The letter finished, Matt did not place it in a letter-box, but marched with it to the post-office, that it might be included with the first out-going New York mail.

"If I only could find father," he sighed to himself as he turned back to the store. "Something in my heart tells me that he is not dead, and yet, if this is so, where can he be?"

On arriving at the store he found Andy already busy with a crowd which had begun to collect the moment that the red flag was hung out. Matt had to begin work at once, and this was a good thing for the boy, for it kept him from brooding over his parent's possible fate and thus growing melancholy.

"If I am any kind of a judge, we are going to do the best business yet at this city," said Andy, as there came a little lull in trade. "It started off briskly, and it has kept on steadily ever since."

"Well, that just suits me," laughed Matt. "To my way of thinking we cannot do too much business."

During the next day Matt noticed two sharp-eyed men hanging around the place a good deal. At first he paid no attention to them, but at last pointed them out to Andy.

"Yes, I noticed them myself," returned the senior partner. "They do not look as if they wanted to buy, but just as if they were spying."

"Supposing I call them in and ask them to buy?" suggested Matt, for both of the men were at that moment gazing in the window at the articles displayed there.

"Certainly, you can do that if you want to," returned Andy.

So Matt walked from behind the counter toward the door, but before he could reach it one of the men saw him and spoke to his companion, and both hurried up the street and around the nearest corner.

"Humph! that's queer, to say the least," said the young auctioneer, and Andy agreed with him.

There had been a "To Let" bill upon the show-window of the vacant store next door, but on the following morning when the young auctioneers opened up they found the bill gone. The door of the store was open, and inside a boy somewhat younger than Matt was cleaning up.

"Hullo!" cried Matt, stopping short. Then he poked his head in at the door and confronted the boy.

"So we are going to have neighbors, eh?" he remarked pleasantly.

"Bet your life!" was the slangy reply from the boy, as soon as he had noted who had addressed him. "You didn't expect us, did you?"

"No, I didn't know the store was taken until a moment ago," said Matt.

"Well, it can't be helped. It was the only store vacant in the neighborhood."

"Can't be helped?" repeated Matt, somewhat puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I thought you might object to our opening up alongside of you."

"I don't see why I should. What business are you in?"

"Same line."

Matt was taken aback somewhat by this unexpected reply, and his face showed it.

"Do you mean to say you are going to open an auction store here?"

"That's it, and we are going to make it everlastingly warm for you fellows, too," went on the boy triumphantly. "We've been a-watching how you run things, and we are going to scoop every bit of trade when we get started."

Matt drew a long breath. Here was certainly a new experience. He and Andy had expected to encounter rivals, but had never dreamed of having them at such close quarters.

"Well, I suppose we will have to stand it," he said, hardly knowing how else to reply to the boy's bragging statement.

"If I was you I'd pack up and try some other place," went on the boy. "Gissem & Fillow will take every bit of trade—they always do wherever they go."

"Gissem & Fillow? Are those the names of the men who run the concern?"

"Yes, and they are the slickest auctioneers in the country."

"Perhaps you only think so."

"Oh, I know it. I'll bet you a new hat you don't take in a dollar after we get a-going."

"Thank you, but I don't bet. May I ask where you came from?"

"We came from Stroudsburg."

"Were you down in Bethlehem before that?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"We came through there after you had gone."

"Bet you didn't sell anything. We squeezed the town dry."

"We didn't sell much," returned Matt. He was on the point of stating that he had heard how the folks had been swindled, but he changed his mind. "How long do you expect to remain here?"

"Oh, a week or so. You might as well pack up and leave."

"I guess we will venture to remain, at least a day or two longer," said Matt. "Perhaps we'll be able to do a little in spite of you."

At that moment a large wagon began to back up to the curb. The seat was occupied by two men, and Matt at once recognized them as the fellows he had caught hanging around the previous day. They were the rival auctioneers, who had been watching to learn how Matt and Andy conducted their business.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

MATT SPEAKS HIS MIND.

Matt did not wait to encounter the rival auctioneers, but walked away and entered the door of his own store. Andy was busy, dusting up, and to his partner he told what he had heard.

"Phew!" whistled Andy. "That will make matters rather interesting. Is that their wagon out there?"

"I suppose it is. Those are the same two men, I am certain."

"Yes, they are. Well, if they are the swindlers folks in Bethlehem said they were we ought not to fear them. People are not fools, and they soon learn if a man is honest or not."

"They may take away a good bit of trade, nevertheless, Andy. And we were just congratulating ourselves on what a fine week we were going to have."

"We must do our best, Matt. This puts me on my mettle."

They talked the matter over a bit, and then set to work to "put their best foot forward," as Andy termed it. The window was cleaned as it had never been cleaned before, and also the show-cases and shelves, and then they proceeded to make the most elaborate display possible.

"There; that ought to attract people, if anything will," remarked Andy, when the work was finished.

"You are right; the window couldn't look better. But perhaps they will put out big price signs."

"Never mind, they can't afford to sell any cheaper than we can. I bought all the goods at bottom figures. Let us start up before they get ready."

They began to play on several instruments, and as soon as half a dozen people were collected Andy began to talk and tell jokes. Before the rival auctioneers had their stock inside of their store Matt and Andy were doing a pretty fair business.

Seeing this, Gissem & Fillow hurried up their preparations, and by noon both places were "going it for all they were worth," as Matt expressed it.

Gissem seemed to be the principal member of the firm, Fillow and the boy being merely helpers. He was a tall, thin-faced and clean-shaven man, with hard, steely-blue eyes.

"This way for bargains!" he cried out, coming out upon the sidewalk. "This way, gents and ladies! The only place in Wilkesbarre selling reliable goods at rock-bottom figures! Don't be deceived by rival concerns trying to obtain a bit of our well-earned prosperity! Come right in and be convinced!" And he kept on in this strain for fully five minutes.

"Well, that is what I call downright mean," cried Matt to Andy. "Of course all these cracks at rival concerns are meant for us. He wants to draw the crowd away from us."

