Bound to Succeed: or, Mail Order Frank's Chances

CHAPTER XIII

A GOOD START

Frank did not go to sleep again, he couldn’t. As he lay there, it seemed to him as though every nerve in his body was wide awake and on a terrific tension.

Frank had heard of some of the great inventions of the world discovered in a dream. Had he, too, in a dream, or a half-waking doze, had the same experience.

“It came like a flash,” he reflected. “It’s plain as day now. The apple corer improved, remodeled, in perfect working order and a success. Oh, I simply can’t lie here.”

Frank wriggled and tossed restlessly. Then, when he was certain that Markham was asleep again, he slipped quietly out of bed, put on part of his clothes and glided noiselessly downstairs.

Frank softly closed the store door communicating with the hallway. He lit a lamp and went over to a counter containing the great heap of apple corers.

He selected one, got a sheet of tin and a pair of stovepipe shears, and became engrossed in cutting out and forming cones, funnels and all kinds of odd-shaped contrivances.

For fully two hours Frank was working at his task. He seemed to be supplying the crude apple corer with an inner sheath, to which he had supplied a small three-bladed device. He turned it about, altered it, worked over it, and a broad smile of satisfaction stole across his face as he progressed.

“Frank, this is not sleeping.”

Frank looked up from his task, quite startled, to find his mother standing a few feet away, watching him.

“I know it isn’t, mother,” he responded gaily. “It’s work, good work, too, so it couldn’t wait.”

“But, Frank – ”

“Listen, mother,” he said, “I have dreamed out an invention. Really I have. If my improved apple corer works as I think it will, this is a lucky spell of wakefulness. I don’t want to say much about it till I am sure of it, but I believe I have invented something practical and of value.”

Frank treasured his little model in his pocket, and consented to go back to bed now. He was up bright and early. First thing he was down in his work shop. At breakfast he was more quiet than usual. Frank was doing a great deal of thinking.

“I have certainly got the patent right bee in my bonnet,” he reflected. “It’s a fascinating little insect. Ah, Markham, we were going to let you sleep till you were rested up completely,” added Frank, as their guest put in an appearance.

Markham was pleasant, polite and contented. He put some things in order for Mrs. Ismond, offered to help her with the dishes, and went downstairs finally to join Frank.

“Now then,” he said briskly, “I’m fed up and rested up – what is there to do?”

Frank explained about the needle packages. He told Markham as well as he could what towns in the vicinity had been covered.

“There’s a row of little settlements to the east,” he explained. “You can use my bicycle if you like and give them a call.”

“This is real life,” jubilated Markham, as he set off on the wheel with a hundred packages of the needles done up in a cardboard box.

Frank received visits from several of his boy employes that morning. Then he set about disposing of some odds and ends of the salvage stock about town.

From two till five o’clock he was busy working on his “patent.” From then until six o’clock he wrote several letters, went out and mailed them, and kept thinking and planning on the mail order business.

Markham, dusty and tired, wheeled up to the store about seven o’clock. He had an immense bouquet of wild flowers, which delighted Mrs. Ismond, to whom he gracefully presented it.

“What a day it has been for me,” he exclaimed, after a good wash up. “Why, I seem to be free, really free for the first time in my life – the pretty roads, the lovely flowers, the sweet singing birds – ”

“And the needles?” suggested practical Frank.

“Oh, I sold them before noon,” said Markham, indifferently.

“All of them?”

“Fifteen packages to one little country store. Knocked a cent off my profit, but time counts, you know.”

“I sent an order to the city for a gross of those false moustaches,” announced Frank.

“You did?” exclaimed Markham. “That’s famous! When will they be here?”

“Day after to-morrow, I think. Then I’m going down to Riverton to collect some bills. I calculate it will take about three days to clean up the lot. Mother, you must run the business here while I’m gone. We will have to stay at Riverton nights.”

“Shall I keep on with the needles?” asked Markham.

“Yes, but not here. We will make Riverton headquarters for this trip. You can come with me, and try the false moustaches on the community.”

“Some needles, too,” said Markham. “I’ll guarantee to sell a gross of the moustaches in two days.”

Markham did quite as well the second day as he had the first. It pleased Frank to note how he seemed emerging from a worried-looking, distressed refugee into a bright, laughing, happy boy. Mrs. Ismond had taken a great liking to him, and he seemed never tired of helping Frank with his chores clear up to bed time.

The moustaches arrived the next afternoon. They had a merry evening, Markham applying moustache, goatee and false teeth to his face, and giving character imitations thus disguised, which he had seen at some show.

Frank hired a light wagon and horse for three days, and the next morning he and Markham drove over to Riverton. They arranged for a cheap lodging, and separated. Frank had routed the bills he had to collect systematically. The first batch took in a twenty miles circuit among farmers.

