“Near by?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he go out alone?”

“Yes.”

There was another spell of silence, and then the outer door opened
quickly, and two well-dressed men stepped in.

“We wish to see Mr. Garrison,” said one, while he looked about to see if
that individual was in sight.

“Sorry, sir; but he’s out,” said the clerk.

“When will he be back?” put in the second man.

“I can’t say.”

The two men exchanged glances, and one uttered a low whistle.

“Reckon we’re too late,” muttered the latter of the pair.

“It looks like it, Mason,” was the answer.

“What’s to do next?”

“Find him—if we can—and do it right away.”

“But it’s like looking for a pin in a haystack.”

“That’s true, too.” The man turned again to the clerk. “You are sure you
don’t know where to find Mr. Garrison?”

“I haven’t the least idea where he has gone to.”

The other man had walked to the rear and glanced into the private
office.

“Did Mr. Garrison have a satchel with him when he left?” he asked.

“He has a dress-suit case with him.”

“Humph!”

Frank listened to the talk with close attention. Then he arose and
turned to the man who had been addressed as Mason.

“Excuse me, sir, but is your name Bardwell Mason?” he questioned.

“It is. Who are you?”

“I am Frank Hardy. My father is Thomas Hardy, of Claster.”

“Phew! Then you are after Garrison, too, eh?”

“I wish to see him. He was here this morning and promised to see me at
three o’clock. It is now half-past three.”

“When did you call this morning?”

“About half-past eleven.”

“And you had a talk with him?”

“No, sir; I sent my name into the private office by this clerk.”

“Of course you want to see him about this security business.”

“Yes, sir. My father told me that if I couldn’t get any satisfaction
here I should call upon you.”

Bardwell Mason nodded. Then he bent forward and lowered his voice.

“I’m afraid the fat’s in the fire here,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Jabez Garrison knows he is found out and that he has
flown.”

“You mean that he has run away?” whispered Frank, in horror.

“It certainly looks that way. We have had an expert on his books for two
days, and it is a fact beyond question that he has swindled our
benevolent order out of at least thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“Then he ought to be locked up.”

“If we can lay our hands on him.”

“Why don’t you notify the police?”

“That’s what we will do—if he doesn’t come back pretty soon.”

“We must catch him by all means—for my father’s sake as much as for
yours.”

“True, my boy; but if he has really run away he has probably covered his
tracks well.”

A half-hour went by, and leaving Frank to watch at the office, Bardwell
Mason and his companion went off to interview the police.

“I guess the boss is getting himself in hot water,” said the clerk to
Frank, when the two were again left alone.

“It begins to look that way,” answered our hero. “But I don’t feel like
saying too much.”

“It’s over that benevolent order affair, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Do you know anything about it?”

“Oh, I heard the boss and Mr. Mason talking about it one day in the
office. They had it pretty hot. I made up my mind then matters were
coming to a head.”

“What will you do if Mr. Garrison doesn’t come back?”

“Shut up and go home at six o’clock.”

“Will you open up in the morning?”

“The boy does that. He’s out on an errand for me now.”

“Have you any stock on hand—I mean flour and feed?”

“We don’t keep stock any more. We simply sell on commission.”

At this announcement Frank felt more depressed than ever. There would
then be nothing to attach, in case Jabez Garrison had really fled. He
looked at the office furniture. It was old and dilapidated, and if put
up at auction would probably not fetch over twenty or thirty dollars.

“Does Mr. Garrison own any property?”

“Not that I know of. He used to have a house on Walnut Street, but he
sold that about a year ago.”

Here was more cause for regret, and Frank heaved a deep sigh. He felt
that the news he would carry home would nearly prostrate his parents.

“And just when father is helpless with that crushed foot,” he thought.
“It’s too bad! Oh! if only I could catch this Jabez Garrison and make
him give up what he has stolen.”

It was after five o’clock when Bardwell Mason returned.

“Have you seen anything of him?” he asked, briefly.

“Nothing whatever,” answered Frank.

“He has flown beyond a doubt.”

“What have you done, Mr. Mason?”

“I have placed the police and a first-class detective on his track.”

At these words the clerk looked up in wonder.

“Do you mean to say Mr. Garrison has run away?” he demanded.

“We think he has, young man—anyway, he is not to be found, and at the
place where he boarded he removed the best of his clothing this noon.”

“Was he married?” asked Frank.

“No, he was a bachelor.”

The clerk was now all attention, and asked for some details, which were
given to him. He asked what he had best do regarding the offices.

“Better consult the police about that,” said Mr. Mason, and the clerk
promised to do so.

“This is rough on me,” he said. “I haven’t been paid last week’s salary,
and now I’m out of a job without a minute’s warning.”

“It certainly is rough on you,” said Frank.

The clerk locked up the place and walked off, and Frank and Bardwell
Mason also took their departure.

“Mr. Mason, if Mr. Garrison is not found will my father have to make
good the amount of the bond on which he went security?” asked our hero,
as the pair took themselves to the gentleman’s office.

“Certainly; and he’ll have to make good anyway, unless Garrison pays
back what he has appropriated.”

“It will be a great blow to my father.”

“I presume it will be. But that is not my fault, nor the fault of
anybody in our order. Your father made a great mistake when he went
security for such a slick rascal as Jabez Garrison.”

“Do you think the police will catch him?”

“Possibly. But he may have taken a steamer to some foreign land from
which it will be impossible to bring him back.”

Frank hardly knew what to do next, but decided to call on the police
himself. At headquarters he was informed that everything possible would
be done to find Jabez Garrison.

“Mr. Mason has placed a very shrewd detective on the track,” said an
officer to our hero. “He will probably learn something sooner or later.”

Before leaving Philadelphia Frank called at the house where the missing
man had boarded. He was met at the door by a sharp-faced woman with a
high-pitched voice.

“Yes, I guess he has run away and for good,” she said, tartly. “They say
he stole fifty thousand dollars. He owed me for two weeks’ board, and
seventy-five cents that I paid only two days ago for his laundry. He was
a villain if ever there was one.”

“Didn’t he leave anything behind?”

“Yes, a lot of old clothing and worn-out shoes worth about fifty cents
to the junkman. Oh, I wish I could catch hold of him! I’d tear his eyes
out!”

“I wish I could get hold of him, too,” returned Frank, and there being
nothing more to say he withdrew.

                               CHAPTER V

                           FRANK AT THE STORE

WHEN Frank returned home and told of what had occurred in Philadelphia,
there was consternation in the Hardy family. Mr. Hardy shook his head
over and over again, and Mrs. Hardy shed bitter tears.

“I was a fool to trust Garrison,” said the disabled husband. “Now, here
he is running away while I cannot even make a search for him.”

“I am afraid that such a search would be useless,” responded his wife.
“And even if he were captured what good would it do, if he has
squandered the money?”

“No good, so far as I am concerned, my dear.” Mr. Hardy heaved a long
sigh. “Do you realize what this means for me?” he went on, bitterly.

“You will have to pay that ten thousand dollars.”

“Assuredly.”

“How much money have you in the bank, Thomas?”

“Nine thousand five hundred dollars.”

“Indeed! I thought you had more.”

“I used to have more, but the competition in business has forced me to
put in additional capital, which I took from the savings bank.”

“Then you will have to take all the money in the bank and make up five
hundred dollars besides?”

“Yes, if they call on me to make good the amount for which I went
security.”

“Can you spare the five hundred out of the business?”

At this question Mr. Hardy hung his head.

“I am afraid I cannot, Margy. Business has been very bad lately, and I
have many bills coming due inside of thirty and sixty days.”

At this candid statement Mrs. Hardy grew very pale.

“Oh, Thomas, do you mean that we—we——”

“This will drive me to the wall.” Mr. Hardy gave another sigh and his
voice shook. “I am ruined.”

“Ruined!”

“That is the one word to use. Competition has almost forced me out of
business, and this affair will take away nearly every cent I possess.”

After this confession the matter was discussed freely until Mr. Hardy
grew so feverish that his wife told him he must be quiet and left to
himself. She passed down into the sitting room and there met Frank.

“Mother, you have been crying,” said the boy, coming up and embracing
her.

“I cannot deny it, Frank; this blow is an awful one.”

“Perhaps it won’t be so bad as you think.”

The lady of the house shook her head.

“It won’t take all of father’s money, will it?”

“Every dollar, Frank.”

“But he will still have the business, won’t he?”

“Not free and clear. He will have to take out of it five hundred
dollars, and pay some bills besides.”

“That’s bad.”

“Your father says he is ruined, and I really think he is. The business
will have to be sold for what it will bring.”

“And what will father do then?”

“I am sure I don’t know. He will have to get well first.”

“I wish I could catch Jabez Garrison. I’d—I’d strangle him!”

“Frank, you mustn’t speak like that!”

“I don’t care, mother. See what mischief he has created.”

“Well, we must face the truth, Frank.” Mrs. Hardy wrung her hands. “I am
sure I do not know what we shall do.”

“I know what I am going to do, mother,” he returned, quickly. “I’ve been
thinking it over ever since I got home.”

“What is that?”

“I’m going to work.”

The fond mother smiled faintly.

“Yes; I’m afraid we shall no longer be able to support you unless you do
something.”

“I shall find something to do just as soon as I can, and bring all my
wages home to you. Maybe they won’t be much, but they’ll be something.”

The mother embraced him again.

“Frank, you are truly a son worth having. But it will be too bad to keep
you from high school.”

“Never mind; perhaps I can study at night.”

“If you do that, I’ll help you all I can. But I am sure I do not know
where you can get a position.”

“Oh, I’ll get something. But first of all, I’m going down to father’s
store and do all I can to sell what goods he has on hand.”

“Yes; I was going to ask you to do that.”

True to his word, Frank opened the store bright and early the next
morning. He felt that he must do something, and during the day cleaned
the windows and arranged the goods on the shelves and in the big
storeroom. He also called on several regular customers and asked if they
did not wish fresh supplies.

“So you are going to help your father out, eh?” said one old gentleman.
“I’m glad to see it. Yes, you can send me two bags of oats and a bushel
of corn, and also a barrel of that best flour for the house. I’ll help
you all I can.” And Frank went away delighted with the order.

But the work was not all so agreeable. Some found fault, and others said
they were buying elsewhere. Looking over the old store books, the boy
soon learned that the receipts had been falling off steadily for six
months—ever since the opposition had started.

“I guess it needs an experienced man with more capital than we now have
to make a success of this,” he reasoned, and he was correct in his
surmise. The two rivals carried big stocks, and both were very active,
consequently more than three-quarters of the business of the town and
vicinity went to them.

A few days later Mr. Hardy received a formal notification of what Jabez
Garrison had done and was told that he must “make good” without delay or
the benevolent order would sue him. Following this, Mr. Bardwell Mason
paid him a visit.

