The youth worked hard during the afternoon, and made several sales which were rather gratifying—one of some middlings which had become slightly spoiled and which his father had despaired of selling. Frank sold the stuff for just what it was, so that no fault might be found later.
He was placing the nine dollars he had received in the transaction in the money drawer, when a dark, middle-aged man came in, and looked around.
“I suppose Mr. Hardy isn’t here?” he said.
“No, sir; my father is at home with a crushed foot,” answered Frank, telling what he had repeated many times before.
“I am Jackson Devore, the feed man. I have a bill of ninety dollars that has been running for some time. I want to know when your father intends to pay it.”
“I guess he’ll pay it as soon as he can, Mr. Devore.”
“That is what he told me when I saw him last. This bill has got to be paid at once.”
“I can’t pay it now.”
“Well, if it isn’t paid by the day after to-morrow, I’ll bring suit.”
“The day after to-morrow is the Fourth of July.”