CHAPTER V.
MATT IS DISCHARGED

When Matt Lincoln reached the pavement he saw that the man he was after had reached Wall street and was turning down toward Water street. The boy started on a run and caught up to the individual just as he was about to descend into an insurance office which was located several steps below the level of the street.

“Hold on there!” cried Matt, and he caught the man by the arm.

“What is it, boy?” demanded the other, with a slight start at being accosted so unexpectedly.

“I want to see you about that piece of bric-a-brac you broke at the auction store up on Nausau street.”

The man’s face reddened, and he looked confused.

“I don’t – don’t know what you are talking about,” he stammered.

“Oh, yes, you do,” returned Matt coolly. “You tried to let the blame fall on a young lady, but it won’t work. You must go back, explain matters, and settle up.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind!” blustered the red mustached man. He had recovered from his first alarm. “I know nothing of the affair you have in mind. I have not been near an auction store to-day – for a month, in fact.”

“That’s a whopper!” exploded Matt. “You were in the place less than an hour and a half ago!”

“Nonsense, boy, you have got hold of the wrong man. Let me go.”

“Not much I won’t! You are the man, and you can’t fool me.”

“If you don’t let go I’ll call a policeman just as sure as my name is Paul Carden.”

“I don’t care what your name is, you’ve got to go back and set matters straight.”

The man glared at Matt for a moment. Then, without warning, he pushed the boy backward. Matt was standing upon the edge of the steps leading to the insurance office at the time, and he went down with a crash into the wire-netting door, knocking a large hole into it.

Before Matt could recover the man darted down Wall street and around the nearest corner. Matt would have gone after him, but the proprietor of the insurance office came out, and demanded to know what he meant by bursting the wire-netting door in such a rude fashion.

“A man knocked me down the steps,” Matt explained. “I hope the door isn’t ruined.”

“Hardly, but there’s a hole in it.”

“The wire has broken from under the molding, that is all,” said the boy. “Let me see if I can’t fix it.”

He brought out his penknife, and loosened part of the molding. Then drawing the wire back into place, he tacked the molding fast again; and the door was as good as before.

But all this had taken time, and Matt knew it would now be useless to attempt to follow Paul Carden. He looked around the corner, and seeing nothing of the fellow, retraced his steps to Randolph Fenton’s establishment.

“Where in the world have you been so long?” demanded Mr. Fenton, as Matt entered the private apartment. “Here I have been waiting an hour for you to deliver a message to Ulmer & Grant. I hire you to be on hand when wanted, Lincoln; not to loaf your time away.”

“I was not loafing my time away, Mr. Fenton,” returned Matt calmly. “There was a private matter I had to attend to, and – ”

“You have no business to attend to private matters during office hours!” roared Randolph Fenton wrathfully. “You will mind my business and nothing else.”

“But this could not wait. There was a man – ”

“I do not care for your explanations, young man. Too much time has already been wasted. Take this message to Ulmer & Grant’s, and bring a reply inside of ten minutes, or consider yourself discharged.”

And with his face full of wrath and sourness, Randolph Fenton thrust a sealed envelope into Matt’s hand.

An angry reply arose to the boy’s lips. But he checked it, and without a word left the office and hurried away on his errand.

“I trust I make a satisfactory arrangement with Andrew Dilks,” said Matt to himself. “It is growing harder and harder every day to get along with Mr. Fenton. Every time he talks he acts as if he wanted to snap somebody’s head off. Poor Miss Bartlett at her desk looked half-scared to death.”

Arriving at the offices of Ulmer & Grant, Matt found that Mr. Ulmer had gone to Boston. Mr. Grant was busy, but would give him an answer in a few minutes.

Matt sat down, wondering what Mr. Fenton would say about the delay. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. At last Mr. Grant was at liberty, but it was exactly half an hour before Matt managed to gain a reply to the message he carried.

When Matt got back to Randolph Fenton’s office he found the broker in his private apartment alone, and almost purple with suppressed rage.

“You think it smart to keep me waiting, I suppose?” he sneered, as he took Mr. Grant’s message and tore it open.

“It was not my fault. Mr. Ulmer is away, and Mr. Grant was busy.”

