A MEAN ENEMY
“You have invented something yourself?” repeated Frank, with a good deal
of curiosity.
“Yes,” nodded Markham.
“What is it?”
“A puzzle.”
“What kind of a puzzle?” pressed Frank.
“I’ll show it to you,” said Markham, fishing in his pocket. “There it
is. I don’t suppose it’s much,” he continued in a deprecating way,
“though two or three fellows who saw it said it was quite clever.”
Frank inspected the article his companion now handed him with a good
deal of interest. It was roughly made of wire. There was a ring linked
into a triangle, and the latter linked onto two other rings. The lower
one of these had a link connected with a wire square. Lying loose around
this link was a larger ring of wire.
“What’s the puzzle?” inquired Frank, looking over the little device.
“To get that big ring over all the other rings, the little square and
the triangle.”
“Oh, I see,” said Frank, working at the device industriously, but
finally asking: “Can it be done?”
“Readily--look here,” and Markham, taking the puzzle, deftly slipped the
ring over all the obstacles, and then worked it back again into its
original place.
“I say, that is mighty clever,” declared Frank. “Show me slower, now.
The slip over the triangle is the trick, eh? Good! Markham, that thing
would sell like hot cakes.”
“Think so?” asked Markham, seriously.
“I certainly do. If I was started in the mail order business, I wouldn’t
hesitate to illustrate and advertise it in my catalogue.”
“Well,” said Markham, “that pleases me, for I can show in a small way my
appreciation of all your kindness to me. Frank, I give it to you. If
it’s worth patenting, all right. I know it’s original. It’s yours,
freely.”
“On royalty--yes,” answered Frank. “I’ll have some nicely finished
models made when we get to Pleasantville. We’re getting to be great
business men, aren’t we, Markham, talking about patents and royalties?
How did you come to make the thing, anyhow?”
“Oh, I was for--for a long time in a place where there was lots of
wire,” explained Markham lamely. “I had too much leisure. It bored me. I
had to find something to work at to kill time.”
The old gloom that Frank did not like came into the boy’s face as he
spoke. Frank drifted off into generalizations on his mail order dreams
to lead his mind into more pleasant channels.
There was a great confab at the supper table that evening. Frank told
his mother all his plans in detail. She had too much confidence in his
good judgment to oppose his wishes.
“I will be glad to get anywhere away from a place where I have seen so
much sorrow,” she said. “Besides that, the Haven boys and Bart Stirling
and their friends are certainly good friends of yours. Has my son ever
told you of the lives he saved at the great fire at the Pleasantville
hotel?” Mrs. Ismond asked of Markham.
“Oh, pshaw, mother,” said Frank--“don’t go to lionizing me, now.”
His mother was fondly persistent, however, and Markham, with gleaming
eyes, was soon reading a treasured newspaper clipping telling of
Frank’s heroic exploit, as already related in detail in “Two Boy
Publishers.”
“That’s fine,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, “and I’m proud to know your
son, Mrs. Ismond.”
The next day Frank wrote a report to Mr. Morton about the collections.
He returned the unpaid bills with notations as to the condition of each
claim, explaining that he was going to move to a distant town, and
naming Mr. Buckner as a reliable man to follow up the collections.
Frank saw their lawyer, Mr. Beach. The attorney stated that their suit
against Dorsett would not be tried for over a year. He took Mrs.
Ismond’s new address, and promised to look out for her interests.
Then Frank arranged to sell off some of their furniture. It took two
days to pack up the rest. Tuesday morning early all arrangements had
been completed for their removal. They had engaged a freight car to
carry their belongings to Pleasantville.
Frank closed up his business with Nelson Cady and the other boys.
The old store building was vacated. Markham was to go with them to
Pleasantville.
Mrs. Ismond was to spend the day until train time with an old neighbor.
Frank and Markham were also invited there to dinner.
They had just finished the meal. Frank was looking over a time-table and
telling of a letter he had received from Darry Haven that morning, when
there came a thundering knock at the front door.
“Frank,” said Mrs. Ismond, in quite a startled tone, as her hostess
opened the front door, “it is that man, Mr. Dorsett.”
“Is the widow Ismond here?” demanded Dorsett’s gruff tones.
“Mrs. Ismond is here, yes,” replied her friend. “Won’t you come in,
sir?”
“No,” sneered Dorsett, “short and sweet is my errand.”
“What do you want of my mother, Mr. Dorsett?” demanded Frank, stepping
to the open doorway.
“Oh, you’re here, are you?” snarled Dorsett.
“Frank, do not have any words with him,” spoke Mrs. Ismond, hastening to
her son’s side.
Dorsett stood outside. With him was a low-browed fellow whom Frank
recognized as a chronic hanger-on about the village justice’s place.
“I’ve come--with my deputy and witness, ma’am,” announced Dorsett, “to
inform you that I have learned that you are about to leave town.”
“Yes, that is correct,” answered Mrs. Ismond.
“Very well, then here,” and he produced a legal-looking slip of paper,
“is a little bill you will have to settle first.”
“We owe you nothing that I am aware of,” said Mrs. Ismond.
“Mistake,” snapped Dorsett. “When I sued on my claim to your homestead,
I entered judgment against you for the costs of court. There’s the
amount--fifty-seven dollars.”
“And not satisfied with robbing me of my home and my income, in fact
everything I had in the world, you have the heartlessness to press such
a claim as this at such a time?” asked Mrs. Ismond bitterly.
“Law is law,” prated the mean old usurer.
“Why have you never mentioned this before?” demanded Frank, his eyes
flashing dangerously.
“Because, you insolent young snip,” retorted old Dorsett, “I wanted to
pay you off for some of your fine airs.”
“Well, Mr. Dorsett,” said Mrs. Ismond, “I shall contest this unjust
claim.”
“All right,” jeered Dorsett, retreating down the steps, and beckoning to
his companion, “then within thirty minutes I’ll put an embargo on your
leaving the county until I have my money, according to law.”
Mrs. Ismond sunk to a chair quite pale and distressed.
“Frank,” she gasped in a frightened way, “what is he going to do?”
“Some mean trick, be sure of that,” said Frank. “Mother, I’ll stay here
ten years but I will never pay that outrageous claim.”
“Be assured I would never let you,” replied his mother, firmly.
“I wish I knew what he was up to?” murmured Frank in a troubled way.
“Leave that for me to find out for you,” said Markham briskly, bolting
from the house like a shot.