A BAD BUSINESS
Frank came down to the office the next morning looking haggard and
troubled. Stet was hanging around the door.
“Darry Haven told me to wait till you came down, and then let him know,”
said the little fellow.
“All right,” nodded Frank in a dull way.
Stet darted off with his usual elfish nimbleness. Frank unlocked the
door and sat down before his desk rather gloomily. He mechanically
arranged some papers. Darry was with him before he had accomplished
much. Stet accompanied him.
“Well, Frank,” questioned Darry, “any word of Markham?”
“Not a trace, Darry.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” observed Darry in a musing way. “I declare I can’t
understand it.”
“Nor I,” said Frank. “It’s him I’m thinking of, not of myself. I
haven’t slept a wink all night. Honest, Darry, if he was an own brother
I couldn’t feel more anxious. Mother is quite as worried. I went
everywhere about town last evening till the stores shut up. I telephoned
several neighboring towns. I saw trainmen around the depot.”
“And found no one who had seen Markham after you sent him on that errand
with the money and the mailing lists?”
“Not a soul, Darry.”
“How do you explain it?”
“I can’t. I suppose some people who don’t know Markham as I do, would
say I was a fool to take up a stranger and put so much trust in him,
that it served me right to have him run away with all I have in the
world first chance he got. Well, let me tell you, Darry, that boy
wouldn’t do me a wrong turn wilfully for a million dollars, and I know
it.”
Darry sighed and was silent. He had liked Markham, but his young
business career had brought him in contact with so many weak and
absolutely bad people, that secretly he feared that Markham had yielded
to temptation, and they would not hear of him again.
“Have you no theory as to the reason why Markham should be missing so
mysteriously?” he asked.
“Why, yes, I have, in a way, Darry,” responded Frank, “but it is all
guess-work. I told you last night about some secret in his life.”
“Yes, I know,” nodded Darry.
“I also told you that I was convinced that Dale Wacker knew Markham, and
that Markham for some reason dreaded meeting him.”
“It certainly looked that way, judging from Markham’s actions.”
“Very well, I think they ran into each other after Markham went on the
errand to you. Wacker is a blackmailer, as his talk to me about the
puzzle plainly shows. Does he know something about Markham that might
make him trouble? It certainly looks that way. He may have terrorized
Markham into running away.”
“All right, if that is true, then Markham, if he is an honest boy, will
send back your money and the mailing lists.”
“Of course he will,” declared Frank. “I’ve been expecting to receive
them every hour.”
“And if he doesn’t,” suggested Darry, somewhat skeptically.
“If he doesn’t,” repeated Frank, slowly but steadily, “then make up your
mind to one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“That Markham is in the power of some one who holds him a prisoner, and
can’t get word to me.”
“H’m,” said Darry simply. Frank’s eyes flashed.
“Furthermore,” he went on, “assuming that, I shall make it my business
to investigate along that line, I shall never lose faith in Markham’s
honesty and fidelity to me till I have used every endeavor to find out
when, where and why he dropped out of sight so mysteriously.”
“You’re a staunch friend, you are,” commented Darry. “In the meantime,
though, Frank, your capital is gone. Worse than that, the whole basis of
your business has gone with it.”
“Yes, the mailing lists,” said Frank. “I’ve thought that all out, Darry.
You will have to stop work on the catalogue and the rest of the
printing. I can’t pay for the work.”
“We’ll trust you.”
“No,” said Frank steadily, “I can’t run into debt.”
“We might spare a little cash till--till you hear from the other.”
“I won’t involve my friends. I have planned it all out. My mother is
coming down to the office to take care of the little business that will
come in from the advertising.”
“And what will you do?” asked Darry curiously.
“I have arranged to hire a horse and wagon. I shall go out and visit
small towns and sell from door to door, or even from the wagon, till I
hear from that missing money, or get on my feet again.”
“You’re a good one,” pronounced Darry with an admiring sparkle in his
eye, slapping Frank heartily on the shoulder. “You’re a stubborn one,
too, so I won’t intrude offers of assistance only to be turned down.”