"More than that, he is trying to scare them, so that if they won't patronize him they won't purchase anywhere," returned the senior partner. "It is certainly not a fair way to do."

"Can't we stop, him, Andy?"

"I don't see how. He has mentioned no names."

Andy began to talk, but as he was inside of the store while Gissem was outside, very few of the people on the street were attracted. They made several sales to those inside, but after the purchasers were gone the store was empty. In the meantime, the next place was filled to overflowing.

"Let us give them a tune," suggested Matt. "I see our rivals have no musical instruments."

He brought out a banjo, and Andy took up the largest accordion in the place. Sitting down in a spot from which the music could float out of the door, they played several of their best selections.

The music pleased many people. They stopped listening to Gissem, and after some hesitation several came in. More followed, and seeing this, Matt and Andy kept on until the store was once more filled.

Then Matt began to talk. He made no wild statements, but in an earnest manner told what they had to sell, and asked those around him to examine the goods carefully.

"That fellow next door said to beware of rival concerns," remarked a man in the crowd slyly, and several smiled at the words.

"Well, I take it that people are bright enough to know what they are doing," returned Matt. "We are too busy to talk about our neighbors. We are here to show what we have and sell goods—if we can. We do not misrepresent, and if any one is dissatisfied with his purchase he can return it and get his money back. Isn't that fair enough?"

"I reckon it is."

"We carry a large stock, as you can see, and we sell everything for what it is."

"Let me see those spoons, will you?" questioned a man standing beside the one talking to Matt.

"Certainly, sir," and the young auctioneer handed over several samples.

"Are these triple plated?"

"No, sir; they are single plated, on white metal."

"Then they are just as good as triple plated?"

"Almost as good, for ordinary wear. Here are some that are triple plated."

"I know they are."

"Oh, you do."

"Yes, I know all about spoons, for I used to be in the plating business. I only asked to see what you would say. That man next door tried to sell my friend some single plated ones for triple plated. I brought him in here to see what you had to say about your stock."

"Well, I have not misrepresented, have I?"

"No; you have told the exact truth. John, if you want any spoons, you might as well buy them here, for I see they are put at a very reasonable figure."

Upon this, the man who had first spoken began to pick out some of the goods. What his friend had said had been heard by the crowd, who now began to feel more like trusting in what the young auctioneers might have to say.

Matt sold the spoons, and in the meantime Andy put up a number of other articles at auction, and sold them at fairly good prices.

They managed to keep busy until two o'clock in the afternoon, when trade fell off once more. Seeing this, Andy prepared to go out to dinner. He had just put on his hat when Gissem, the rival auctioneer, rushed in.

"See here, I want to talk to you two fellows!" he blustered.

"Well, what is it?" questioned Matt, as coolly as he could.

"You've been telling people I tried to stick a man on a lot of tin-plated spoons, saying they were solid silver."

"Who said so?"

"Never mind who said so. Let me tell you I ain't going to stand such work."

"Excuse me, sir, but we circulated no such story," interrupted Andy. "We know enough to mind our own business."

"But they told me one or the other of you had said so. We won't stand that—we'll have you arrested for—for defamation of character!" stormed the rival auctioneer, working himself up into a fine pitch of assumed indignation.

"We have said nothing concerning you," said Matt. "We have not even advised people to beware of our rivals, nor have we mentioned your stop in Bethlehem, and how the folks of that town regarded your doings there," he went on pointedly.

"What—what do you mean?" stammered Gissem, taken by surprise.

"I mean just what I infer. We know how people there were swindled, and we know how anxious some of them are to lay hands on a certain firm of auctioneers."

"Have a care, boy, or I'll—I'll——"

"What will you do?"

"Never mind; you'll see fast enough."

"You cannot bully me. Now that you have taken the trouble to come in here, let me tell you something. You just cast several reflections upon our characters. That has got to be stopped."

"Humph! Why, you are but a boy and dare talk to me."

"Never mind, he knows what he is saying," put in Andy. "We are not to be mistreated by rivals or by any one else."

"Don't talk to me!" snapped Gissem, and unable to keep up the talk with credit to himself, he fled from the store.

"I don't think he will dare to bother us again," said Andy. "He is too much afraid to have his past record raked up."

Andy went off to dinner, leaving Matt in sole charge. The snow had cleared away, but it was still cold, and to keep himself warm, Matt went to the rear of the establishment and got his overcoat. He was just putting on the garment when a noise near the show-window attracted his attention. He ran forward, and saw that a thin stream of water was coming down through the boards of the ceiling. The water was splashing on some of the stock, and unless it was speedily checked it would do a good bit of damage.

Matt knew that the upper part of the building was not occupied. In the rear of the store was a door leading to the back hallway, and through this he ran and started to go upstairs.

As he did so, somebody started to come down. It was the boy who worked for the rival auctioneers.



CHAPTER XXXV.

TOM INWOLD.

As soon as the boy saw Matt he stopped short, and then endeavored to retreat. But Matt was coming up the steps in a tremendous hurry, and in ten seconds he was close enough to the boy to catch him by the arm.

"Let go of me!" cried the boy, badly frightened.

"What have you done?" questioned Matt sternly, and without waiting for a reply, forced the boy to accompany him into the rooms.

A glance around revealed the cause of the flood below. In one of the rooms was a sink with city water. The water had been turned on full, and the sink-holes stopped up with putty. The sink had overflowed, and the water was running through several cracks in the floor.

As rapidly as he could Matt turned off the faucet. Then leaving the water still in the sink to the brim, he dashed downstairs.

"You come with me and help me save my stock!" he cried to the boy. "If you don't I'll hand you over to the first policeman I can find."

"Oh, please don't have me arrested!" howled the boy, almost scared out of his wits by the threat. "I—I—didn't mean any harm!"

"You didn't mean any harm? We'll see. Come down now."

The boy hesitated, and then followed Matt into the store. Here a portion of the stock had to be removed, and then the young auctioneer set the boy to work mopping up the water on the counter and the floor.

"Say, please don't have me arrested, will you?" asked the boy, almost in tears over what he considered a very serious predicament.