“Why didn’t you let Mr. Grant know I was in a hurry?”

“The clerk said he was not to be disturbed just then, and – ”

“No more explanations, Lincoln. I took you into this office more for the sake of your poor father than for anything else. But you have not endeavored to make the most of your chances – ”

“I have done my work, and more,” interrupted Matt bluntly.

“Stop! don’t contradict me, young man! You are more of an idler than aught else. This noon you wasted an hour on that errand to Temple Court, and – ”

“Mr. Fenton,” interrupted a voice from the doorway, and looking up the stock-broker saw Ida Bartlett standing there.

“What is it?” snapped the broker.

“If you please, I would like to say a word in Matthew’s behalf,” went on the stenographer timidly.

“It’s no use saying anything, Miss Bartlett,” put in Matt hastily. “Mr. Fenton won’t listen to any explanations.”

“Yes, but it was – ”

“It’s no use,” went on Matt in a whisper. “I’m not going to stand it any longer,” and then he added, as the stock-broker’s attention was arrested by the reply Mr. Grant had sent. “I am ready to leave anyway, if he discharges me, and you will only get into trouble if you mention that auction-store affair.”

“But it was all my fault – ”

“No, it wasn’t, and please keep quiet.”

“But if you are discharged, Matt – ”

“I’ve got something else in view.”

“Oh!”

“Well, what have you to say, Miss Bartlett?” asked Randolph Fenton, tearing up the message and throwing the pieces into the waste basket.

“I – I was going to say that I was partly to blame for his being behind time this noon. I was – ”

“Do not try to shield him, Miss Bartlett. I know him better than you do. He is a very lazy and heedless boy, and I have already made up my mind what I am going to do in the matter.”

“And what’s that?” asked Matt, although he felt pretty certain of what was coming.

“This shall be your last day of service in these offices. This afternoon I will pay you what is due you, and to-morrow I will endeavor to get a boy who is willing to attend to business and not fritter away his time on the streets.”

“I have not frittered away my time,” replied Matt warmly. “And I feel certain you will not get any one to do more than I have done. You expect a boy to do two men’s work for a boy’s pay – ”

“Stop!”

“Not until I have finished, sir. I am perfectly willing to leave, even though times are dull, and have been contemplating such a step on my own account for some time. I was getting tired of being a slave.”

“You outrageous imp! Not another word from you. I will not have you in this place another minute! Go to Mr. Gaston and draw your pay and leave, and never let me see your face again!”

And white with passion, Randolph Fenton sprang to his feet and threw open the door for Matt to pass out.

CHAPTER VI.
A BUSINESS PARTNERSHIP

Mr. Randolph Fenton’s voice had been raised to its highest pitch, and thus the attention of every one in the offices had been attracted to what was going on.

Ida Bartlett again came forward to speak in Matt’s behalf, but ere she could say a word the boy put up his hand warningly, and turned to the book-keeper.

“I will take what is due me, Mr. Gaston,” he said.

Mr. Gaston, a somewhat elderly man, nodded, and without a word, turned to his desk and passed over to Matt two new one-dollar bills.

“I’m sorry, my boy, it isn’t more,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” returned Matt. “Good-by,” he went on, turning to the other office workers. And with a smile and a bow to Ida Bartlett, he passed out of the place.

Not until he was some distance away did he draw a deep breath. Somehow he felt as if he had just emerged from a prison cell.

“It’s a wonder to me that I stood it so long,” he muttered to himself. “Mr. Fenton is a regular tyrant, and ought to move to Russia. How poor father ever came to invest in those mining shares through him is a mystery to me.” Matt gave a sigh, and for an instant an unusually sober look crossed his handsome face. “If only I could learn what became of poor father – if I could make sure whether he was alive or dead – I wouldn’t care how other matters went. I must continue my searching as soon as I can afford to do so.”

Matt boarded with a private family on Third avenue, and having nothing else to do, he walked slowly to the place. He wished he might meet the man with the red mustache or Andrew Dilks, but he saw nothing of either. When he arrived at the boarding-house it was still an hour to supper-time. He ascended to his roam and spent the time in looking over his wardrobe, for Matt was handy with a needle, and disliked to have buttons off or rent seams in his garments.

