“Good-by,” came from Frank. “Don’t ever try to run away again.”
“I guess I won’t,” answered the boy.
CHAPTER XV
CAUGHT IN A STORM
The remainder of the afternoon proved uneventful. Frank visited nine farmhouses, and succeeded in selling one more cattle and poultry book. He returned to the hotel at Fairport utterly tired out with his day’s tramping.
“Only three sales to-day,” was his mental comment. “That is not so good. My commissions amount to two dollars and a quarter, and my expenses will be a dollar and forty-five cents. That leaves a profit of just eighty cents. Well, that is better than nothing. I might have sold more if the houses weren’t so far apart.”
He found that the hotel keeper had assigned him to a small, but clean and comfortable room. Supper was plain, but substantial, and Frank ate all that was set before him.
“Traveling salesman, I suppose?” remarked the hotel man, when Frank joined him on the hotel stoop, where there were a row of armchairs for guests.
“I sell books,” answered the young agent. “Maybe I can sell you some.”
“No, I’ve got about all the books I want. Had any success?”