Frank was immersed in business during the rest of that week. Markham proved an energetic and reliable assistant. There were circulars to send out, orders to fill, letters to write. Saturday night they had to work till eleven o’clock to clean up their desks. Frank was rushing the catalogue copy. Mrs. Haven was busy making new drawings, which had to be sent to the city to be photo-engraved. Orders, too, were sent daily to the city supply houses. Up at the novelty factory they were filling Frank’s first big order for a thousand of the wire puzzles and a thousand of the new apple corers. This latter device was really a very meritorious article. Retaining the form and dimensions of the original sheath, Frank had set inside two moving pieces of tin that acted as knives. These ran into a spiral tube which penetrated the apple without injuring it, and a twist on a knob cut the core out clean as a whistle. Monday morning’s mail was the largest yet received, due, Frank believed, to some little advertising Haven Bros. had caused to be inserted in a few neighboring country newspapers. His little capital was now again nearly at the two hundred dollar mark. About noon Frank made up a package of about two hundred dollars. He had arranged to pay this amount to Haven Bros., draw against it if he ran short of funds, otherwise leave it in their hands to pay for the catalogue, which would be quite an expensive job. Markham had gone to the post-office with some mail. Frank looked up as a footstep sounded on the walk outside of the office door. It was not Markham, as Frank at first expected. Instead, a person he regarded in a decidedly unfavorable light came into view. The visitor was Dale Wacker, the boy Bob Haven had designated to Frank the day that Markham made his sensational dive into the cistern. He was not dressed as jauntily as on that occasion. His appearance was shabby and unkempt now. He slouched up to the door with a sneak-thief air, yet withal the brass and effrontery of a person possessed of few fine sensibilities. “Say,” spoke Wacker to Frank, “you run this shop?” “I’m interested in this business, yes,” answered Frank distantly. “Pretty good graft? Looking for some such fake myself. What I wanted to know, though, was about one of your samples in the show case out there.” “Well?” demanded Frank. “That wire puzzle.” “What about it?” “Where did you run across it?” Frank did not like the speech nor manner of his visitor. “Is that particularly any of your business?” he asked. “Why, you see, just curious about it, that’s all,” stammered Wacker, somewhat taken aback at Frank’s sharp challenge. “Do you own it?” Frank’s eye flashed with manifest resentment at Wacker’s cool effrontery. “See here,” he said pretty firmly, “I have no time to waste answering idle and impertinent questions,” and turned away from the door. “Well, I’d seen it before, that’s all,” muttered Wacker. “Oh, I fancy not,” said Frank.