CONCLUSION
There was no regret with Frank for the kindness he had shown Gideon
Purnell. That man had died three days after Frank had removed him to the
little cottage, leaving a signed confession that meant the defeat of
Dorsett in his suit at law.
Markham referred to the matter of his disappearance, but in a vague,
constrained way.
He stated that Dale Wacker had a certain power to do him great harm. So
great was his dread, that he had consented to accompany Wacker away from
the town. He had managed, however, first to drop the two hundred dollars
where it was later recovered by Frank.
“Never mind what it was,” explained Markham, “but that boy could do me
great harm. I hoped to temporize with him. He took me to a lonely
farmhouse. Here he had a friend as bad as himself. They locked me up,
took the mailing lists away from me, and said I should never go free
till I told what I had done with your money, which, somehow, Wacker
knew I had in my possession when he first overtook me. It was at the
farmhouse that I made up that letter to Haven Brothers. I dropped it
next day from a wagon in which they drove me to the mine.”
“All right, Markham,” said Frank, “there’s more to tell I know, but
you’ll tell me when the right time comes, I am sure.”
“The right time will soon be here, never fear,” declared Markham, with
emotion. “I have written a letter that will bring me a friend who will
quickly clear up all this mystery.”
The old office had been cut up into four rooms. A young lady kept the
books. Frank had engaged a crippled young man as a stenographer, and he
was a good one. Markham and himself had each an office to himself.
Upstairs was the stock and shipping rooms employing four boys.
“System and sense” had been Frank’s watchwords--the mail order business
was a pronounced success on that basis.
“A gentleman to see you,” spoke the stenographer, arousing Frank from a
most pleasing day dream.
Frank looked up to greet a bronzed, earnest-eyed man of middle age. He
was erect and military in his bearing.
“Is a young man named Markham employed here?” inquired the stranger.
“He is interested in the business here, yes,” said Frank.
This would have been news to Markham himself. The wire puzzle had
brought in lots of money. Frank had planned to tell Markham that very
evening that the latter should have a settled, tangible interest in the
mail order business.
“I did not know that,” said the visitor, with a quick sparkle in his
eyes that Frank could not at all understand. “I very much wish to see
him.”
“He is away on some business,” explained Frank, “but I think he will
return within an hour.”
“May I wait?” politely inquired the gentleman.
“Certainly,” said Frank, “just step into his office.”
Frank ushered the stranger into the next office, pulled a chair near the
window, and handed him the daily paper from the city.
He resumed his work. Engrossed in this, he almost forgot about the
waiting stranger. Frank finally discovered that over an hour had gone
by. He stepped to the door of the adjoining office.
“I am sorry for your long wait, sir,” he said, “but I feel certain
Markham will be here soon. Is it anything I can attend to for him?”
“No,” was the definite reply.
Just then Frank heard some one inquiring for him in the outer office.
This seemed to be a day for strangers. Two men whom he had never seen
before entered his room.
One free and easy of manner at once addressed Frank.
“Is your name Newton?”
“Yes,” responded Frank, none too well pleased at the man’s familiarity.
“Believe you telegraphed to the reformatory at Linwood some time since
about a boy named Welmore--Richard Markham Welmore?”
Frank started. He was greatly taken aback.
“Did I?” he said simply.
“You did,” asserted the stranger promptly. “You’ve given us some trouble
running you down. Welmore, under the name of Markham, is now in your
employ.”
“What of it?” inquired Frank, with dire forebodings of trouble.
“We want him, that’s all, my dear young friend,” broke in the other man.
“Dangerous character, escaped criminal. This is an officer of the
institution.”
“What is your interest in this matter, may I ask?” demanded Frank.
“Distant relative, guardian, best friend. Sad case. Left on my hands,
cared for him, spent my means educating him. Repaid kindness by robbing
me.”
“That is a falsehood!”
Like a thunder clap the words sounded out. The waiting stranger in the
next room spoke them. As he appeared in the open doorway, the man whose
veracity he challenged looked as though confronted by an accusing
nemesis.
“Welmore!” he almost screamed. He turned white as a sheet and cowered
back.
“Yes, Jasper Lane--false friend, perjurer and thief,” flashed out the
other. “You cared for Dick Welmore? You expended your means on him?
Where is the two thousand dollars I left you for his education?”
“Keep him off--don’t let him touch me,” pleaded the other man.
“Pah!” coarsely uttered the reformatory man, giving Lane a disgusted
push to one side. “Mister,” he continued, addressing Lane’s accuser, “if
there’s been crooked business here, we didn’t know it.”
“There has been,” affirmed the other. “My boy wrote me about it. I have
hastened from the Philippines to right his wrongs. This creature, Lane,
accused him falsely, had him imprisoned. I secured the proofs of it
before I came here to find my son Dick Welmore.”
“Markham’s father!” murmured Frank.
“Well,” said the officer, “your boy will have to go with me, but if you
can prove what you say, the court will not long hold him.”
“You, Jasper Lane,” spoke Mr. Welmore sternly, “you do not leave my side
till you have righted my boy.”
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Don’t expose me, don’t ruin my reputation!”
whined Jasper Lane.
“There is Markham--Dick--now,” announced Frank, as a cheery whistle
sounded outside.
The next moment Markham entered the room, grew pale as he first noticed
Lane, saw his father, and flew to his parent’s arms with a wild cry of
delight.
“Father,” he said, leading Mr. Welmore towards Frank, “this is Frank
Newton, the best friend I ever had in the world.”
* * * * *
“Seen your sign outside--Boy Wanted--I need a job.”
“All right, in a moment. Sit down.”
Frank did not look up from the letter he was reading to give attention
to the applicant for work.
It was a very interesting letter for Frank, for it was from Dick Welmore,
or Markham, as we have known him.
It told that the youth had been completely vindicated and released, and
would be back at his business post of duty in the morning.
It also enclosed an item cut from a city paper, telling of the arrest
and conviction of Dale Wacker for robbing street mail boxes.
“All right,” said Frank now, for the first moment glancing at the boy he
had requested to be seated. “Want work, do you--Why, Nelson Cady!”
“It’s me, yes,” confessed Frank’s visitor.
“Why,” said Frank, “I thought you were in Idaho?”
“Was--ain’t now. Never will be again,” declared Nelson.
“And you have come back to try something more congenial, Nelson?”
insinuated Frank, with a friendly smile.
“Yes. I want work. Give it to me, will you?” pleaded Nelson.
“Have you been home yet?” asked Frank.
“No, nor won’t go there until I have earned enough to pay back the money
my father started me out with.”
“I’ll hire you, Nelson,” said Frank readily, “only I must advise your
father where you are.”
The result of his decision to put aside roaming and adventure for
practical business will be told in another volume, to be entitled “The
Young Storekeeper.” In that volume we shall meet Frank and some of our
other friends again.
The following week Frank found that the business needed more space, and
closed an advantageous lease for the third floor of Main Street Block.
Right in the heart of the bustling little town, one morning, a big gilt
sign announced to the public the new and enlarged quarters of FRANK’S
MAIL ORDER HOUSE.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.