CHAPTER X
A VISIT TO THE CITY
“It almost frightens me!” said Frank Newton’s mother.
The speaker looked quite serious, as she sat facing her son, who hadjust read over to her the contents of several closely-written sheets ofpaper.
“It needn’t, mother,” answered Frank with a bright, reassuring smile.“Mr. Buckner gave me my motto when I started in at this work. It was‘Sense and System.’ They seem to win.”
“Yes, Frank, and I am very proud and happy to see you so much inearnest, and so successful.”
“I have over one hundred dollars in hand,” proceeded Frank. “We shallget fully as much more from the sale of our assorted needle packages andthe general junk stuff down stairs. Mother, I call that pretty fine luckfor three weeks’ work.”
“You have certainly been very fortunate,” murmured Mrs. Ismond.
“Then if it is a streak of fortune solely,” said Frank, “I propose tomake it the basis of my bigger experiment. Yes, mother, I have fullydecided I shall get into the mail order business right away. The firststep in that direction is to see Mr. Morton, the Riverton hardwaremerchant who was burned out. He has gone into some book concern in thecity. I shall go there on the night train, see him, and then I will knowdefinitely where I stand.”
“Is it necessary to see him?” asked Frank’s mother. “Mr. Buckner saysthat everything he left at the fire was sold as salvage. The Lancasterman made you a present of that old zinc box. I don’t see, havingabandoned it, how Mr. Morton has any further claim on it.”
“That is because you have not thought over the matter as much as Ihave,” observed Frank. “Perhaps Mr. Morton doesn’t know that the papersin the zinc box were nearly all saved. No, mother, I intend to start mybusiness career on clean, clear lines. I feel it my duty to apprise Mr.Morton of the true condition of things. If I lose by it, all right. Ihave acted according to the dictates of my conscience.”
Mrs. Ismond glanced fondly and fervently at Frank. Her approbation ofhis sentiments showed in her glistening eyes.
A week had passed by since the Lancaster man had settled up with Frank.It had been a busy, bustling week for the embryo young mail ordermerchant and his assistants.
Frank had got his employees to sort out the myriad of needles into lotsof twenty-four. He bought some little pay envelopes, and had printed onthese: “Frank’s Mail Order House. Two Dozen Assorted Needles.”
As said before, this was vacation time. There was scarcely a boy inGreenville who did not take a turn at selling the needle packages, whichFrank wholesaled at six cents each.
Most of the boys sold a few packages at home and to immediate neighbors,and then quit work. Others, however, made a regular business of it.Nelson Cady took in two partners, borrowed a light gig, and to date hadmet with signal success in covering other towns in the county.
“Why,” he had declared enthusiastically to Frank only that evening, whenhe handed over the cash for two hundred new packages of the needles,which Mrs. Ismond was kept busy putting up, “if the needles hold out, Icould extend and extend my travelling trips and work my way clear toIdaho.”
“You are certainly making more than expenses,” said Frankencouragingly.
“Yes, but you see”--with his usual seriousness explained Nelson, “thatletter may come any day, and I want to be on hand to get it.”
“Of course,” nodded Frank gravely, but he felt that poor Nelson’s hopeswere like those of the man whose ship never came in.
While his young assistants were thus earning good pocket money and Frankwas accumulating more and more capital daily, he kept up a powerfulthinking.
A limitless field of endeavor seemed spread out before him. The handlingof the salvage stock had been a positive education to him.
“I see where the Riverton hardware man failed,” Frank said to himselfmany times, “and I think I know how I can succeed.”
Frank packed up the contents of the zinc box in a satchel with a coupleof clean collars, cuffs and handkerchiefs, and consulted a railwaytime-table.
“If I take the train that goes through Greenville at three o’clock inthe morning, mother,” he said, “I arrive at the city at exactly teno’clock. Just the hour for business.”
