"No, no, my lad," said the farmer, heartily. "The horse can draw you as well as not, and I shall be glad to have your company."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Just climb up here, then. I'll take your baggage and put it on the wagon behind."

When the farmer had loaded up, he started up the team. Then, finding himself at leisure, he proceeded to satisfy his curiosity by cross-examining his young pa.s.senger.

"Do you come from the East?" he asked.

"I am last from Chicago," answered Frank, cautiously.

"I suppose you've got some friend in Jackson?" ventured the farmer, interrogatively.

Frank smiled.

"You are the only man living in Jackson that I ever met," he said.

"Indeed!" said the driver, puzzled. "Are you calculating to make a long stay in our village?" he asked again, after a minute's pause.

"That depends on business," answered the young traveler.

"Are you in business?"

"I have a stock of stationery which I shall offer for sale in Jackson,"

answered Frank.

"I am afraid you'll find it rather a poor market. If that's all you have to depend upon, I am afraid you'll get discouraged."

"I am also agent for an ill.u.s.trated book," said Frank. "I may be able to dispose of a few."

"Perhaps so," answered the farmer, dubiously. "But our people haven't much money to spend on articles of luxury, and books are a luxury with us."

"I always heard that Jackson was a flourishing place," said Frank, who felt that now was his time to obtain a little information.

"It ought to be," said the farmer; "but there's one thing prevents."

"What is that?"

"A good deal of our village is owned by a New York man, to whom we have to pay rent. He has a rascally agent--a Mr. Fairfield--who grinds us down by his exactions, and does what he can to keep, us in debt."

"Has he always been agent?"

"No. Before he came there was an excellent man--a Mr. Sampson--who treated us fairly, contented himself with exacting rents which we could pay, and if a man were unlucky, would wait a reasonable time for him to pay. Then we got along comfortably. But he died, and this man was sent out in his place. Then commenced a new state of things. He immediately raised the rents; demanded that they should be paid on the day they were due, and made himself harsh and tyrannical."

"Do you think the man who employs him knows how he is conducting his agency?" Frank inquired.

"No; there is no one to tell him. I suppose Mr. Fairfield tells him a smooth story, and he believes it. I am afraid we can hope for no relief."

"What would he say," thought Frank, "if he knew I were a messenger from Mr. Percival?"

"What sort of a man is this Mr. Fairfield in private life?" he asked.

"He drinks like a fish," was the unexpected reply. "Frequently he appears on the street under the influence of liquor. He spends a good deal of money, lives in a large house, and his wife dresses expensively.

He must get a much larger salary than Mr. Sampson did, or he could not spend money as he does."

Though Frank had not much worldly experience, he could not help coming to the conclusion that Mr. Fairfield was acting dishonestly. He put together the two circ.u.mstances that this new agent had increased the rents, and yet that he had returned to Mr. Percival only about half as much as his predecessor had done. Clearly, he must retain in his own hands much more than he had a right to do.

"I shall have to report unfavorably on this man," he thought.

One point must be considered--where he was to find a boarding place on his arrival in Jackson.

"Is there a hotel in Jackson?" he asked.

"There is a tavern, but it's a low place," answered the farmer. "A good deal of liquor is sold there, and Mr. Fairfield, our agent, is one of the most constant patrons of the bar."

"I don't think I should like to stop there," said Frank. "Isn't there any private family where I can get board for a week or two?"

"If you don't object to plain fare," said the farmer, "I might agree to board you myself."

This was precisely what Frank wanted, and he replied that nothing would suit him better.

"We live humbly," continued Mr. Hamlin--for this, Frank learned, was his driver's name--"but we will try to make you comfortable."

"I feel sure of that, sir, and I am much obliged to you for receiving me."

"As to terms, you can pay whatever you can afford. My wife and children will be glad to see you. It's pretty quiet out here, and it breaks the monotony to meet any person from the East."

"How long have you lived in Jackson, Mr. Hamlin?"

"About eight years. I was not brought up as a farmer, but became one from necessity. I was a bookkeeper in Chicago for a good many years, until I found the confinement and close work were injuring my health.

Then I came here and set up as a farmer. I got along pretty well, at first; at any rate, I made a living for my family; but when Mr.

Fairfield became agent, he raised my rent, and, in other ways, made it hard for me. Now I have a hard struggle."

"I thought you were not always a farmer," said Frank.

"What made you think so?"

"You don't talk like a farmer. You have the appearance of a man who has lived in cities."

"Seems to me you are a close observer, for a boy of your years," said Mr. Hamlin, shrewdly.

Frank smiled.

"I should be glad if your compliment were deserved," he answered. "It's a pity you were not agent, instead of Mr. Fairfield," suggested Frank, pointedly.

"I wish I were," answered Hamlin. "I believe I should make a good one, though I might not turn over as much money to my employer. I should, first of all, lower the rents and make it as easy for the tenants as I could in justice to my New York princ.i.p.al."

"Do you know how much Mr. Fairfield receives--how large a salary, I mean?"