The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Young Book Agent, by Horatio Alger This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Young Book Agent or Frank Hardy's Road to Success Author: Horatio Alger Release Date: March 16, 2018 [eBook #56756] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT*** E-text prepared by David Edwards, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/youngbookagentor00alge “BOOKS! YOU GET RIGHT OUT OF THIS DOORWAY!”–P. 112. THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT Or, Frank Hardy’s Road to Success BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. AUTHOR OF “LOST AT SEA,” “NELSON THE NEWSBOY,” “OUT FOR BUSINESS,” “YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK,” “RAGGED DICK SERIES,” “TATTERED TOM SERIES,” ETC. NEW YORK STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY 1905 Copyright, 1905 BY STITT PUBLISHING COMPANY PREFACE Many years ago the author of the present volume resolved to write a long series of books describing various phases of village and city life, taking up in their turn the struggles of the bootblacks, the newsboys, the young peddlers, the street musicians—the lives, in fact, of all those who, though young in years, have to face the bitter necessity of earning their own living. In the present story are described the ups and downs of a boy book agent, who is forced, through the misfortunes of his father, to help provide for the family to which he belongs. He knows nothing of selling books, when he starts, but he acquires a valuable experience rapidly, and in the end gains a modest success which is well deserved. It is the custom of many persons in ordinary life to sneer at a book agent and show him scant courtesy, forgetting that the agent’s business is a perfectly legitimate one and that he is therefore entitled to due respect so long as he does that which is proper and gentlemanly. A kind word costs nothing, and it often cheers up a heart which would otherwise be all but hopelessly depressed. After reading this volume it may be thought by some that the hero, Frank Hardy, is above his class in tact, intelligence, and perseverance. This, however, is not true. A book agent, or, in fact, an agent of any kind, must possess all of these qualities in a marked degree, otherwise he will undoubtedly make a failure of the undertaking. As in every other calling, to win success one must first deserve it. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Frank at Home 1 II. Down at the Wreck 9 III. Disagreeable News 17 IV. The Hunt for a Missing Man 25 V. Frank at the Store 34 VI. The Rival Merchants 42 VII. A Fourth of July Celebration 50 VIII. Frank Looks for Work 58 IX. Frank Meets a Book Agent 67 X. Frank Goes to New York 76 XI. Frank as an Agent 86 XII. A Bright Beginning 96 XIII. Frank on the Road 108 XIV. A Boy Runaway 118 XV. Caught in a Storm 127 XVI. An Important Sale 136 XVII. A Curious Happening 145 XVIII. The Would-be Actor 153 XIX. Giving an Autograph 162 XX. Frank’s Remarkable Find 171 XXI. Gabe Flecker Shows His Hand 180 XXII. The Rival Book Agent 189 XXIII. News from Home 197 XXIV. Lost in a Coal Mine 205 XXV. Frank Meets Flecker Again 214 XXVI. An Escape 224 XXVII. At Home Once More 232 XXVIII. Frank Starts for the South 242 XXIX. A Scene on the Train 249 XXX. Frank Meets His Brother Mark 257 XXXI. A Clever Capture—Conclusion 264 THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT CHAPTER I FRANK AT HOME Frank Hardy came up the short garden path whistling merrily to himself. He was a tall, good-natured looking boy of sixteen, with dark eyes and dark, curly hair. “One more week of school and then hurrah for a long vacation in the country!” he murmured to himself as he mounted the piazza steps. “Oh, but won’t we have a dandy time swimming and fishing when we get to Cloverdale!” His little dog Frisky was at the door to greet him with short, sharp barks of pleasure. Frank caught the animal up and began to coddle him. “Glad to see me, eh?” he cried. “Frisky, won’t you be glad when we get to the country and you can roam all over the fields?” For answer the dog barked again and wagged his tail vigorously. Still holding the animal, Frank entered the dining room and passed into the kitchen, where his mother was assisting the servant in the preparation of the evening meal. “Mother, is father back from Philadelphia yet?” he asked, as he hung up his cap and slipped into the sink pantry to wash his hands. “Not yet, Frank,” answered Mrs. Hardy. “He must have quite some business to attend to, to stay away so late. I thought I was late myself.” “You are late, Frank—it