When evening came he had presented bills amounting to about two hundred dollars. As the horse walked slowly back the road to Riverton, Frank figured out the day’s results.

“Pretty good,” he said, running over the paper slips in a package. “I have collected forty-four dollars and eighty cents – got twenty dollars in sixty days’ notes, four promises to pay, four people call again, three parties moved away, and six bills no good.”

Frank drove leisurely down the principal street of Riverton, bound for the livery stable where he had arranged to put up the horse during their sojourn in town.

He halted with some curiosity and amusement at a corner where a crowd was gathered. Mounted on a dry goods box, Markham was addressing a large and jolly audience.

He was giving character sketches in a really entertaining way. After every sally of laughter he would ply his wares. Everybody seemed buying.

“He’s a bright fellow and a first-class peddler,” Frank reflected, as he continued on his way, unobserved by the friend he had started in business.

“All sold out and the public hungry for more,” announced Markham, as he joined Frank on agreement at a restaurant. “Those false teeth also. I’ll bet fifty people asked for them. Say, it would pay to wire a quick duplicate order on the moustaches and a gross of the teeth. I can certainly sell the outfit before we leave this town.”

“I’ll see if I can’t arrange it,” said Frank, and after supper he did so. Frank got track of a purchasing agent, who for a small commission went daily from Riverton to the city, bringing back with him what light stuff he could carry in his two valises – all the baggage the railroad company would allow through free.

Just at dusk Saturday evening the two friends started cheerily homewards. Frank had made exactly thirty-eight dollars for his three days’ work. Markham’s profits amounted to a little over seventeen dollars.

“I want you to be my banker, Frank,” he said. “Haven’t I done quite well? Next week I’ll cut a still wider swath.”

“Not peddling, Markham,” said Frank.

“Why not?” inquired Markham, in some surprise.

“Well, I’ll tell you. To-night about closes up what business I have in hand. You know all my hopes and plans tend towards starting a mail order business. We would soon exhaust this district, selling on a small scale. I want to reach a wider one. I have found out what takes with the public. Next week I am going to gather together what we have, and move to another town.”

Markham’s face fell. He looked a trifle uneasy.

“Nearer the city?” he asked, in quite an anxious tone.

“No, nearly a hundred and fifty miles north of here. The fact is, Markham, I am going to move to Pleasantville. I have some rare, royal friends there. Two of them, Darry and Bob Haven, are in the printing business. They own and publish a weekly newspaper. They can help me immensely. Then there is a mightier reason, too, for locating at Pleasantville.”

“What’s that, Frank?” asked the interested Markham.

“A man named Dawes runs a novelty factory there – makes all kinds of little hardware specialties. It is just the place to manufacture my apple corer, if it is a success. If it is not, I can advertise the list he already manufactures, and get up something else.”

“There’s a good deal of money in those little devices when a fellow gets up the right thing, I suppose?” asked Markham.

“Sure, anything new and handy goes great,” responded Frank. “I have read of a dozen little simple inventions that have made a great fortune for the owners.”

Markham was studiously silent for a few minutes. Then he asked:

“Do they make things in wire at that Pleasantville factory – I mean, do they have the material and machinery to make wire things?”

“If not, they can easily get them,” answered Frank. “Why do you ask, Markham?”

“Well,” said Markham, with a little conscious laugh, “the truth is, I have invented something myself.”

CHAPTER XIV

A MEAN ENEMY

“You have invented something yourself?” repeated Frank, with a good deal of curiosity.

“Yes,” nodded Markham.

“What is it?”

“A puzzle.”

“What kind of a puzzle?” pressed Frank.

“I’ll show it to you,” said Markham, fishing in his pocket. “There it is. I don’t suppose it’s much,” he continued in a deprecating way, “though two or three fellows who saw it said it was quite clever.”

Frank inspected the article his companion now handed him with a good deal of interest. It was roughly made of wire. There was a ring linked into a triangle, and the latter linked onto two other rings. The lower one of these had a link connected with a wire square. Lying loose around this link was a larger ring of wire.

“What’s the puzzle?” inquired Frank, looking over the little device.

“To get that big ring over all the other rings, the little square and the triangle.”

“Oh, I see,” said Frank, working at the device industriously, but finally asking: “Can it be done?”

“Readily – look here,” and Markham, taking the puzzle, deftly slipped the ring over all the obstacles, and then worked it back again into its original place.

“I say, that is mighty clever,” declared Frank. “Show me slower, now. The slip over the triangle is the trick, eh? Good! Markham, that thing would sell like hot cakes.”

“Think so?” asked Markham, seriously.

“I certainly do. If I was started in the mail order business, I wouldn’t hesitate to illustrate and advertise it in my catalogue.”

