that Frank had placed on his desk, "but the dime is—lead!"
Frank pulled a dismal face. Markham looked actually mad. Then their glances met. They broke into a hearty laugh mutually.
"Humph!" commented Markham.
"Amusing, isn't it?" asked Frank, trying hard to keep up his courage.
"Oh, well, there's the afternoon mail," suggested Markham, getting up and beginning to fold some more circulars. "Who expected any mail of consequence this morning, anyhow?"
Frank resumed his task of working on the catalogue. He whistled a cheery bar or two, felt too serious to keep it up, and went on with his work in a half-hearted way.
"This Frank's Mail Order House?" demanded a brisk voice, half an hour later.
"Don't you know it is?" challenged Frank, arising to welcome Ned Davis, a bright young fellow, who was the messenger of the local bank.
"All right," chirped Ned. "Got a letter this morning from a correspondent at Bayview. Enclosure. Man running a small store there asks us if Frank's Mail Order House is a reliable concern. If so, instructs us to place this order with you."