“I am very sorry this has occurred,” said the gentleman from
Philadelphia. “But business is business, and the order looks to me to
have this matter straightened out.”

“I do not see what I can do excepting to give the bank notice to hold
that money for you until we have time to look for Jabez Garrison,”
answered Mr. Hardy.

“Have you the whole amount in the bank?”

“I have it, less five hundred dollars.”

“Where is that to come from, if I may ask?”

“I own my business and this house.”

“I see. Then there will be no trouble, Mr. Hardy. I am sorry to bother
you at such a time as this. It looks like hitting a man when he is down.
But you know what these orders are. They look to me to do my duty, and
if I don’t do it some of the members will be sure to make trouble for
me.”

“They are not very benevolent in my case.”

“Well, you see, you are not a member.”

The talk was continued for a good hour, and in the end, Mr. Hardy sent a
note down to the bank introducing Mr. Mason, and relating the object of
that gentleman’s call. By this means, the account was, for the time
being, tied up so that Mr. Hardy could not touch it.

On Monday of the following week, Frank was in the store packing up a
small order for delivery, when a dapper young man entered.

“Is Mr. Hardy around?” questioned the newcomer.

“No, sir; my father is at home with a crushed foot,” answered our hero.

“How did he crush it, in the store?”

“No; he had it crushed on the railroad.”

“Oh, was he in that wreck near here?”

“He was.”

“Then I suppose he’ll soak the railroad company good for it?”

“I think he expects them to pay something.”

“I’d soak them for all I was worth,” went on the dapper young man,
sitting down across the counter. “They can stand it, and he can put in
any kind of an old bill he wants to.”

To this Frank did not answer, but continued to put up the order upon
which he had been working.

“I suppose you don’t know who I am,” went on the young man, after he had
lit a cigarette.

“I do not.”

“I’m the representative of the Blargo-Leeds Flour Company. There’s a
bill due us and I want to find out why it hasn’t been paid. Your father
promised to pay it some time ago.”

“How much is it?” asked Frank uneasily, although he knew something of
the bill already.

“Two hundred and sixty-eight dollars. It’s been due now for three
weeks.”

“Well, I’ll try to find out for you.”

“Can’t you pay it now?”

“No.”

“My firm says that bill has got to be paid inside of the next ten days.”

“Very well; we’ll try to pay it.”

“If you don’t they will sue.” The young man leaped down from the
counter. “Sure you can’t pay it now?”

“No; I haven’t the money.”

“I’ve heard your father is in a peck of trouble over some bond he went
on. I’m sorry for him. But that bill must be paid, remember that. In ten
days, or it’s a suit at law.” And lighting another cigarette, the dapper
young man hurried out as quickly as he had entered.

                               CHAPTER VI

                          THE RIVAL MERCHANTS

WHEN Frank went home to dinner he expected to tell both his father and
his mother about the visit from the dapper young man; but he found both
of them so much worried that he did not say a word. He ate his meal in
silence, and hurried back to the place of business as soon as he could.

“I’ll tell them to-night or to-morrow,” he thought. “One thing is
certain: we can’t pay that bill, for we haven’t the money on hand with
which to do it.”

The youth worked hard during the afternoon, and made several sales which
were rather gratifying—one of some middlings which had become slightly
spoiled and which his father had despaired of selling. Frank sold the
stuff for just what it was, so that no fault might be found later.

He was placing the nine dollars he had received in the transaction in
the money drawer, when a dark, middle-aged man came in, and looked
around.

“I suppose Mr. Hardy isn’t here?” he said.

“No, sir; my father is at home with a crushed foot,” answered Frank,
telling what he had repeated many times before.

“I am Jackson Devore, the feed man. I have a bill of ninety dollars that
has been running for some time. I want to know when your father intends
to pay it.”

“I guess he’ll pay it as soon as he can, Mr. Devore.”

“That is what he told me when I saw him last. This bill has got to be
paid at once.”

“I can’t pay it now.”

“Well, if it isn’t paid by the day after to-morrow, I’ll bring suit.”

“The day after to-morrow is the Fourth of July.”

“Well, then, the next day,” snarled Jackson Devore. “And tell your
father I won’t wait a minute longer. He has let his business run down
and go to pieces, and it looks to me like he didn’t intend to pay
anything.” And out of the store bounded the man, shaking his head and
his fist at the same time.

“This is certainly getting interesting,” said Frank to himself. “We will
have to do something soon; that is certain.”

He had exactly twenty-seven dollars on hand, and this cash he took home
at supper time. Then he told his parents of what had happened during the
day.

“I expected it,” groaned Mr. Hardy. “To keep the store going longer
would be folly. I may as well sell out as best I can, and settle these
bills as best I can, too.”

“Who will you sell out to?” asked Frank.

“I’m sure I don’t know. I might offer the place to my rivals.”

“They wouldn’t buy anything but the stock.”

“They might be able to use the fixtures, such as they are.”

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” said Frank. “I can go to each of our
rivals and get them to submit offers. Perhaps they will bid pretty well
against each other—for each wants the business in this town, and they
know your good will is worth something.”

“That is a good idea!” said Mr. Hardy, brightening. “You might go and
see both of them this evening, if you wish.”

“Frank looks tired,” interposed his mother.

“Never mind, mother, I’ll go anyway. Perhaps Mr. Benning and Mr.
Peterson will walk over here and see father.”

“Yes, you might ask them to call,” said the sick man.

A little later Frank went to see Andrew Benning, who lived but a short
distance from the Hardy homestead. He found the storekeeper, who was a
shrewd Yankee, reading the local weekly paper.

“Your father would like to see me, eh?” said the man. “What about,
Frank?”

“He is going to sell out and thought you might like to buy.”

“Hum! Has he set any figger?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I’ll call an’ see him first thing in the morning. I don’t reckon
as how the place is wuth much—it’s so run down.”

“Oh, there is quite some stock,” answered our hero. “What time shall I
say you will call?”

“About nine o’clock. I’ll take a look at the place first. Will you be
around there early?”

“At seven o’clock.”

“All right.”

From the Benning home, Frank hurried to the place where Mr. Peterson,
the other rival, boarded.

“I’m sorry for your father,” said Mr. Peterson, who was a young man and
rather pleasant. “I might buy him out if he’ll sell cheap enough.”

“He’ll sell at a fair figure.”

“Do you know what he has on hand?”

“Yes, sir, in a general way.”

“Very well. I’ll go up with you now and see him.” And in a minute more
the two were on the way. When they reached the Hardy home the rival
flour and feed man shook hands cordially with Mrs. Hardy and also with
the sick man.

“So you are going to sell out,” said he to Frank’s father. “Well, I
thought one of us would have to give up pretty soon. The town can’t
support three dealers.”

The matter was talked over, and it soon developed that John Peterson was
as shrewd as Andrew Benning. The best offer he would make was seventy
per cent. of the wholesale value of the stock and a hundred dollars for
the fixtures and good will.

“Seventy per cent. is not enough,” said Mr. Hardy. “I think I can get
more elsewhere.”

“I think Mr. Benning will give more,” said Frank.

“Is he going to have a chance to buy it?” cried John Peterson.

“I shall sell to the highest bidder,” answered Mr. Hardy.

“Oh, then you want us to bid against each other, eh?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not exactly, Mr. Hardy—but it don’t just look right either. I’ll tell
you what I’ll do—I’ll give you seventy-five per cent. of the value of
the stock.”

“Make it ninety and I’ll take you up.”

“No, that is my best figure.”

“Then I’ll let you know by to-morrow night.”

“Very well,” answered John Peterson, and soon after this he left.

“Do you think that is a fair price, father?” asked Frank, after the
visitor had departed.

“No, my son. But what shall I do?”

“Perhaps Andrew Benning will make a better offer.”

“Let us hope so.”

Early the next morning Frank went to the store and arranged the stock to
the best possible advantage. He was just finishing the work when the
rival dealer came in and began to look around.

Although Frank did not know it, Andrew Benning had, late the evening
before, met John Peterson, and the rivals had talked over the matter of
buying Mr. Hardy out, and reached an agreement by which neither was to
outbid the other. If either got the place he was to divide the goods
with the other and also the fixtures, and both were to settle jointly
for the good will—and then each was to catch what customers he could as
in the past.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, and you can tell your father,” said Andrew
Benning. “I’ll give him sixty per cent. of the value of his stock at
wholesale and fifty dollars for his fixtures and good will.”

“Thank you, but my father can get more than that,” answered Frank,
coldly.

“All right then, he had better do it,” was Andrew Benning’s retort, and
he stalked out without another word.

But our hero had not reckoned on the plot the rivals had hatched out. On
going to dinner he learned that his father had just received a note from
John Peterson, which ran as follows:

    “MR. THOMAS HARDY,

    “_Dear Sir_: I have thought over the matter of buying your store out
    and have come to the conclusion that the best I can offer you is
    sixty per cent. of the regular wholesale value of the stock, and
    fifty dollars for all the fixtures. As the place is run down I do
    not consider that the good will is worth figuring in the
    transaction. This offer is open for one week. Yours ob’t’ly,

                   “JOHN PETERSON.”

“He has dropped to the very figures that Andrew Benning offered,” said
Frank, in dismay.

“I believe they are in league with each other,” sighed Mr. Hardy. “They
know they have me down and that I cannot help myself.”

“Perhaps we can sell the goods elsewhere, father.”

“Possibly, but it will cost money to transport the goods, and few people
want to buy goods that they consider are second-hand.”

“Supposing I try to sell the goods to Mr. Fardale, of Porthaven?”

“You might try it. But Mr. Fardale is as close as Benning, if not
closer.”

“If he would only give ten per cent. more it would be something.”

“That is true. Well, you can see him the day after the Fourth of July.”

“I will,” answered Frank. “I can go up on the stage,” he added, for
Porthaven was six miles from Claster.

                              CHAPTER VII

                      A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION

THE people of Claster had arranged for a Fourth of July celebration, and
early in the morning folks began to pour in from the surrounding farms
until the place took on the liveliness of a fair-sized city.

Knowing that some folks would take the opportunity to order or buy
supplies, Frank kept the store open until noon and did quite a fair
business. When he closed up he had twenty-six dollars on hand, which he
took home for safe keeping.

There was a short parade in the afternoon and all of the young folks
went to see this. Little Georgie was particularly enthusiastic and
wanted to follow the brass band all over the line of march.

“I’d like Fourth of July to come every day,” he told his brother and
sister.

“I fancy you’d get tired of it soon enough,” said Ruth.

“I’d never get tired of it,” answered the little fellow, positively.
“When I grow up I want to be a drummer in the band.”

[Illustration: “THE SMOKE WAS SO THICK HE COULD NOT SEE WHERE HE WAS
GOING.”–P. 54.]

“Do you think you want to carry around the bass-drum, Georgie?”
questioned Frank, with a smile.

“No, I want the little drum—the one that rattles and has two little
sticks,” returned Georgie.

