It was a long story, but all listened with deep interest to all our hero had to say.
“And you have really sold thirty-nine dollars worth of books, Frank!” ejaculated his father, in amazement. “It is wonderful. I did not think any agent could do so well.”
“And to think his commission is over nine dollars!” put in Ruth. “Oh, Frank, you’ll be a millionaire!”
“Hardly,” he answered, with a short laugh.
“You must remember that Mr. Begoin’s order alone amounted to thirty dollars. If it had not been for that my commission would have been only two dollars and twenty-five cents.”
“But even that is very good,” put in Mrs. Hardy.
“I am glad you spoke to the lawyer,” came from Mr. Hardy. “I shall be glad to see him. I want to know how I stand in this matter of damages from the railroad, and also how I stand in this Garrison case. I am not up in legal matters, and need somebody to straighten out the tangle for me.”
“I’ve got to send in that order for the set of books to-night,” continued Frank. “And I want to get those blank books too.” And he wrote out the necessary orders without delay. For the blank books he obtained a post-office money order, and sent off the letters before retiring.
It must be admitted that Frank slept but little that night. His head was filled with schemes for selling books. He felt that, if he had not struck a bonanza, he had at least struck something that promised very well, and he was resolved to work it “for all it was worth,” as he expressed it.
Like many another person taking up an agency, Frank had a feeling against working close around home, and so resolved to cover a number of towns and country places to the west of Claster. This would keep him from home perhaps a few nights at a time, and he had his mother put some things in a valise for his personal use.