is quarter after six. I expected your father in on the half-past five train, but he must have missed that.” “Then he won’t be here until nearly eight o’clock. Must I wait for my supper?” “No; we can have our supper directly. I know you must be hungry.” “I am, mother. Baseball gives a fellow an appetite, especially if he runs bases and plays in the field, as I did. We played the Hopeville Stars and beat them 12 to 7. I made three runs.” “You must certainly love the game?” “I do. Sometimes I wish I could be a professional ball player.” “I shouldn’t wish you to be that, Frank. I want you to go to college and be a professional man,” added Mrs. Hardy, with a fond smile. “Oh, I was only talking, mother. But some professional ball players are college men.” Frank entered the dining room and sat down to the table. He was soon joined by his little brother, Georgie, and his sister, Ruth, who was twelve years of age. “How do you get along with your lessons?” he asked of Ruth, who had been practicing on the piano in the parlor. “I think I am doing real well,” returned the sister, who was very fair, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Professor Hartman says I will make a good player if I do plenty of practicing. And, oh, I love it so!” added the girl, enthusiastically. “The one who loves it is the one who is bound to make a good player,” said Frank. “Now, there is Dan Dixon. His folks want him to learn to play the violin, and he takes lessons. But he doesn’t like it at all, and I am sure he will never make a player.” “That is true in all things,” came from Mrs. Hardy, as she sat down to pour the tea. “If one wants to do well at anything, one’s heart must be in the work. I once knew a girl whose family wanted her to learn how to paint. She hadn’t any talent for it, and though she took lessons for two years she never drew or painted anything really worth showing.” “I know what I like real well,” came from little Georgie. “I’m going to keep a candy store when I grow up. I like that real well.” “Good for you, Georgie!” laughed Frank. “Only don’t eat up all the stock yourself.” “Will you buy from me when I keep the store?” continued the little fellow. “To be sure, I will—or, maybe, I’ll be a salesman for you—and Ruth can be the cashier.” “What’s a cashier?” “The one who takes in the money.” “No, I want to take in the money myself,” came from Georgie, promptly. Thus the talking went on, and while it is in progress and the family are waiting for the return of Mr. Hardy from his business trip, let me take the opportunity of introducing them more specifically than I have already done. The Hardy family were six in number, Mr. Thomas Hardy and his wife; Mark, who was three years older than Frank, and the children already introduced. Mr. Hardy was a flour and feed dealer, and at one time had had the principal store in that line in Claster, the town in which the family resided. He had made considerable money, and the family were counted well to do. But during the past two years two rivals with capital had come into the field, and trade with the flour and feed merchant had consequently fallen off greatly. Mr. Hardy had expected to send his oldest son, Mark, to college, but the youth had begged to be allowed to take an ocean trip, and had at last been allowed to ship on a voyage to South America. He was to return home in seven or eight months, but during the past three months nothing had been heard of him. Frank, Ruth, and little Georgie all attended the same school in Claster, Georgie being in the kindergarten, and Ruth in one of the grammar grades. Frank was in the graduating class, and after a vacation in the country, expected to prepare himself for high school. He was just now deep in his final examinations at the grammar school, and so far had done well, much to his parents’ satisfaction. “Mother, what took father to Philadelphia?” asked Frank, after a spell of silence, during which he had devoted himself to the viands set before him. At this question a shade of anxiety crossed Mrs. Hardy’s face. “He went on very important business, Frank. I cannot explain to you exactly what it was. He was to see Mr. Garrison, the man he used to buy flour from.” “Jabez Garrison?” “Yes.” “I never liked that man, mother; did you?” “I really can’t say, Frank—I never had much to do with him.” “I saw him at the store several times—doing business with father. He somehow put me in mind of a snake.” “Oh, Frank!” burst in Ruth. “A man don’t look like a snake,” was little Georgie’s sober comment. “That is not a very complimentary thing to say, Frank,” said Mrs. Hardy, somewhat severely. “I can’t help