"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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.s his hands over his forehead, as if to wipe the sight from his brain and memory.

Soon several blocks had been pa.s.sed, 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 x.x.xIX.

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

The door of the garret room was closed, and when Matt tried the k.n.o.b, 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!"