“FRANK’S MAIL ORDER HOUSE”
“Gentlemen, you embarrass me.”
“Hear! hear!”
“I may say, I am overwhelmed--overpowered--”
“Good! Get over it, and give us a speech.”
“No, a toast first. ‘Frank’s Mail Order House.’ Stet, fill up the
sparking glasses once more.”
“Hip, hurrah! Success to Frank Newton and his new business venture.”
A merry friendly party was gathered about a long folding table in the
middle of a spacious room. There were seven of them, and they were
having a jolly good time. An acceptable lunch graced the banqueting
board. Attired in a neat waiter’s apron and entering heart and soul into
the enjoyment of the occasion, Stet, general utility boy for Haven
Bros., helped the guests from a great pail of ice cold lemonade, and
made himself generally useful about the table.
This was Pleasantville, where Frank Newton, his mother, and Markham had
arrived just one week previous. The room in which Frank’s friends were
giving him a welcome was located on the lower floor of the old building
that Haven Bros. had transformed into a print shop in their early
amateur publishing career.
Long since the firm of Haven Bros. had risen to the dignity of occupying
quarters right next to the _Eagle_, on the main street of the village.
They had a lease of the old quarters, however. When Frank came again
upon the scene a joint committee of his loyal friends had met in
executive session to see what they could do to put him on his feet.
This old structure stood back from the street, but had a pleasing lawn
and flower beds on either side of the broad walk approaching it. The
building was just off the principal Pleasantville thoroughfare.
There were two large rooms on the lower floor and a spacious store room
above. The Havens and Bart Stirling had fitted up one of the lower rooms
as an office. Bob Haven had donated a desk and several chairs. His
brother Darry had put in a table and a file cabinet. Bart had furnished
a neat rug. That evening they had gone to the cottage which Mrs. Ismond
had rented, and had led Frank over to this little surprise party,
comprising themselves, Jim Dunlap, an old printer, and Baker Mills, also
an employe of the _Herald_.
Markham was somewhat reticent at first, but he soon warmed up in response
to the free and hearty spirits surrounding him.
He was immensely interested as the crowd began to chat on experiences.
The story of how Bart Stirling had risen from a “sub” in a little
express office to assistant manager of a large office, as already
related in “The Young Express Agent,” was particularly fine to his way
of thinking.
The career of the Havens was quite as remarkable. They now ran the
leading weekly newspaper in Pleasantville, and had a job printing
business that employed two men besides themselves.
Stet, the boy they had rescued from hard usage and extortion at the
hands of their rival, Jasper Mackey, publisher of the Pleasantville
_Eagle_, had become a valued fixture with them.
Mrs. Haven, who furnished fashion plates for some city magazines, got up
an original pen and ink sketch for the _Herald_ each week. The Haven
boys were generally conceded to get out the most readable weekly
newspaper in that section of the state.
“I declare,” said Frank, with a grateful and a gratified look about the
place, “you fellows have just about equipped me for business.”
“Oh, not yet,” said Bob Haven. “My sister is away for a month, and I
have arranged to loan you her typewriter till you can afford to get one
of your own.”
“Say,” broke in Markham, eagerly, “I’m just at home on that machine.”
“Good for you,” approved Bob. “Then there’s a painter, here owes us a
bill for printing he never could pay in cash. He’s painting a neat
gold-lettered sign for the front of your place. ‘Frank’s Mail Order
House.’”
“Yes,” put in Darry, “and I’ve dug out of storage an upright showcase we
took for a debt. It’s got twelve glass shelves. Set it up at the edge of
the walk with samples of the various articles you are going to sell, and
I’ll warrant many farmer groups coming to town will drop in to look
around and invest.”
“This is simply immense,” said Frank. “I’m just bursting with vanity, or
self-importance, or ambition, or something of that sort.”
He briefly outlined his plans to his friends. Frank had only that day
held a two hours’ consultation with John Dawes, who owned the novelty
works at the edge of the town.
Dawes made a specialty of manufacturing light hardware specialties. His
own list embraced over two hundred articles, ranging from pocket rules
to tool chests. He supplied a great many mail order people all over
the country, and told Frank he would be glad to encourage a local
institution.
“He has given me as low a rate as any customer he has on his books, he
says,” reported Frank. “Besides that, being directly on the spot, I save
the freight charges, you see.”
“Good,” said Bart Stirling, “you’ve struck the right location, sure.”
“Mr. Dawes is going to make my apple corer and a puzzle belonging to
Markham,” said Frank. “Then I have made arrangements with a dozen large
city supply houses. I am going to push that harmless comical novelty,
the false moustache wrinkle. I have also ordered quite a line of cheap
jewelry, especially initial cuff buttons and friendship and birthday
rings. I can sell at one dollar and a half a solid gold birthday ring
that retailers everywhere mark at three dollars as a minimum price.
Soon as I get onto all the ropes, I intend to reach out for class and
fraternity emblem trade, selling on sample, and having the goods made
by a city jewelry manufacturer.”