"You ought to be taught a lesson," returned Matt severely. "What put you up to the idea of letting the water overflow?"

"What Mr. Gissem said. He was awful mad after he was in here, and he told Mr. Fillow he wished that you would burn out or that the water pipes would burst and drown you out. Then he asked me if I couldn't worry you a bit, and I said I'd try, and that's the truth of it."

"Well, that man ought to be cowhided!" was Matt's vigorous exclamation. "Excuse me, but is he any relation to you?"

"Oh, no."

"Is Mr. Fillow?"

"No, neither of them."

"Then how do you come to be traveling with them?"

The boy's face took on a sober look, and he swallowed something like a lump in his throat.

"I—I got tired of going to school and I ran away from home."

"What do you mean—" Matt stopped short as a certain thought flashed over his mind. "Say, is your name Tom Inwold, and do you come from Plainfield?"

At this unexpected question the boy looked at Matt in amazement, his mouth wide open, and his eyes as big as they could well be.

"Who told you who I was?" he gasped.

"No one; I guessed it."

"But I don't know you."

"That's true. We stopped in Plainfield a number of weeks ago, and there I met your mother."

"And what did she say?" faltered Tom Inwold.

"She told me that you had run away with an auctioneer."

"And—and was that all?" went on the boy, his voice trembling with emotion.

"No; she was very anxious to have you come home again. She missed you very much, and she could not understand how you could have the heart to leave her."

At these words, which Matt delivered very seriously, the tears sprang into Tom Inwold's eyes. Evidently he was not hard-hearted, and had been led astray purely by bad associates.

"I—I wish I was back home again," he said in a low voice.

"You do not like being an auctioneer's helper, then?"

"No, I don't. I might like you, but Gissem and Fillow treat me awful."

"In what way?"

"Well, in the first place they don't half feed me, and then they don't pay me the wages they promised."

"What did they promise you?"

"Five dollars a week to start on, and ten dollars when I was worth it. I've been with them a long time, but I was never able to get a cent out of them."

"Supposing you had the money, would you go home?" asked Matt kindly, for he saw that the boy's better feelings had been touched.

"I don't know if I would dare. Ma might whip me and have me sent to the reform school, or something like that."

"I don't think she would—not if you promise to turn over a new leaf. I should think you would rather go home than remain where you have to work for nothing."

"I guess I would go home if I had a railroad ticket and some clothes fit to wear. You can see how this suit looks," and Tom Inwold showed up his ragged elbows and patched trousers.

"I'll see if I can do something for you," said Matt.

When Andy came back he told his partner Tom Inwold's story. To this the boy himself added the tale of his hardships while with the rival auctioneers, and added that he was very sorry he had endeavored to do any injury to the stock in the store.

"I believe he means it," said Matt, as he and Andy walked a little to one side. "And I would like to do something for the lad, for his mother's sake as much as his own."

"I think I can fix it," replied Andy. "I'll have a talk with this Gissem."

"He ought to pay the boy something for his work."

"I reckon he will—when I tell him that he is liable to arrest for enticing the boy from home."

Andy told Tom Inwold to accompany him to the store next door. At first the boy hung back, but when Andy promised that he would take the responsibility of the coming interview entirely upon his own shoulders, the lad consented to go along.

They were gone nearly an hour, and during that time Matt heard some pretty loud talking through the partition which separated the two stores. But when Andy and Tom Inwold came back he saw by their faces that they had triumphed.

"At first Gissem was in for facing me down," said Andy. "Said he had nothing to do with the boy, and all that. But I threatened him with immediate arrest, and promised to have the mother of the boy here to testify against him, and then he weakened, and at length gave Tom thirty dollars, with which to buy a new suit of clothes, a pair of shoes, a hat, and a railroad ticket, upon conditions that he would not be prosecuted. I reckon he was badly scared, too."

Matt was much pleased. Leaving Andy in charge of the store, he went out to dinner, taking Tom Inwold along with him. After the meal the wearing apparel was purchased and donned, and then they made their way to the depot. Here a ticket for Plainfield was procured, and the young auctioneer saw to it that the boy boarded the proper train.

"I'll never forget you, never," said Tom Inwold on parting, and he never has, nor has Mrs. Inwold, who was grateful to the last degree for what Matt had been instrumental in doing for her.

On the following morning, on going down to the store to open up, Andy and Matt saw that the entire stock of the store adjoining had been removed during the night. Gissem had been fearful of trouble, despite what Andy had promised, and had taken time by the forelock, and left for parts unknown. The young auctioneers never met him or his partner again.

By having the entire field to themselves the young auctioneers did a splendid business, and when they were ready to pack up and start for Scranton they found that they had cleared nearly ninety dollars by their stay in Wilkes-Barre.

In the meantime the weather had been growing steadily colder, and they found it necessary to invest in a second-hand robe to keep them warm when driving.

"It looks a bit like snow," remarked Andy, as they drove out of the city one morning. "I hope we don't catch it before we reach where we are going to. A snowstorm in the mountains is not a very pleasant thing to encounter."

"We must run our chances," returned Matt, and Billy was urged forward, and soon the city outskirts were left far behind.

The sun had shone for awhile, but about nine o'clock it went under a heavy cloud. Then it began to get slightly warmer, and Andy was certain that snow was coming.

His prediction was fulfilled. By ten o'clock it was snowing furiously, and by eleven the ground was covered to the depth of half a foot.

"That settles it; we can't make Scranton to-day, nor even Pittston," said Matt. "We had better hunt up some sort of a house with a barn attached, where we can put up."

But Andy was for continuing the journey, so onward they went, until at last, just before the noon hour, they found the road getting too heavy for Billy. They went down into a hollow which the falling snow had covered, and there the wagon remained, despite every effort to budge it.

They looked around in some dismay. Not even a house nor a building of any sort was in sight.

"This is a pretty pickle," muttered Andy. "I wish we had followed your advice and sought shelter."

"We've got to do something," returned Matt. "If we stay here we'll be completely snowed under. The snow is coming down thicker every minute. What's to be done?"

