The remainder of the afternoon proved uneventful. Frank visited nine farmhouses, and succeeded in selling one more cattle and poultry book. He returned to the hotel at Fairport utterly tired out with his day’s tramping.

“Only three sales to-day,” was his mental comment. “That is not so good. My commissions amount to two dollars and a quarter, and my expenses will be a dollar and forty-five cents. That leaves a profit of just eighty cents. Well, that is better than nothing. I might have sold more if the houses weren’t so far apart.”

He found that the hotel keeper had assigned him to a small, but clean and comfortable room. Supper was plain, but substantial, and Frank ate all that was set before him.

“Traveling salesman, I suppose?” remarked the hotel man, when Frank joined him on the hotel stoop, where there were a row of armchairs for guests.

“I sell books,” answered the young agent. “Maybe I can sell you some.”

“No, I’ve got about all the books I want. Had any success?”

“I sold three books at three dollars each.”

“That’s pretty good.”

“I might sell more if I could cover more ground.”

“Why not hire a horse and buggy? I’ll let you have one for two dollars a day.”

“Thank you, but my business won’t warrant the outlay. But I tell you what I wish I did have,” continued Frank, suddenly.

“What is that?”

“A bicycle. The roads around here are pretty fair for wheeling.”

“My boy has a wheel. Perhaps he’ll rent you that.”

“Where is he?”

“Down around the barn, I think.”

Frank walked to the barn, and soon found Tom Grandon, the hotel keeper’s son. He also saw the wheel, which was in the carriage shed.

“So you’d like to hire my wheel, eh?” said Tom. “I’m willing, if you’ll promise to take good care of it.”

“I’ll do that. I have a wheel at home, but I didn’t think to bring it.”

“What will you give me for its use?”

“Twenty-five cents a day.”

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

“Let us split the price and make it a dollar for three days,” went on Frank; and to this Tom Grandon agreed, and the bicycle was turned over to the young book agent. As tired as he was Frank tried the machine, to see that it was in running order, and to adjust the seat and the handle bars to suit him.

“Now I’ll be able to visit twice as many places,” he told himself.

The following day Frank started away early, with his case of books strapped over his shoulder. In the hotel office he had found a map of the county and had studied the roads carefully, and he had also asked about their condition.

It was a perfect day, and as he was a good wheelman he made rapid progress, so that he reached the first place at which he wished to stop by eight o’clock. He found the lady of the house in the garden cutting a bouquet.

“Books?” she said, in answer to his question. “Oh, dear, no, we have all the books we want. Why, there is a box of books in the garret which we wish to sell.”

“What kind of books?” questioned the young agent, for he had heard that some old volumes were rare and valuable.

“Oh, all kinds. Do you buy?”

“I might—or I might make a list of what you have, and get you a price on them.”

“Well, you can look at them,” said the lady.

The garret was dark and dusty, but taking off his coat and collar, Frank went to work and sorted out the books, about a hundred in number. Many, he could readily see, were of small value, but others looked as if they might be worth considerable money. He made a list of the latter in a blank book he carried.

“What will you take for the lot?” he asked.

“Five dollars,” was the reply.

“Will you hold them for one week for me?”

“Yes.”

He took down her name and address. “If I don’t want them I’ll drop you a postal card,” he added.

“Very well.”

Jumping on the bicycle he pedaled to the next house. Had he walked the distance it would have taken him ten minutes or more. As it was, it took hardly any time at all. Here he met an old man, and after a good deal of talking took an order for one of the health books.

“One order anyway,” he thought, grimly. “I won’t be whitewashed to-day.” He dreaded to put in a day without an order.

He obtained his dinner at another farmhouse. It was a scant meal and cost him twenty-five cents. The folks did not want to talk books, and were so disagreeable that he was glad to leave.

Up to four o’clock he visited sixteen additional places. Although he talked his best he could sell nothing. It was now beginning to cloud up and he knew a storm could not be far off.

