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

by Robert Sidney Bowen

  Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

  BOUND TO SUCCEED

  Or

  Mail Order Frank’s Chances

  BY ALLEN CHAPMAN

  AUTHOR OF “THE HEROES OF THE SCHOOL,” “NED WILDING’S DISAPPEARANCE,” “FRANK ROSCOE’S SECRET,” “FENN MASTERSON’S DISCOVERY,” “BART KEENE’S HUNTING DAYS,” ETC., ETC.

  The GOLDSMITH Publishing Co. CLEVELAND OHIO MADE IN U.S.A.]

  COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. WAKING UP 1 II. A FIVE-DOLLAR JOB 11 III. A BUSINESS CALL 19 IV. A BREAK FOR LIBERTY 28 V. THE BALLOONIST’S RESCUE 37 VI. “MAIL ORDER FRANK” 51 VII. STRICTLY BUSINESS 57 VIII. A STEP FORWARD 67 IX. SENSE AND SYSTEM 76 X. A VISIT TO THE CITY 87 XI. A FRIEND IN NEED 99 XII. A BOY WITH A MYSTERY 109 XIII. A GOOD START 117 XIV. A MEAN ENEMY 126 XV. A PIECE OF CHALK 133 XVI. “FRANK’S MAIL ORDER HOUSE” 143 XVII. A NEST EGG 153 XVIII. A SUSPICIOUS VISITOR 162 XIX. MISSING 169 XX. A BAD BUSINESS 176 XXI. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 185 XXII. GOOD NEWS 194 XXIII. A RIVAL CONCERN 200 XXIV. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 206 XXV. TROUBLE BREWING 213 XXVI. MYSTERIOUS STET 219 XXVII. THE POST-OFFICE INSPECTOR 225 XXVIII. A HEART OF GOLD 232 XXIX. CONCLUSION 237

  BOUND TO SUCCEED

  CHAPTER I

  WAKING UP

  “Mother, I must do something, and that right quickly.”

  It was Frank Newton who was talking. His voice was composed, butdetermined. His face was calm, but there was a resolute look in hiseyes. It told that under the surface some unusual emotion was stirringFrank.

  “I don’t see how you can do any more than you are doing now,” respondedhis mother with an anxious sigh. “Of course it seems hard to get alongwith so little when we have been used to having so much. But, oh, Frank,when I think of what was once--you away, I knew not where, and my heartbreaking to find out--I am grateful and happy, and so very proud of you,my dear, dear boy.”

  Frank’s lip quivered at the fervent words spoken. They inspired him withtheir eloquence. His hand trembled as it rested on his mother’s armgently and lovingly.

  “It’s worth everything to have you talk that way, mother,” he said inquite a husky voice, “and kind words and good opinion just makes me themore resolved to better things.”

  “Don’t be ungrateful or complaining, my boy.”

  “It’s never that, mother.”

  “And don’t be too ambitious, or too reckless. We have a roof to shieldus and food to eat, thanks to your busy endeavors. The lawyer gives ushopes that we may recover something from the wreck of our lost fortune.I don’t know of any better outlook for the present, than to waitpatiently and see what turns up in the way of an improvement inaffairs.”

  Frank shook his head, and paced up and down the floor of the best roomof the cozy little cottage that was their present home.

  “It’s no use, mother,” he said finally. “The lost fortune is a dream, abubble. We may just as well get down to that. Mr. Beach, the lawyer,gives us hopes, but they are not based on much. At the same time,he takes his fees. We can’t stand that any longer. I told him so,yesterday. I don’t believe there is the least show in the world for ourclaim. I am sure that Mr. Beach shares my opinion now. No,” continuedFrank definitely, “what future there is for us must be worked out by ourown independent exertions.”

  “It is a bitter wrong then,” spoke his mother. “When your father, Mr.Newton, died, he left me his town property here. When I married a secondtime, and Mr. Ismond became your stepfather, I had implicit confidencein him at first. He got me to sign the property over to him. Then I sawmy mistake. When his tyrannical ways drove you away from home I lost allregard for him.”

