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

by Robert Sidney Bowen

  CHAPTER VIII

  A STEP FORWARD

  The return trip took three hours. It was just five o’clock when thewagons drew up in front of the store front building on Cedar Street, inGreenville.

  A man whom Mr. Buckner had hired was sweeping out the place. With hisaid and that of another helper, the big packing cases were stowed in themain floor room as Frank wanted them.

  Frank had just paid off the two outsiders, when the man he had leasedthe wagons from drove up in a light vehicle. He was all smiles. Helooked over the horses and turned to Frank.

  “Mistah Newton, sah,” he observed, “the mussiful man am kind to hisbeast. Ah see dem hosses in good trim, sah, and am obleeged. Sah, you ama good-luck boy. Like to hire you as my manager, sah, ef I had enoughmoney. Ha! Ha!”

  “Where does the good luck come in, Mr. Johnson?” inquired Franksmilingly.

  “Ah tell you ’bout dat, sah. Logic am logic. Theyfoh, it follows ef I’dgone up to dat no-good, cheap hauling for de lumbah comp’ny I’d been outfive dollahs, ’cause you paid me seben, ’sides having de hosses workedto death. Again, sah, de suckamstance am dis: I happened to be in townwhen a stranger gen’man came ’long and hiahed me to drive him into dewoods. Got another gen’man from your house. I helped dem get a b’loondown from a tree, load it on de wagon and took it to de train. One ob degen’mans knew you ’ticularly, sah.”

  “Yes, Mr. Gregson,” murmured Frank. “Did both leave town?”

  “Yes, sah, with the b’loon.”

  Frank was sorry he had not seen his entertaining acquaintance before hewent away. Mr. Johnson continued:

  “Rar gen’man, dose, ’specially dat professor. What think, sah? He say:‘How much am dis exertion on youah part worth, Mistah Johnsing?’ andwhen I say, ‘Bout eight bits, Mistah Professor,’ he laugh and gib me afive dollah gold piece. And de other gen’man say to me confimadentially:‘Mistah Johnsing, please tell young Mistah Newton I shall write to him,and when I get making a little money I shall do myself de pleashah ofsending him a gold watch and chain, and dat dog of his a gold collah.’Deed he did, sah.”

  Frank laughed pleasantly, believing that “Mistah Johnsing” was romancinga trifle. Then he said: “I believe our contract on the teams was fortwelve hours’ service, Mr. Johnson?”

  “Dat am correct, sah.”

  “If you say so, I will give them a good feed and do our moving from thehouse to the rooms upstairs here. Of course I will pay your man for theextra labor.”

  “Dat am highly satisfact’ry to me, Mistah Newton.”

  The two teams were driven over to the cottage and unhitched in front ofit. Frank rigged up a convenient feed trough, gave the horses theiroats, and invited Boyle to join him at supper.

  Frank had talked over the moving question with his mother that morning.He found that she had put in a busy day. All the pictures were removedfrom the walls and neatly encased in newspapers. The books had beenplaced in boxes; everything, even to the beds, carried from upstairs.

  Notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Ismond spread out an appetizing meal forthe two workers.

  “Mother, this really won’t do,” remonstrated Frank seriously.

  “What won’t do, my son?” asked his mother, smiling.

  “Carrying those heavy things down stairs.”

  “But I did not do that--at least not all of it,” the widow hastened tosay. “Your friend, Nelson Cady, happened along about three o’clock.Nothing would do but he must lend a helping hand. Then his chums foundhim out. They were soon in service, too.”

  Just as Frank finished his supper there were cheery boyish hailsoutside. Nelson and five of his cohorts animatedly demanded that theybecome part and parcel in the fun and excitement of moving.

  Soon there was a procession carrying various articles to the rooms onCedar Street. The wagons took the heavy furniture and such like. Just atdark the last had left the cottage. Looking back, Frank saw Mr. Dorsettsneaking into his empty house from the rear.

  “He doesn’t look particularly happy, now he has had his own way,”reflected Frank. “I hope mother doesn’t take the change to heart.”

  His first question was along that very line, as the last chair was setin place in the new family habitation.

  “Sad, Frank?” said his mother--“no, indeed! When we were forced fromthe old home on the hill a year ago, I was very sorrowful. It is apositive relief now, though, to get out of the shadow of Mr. Dorsett andall belonging to him. It is nice, and home-like and cozy here, and I amsure we shall be very comfortable and happy in our new home.”