Ah! what was to be done? That was a question not easy to answer. Both of the young auctioneers were much disturbed.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

LOST IN THE SNOW.

It was not a pleasant outlook, stuck in a deep hollow on the road with the snow coming down furiously. Already the ground was covered to the depth of a foot or more, and around the heavily-laden wagon a drift was forming which soon reached above the axles.

"We must do something, that's certain," muttered Matt, as he sprang to Billy's head for at least the fifth time. "Come, old fellow, can't you stir it up a bit?"

Andy ran to the back of the wagon and placed his shoulder against the case there strapped on. But though the two and Billy, the horse, did their best, the auction wagon remained where it was.

"It's no use," groaned Andy, as he stopped to catch his breath. "We are stuck as hard as if we were planted here, and it looks as if we would have to remain here for some time."

"We must move on," returned Matt desperately. "In a few hours night will be coming on, and we'll be completely covered."

"The snow is coming down faster than ever, and the wind is rising. Maybe we are going to have a blizzard. If we do, Heaven help us!"

"Let us take those cases of goods off," suggested the young auctioneer after a moment of thought. "That will lighten the load for Billy somewhat."

The big packing boxes were unstrapped and let down in the snow. They were followed by every other article which could be removed from the turn-out without damage.

Then Billy was once more urged to go on, Matt and Andy pushing with all their strength in the meanwhile. The wheels of the wagon and the axles creaked and then moved forward slowly.

"Hurrah! we've got it started!" shouted Matt joyfully. "Get up, Billy! get up!"

And the horse really did strain every muscle until, two minutes later, the wagon was out of the hollow and up on the ridge of a little hill.

"Thank fortune we are out of that!" exclaimed Andy. "Now what is to be done?"

"We had better strap the cases in place again and continue on our way."

"The cases are awfully heavy. I wonder if we can't hide them somewhere and come back for them later? The snow is not melting, so that won't hurt them."

The matter was talked over, and finally they decided to leave the two cases, which had not been opened, and were well packed, under a big tree near the roadside. The cases were removed to the spot without delay, placed upon a couple of dead trees and covered with brush.

Then they moved on again, Andy leading the horse, and Matt going on ahead to inspect the road, and thus avoid getting into another hollow.

It was bitterly cold, and having nothing but a light overcoat on, the young auctioneer was chilled to the bone. He was compelled to caper about and clap his hands continually to keep from being frozen. The snow, now fine and hard, beat into his face mercilessly, and to protect himself from this he pulled his hat far down over his eyes, and tied his handkerchief over his mouth and nose.

But the hardships of the storm were not to be endured for long. A quarter of a mile further on they came to a large farmhouse, situated some little distance back from the road. In the rear was a barn and a cow-shed.

Running ahead, Matt knocked upon the door of the house. It was opened by an elderly farmer, who was smoking, and who held a paper in his hand.

"Good-afternoon," said the young auctioneer. "Can we get shelter here for ourselves and our horse? We are willing to pay for the accommodation."

"What's the matter? Caught on the road?" returned the farmer pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," and Matt briefly narrated the particulars.

"Drive right around to the barn," were the farmer's welcome words. "I'll open up for you and make your horse comfortable enough."

And reaching for his hat and coat, he put them on and came outside.

Andy was not slow to drive Billy into shelter. The barn was a large one, and far from filled, and the wagon went in without difficulty.

As soon as the horse had been cared for, the young auctioneers followed the farmer back to the house. The family had just finished their dinner, but set to work at once to prepare food for the half-frozen and exhausted travelers.

While Matt and Andy were warming up they told the farmer about the cases which had been left on the road.

"I suppose they ought not to be left there too long," said Andy. "If I had a light wagon and a pair of strong horses I would go after them as soon as I've had something to eat."

"Don't you mind; I'll go after 'em for you," said the farmer. "I've got Sam and Bess, and they can pull through most anything. Perhaps after you've had dinner it will be too late."

"Well, if you get them we will pay you whatever it is worth," returned Matt's partner.

The farmer set about the trip without delay, and just as Andy and Matt were called to the dining-table he drove out of the yard.

The meal was a good one, there being plenty to eat and all of it well served. To the two half-famished ones it seemed to be about the best meal they had ever tasted.

After it was over they sat down by the fire and began to chat with the farmer's wife, a motherly creature of the same age as her husband. Every five minutes Matt would walk to the window to see if the farmer was yet returning.

It was nearly an hour before Mr. Pearsall, for such was the farmer's name, drove up to the door. Matt and Andy ran out to meet him, and were relieved to learn that the cases of goods had been brought in good condition. They were taken around to the barn and there transferred to their original places on the auction wagon.

Mr. Pearsall was curious to know something of their business, and when they were once more in the house the two young auctioneers told their story, to which both the farmer and his wife listened with deep interest.

As it continued to snow, Matt and Andy decided to remain at the farmhouse over night, and arrangements were made to that effect. They spent a pleasant evening, and all hands retired early.

In the morning, much to their joy, they found that the snow had stopped coming down, and that the sun was shining brightly. They had an early breakfast, and then, after settling with Mr. Pearsall, who did not wish cash, but took goods his wife desired instead, they set off for Pittston, which was scarcely half a mile distant.

Billy had had a good rest, and the city mentioned above was reached in a short while. Here they arranged for an extra horse, that was hitched up in front of their own. In this manner they started for Scranton with more confidence.

The road was as rocky and uneven as before, but it being bright and clear, they were enabled to avoid hollows with ease. They stopped at Taylor for dinner, and arrived in Scranton an hour before nightfall, tired out, but happy to think that their journey, for the balance of the week at least, was over.

As soon as they had settled in a vacant store Matt left Andy in charge and hurried to the post-office, to look for a letter from Ida Bartlett. He was not disappointed; the letter was there, and he read it with deep interest.

"Since receiving your letter," she wrote, "I have been watching Mr. Fenton closely, and I am satisfied that he is much disturbed over the fact that Mr. Gaston has left his employ and that he was threatened with exposure. I have also taken the liberty to write to Mr. Gaston, but have, as yet, received no reply. Will write again as soon as he answers. It is a pity you cannot find out what became of your poor father and the papers."