it, mother. He has such an oily, smooth manner about him.” “Your father has spoken of him as a very good friend in business. I believe he gave your father prices which were better than he could get elsewhere.” “Well, he didn’t look it. If I were father, I’d keep my eyes on him.” “He went to Philadelphia to make inquiries about Mr. Garrison. I cannot tell you more than that just now.” “Didn’t father loan him some money?” “Not exactly that; but he went his security when Mr. Garrison was made treasurer of a certain benevolent order in Philadelphia.” “How much security?” “Ten thousand dollars.” “That’s a big sum of money.” “Yes, Frank—but I was told that it was more a matter of form than anything else.” “I don’t see it, mother. If Jabez Garrison had a lot of money to handle, he could steal it if he wanted to.” “Frank, you are certainly not in love with Mr. Garrison. Did he ever say anything to you?” “Not a word. Only I don’t like his looks, that’s all.” Further talk on this subject was cut off by Ruth, who chanced to look out of the bay window of the dining room. “There goes the hospital ambulance,” she cried. “Somebody must be hurt.” Frank, filled with curiosity, leaped up and ran to the front door, and then down to the gate. “What’s the trouble?” he asked of a boy who was running past. “Big accident on the railroad, down at Barber’s Cut,” answered the boy. “Freight train ran into the Philadelphia local, and about a dozen passengers have been killed or hurt.” “The Philadelphia local!” echoed Frank, and for the moment his heart almost stopped beating. “Can father have been on that train?” He ran back into the house and told his mother the news. Mrs. Hardy was almost prostrated, but quickly recovered. “I will go down and see if your father is in that wreck,” she said. “Frank, you can go along.” And a moment later they set out for the scene of the disaster. CHAPTER II DOWN AT THE WRECK Claster was a thriving town of four thousand inhabitants, with several churches and schools, a bank, two weekly newspapers, and six blocks of stores. There was a neat railroad station at which two score of trains stopped daily, bound either north or south, for the line ran from Philadelphia to Jersey City. Barber’s Cut was a nasty curve on the line, just south of the town. Here there was a rocky hill, and in one spot the cut was twenty feet deep. At the end of the cut was a hollow where a railroad bridge crossed Claster Creek. Frank and his mother found a great many of the townspeople hurrying to the scene of the wreck. All sorts of rumors were afloat, and it was said the passenger cars were on fire, and the helpless inmates were being roasted alive. The local fire department was called out, but fortunately the fire was confined to a freight car loaded with unfinished wagon wheels, so but comparatively little damage was done through the conflagration. The rumor that a dozen passengers had been killed or hurt was false. But four people on the passenger train had been injured, and only one severely—this man having several ribs crushed in and an arm broken. “I don’t see anything of father,” said Frank, after he and his mother had looked at three of the injured persons. “I guess he wasn’t on this train after all.” “It is very fortunate.” “Your father was on this train,” said a man standing near. “I was talking to him just a short while before the smash-up occurred.” “Oh!” ejaculated Mrs. Hardy. “Then where is he now?” “There he is!” burst out Frank, and pointed to a form which four men were carrying from a wrecked car. “Mother, he is—is hurt. You had better go back and I’ll—I’ll tend to him.” Frank found he could scarcely speak, he was so agitated. “My husband!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and ran forward with Frank at her side. “Oh, tell me, he is not—not dead?” “No, ma’am, he isn’t dead,” came promptly from one of the men. “He got his foot crushed, and he’s fainted, that’s all.” “Thank Heaven it is no worse!” murmured Mrs. Hardy, and when the men laid her husband on the grass above the cut, she knelt beside him, and sent Frank down to the creek for some water with which to wash Mr. Hardy’s face, for it was covered with dust and dirt. As Frank ran down to the creek for the water he saw something shiny lying in the grass. He picked the object up, and was surprised to learn that it was a silver spectacle case, containing a fine pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. “Somebody dropped those in the excitement,” he reasoned. “I’ll have to look for the owner later;” and he shoved the case into his pocket. Of the four that had been hurt two were removed to the hospital and