She’s a new one, that yonder. I was making a trial cruise. Professor Balmer, who owns her, is at Circleville. As I say, I must wire him to come and get her on her feet again.”
“You mean her wings?” suggested Frank.
“Exactly. Ready? No, you needn’t help me, I’m only a trifle bruised and stiff.”
Frank led the way townwards. He stopped at the house to put his bicycle away. Then he accompanied his companion to the railroad depot. Here Park Gregson wrote out a telegram and handed it to the operator.
“Expect an answer,” he observed. “I’ll call for it. No, send it to me. I say, Newton,” he addressed Frank with friendly familiarity, “where’s the best place to put up till the professor reports himself?”
“There’s a fairly good hotel here,” said Frank.
Gregson looked a trifle embarrassed for an instant. Then he laughed, saying.
“They’ll have to take me in penniless till the professor arrives.”
“That will be all right,” declared Frank. “I’ll vouch for you. But say, if you would be our guest at home, you will be very welcome.”
“And I will be very delighted to have your most entertaining company,” instantly replied Gregson. “I’ll make it all right when the boss comes.”
Frank was glad to offer this hospitality to his new chance acquaintance. The man interested him. Everything he talked about he covered in a vivid way that made his descriptions instructive. Already he had suggested some points to Frank that had set the latter thinking in new directions. The wide experience of the man was suggestive and valuable to Frank.
Park Gregson asked the telegraph operator to send any reply to his message to the Newton home, and accompanied Frank there.
As they neared the cottage a man in a gig came driving down the road. It was Dorsett.
He glared fiercely at Frank, and then bestowed an inquisitive, suspicious look upon the stranger.
Frank introduced Gregson to his mother, who prepared a lunch for him. Gregson was more shaken up than he had expressed, and was glad to lie down and rest in the neatly-furnished spare room of the cottage.
Frank had some odd chores to do about the village. When he came home again about six o’clock he found Gregson refreshed-looking and comfortably seated in the parlor reading a book.
They had a pleasant time at the supper table. Then they adjourned to the cozy little sitting-room. Christmas was allowed to stay in the house, and seemed to enjoy the animated ways of the balloonist as much as the others.
Park Gregson fairly fascinated them with the story of his travels and adventures in many countries.
“You see, I have been quite a rolling stone, Mrs. Ismond,” he said. “A harmless one, though.”
“Have you never thought of settling down to some regular occupation, sir?” suggested Frank’s mother.
“It’s not in me, madam, I fear,” declared the knockaround. “I did try it once, for a fact. Yes, I actually went into business.”
“What was the line, Mr. Gregson?” asked Frank.
“Mail order business.”
Frank showed by the expression of his face that the balloonist had struck a theme of great interest to him.
“I had a partner,” went on Gregson. “We advertised and sold sets of rubber finger tips to protect the hands of housewives when working about the house.”
“Was it a success?” inquired Frank.
“It was great – famous. The orders just rolled in. We made money hand over fist and spent it like water. One day, though, there came a stop to it all. A lawyer served an injunction on us. It seemed that the device was a French invention patented in this country. My partner sloped with most of the funds, leaving me stranded. All the same, it’s a great business – the mail order line.”
For over an hour Frank kept their guest busy answering a hundred earnest questions as to all the details of the mail order business.
When Gregson had retired for the night Frank sat silent and thoughtful in the company of his mother. Finally he said.
“Mother, Mr. Gregson’s talk has done me a lot of good.”
“I saw you were very much interested,” remarked Mrs. Ismond.
“Interested!” repeated Frank with vim, unable to control his restless spirit and getting up and pacing the room to and fro – “I am simply wild to go deeper into this mail order business. Why, it looks plain as day to me – the way to begin it – the way to exploit it – the way to make a great big success of it. He says that little metal novelties of the household kind take the best. I was just thinking: there’s a hardware novelties factory right on the spot at Pleasantville, and – Down, Christmas, down!”
The dog had interrupted Frank with a low growl. Then, before Frank could deter him, the animal flew at the open window of the sitting-room.
Frank seized Christmas by the collar, just as the animal was aiming to leap clear through it to the garden outside.
“Why, what is the matter, Christmas?” spoke Mrs. Ismond, arising to her feet in some surprise.
Just then a frightful shriek rang out from under the open window, accompanied by the frantic words:
“Help, murder, help – I’m nearly killed!”
CHAPTER VI
“MAIL ORDER FRANK”
At the outcry from beyond the window of the little sitting-room, the dog, Christmas, became fairly frantic. Seizing him by the collar, however, Frank gave him a stern word. Wont to obey, the animal retreated to one side of the room, but still growling, and his fur bristling.
Frank instantly caught up the lamp from the table and carried it to the window. His mother peered out in a startled way at the scene now illuminated without.
“Why, it is Mr. Dorsett!” she exclaimed.
“As I expected,” said Frank, quietly.
“Frank,” murmured his mother, anxiously, “what have you been doing?”
“Preparing for eavesdroppers – and sneaks. Caught one first set of the trap, it seems,” responded Frank in clear, loud tones.
The captured lurker was indeed Dorsett. He was panting and infuriated. One foot was held imprisoned in a wooden spring clamp chained to a log in a hole in the ground. This aperture had been covered with light pieces of sod which Dorsett was pushing aside with his cane, while he continued to groan with pain.
The lamplight enabled him to discern more clearly the trap that had caught him. He managed to pull one side of the contrivance loose and got his foot free.
Wincing with pain and limping, he came closer to the window, boiling with rage.
“So you did it, and boast of it, do you?” he howled at Frank.
“I
