When Matt Lincoln reached the pavement he saw that the man he was after had reached Wall street and was turning down toward Water street.  The boy started on a run and caught up to the individual just as he was about to descend into an insurance office which was located several steps below the level of the street.

“Hold on there!” cried Matt, and he caught the man by the arm.

“What is it, boy?” demanded the other, with a slight start at being accosted so unexpectedly.

“I want to see you about that piece of bric-a-brac you broke at the auction store up on Nausau street.”

The man’s face reddened, and he looked confused.

“I don’t — don’t know what you are talking about,” he stammered.

“Oh, yes, you do,” returned Matt coolly.  “You tried to let the blame fall on a young lady, but it won’t work.  You must go back, explain matters, and settle up.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind!” blustered the red mustached man.  He had recovered from his first alarm.  “I know nothing of the affair you have in mind.  I have not been near an auction store to-day — for a month, in fact.”

“That’s a whopper!” exploded Matt.  “You were in the place less than an hour and a half ago!”

“Nonsense, boy, you have got hold of the wrong man.  Let me go.”

“Not much I won’t!  You are the man, and you can’t fool me.”

“If you don’t let go I’ll call a policeman just as sure as my name is Paul Carden.”

“I don’t care what your name is, you’ve got to go back and set matters straight.”

The man glared at Matt for a moment.  Then, without warning, he pushed the boy backward.  Matt was standing upon the edge of the steps leading to the insurance office at the time, and he went down with a crash into the wire-netting door, knocking a large hole into it.

Before Matt could recover the man darted down Wall street and around the nearest corner.  Matt would have gone after him, but the proprietor of the insurance office came out, and demanded to know what he meant by bursting the wire-netting door in such a rude fashion.

“A man knocked me down the steps,” Matt explained.  “I hope the door isn’t ruined.”

“Hardly, but there’s a hole in it.”

“The wire has broken from under the molding, that is all,” said the boy.  “Let me see if I can’t fix it.”

He brought out his penknife, and loosened part of the molding.  Then drawing the wire back into place, he tacked the molding fast again; and the door was as good as before.

But all this had taken time, and Matt knew it would now be useless to attempt to follow Paul Carden.  He looked around the corner, and seeing nothing of the fellow, retraced his steps to Randolph Fenton’s establishment.

“Where in the world have you been so long?” demanded Mr. Fenton, as Matt entered the private apartment.  “Here I have been waiting an hour for you to deliver a message to Ulmer & Grant.  I hire you to be on hand when wanted, Lincoln; not to loaf your time away.”

“I was not loafing my time away, Mr. Fenton,” returned Matt calmly.  “There was a private matter I had to attend to, and — ”

“You have no business to attend to private matters during office hours!” roared Randolph Fenton wrathfully.  “You will mind my business and nothing else.”

“But this could not wait.  There was a man — ”

“I do not care for your explanations, young man.  Too much time has already been wasted.  Take this message to Ulmer & Grant’s, and bring a reply inside of ten minutes, or consider yourself discharged.”

And with his face full of wrath and sourness, Randolph Fenton thrust a sealed envelope into Matt’s hand.

An angry reply arose to the boy’s lips.  But he checked it, and without a word left the office and hurried away on his errand.

“I trust I make a satisfactory arrangement with Andrew Dilks,” said Matt to himself.  “It is growing harder and harder every day to get along with Mr. Fenton.  Every time he talks he acts as if he wanted to snap somebody’s head off.  Poor Miss Bartlett at her desk looked half-scared to death.”

Arriving at the offices of Ulmer & Grant, Matt found that Mr. Ulmer had gone to Boston.  Mr. Grant was busy, but would give him an answer in a few minutes.

Matt sat down, wondering what Mr. Fenton would say about the delay.  Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed.  At last Mr. Grant was at liberty, but it was exactly half an hour before Matt managed to gain a reply to the message he carried.

When Matt got back to Randolph Fenton’s office he found the broker in his private apartment alone, and almost purple with suppressed rage.

“You think it smart to keep me waiting, I suppose?” he sneered, as he took Mr. Grant’s message and tore it open.

“It was not my fault.  Mr. Ulmer is away, and Mr. Grant was busy.”

“Why didn’t you let Mr. Grant know I was in a hurry?”

“The clerk said he was not to be disturbed just then, and — ”

“No more explanations, Lincoln.  I took you into this office more for the sake of your poor father than for anything else.  But you have not endeavored to make the most of your chances — ”

“I have done my work, and more,” interrupted Matt bluntly.

“Stop! don’t contradict me, young man!  You are more of an idler than aught else.  This noon you wasted an hour on that errand to Temple Court, and — ”

“Mr. Fenton,” interrupted a voice from the doorway, and looking up the stock-broker saw Ida Bartlett standing there.

“What is it?” snapped the broker.

“If you please, I would like to say a word in Matthew’s behalf,” went on the stenographer timidly.

“It’s no use saying anything, Miss Bartlett,” put in Matt hastily.  “Mr. Fenton won’t listen to any explanations.”

“Yes, but it was — ”

“It’s no use,” went on Matt in a whisper.  “I’m not going to stand it any longer,” and then he added, as the stock-broker’s attention was arrested by the reply Mr. Grant had sent.  “I am ready to leave anyway, if he discharges me, and you will only get into trouble if you mention that auction-store affair.”

“But it was all my fault — ”

“No, it wasn’t, and please keep quiet.”

“But if you are discharged, Matt — ”

“I’ve got something else in view.”

“Oh!”

“Well, what have you to say, Miss Bartlett?” asked Randolph Fenton, tearing up the message and throwing the pieces into the waste basket.

“I — I was going to say that I was partly to blame for his being behind time this noon.  I was — ”

“Do not try to shield him, Miss Bartlett.  I know him better than you do.  He is a very lazy and heedless boy, and I have already made up my mind what I am going to do in the matter.”

“And what’s that?” asked Matt, although he felt pretty certain of what was coming.

“This shall be your last day of service in these offices.  This afternoon I will pay you what is due you, and to-morrow I will endeavor to get a boy who is willing to attend to business and not fritter away his time on the streets.”

“I have not frittered away my time,” replied Matt warmly.  “And I feel certain you will not get any one to do more than I have done.  You expect a boy to do two men’s work for a boy’s pay — ”

“Stop!”

“Not until I have finished, sir.  I am perfectly willing to leave, even though times are dull, and have been contemplating such a step on my own account for some time.  I was getting tired of being a slave.”

“You outrageous imp!  Not another word from you.  I will not have you in this place another minute!  Go to Mr. Gaston and draw your pay and leave, and never let me see your face again!”

And white with passion, Randolph Fenton sprang to his feet and threw open the door for Matt to pass out.