Frank drove leisurely down the principal street of Riverton, bound for the livery stable where he had arranged to put up the horse during their sojourn in town.
He halted with some curiosity and amusement at a corner where a crowd was gathered. Mounted on a dry goods box, Markham was addressing a large and jolly audience.
He was giving character sketches in a really entertaining way. After every sally of laughter he would ply his wares. Everybody seemed buying.
“He’s a bright fellow and a first-class peddler,” Frank reflected, as he continued on his way, unobserved by the friend he had started in business.
“All sold out and the public hungry for more,” announced Markham, as he joined Frank on agreement at a restaurant. “Those false teeth also. I’ll bet fifty people asked for them. Say, it would pay to wire a quick duplicate order on the moustaches and a gross of the teeth. I can certainly sell the outfit before we leave this town.”
“I’ll see if I can’t arrange it,” said Frank, and after supper he did so. Frank got track of a purchasing agent, who for a small commission went daily from Riverton to the city, bringing back with him what light stuff he could carry in his two valises—all the baggage the railroad company would allow through free.
Just at dusk Saturday evening the two friends started cheerily homewards. Frank had made exactly thirty-eight dollars for his three days’ work. Markham’s profits amounted to a little over seventeen dollars.
“I want you to be my banker, Frank,” he said. “Haven’t I done quite well? Next week I’ll cut a still wider swath.”
“Not peddling, Markham,” said Frank.
“Why not?” inquired Markham, in some surprise.