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 bookkeeper.
"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