The town people had collected almost a hundred dollars which a committee
had expended in fireworks. These were to be set off at the public
square, only a short distance from Mr. Hardy’s store. At the appointed
time the square was crowded, and the display of fireworks was begun amid
great enthusiasm.

“I love those rockets and Roman candles,” said Ruth, enthusiastically.

“And I like the big pin-wheels,” answered Frank.

With Georgie they had taken a place in front of the store. But they
could not see extra well, on account of a wagon being in the way, and so
moved on to another part of the square.

A flight of rockets was followed by some colored fire and a very
handsome set piece. Then came triangles and flower pots, and another set
piece, and then some of the largest rockets the committee had purchased.
The latter went up with a rush and a roar that made Ruth shrink back in
momentary alarm.

“I don’t like that—it looks dangerous,” said she.

“It is not as dangerous as it is for those boys to be running around
with blazing brushwood,” answered her brother. “The constable ought to
stop them. They may set something or somebody on fire.”

“Wouldn’t one of those rockets set something on fire if it came down
while it was still burning, Frank?”

“To be sure. We haven’t had rain in so long all the roofs around here
are pretty dry.”

For the end of the celebration there was a set piece of the President of
the United States, and as this lit up there was a wild cheering and
hurrahing, which was changed to a sudden cry of alarm as a man yelled
“Fire!” at the top of his lungs.

“Fire? Where is the fire?” asked several.

“He means the fireworks,” said one onlooker, and several laughed at the
joke.

“Fire! fire!” continued the other man. “The feed store is on fire!”

“The feed store?” repeated Frank, with a start. “Can he mean our place?”

“He does!” shrieked Ruth. “See, the smoke is coming out of the upper
window!”

“It is our place, true enough!” groaned Frank. “Here, Ruth, take care of
Georgie. Don’t you come over to the fire.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, Frank? Don’t go into the place, please!
You’ll be burnt up!”

“I’ll take care of myself. Now, keep back as I told you.”

Thus speaking Frank darted into the crowd and made his way to the front
of the store, which was located in a small two-story frame structure,
having a flat roof. The upper floor was filled with feed and grain, and
through the front window the flames could readily be seen. As Frank drew
closer there was a crash of glass, and then the flames shot out of the
window, and began to lap the roof.

“Don’t go in there, Frank!” cried several. “The place is a goner. You
can’t save anything.”

“I’m going to save the papers,” answered our hero, determinedly. “Why
don’t you call out the fire department?”

“Bill Wilson did that already.”

Unlocking the front door, Frank made his way inside. All was dark and
filled with smoke. He felt his way to his father’s safe and desk. Soon
he had some papers from the desk in his pocket, and then he knelt down
to open the safe.

The strong box had a combination lock, and as yet Frank was hardly
accustomed to it. In his excitement it was not easy to remember the
proper numbers, and the first time he tried the knob the safe refused to
come open. Then he tried to work the combination again.

By this time the entire lower floor of the building was thick with
smoke, and the flames were already beginning to show themselves in the
vicinity of the back stairway. Frank’s eyes were swimming in tears, and
it was all he could do to get his breath.

“I certainly can’t stand this any longer,” he thought, and gave the knob
of the safe a final turn. Then the door came open and he pulled out the
account books and some private papers in all haste. He had heard his
father say that the safe was worn out, and in no condition to stand the
test of a hot fire.

Scarcely able to stand, Frank felt his way toward the front door. The
entire back and upper part of the building were now ablaze and he could
plainly hear the crackling of the flames above him.

“Frank Hardy, where are you?” called a voice through the smoke.

Frank did not answer, but staggered toward the sound, for the smoke was
so thick he could not see where he was going. Then, just as he felt he
must drop, he received a dash of water in the face, thrown by a member
of the local bucket brigade, for as yet the town boasted of nothing
better than one engine and a company of men, who possessed sixty leather
fire buckets.

The water did much toward reviving our hero and in a second more he
almost fell through the front door and out on the stoop of the store. As
he came into view a shout went up.

“There he is!”

“He has had a narrow escape!”

“Did he get burnt?”

“No, he is all right.”

Assisted by willing hands, Frank made his way to a bench in the public
square. Close at hand was a town pump, where men and boys were filling
the leather buckets. Down the square was the hand engine, drawing water
from a nearby cistern. As weak as he was our hero had brought his books
and papers with him, and these he now placed at his side.

“Oh, Frank, are you hurt?” It was Ruth who asked the question, as she
came up with little Georgie.

“No, I’m all right,” Frank answered. “But I guess I’m pretty well
smoked,” he added, coughing and wiping his eyes.

“You should not have gone in such a place.”

“I wanted to save father’s books and papers. The desk will be burnt, I
know, and the old safe isn’t of any account.”

“Do you think they’ll put the fire out?”

“It doesn’t look like it now.”

“It must have been set on fire by the fireworks,” went on Ruth.

“More than likely.”

The firemen were working with a will, and before long Frank started in
to aid them, telling Ruth and Georgie to take the books and papers home.

“Tell mother not to worry about me—that I’ll keep out of danger,” said
our hero.

He had scarcely spoken when Mrs. Hardy rushed up, all out of breath and
with her face full of fear.

“They told me you had gone into the store,” she gasped. “Are you
unharmed?”

“Yes, I’m all right, mother.”

“Thank Heaven for that!”

“Here are father’s papers and account books. I’m afraid the whole place
is doomed.”

“Yes, it looks like it—and the next place, too,” answered Mrs. Hardy.

She remained at the fire for only a few minutes and then returned home,
to tell her husband that Frank was safe. Georgie went with her, but Ruth
stayed to see the end of the conflagration.

It was a full hour before the fire was under control. By that time not
only the feed store was gone, but also the butcher shop next door, and a
barn in the rear. Yet many felt that the firemen had done well to save
the surrounding property, considering how dry everything was and what a
breeze was blowing.

“That’s the end of the feed business,” thought Frank. “I hope father is
insured. If he isn’t, the loss will be a heavy one for him—especially
after this Garrison disaster.”

                              CHAPTER VIII

                          FRANK LOOKS FOR WORK

WHEN Frank arrived home he found that his father had been given all the
particulars of the conflagration by the other members of the family and
by several neighbors who had dropped in to tell him the news and
sympathize with him.

The exact origin of the fire was a mystery, but it was generally
accepted as being due to the Fourth of July celebration.

“I hope you are insured, father,” said Frank, after the last of the
neighbors had departed.

“I am insured, Frank, but I have forgotten the exact amount,” was the
reply. “I want you to look over the papers for me.”

“The papers call for twenty-five hundred dollars on stock and two
hundred dollars on fixtures,” said our hero, after a careful reading of
the insurance papers, three in number.

“Then I am fully covered. The stock on hand did not amount to over
eighteen hundred dollars.”

“Then for stock and fixtures you ought to get two thousand dollars.”

“Yes—if I can make the insurance companies toe the mark.”

“That is more than you would have gotten from Mr. Benning or Mr.
Peterson.”

“Yes, Frank; I doubt if they would have given me over twelve hundred
dollars—perhaps not over a thousand.”

“In that case—if you can make the insurance companies pay up—the fire
won’t have been such a bad happening after all.”

“No, it will be quite a good thing for us.”

Early on the following morning two insurance men put in an appearance,
and surveyed the ruins carefully. Nothing had been saved of Mr. Hardy’s
belongings, even the safe being rendered absolutely worthless by the
intense heat. After looking around, the insurance men called upon the
sufferer at his home.

“Well, Mr. Hardy, you seem to be suffering in more ways than one,” said
one of the men.

“That is true, Mr. Lane. The town celebrated yesterday at my expense.”

“I should say at our expense,” put in the second insurance man, with a
grim smile. “We are the ones to foot the bill.”

“Well, I am glad, Mr. Watson, that the loss does not fall on me, for it
would ruin me utterly.”

“What do you figure your loss at?”

“I have been looking over the accounts with my son, Frank, who has been
running the store lately, and we figure the stock at eighteen hundred
and forty dollars, and the fixtures at the figure in the papers.”

“Then you claim two thousand and forty dollars?”

“Isn’t that fair?”

“Will you let us go over the stock sheet with you?”

“Certainly.”

This was done, and at the end of an hour the insurance men said they
would recommend that the company pay Mr. Hardy nineteen hundred dollars
in full for his claims. As this was not such a big cut as he had feared,
Frank’s father said he would accept the amount if the sum was
forthcoming inside of thirty days.

“I am sure I have made a good bargain with the insurance people,” said
Mr. Hardy to his wife, when they were alone. “I have done much better
than if I had sold out to any of my rivals.”

“Yes, and the best of it is, you are now under no obligations to your
rivals,” returned Mrs. Hardy.

“I did not get exactly what I think the stock was worth, but one cannot
expect to get that when one is burnt out.”

“What will you do, Thomas, when they pay the money?”

“Settle the Garrison matter first of all, and then put the balance of
the money in the bank.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll have to get well before I make up my mind. I can do nothing so
long as I am tied down to the house.”

With the store burnt out, Frank scarcely knew what to do with himself.
When the débris was cleared away by the owner of the property, he went
around to hunt for anything of value, but nothing was forthcoming.

Frank was very thoughtful when he came home the following Saturday. He
chopped a big pile of wood, and cleaned up the garden and the cellar.

“I’m going to find something to do next week,” he told his mother. “With
father laid up and the store gone, it won’t do for me to remain idle.”

“I am afraid you’ll not find it easy to get a position in Claster,”
answered Mrs. Hardy, as she placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of looking for a place in Philadelphia, mother.”

“What, away from home!”

“I’ve got to strike out for myself some day.”

“But I hadn’t thought of your leaving home yet, Frank,” his mother went
on, in dismay.

“Well, I’ll look around in Claster first.”

“I wish you would, and in Porthaven, too.”

Frank was enthusiastic about doing something, and that very Saturday
night he asked half a dozen persons he knew for a situation.

But as his mother had intimated, it was next to impossible to find an
opening. Only at one store was anything offered, and the pay there was
but two dollars a week.

“I cannot afford to work for such an amount, Mr. Grimes,” said Frank.

“Well, that’s all I am willing to pay,” returned the storekeeper.
“Plenty of boys would jump at the chance. I thought I’d give you a trial
on your father’s account.”

“Thank you, but I’ll look further.”

Early Monday morning Frank went to Porthaven. As he did not want to pay
the stage fare, which was twenty cents each way, he determined to walk
the distance. But he was scarcely out of town when a boy in a grocery
wagon came up behind him.

“Hullo, Frank!” called out the boy. “If you are going my way, jump in.”

“I am bound for Porthaven, Joe.”

“So am I. Glad I met you,” replied Joe Franklin, who worked for a local
grocer. “I hate to travel such a distance all alone. Where are you
going?”

