This latter device was really a very meritorious article. Retaining the form and dimensions of the original sheath, Frank had set inside two moving pieces of tin that acted as knives. These ran into a spiral tube which penetrated the apple without injuring it, and a twist on a knob cut the core out clean as a whistle.
Monday morning’s mail was the largest yet received, due, Frank believed, to some little advertising Haven Bros. had caused to be inserted in a few neighboring country newspapers.
His little capital was now again nearly at the two hundred dollar mark. About noon Frank made up a package of about two hundred dollars. He had arranged to pay this amount to Haven Bros., draw against it if he ran short of funds, otherwise leave it in their hands to pay for the catalogue, which would be quite an expensive job.
Markham had gone to the post-office with some mail. Frank looked up as a footstep sounded on the walk outside of the office door.
It was not Markham, as Frank at first expected. Instead, a person he regarded in a decidedly unfavorable light came into view.
The visitor was Dale Wacker, the boy Bob Haven had designated to Frank the day that Markham made his sensational dive into the cistern.
He was not dressed as jauntily as on that occasion. His appearance was shabby and unkempt now. He slouched up to the door with a sneak-thief air, yet withal the brass and effrontery of a person possessed of few fine sensibilities.
“Say,” spoke Wacker to Frank, “you run this shop?”
“I’m interested in this business, yes,” answered Frank distantly.