At length the bell for supper rang, and washing up and combing his hair, he went below. He ate his portion leisurely, and was just finishing when the landlady said there was a young lady to see him in the parlor.

Matt at once thought of Ida Bartlett, who lived but a few blocks away, with her two sisters and her mother. He was right; it was the young lady stenographer.

“I could not wait, Matt, and so came over just as soon as we had tea,” she explained. “I want you to tell me what you are going to do, now you are out of Mr. Fenton’s offices. You spoke of having something else in view. I trust it is something better.”

“I can’t tell as to that yet,” returned the boy, and then sitting down beside her on the tête-à-tête, he told her of Andrew Dilks and the auctioneer’s proposition.

“That sounds as if it might be quite a good thing,” said Ida Bartlett, when he had finished. “You are sure this Dilks is no sharper? There are lots of sharpers in the auction business, you know.”

“Like the one who tried to make you pay?” laughed Matt.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell the truth, I thought of that. But Dilks doesn’t look like a sharper; quite the contrary. Of course, I’ll have to keep my eyes open. We will have a written agreement, and I will not let the outfit go out of my sight, at least not until I know him thoroughly.”

“In that case I think you will be safe.”

“It is possible that we may not come to any agreement. He has more money than I. He may want somebody who can put up an equal amount.”

“How much has he?”

“A hundred and thirty-five dollars.”

“And that is a good deal more than you have, I suppose?”

“I have saved seventy-five dollars,” returned Matt, and not without some pride.

“Is it possible! And on a salary of four dollars a week!”

“Not much! That salary only paid my way. I saved the money out of extras I earned from other brokers – running errands for them and doing writing at home in the evenings.”

“I see. It is very creditable to you.”

“Yet Mr. Fenton said I was lazy,” replied Matt bitterly.

“Don’t you care what he said. He is a very mean man – I am finding that out more and more every day. I myself intend to leave just as soon as I can find another place. I have been there three months, and can hardly bear it longer.”

“The last stenographer only stayed two months, and the one before that, a man, didn’t stay the week out,” grinned Matt. “They soon find out what kind of a man he is.”

“I would leave to-morrow, only I cannot afford to be out of work, and times are somewhat dull. But, about your proposed venture. You will need sixty dollars more to hold an equal share if you go in, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

Ida Bartlett meditated for a moment.

“Perhaps I might let you have that money,” she said slowly.

“Why – I – I – have you got it?” stammered Matt.

“Yes; I and my two sisters have saved quite a bit out of our earnings, you must know. I’ll have to ask Kate and Jennie and mother first. If they are willing, I’ll let you have the sixty dollars, and then you and this Dilks can form an equal partnership.”

“You are very kind,” exclaimed the boy warmly, for the offer was entirely unexpected.

“No more than I ought to be, Matt. You saved me from great annoyance this noon, and I have not forgotten the many favors you have done me from time to time. When did you say you were to meet this Dilks?”

“This evening. I ought to be on my way to his hotel now.”

“Then do not let me detain you longer.”

“I guess he’ll wait.”

“I will speak to my two sisters and my mother to-night, and I will let you know to-morrow what they think of the matter. If they do not consent, I can let you have twenty-five dollars on my own account, anyway.”

“Thank you. But, supposing the venture doesn’t pay? We may go all to pieces on the road.”

“I’ll risk that – with you,” smiled Ida Bartlett. “If you cannot make it pay in one place, I know you’ll soon find some other place where it will pay. The main thing is to make sure that this Andrew Dilks is honest. I would not like to hear of you being swindled.”

“Nor would I want to be swindled,” smiled Matt. “It wouldn’t pay, and, besides, I might find it a hard job to pay back what I had borrowed.”

“You may make a fortune!”

“I would be content if we made a good living.”

“And you would be able to see a good part of the country.”

“That’s the best part of it – to me. I hate to stay in one place all the while. Besides” – Matt lowered his voice – “it will give me a chance to look for my father, if he is still alive.”

“You poor boy,” returned Ida Bartlett sympathetically. “Always thinking of him! Well, I trust, with all my heart, that you may some day find your father, alive and well.”