CHAPTER XXXVII.

MORE OF AUCTION LIFE.

"Yes, I would give every cent I am worth, and more, to learn what did become of father," said Matt to Andy, after he had allowed his partner to peruse the letter.

"I have no doubt you would, Matt," returned Andy feelingly. "I can imagine how much it worries you—not knowing if he is dead or alive. But you must keep a stout heart and trust to the future to clear up the mystery."

"I'm trying to do that, but, Andy, it's hard work," and Matt's handsome face took on an unusually sober look.

Knowing that nothing could be gained by discussing the matter, which had been talked over a score of times previously, Andy changed the subject. Business had opened very well, and he wished to go out and have some circulars printed, by which even a larger crowd might be attracted to the sale.

It remained clear for two days, and during that time both of the young auctioneers were kept busy from eight o'clock in the morning until eleven at night.

On the third day it began to grow warmer, and by noon it was raining steadily.

"Well, never mind, the rain will wash the snow away, and if it only stays clear afterward we will have a chance to get on to Carbondale," was Andy's cheerful comment.

Seeing that Matt could get along very well alone, he left the store in the afternoon to buy a heavy overcoat at some clothing establishment. If he procured what he wished, Matt was to buy one also.

Left to himself, the young auctioneer did what he could to attract trade, but without success. He waited on the few customers who had drifted in, but when they were gone found himself alone.

Rather than have the time hang heavily upon his hands he began to clean up the stock. Cutlery and spoons need constant care to keep them looking bright, and Matt was, therefore, never at a loss for employment.

While he was hard at work shining up some silver-plated ware which was slightly tarnished through handling, the door of the store was flung open violently, and a large, heavily-built man staggered in. At a glance Matt saw that the man was much the worse for the liquor he had drunk.

"Say, is this an auction store?" grunted the man, as he tried to walk up to the counter with some show of steadiness.

"It is," returned the young auctioneer briefly. Of all persons to deal with he hated a drunken man the worst.

"It is, hey—a genuine auction store?" went on the tipsy individual.

"Yes. What can I do for you?" and Matt put the silverware he was handling away.

"I want to buy a pistol."

Matt was surprised at this statement, and he was also alarmed. The tipsy man was certainly not the person to have a firearm in his possession.

"You wish a pistol?" he said slowly.

"That's me, boy! Hand out the best pistol you have in the place! I don't want any toy pop-gun remember!"

And the man glared at Matt as though the boy were his one personal enemy.

"Excuse me, but I hardly think I have a pistol to suit you," replied the young auctioneer, thinking it best to discourage the man if possible. "You had better go to a regular firearms store."

"I ain't a-going nowhere but here!" growled the would-be customer, as he gave a lurch against the counter. "I want a pistol; best you got, understand?"

"I understand, but I haven't any pistol for you," Matt replied steadily. He wished Andy would come back.

"What! do you mean to say you refuse to sell me a pistol?" howled the man savagely. "Let me tell you, boy, that I have ample means for reimbursing you."

"I haven't any pistol for you, sir. You had better go elsewhere."

"Won't go, understand, I won't go! Let me see them pistols in that show-case, and be quick about it!"

Matt was now growing alarmed. The man was just intoxicated enough to be thoroughly ugly, and might try to do him harm should he refuse the request which had been made. Yet he realized more than ever that the man was not the one to be trusted with a firearm.

"I do not care to show you the pistols," was all the young auctioneer could say. "You must go elsewhere if you wish one."

"Won't sell me one, hey?"

"No, I will not."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"You're awfully smart, boy; most too smart to live! But I am going to have what I want, understand that!"

With unsteady steps the man walked to the rear end of the counter and came around to the inner side. He was met by Matt, who, becoming alarmed, had picked up the butt-end of a fishing-rod with which to defend himself.

"You can't come back here, sir."

"Oh, yes, I can."

"I say you cannot. The best thing you can do is to go elsewhere."

"What! do you threaten me?"

"I want you to understand that you cannot come back here. I told you I did not wish to sell you a pistol, and that ought to be enough."

"Want to fight, boy?" demanded the man, scowling savagely and doubling up his fists.

"No, I do not wish to fight. I merely wish to be left alone."

Matt had hardly spoken when the tipsy man hurled himself forward, intending to catch the young auctioneer by the throat. But Matt was too quick for him. He stepped backward, and the consequence was that the man went headlong, striking the floor with such force that every article in the store shook and rattled.

"You—you young villain!" panted the tipsy man, as he attempted to rise to his feet. "What do you mean by such conduct? Help me up, do you hear?"

"I hear, but I am not going to assist you until you promise to leave at once," returned Matt.

"I'm going to look at those pistols first," growled the intoxicated one, and by holding fast to the counter he managed, but not without much difficulty, to rise to his feet once more. "That's a fine way to treat a gentleman!"

"It was your own fault. You had no business to try to catch me by the throat."

"And you had no business to be saucy, understand, boy, saucy? I never allow any one to be saucy to me. Now them pistols, and no more nonsense."

Instead of replying, Matt tried to push the man out from behind the counter. The young auctioneer thought that if he could get him out near the door he would then be able to summon assistance and have the tipsy individual taken away.

Evidently the man suspected his intention. He declined to be pushed back, and seeing what he considered a good chance, he hurled himself at Matt once more, and this time both rolled to the floor.

In going down, the young auctioneer struck his head upon the sharp corner of a box. He was partly stunned, and for several seconds could not make a movement in his own favor. The piece of the fishing-rod flew out of his hand, and this his opponent picked up.

"I'll teach you to talk to a gentleman like myself!" growled the tipsy man, and he aimed a blow at the young auctioneer's head with the weapon he had secured.

The blow failed to reach its mark, but undismayed by his failure to injure Matt, the man gathered himself together and prepared for a second attack.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

A SURPRISING DISCOVERY.

It looked as if the young auctioneer was in for a serious time of it. As has been said, the would-be purchaser of a pistol was just drunk enough to be ugly and unreasonable. He had refused to leave the auction store, and now he was bent upon doing mischief to the boy who had failed to treat him as he fancied he ought to be served.