“All the time,” resumed Frank, “I shall be looking out for a trace of
Markham. See here, Darry, I can’t get that Dale Wacker off my mind. Who
are his companions? Where does he hang out? How am I going to set a
watch on him?”
“He may not even be in town,” suggested Darry. “You know Bob and I went
all over Pleasantville last evening, like yourself seeking a trace of
Markham. It looked as if Wacker had flashed into town and out again. We
didn’t run across him, and we didn’t find anybody who had seen him since
late in the afternoon.”
“Say, can I speak a word?” piped in an anxious voice.
It was little Stet who had spoken. Frank and Darry had forgotten all
about him. Now Stet got up timorously from the door step.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Darry. “Heard all we’ve said, too, I suppose,
Stet?”
“Yes, I have,” replied Stet. “Had to--ought to--I’m interested, I am. I
like you. I like Mr. Newton. You’re both my friends. I like Markham,
too. He gave Hemp Carson, the _Eagle_ manager, a setting down for
pitching onto me. I don’t like Dale Wacker. Huh! hadn’t ought to. He
robbed me of two dollars once. Well, Dale Wacker is in Pleasantville. I
saw him this morning. He came in on a farmer’s wagon from somewhere out
of town.”
“That’s news, anyway,” said Darry.
“You were going to give me my regular ten days’ vacation next week, you
know,” continued Stet to Darry. “Make it begin to-day, and I’ll soon
find out for you all there is to find out about Dale Wacker’s doings.”
“But that is hardly a vacation, Stet?” suggested Frank.
“It will be,” chuckled the little fellow, “if I can get my two dollars’
worth of satisfaction out of him by showing him up.”
“All right,” said Darry, “try it, Stet, if you want to.”
Stet went away forthwith. Frank went into details with Darry as to the
mail order business. It must remain partially inactive until something
encouraging developed.
The morning mail was a pretty good one. About ten o’clock Mrs. Ismond
came down to the office, and Frank initiated his mother into the
business routine.
“Just get the mail each day, and fill what orders you can,” said Frank.
“When you can’t fill an order, return the money. You see, mother, I want
to take the bulk of stock on hand with me for quick sales, and I can’t
order any more until I get some money ahead.”
Frank put in two hours about town trying to look up Markham. The result
was quite as discouraging as upon the day previous. He closed an
arrangement for the hire of a horse and a light wagon, and packed up
some goods at the office, ready for his trip into the country.
Mrs. Ismond, with a woman’s instinctive capacity for neatness, had the
office in attractive order by late afternoon, and all the work attended
to.
“Don’t get discouraged, Frank,” she said, as they were on their way
home. “It won’t take a great deal of money to keep up the business in a
small way. I sent out a hundred circulars this afternoon, and I will
keep on at that average while you are away.”
“Why,” spoke Frank, “how can you do that, with no mailing list
addresses?”
“Oh, I set my wits at work and made quite a discovery,” responded Mrs.
Ismond with a bright smile. “The Pleasantville _Herald_ has quite a list
of exchanges. I asked Darry to send me some. They come from all over the
State. I selected a number of promising names from little news items in
the papers. For instance: I took girls’ names from church and society
items, and boys’ names from baseball club items and the like. Good,
fresh names, Frank--don’t you see?”
“I do see,” said Frank, “and it’s a grand idea, mother.”
After supper Mrs. Ismond went upstairs to make up a little parcel of
collars, handkerchiefs and the like for her son’s journey.
Frank looked up from the county map from which he was formulating a
route, as his mother reappeared. At a glance he saw that she was very
much agitated.
“Oh, Frank!” she panted, sinking into a chair pale and
distressed-looking.
“Why, what’s the matter, mother?” exclaimed Frank, arising quickly to
his feet.
Mrs. Ismond had a worn yellow sheet of paper in her hand.
“Markham,” she said, in a sad, pained way. “I was getting out some
neckties for you, and by mistake opened the bureau drawer where he kept
his belongings. I found this.”
“What is it, mother?” asked Frank, taking the paper from her hand. He
saw for himself, and his face turned quite as white and troubled as her
own.
“Too bad--too bad,” said Frank, looking down at the time-worn sheet of
paper in a disheartened way.