An episode of Frank’s departure was the acquisition of Christmas. This faithful canine Bart Stirling had adopted when he was homeless. Haven Brothers had later employed him to run the pony press in their amateur job printing office. Frank loved dogs, and Christmas had taken a great fancy to him. The animal whined and ran after Frank when he set out for the train. Frank drove Christmas back, but it was only to find the loyal dog hidden under the car seat, twenty miles on the homeward trip. When they reached Greenville, Frank wrote about Christmas to his Pleasantville friends. His letter, however, showed his half-hidden reluctancy towards giving up the faithful old dog. Haven Brothers made Frank a present of Christmas by return mail. Of all this Frank now thought as he made his way towards the business centre of Greenville. “Hey there, Frank Newton, the very fellow!” Frank looked up quickly. A rapid voice had interrupted his reverie. Its owner was a Mr. Buckner, a local insurance agent and real estate man. Mr. Buckner’s office sided on the street where Frank was walking. From its open window the proprietor beckoned animatedly. “Want me?” called up Frank. “Sure, if you can hustle,” retorted Mr. Buckner. “I can always do that if there’s anything in it,” was the laughing rejoinder. Frank crossed the street at a bound, darted around to the front of the building, and was up the stairs four steps at a time. CHAPTER II A FIVE-DOLLAR JOB Frank found Mr. Buckner at his desk, tearing out a freshly-written slip from his check book. “Good--sit down,” said the business man. “Ready in a second. Now then,” he added a minute later, after filling out a receipt blank, “want to make five dollars?” “A week?” smiled Frank. “A day--an hour, if you can get the action on this job that quick,” responded Buckner briskly. “See here, Frank,” he continued, consulting his watch, “a certain individual started down that south road yonder in his buggy for Riverton half-an-hour ago.” “Yes, sir,” nodded Frank. “How soon can he get there?” “Horse any good?” questioned Frank. “No, common every-day hack.” “Well,” calculated Frank, “it’s fifteen miles around by that road. Taking it fairly easy, he’d get to Riverton in about two hours and a-half.” “Very good,” said Buckner. “Can you do it in less time?” “On foot?” “Any way, so you get there.” “Sure,” said Frank confidently. “I can make it in an hour by crossing the flats.” “Aha!” observed Buckner, “I see.” “Direct across the swamp stretch it is barely six miles to Riverton,” went on Frank. “But there’s no road?” “Except the trail us boys have blazed out from time to time,” explained Frank, his eyes brightening at the memory of many a famous camping out experience in “the Big Woods.” “I can bike it four miles, wade one, and there’s only an easy mile stretch to come after that.”