Bound to Succeed: or, Mail Order Frank's Chances. Chapman Allen
of the room, but still growling, and his fur bristling.
Frank instantly caught up the lamp from the table and carried it to the window. His mother peered out in a startled way at the scene now illuminated without.
“Why, it is Mr. Dorsett!” she exclaimed.
“As I expected,” said Frank, quietly.
“Frank,” murmured his mother, anxiously, “what have you been doing?”
“Preparing for eavesdroppers – and sneaks. Caught one first set of the trap, it seems,” responded Frank in clear, loud tones.
The captured lurker was indeed Dorsett. He was panting and infuriated. One foot was held imprisoned in a wooden spring clamp chained to a log in a hole in the ground. This aperture had been covered with light pieces of sod which Dorsett was pushing aside with his cane, while he continued to groan with pain.
The lamplight enabled him to discern more clearly the trap that had caught him. He managed to pull one side of the contrivance loose and got his foot free.
Wincing with pain and limping, he came closer to the window, boiling with rage.
“So you did it, and boast of it, do you?” he howled at Frank.
“I did and do,” answered Frank calmly. “This is our home, Mr. Dorsett, not a public highway.”
Dorsett uttered a terrific snort of rage. He brandished his cane, struck out with it, and its end went through the panes of both the upper and the raised lower sash.
Frank receded a step, unhurt, with the words:
“Very well. You will pay for that damage, I suppose you know. You will get no further rent until you repair it.”
“Rent!” roared the frenzied Dorsett. “You’ll never pay me rent again. I’ll show you. Tenants at will, ha! Can’t stroll around my own property, hey? Why, I’ll – I’ll crush you.”
“Mr. Dorsett,” spoke up the widow in a dignified tone, “it is true this is your property, but you have no right to spy upon us. You took away our dog – ”
“Who says so – who says so?” shouted the infuriated man.
“Christmas himself will say so in an unmistakable manner if I let him loose at you,” answered Frank. “The poundmaster at Riverton might be a credible witness, also.”
“You’ll pay for this, oh, but you’ll pay for this!” snarled the wretched old man as he limped away to the street.
Mrs. Ismond sank to a chair, quite pale and agitated over the disturbing incident of the moment.
“Frank,” she said in a fluttering tone, “that man alarms me. It makes me uneasy to think he is lurking about us all the time. I am unhappy to think we are subject to his caprices, where once he owned the property.”
“We own it yet, by rights,” declared Frank. “Some day I may prove it to Dorsett. But do not worry, mother. You must have guessed from my interest in what Mr. Gregson said to-night, that I believe there is something for me in this mail order idea. I have not yet formed my plans, but I am going to get into business for myself.”
The boy heard their guest stirring about up stairs, probably aroused by the window smashing. He reassured Gregson and went to bed himself.
Frank lay awake until nearly midnight thinking over all that Gregson had told him. He went mentally through every phase of the mail order idea that he knew anything about.
When Frank finally fell asleep it was to dream of starting in business for himself. At broad daylight he was in a big factory which his own endeavors had built up. Around him were his busy employes nailing up great boxes of merchandise ordered from all parts of the country.
The sound of the hammers seemed still echoing in his ears as he was aroused by the voice of his mother from her own room.
“Frank! Frank!” she called.
“Yes, mother,” he answered, springing out of bed.
“Some one is knocking at the front door.”
“Knocking?” repeated Frank, hurrying into his clothes. “That’s no knocking, it sounds more like hammering.”
Christmas was barking furiously. The hammering had ceased by the time Frank had got down the stairs and to the front door. He unlocked it quickly.
At the end of the graveled walk, just turning into the street was old Dorsett. He waved a hammer in his hand malignantly as he noticed Frank.
“We’ll see if I am to have free range of my own premises,” he shouted. “Young man, you get your traps out of here within the time limit of the law, or I’ll throw you into the street, bag and baggage.”
Frank saw that Dorsett had just nailed a square white sheet of paper across the door panel. He stood reading it over as his mother came out onto the porch.
“Was that Mr. Dorsett, Frank?” she inquired.
“Yes, some more of his friendly work.”
“What is it, Frank?”
“A five-days’ notice to quit,” answered Frank.
Mrs. Ismond scanned the legal document with a pale and troubled face. Frank affected unconcern and indifference.
“Don’t let that worry you, mother,” he said, leading her back into the house.
“But, Frank, he can put us out!”
“If we stay to let him, probably. The law he has invoked to rob us, may also enable him to evict us, mother, but he won’t win in the end. You say you dislike the place. Very well, we will move.”
“But where to, Frank?”
“This isn’t the only house in Greenville, is it, mother?” asked Frank, smiling reassuringly. “What’s more, Greenville isn’t the only town in creation. Stop your fretting, now. I’ve got a grand plan, and I am sure to carry it out. Just leave everything to me. My head is just bursting with all the ideas that interesting balloonist has put into it. Why, mother, if I can only get a start, if I can get hold of a few novelties and do a little advertising – ”
“Oh, Frank, it takes money to do all that!”
“And brains. Mostly brains and industry, Mr. Gregson says. Mother, now or soon, here, at Greenville or somewhere else, I am determined to give the mail order idea a trial.”
“Mail order, Frank?”
“Capital! excellent!” cried Frank with enthusiasm. “Why, mother, you have suggested the very catchy name. I will use to advertise by – ‘Mail Order Frank’!”
CHAPTER VII
STRICTLY BUSINESS
The balloonist, Park Gregson, needed rest after his strenuous experience of the previous day, so Frank did not disturb him. He and his mother had their breakfast together, then Frank started out on his usual daily round of duties.
He did his chores about the house. Then he went down to the eight o’clock train to get a bundle of daily newspapers from the city. These he delivered to his regular customers. At nine o’clock he went to the office of Mr. Beach, the lawyer.
Frank was informed by the attorney’s clerk that Mr. Beach had left Greenville to see a distant client. He would not be back for two days.
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