“Well,” said Markham, “that pleases me, for I can show in a small way my appreciation of all your kindness to me. Frank, I give it to you. If it’s worth patenting, all right. I know it’s original. It’s yours, freely.”

“On royalty – yes,” answered Frank. “I’ll have some nicely finished models made when we get to Pleasantville. We’re getting to be great business men, aren’t we, Markham, talking about patents and royalties? How did you come to make the thing, anyhow?”

“Oh, I was for – for a long time in a place where there was lots of wire,” explained Markham lamely. “I had too much leisure. It bored me. I had to find something to work at to kill time.”

The old gloom that Frank did not like came into the boy’s face as he spoke. Frank drifted off into generalizations on his mail order dreams to lead his mind into more pleasant channels.

There was a great confab at the supper table that evening. Frank told his mother all his plans in detail. She had too much confidence in his good judgment to oppose his wishes.

“I will be glad to get anywhere away from a place where I have seen so much sorrow,” she said. “Besides that, the Haven boys and Bart Stirling and their friends are certainly good friends of yours. Has my son ever told you of the lives he saved at the great fire at the Pleasantville hotel?” Mrs. Ismond asked of Markham.

“Oh, pshaw, mother,” said Frank – “don’t go to lionizing me, now.”

His mother was fondly persistent, however, and Markham, with gleaming eyes, was soon reading a treasured newspaper clipping telling of Frank’s heroic exploit, as already related in detail in “Two Boy Publishers.”

“That’s fine,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, “and I’m proud to know your son, Mrs. Ismond.”

The next day Frank wrote a report to Mr. Morton about the collections. He returned the unpaid bills with notations as to the condition of each claim, explaining that he was going to move to a distant town, and naming Mr. Buckner as a reliable man to follow up the collections.

Frank saw their lawyer, Mr. Beach. The attorney stated that their suit against Dorsett would not be tried for over a year. He took Mrs. Ismond’s new address, and promised to look out for her interests.

Then Frank arranged to sell off some of their furniture. It took two days to pack up the rest. Tuesday morning early all arrangements had been completed for their removal. They had engaged a freight car to carry their belongings to Pleasantville.

Frank closed up his business with Nelson Cady and the other boys. The old store building was vacated. Markham was to go with them to Pleasantville.

Mrs. Ismond was to spend the day until train time with an old neighbor. Frank and Markham were also invited there to dinner.

They had just finished the meal. Frank was looking over a time-table and telling of a letter he had received from Darry Haven that morning, when there came a thundering knock at the front door.

“Frank,” said Mrs. Ismond, in quite a startled tone, as her hostess opened the front door, “it is that man, Mr. Dorsett.”

“Is the widow Ismond here?” demanded Dorsett’s gruff tones.

“Mrs. Ismond is here, yes,” replied her friend. “Won’t you come in, sir?”

“No,” sneered Dorsett, “short and sweet is my errand.”

“What do you want of my mother, Mr. Dorsett?” demanded Frank, stepping to the open doorway.

“Oh, you’re here, are you?” snarled Dorsett.

“Frank, do not have any words with him,” spoke Mrs. Ismond, hastening to her son’s side.

Dorsett stood outside. With him was a low-browed fellow whom Frank recognized as a chronic hanger-on about the village justice’s place.

“I’ve come – with my deputy and witness, ma’am,” announced Dorsett, “to inform you that I have learned that you are about to leave town.”

“Yes, that is correct,” answered Mrs. Ismond.

“Very well, then here,” and he produced a legal-looking slip of paper, “is a little bill you will have to settle first.”

“We owe you nothing that I am aware of,” said Mrs. Ismond.

“Mistake,” snapped Dorsett. “When I sued on my claim to your homestead, I entered judgment against you for the costs of court. There’s the amount – fifty-seven dollars.”

“And not satisfied with robbing me of my home and my income, in fact everything I had in the world, you have the heartlessness to press such a claim as this at such a time?” asked Mrs. Ismond bitterly.

“Law is law,” prated the mean old usurer.

“Why have you never mentioned this before?” demanded Frank, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Because, you insolent young snip,” retorted old Dorsett, “I wanted to pay you off for some of your fine airs.”

“Well, Mr. Dorsett,” said Mrs. Ismond, “I shall contest this unjust claim.”

“All right,” jeered Dorsett, retreating down the steps, and beckoning to his companion, “then within thirty minutes I’ll put an embargo on your leaving the county until I have my money, according to law.”

Mrs. Ismond sunk to a chair quite pale and distressed.

“Frank,” she gasped in a frightened way, “what is he going to do?”

“Some mean trick, be sure of that,” said Frank. “Mother, I’ll stay here ten years but I will never pay that outrageous claim.”

“Be assured I would never let you,” replied his mother, firmly.

“I wish I knew what he was up to?” murmured Frank in a troubled way.

