“That’s it. Just now he has got to look after an account that is worth something like fifteen thousand dollars to him.”
“All right then. I’ll call at three o’clock sharp,” said our hero, and left the place.
The statement the clerk had made was rather reassuring, for if Jabez Garrison had an account of fifteen thousand dollars coming to him he certainly could not be in a very bad condition financially.
“Perhaps this unpleasantness will all blow over after all,” thought Frank. “Father may be right, and I may be misjudging this man.”
He found a restaurant that suited him, and as he had a long time to wait, took his leisure in eating. Then he visited several department stores, spending a full hour in the picture and book departments. Books particularly interested him, and as he had a quarter to spend he let it go in the purchase of a volume which was slightly soiled, and therefore sold to him at one-third of its real value.
“I wouldn’t mind owning a bookstore of my own,” he said to himself, as he set out once again for Jabez Garrison’s offices. “It’s a business that would just suit me. I wonder if Mr. Philip Vincent has a place as large as that department I just visited?” And then he wondered when the gentleman from New York intended to send the book he had promised.
When Frank arrived at the flour dealer’s offices the clerk met him with rather a troubled look on his face.
“Mr. Garrison isn’t here,” he said. “He went out about two hours ago, and I can’t say how soon he’ll be back.”