“Do you mean that you have another book agent here?” questioned Frank, with interest.
“Yes, a Mr. Grant Deems, from Pittsburgh.”
“When did he arrive?”
“Saturday night. He is going to stay until next Sunday.”
“That is odd,” said Frank. “Do you know what he is selling?” he went on, wondering if the stranger could be a rival.
“No, he didn’t show me his books.”
“Perhaps the place is big enough for two agents at a time. But I’d rather have the field to myself.”
“I trust that you have no trouble with Mr. Deems, Mr. Hardy.”
“I’m sure I’m not looking for trouble,” returned Frank.
That evening Frank met Grant Deems at the supper table. He proved to be a tall, lank individual of thirty or more years of age. He had a hard voice and very insistent manner.