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[Illustration: “BOOKS! YOU GET RIGHT OUT OF THIS DOORWAY!–P. 112.”]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE YOUNG
BOOK AGENT
Or, Frank Hardy’s Road to Success
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF “LOST AT SEA,” “NELSON THE NEWSBOY,” “OUT
FOR BUSINESS,” “YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK,” “RAGGED
DICK SERIES,” “TATTERED TOM
SERIES,” ETC.
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
NEW YORK
STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY
1905
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1905
BY
STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
MANY years ago the author of the present volume resolved to write a long
series of books describing various phases of village and city life,
taking up in their turn the struggles of the bootblacks, the newsboys,
the young peddlers, the street musicians—the lives, in fact, of all
those who, though young in years, have to face the bitter necessity of
earning their own living.
In the present story are described the ups and downs of a boy book
agent, who is forced, through the misfortunes of his father, to help
provide for the family to which he belongs. He knows nothing of selling
books, when he starts, but he acquires a valuable experience rapidly,
and in the end gains a modest success which is well deserved.
It is the custom of many persons in ordinary life to sneer at a book
agent and show him scant courtesy, forgetting that the agent’s business
is a perfectly legitimate one and that he is therefore entitled to due
respect so long as he does that which is proper and gentlemanly. A kind
word costs nothing, and it often cheers up a heart which would otherwise
be all but hopelessly depressed.
After reading this volume it may be thought by some that the hero, Frank
Hardy, is above his class in tact, intelligence, and perseverance. This,
however, is not true. A book agent, or, in fact, an agent of any kind,
must possess all of these qualities in a marked degree, otherwise he
will undoubtedly make a failure of the undertaking. As in every other
calling, to win success one must first deserve it.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FRANK AT HOME 1
II. DOWN AT THE WRECK 9
III. DISAGREEABLE NEWS 17
IV. THE HUNT FOR A MISSING MAN 25
V. FRANK AT THE STORE 34
VI. THE RIVAL MERCHANTS 42
VII. A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION 50
VIII. FRANK LOOKS FOR WORK 58
IX. FRANK MEETS A BOOK AGENT 67
X. FRANK GOES TO NEW YORK 76
XI. FRANK AS AN AGENT 86
XII. A BRIGHT BEGINNING 96
XIII. FRANK ON THE ROAD 108
XIV. A BOY RUNAWAY 118
XV. CAUGHT IN A STORM 127
XVI. AN IMPORTANT SALE 136
XVII. A CURIOUS HAPPENING 145
XVIII. THE WOULD-BE ACTOR 153
XIX. GIVING AN AUTOGRAPH 162
XX. FRANK’S REMARKABLE FIND 171
XXI. GABE FLECKER SHOWS HIS HAND 180
XXII. THE RIVAL BOOK AGENT 189
XXIII. NEWS FROM HOME 197
XXIV. LOST IN A COAL MINE 205
XXV. FRANK MEETS FLECKER AGAIN 214
XXVI. AN ESCAPE 224
XXVII. AT HOME ONCE MORE 232
XXVIII. FRANK STARTS FOR THE SOUTH 242
XXIX. A SCENE ON THE TRAIN 249
XXX. FRANK MEETS HIS BROTHER MARK 257
XXXI. A CLEVER CAPTURE—CONCLUSION 264
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT
CHAPTER I
FRANK AT HOME
FRANK HARDY came up the short garden path whistling merrily to himself.
He was a tall, good-natured looking boy of sixteen, with dark eyes and
dark, curly hair.
“One more week of school and then hurrah for a long vacation in the
country!” he murmured to himself as he mounted the piazza steps. “Oh,
but won’t we have a dandy time swimming and fishing when we get to
Cloverdale!”
His little dog Frisky was at the door to greet him with short, sharp
barks of pleasure. Frank caught the animal up and began to coddle him.
“Glad to see me, eh?” he cried. “Frisky, won’t you be glad when we get
to the country and you can roam all over the fields?”
For answer the dog barked again and wagged his tail vigorously. Still
holding the animal, Frank entered the dining room and passed into the
kitchen, where his mother was assisting the servant in the preparation
of the evening meal.
“Mother, is father back from Philadelphia yet?” he asked, as he hung up
his cap and slipped into the sink pantry to wash his hands.
“Not yet, Frank,” answered Mrs. Hardy.
“He must have quite some business to attend to, to stay away so late. I
thought I was late myself.”
“You are late, Frank—it is quarter after six. I expected your father in
on the half-past five train, but he must have missed that.”
“Then he won’t be here until nearly eight o’clock. Must I wait for my
supper?”
“No; we can have our supper directly. I know you must be hungry.”
“I am, mother. Baseball gives a fellow an appetite, especially if he
runs bases and plays in the field, as I did. We played the Hopeville
Stars and beat them 12 to 7. I made three runs.”
“You must certainly love the game?”
“I do. Sometimes I wish I could be a professional ball player.”
“I shouldn’t wish you to be that, Frank. I want you to go to college and
be a professional man,” added Mrs. Hardy, with a fond smile.
“Oh, I was only talking, mother. But some professional ball players are
college men.”