“I suppose I ought to be getting back to the hotel,” he said to himself. But he hated to think of going back with just one order.

Some distance ahead was the entrance to a very fine grounds. In the midst, between some beautiful trees, a new mansion had been erected. He wondered if he could sell any books there.

“Nothing like trying,” he said, half aloud, and wheeled into the grounds with all speed. He left his bicycle under a carriage shed and then walked up the piazza steps and rang the bell.

Nobody answered his summons, and after waiting a few minutes, he rang again, this time as hard as he could. Still nobody came to the door.

“Perhaps they saw me coming and don’t want to let me in,” he mused.

While he was waiting a sudden gust of wind came up, followed by some big drops of rain. Then came more wind, and a sudden downpour that would have soaked him to the skin had he been out in it.

“Well, I am under cover anyway,” he reasoned, and then he rang the bell once more. Still not a soul appeared.

Close at hand were several windows, and all of them were wide open. The wind blew the lace curtains furiously, and soon the rain began to beat into two rooms, which Frank could see were handsomely furnished.

“I believe the folks must be out,” he said, at last. “And they certainly won’t want those windows open in such a storm as this.” And then he began to close the openings from the outside. It was rather hard work, and he grew quite wet doing it. All told there were eight windows on the lower floor which were open and three upstairs, but the latter he could not, of course, reach.

Frank had all but two windows on the lower floor shut up when a carriage drove into the grounds at a furious rate. It contained a colored driver, a lady, a maid, and four children.

“Hi, dar, wot you doin’?” demanded the colored coachman.

“I’m closing the windows,” answered Frank. “It’s raining in.”

The carriage came up to the piazza, and the lady and the children leaped out, followed by the maid. All stared at the young book agent inquiringly.

“Excuse me, madam,” said Frank, touching his cap. “But I got here just as the storm started. I saw all the lower windows of your house open and thought nobody could be home.”

“Where is Sarah?” demanded the lady.

“I have seen nobody. I rang the bell several times.”

The lady went up and rang the bell just as our hero had done.

“She must have gone out or else she is asleep. Marie, run around and try the back door,” this to the maid.

“Ze back door ees locked,” said the maid, on returning. “Sarah, she must be at ze next house, madam.”

“I told her not to go away while we were on our little picnic. Have you a key, Marie?”

“I haf not, madam.”

“I’ll climb in a window, mamma,” said one of the children, a boy of about seven.

“You can’t unlock the door, Freddie.”

“Shall I go in and unlock the door for you?” asked Frank, politely.

The lady of the mansion gave him a close look, and was evidently reassured by his gentlemanly appearance.

“If you will be so kind.”

Without waiting further, Frank opened the nearest window again and stepped into the house. Then he hurried around to the front door, and threw it open. A fierce gust of wind tore through the mansion, and all who were on the piazza hurried inside.

“Excuse me while I look after the windows,” said the lady. “Come, Marie, run to the top of the house, and close everything. The storm is growing very severe.”

Frank took a seat in the hallway, and one of the little boys came up to him.

“We were on a picnic in the woods with mamma,” said he. “We were just having a beautiful time when it began to rain, and John had to drive us home.”

“You were lucky to get home so soon,” answered Frank, pleasantly. “See how it is pouring.”

“And, oh, how the wind is blowing!” put in one of the little girls. “I’m sure it will blow a tree down if it keeps up like that.”

Frank heard a number of windows being shut, and then the lady of the place rejoined him, and invited him into the parlor.

“I left the house in charge of one of my servants,” she explained. “I told her not to go away, but she has disobeyed me. She has a cousin living half a mile from here.”

“She took a big risk to leave the house wide open,” was the young book agent’s comment.

“You are right. A thief might have looted the place from end to end. Even as it is, the rain has done quite some damage. I am very thankful to you that you shut down the windows as you did.”

“You are welcome.”

“Did you come here to see me, or just to get out of the storm?”

“I came to see you—or somebody living here. I am selling books.”

“Oh! What sort of books?”

“I will show you,” answered Frank.