gered 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 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