“Leave that for me to find out for you,” said Markham briskly, bolting from the house like a shot.

CHAPTER XV

A PIECE OF CHALK

Frank Newton had said that Markham was a first-class peddler. If he had followed his young friend as he darted from the house, he would also have noted him quite a proficient amateur detective.

Markham looked down the street after the retreating figures of old Dorsett and his companion. He saw they were bound for the business centre of the town. He cut down an alley, and heading them off allowed them to pass him by and quietly followed on their trail.

When they went up into a building occupied as offices for a justice of the peace and lawyers, Markham in a few moments trailed after them.

Loitering about the hall, he could watch them conversing with a village magistrate at his desk. The latter consulted a copy of the statutes, expounded some point under discussion, and finally filled out several legal blanks.

Markham was industriously reading the notices tacked to the justice’s bulletin board outside of his office door, as Dorsett came out of the room.

“Hold on, Sherry,” he said to his companion. “I’ll settle with you now.”

“All right, governor,” bobbed the man.

“You are deputized to serve these papers. Don’t get them mixed. Got any tacks?”

“I’ll get some all right.”

“Very well. When you have disposed of the first two documents, serve the last one on Mrs. Ismond, see?”

“Sure, I see, governor – ah, and glad to see this five-dollar bill. First one I’ve seen, in fact, for an age.”

“When you’re all through, report to me.”

“I will, governor.”

They kept together till they reached the street. Arrived there, Dorsett went one way, his hireling another.

Markham put after the latter, who was so elated over the possession of money that he chuckled and swung along the street with a great air of importance and enjoyment.

The man Sherry went straight to the railway depot. Markham, looking in through one of its windows, saw him approach the station agent. To him Sherry read one of the documents and came out again.

The second day of Markham’s residence in Greenville, he had done quite an heroic act. It had made the railroad men his friends. One of their number had celebrated pay day too freely. He had stumbled across a track.

Markham had run at the top of his speed, and had even risked life and limb to reach him in time to drag him out of the way of a freight train backing down upon him.

“Mr. Young,” said Markham, running into the depot by one side door as Sherry left it by another, “you remember me?”

“Sure, I do. How are you?” said the depot master heartily.

“I’m worried to death to find out what that man who was just here is up to,” said Markham, hurriedly.

“Up to? Down to, you mean,” flared out Young. “He’s served a paper on me as the representative of the railway company, notifying me that we are to hold the car containing Mrs. Ismond’s furniture until the matter of a debt she owes old Dorsett is settled in court.”

“Mrs. Ismond does not rightfully owe him a cent,” asserted Markham. “It’s a mean, malicious trick of the old reprobate to persecute my friend, Frank Newton. Can they stop the car?”

The station agent shrugged his shoulders dubiously.

“They won’t get any help from me,” he said. “That man asked me where the car was. I told him to find out – I wasn’t hunting for it. I’d like nothing better than to delay him for two hours. By five o’clock the north freights will have left the yards. Once out of the county, that furniture would be safe.”

“Thank you,” said Markham. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He ran out of the depot forthwith. Sherry had crossed the road. Markham saw him coming out of one of the taverns lining the street in that immediate vicinity.

Sherry had one or two men with him with whom he had evidently been treating. They walked along with him until they reached another haunt of the same class, and went in there.

Markham got in a doorway near the entrance to the place. In a few minutes Sherry came out to the street.

He had his hat stuck back and his head up by this time, and was officious and blatant in his manner.

“I’d like to stay with you, boys,” he announced. “Join you later. Got a big responsibility on my shoulders just now.”

“That so?” smirked one of the hangers on.

“You bet. See that paper?” and Sherry produced a document.

“We see it.”

“I can tie up the whole railroad system here if I want to,” he bragged.

Markham hurried off in the direction of the freight tracks. There was a wide crossing where the sidings began. A flagman guarded this. Markham ran up to him. This man, as he knew, was a brother of the railroader he had saved from being run over by the freight train.

“Mr. Boyce,” said Markham, “will you do me a favor?”

“Sure, will I,” cried the flagman. “We’re a whole family of friends to you, boy.”

“All right. Have you got a piece of chalk – the kind they use for marking on the cars?”

“Dozens of it. Here’s a handful, my hearty,” and the flagman darted into the little shanty and out again with a fistful of great chunks of chalk.

“All right,” said Markham, selecting a piece. “Now then, do you see that man coming down the track?”

“Yes,” nodded the flagman.

“He will ask you about the out freights, maybe about some particular car. It’s the car holding Frank Newton’s furniture that he’s after – their household goods they’re shipping to Pleasantville.”

“Aha,” nodded Boyce.

“I will be in sight,” went on Markham, rapidly. “Point me out to him. Say I can tell him, will you?”