“Well, then, after supper you lay down and sleep till two o’clock. Iwill busy myself putting up some more of the needles,” suggested Mrs.Ismond. “I will have a little early morning lunch ready for you, and youcan start off rested.”
“Thank you,” said Frank warmly. “It’s worth working for such a mother asyou.”
Frank reached the deserted railway depot of Greenville in time for thetrain. Nearly everybody was dozing in the car he entered. He had a seatto himself, and plenty of time and opportunity for reflection.
Frank consulted the sheets of writing he had read to his mother theevening previous. They contained his business plans. He had figured outwhat two hundred dollars would do towards starting a modest mail orderbusiness. However, so much depended on the result of his interview withMr. Morton in the city, that Frank awaited that event with a good dealof anxiety.
When the train neared the terminus Frank took a good wash, put on aclean collar, and tidied up generally. Leaving the train he bought asatisfactory meal at a restaurant, and was ready for business.
Frank soon located the book concern in which Mr. Morton had investedhis money. It occupied four gaudy offices, one of which was occupiedexclusively by Mr. Morton. Frank had to wait his turn for an interview.While seated in the anteroom, he learned something of the businessgoing on from the conversation of some callers there.
It appeared that the concern sold book outfits to canvassers on aconditional salary guarantee. From what Frank gleaned very few ever madegood, so the chief revenue of the company came from the original outfitsale.
Finally Frank was called into Mr. Morton’s office. The latter looked himover with an urbane smile.
“Came in response to our advertisement for agents, I suppose?” heinquired.
“Not at all,” replied Frank. “It is solely on personal business. I cameto see you, sir--about your old business at Riverton.”
Mr. Morton shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as though the reminderwas unpleasant.
“Bills?” he growled out. “Thought I’d settled everything--sick of thewhole business, and threw it up in the air for good. Go on.”
“Why,” said Frank, “I sort of represent the people who bought thesalvage from the fire insurance folks.”
“I have nothing to do with that.”
“Among the debris there was a zinc box with some of your papers in it.”
“Yes, I remember,” nodded Mr. Morton. “Nearly all burned up, weren’tthey?”
“No, sir. In looking them over I found some of your old customers’accounts, and that like. I thought they might be valuable to you, so Icame down from Greenville where I live to bring them to you.”
“You did?” exclaimed Mr. Morton with a stare, partly suspicious, partlysurprised. “That’s queer.”
Frank said no more. He opened the suit case and removed its two neatlyput up packages. One contained the private papers of Mr. Morton. Theother contained the mailing lists and mail order system layout.
Frank placed the two parcels on the desk before his host. The latterchanced to open the larger package first. He carelessly ran over thelists and the accompanying literature.
“H’m,” he said rather irritably, “I’ve little use for that monument ofmy fool-killer experiment!”
Frank was relieved--in fact, pleased, to observe Mr. Mortoncontemptuously sweep aside the litter before him and inspect the secondpackage.
This interested him. He sorted out quite a lot of bills and receipts.
“Guess I’m a careless business man,” he spoke at last. “That fire sodiscouraged me I just got out, bag and baggage. There’s some good,collectible bills here. Now then, young man,” he continued, facingsquarely about on Frank, “don’t tell me you came way down h
ere fromGreenville with that stuff just out of courtesy and kindness.”
“I will tell you the whole story, if you have the time to listen to it,”replied Frank.
“Certainly--fire away.”
Frank recited his experience with the salvage from start to finish. Hewound up with the words: “You can see, sir, very plainly that I havehopes of getting those lists. I have a little money, and I will be gladto buy them.”
Mr. Morton studied Frank in a pleased, interested way.
“Young man,” he said, “you have acted very honorably in coming to me theway you have. As to that mail order literature, cart it away. I don’twant it. I might sell the lists, if I had the time--I haven’t--so theyare yours. And, look here, these bills--I’ll give you half of what youcollect on them.”
“You will?” exclaimed Frank, doubly delighted. “I will gladly meet thetrial for ten per cent.”