"Now, how do you like that, you young rascal?" growled the man, as he brought the end of the fishing-rod down for a second time.

"I don't like it at all," returned Matt, as he recovered sufficiently to dodge out of the way, although the stick came uncomfortably close to his ears. "Let me up at once."

"Not much, boy, not much! I'm going to teach you a lesson to be civil to customers!"

"You are getting yourself into serious trouble."

"Ho! ho! I reckon I am able to take care of myself."

Once again the man sought to strike Matt, and this time he succeeded. The blow landed upon the young auctioneer's shoulder, and caused him to cry out with pain.

At that instant the door opened, and Andy entered the store, carrying on his arm the new overcoat he had just purchased.

"What's the matter, Matt?" he cried, in quick alarm.

"Help me, Andy! This drunken man is trying to knock me out with that stick!"

The senior partner of the firm needed no second call for assistance. Without hesitation he flung the overcoat on a packing case, and rushing up to Matt's assailant, caught him by the collar and dragged him from behind the counter.

"Let me—me go!" spluttered the tipsy individual. "Let go my collar!"

"Don't you do it, Andy!" and Matt sprang to his feet as quickly as he could.

"I don't intend to," was Andy's determined answer. "What's the meaning of this trouble?"

"He wouldn't let me look at the pistols," whined the tipsy man, collapsing now that he saw he was powerless to do any more injury.

"I didn't think he was in fit condition to look at anything," put in Matt.

"You had no right to abuse my partner," said Andy, sure that Matt was in the right of the altercation. "Now you get right out of here, and don't show your face again."

And Andy shoved the man toward the door, which he had left partly open.

The tipsy man began to remonstrate, and wanted to fight both of them. He grew quite abusive, and threatened to wreck all the things in the establishment. Before he could carry out his threat, however, Andy and Matt landed him out on his back on the sidewalk and beckoned to a passing policeman.

"What! so it's you again!" cried the officer, on seeing the intoxicated individual. "I thought you had warning enough at the hotel. What has he been doing?" he asked of Matt.

"He got mad because I wouldn't let him handle the pistols in the place."

"The pistols?"

"Yes, sir. He insisted upon seeing the best pistol we had, and I wouldn't accommodate him. I thought it might be dangerous. Of course he would want cartridges, and then he might go off and shoot somebody."

"That was his intention. He got into a row in the hotel on the next block, and the clerk says he threatened to shoot the proprietor. I suppose he was bent on getting the pistol to do it with. Just you come with me, and I'll give you a chance to sober up."

The tipsy man remonstrated, and tried to make the policeman believe that the rows at the hotel and at the store were only jokes. But the officer would not listen, and took the drunken individual to the station-house, where, later on, he was sentenced to thirty days in the county jail for disturbing the peace.

"That's another side of the auction business," said Matt, after he and Andy were left alone. "And I must confess it's a side I don't like. It was lucky you came along when you did."

"An intoxicated man never makes a good customer, Matt. Some store-keepers try to get his money away from him, but, as for me, I want nothing to do with him."

The blow on the shoulder had not injured Matt, and soon the incident, exciting as it had been, was almost forgotten. Andy had struck a bargain, as he termed it, in the purchase of his new overcoat, and he wished Matt to go off at once and get one like it.

"They are selling about two dozen off at bottom price," he said. "And you want to lose no time if you wish to get fitted. It is the first store on the third block above here."

"All right, I'll go, Andy, for I can't do without the overcoat," and off Matt started, never once dreaming of what was going to happen on that simple little shopping trip.

Matt located the clothing shop without difficulty. It was quite well filled with customers, but he soon found the salesman who had served Andy, and this young man did not keep him waiting any longer than was absolutely necessary.

There were three overcoats which just fitted Matt, and he hesitated as to which to take. He tried them all on, but could not decide the question.

"I'll take them to the daylight and examine them," he said, and walked from the center of the store, which was lighted by gas, toward the show window.

Here he began to examine each overcoat critically. One was black, the other brown, and third a dark blue. Matt rather fancied the dark blue.

While he was handling over the dark-blue coat, the form of a ragged man darkened the side of the show window furthest from the door. With hardly a thought, Matt looked up to see who it was.

Then the heart of the young auctioneer seemed to fairly stop beating. The ragged man on the pavement outside was his father!

With a sharp cry that startled every one in the establishment, Matt dashed down the garments he held and made a rush for the door. At the same moment the man outside, catching one glimpse of Matt's face, put up both his hands to his forehead and sped up the street as if running for his life!

"What's the matter with that young fellow?"

"What's the matter with the man?"

"Say, come back here!"

"Did he steal anything?"

These and a score of other cries rang out in quick succession. But Matt paid no attention, nor did he stop to offer any explanation to the astonished clothing salesman. He had seen his father, his father for whom he had been searching so long and so earnestly! He could tell that face, as haggard and white as it was, among a million.

Away sped the man up the street, and on after him came Matt, running as he had never run before. He could not understand why his parent should thus try to get away from him. But he did not stop to reason on the matter. He wanted to reach his father, that was all, and he strained every muscle to accomplish his effort.

But although Matt was a good runner, the man he was after appeared well able to keep beyond his reach. Evidently some dreadful fear urged him on, for many times he would look back over his shoulder, and each time pass his hands over his forehead, as if to wipe the sight from his brain and memory.

Soon several blocks had been passed, and then the man turned a corner, and started toward the poorer section of the city. Matt continued to follow for half a dozen blocks further. Then he saw his father dart into the open hallway of a half-tumbled-down tenement.

When he reached the building the young auctioneer peered into the hallway, but could see no one. Several little girls were playing upon the sidewalk, and he asked them if they had seen any one go in.

"Crazy Will just went in," replied one of the girls. "Guess he has gone up to his room in the garret."

"Crazy Will!" murmured Matt to himself. "Poor father! How thankful I am that I have found you at last!"

