The Young Auctioneers/Chapter 39
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.
The door of the garret room was closed, and when Matt tried the knob, he found that it was also locked. He knocked lightly upon it.
At first there was no response. Then a weak voice, which he could but faintly recognize as that of his father, asked sharply:
"Who's there? What do you want? Why don't you go away and leave me alone?"
"Father! father! come and open the door!" exclaimed Matt, his voice trembling as it had never trembled before.
"Who speaks? Go away, I say, and leave a poor old man alone!"
"Father, it is me, Matt! Don't you remember me?"
"Matt! Matt! Oh, no, Matt was lost when his mother was lost and the money! Yes, the money, mother, and Matt! Too bad! Go away, and don't persecute me!"
"No, father, you are mistaken. I am here, father—your only son, Matt. Please open the door."
"You are fooling me! Didn't you fool me about Matt only last week and throw a pail of water on me, and call me Crazy Will? Go away, I say!"
"No, father, I will not go away! You must open the door! You must! I have been hunting for you so long—ever since mother died and you disappeared, and now that I have found you, we shall never separate again. Open the door; do, please."
These words, spoken with an intensity which cannot be described, had the necessary effect upon the poor, weak-minded man inside of the garret room. Matt heard him move slowly toward the door, and then heard the key turn in the lock. The next instant the door opened, and the boy sprang into the room and caught his father around the neck.
"Oh, father, don't you know me?" he cried, with deep emotion. "It is Matt, your only son!"
He looked his father steadily in the eyes, the tears meanwhile coursing freely down his cheeks. Mr. Lincoln returned the gaze for a moment, then the wild look died out of his eyes, and his breast heaved and he gave a deep sob.
"Matt! Matt! It is really you! My son! my son!"
He caught the boy in his arms and hugged him to his breast, sobbing the meanwhile like a little child. He spoke of his wife and her death, of his lost money, and a hundred other things, and then, in the midst of it all, threw up his arms and sank to the floor in a dead faint.
A less courageous boy than Matt would have been badly scared. But he knew of these fainting spells, for his father had had them years before and had always come out of them feeling weaker in body, it was true, but always clearer in mind.
In one corner of the room lay an old mattress, and upon this he placed his father's form. Then he opened the tightly-closed window and began to bathe his father's forehead with some water that stood in a cracked pitcher near by.
Two of the girls that had told him about Crazy Will had followed him up the tenement stairs and were now standing outside of the garret-room door, staring at all that was going on. Matt called them in.
"Do either of you want to earn twenty-five cents?" he asked.
"What doin'?" asked the older of the two girls promptly:
"I want you to deliver a message for me."
"Where to?"
Matt mentioned the auction store and described its location. The girl said she knew where it was and would willingly take a message there.
"Don't yer want a doctor?" she asked.
"Not yet. You take this note and it will be all right. But you must not lose a minute."
"I'll run all the way," replied the girl.
Taking out a notebook he carried, Matt hastily scribbled down the following brief message:
"Andy: I have found my father. Come with the bearer at once. Matt."
This he folded up and addressed to his partner. In another minute the girl was flying down the tenement stairs, two steps at a time, the other girl close behind her.
When they were gone Matt closed the door and again turned his attention to his father.
Mr. Lincoln's eyes were still closed, but by putting his ear down to his parent's chest, Matt found that his father was breathing quite regularly. He continued to bathe his parent's forehead and also fanned him with a newspaper which was lying by.
While waiting for his father to come to again, Matt could not help but gaze at the surroundings. The garret room was small and bare of furniture, containing nothing but the mattress, a broken-down stove, and a few cracked dishes. There was half a loaf of stale bread beside the dishes, and nothing else to eat was in sight.
"What a place to live in!" murmured the boy to himself. "Poor father! Poor father!"
He again bent over the motionless form, and it was not long before he had the satisfaction of seeing his father open his eyes.
"Matt, is it really you, or is this another one of those tantalizing dreams?" asked Mr. Lincoln feebly, as he essayed to rise to a sitting position.
"It is really I, father," returned the son gently. "You had better lie still for awhile. Your run exhausted you."
"How thankful I am that it is really you! But there must be some mistake. I have dreamed of these things before. That is why I ran away."
"There is no mistake now, father, it is really and truly I," and Matt bent lower and wound his arms around his father's neck. "You have nothing more to fear, father. Just rely on me for everything."
"I will, Matt, I will! I know it is you, now that you are so close to me!"
"And, father, you must promise that you will not run away again."
"I promise, Matt. My mind was upset—it's upset yet, I'm afraid. But I won't leave you, Matt; I won't leave you. I used to imagine I saw you, and then the boys on the street would plague me and call me Crazy Will. But that's all over now, thank Heaven! That's all over now!"