It was his first visit to that city, but he had received some directions which made his expedition less embarrassing.
At the ferry he took a Flatbush Avenue car, and rode up Fulton Street, and past the City Hall, up Fulton Avenue, for nearly a mile.
Here were interesting streets, lined with comfortable houses—for Frank had made up his mind first to try private houses. He had with him a few pound parcels of tea, which he thought he could perhaps succeed in disposing of at such places.
He selected a house at random, and rang the bell.
A servant answered the ring.
Frank felt rather embarrassed, but there was no time to hesitate.
"I have some samples of tea with me," he began, "of excellent quality and at reasonable prices."
"It's no use," said the girl, abruptly. "We never buy of peddlers," and she closed the door in his face.
"Not a very good beginning," thought Frank, rather mortified. "So I am a peddler," he said to himself, and he called to mind the agents and peddlers who in past years had called at the Cedars.
With some compunction, he remembered that he had regarded them with some contempt as traveling nuisances. Now he had entered the ranks of this despised class, and he began to see that they might be perfectly respectable, and were estimable persons, animated by a praiseworthy desire to make an honest living.