“I am going to look for work,” answered Frank, as he took a seat beside
the grocer’s boy.

“Can’t you get anything to do in Claster?”

“Yes, one job. Mr. Grimes wants me to work for him for two dollars a
week.”

“Don’t you work for him, Frank.”

“I don’t intend to. I must earn more.”

“Old Grimes is the hardest man in town to get along with. All of his
clerks are in hot water with him every day.”

“Mr. Wilkins must pay you more than two dollars, Joe?”

“He pays me three and a half, and I am to have four after New Year’s.”

“That is something like. But I want to earn even more—if I can.”

“I suppose you’ve got to do it, now your dad is out of work and laid
up.”

“Yes.”

“Somebody told my dad you folks had lost a lot of money on some rascal
in Philadelphia.”

“It is true, and that’s all the more reason I want to earn something.”

“Can’t your father get anything out of the railroad company for the
accident?”

“I trust so. But it is pretty hard to fight a big railroad company.”

“Will your father start in the feed business again?”

“I don’t think so. Still, he doesn’t know what he will do. He wants to
get well first.”

So the talk ran until the outskirts of Porthaven were reached. Then
Frank left the wagon and thanked his comrade for the ride.

“When are you going back?” asked Joe.

“I can’t tell you.”

“I’m going back in half an hour. You can ride with me if you will.”

“Thank you, Joe, but I guess I’ll have to stay a little longer,”
answered Frank; and then the two boys separated.

Porthaven was a town considerably larger than Claster and consequently
Frank had a great many more stores and offices to visit. But his quest
for employment here was even less encouraging than at home. Not a single
opening of any kind presented itself.

“This is certainly hard luck,” he thought, as he found himself at the
end of the main street. “I did think there would be at least one
opening.”

He had brought a lunch with him, and now walked down to the edge of the
small river which ran through Porthaven.

At a beautiful spot bordering the river somebody had placed a bench, and
here he sat down to enjoy the sandwiches and piece of pie his mother had
thoughtfully provided for him.

Frank’s appetite, like that of most growing boys, was good, and it did
not take him long to dispose of his meal.

“Wish I had another sandwich,” he thought, after it was gone. “Tramping
around gives one a very hungry feeling, especially if he doesn’t get any
work.”

Not knowing what to do next, Frank remained where he was, and presently
a young man, carrying a small, square hand-bag of black leather, came
strolling towards him.

“Can you tell me how much further it is to Porthaven?” the young man
asked, as he came to a halt, and rested his bag on the end of the bench.

“You are on the outskirts of the town, now,” was our hero’s reply.

“Good! I was afraid I had still a mile or so to go. I missed the stage
from River Bend, and I did not want to waste the time, so I walked over.
It’s pretty hot, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” And now Frank made room so the stranger could sit down, which he
did.

“Are you acquainted in Porthaven?”

“Pretty well.”

“Then perhaps you won’t mind telling me where some of these folks live,”
and the young man brought out a notebook from his pocket.

“I’ll tell you what I know willingly.”

“Live around here, I suppose?”

“No, sir; I come from Claster. I’m looking for work.”

“Oh!” The young man gazed at Frank curiously. “Hard job, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Struck anything yet?”

“Nothing.”

“I can sympathize with you. I was out looking for work, myself, last
summer, and I couldn’t get a single thing that was worth anything.”

“But you are working now?”

“Well, yes; but I haven’t got anything steady. I’m a book agent, and I
get paid for what orders I get, that’s all.”

                               CHAPTER IX

                        FRANK MEETS A BOOK AGENT

“SO you are a book agent?” said Frank, and now looked at the young man
with increased interest. “May I ask what books you sell?”

“I am taking orders for three works—a new and beautifully illustrated
set of Cooper’s works, an Illustrated History of the United States, and
a new cook-book. Here are some samples,” and the young man brought them
forth from his bag.

“They certainly look very fine,” answered Frank, after inspecting the
volumes.

“Perhaps I can sell you a set of the Cooper.”

“Thank you; I can’t afford them.”

“Or a cook-book for your wife,” and the book agent laughed. “Get her a
cook-book and she won’t kill you off when she cooks for you.”

“I’ll have to get the wife first—and means to support her,” and now
Frank laughed, too. “May I ask if there is much money in selling books?
If I can’t get a steady job I might take it up,” he went on, seriously.

“Selling books is a great speculation, my friend. You might make fifty
dollars a week at it, and you might not make a dollar. It all depends on
what you have to sell, what territory you cover, and what your abilities
as a salesman are.”

“Yes, that must be true. But, somehow, I think I could sell books, if I
had the right kind.”

“Many think they can do the same, but out of a hundred who try, not a
dozen succeed. It’s very discouraging at the start. To make a success
you’ve got to have lots of ‘stick-to-it’ in you.”

“May I ask what firm you represent? Or, perhaps you don’t care to tell?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly willing to tell you, and if you want to try your luck
with them go ahead. My name is Oscar Klemner, and I represent the Barry
Marden Publishing Company, of Philadelphia—one of the largest publishing
houses in the subscription book business. Here is their card,” and Oscar
Klemner handed it over.

“Thank you. My name is Frank Hardy, and I come from Claster.”

“Glad to know you, Hardy, and if you take up books I hope you make a big
success of it.”

“Will you tell me how they pay for the work?”

“Certainly. An agent gets twenty per cent. for getting an order, and
twenty per cent. more if he delivers and collects.”

“Do you do both?”

“Sometimes; but at other times I merely take orders, and when I can’t
get orders I take to delivering the orders some fellow more lucky than
myself has obtained.”

“You wanted me to tell you about some folks here.”

“Yes. Here is a list of names. I want to visit the people in regular
order, according to where they live, if I can. I don’t want to waste my
time skipping from one end of the town to the other and back.”

Frank looked over the list carefully.

“I know all these people, and if you wish it, I’ll go around with you.”

“Won’t it be too much trouble?”

“No. And besides, it will give me a little insight into the business.”

“All right, then. Come ahead, Hardy. I’ll give you a practical lesson in
both the art of delivering books and in taking new orders. You see, some
of these people have merely asked about the books, not ordered them.”

Having rested himself, Oscar Klemner said he was ready to start, and
Frank offered to carry the leather hand-bag for him.

“Never mind; I’ll carry it myself. I’m so used to it, I’d feel lost
without it.”

They were soon at the first house, where the book agent delivered a
cook-book and collected three dollars for it. The transaction was
quickly over, and they passed on to the next place.

“That was certainly a quick way to make sixty cents,” thought our hero.

“We don’t always have it so easy,” said the agent, as if reading what
was in Frank’s mind. “Sometimes folks won’t take the books they have
ordered.”

“What do you do then?”

“It depends. If it’s a written order, we show it, and demand that it be
honored.”

The next place to stop at was one where a minister had written that he
wished to look at the illustrated history. The book agent showed the
history and dilated eloquently on its worth and cheapness, but the man
of the church refused to order just then, although he said he might do
so later.

“That was a disappointment,” said Frank, as they hurried off, after half
an hour had been wasted in the effort.

“Oh, you’ll get used to them, if you ever get into this business,”
answered Oscar Klemner, cheerfully.

Frank remained with the agent until dark, visiting twelve homes and
three places of business. He took note of the fact that Oscar Klemner
collected eight dollars, and took orders for twenty-eight dollars’ worth
of books. This made thirty-six dollars in all, upon which the agent’s
commission, at twenty per cent., was $7.20.

“That is certainly a good day’s wages,” thought our hero. “I’d like to
do half as well.”

“How do you like it?” asked the book agent, when the work was over.

“I like it first-rate,” answered Frank. “I’m going to try it, if they’ll
let me.”

“If you do, I wish you luck. But I wouldn’t work around here. Our men
have been through this territory pretty thoroughly.”

On parting with Frank, Oscar Klemner offered our hero a fifty-cent
piece.

“You’ve earned it,” he said.

“I don’t want the money. I am glad I got the experience,” said Frank,
and refused to accept the coin. Soon they parted; and it was many a day
before our hero saw Oscar Klemner again.

Frank did not relish the walk back to Claster, after his tramp all over
Porthaven. But there seemed no help for it, and he struck out as swiftly
as his tired limbs would permit.

“If I’m going to be a book agent, I may as well get used to walking
first as last,” he told himself. Yet, when a lumber wagon bound for
Claster came along, he was glad enough to hop up beside the driver and
ride the last half of the journey. Even then, it was nearly ten o’clock
when he got to his home.

“So you’ve had no luck, Frank?” said Mrs. Hardy. “I am sorry for you.
Have you had any supper?”

“No, mother. But don’t worry; I’ll find a couple of slices of bread or
so.”

“There is some tea on the stove, and some beans and rice pudding in the
pantry, and some cake and berries. You must be very hungry.”

“I’ve got a plan,” said Frank, when he was eating. “I’ll tell you about
it in the morning. It’s too late now.” And as soon as he had satisfied
his hunger he went to bed.

When our hero told his father and his mother of his plan, on the
following morning, both were much surprised.

“A book agent!” cried Mr. Hardy. “I don’t think they earn their salt.”

“Father, you are mistaken,” Frank answered, and then told of his
experience of the day previous. Both of his parents listened with keen
interest.

“That agent must be a remarkable man to earn so much,” said Mrs. Hardy.
“I knew a man here who tried it once, old Randolph Winter. He earned
only a few dollars a week.”

“I guess he wasn’t cut out for an agent,” answered Frank, who knew the
man mentioned to be very lazy and shiftless.

“And so you think you are cut out for an agent, Frank?” demanded his
father.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But I thought it might be worth trying—more
especially as I can’t get anything else to do.”

“Oh, it won’t do any harm to try. But don’t fill your head with any
false hopes, for you may be sadly disappointed.”

“If I try it, I’ll make up my mind to do my level best, and then take
what comes. But I’d like to go to Philadelphia and see those book
publishers first.”

“Very well; I’ll give you the necessary money.”

While Frank was talking the matter over with his parents, Ruth came in
with several letters, and a big package from the post office.

“Here are some books for Frank!” she called out. “And a letter, too.”

“The package is from Mr. Philip Vincent, the gentleman whose spectacles
I picked up at the wreck,” said Frank. “And one of the letters is from
him, too.”

“What does he say, Frank?”

“I’ll read his letter out loud, mother,” answered our hero, and
proceeded to do so.

    “MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND [so ran the communication]: I must ask you to
    pardon me for the delay in sending you the story book I promised.
    The fact of the matter is, I had a sudden call to Chicago on
    business, and just arrived in New York again yesterday.

    “By this same mail I send you two illustrated story books, which I
    trust will please you in every way. Later on I shall send you a new
    book I am about to issue, called the Illustrated Lives of Our
    Presidents, which should prove an inspiration to all young Americans
    like yourself.

    “If you ever come to New York, I shall be glad to see you.

