Frank found Mrs. Carsdale a very nice lady with whom to deal. She was well educated and rich, and she took him to her library to show him the many volumes she possessed.

“You can see I already have the majority of authors represented in your famous set,” said she. “If it were not so, I believe I would give you an order.”

“You certainly have a nice collection of books here,” was our hero’s comment. “That set of Scott must have cost a good bit of money.”

“A hundred and twenty dollars.”

“I see you have some books here that are quite rare.”

“Yes, I like some old books better than the new ones.”

“I have a few old books to sell,” went on Frank, thinking of the list he had made out earlier in the day.

“Indeed? What books are they?”

The young book agent got out the list, and read off the names of the volumes, with the authors, bindings, and dates of publication.

“What will you take for that volume of Dante you just mentioned?” asked Mrs. Carsdale.

“I haven’t set a price on it. I’d like you to make an offer.”

“Is it in good condition?”

“Quite fair. It is a bit dingy, and the back cover has some water spots,” added our hero, who could recall the volume very well. “It looks about like this book,” he went on, picking up one before him.

“If it is in as good condition as that book I’ll give you twenty dollars for the volume.”

At this answer Frank’s heart gave a bound. Twenty dollars, and the other woman had offered him all the books in the garret for five dollars! Here was a chance for business truly.

“Is that the best you could do,” he said, cautiously. “The book is quite rare, you know.”

“Well, I might give you twenty-five dollars.”

“I’ll let you have it for that,” answered the young book agent.

He remained at the mansion for an hour longer, during which the storm cleared away as rapidly as it had come.

“Thank you for giving me shelter,” he said, on leaving. “I’ll bring that book to-morrow or the day after.”

“There is no especial hurry,” answered Mrs. Carsdale. “And it is I must thank you for closing the windows.”

As Frank wheeled down the muddy wagonway he met a woman who looked like a cook, coming towards the house. She was out of breath from rapid walking.

“Is Mrs. Carsdale home?” she demanded.

“Yes, long ago,” was our hero’s answer.

“Oh, pshaw!” came from the cook, and on she went towards the house.

“I guess she’ll catch it,” thought Frank, and he was right.

“Sarah, why did you go away?” demanded Mrs. Carsdale, as soon as the servant appeared.

“Please, ma’am, I had a—a toothache and I had to get some medicine for it from my cousin.”

“This is the second time you have left the house without my permission.”

“It shan’t happen again, Mrs. Carsdale.”

“You left all the windows open. If it hadn’t been for an utter stranger who came up and shut them, many things in the house would have been ruined.”

“Please, ma’am, the toothache was that dreadful I didn’t know what I was doing,” pleaded the cook.

“You have been drinking too,” continued the lady of the mansion, as she caught a whiff of the cook’s breath.

“It’s the toothache cure, ma’am.”

“I warned you before about leaving, and about drinking, Sarah. Your month will be up next Wednesday. I think I’ll get another cook.”

“Oh, ma’am, don’t say that! Give me just another chance.”

“And if I do, will you promise to obey me after this?”

“I will that.”

“Very well then. But if you disobey me once again it will be for the last time,” answered Mrs. Carsdale.

Frank had expected to go direct to the hotel, but as it cleared off so nicely he decided to wheel down a side road and purchase the books the lady had offered him early in the day. The highway was rather heavy in spots, and twice he had to dismount to avoid large mud puddles, but with it all he considered traveling on the wheel much better than walking the distance.

“Back already,” said the lady. “Have you decided to take those books?”

“Is five dollars the lowest price you will accept?” asked Frank, whose bump of business caution was developing rapidly.

“Yes, I told my husband about them and he said not to sell for a penny less than five dollars.”

“Then I’ll take them on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“That your husband will deliver them for me to the hotel at Fairport. I can’t carry them, and I haven’t any horse and wagon.”

“Very well; he can deliver them to-morrow, when he goes to town for feed. He’ll go in the morning.”

“That will be satisfactory. I will write out a bill of sale, and you can sign it.”

For the purpose of having book orders signed in ink, Frank carried a stylographic pen with him, and soon he had the bill of sale written out in due form. In it he mentioned the most important volumes, and added, “and eighty-four others.”

“Now, please sign this and I’ll pay you,” he said, and handed over the money. The receipt was signed, and he placed it away carefully in his pocket. Then he said he would take three or four of the books with him.

“And your husband can leave the rest with the hotel keeper,” he added.

When he returned to the hotel he had the precious volume of Dante and two other rare books in his possession. He placed them in his traveling bag and went to bed with a good deal of satisfaction.

“It seems to me I’m getting along famously,” was his thought. “Even if I can’t sell any more of that lot of books I’ll clear twenty dollars by the transaction.”

The next morning was as bright and clear as ever, and, much to the satisfaction of the hotel keeper’s son, the young book agent spent half an hour in cleaning and oiling the bicycle.

“You’re the kind to rent a wheel to,” said Tom Grandon.

“I like to have a bicycle look nice,” answered our hero. “Besides, it runs easier if it’s clean and well oiled.”

“How are you making out?”

“Pretty fair.”

“I don’t think I’d care to sell books.”

“And I shouldn’t care to run a hotel,” returned Frank. “It’s a good thing everybody doesn’t want to do the same thing.”

By the middle of the forenoon Frank was at Mrs. Carsdale’s residence once more. He carried the volume of Dante and also two others he thought she might wish to look over.

“This Dante is certainly just what you said it was,” said the lady. “And I will pay you twenty-five dollars, as I promised.”

“Here are two other books that may interest you,” said Frank, and passed them over.

Mrs. Carsdale gave each a thorough examination.

“I do not think I can use them,” she said, “but I know a friend of mine in Trenton who may buy both from you at a fair price. He collects just such books.”

“Please give me his address.”

“I will.”

When Frank left the residence he was just twenty-five dollars richer than he had been. His high spirits made him put on an extra spurt, and his bicycle flashed over the road like a meteor.

“That is what I call doing business,” he said to himself. “It beats the old feed store all to pieces. Won’t the folks at home stare when they learn how I am getting along!”

The young book agent had his case of samples with him, and also some volumes to be delivered, and put in a full day delivering and collecting, and in trying to get new orders. But new business was slow, and by nightfall he found he had but one extra order for the cattle and poultry work to his credit.

“Never mind; I’ve got to take matters as they come,” he said to himself. “The best of marksmen can’t hit the bull’s-eye every shot.”

He found that the books he had bought had been delivered, and placed in a corner of the bedroom he occupied.

“Buying, as well as selling, eh?” said the hotel keeper.

“I buy sometimes,” answered our hero, cautiously.

“If you want any more old books, I’ve got a lot in the back office you can have cheap.”

“Let me look at them to-morrow,” answered Frank. “I’m too tired to do it to-night.”

In the morning the hotel man took him into the office, and pointed to a row of volumes on a top shelf. All were covered with dust and cobwebs.

“Before I look at them I want to know what you want for them,” said Frank.

“Make an offer.”

“No; I prefer to have you set your own price.”

“Then make it ten dollars.”

“Why, I only paid five for all those other books.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; and here is the receipt.”

“Hum! Then I’ll let you have this lot for the same price.”

“Make it three dollars and I’ll see if I can use them.”

The hotel keeper consented after some talking, and Frank dusted off the books, and began to examine them. The majority were of small value, but he saw several he fancied might bring in some money.

“I’ll risk taking them,” he said, at last. “I’ll pay you now, and take them away when I take the others.”

“All right, Hardy. But you can’t leave them here too long, or I’ll make you pay storage,” returned the hotel keeper.