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.