Frank entered the dining room and sat down to the table. He was soon
joined by his little brother, Georgie, and his sister, Ruth, who was
twelve years of age.
“How do you get along with your lessons?” he asked of Ruth, who had been
practicing on the piano in the parlor.
“I think I am doing real well,” returned the sister, who was very fair,
with golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Professor Hartman says I will
make a good player if I do plenty of practicing. And, oh, I love it so!”
added the girl, enthusiastically.
“The one who loves it is the one who is bound to make a good player,”
said Frank. “Now, there is Dan Dixon. His folks want him to learn to
play the violin, and he takes lessons. But he doesn’t like it at all,
and I am sure he will never make a player.”
“That is true in all things,” came from Mrs. Hardy, as she sat down to
pour the tea. “If one wants to do well at anything, one’s heart must be
in the work. I once knew a girl whose family wanted her to learn how to
paint. She hadn’t any talent for it, and though she took lessons for two
years she never drew or painted anything really worth showing.”
“I know what I like real well,” came from little Georgie. “I’m going to
keep a candy store when I grow up. I like that real well.”
“Good for you, Georgie!” laughed Frank. “Only don’t eat up all the stock
yourself.”
“Will you buy from me when I keep the store?” continued the little
fellow.
“To be sure, I will—or, maybe, I’ll be a salesman for you—and Ruth can
be the cashier.”
“What’s a cashier?”
“The one who takes in the money.”
“No, I want to take in the money myself,” came from Georgie, promptly.
Thus the talking went on, and while it is in progress and the family are
waiting for the return of Mr. Hardy from his business trip, let me take
the opportunity of introducing them more specifically than I have
already done.
The Hardy family were six in number, Mr. Thomas Hardy and his wife;
Mark, who was three years older than Frank, and the children already
introduced.
Mr. Hardy was a flour and feed dealer, and at one time had had the
principal store in that line in Claster, the town in which the family
resided. He had made considerable money, and the family were counted
well to do. But during the past two years two rivals with capital had
come into the field, and trade with the flour and feed merchant had
consequently fallen off greatly.
Mr. Hardy had expected to send his oldest son, Mark, to college, but the
youth had begged to be allowed to take an ocean trip, and had at last
been allowed to ship on a voyage to South America. He was to return home
in seven or eight months, but during the past three months nothing had
been heard of him.
Frank, Ruth, and little Georgie all attended the same school in Claster,
Georgie being in the kindergarten, and Ruth in one of the grammar
grades. Frank was in the graduating class, and after a vacation in the
country, expected to prepare himself for high school. He was just now
deep in his final examinations at the grammar school, and so far had
done well, much to his parents’ satisfaction.
“Mother, what took father to Philadelphia?” asked Frank, after a spell
of silence, during which he had devoted himself to the viands set before
him.
At this question a shade of anxiety crossed Mrs. Hardy’s face.
“He went on very important business, Frank. I cannot explain to you
exactly what it was. He was to see Mr. Garrison, the man he used to buy
flour from.”
“Jabez Garrison?”
“Yes.”
“I never liked that man, mother; did you?”
“I really can’t say, Frank—I never had much to do with him.”
“I saw him at the store several times—doing business with father. He
somehow put me in mind of a snake.”
“Oh, Frank!” burst in Ruth.
“A man don’t look like a snake,” was little Georgie’s sober comment.
“That is not a very complimentary thing to say, Frank,” said Mrs. Hardy,
somewhat severely.
“I can’t help it, mother. He has such an oily, smooth manner about him.”
“Your father has spoken of him as a very good friend in business. I
believe he gave your father prices which were better than he could get
elsewhere.”
“Well, he didn’t look it. If I were father, I’d keep my eyes on him.”
“He went to Philadelphia to make inquiries about Mr. Garrison. I cannot
tell you more than that just now.”
“Didn’t father loan him some money?”
“Not exactly that; but he went his security when Mr. Garrison was made
treasurer of a certain benevolent order in Philadelphia.”
“How much security?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“That’s a big sum of money.”
“Yes, Frank—but I was told that it was more a matter of form than
anything else.”
“I don’t see it, mother. If Jabez Garrison had a lot of money to handle,
he could steal it if he wanted to.”
“Frank, you are certainly not in love with Mr. Garrison. Did he ever say
anything to you?”
“Not a word. Only I don’t like his looks, that’s all.”
Further talk on this subject was cut off by Ruth, who chanced to look
out of the bay window of the dining room.
“There goes the hospital ambulance,” she cried. “Somebody must be hurt.”
Frank, filled with curiosity, leaped up and ran to the front door, and
then down to the gate.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked of a boy who was running past.
“Big accident on the railroad, down at Barber’s Cut,” answered the boy.
“Freight train ran into the Philadelphia local, and about a dozen
passengers have been killed or hurt.”
“The Philadelphia local!” echoed Frank, and for the moment his heart
almost stopped beating. “Can father have been on that train?”
He ran back into the house and told his mother the news. Mrs. Hardy was
almost prostrated, but quickly recovered.
“I will go down and see if your father is in that wreck,” she said.
“Frank, you can go along.” And a moment later they set out for the scene
of the disaster.
------------------------------------------------------------------------