                   “Yours very truly,

                        “PHILIP VINCENT”.

“What beautiful books!” cried Ruth, as she and Frank looked them over.
“I’m sure they’ll be interesting.”

“Hullo! I’ve made a discovery!” ejaculated Frank, who was reading the
printed matter at the head of the letter sheet. “Mr. Vincent is in the
subscription book business besides running a book store.”

“If that is so, you had better apply to him for a position,” put in his
father.

“I don’t know but what I will, father. But it might look forward.”

“Not if you explained matters. Tell him how you met that young fellow,
and how you were on the point of applying to that Philadelphia house for
an opening when his books and the letter came.”

“All right; I’ll do it, and at once.”

                               CHAPTER X

                         FRANK GOES TO NEW YORK

WITHOUT delay Frank sat down and wrote a long letter to Philip Vincent,
telling that gentleman of all that had occurred, and thanking him for
the beautiful books he had forwarded. He added that he wished very much
to try his luck at selling books, and asked if Mr. Vincent could make an
opening for him. This communication he mailed before going to bed.

The next day Frank was busy helping his mother and Ruth around the
house. The servant had been allowed to leave, for Mrs. Hardy did not
wish to pay her wages any longer. As there was no school, Ruth could now
help her mother a great deal, and did so willingly, and Georgie
promised, if Frank went away, to keep the garden in order.

Nothing more had been heard of Jabez Garrison, and Mr. Hardy received
word that he would ere long be called upon to make good the amount for
which he had stood security.

“It’s hard to part with so much money,” said he to his wife. “But there
seems no help for it.”

The crushed foot was mending slowly, but it was evident that it would be
many days before the sufferer would be able to walk upon it once more.

“You will have to give it time,” said the physician. “If you do not you
may be a cripple for life.” And a specialist who was called in gave the
same advice.

Two days after mailing his letter, Frank received a reply from Philip
Vincent. It was short and to the point. In it the book publisher said:

    “I am perfectly willing to give you all the chance possible if you
    wish to make the trial. But let me remind you that you can only win
    out by doing your very best and sticking at it. It is bound to be
    more or less discouraging at the start. If you wish to take hold,
    come to New York soon, for I leave for Boston before long.”

“I like that letter,” was Mr. Hardy’s comment. “There is no nonsense
about it. Some publishers would make an agent believe that all he had to
do was to go out and coin money.”

“Can I go to New York to-morrow, father?” asked Frank, anxiously.

“If you wish.”

“Yes, I want to get at work just as soon as I can.”

“Very well. I will give you the necessary money.”

“It won’t be necessary, father,” answered Frank, with just a little
pride. He had a few dollars of his own, which he had been a good while
in saving.

“You will need money, Frank.”

“I have fourteen dollars.”

“You have? Where did you get so much?”

“I’ve been saving all I could for two or three years.”

“It is very creditable to you, Frank. I am proud of you. If you need
more let me know. You may have to leave a deposit for the books you take
out.”

“That is true, although I fancy Mr. Vincent will trust me.”

Frank’s preparations for leaving home were very simple. He did what he
could around the house, and the next day he dressed himself in his best,
and put his money in his pocket. There was a train for New York at eight
o’clock, and he was at the station at least fifteen minutes before that
time. He bought his ticket, and was the first to board the train when it
arrived.

The ride was something of a novelty, for our hero had not been to the
metropolis before. But he had studied a map of New York diligently, and
he had little difficulty in finding Mr. Vincent’s place of business,
which was located on Nassau Street.

“What can I do for you?” asked one of the clerks as he came forward.

“I would like to see Mr. Vincent,” replied Frank.

“He is busy just now.”

“Then I will wait.”

“Can’t I attend to the business?”

“I think not. I wrote to him, and he sent word for me to come and see
him.”

“What name, please?”

“Frank Hardy.”

The clerk walked to an office in the rear and presently came back.

“Mr. Vincent will see you now,” he said, and showed Frank the way.

“Well, my young friend, I am glad to see you again,” said Philip
Vincent, as he arose from in front of a large roller-top desk and shook
hands. “Take a seat, and I’ll be at liberty in a few minutes.” And then
he turned to his desk again and began to sign some letters.

During the wait Frank glanced around the office curiously. It was
handsomely furnished, with drawings and engravings on the walls. In one
corner, at a typewriter, a private secretary was at work.

“Now, then, I’m at liberty,” said Mr. Vincent, after five minutes had
passed. “How have you been, and how is your father?”

“I’ve been well,” answered Frank, “and my father is doing as well as can
be expected, so far as his foot is concerned. But he has had great
misfortunes otherwise,” and our hero mentioned the Jabez Garrison loss
and the fire.

“That certainly is hard luck,” said Philip Vincent, sympathetically. “He
must be greatly worried.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that is why you want to try your luck at selling books?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve tried to get something else to do—I mean a regular
situation—but I can’t find anything that will pay.”

“I see. Yes, regular positions on a stipulated salary are scarce.”

“I think I can sell books—anyway, I would like to try. I suppose you
don’t object to employing boys.”

“Oh, no. A book sold by a boy will yield us as much profit as one sold
by a man. But it requires talking, and I am afraid a boy could hardly
set forth the merits of the works we offer to induce subscriptions.”

“I can talk pretty well,” said Frank, smiling.

“Yes; but can you talk to the point?” asked Mr. Vincent, shrewdly.

“After I have had a chance to examine the books and understand their
strong points.”

“Yes; it is absolutely necessary to become acquainted with the works one
wants to sell. I have a clerk who knows our books thoroughly. If you
take hold, I’ll have him give you a regular lesson, and also give you a
pamphlet I issue, called: _Aids to Successful Book Selling_.”

“I suppose you issue a great number of books for agents?”

“I have issued a great many during the past fourteen years. But at
present I have only four books which I would advise you to try to
handle. The first question is, do you want to work in the big cities or
in small towns and country places?”

“What is the difference?”

“In the big cities you can take orders for very fine books at high
prices. In country towns and villages you can sell good-looking books
that are cheaper.”

“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Vincent?”

“I think you’ll make more of a success of it selling in small places
first. After you have some experience you can try your luck in one of
the big cities.”

This advice seemed sensible, and our hero determined to follow it.

“If I try my luck in smaller places what would you advise me to try to
sell?”

“I have three works which usually appeal strongly to people in small
places and in farming communities. One is a Guide to Health, a sort of
family doctor book; another is a book on the diseases of all kinds of
cattle and poultry, and the third is a set of thirty world-famous
novels. The first two books sell at three dollars each, and are well
worth it, for they are finely illustrated and contain much valuable
information. The set of famous novels, which represent the best book of
each of thirty famous novelists, sells for twenty dollars, four dollars
when books are delivered, and two dollars per month until the entire
amount is paid.”

“And what commission do you allow agents?”

“On the health book and the cattle book, twenty-five per cent., and on
the famous novels, five dollars for each order which we accept and on
which we obtain at least ten dollars.”

“Then you make an agent wait for his commission on the novels?”

“He has to wait for part of it. He can have two dollars of the
commission as soon as we deliver the books and get our first payment.”

“Does an agent deliver the single books himself and collect?”

“Yes; we collect only on sets.”

“Do you think the center of New Jersey and eastern part of Pennsylvania
good ground to work?”

“Very good, and you might try the interior of New York as well—if you
stick at it long enough.”

“How many books would you advise my taking along?”

“Take one each of the health and cattle books, and one of the famous
novels, with a list of the rest. When you take orders, get the folks to
sign a regular order blank, stipulating when the books are to be
delivered and paid for. Set the delivery so you can deliver books in a
bunch. We can send them to you by express whenever and wherever you
wish.”

“I understand.”

“We have some neat carrying cases for our agents, and I will lend you
one of them, and also furnish you with the necessary pamphlets,
describing the books, and also order blanks.”

“I will pay you for what books I take out, Mr. Vincent.”

“I don’t want you to do that. You can consider the books as samples and
return them to me if you give up the work later. Usually I make an agent
leave a deposit for the books and the case, but I feel I can trust you.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of the books and the case
too.”

“Usually agents are also required to pay for books they order while on
the road. I shall instruct my clerk to give you credit up to fifty
dollars’ worth of goods, so you need not pay for books until after you
deliver them and get your money. Of course, if you buy books and then
cannot make folks take them you can return them to me at full value.”

“You are very kind, sir. I’ll do my best to sell books, Mr. Vincent, not
only for my own sake, but also for yours.”

“I sincerely trust you succeed. But it is hard work, my young friend;
remember that. When I first went to work I received more hard knocks
than dollars.”

“Were you an agent?” questioned Frank, in amazement.

“Yes. I started twenty-six years ago, selling dictionaries and atlases,
and wall maps. My whole capital was exactly seven dollars and a half.”

“You must have been what they call a hustler.”

“I was.” Philip Vincent smiled. “I worked about sixteen hours out of
twenty-four, and I never lost a chance to sell a book or a map if I
could help it. If I stopped at a hotel I did my best to sell the
proprietor a map for his office, and if I was in a small town I would
try to stop overnight at the home of a teacher or minister and sell him
a dictionary or atlas.”

“And did you work from that to this great business?”

“I did. I earned almost every dollar myself. I was alone in the world,
outside of an old aunt, who, when she died, left me exactly a hundred
and ten dollars, and some old furniture that I sold for fifteen
dollars.”

“You ought to be proud of your success.”

“I am proud, in a way. But you can do as well if you will only hustle. I
can see that you are naturally bright, and have a winning way with you.
A winning way counts for a great deal when selling books.”

                               CHAPTER XI

                           FRANK AS AN AGENT

FRANK remained with Mr. Philip Vincent the best part of half an hour,
and then excused himself, for he realized that the book publisher’s time
was valuable. After the interview he was introduced to a clerk, who gave
him his samples with the case, and also the pamphlet on selling, order
blanks, and circulars advertising the books. The clerk also went over
the volumes with our hero, pointing out the good points and the best
illustrations.

“Don’t be discouraged if you don’t get an order the first day you are
out,” said the clerk, on parting. “One of our best agents was out two
days before he received an order.”

“I’ll give it a week’s trial and stick to it like a bulldog to a man’s
leg,” answered Frank, and this raised a laugh, in which he joined.

Now he was in New York, Frank could not resist the temptation to look
around a little. Saying he would call for his sample case later, he left
Mr. Vincent’s store and strolled up Nassau Street until he reached City
Hall Park, and crossing the Park back of the post office, came out on
Broadway.

“New York is certainly a busy place,” was his mental comment, as he
gazed at the crowds of people, and the broad highway filled with trucks
and surface cars. “It’s a regular bee-hive for business.”

Having ample time to spare, he determined to ride uptown as far as
Forty-second Street and take a look at the shops and the Grand Central
Depot.

He was soon on the car, and took a seat near the front door. Scarcely
had he got settled when the door opened and a tall, slab-sided
individual, on whose calculating features “Yankee” was plainly written,
stepped into the car.

