“MAIL ORDER FRANK”
At the outcry from beyond the window of the little sitting-room, the
dog, Christmas, became fairly frantic. Seizing him by the collar,
however, Frank gave him a stern word. Wont to obey, the animal retreated
to one side 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’!”