"Interested!" repeated Frank with vim, unable to control his restless spirit and getting up and pacing the room to and fro—"I am simply wild to go deeper into this mail order business. Why, it looks plain as day to me—the way to begin it—the way to exploit it—the way to make a great big success of it. He says that little metal novelties of the household kind take the best. I was just thinking: there's a hardware novelties factory right on the spot at Pleasantville, and—Down, Christmas, down!"
The dog had interrupted Frank with a low growl. Then, before Frank could deter him, the animal flew at the open window of the sitting-room.
Frank seized Christmas by the collar, just as the animal was aiming to leap clear through it to the garden outside.
"Why, what is the matter, Christmas?" spoke Mrs. Ismond, arising to her feet in some surprise.
Just then a frightful shriek rang out from under the open window, accompanied by the frantic words:
"Help, murder, help—I'm nearly killed!"