“Extry fine day this is,” he remarked to Frank.

“It certainly is,” was our hero’s polite reply.

“Been a fine summer right along.”

“That is true.”

At that moment the conductor came up and Frank handed him a nickel,
which was promptly rung up on the register.

“Fare, please?” said the conductor to the down-east countryman.

“How much’ll it be?” asked the individual addressed, as he pulled out
his wallet.

“Five cents.”

“Five cents! Why, that’s what you charge fer going the hull trip, don’t
you?”

“Yes.”

“And you carry a feller five miles fer five cents?”

“We do,” and now the conductor, a bright young man, began to smile.

“That’s just a cent a mile. Well, now, I ain’t going but a mile—little
short if anything. Thet’ll be just a cent. Here’s the copper.”

So speaking, the countryman drew out a dingy copper cent which had
evidently been stored away for some years. He tried to pass it over, but
the conductor shook his head, while several began to laugh.

“What’s the matter, mister?” asked the individual from down east.

“Can’t take that, Mr. Smith. Our charge is five cents without regard to
distance.”

“Gee shoo! Say, my name ain’t Smith. It’s Perkins—Joel Perkins.”

“All right, Mr. Perkins. We charge five cents no matter how far you go.”

“And do you count that fair?” demanded Joel Perkins. “I’d like to argy
the p’int a little with you. Just supposin’ you was a trader an’ kept
flour to sell, and I and another man came to buy flour. Now, if I took
one barrel and tudder man took five would you think it fair to charge me
jest as much as the other man; come now, answer me fair and square?”

“I can’t stop to argue,” answered the conductor, who was in a hurry to
collect other fares. “Just you pay your five cents, or I’ll call the
police.”

“Gee shoo! I don’t want no police, nohow!” cried Joel Perkins, in alarm.

“Then pay up, and do it right away.”

“Here’s your money,” groaned the countryman, and passed over five cents.
“But it’s a swindle just the same,” he added defiantly.

Frank had been much amused, and it was all he could do to keep from
laughing outright. “I’m glad I’m not so jolly green as all that,” he
thought.

“Bound to get your money away from you somehow,” remarked the countryman
to him, after a pause.

“I know how you can get square,” answered our hero.

“How’s thet?”

“Ride your five miles, and more.”

“By gosh! Thet’s an idee.”

“You can ride more than five miles if you wish.”

“Yes, but if I go too far, I’ll have to pay another five cents to git
back, won’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Then I ain’t goin’ to do it,” answered Joel Perkins. “Where be you
a-going?” he asked, after another pause.

“I’m going up to the Grand Central Depot.”

“Thet’s where I cum in yesterday. I’m from Stoneville, Vermont. Ever
been up that way?”

“No, sir.”

“’Tain’t much of a place. Squire Rasperwick owns almost the hull of it.
His daughter is engaged to marry my nephew, Joe Swallowtail.”

“Is that so?”

“I come down to the city to buy my nephew something nice fer the
wedding. But they ask a pile fer nice things down here. I priced a rug
an’ they wanted twenty-eight dollars fer it. ‘Say, mister,’ sez I, ‘I
don’t want the hull dozen, I only want one.’ And then he told me to git
out o’ the shop.”

“Perhaps you’ll find a cheaper rug somewhere else?”

“Sumbuddy told me to go to the Bowery, but I ain’t going. I know a
feller that went there onct, an’ he got drugged an’ robbed o’ nine
dollars and thirty-four cents. They ain’t going to rob me, not much they
ain’t.”

“I hope not.”

“Do you belong in New York?”

“No; I come from New Jersey.”

“Gosh! Ain’t you afraid to travel around here alone?”

“No.”

“Maybe you work here?”

“No.”

“Where do you work?”

“I am going to start out to-morrow as a book agent.”

“Gee shoo! A book agent. I thought most o’ them fellers was swindlers.”

“Do I look like a swindler?”

“Can’t say as you do, but a feller has to be careful. Wot books do you
sell?”

As well as he was able, Frank described the various volumes to Joel
Perkins. The countryman grew very much interested.

“I’d like to see thet family doctor book, an’ the cattle book,” he
remarked. “Perhaps they would make good wedding presents.”

“You certainly ought to have those books on the farm,” returned Frank,
quickly, and then, seized with a sudden idea, he went on: “Why not come
back with me and let me show you the books? It won’t cost you a cent.”

“But we’ve got to ride back, ain’t we?”

“Yes, but I’ll pay your fare. I know you’ll think the books a bargain
when you see them. Every family ought to have a good doctor’s book, and
every farmer ought to have a good cattle book.”

“Has thet doctor’s book got in it about rheumatism and liver trouble?”

“To be sure it has.”

“And does the cattle book tell about sheep and sech?”

“Yes, sir; and both books have hundreds of pictures, too.”

“Then I’ll look at ’em, an’ if they are good fer anything, I’ll buy
’em,” concluded Joel Perkins.

Frank at once stopped the car and he and the countryman alighted. Then a
car going in the other direction was hailed, and both got on board, and
Frank paid the fare as he had agreed.

“You must be rich?” remarked the countryman.

“No, Mr. Perkins; if I was I wouldn’t be selling books for a living.”

“I suppose thet’s so. You look like a smart, clever boy.”

“Thank you.”

“I like to see a feller strikin’ out fer himself. It shows he’s got
backbone in him. Now, I had to strike out fer myself when I was twelve
years old.”

“Is it possible?”

“Worked on old Jed Scudder’s farm fer a dollar a month an’ found—and Jed
didn’t find me none too good nuther. Sometimes I didn’t git half enough
to eat. But I watched my chances an’ saved every cent, an’ now I got a
farm o’ my own.”

“I am sure you deserve it.”

“I do. I work hard yet—gitting up at five every morning, winter an’
summer, and milkin’ twelve to sixteen keows.”

So the talk ran on until the post office was reached, when both left the
car.

“Now, if you will wait here a minute, I’ll get my case of books,” said
Frank. “I left them in a store a short distance away.”

“Wot place is this?”

“This is the New York post office.”

“Thought it might be, but I wasn’t sure. It’s about the biggest post
office I ever see. Wonder if there’s a letter fer me?”

“You can easily find out, Mr. Perkins. Wait till I find the proper
window for you.”

“Can’t a feller go to any winder?”

“No.”

“To hum, there ain’t but one winder. The post office is in Si Hopper’s
grocery store,” and Joel Perkins chuckled.

Frank found the proper window of the General Delivery, and leaving the
countryman to ask for letters, he ran off down Nassau Street to get his
case of sample goods.

When he got back he found Joel Perkins reading a letter he had received
from one of his daughters. He was greatly pleased over the
communication, and doubly pleased to think it had reached him through
such a big establishment as the New York post office.

“It beats all how they kin keep track o’ a feller,” he remarked. “I
didn’t no more than ask fer a letter than the fellow inside handed it
over. He seemed to be a-waiting fer me to call.”

Having finished his letter, Joel Perkins looked at the two books which
Frank had brought forth for his inspection. Frank showed him the most
important illustrations, and pointed out the chapters on rheumatism in
one volume, and the chapters on sheep and their diseases in the other.

“Wot about liver complaints?” questioned the countryman. “I allow as how
there’s some o’ thet in our family.”

“Here is a whole chapter on liver troubles, with eight pictures of the
liver,” answered our hero.

“Putty good books, ain’t they?”

“Yes, sir. If you buy them you’ll never regret it.”

“And how much did you say they were?”

“Six dollars for the two. They ought to bring five dollars each, but the
publishers want to make them popular, so they put the price at three
dollars per volume.”

“All right, I’ll take ’em.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perkins. If you’ll come with me I’ll get you two copies
that have never been handled.”

“Yes, I want brand-new ones—in case I give ’em to my nephew. But maybe
I’ll keep ’em,” concluded the countryman.

                              CHAPTER XII

                           A BRIGHT BEGINNING

WHEN Frank entered Mr. Vincent’s store and said he wanted a new copy of
each of the three-dollar books, the clerk who filled the order was very
much surprised.

“Didn’t you get your case?” he asked.

“Yes. The two books are sold, and I want to deliver them.”

“Good for you. You haven’t wasted any time, I see.”

Joel Perkins looked the two books over and then Frank had them wrapped
up. With something like a sigh the countryman paid over the six dollars.

“It’s a mountain o’ money fer jest two books,” he said. “But I like you,
an’ I guess it’s all right.”

Frank saw him to the corner of the street, and directed him to the
Brooklyn Bridge, and so they parted. Then the young book agent hurried
back to Philip Vincent’s store.

“Let me congratulate you on your first sale,” said Mr. Vincent, who had
heard of the occurrence through the clerk. “I see you have lost no time.
I think you’ll make a success of it.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Frank. “And, Mr. Vincent, I want to take along
four copies of the health book and four copies of the cattle book. They
won’t weigh much and I may be able to sell them on the spot, as they
say, where folks won’t wait several days or a week for delivery.”

“That is a good plan. Some folks get out of the notion of buying books
if you keep them waiting too long for the volumes.”

“I’ll pay you for the books I’ve sold and also for those I wish to take
along,” added Frank.

“You can pay for what you’ve sold, Frank; the balance I’ll trust you
for,” said the book publisher, and so it was settled.

Having made his first sale, the young book agent was anxious to
continue, and so he concluded to take the first train he could get for
Bardon, a village on the railroad, three miles from Claster. With his
case in one hand and his extra books in the other, he hurried to the
ferry, and was soon on the train.

“I certainly can’t complain of the start I’ve made,” he told himself.
“My commission on the two books is a dollar and a half. If I sell four
books a day I’ll be making three dollars, and three dollars a day is
eighteen dollars a week. That is more than many a man earns. But perhaps
I won’t be able to sell so many books. Yet I’m going to try my best.”

It was a ride of nearly two hours to Bardon, and the young book agent
spent the time in studying the books he wanted to sell, and also in
reading over the hints to agents and the other pamphlets furnished him.
He was naturally quick to grasp anything new, and by the time he had
finished he felt himself able to talk intelligently about all of his
wares.

Having sat in one position for over an hour he felt somewhat cramped,
and so moved from one car to the next, just for the exercise.

He was passing through the second car when he came face to face with a
gentleman who had once lived in Claster, but who had moved to Newark.

“How do you do, Frank?” said the gentleman, whose name was Robert
Begoin. He was a lawyer and had once done a little legal business for
Mr. Hardy.

“How are you, Mr. Begoin?” answered our hero, and paused. Then the
lawyer held out his hand and they shook hands.

“Sit down. Going home, I suppose?”

“I am going to Bardon first.”

“Is that so? So am I. How are your folks these days, Frank?”

“Father is getting along as well as can be expected, sir.”

“Why, has he been sick?”