And trembling with emotion, he hurried up the rickety stairs until he reached the door of the apartment which one of the girls pointed out as that occupied by Crazy Will.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

The door of the garret room was closed, and when Matt tried the knob, he found that it was also locked. He knocked lightly upon it.

At first there was no response. Then a weak voice, which he could but faintly recognize as that of his father, asked sharply:

"Who's there? What do you want? Why don't you go away and leave me alone?"

"Father! father! come and open the door!" exclaimed Matt, his voice trembling as it had never trembled before.

"Who speaks? Go away, I say, and leave a poor old man alone!"

"Father, it is me, Matt! Don't you remember me?"

"Matt! Matt! Oh, no, Matt was lost when his mother was lost and the money! Yes, the money, mother, and Matt! Too bad! Go away, and don't persecute me!"

"No, father, you are mistaken. I am here, father—your only son, Matt. Please open the door."

"You are fooling me! Didn't you fool me about Matt only last week and throw a pail of water on me, and call me Crazy Will? Go away, I say!"

"No, father, I will not go away! You must open the door! You must! I have been hunting for you so long—ever since mother died and you disappeared, and now that I have found you, we shall never separate again. Open the door; do, please."

These words, spoken with an intensity which cannot be described, had the necessary effect upon the poor, weak-minded man inside of the garret room. Matt heard him move slowly toward the door, and then heard the key turn in the lock. The next instant the door opened, and the boy sprang into the room and caught his father around the neck.

"Oh, father, don't you know me?" he cried, with deep emotion. "It is Matt, your only son!"

He looked his father steadily in the eyes, the tears meanwhile coursing freely down his cheeks. Mr. Lincoln returned the gaze for a moment, then the wild look died out of his eyes, and his breast heaved and he gave a deep sob.

"Matt! Matt! It is really you! My son! my son!"

He caught the boy in his arms and hugged him to his breast, sobbing the meanwhile like a little child. He spoke of his wife and her death, of his lost money, and a hundred other things, and then, in the midst of it all, threw up his arms and sank to the floor in a dead faint.

A less courageous boy than Matt would have been badly scared. But he knew of these fainting spells, for his father had had them years before and had always come out of them feeling weaker in body, it was true, but always clearer in mind.

In one corner of the room lay an old mattress, and upon this he placed his father's form. Then he opened the tightly-closed window and began to bathe his father's forehead with some water that stood in a cracked pitcher near by.

Two of the girls that had told him about Crazy Will had followed him up the tenement stairs and were now standing outside of the garret-room door, staring at all that was going on. Matt called them in.

"Do either of you want to earn twenty-five cents?" he asked.

"What doin'?" asked the older of the two girls promptly.

"I want you to deliver a message for me."

"Where to?"

Matt mentioned the auction store and described its location. The girl said she knew where it was and would willingly take a message there.

"Don't yer want a doctor?" she asked.

"Not yet. You take this note and it will be all right. But you must not lose a minute."

"I'll run all the way," replied the girl.

Taking out a notebook he carried, Matt hastily scribbled down the following brief message:

"ANDY: I have found my father. Come with the bearer at once.

MATT."

This he folded up and addressed to his partner. In another minute the girl was flying down the tenement stairs, two steps at a time, the other girl close behind her.

When they were gone Matt closed the door and again turned his attention to his father.

Mr. Lincoln's eyes were still closed, but by putting his ear down to his parent's chest, Matt found that his father was breathing quite regularly. He continued to bathe his parent's forehead and also fanned him with a newspaper which was lying by.

While waiting for his father to come to again, Matt could not help but gaze at the surroundings. The garret room was small and bare of furniture, containing nothing but the mattress, a broken-down stove, and a few cracked dishes. There was half a loaf of stale bread beside the dishes, and nothing else to eat was in sight.

"What a place to live in!" murmured the boy to himself. "Poor father! Poor father!"

He again bent over the motionless form, and it was not long before he had the satisfaction of seeing his father open his eyes.

"Matt, is it really you, or is this another one of those tantalizing dreams?" asked Mr. Lincoln feebly, as he essayed to rise to a sitting position.

"It is really I, father," returned the son gently. "You had better lie still for awhile. Your run exhausted you."

"How thankful I am that it is really you! But there must be some mistake. I have dreamed of these things before. That is why I ran away."

"There is no mistake now, father, it is really and truly I," and Matt bent lower and wound his arms around his father's neck. "You have nothing more to fear, father. Just rely on me for everything."

"I will, Matt, I will! I know it is you, now that you are so close to me!"

"And, father, you must promise that you will not run away again."

"I promise, Matt. My mind was upset—it's upset yet, I'm afraid. But I won't leave you, Matt; I won't leave you. I used to imagine I saw you, and then the boys on the street would plague me and call me Crazy Will. But that's all over now, thank Heaven! That's all over now!"



CHAPTER XL.

THE MINING SHARES—CONCLUSION.

In less than half an hour Andy reached the garret room, and Matt told his partner his story. Andy was introduced to Mr. Lincoln as a friend who could be trusted in all things, and although the weak-minded man was suspicious of all strangers, he made no demonstration against his son's companion.

"I wish to take him to some quiet place, where he can have the best of medical attention," said Matt to Andy. "Do you think you can find such a place? I do not dare to leave him yet."

"I will do my best," returned Andy.

He went off in search of the right place, and in an hour came back, accompanied by a pleasant man fifty or sixty years of age, whom he introduced as Dr. Zabrinsky.

"The doctor will take your father into his own home," he said. "He has two patients suffering from mental troubles and makes a specialty of such things. He will do his best."

Matt was pleased by the medical man's appearance, and after some little conversation, a carriage was called, and Mr. Lincoln was removed, accompanied by Matt, to the doctor's private sanitarium. Andy was left behind to go over Mr. Lincoln's meager effects and bring away anything of value.

At the doctor's home the almost helpless man was made as comfortable as possible. He was inclined to become excited over what had happened, but the doctor administered an opiate, and he soon after sank into a gentle slumber.

When Andy reached the house some time later his face betoken that he had something of unusual interest to tell. He bore a package of papers in his hand, and these he handed over to Matt.

