“You’ll be loaded down, with your books and your valise,” said Mrs. Hardy.
“Never mind, mother, I’ll get used to carrying them,” he answered, bravely.
Frank left home at nine o’clock the following morning. He took the stage for Fairport, which was fifteen miles away. Fairport was a center for villages and farms several miles around, and the young book agent felt he could find enough to do in that vicinity for at least a week, if not longer.
He already knew of a cheap but respectable hotel at Fairport, and arriving at the town made his way thither.
“How much will you charge me for a room, with breakfast and supper, for a few days or a week?” he asked of the proprietor.
“Don’t want dinner?”
“No, sir! I’ll be away during the day.”
“A dollar a day as long as you stay.”
“All right, sir. Here is my valise, and I’ll start from supper to-night.”
“Very well. You can register, and your room will be Number 21.”