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.
[Illustration: 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, but
determined. His face was calm, but there was a resolute look in his
eyes. It told that under the surface some unusual emotion was stirring
Frank.
“I don’t see how you can do any more than you are doing now,” responded
his mother with an anxious sigh. “Of course it seems hard to get along
with 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 heart
breaking 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 with
their eloquence. His hand trembled as it rested on his mother’s arm
gently and lovingly.
“It’s worth everything to have you talk that way, mother,” he said in
quite a husky voice, “and kind words and good opinion just makes me the
more 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 shield
us and food to eat, thanks to your busy endeavors. The lawyer gives us
hopes 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 wait
patiently and see what turns up in the way of an improvement in
affairs.”
Frank shook his head, and paced up and down the floor of the best room
of the cozy little cottage that was their present home.
“It’s no use, mother,” he said finally. “The lost fortune is a dream, a
bubble. 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 our
claim. I am sure that Mr. Beach shares my opinion now. No,” continued
Frank definitely, “what future there is for us must be worked out by our
own 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 second
time, and Mr. Ismond became your stepfather, I had implicit confidence
in him at first. He got me to sign the property over to him. Then I saw
my mistake. When his tyrannical ways drove you away from home I lost all
regard for him.”
“He certainly was very cruel and unjust to me,” murmured Frank, recalling
many dark days of his young life.
“When he died,” resumed Frank’s mother, “I was amazed to find that all
my rights to the estate were forfeited. It looked very much as though
Mr. Ismond had been planning to rob us of everything when death overtook
him. A man named Purnell, Gideon Purnell, held the title to our property
under mortgage and sale. He sold it to Abner Dorsett, who now holds it.
The law says Dorsett was an innocent purchaser, and therefore cannot be
disturbed.”
“Innocent!” flashed out Frank. “Oh, what a shame! Why, we know better
than 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 of
him 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 not
just. Else, why does he care to put obstacles in your way when you seek
work? I wish we could leave Greenville, Frank. That man terrifies me.
He may get you into some trouble. I have seen him prowling around
here often. Then, the other day, our poor, faithful dog, Christmas,
disappeared. That same night I saw Dorsett crouching under the window
yonder. It looks as if he fears something we may know or do, and is
lurking around eavesdropping to find out what it is.”
“He will find a trap set for him the next time he comes nosing around
here,” declared Frank with a grim-set lip. “Mother, don’t worry your
mind any further, I am determined to get steady work and earn more
money. I wish, too, we could leave Greenville. If it was any use I would
stay 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 to
strike out new.”
“But how, what at?” inquired Mrs. Ismond doubtfully.
“I don’t know yet, I will before another sun rises, though,” asserted
Frank, staunchly. “That is, if good hard thinking can suggest the right
way to go about it.”
Frank took up his cap and walked from the house. He paused to place a
silver fifty cent piece on the kitchen dresser. He had earned it before
breakfast, cutting a lawn and trimming hedges up at Judge Bascom’s
place.
Frank had been doing such odd jobs about town for the past four months.
He was courteous, accommodating and energetic. Everybody he worked for
liked him, and he never shirked an honest task.
He made out fairly well as a general utility boy about the village. The
worst of it was, however, that his good luck came in streaks. One very
busy week Frank made over ten dollars. Then the next week all he could
get to do was chopping wood at fifty cents a day.
“There is something better in me than that,” Frank resolved. “I’ve got
the problem to solve what it is, and I feel that it is up to me to
figure it out right now.”
Frank’s face clouded slightly as he crossed the yard and his eye fell
on an empty dog house. It made Frank feel lonesome and worried to
realize that its former tenant, the dog, Christmas, was missing.
The faithful animal, a veritable chum to Frank, had disappeared one
night. Frank had spent two days looking for him with no results.
Christmas was a connecting link between the present and a very vivid
section of the past in Frank Newton’s experience. The thought of this
instantly sent Frank’s mind drifting among the vital and exciting
incidents in that career.
Frank was a peculiar boy. He had great sturdiness of character, what
some people call “nerve,” and up to two years before our story begins
had led a happy, joyous existence. He had been an active spirit, and
always 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 drive
him away from home, so he might more easily rob the lad’s mother of her
fortune.
Frank stood Ismond’s abuse just as long as he could. Then he ran away
from home.
At first he followed a circus, tired of it, and got a job tending a
lemonade stand at an ocean resort. He made all sorts of acquaintances,
good and bad. The latter did not demoralize him, but they did harden
him. He grew to be a cynical, unhappy boy.
In his wanderings Frank brought up at a town called Pleasantville. This
was the home of Bart Stirling, the hero of another volume of this
series, “Bart Stirling’s Road to Success,” and of Darry and Bob Haven,
whose stirring careers my former readers have followed in the volume
entitled, “Working Hard to Win.”
Frank arrived at Pleasantville in the company of two men, who had
devised a great fraud upon the meanest but richest man in the place,
Colonel Harrington. In disgust of their swindling ways, Frank destroyed
the papers they hoped to impose upon the colonel. In escaping from them
he was severely crippled and laid up for several weeks.
Soon his money gave out. He was turned away from the village hotel for
not paying his board.
He proved a boy of ready resources, however. Bob Haven formed his
acquaintance in the midst of one of his original and daring schemes for
raising money quickly.
Frank paid up his debts and hung around Pleasantville, living upon his
surplus. He was at a stage of his career where he was sick of change and
adventures. He longed for home. In the friendship of the Haven boys and
Bart Stirling, he began slowly to feel his way back to a natural boyhood
plane.
One night a terrible fire burned down the Pleasantville Hotel. It needed
just such an incident to rouse up in Frank the latent chivalry and
courage of his fine soul. At the risk of his life he saved fourteen
inmates penned up in the burning attic of the hotel, by helping them
across a plank leading into an adjoining building. He braved death again
by 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 betwixt
life and death. When he finally recovered, it was to learn that the town
had 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 had
known him by, Percy St. Clair, was an assumed one. They accidentally
discovered his real name, sent word to his native town, and when the
injured hero awoke to health again it was to find his devoted mother at
his side, nursing him.
Frank now learned that he was some good in the world, after all. The
ovation of the grateful and enthusiastic town folks, the loyal, hearty
friendship of such comrades as Bart Stirling and Darry and Bob Haven
warmed his heart to some of its old-time cheer and courage. The day he
left Pleasantville with his mother for their home at Greenville, Frank
Newton stepped over the threshold of a new life.
An episode of Frank’s departure was the acquisition of Christmas. This
faithful canine Bart Stirling had adopted when he was homeless. Haven
Brothers had later employed him to run the pony press in their amateur
job printing office. Frank loved dogs, and Christmas had taken a great
fancy 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 hidden
under the car seat, twenty miles on the homeward trip.
When they reached Greenville, Frank wrote about Christmas to his
Pleasantville friends. His letter, however, showed his half-hidden
reluctancy towards giving up the faithful old dog. Haven Brothers made
Frank a present of Christmas by return mail.
Of all this Frank now thought as he made his way towards the business
centre of Greenville.
“Hey there, Frank Newton, the very fellow!”
Frank looked up quickly. A rapid voice had interrupted his reverie. Its
owner was a Mr. Buckner, a local insurance agent and real estate man.
Mr. Buckner’s office sided on the street where Frank was walking. From
its 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 laughing
rejoinder.
Frank crossed the street at a bound, darted around to the front of the
building, and was up the stairs four steps at a time.