  “He certainly was very cruel and unjust to me,” murmured Frank, recallingmany dark days of his young life.

  “When he died,” resumed Frank’s mother, “I was amazed to find that allmy rights to the estate were forfeited. It looked very much as thoughMr. Ismond had been planning to rob us of everything when death overtookhim. A man named Purnell, Gideon Purnell, held the title to our propertyunder mortgage and sale. He sold it to Abner Dorsett, who now holds it.The law says Dorsett was an innocent purchaser, and therefore cannot bedisturbed.”

  “Innocent!” flashed out Frank. “Oh, what a shame! Why, we know betterthan that, mother. We are sure that Purnell was his tool and partner.Anyhow, we cannot hold Dorsett to make any restitution. I hope some day,though, to run across this Purnell. If I ever do, I’ll not lose sight ofhim till I know the truth of the wicked plot that made us paupers. He,and he only, holds the key to the situation.”

  “Mr. Dorsett is a bad man,” said the widow. “His actions show he is notjust. Else, why does he care to put obstacles in your way when you seekwork? I wish we could leave Greenville, Frank. That man terrifies me.He may get you into some trouble. I have seen him prowling aroundhere often. Then, the other day, our poor, faithful dog, Christmas,disappeared. That same night I saw Dorsett crouching under the windowyonder. It looks as if he fears something we may know or do, and islurking around eavesdropping to find out what it is.”

  “He will find a trap set for him the next time he comes nosing aroundhere,” declared Frank with a grim-set lip. “Mother, don’t worry yourmind any further, I am determined to get steady work and earn moremoney. I wish, too, we could leave Greenville. If it was any use I wouldstay and fight Dorsett to the last ditch. It’s no use, and I know it.Let us get out of the sight and memory of the old life. I’m going tostrike out new.”

  “But how, what at?” inquired Mrs. Ismond doubtfully.

  “I don’t know yet, I will before another sun rises, though,” assertedFrank, staunchly. “That is, if good hard thinking can suggest the rightway to go about it.”

  Frank took up his cap and walked from the house. He paused to place asilver fifty cent piece on the kitchen dresser. He had earned it beforebreakfast, cutting a lawn and trimming hedges up at Judge Bascom’splace.

  Frank had been doing such odd jobs about town for the past four months.He was courteous, accommodating and energetic. Everybody he worked forliked him, and he never shirked an honest task.

  He made out fairly well as a general utility boy about the village. Theworst of it was, however, that his good luck came in streaks. One verybusy week Frank made over ten dollars. Then the next week all he couldget to do was chopping wood at fifty cents a day.

  “There is something better in me than that,” Frank resolved. “I’ve gotthe problem to solve what it is, and I feel that it is up to me tofigure it out right now.”

  Frank’s face clouded slightly as he crossed the yard and his eye fellon an empty dog house. It made Frank feel lonesome and worried torealize that its former tenant, the dog, Christmas, was missing.

  The faithful animal, a veritable chum to Frank, had disappeared onenight. Frank had spent two days looking for him with no results.

  Christmas was a connecting link between the present and a very vividsection of the past in Frank Newton’s experience.
The thought of thisinstantly sent Frank’s mind drifting among the vital and excitingincidents in that career.

  Frank was a peculiar boy. He had great sturdiness of character, whatsome people call “nerve,” and up to two years before our story beginshad led a happy, joyous existence. He had been an active spirit, andalways a leader in boyish sports and fun.

  It had been a black day for Frank when his mother had married Ismond.Too late Mrs. Newton had learned that she had wedded a fortune-hunter.Too soon Frank discovered that the miserable schemer planned to drivehim away from home, so he might more easily rob the lad’s mother of herfortune.

  Frank stood Ismond’s abuse just as long as he could. Then he ran awayfrom home.

