When Frank went home to dinner he expected to tell both his father and his mother about the visit from the dapper young man; but he found both of them so much worried that he did not say a word. He ate his meal in silence, and hurried back to the place of business as soon as he could.

“I’ll tell them to-night or to-morrow,” he thought. “One thing is certain: we can’t pay that bill, for we haven’t the money on hand with which to do it.”

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.”

“Well, then, the next day,” snarled Jackson Devore. “And tell your father I won’t wait a minute longer. He has let his business run down and go to pieces, and it looks to me like he didn’t intend to pay anything.” And out of the store bounded the man, shaking his head and his fist at the same time.

“This is certainly getting interesting,” said Frank to himself. “We will have to do something soon; that is certain.”

He had exactly twenty-seven dollars on hand, and this cash he took home at supper time. Then he told his parents of what had happened during the day.

“I expected it,” groaned Mr. Hardy. “To keep the store going longer would be folly. I may as well sell out as best I can, and settle these bills as best I can, too.”

“Who will you sell out to?” asked Frank.

“I’m sure I don’t know. I might offer the place to my rivals.”

“They wouldn’t buy anything but the stock.”

“They might be able to use the fixtures, such as they are.”

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” said Frank. “I can go to each of our rivals and get them to submit offers. Perhaps they will bid pretty well against each other—for each wants the business in this town, and they know your good will is worth something.”

“That is a good idea!” said Mr. Hardy, brightening. “You might go and see both of them this evening, if you wish.”

“Frank looks tired,” interposed his mother.

“Never mind, mother, I’ll go anyway. Perhaps Mr. Benning and Mr. Peterson will walk over here and see father.”

“Yes, you might ask them to call,” said the sick man.

A little later Frank went to see Andrew Benning, who lived but a short distance from the Hardy homestead. He found the storekeeper, who was a shrewd Yankee, reading the local weekly paper.

“Your father would like to see me, eh?” said the man. “What about, Frank?”

“He is going to sell out and thought you might like to buy.”

“Hum! Has he set any figger?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I’ll call an’ see him first thing in the morning. I don’t reckon as how the place is wuth much—it’s so run down.”

“Oh, there is quite some stock,” answered our hero. “What time shall I say you will call?”

“About nine o’clock. I’ll take a look at the place first. Will you be around there early?”

“At seven o’clock.”

“All right.”

From the Benning home, Frank hurried to the place where Mr. Peterson, the other rival, boarded.

“I’m sorry for your father,” said Mr. Peterson, who was a young man and rather pleasant. “I might buy him out if he’ll sell cheap enough.”

“He’ll sell at a fair figure.”

“Do you know what he has on hand?”

“Yes, sir, in a general way.”

“Very well. I’ll go up with you now and see him.” And in a minute more the two were on the way. When they reached the Hardy home the rival flour and feed man shook hands cordially with Mrs. Hardy and also with the sick man.

“So you are going to sell out,” said he to Frank’s father. “Well, I thought one of us would have to give up pretty soon. The town can’t support three dealers.”

The matter was talked over, and it soon developed that John Peterson was as shrewd as Andrew Benning. The best offer he would make was seventy per cent. of the wholesale value of the stock and a hundred dollars for the fixtures and good will.

“Seventy per cent. is not enough,” said Mr. Hardy. “I think I can get more elsewhere.”

“I think Mr. Benning will give more,” said Frank.

“Is he going to have a chance to buy it?” cried John Peterson.

“I shall sell to the highest bidder,” answered Mr. Hardy.

“Oh, then you want us to bid against each other, eh?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not exactly, Mr. Hardy—but it don’t just look right either. I’ll tell you what I’ll do—I’ll give you seventy-five per cent. of the value of the stock.”

“Make it ninety and I’ll take you up.”

“No, that is my best figure.”

“Then I’ll let you know by to-morrow night.”

“Very well,” answered John Peterson, and soon after this he left.

“Do you think that is a fair price, father?” asked Frank, after the visitor had departed.

“No, my son. But what shall I do?”

“Perhaps Andrew Benning will make a better offer.”

“Let us hope so.”

Early the next morning Frank went to the store and arranged the stock to the best possible advantage. He was just finishing the work when the rival dealer came in and began to look around.

Although Frank did not know it, Andrew Benning had, late the evening before, met John Peterson, and the rivals had talked over the matter of buying Mr. Hardy out, and reached an agreement by which neither was to outbid the other. If either got the place he was to divide the goods with the other and also the fixtures, and both were to settle jointly for the good will—and then each was to catch what customers he could as in the past.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, and you can tell your father,” said Andrew Benning. “I’ll give him sixty per cent. of the value of his stock at wholesale and fifty dollars for his fixtures and good will.”

“Thank you, but my father can get more than that,” answered Frank, coldly.

“All right then, he had better do it,” was Andrew Benning’s retort, and he stalked out without another word.

But our hero had not reckoned on the plot the rivals had hatched out. On going to dinner he learned that his father had just received a note from John Peterson, which ran as follows:

“Mr. Thomas Hardy,

“Dear Sir: I have thought over the matter of buying your store out and have come to the conclusion that the best I can offer you is sixty per cent. of the regular wholesale value of the stock, and fifty dollars for all the fixtures. As the place is run down I do not consider that the good will is worth figuring in the transaction. This offer is open for one week. Yours ob’t’ly,

“John Peterson.”

“He has dropped to the very figures that Andrew Benning offered,” said Frank, in dismay.

“I believe they are in league with each other,” sighed Mr. Hardy. “They know they have me down and that I cannot help myself.”

“Perhaps we can sell the goods elsewhere, father.”

“Possibly, but it will cost money to transport the goods, and few people want to buy goods that they consider are second-hand.”

“Supposing I try to sell the goods to Mr. Fardale, of Porthaven?”

“You might try it. But Mr. Fardale is as close as Benning, if not closer.”

“If he would only give ten per cent. more it would be something.”

“That is true. Well, you can see him the day after the Fourth of July.”

“I will,” answered Frank. “I can go up on the stage,” he added, for Porthaven was six miles from Claster.