“Ah,” said Frank, feeling of the last letter, “here is something tangible, sure, Markham. I can feel the coin.”
“Maybe it’s a cent,” suggested Markham, with a slight tinge of sarcasm.
“No, a ten-cent piece, sure enough,” declared Frank. “For your puzzle, Markham, too.”
“Yes,” put in Markham, picking up the coin that Frank had placed on his desk, “but the dime is—lead!”
Frank pulled a dismal face. Markham looked actually mad. Then their glances met. They broke into a hearty laugh mutually.
“Humph!” commented Markham.
“Amusing, isn’t it?” asked Frank, trying hard to keep up his courage.
“Oh, well, there’s the afternoon mail,” suggested Markham, getting up and beginning to fold some more circulars. “Who expected any mail of consequence this morning, anyhow?”
Frank resumed his task of working on the catalogue. He whistled a cheery bar or two, felt too serious to keep it up, and went on with his work in a half-hearted way.
“This Frank’s Mail Order House?” demanded a brisk voice, half an hour later.