"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
