“Perhaps they saw me coming and don’t want to let me in,” he mused.
While he was waiting a sudden gust of wind came up, followed by some big drops of rain. Then came more wind, and a sudden downpour that would have soaked him to the skin had he been out in it.
“Well, I am under cover anyway,” he reasoned, and then he rang the bell once more. Still not a soul appeared.
Close at hand were several windows, and all of them were wide open. The wind blew the lace curtains furiously, and soon the rain began to beat into two rooms, which Frank could see were handsomely furnished.
“I believe the folks must be out,” he said, at last. “And they certainly won’t want those windows open in such a storm as this.” And then he began to close the openings from the outside. It was rather hard work, and he grew quite wet doing it. All told there were eight windows on the lower floor which were open and three upstairs, but the latter he could not, of course, reach.
Frank had all but two windows on the lower floor shut up when a carriage drove into the grounds at a furious rate. It contained a colored driver, a lady, a maid, and four children.
“Hi, dar, wot you doin’?” demanded the colored coachman.
“I’m closing the windows,” answered Frank. “It’s raining in.”
The carriage came up to the piazza, and the lady and the children leaped out, followed by the maid. All stared at the young book agent inquiringly.
“Excuse me, madam,” said Frank, touching his cap. “But I got here just as the storm started. I saw all the lower windows of your house open and thought nobody could be home.”