Kitabı oku: «Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone», sayfa 13

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!”