A FIVE-DOLLAR JOB
Frank found Mr. Buckner at his desk, tearing out a freshly-written slip
from his check book.
“Good--sit down,” said the business man. “Ready in a second. Now then,”
he added a minute later, after filling out a receipt blank, “want to
make five dollars?”
“A week?” smiled Frank.
“A day--an hour, if you can get the action on this job that quick,”
responded Buckner briskly. “See here, Frank,” he continued, consulting
his watch, “a certain individual started down that south road yonder in
his buggy for Riverton half-an-hour ago.”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Frank.
“How soon can he get there?”
“Horse any good?” questioned Frank.
“No, common every-day hack.”
“Well,” calculated Frank, “it’s fifteen miles around by that road.
Taking it fairly easy, he’d get to Riverton in about two hours and
a-half.”
“Very good,” said Buckner. “Can you do it in less time?”
“On foot?”
“Any way, so you get there.”
“Sure,” said Frank confidently. “I can make it in an hour by crossing
the flats.”
“Aha!” observed Buckner, “I see.”
“Direct across the swamp stretch it is barely six miles to Riverton,”
went on Frank.
“But there’s no road?”
“Except the trail us boys have blazed out from time to time,” explained
Frank, his eyes brightening at the memory of many a famous camping out
experience in “the Big Woods.” “I can bike it four miles, wade one, and
there’s only an easy mile stretch to come after that.”
“U-um,” muttered Mr. Buckner in a musing tone, half to himself. “I’d
rather not excite the suspicions of a certain person already on the
road, so your suggestion strikes me very good, Frank. Will you guarantee
to get to Riverton first?”
“I will--with time to spare,” promised Frank, readily.
“I rely on you, then. It is quite an important matter. Here is a check
for two hundred dollars. It is made payable to James Pryor. He is a fire
insurance adjuster at Riverton, with an office over the bank there. You
find him out, hand him that check, get him to sign this receipt, and
your work is done.”
“That’s easy,” said Frank with a pleasant smile. “It isn’t worth five
dollars, though.”
“I’m doing this hiring,” retorted Buckner with a quizzical laugh.
“Client’s money, see? By the way, too, do this little commission up trim
and neat, and there will be some more work for you from the same party.”
Frank was mightily pleased at his task and the prospects. He stowed the
check and receipt in a safe pocket, and started to leave the office.
“My client wants to buy up some salvage from a fire at Riverton,” Mr.
Buckner explained.
“I see,” nodded Frank.
“A certain party here has been juggling with the situation. He put in a
lot of dummy bids. We learned what his best bid was, and offered the
same amount. Just now we got a letter--as he did also--accepting first
payment from either of us. By the way, too,” continued Mr. Buckner, with
a queer twinkle in his eye, “when you come to find who it is you have
helped to outwit, you may experience a decided personal pleasure in the
discovery. Report soon as you get back to Greenville, Frank.”
“That will be one o’clock at the latest,” pledged the boy.
He glanced at the clock, and was down the stairs quicker than he had come
up them. Frank was back home in a jiffy. He made a brief explanation to
his mother. Getting out his bicycle he tied to the handles a pair of long
rubber boots. Soon he was sailing down the road to the south.
The Big Woods formed a long six-mile barrier between Greenville and
Riverton direct. Its centre was practically impassible during wet
seasons. It was a dismal, slushy waste. For this reason the only road to
Riverton wound in a semi-circle many miles out of the natural course.
Frank entered the woods at a familiar opening near the edge of the town.
For two miles there was a hard trodden path, and he made good time on
his wheel. For two more, he had to pick a straggling course. Many times
he had to dismount from the bicycle and run it past obstacles. However,
it was not long before he reached the edge of the flats.
“Capital!” said Frank, after an eager survey of the swampy stretch. “I
couldn’t strike it drier. Now then, for a wade.”