“No, sir, but he met with an accident,” and our hero related some of the
particulars.

“That is too bad. Well, your father can make the railroad foot the
bill.”

“So they say.”

“To be sure he can. Has he had legal advice yet?”

“I think not.”

“Then tell him, for me, that he had better do nothing with the company
until he gets advice from a lawyer.”

“I’ll tell him. But why is that best, if I may ask?”

“If he is not careful they will pay him some small amount, and then get
him to sign papers releasing them from further obligations. I know a
woman whose husband was killed on the railroad. She accepted five
hundred dollars, and released the railroad. If she had brought suit she
might have got ten or fifteen thousand dollars.”

“I see. Will you be in Claster one of these days?”

“I am going there day after to-morrow.”

“Then I wish you’d call on father. I know he’d like to see you, and
perhaps he will want to retain you as his lawyer.”

“Certainly I’ll call on him. But I don’t want to force my services on
him,” answered Robert Begoin.

“I know that, sir. I’ll tell him I met you and that I asked you to
call.”

“What are you doing for a living? I see you have a case of goods with
you.”

“I am selling books.”

“Indeed? What sort of books?”

“I’ll show you,” answered Frank, and lost no time in bringing out the
various volumes. The lawyer was not particularly interested in the
health book or the cattle book, but took pleasure in looking over the
set of novels by famous authors.

“I have always thought I’d like something like this,” he said. “I do not
care to have all the works of each author, even if that person happens
to be famous. I want the cream of their writings.”

“Well, you get the cream, and nothing but the cream in this set,” said
Frank. “It is certainly a set of books that ought to be in every
library. The print is large, the paper first-class, and you can see that
the binding is very handsome and durable. The illustrations are by the
best artists.”

“And what is such a set worth?”

“Twenty dollars, in this binding, and if you want the half-calf
binding—the very best—the price is thirty dollars.”

“That is certainly a fair value for the money. Can you deliver the books
to my residence in Newark?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I will take a set in half-calf. When will I get them?”

“I’ll send in the order to-night. The books ought to come by the day
after to-morrow.”

“All right. And how do you want your pay?”

“You can pay when you get the books, Mr. Begoin,” answered Frank. He
knew the lawyer would not wish to pay in installments, and so said
nothing on that point.

“Very well, I’ll make note of it,” said Robert Begoin, and put it down
in a little vest-pocket blank book he carried.

“I am very much obliged to you for the order,” went on Frank, as he
packed up his books once more, and took the lawyer’s home address.
“Those are the kind of orders I like to get.”

“I hope selling books pays you, Frank.”

“I don’t know how much it will pay me yet. This is my first day at it.”

“Is that so! Why, you talked as if you were an old hand at the
business.”

“Did I? I am glad to hear it. I was afraid folks would take me for a
greeny.”

“I didn’t take you for one, and I think I can read people pretty well.
You evidently like the work.”

“I do, Mr. Begoin.”

“That is half the battle—to be in love with one’s occupation. A man
can’t be a lawyer unless he likes it, and is cut out for it—and the same
with a book agent. Is this your first sale?”

“No, sir,” and Frank related how he had fallen in with Joel Perkins and
sold him the two volumes. The lawyer from Newark laughed heartily.

“You certainly took time by the forelock,” he said.

“I made a dollar and a half on that sale.”

“Good! And I presume you will make a little more on the books you have
sold me.”

“The publisher allows me five dollars on each order in ordinary binding
and seven dollars for an order in half-calf.”

“Then your sales to-day will bring you in eight dollars and a half.
You’ll soon get rich at that rate.”

“I don’t expect such success every day.”

“No, it would be looking for too much. You may have days when you won’t
sell a volume.”

“Perhaps—but I am going to try my best to sell at least one book every
day.”

The train was now approaching Bardon, and in a few minutes the two
alighted and Frank bid the lawyer good-by.

“I’ll tell father you’ll call,” said he.

“Very well,” answered Robert Begoin.

Bardon contained only a handful of stores and not over twoscore of
houses. Anxious to sell all the books he could, Frank visited the first
store next to the depot. It was a grocery, and the proprietor was busy
over his books.

“What can I do for you, young man?” he asked, abruptly.

“If you have a few minutes to spare, I’d like to show you some books,”
answered Frank.

“Don’t want any books,” was the curt reply.

“I have a very fine family doctor book that——”

“Don’t want any books.”

“It won’t cost anything to look at them.”

“Yes, it will—it will cost my time. I don’t want to be bothered,”
grumbled the storekeeper, and seeing he could do nothing with the man
our hero left the place.

“Failure Number One,” he murmured, grimly. “Well, I am not going to let
it discourage me.”

The next place was a butcher shop, and Frank found the proprietor
chopping meat on his block.

“Vot vill you haf?” demanded the butcher, who was a round-faced, jolly
fellow.

“I’d like to show you some books.”

“Ach, yah, I vos vaiting for you. Vait till I got dis meat chobbed. Den
I buy me a pook,” said the butcher.

Frank waited for a moment, wondering if the butcher really meant to buy
a book, or if he was only fooling.

“I have a family doctor book and one on cattle and poultry, and their
diseases,” he went on, opening his case.

“Vot is dot?” The butcher stopped chopping meat and stared at him.

Frank repeated what he had said, and showed the books. The fat butcher
commenced to laugh.

“I ton’t want me dose pooks,” he said. “I ton’t read English; I read
Cherman. I dink me you got some plank pooks to sell. I vant a plank book
to write down orders in. See, like dis,” and he held up a counter book.

He was so good-natured that Frank had to laugh with him. “I see,” he
said and packed up his books again. “When I am selling blank books I’ll
come around and see you.” He walked to the door, and then came back.
“What do you pay for such a book as that?”

“Dwenty cents.”

“Could you use half a dozen of them if I got them for you?”

“Yah, I dake a dozen, den I got pooks enough for a long dimes.”

“All right, I’ll get you a dozen next week,” and Frank put the order on
a blank sheet of paper he carried. At a wholesale stationer’s place in
New York he had seen such books in the window at a dollar and a quarter
a dozen. He knew he could send the money for them and have them shipped
to him by freight at a cost of not more than twenty or thirty cents.

From the butcher shop Frank went to the remaining stores, and then to
the first of the private dwellings. At the latter place he met a shrewd
middle-aged man, who looked his cattle and poultry book over with keen
interest.

“That’s a pretty good book,” he said. “How much?”

“Three dollars.”

“It isn’t worth it. I’ll give you a dollar and a half.”

“No, sir, the price is three dollars, and I think you’ll find it worth
every cent of it.”

“I’ll give you two dollars.”

“Sorry, but I can’t do it.”

“Then make it two and a half.”

“I would if I could, but I am not allowed to cut the price.”

At this the man sighed.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to pay what you ask. Have you a nice, clean
copy with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, hand it over.”

“I can get it for you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Then do it.”

Leaving his case with the man, Frank ran back to the depot, where he had
left his package with the ticket seller. He had been cautioned not to
sell books right out of hand, for in many places to do that would
require a peddler’s license. Soon he came back with the volume.

“It didn’t take you long,” said the would-be purchaser.

“No, sir, I ran all the way.”

“Humph! So you won’t take less than three dollars?”

“I can’t. But I tell you what I’ll do. I see you have some chickens for
sale.”

“Yes, all you want.”

“What will you charge for a nice chicken, cleaned and dressed? My father
is home sick and I’d like to take one to him.”

“I’ll let you have your pick for sixty cents.”

“Then I’ll take one,” answered Frank.

                              CHAPTER XIII

                           FRANK ON THE ROAD

HALF an hour later found Frank on his way home by way of the stage which
ran between Bardon, Claster, and half a dozen other points. He had his
books in one hand and a fine, fat chicken, cleaned and dressed, in the
other.

“I’ve certainly had a splendid start,” said he to himself. “I’ve sold
thirty-nine dollars’ worth of books and made nine dollars and a quarter.
If I do as well every day I’ll soon be rich.”

It was dark when he reached home, and it must be confessed that he was
very tired, and his arms ached not a little from carrying the books. Yet
he could not help but whistle as he entered the house, so light was his
heart. Frisky greeted him with short, sharp barks of delight.

“Glad to see me, aren’t you?” cried Frank, and putting his books on the
hall rack, he patted the dog.

“You must feel happy, Frank,” cried Ruth, who came into the hall to
greet him.

“I do feel happy.”

“Then you got an agency for those books?”

“I did more, Ruth—I’ve sold some of the books.”

“Good for you!”

The family had already eaten supper, but a generous portion had been
saved for our hero.

“Here’s a chicken I brought from Bardon,” said Frank. “I bought it from
a man because he bought a book from me,” he explained.

“It is a nice fowl,” answered his mother, after an examination. “So you
got your books and have begun to sell them? You were fortunate.”

“Let’s go up to father’s room, and I’ll tell you all about it, mother.”

The whole family gathered in the patient’s room to hear what Frank might
have to say. Mr. Hardy was now able to move around the room a little
bit, but could not go downstairs.

It was a long story, but all listened with deep interest to all our hero
had to say.

“And you have really sold thirty-nine dollars worth of books, Frank!”
ejaculated his father, in amazement. “It is wonderful. I did not think
any agent could do so well.”

“And to think his commission is over nine dollars!” put in Ruth. “Oh,
Frank, you’ll be a millionaire!”

“Hardly,” he answered, with a short laugh.

“You must remember that Mr. Begoin’s order alone amounted to thirty
dollars. If it had not been for that my commission would have been only
two dollars and twenty-five cents.”

“But even that is very good,” put in Mrs. Hardy.

“I am glad you spoke to the lawyer,” came from Mr. Hardy. “I shall be
glad to see him. I want to know how I stand in this matter of damages
from the railroad, and also how I stand in this Garrison case. I am not
up in legal matters, and need somebody to straighten out the tangle for
me.”

“I’ve got to send in that order for the set of books to-night,”
continued Frank. “And I want to get those blank books too.” And he wrote
out the necessary orders without delay. For the blank books he obtained
a post-office money order, and sent off the letters before retiring.

It must be admitted that Frank slept but little that night. His head was
filled with schemes for selling books. He felt that, if he had not
struck a bonanza, he had at least struck something that promised very
well, and he was resolved to work it “for all it was worth,” as he
expressed it.

Like many another person taking up an agency, Frank had a feeling
against working close around home, and so resolved to cover a number of
towns and country places to the west of Claster. This would keep him
from home perhaps a few nights at a time, and he had his mother put some
things in a valise for his personal use.

“You’ll be loaded down, with your books and your valise,” said Mrs.
Hardy.

“Never mind, mother, I’ll get used to carrying them,” he answered,
bravely.

Frank left home at nine o’clock the following morning. He took the stage
for Fairport, which was fifteen miles away. Fairport was a center for
villages and farms several miles around, and the young book agent felt
he could find enough to do in that vicinity for at least a week, if not
longer.

