"No money in this one," reported Frank, the enclosure in hand. "Well, well, listen to this now! 'You are a frod. I bot an apple corer last munth, and it was no good. You out to be persecuted.'"
Frank was quite disappointed, and Markham gulped several times as each succeeding letter produced no money or stamps. Two people asked for a catalogue. One correspondent wanted a "Twelve Tools in One" sent to him, and if found satisfactory would remit forthwith.
Another correspondent sent an order for a ring, and wanted it "charged." Then there was a man who asked if they could furnish him with a cheap second-hand thrasher for his farm.
One client wrote that if they would send him samples of their entire list, he would show the goods in his town and possibly get them lots of customers.
"Ah," said Frank, feeling of the last letter, "here is something tangible, sure, Markham. I can feel the coin."
"Maybe it's a cent," suggested Markham, with a slight tinge of sarcasm.
"No, a ten-cent piece, sure enough," declared Frank. "For your puzzle, Markham, too."
"Yes," put in Markham, picking up the coin
