“Not until he hears from the railroad company, or from Philadelphia.”
Mr. Hardy could now hobble around the house with the aid of a cane, but it was thought best not to let him go beyond the porch and the back garden.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said to Frank. “I’ll make out several lists of the books you have.”
“Just make out one nice list, father, and that will be enough,” returned our hero. “I am going to New York again before long and see some dealers in second-hand books. Perhaps I’ll do as well buying up old books as in selling new books.”
“Perhaps you can make more sales, Frank, if you’ll agree to take old books in part payment.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
It rained for two days so hard that to attempt to go out and sell books was out of the question. Frank spent the time around the house, doing whatever came to hand. He also put his bicycle in prime condition, for in the future he intended to ride the wheel as much as possible, and thus save railroad and stage fares.
He received a very complimentary letter from Mr. Vincent, in which the publisher congratulated him on his success.
“You are undoubtedly cut out for this business,” wrote Mr. Vincent. “Keep at it by all means, and some day you may become a publisher yourself—provided you don’t come to the conclusion that you can make more money by selling alone.”
As soon as it cleared off, Frank set out with a large package of books which were to be delivered. He also carried his order case, and a small valise, for he expected this time to remain away from home for some time.