He already knew of a cheap but respectable hotel at Fairport, and
arriving at the town made his way thither.

“How much will you charge me for a room, with breakfast and supper, for
a few days or a week?” he asked of the proprietor.

“Don’t want dinner?”

“No, sir! I’ll be away during the day.”

“A dollar a day as long as you stay.”

“All right, sir. Here is my valise, and I’ll start from supper
to-night.”

“Very well. You can register, and your room will be Number 21.”

Frank placed his name in the hotel book and then, after brushing up a
bit, set out with his case of books in his hand, to see what he could
do. The extra volumes he had brought along he left at the hotel.

He had an idea that he could do better just outside of the town than in
it, and so took to a road which led to another settlement two miles
away.

He soon came to a neat-looking farmhouse, and going up to the front
door, rang the bell. A tall, thin woman, with a hard face, came to
answer his summons.

“Good-morning, madam,” began Frank politely.

“What do you want, young man?” the woman demanded, briefly.

“If you have a few minutes to spare I’d like to call your attention to
several books I am selling.”

“Books! You get right out of this doorway, or I’ll set our dog on you!”
she cried, shrilly. “What impudence! To take me from my baking like
this!” And she slammed the door in Frank’s face.

It was certainly a cold reception, and the young book agent’s face grew
red with mortification. He was on the point of making an angry retort,
but checked himself, and, instead, left the yard whistling merrily.

“That was a flat failure,” he reasoned. “But as I am bound to have them
I must make the best of them.”

He visited three farmhouses in succession, but nobody cared to buy
books. Some said they had too many books already, and others said they
had no money to spare.

It was now noon, and Frank’s face grew sober as he realized that half
the day was gone and he had not sold a single volume. Was his bright
prospect of the day previous to vanish after all?

“I’ve got to sell something, that’s certain,” he muttered, as he set his
teeth hard. “Now, the very next call must mean a book sold.”

The next farmhouse soon came to view. As he walked up to the door he saw
that the woman of the place and two men, evidently a father and son,
were eating their dinner.

“Excuse me, madam,” said he, struck by a sudden thought. “But would you
care to sell me a dinner? I don’t care to go away back to the hotel at
Fairport.”

The farmer’s wife looked him over carefully.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Frank Hardy. I’m selling books for a living.”

“What does he want, Martha?” asked the husband.

“Wants to buy his dinner. He’s selling books.”

“Well, sell him a dinner if he wants it.”

“All right, you can come in, Mr. Hardy.”

“How much will it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know—about twenty cents, I guess.”

“Thank you, that’s cheap enough.”

Frank was soon in the house, and having washed his hands at the kitchen
sink, sat down to the table. A really liberal meal for twenty cents was
set before him.

“Like to look at some of my books?” he asked of the farmer, who had
about finished his repast.

“I dunno.”

“It won’t cost you anything. Here you are. Look them over all you
please,” and Frank passed over the health book and the cattle and
poultry work. Then, without saying more he continued to eat what was set
before him.

“This here cattle book is quite something,” said the farmer, after a
spell of silence. “I think Bill Judkins has one of ’em.”

“This is the latest and best—just issued last fall,” returned Frank. “It
is thoroughly up-to-date, and tells of the latest methods of treating
cattle and poultry for all sorts of diseases.”

“Samuel, you ought to have such a book,” put in the farmer’s wife.
“Don’t you think so, Hiram?”

“Might be a good idee,” responded the son, who was about twenty years of
age and six feet two inches in height. “Might be we wouldn’t hev lost
thet cow last month if we’d known what was the matter of her.”

“Here is a chapter on cows,” said Frank, turning to it. “Here are the
diseases, and here are the remedies.”

“By gum! That’s what was the matter o’ our cow!” exclaimed Hiram,
looking into the book. “Here’s the medicine to give fer it, too. It’s
too bad, pop, we didn’t have such a book when she tuk sick.”

“How much is a book like thet?” questioned the farmer, cautiously. “I
can’t afford no fancy figure.”

“There is the price right on the front page,” answered Frank. “Three
dollars, no more and no less, and the same price to all.”

The way he said this made the farmer’s son laugh.

“Reckon you’re a book agent right enough,” he observed. “Bet you kin
talk like one of them patent medicine men as travels around, can’t you?”

“I can talk about these books, because I understand them.” He turned to
the farmer’s wife. “It’s just like this pie. You know how to make it,
and that’s why it’s good.”

She smiled broadly.

“Do you want another piece?”

“Don’t know that I am entitled to it, ma’am—but it’s mighty good.”

“Yes, you can have it,” she answered, and got another piece from a side
table. Then she turned again to her husband. “You might better take the
book, Samuel.”

“Guess as how I will.” And the farmer went upstairs to get the money.

“You can pay me to-morrow, when I bring the book,” said Frank. “This is
only my sample. I’ll bring you a nice, clean copy.”

“Good for you.”

“What do you think of the other book?” went on the young book agent. “If
you have one book with which to doctor your cattle and poultry, you
ought to have another with which to doctor yourself.”

“Haw! haw! haw!” roared Hiram. “Thet’s a good joke.”

“Betty Daws has a family doctor book,” said the farmer’s wife. “She says
it saves her many a spell of sickness.”

“Do you ever have much sickness?” asked Frank.

“Sometimes. Father, he had chills and fever, and Hiram had an earache.”

“Here is an article on chills and fever, and here is another on earache
and how to cure it.”

“Gosh, if it tells how to cure earache I want the book,” put in Hiram.
“Tell you what I’ll do, ma. It’s your birthday next Tuesday. I’ll buy
you a book for a present.”

“Thank you, Hiram, it will be very nice,” answered his mother.

Frank remained at the farmhouse a short while longer, and then started
to pay for the dinner he had had.

“Never mind that,” said the farmer’s wife. “Take it out of the price of
the books when you bring them,” and so it was settled.

                              CHAPTER XIV

                             A BOY RUNAWAY

WHEN Frank left the farmhouse he felt in high spirits once more.
Stopping there for dinner had helped him to take orders for two books,
on which his profit would be a dollar and a half.

“I’d like to stop for dinner every day, on such terms,” he told himself.
“In fact, I think I’d try to eat two dinners a day.”

The next place was quite a distance away, and the walk was a hot and
dusty one. Yet he did not mind it, and went along whistling as
cheerfully as ever.

Presently he came to a bend in the road where there was a big elm tree,
and in the shade he paused for a while to rest.

He was about to move on when he saw a lad of twelve or thirteen with a
bundle, tied in a blue cloth, approaching. At first he took the stranger
to be a peddler, but soon saw that he was a farmer lad. He had evidently
traveled far and was tired out and covered with dust.

“Hullo,” said Frank. “How far is it to the next house?”

“Hullo,” returned the boy, wearily. “The next house is just beyond
yonder trees.” He paused and threw down his bundle in the shade. “Say,
it’s hot, ain’t it?”

“Pretty warm,” answered our hero. “You look as if you had done some
traveling to-day.”

“Tramped ever since six o’clock this morning.”

“Is that so! Then you’ve covered a good many miles.”

“I haven’t covered as many as I thought I would. I was going to get to
Fairport by dinner time. What time is it now?”

Frank consulted a silver watch he carried.

“Nearly two o’clock.”

“I thought so—by the feeling in my stomach.”

“Then you haven’t had any dinner?”

“Haven’t had any breakfast yet, excepting one doughnut.”

“Why—er—what’s the matter?”

“You won’t tell, will you?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I suppose it won’t make much difference if I do tell you. I’m running
away from home.”

“Running away? What for?”

“Dad wants me to work all the time. He won’t give me no time to play.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m going to the city to make my fortune.”

“That’s uphill work.”

“Maybe it is. But I read in a book how a boy went to the city and helped
a Wall Street man, and got to be worth three million dollars. I’m going
to help a Wall Street man if I can find one.”

“I’m afraid you’ll never find that kind. What kind of a book did you
read that story in?”

“A book they called a five-cent library. It had a colored picture on the
cover. The story was called ‘Clever Carl; or, From Office Boy to
Millionaire.’ Say, but Carl was a wonder!”

“He must have been—in the book. Don’t you know all such stories are
fiction pure and simple.”

“Fiction? What do you mean?”

“They are not true. If Carl went to the city it’s more than likely he’d
have to work as hard as anybody to make a living. Of course, he might,
in the end, become a millionaire, but the chances are a million to one
against it.”

At this announcement the boy’s face fell, and he wiped his perspiring
and dusty face with a handkerchief.

“Don’t you think I can make my fortune in the city?”

“You mean in New York?”

“Yes.”

“No, I don’t—at least, not for many years. You’ll be lucky if you strike
any kind of a job. Thousands of boys are looking for work every day
without finding it.”

“Can’t I get in Wall Street?”

“Not any quicker than in any other street. Somebody might hire you to
clean the office and run errands, for two or three dollars a week.”

“I shouldn’t care to do that.”

“What would you want to do?”

“I should want to be a cashier. That’s what Carl was.”

“My advice to you is, to turn around and go home,” said Frank, severely.
“If you get to New York more than likely, unless you have money, you’ll
starve to death.”

“I’ve got eighty-seven cents.”

“That won’t keep you more than a day or two. Don’t you go to school?”

“Of course, when it’s open.”

“How much work do you have to do?”

“More than I want to do. Yesterday I wanted to go fishing, but dad made
me stay home and chop wood.”

“How much wood?”

“Six basketfuls.”

“That isn’t so much. One day last week I chopped wood enough to fill a
dozen baskets.”

“Do you chop wood?”

“Certainly—whenever it is needed.”

“Where do you belong?”

“Over to Claster.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I sell books for a living.”

“Story books?”

“I sell a set of famous novels, but the other books are not story
books.”

“And do you have to tramp around from house to house?”

“Yes.”

“It must be hard work.”

“It is.”

The boy heaved a long sigh. Evidently walking such a long distance had
taken away some of the romance of leaving home.

“What will your mother say to your running away?” went on Frank, kindly.

“I—I don’t know.”

“She’ll be awfully worried. More than likely she won’t sleep a wink
to-night, thinking about you.”

At this the boy grew very sober.

“What is your name?”

“Bobby Frost.”

“Then, Bobby, take my advice, and go straight home. It’s the very best
thing you can do.”

“Dad’ll lick me for running away.”

“Maybe not, if you promise to behave in the future.”

“I’d go back if I was sure he wouldn’t lick me.”

“Go back by all means.”

“I’m awfully hungry and thirsty,” said Bobby, after a long pause.

“Maybe they’ll let you have a dinner at the next farmhouse, if you’ll
pay for it.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Then come on with me. And maybe you can get a ride part of the way
back.”

Frank arose and so did the boy. Soon they were tramping the road side by
side, and kept on until the next farmhouse was reached. A tidy-looking
young woman came to greet them.