Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone. Stratemeyer Edward

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.”

      CHAPTER VII.

      GETTING READY TO START

      A few minutes later found Matt on his way to the Columbus Hotel. The Bowery was crowded with all classes of people, some just returning from work, and others out sightseeing and buying, but the boy had no difficulty in making his way along at a rapid gait. In less than a quarter of an hour he reached the hotel and entered the office. He was about to accost the clerk at the desk, when somebody tapped him on the shoulder, and turning he saw Andrew Dilks.

      “I have been watching for you,” said the young man. “I was a little afraid you might disappoint me.”

      “I was detained,” said Matt. “But I am at your service now. Where shall we go?”

      “My room is rather small and warm, but it is more private than the reading-room down here,” returned Andrew Dilks. “Suppose we go up there. You can sit by the window and get what little breeze there is.”

      They started for the stairs (there was no elevator, as in all better-class hotels), and were soon comfortably seated in Andrew Dilks’ room, an apartment on the third floor, in the rear.

      “It’s not a very elegant place,” remarked the young man apologetically, “but it’s cheap, and that’s what I wanted. A fellow can’t spend his money and save it, too.”

      “You are right there.”

      “As I said before, old Gulligan only gave me ten dollars a week, and out of that I had to pay for many articles that got broken. He put off what he could on me, whether it was my fault or not.”

      “I