Wincing with pain and limping, he came closer to the window, boiling with rage. “So you did it, and boast of it, do you?” he howled at Frank. “I did and do,” answered Frank calmly. “This is our home, Mr. Dorsett, not a public highway.” Dorsett uttered a terrific snort of rage. He brandished his cane, struck out with it, and its end went through the panes of both the upper and the raised lower sash. Frank receded a step, unhurt, with the words: “Very well. You will pay for that damage, I suppose you know. You will get no further rent until you repair it.” “Rent!” roared the frenzied Dorsett. “You’ll never pay me rent again. I’ll show you. Tenants at will, ha! Can’t stroll around my own property, hey? Why, I’ll--I’ll crush you.” “Mr. Dorsett,” spoke up the widow in a dignified tone, “it is true this is your property, but you have no right to spy upon us. You took away our dog--” “Who says so--who says so?” shouted the infuriated man. “Christmas himself will say so in an unmistakable manner if I let him loose at you,” answered Frank. “The poundmaster at Riverton might be a credible witness, also.” “You’ll pay for this, oh, but you’ll pay for this!” snarled the wretched old man as he limped away to the street. Mrs. Ismond sank to a chair, quite pale and agitated over the disturbing incident of the moment. “Frank,” she said in a fluttering tone, “that man alarms me. It makes me uneasy to think he is lurking about us all the time. I am unhappy to think we are subject to his caprices, where once he owned the property.” “We own it yet, by rights,” declared Frank. “Some day I may prove it to Dorsett. But do not worry, mother. You must have guessed from my interest in what Mr. Gregson said to-night, that I believe there is something for me in this mail order idea. I have not yet formed my plans, but I am going to get into business for myself.” The boy heard their guest stirring about up stairs, probably aroused by the window smashing. He reassured Gregson and went to bed himself. Frank lay awake until nearly midnight thinking over all that Gregson had told him. He went mentally through every phase of the mail order idea that he knew anything about. When Frank finally fell asleep it was to dream of starting in business for himself. At broad daylight he was in a big factory which his own endeavors had built up. Around him were his busy employes nailing up great boxes of merchandise ordered from all parts of the country. The sound of the hammers seemed still echoing in his ears as he was aroused by the voice of his mother from her own room. “Frank! Frank!” she called. “Yes, mother,” he answered, springing out of bed. “Some one is knocking at the front door.” “Knocking?” repeated Frank, hurrying into his clothes. “That’s no knocking, it sounds more like hammering.” Christmas was barking furiously. The hammering had ceased by the time Frank had got down the stairs and to the front door. He unlocked it quickly.