  At first he followed a circus, tired of it, and got a job tending alemonade stand at an ocean resort. He made all sorts of acquaintances,good and bad. The latter did not demoralize him, but they did hardenhim. He grew to be a cynical, unhappy boy.

  In his wanderings Frank brought up at a town called Pleasantville. Thiswas the home of Bart Stirling, the hero of another volume of thisseries, “Bart Stirling’s Road to Success,” and of Darry and Bob Haven,whose stirring careers my former readers have followed in the volumeentitled, “Working Hard to Win.”

  Frank arrived at Pleasantville in the company of two men, who haddevised a great fraud upon the meanest but richest man in the place,Colonel Harrington. In disgust of their swindling ways, Frank destroyedthe papers they hoped to impose upon the colonel. In escaping from themhe was severely crippled and laid up for several weeks.

  Soon his money gave out. He was turned away from the village hotel fornot paying his board.

  He proved a boy of ready resources, however. Bob Haven formed hisacquaintance in the midst of one of his original and daring schemes forraising money quickly.

  Frank paid up his debts and hung around Pleasantville, living upon hissurplus. He was at a stage of his career where he was sick of change andadventures. He longed for home. In the friendship of the Haven boys andBart Stirling, he began slowly to feel his way back to a natural boyhoodplane.

  One night a terrible fire burned down the Pleasantville Hotel. It neededjust such an incident to rouse up in Frank the latent chivalry andcourage of his fine soul. At the risk of his life he saved fourteeninmates penned up in the burning attic of the hotel, by helping themacross a plank leading into an adjoining building. He braved death againby going back into the roaring flames to save a little sleeping child.

  Frank rescued the child, but at fearful cost. He was dreadfully burned,almost blinded. For weeks he lay at the town hospital, hovering betwixtlife and death. When he finally recovered, it was to learn that the townhad gone wild over his heroism. In the paper they owned called the_Pleasantville Weekly Herald_, the Haven boys had given him “a write up”that had thrilled the community.

  More than that, Frank’s friends had learned that the name they hadknown him by, Percy St. Clair, was an assumed one. They accidentallydiscovered his real name, sent word to his native town, and when theinjured hero awoke to health again it was to find his devoted mother athis side, nursing him.

  Frank now learned that he was some good in the world, after all. Theovation of the grateful and enthusiastic town folks, the loyal, heartyfriendship of such comrades as Bart Stirling and Darry and Bob Havenwarmed his heart to some of its old-time cheer and courage. The day heleft Pleasantville with his mother for their home at Greenville, FrankNewton stepped over the threshold of a new life.

  An episode of Frank’s departure was the acquisition of Christmas. Thisfaithful canine Bart Stirling had adopted when he was homeless. HavenBrothers had later employed him to run the pony press in their amateurjob printing office. Frank loved dogs, and Christmas had taken a greatfancy to him.

  The animal whined and ran after Frank when he set out for the train.Frank drove Christmas back, but it was only to find the loyal dog hiddenunder the car seat, twenty miles on the homeward trip.

  When they reached Greenville, Frank wrote about Christmas to hisPleasantville friends. His letter, however, showed his half-hiddenreluctancy towards giving up the faithful old dog. Haven Brothers madeFrank a present of Christmas by return mail.

  Of all this Frank now thought as he made his way towards the businesscentre of Greenville.

  “Hey there, Frank Newton, the very fellow!”

  Frank looked up quickly. A rapid voice had interrupted his reverie. Itsowner was a Mr. Buckner, a local insurance agent and real estate man.

  Mr. Buckner’s office sided on the street where Frank was walking. Fromits open window the proprietor beckoned animatedly.

  “Want me?” called up Frank.

  “Sure, if you can hustle,” retorted Mr. Buckner.

  “I can always do that if there’s anything in it,” was the laughingrejoinder.

  Frank crossed the street at a bound, darted around to the front of thebuilding, and was up the stairs four steps at a time.