He took down her name and address. “If I don’t want them I’ll drop you a postal card,” he added.
“Very well.”
Jumping on the bicycle he pedaled to the next house. Had he walked the distance it would have taken him ten minutes or more. As it was, it took hardly any time at all. Here he met an old man, and after a good deal of talking took an order for one of the health books.
“One order anyway,” he thought, grimly. “I won’t be whitewashed to-day.” He dreaded to put in a day without an order.
He obtained his dinner at another farmhouse. It was a scant meal and cost him twenty-five cents. The folks did not want to talk books, and were so disagreeable that he was glad to leave.
Up to four o’clock he visited sixteen additional places. Although he talked his best he could sell nothing. It was now beginning to cloud up and he knew a storm could not be far off.
“I suppose I ought to be getting back to the hotel,” he said to himself. But he hated to think of going back with just one order.
Some distance ahead was the entrance to a very fine grounds. In the midst, between some beautiful trees, a new mansion had been erected. He wondered if he could sell any books there.
“Nothing like trying,” he said, half aloud, and wheeled into the grounds with all speed. He left his bicycle under a carriage shed and then walked up the piazza steps and rang the bell.
Nobody answered his summons, and after waiting a few minutes, he rang again, this time as hard as he could. Still nobody came to the door.