“No,” insisted Mr. Morton, “there’s some expense and trouble, you notliving in Riverton. You’ll have to hire a rig to visit some of my formerdebtors. I’ve stated the proposition. Here, I’ll write you out anauthority to act as my agent.”
Frank arose to leave the office half-an-hour later a satisfied andgrateful boy. Mr. Morton had quizzed him considerably as to his futureplans. He was down on the mail order business, for he had made a failureof it himself, but he said a good many enlightening things that at leastwarned Frank of the pitfalls in his business course.
“Please, one more word, Mr. Morton,” said Frank, taking up his repackedsuit case--“about those apple corers of yours?”
“Whew!” cried his host with a wry grimace, “have I got to think of thatgrand flare-up again?”
“There’s a lot of them, you know, among the salvage?” suggested Frank.
“Yes, and there would have been a lot more if the fire hadn’t stoppedreturns,” declared Mr. Morton. “That was a bad investment.”
“Did you patent the apple corer Mr. Morton?” asked Frank.
“No--yes--my attorney filed the caveat, I believe. I don’t think we evercompleted the patent transaction, and of course I shan’t throw away anymore good money on it.”
“I was thinking,” said Frank, “that with a little modification--improvement,you know? maybe it might be made to work satisfactorily.”
Mr. Morton made such an excited jump straight towards his young visitorthat Frank was rather startled.
“Young man,” he said, very solemnly, “if you want me to lose all thereally profound admiration I feel towards you for the business-like wayin which you have managed things, don’t, for mercy’s sake, tell me thatyou have been bitten, too, with the fatal, crazy, irrational dream thatyou want to invent something!”
“Why,” said Frank, with a smile, “is it as bad as that?”
“Worse!” declared Mr. Morton, with a comical groan. “Get the patent beein your bonnet, and you’re lost, doomed!” in a mock-hollow tone observedMr. Morton, shaking Frank by the arm. “Drop it, drop it, or you’re onthe rocks.”
“Then,” suggested Frank, “you won’t mind if I experiment with thecorer?”
“Mind? I wish you’d sink it. I wish I could forget the money I lost init. It’s yours, though, if you want it, only never mention that an olddreamer of my name ever got dazzled with a toy like that. Stick to thestraight business line, lad--mail order, if you must, but cut off thefrills. Don’t wreck your ship on gewgaws that are a delusion and asnare.”
Frank left the office of the book concern in a happy, hopeful mood.Everything had come out beyond his fondest anticipations. He was glad hehad been truthful and honest in the broadest sense of the word.
He went back to the railroad depot and left his suit case in the checkroom. A return train for Greenville left at two o’clock, but Frankwanted to see the city. Outside of that, he wished to visit one or twolarge mail order houses.
Frank employed six hours to grand advantage. He came to the depotfeeling that the money he had spent was a good investment.
After a light lunch he sat down on a bench in the waiting room. Hecounted over the little pile of bank notes in his pocketbook with apleased smile.
“Just think,” he reflected, “I expected to pay Mr. Morton twenty, maybethirty dollars for those lists and the routing outfit, and here I amgoing back home with practically all my original capital. Then, too, thecollection of those bills at Riverton: why, it just seems as if fortunehas picked me out as a special favorite.”
Frank found the train he was to take would not leave for over an hour.It was already made up and standing on its track, but still locked upand unlighted. Frank went outside and strolled up and down the darkplatform alongside the train.
He was full of pleasing, engrossing thoughts, and did not notice alarge, shrewd-eyed man who had followed him from the waiting room.
Frank was just returning to promenade back from the front end of thetrain, when a sharp rustle made him turn half around.
Instantly a pair of brawny arms were stretched out towards him. Both ofhis hands were imprisoned in the grasp of a sprawling fist.
“Hey, keep quiet, or I’ll smash you,” spoke a harsh voice. “Now then,young man, I want that money you’ve got in your pocket.”
Bound to Succeed; or, Mail Order Frank's Chances Page 10