  Many hands had aided in bestowing the family goods just where Mrs.Ismond wanted them. There was very little tidying up to do half-an-hourafter Frank had dismissed the teamster, with a dollar for his extrawork.

  Then he led a gay procession down the principal village street. Theyentered a little ice cream parlor, and Frank “treated”--one ice creamand a glass of soda water all around.

  “I want to see you, Nelson, as early in the morning as I can,” saidFrank, as they separated for the night.

  “Business?” inquired Nelson, in a serious way.

  “Why, yes. Truth is, I can put some loose change in your pocket, if youcare to undertake a ten-days’ job I have in hand.”

  Nelson shook his head dubiously, with a very important air.

  “Dunno,” he said calculatingly. “You see, I am expecting a letter anyday now.”

  Frank smiled to himself. Nelson had been “expecting a letter” every dayfor a year. Every boy in the village knew this, and occasionally guyedand jollied him about it.

  Nelson’s great ambition was to become a cowboy. On one occasion he hadrun away from home, bound for far-away Idaho. He got as far as the city,was nearly starved and half-frozen, and came home meekly the next day.

  His father gave him a good, sensible talk. He tried to convince Nelsonthat he was too young to undertake the rough life of a cowboy. Thisfailing, he agreed that if Nelson would get some respectable stockman inIdaho to ensure him a regular berth for a year, he would let him go westand pay his fare there.

  Since then Nelson had spent nearly all the pocket money he could earnwriting to people in Idaho, from the Governor down. Nobody seemed towant an inexperienced, home-bred boy to round their stock, however.Still, Nelson kept on hoping and trying.

  “I’ll risk your letter coming before your contract with me is finished,Nelson,” said Frank kindly. “About this cowboy business, though--take myadvice and that of your good, kind father: don’t waste your best youngyears just for the sake of novelty and adventure. No ambitious boy canafford it.”

  “But I have a longing for the wild ranch life,” said Nelson earnestly.

  “All right, then do your duty to those at home, earn a good start here,where you have friends to help you, and begin with a ranch of your own.When I have made enough money, I would like to run a ranch myself. But Iwant to own it. I want to make a business investment--not fun andfrolic--out of it.”

  “All right, I’ll be on hand in the morning,” promised Nelson.

  “I have been saving a surprise for you, Frank,” said his mother, as herejoined her about nine o’clock. “What do you think? Your friend, Mr.Gregson, insisted on leaving you twenty-five dollars.”

  “Oh, that won’t do at all!” cried Frank instantly.

  “The professor, who was with him, insisted that it must. Besides, theyleft all sorts of kind regards for you.”

  Frank’s was a truly grateful heart. It had been a splendid day for him.He took up a lamp and went downstairs, whistling happily.

  “There’s a lot of work to do here,” he said, going from box to box,flashing the light across the contents. “There must be a million needlesin that packing case. Poor Morton’s apple corer--there’s severalthousands of those. And here’s a great jumble of lawn mower repairmaterial.”

  Frank stood mapping out how he would handle the mass of stuff. About toleave the room, he set down the lamp and curiously inspected the zincbox
that had apparently been the burned-out hardware man’s safe.

  It was filled with papers of various kinds: receipted bills, statementsof accounts and letters. Many of these latter were from mail customerswho had bought the apple corer and were dissatisfied with its operation.

  Many of the papers were partly burned away. All were grimed with smoke.Finally from the very bottom of the box Frank fished up a squarepackage. Opening this, he found it to be some part of a mail orderoffice equipment.

  Frank’s eye sparkled. There were several sheets of cardboard. On each ofthem a colored map of a State of the Union was printed. Each town had ahole near it. This was to hold minute wooden pegs of different hues,each color designating “written to,” or “first customer,” or “agent,”and the like.

  At a glance Frank took in the value and utility of this outfit. As hedrew some typewritten sheets from a big manilla envelope, he grewpositively excited at the grand discovery he had made.

  “Fifty thousand names!” exclaimed Frank--“possible mail order customersall over the country! Oh, if this outfit were only mine! Can I get it,or its duplicate? Why,” he said, in a fervent, deep-drawn breath,“circumstances seem absolutely pushing me into the mail orderbusiness!”