The Young Auctioneers/Chapter 37
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 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.