A GOOD START
Frank did not go to sleep again, he couldn’t. As he lay there, it seemed
to him as though every nerve in his body was wide awake and on a terrific
tension.
Frank had heard of some of the great inventions of the world discovered
in a dream. Had he, too, in a dream, or a half-waking doze, had the same
experience.
“It came like a flash,” he reflected. “It’s plain as day now. The apple
corer improved, remodeled, in perfect working order and a success. Oh, I
simply can’t lie here.”
Frank wriggled and tossed restlessly. Then, when he was certain that
Markham was asleep again, he slipped quietly out of bed, put on part of
his clothes and glided noiselessly downstairs.
Frank softly closed the store door communicating with the hallway. He
lit a lamp and went over to a counter containing the great heap of apple
corers.
He selected one, got a sheet of tin and a pair of stovepipe shears, and
became engrossed in cutting out and forming cones, funnels and all kinds
of odd-shaped contrivances.
For fully two hours Frank was working at his task. He seemed to be
supplying the crude apple corer with an inner sheath, to which he had
supplied a small three-bladed device. He turned it about, altered it,
worked over it, and a broad smile of satisfaction stole across his face
as he progressed.
“Frank, this is not sleeping.”
Frank looked up from his task, quite startled, to find his mother
standing a few feet away, watching him.
“I know it isn’t, mother,” he responded gaily. “It’s work, good work,
too, so it couldn’t wait.”
“But, Frank--”
“Listen, mother,” he said, “I have dreamed out an invention. Really I
have. If my improved apple corer works as I think it will, this is a
lucky spell of wakefulness. I don’t want to say much about it till I am
sure of it, but I believe I have invented something practical and of
value.”
Frank treasured his little model in his pocket, and consented to go back
to bed now. He was up bright and early. First thing he was down in his
work shop. At breakfast he was more quiet than usual. Frank was doing a
great deal of thinking.
“I have certainly got the patent right bee in my bonnet,” he reflected.
“It’s a fascinating little insect. Ah, Markham, we were going to let you
sleep till you were rested up completely,” added Frank, as their guest
put in an appearance.
Markham was pleasant, polite and contented. He put some things in order
for Mrs. Ismond, offered to help her with the dishes, and went
downstairs finally to join Frank.
“Now then,” he said briskly, “I’m fed up and rested up--what is there to
do?”
Frank explained about the needle packages. He told Markham as well as he
could what towns in the vicinity had been covered.
“There’s a row of little settlements to the east,” he explained. “You
can use my bicycle if you like and give them a call.”
“This is real life,” jubilated Markham, as he set off on the wheel with
a hundred packages of the needles done up in a cardboard box.
Frank received visits from several of his boy employes that morning.
Then he set about disposing of some odds and ends of the salvage stock
about town.
From two till five o’clock he was busy working on his “patent.” From
then until six o’clock he wrote several letters, went out and mailed
them, and kept thinking and planning on the mail order business.
Markham, dusty and tired, wheeled up to the store about seven o’clock.
He had an immense bouquet of wild flowers, which delighted Mrs. Ismond,
to whom he gracefully presented it.
“What a day it has been for me,” he exclaimed, after a good wash up.
“Why, I seem to be free, really free for the first time in my life--the
pretty roads, the lovely flowers, the sweet singing birds--”
“And the needles?” suggested practical Frank.
“Oh, I sold them before noon,” said Markham, indifferently.
“All of them?”
“Fifteen packages to one little country store. Knocked a cent off my
profit, but time counts, you know.”
“I sent an order to the city for a gross of those false moustaches,”
announced Frank.
“You did?” exclaimed Markham. “That’s famous! When will they be here?”
“Day after to-morrow, I think. Then I’m going down to Riverton to
collect some bills. I calculate it will take about three days to clean
up the lot. Mother, you must run the business here while I’m gone. We
will have to stay at Riverton nights.”
“Shall I keep on with the needles?” asked Markham.
“Yes, but not here. We will make Riverton headquarters for this trip.
You can come with me, and try the false moustaches on the community.”
“Some needles, too,” said Markham. “I’ll guarantee to sell a gross of
the moustaches in two days.”