"I found then stuck in the mattress," he said. "They are papers in reference to the mining shares your father purchased from Randolph Fenton. From what you have told me, I believe Fenton swindled your father. As soon as your father is well enough to be left I would send for that Mr. Gaston and have the matter looked up."

Matt examined the papers with keen interest. He became satisfied that Andy was right, and determined to act upon his suggestions.

Dr. Zabrinsky was true to his word. He did all that was possible for the sufferer, and between his medical skill and Matt's watchful care, Mr. Lincoln recovered rapidly. Once in a great while his mind would take on a flighty turn, but Matt was watchful and always calmed him down, and at the end of six months the man whose mind had been so strangely affected was as rational and well as ever.

Long before this time Matt made a trip to New York and called upon Ida Bartlett at her new place of business. They had a long conversation concerning Randolph Fenton and his methods of selling stocks and shares.

At the end of this talk Matt made inquiries concerning Mr. Gaston's whereabouts. He learned that the former clerk was in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and telegraphed that he wished to see him without delay. On the following Friday morning Mr. Gaston presented himself at the hotel at which Matt was stopping.

The young auctioneer went over his entire story and produced the papers which had been in his father's possession. He promised Gaston a liberal reward should they succeed in forcing Randolph Fenton to make proper restitution for a transaction that was undoubtedly criminal upon its face.

The old book-keeper at once consented to do what he could. He called in a lawyer of thorough experience, and several affidavits were made out, and a search made for Mr. Lincoln's rightful shares, for the ones Randolph Fenton had assigned to him had been some of a similar name but of far less value. Then all hands marched down to the broker's office.

Randolph Fenton was somewhat surprised to see Matt, and he turned slightly pale when Gaston confronted him, accompanied by the lawyer and another man he knew was a private detective.

Without preliminaries, the lawyer explained the object of the visit. As he proceeded the broker grew paler and paler, and he clutched the arms of his chair nervously.

"You—you are mistaken!" he finally gasped out. "That transaction was perfectly legitimate. This is a plot on the part of that man and that boy to ruin my reputation!"

"It is no plot, Mr. Fenton," put in Matt. "For my poor father's sake as well as my own, I ask for justice; that is all. Your actions unbalanced my father's mind, and if I wanted to be hard-hearted I would not rest until you were behind the prison bars."

"Stuff and nonsense! This is all a put-up job——"

"Don't get excited, Mr. Fenton," said the lawyer pointedly. "The boy is letting you down very easily, to my way of thinking."

"Tut-tut! I won't listen to a word! I want you all to leave this office and stop this farce!"

"If we have to leave without satisfaction you will go with Mr. Briarly, the detective," cried Matt. "Now you can take your choice. I am no longer your office boy, and you cannot twist me around your finger."

These words filled Randolph Fenton with rage. He wanted to abuse everybody within hearing, but both the lawyer and the detective cut him short by threatening him with immediate arrest. Finally he asked for time in which to consider the case.

This was granted, but after they left Matt instructed the detective to keep a close watch on the man, fearful that Fenton, who, according to Mr. Gaston's statement, was in bad favor in a number of places, would convert what securities he held into cash and leave for parts unknown.

It was well that Matt did this, for on the following night the detective captured the broker just as the latter was boarding a train at the Grand Central depot. He had a satchel full of money with him, and in his card case was found a railroad ticket for Montreal, Canada. Randolph Fenton was placed under arrest, and then all of his many misdeeds were thoroughly investigated and exposed.

Out of the wreckage the swindling broker had left behind him Matt was able to secure three-fourths of the rightful shares of mining stock for his father. These shares had gone up in value and were found to be worth close on to fifty-eight thousand dollars. To Matt, who, in his wanderings around, had learned the true value of money, it seemed a fortune.

"You won't want any more of the auction business," said Andy. "You will have your hands full taking care of that money and your father."

"Yes, I guess my days as a young auctioneer are over," returned Matt. "I want to get a better education if possible, and thus fit myself for something higher in life."

"What about your share in the business? I can't buy it out just yet."

"I have talked it over with father, Andy, and I have decided to make you a present of it. You deserve it, for ever since we met you have been a real brother to me. Make what you can out of the business, and if you ever get in a tight corner don't hesitate to come to me, and I will do what I can for you."

Andy demurred at Matt's generosity, but was finally persuaded to accept the gift. He settled in Middletown for the winter and did very well. In the spring he started on his travels again, and by fall had made enough to open a good-sized picture and art store in New York City on Fourteenth street. He still runs the store and is making money fast, much to the disgust of Caleb Gulligan, who grows poorer each year.

After Matt left the auction business he settled down with his father in a quiet home on the Hudson River, not many miles above the great metropolis. He took care of his father until the next autumn, when Mr. Lincoln felt sufficiently recovered to go into business, and purchased the controlling interest in a large flour and feed establishment. The business is very prosperous. Ida Bartlett is stenographer and confidential clerk to the firm, and has a well-paying position, which will remain open for her so long as the kind-hearted young woman cares to occupy it. Matt did not fail to keep his former determination to give her a handsome Christmas present, and the two are likely to be life-long friends.

As for Matt himself, he has just finished a course at Columbia College, and next month will become the junior partner in a promising young law firm. Let us wish him every success, for the honest and fearless lad who was once the Young Auctioneer deserves it.

THE END.



* * * * *



Transcriber's Note:

Illustrations have been moved closer to their relevant paragraphs.

Author's archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is preserved.

Author's punctuation style is preserved.

Passages in italics indicated by underscores.

Passages in bold indicated by equal signs.

Typographical problems have been changed and are listed below.

Transcriber's Changes:

Page 70: Was 'cabman' (several cabmen were busy getting out their horses and cabs)

Page 168: Was 'auctioneeer' (This the young auctioneer did without hesitation.)

Page 173: Was 'telergaph' (and he started for the telegraph office without delay.)

Page 196: Was 'parter' (as Andy came in he grasped his partner by the shoulder.)

Page 286: Was 'was was' (Matt was surprised at this statement, and he was also alarmed.)

THE END