Frank ran his bicycle to cover, and drew on the long rubber boots. For a
distance of a quarter-of-a-mile he made ready progress by stepping from
one dried-up clump of grass or reeds to another. He had to pick his
course more particularly, however, as he got to the wet spots. Wading
was not difficult, as the water was not deep. Only once did Frank sink
above the knees.
“Whew! that was a hot tug,” panted the youth, as he reached the west
slope of the flats.
Frank threw himself flat on dry ground and rested for five minutes. Then
he arose and removed the rubber boots. He hid these among some bushes
and resumed his travels at a lively gait.
Presently Frank was passing the vicinity of a board fence. It reached up
fully fifteen feet, and its top was studded with sharp-pointed nails.
Frank was not near enough to observe it more than casually. He had no
time to make a closer inspection, and, past a reach of timber, it was
shut out entirely from his view.
“Hello!” again he exclaimed a few minutes later, and paused this time to
look across a ditch. An object of decided curiosity and interest held
Frank’s attention. This was a little ragged urchin curled up fast asleep
against a clump of dry weeds.
He was barefooted, and up to the knees he was spattered and caked with
dry mud. His face was dust-covered, tired-looking and tear-stained.
Frank’s sympathy was easily aroused. He voted the little fellow some
wretched, homeless lad on a tramp.
By the side of the boy was quite a large bundle. It was enclosed in a
newspaper. The breeze blew the sheets aside and the contents were
disclosed quite readily to Frank’s view.
“Well!” said Frank, his eyes opening wide, “he’s not a vegetarian,
that’s sure.”
The remark was called forth by a sight of a mass of cold cooked meat
that might well make Frank stare, on account of its volume and variety.
It looked as if the young wayfarer had gathered up a lunch for many
days. There were parts of mutton chops, chunks of roast beef, and cuts
of pork, flanked by bones and remnants of hash and sausages.
“Hope he’s here when I come back this way,” said Frank. “Looks pretty
forelorn. I’d be glad to give him a lift.”
Frank hurried forward now. He soon reached the outskirts of Riverton.
Within ten minutes he gained the business centre of the little town.
Frank located the bank. He was soon at the door of an office over it
bearing the words in gilt letters:
_James Pryor, Fire Insurance._
The door was open. Seated behind a wire railing at a desk was a
cross-looking old man writing in a book. Frank approached him with
the question.
“Is Mr. Pryor in?”
“Eleven,” snapped out the man without looking up from his work.
“You mean he will be here at eleven o’clock?” pursued Frank.
“Yes.”
“I’ll wait for him then,” said Frank, selecting a chair. He felt a
trifle disappointed and worried. The “certain other party” was on the
road to Riverton. It was part of Frank’s contract to see Pryor before
his arrival.
Several people came in and inquired for the insurance man during the
next half-hour. Some of them went away saying they would return at
eleven o’clock. Some others sat down like Frank, and waited. Frank heard
the old clerk explain to one caller that Mr. Pryor was in his private
room, but engaged in a most important consultation with a client.
Frank grew restless. He approached the cross-grained clerk again.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, “but I understand that Mr. Pryor is in
his private room.”
“What of it? Can’t be disturbed,” snapped out his representative.
Frank retreated. He managed to endure a further tedious wait of a
quarter-of-an-hour. Finally he strolled to the window looking down on
the street.
“That ‘other party’ is on his way here,” mused Frank anxiously. “Suppose
he gets here before eleven o’clock? That gives him an even chance with
myself. Oh, the mischief!” exclaimed Frank suddenly. “Now the pot’s in
the fire, sure!”
Frank gave a great start, and stared fixedly at a horse and gig that
came clattering to a stop just then in front of the bank.
Frank recognized the vehicle and its driver. As he did so, he as quickly
guessed that this new arrival must be the “certain party” alluded to by
Mr. Buckner.
The new comer was Abner Dorsett, the man who had helped to swindle
Frank’s mother out of her fortune.