“You did?” exclaimed Markham. “That’s famous! When will they be here?”
“Day after to-morrow, I think. Then I’m going down to Riverton to collect some bills. I calculate it will take about three days to clean up the lot. Mother, you must run the business here while I’m gone. We will have to stay at Riverton nights.”
“Shall I keep on with the needles?” asked Markham.
“Yes, but not here. We will make Riverton headquarters for this trip. You can come with me, and try the false moustaches on the community.”
“Some needles, too,” said Markham. “I’ll guarantee to sell a gross of the moustaches in two days.”
Markham did quite as well the second day as he had the first. It pleased Frank to note how he seemed emerging from a worried-looking, distressed refugee into a bright, laughing, happy boy. Mrs. Ismond had taken a great liking to him, and he seemed never tired of helping Frank with his chores clear up to bed time.
The moustaches arrived the next afternoon. They had a merry evening, Markham applying moustache, goatee and false teeth to his face, and giving character imitations thus disguised, which he had seen at some show.
Frank hired a light wagon and horse for three days, and the next morning he and Markham drove over to Riverton. They arranged for a cheap lodging, and separated. Frank had routed the bills he had to collect systematically. The first batch took in a twenty miles circuit among farmers.
When evening came he had presented bills amounting to about two hundred dollars. As the horse walked slowly back the road to Riverton, Frank figured out the day’s results.
“Pretty good,” he said, running over the paper slips in a package. “I have collected forty-four dollars and eighty cents—got twenty dollars in sixty days’ notes, four promises to pay, four people call again, three parties moved away, and six bills no good.”