the others were taken to their homes. Mr. Hardy was carried to his residence, and there his physician and his family did all they could to make him comfortable. “The foot is in rather bad shape,” said Doctor Basswood. “Yet I feel certain I can bring it around so you can walk on it as before. But it will take time.” “How much time, doctor?” questioned Mr. Hardy, faintly. “Four or five months, and perhaps longer. But that is much better than having your foot amputated.” “True. But I can’t afford to lay around the house for six months.” At this the physician shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the best I can do, Mr. Hardy.” “Oh, it is not your fault, doctor. But——” Mr. Hardy paused. “You are thinking of your store?” “Yes.” “It is a pity your son, Frank, isn’t older. He might be able to run it for you.” “Unfortunately, Frank knows little or nothing about the business. I have kept him at school.” “Perhaps you can get a good man to run it for you.” “Perhaps. I don’t know what I’ll do yet.” “What do you do when you go away, as you did to-day?” “I lock the place up, and leave a slate out for orders. Trade is not as brisk as it used to be.” “You mean as it was before Benning and Jack Peterson started in the business?” “That’s it. The town can’t support three flour and feed stores.” “Won’t your old customers stick by you?” “A few of them do; but both Benning and Peterson are doing their best to get the trade away from me. They offer all sorts of inducements, and sometimes sell at less than the goods cost, just to get a customer.” “Nobody in business can afford to do that very long.” “They want to drive me out, and each wants to drive out the other. Then the one who is left will make prices to suit himself;” and here Mr. Hardy had to stop talking, for he felt very much exhausted. In the meantime Frank had been sent down to the drug store for several articles which the doctor had said were needed for the injured man. While he was waiting for the articles a burly and rather pleasant-faced man came in and purchased a handful of cigars. “Is there an optician in town?” questioned the man of the druggist. “I was in that wreck, and somehow I lost my glasses, and I want to get another pair.” “The watchmaker across the way keeps spectacles,” answered the druggist. “But if he can fit you or not I don’t know.” “I’ll try him,” said the man, and started for the door. “Excuse me,” put in Frank, stepping up. “What sort of spectacles did you drop?” “Did you find them?” “Perhaps I did.” “Mine were in a silver case. They are thick glasses, with a gold frame.” “Then these must be yours,” and Frank drew the case from his pocket and passed it over. “They are mine!” cried the burly man, and looked well pleased to have his property returned to him. “Where did you find them?” “In the grass between the wreck and the creek. I was down at the creek getting some water for my father, who was hurt. I almost stepped on the case.” “I see. So your father was hurt. Which one was he?” “He had his foot crushed.” “Oh, yes, I remember. They took him to your home up the street.” “Yes, sir.” “I hope the hurt isn’t serious?” “It’s bad enough. But Doctor Basswood says he can save the foot.” “Well, that’s a great consolation. It’s no fun to have a foot cut off. May I ask your name?” “Frank Hardy.” “Mine is Philip Vincent. I am very much obliged for returning the glasses to me.” “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Vincent. I was going to hunt up the owner as soon as everything was all right at our house.” “These glasses are a very fine pair, and I prize them exceedingly. Let me reward you for returning them,” and Philip Vincent put his hand in his pocket. “I don’t want a reward, sir,” said Frank, promptly. “But I want to show you that I appreciate having them returned,” insisted the burly gentleman. “It’s all right.” “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m in the book business in New York. I’ll send you a good boy’s book. How will that suit you?” and the gentleman smiled blandly. “I must say I never go back on a good story book,” answered Frank, honestly. “Most boys like to read. I suppose you go to school here?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, I shan’t forget you,” concluded Philip Vincent, and shaking hands, he left the drug store. “What a pleasant kind of a man,” thought Frank. “I’d like to see more of him.” And then he wondered what sort of a story book Mr. Vincent would send him. A little later Frank obtained the articles needed from the druggist, and then he started for home. He did not dream of the disagreeable surprise which was in store for him.