Markham did quite as well the second day as he had the first. It pleased
Frank to note how he seemed emerging from a worried-looking, distressed
refugee into a bright, laughing, happy boy. Mrs. Ismond had taken a
great liking to him, and he seemed never tired of helping Frank with his
chores clear up to bed time.
The moustaches arrived the next afternoon. They had a merry evening,
Markham applying moustache, goatee and false teeth to his face, and
giving character imitations thus disguised, which he had seen at some
show.
Frank hired a light wagon and horse for three days, and the next morning
he and Markham drove over to Riverton. They arranged for a cheap
lodging, and separated. Frank had routed the bills he had to collect
systematically. The first batch took in a twenty miles circuit among
farmers.
When evening came he had presented bills amounting to about two hundred
dollars. As the horse walked slowly back the road to Riverton, Frank
figured out the day’s results.
“Pretty good,” he said, running over the paper slips in a package. “I
have collected forty-four dollars and eighty cents--got twenty dollars
in sixty days’ notes, four promises to pay, four people call again,
three parties moved away, and six bills no good.”
Frank drove leisurely down the principal street of Riverton, bound for
the livery stable where he had arranged to put up the horse during their
sojourn in town.
He halted with some curiosity and amusement at a corner where a crowd
was gathered. Mounted on a dry goods box, Markham was addressing a large
and jolly audience.
He was giving character sketches in a really entertaining way. After
every sally of laughter he would ply his wares. Everybody seemed buying.
“He’s a bright fellow and a first-class peddler,” Frank reflected, as
he continued on his way, unobserved by the friend he had started in
business.
“All sold out and the public hungry for more,” announced Markham, as he
joined Frank on agreement at a restaurant. “Those false teeth also. I’ll
bet fifty people asked for them. Say, it would pay to wire a quick
duplicate order on the moustaches and a gross of the teeth. I can
certainly sell the outfit before we leave this town.”
“I’ll see if I can’t arrange it,” said Frank, and after supper he did
so. Frank got track of a purchasing agent, who for a small commission
went daily from Riverton to the city, bringing back with him what light
stuff he could carry in his two valises--all the baggage the railroad
company would allow through free.
Just at dusk Saturday evening the two friends started cheerily homewards.
Frank had made exactly thirty-eight dollars for his three days’ work.
Markham’s profits amounted to a little over seventeen dollars.
“I want you to be my banker, Frank,” he said. “Haven’t I done quite
well? Next week I’ll cut a still wider swath.”
“Not peddling, Markham,” said Frank.
“Why not?” inquired Markham, in some surprise.
“Well, I’ll tell you. To-night about closes up what business I have in
hand. You know all my hopes and plans tend towards starting a mail order
business. We would soon exhaust this district, selling on a small scale.
I want to reach a wider one. I have found out what takes with the
public. Next week I am going to gather together what we have, and move
to another town.”
Markham’s face fell. He looked a trifle uneasy.
“Nearer the city?” he asked, in quite an anxious tone.
“No, nearly a hundred and fifty miles north of here. The fact is,
Markham, I am going to move to Pleasantville. I have some rare, royal
friends there. Two of them, Darry and Bob Haven, are in the printing
business. They own and publish a weekly newspaper. They can help me
immensely. Then there is a mightier reason, too, for locating at
Pleasantville.”
“What’s that, Frank?” asked the interested Markham.
“A man named Dawes runs a novelty factory there--makes all kinds of
little hardware specialties. It is just the place to manufacture my
apple corer, if it is a success. If it is not, I can advertise the list
he already manufactures, and get up something else.”
“There’s a good deal of money in those little devices when a fellow gets
up the right thing, I suppose?” asked Markham.
“Sure, anything new and handy goes great,” responded Frank. “I have read
of a dozen little simple inventions that have made a great fortune for
the owners.”
Markham was studiously silent for a few minutes. Then he asked:
“Do they make things in wire at that Pleasantville factory--I mean, do
they have the material and machinery to make wire things?”
“If not, they can easily get them,” answered Frank. “Why do you ask,
Markham?”
“Well,” said Markham, with a little conscious laugh, “the truth is, I
have invented something myself.”