The following week was a busy one for the young book agent. He spent one day in collecting all the old books he had bought, and sent them to his home, where they were stored in a vacant bedroom, which was thus turned into what the family called “Frank’s bookery.” He also ordered the new books he wished.
“You are certainly doing remarkably well,” was Mr. Hardy’s comment, when Frank had told the story of his week’s work. “I never dreamed you would do half as well.”
“I don’t suppose I’ll do so well right along,” answered the son. “But I’m going to do my best.”
Mr. Hardy also had news to tell. Mr. Begoin, the lawyer, had called upon him, and a letter had been sent to the officials of the railroad company, notifying them that damages for the accident would be demanded. As a consequence, a lawyer in the employ of the railroad company had appeared.
“He was a very slick fellow,” said Mr. Hardy. “He tried his best to get me to accept two hundred dollars in full for my claim. When he saw that I wouldn’t take two hundred, he advanced to three hundred, and then to four hundred. He said I was very foolish not to accept four hundred.”
“And what did you tell him, father?” questioned Frank.
“I told him, after he had talked for half an hour, that I meant to leave the matter entirely with my lawyer, Mr. Begoin.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He was much disturbed, and before he went wanted to know if I’d sign off my claim for five hundred dollars. He said if I sued the company they would fight to the bitter end.”
“Do you think they will fight?”