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.