“That’s it,” suddenly broke in Bob Haven to Markham, who had carelessly
slipped on one of the false moustaches in question. “Heard about your
talent as an entertainer.”
“Yes, give us a round, Markham,” suggested Bart.
Markham got up on a chair, put on Stet’s cap, applied goatee and false
teeth, and soon had the audience screaming with hilarity over a very
creatable representation of a stranded actor giving a monologue in a
country grocery store.
The party broke up with congratulatory hand shakes and all kind of good
wishes for the success of Frank’s new business enterprise.
When Bart and the others had gone, Frank and Markham looked about their
business quarters with a proud air of satisfaction and comfort.
“I tell you, Frank, those fellows are royal good friends of yours,”
spoke Markham.
“Yes,” said Frank with real emotion, “they have indeed given me the lift
they promised me. We are of poor business material, indeed, if we cannot
make this fine beginning lead to a grand success. Now then, for a
genuine start in the morning. If you will act as typewriter till we can
afford to hire one, I will fold a batch of our first circulars.”
“Sure, I will,” said Markham readily.
Bob Haven had brought a thousand circulars just off the press. Haven
Bros. were to do all the printing for the mail order business. Mrs.
Haven had made several sketches, little inch squares, showing the false
moustache outfit, the wire puzzle, the initial jewelry and several other
minor specialties. Below followed a list of nearly fifty articles, of
which Frank had a small stock on hand and could replenish on short order
from city supply houses with which he had made a definite arrangement.
The two boys spread out one of the mailing lists Frank had got from the
salvage stock. Four boxes containing a thousand envelopes were placed
ready beside the printed circulars. Frank put out the lights and locked
the office door with the care of a miser securing his treasure.
Markham routed Frank out of bed at five o’clock the next morning.
They arrived at the office by six. Somewhere Markham had learned the
typewriter perfectly. By four o’clock in the afternoon the thousand
circulars were all folded, and the thousand envelopes all addressed and
stamped.
“Why, hello, my young friends,” hailed the village postmaster cheerily,
as this big mail was deposited on the stamp table. “If you keep this
up, you’ll soon have this promoted to a second-class post office.”
Frank wound up the day’s labor by polishing up the show case Darry Haven
had sent around that afternoon. They fitted up its glass shelves with
samples of the goods they advertised. They got a staunch iron standard
to support the case, and screwed this securely to the walk just at the
edge of the street.
“We’ll work to-morrow morning on our catalogue and the advertising Darry
Haven is going to place for us,” said Frank, as they left for home that
evening.
“Don’t go in too deep at first, Frank,” suggested Markham.
“No, I have formulated a definite system,” declared Frank, “and I shall
try to stick to it. You see, I left Greenville with about two hundred
dollars. It has taken about fifty of that to get mother settled here,
and incidental expenses. Then I have your twenty-five dollars you
insist on leaving in trust with me. I have put fifty dollars aside
for preliminary printing and some advertising in county papers Darry
is going to get cheap for me. If returns are favorable I shall print a
small catalogue, and put just half of our profits back into circularizing
and advertising as fast as the money comes in.”
They had barely settled down to work the next morning when two schoolboys
put in an appearance. One wanted to buy a “Twelve Tools in One” specialty
as marked in the show case at twenty-five cents. The other produced a
dime for a set of the false teeth.
“Profits fifteen cents and a-half to date,” cried Markham gaily, as
their first customers departed. “Those little fellows will spread our
fame.”
“When we get into full running order this local trade will be a nuisance
to us,” declared Markham towards noon.
In fact, he was kept on the jump attending to local customers all the
morning. A raw young farmer had come in to blushingly buy a friendship
ring. Several curious townspeople strolled to the office door, and out
of good nature invested in various knickknacks displayed. One boy bought
a false moustache, and within an hour twenty others visited the place
clamoring for duplicates.
“About to-morrow the answers to our circulars will begin to come in,”
observed Markham. “That will be the real test of the merit of this
business.”
“We will close up for the afternoon,” said Frank. “There’s a lot of
little things to do about the house and lot mother has rented. I
promised she should have our help for half a day.”
After dinner Frank and Markham put on some old clothes and set briskly
at work. They mended the back stoop of the cottage, propped up a fence,
raked the yard and got the wood shed in order.
About four o’clock both started in at the cistern at the side of the
house. Its top had settled in, and new boards were required here and
there, and a new trough from the house eaves.
Markham was holding a board that Frank was nailing, when some one
passing by on the street whistling caused both to look up.
“Don’t let go--the board will spring loose,” warned Frank, turning
quickly as the pressure from the board end was suddenly removed--“why,
Markham--”
“Oh, the mischief!” muttered Markham.
In wonderment and consternation at a swift glance Frank noticed a
strangely startled expression on his companion’s face.
Then, his eyes fixed steadfastly upon the street, Markham deliberately
jumped down into the cistern out of sight.