"Well, but it's right at your feet, madam; you must have let it fall,"
said the auctioneer harshly.

"I did not, sir."

"Well, who did, then?"

"A man who ran out as soon as the statuary was broken."

"Oh, pshaw! It isn't likely a man would run away like that."

"The young lady speaks the truth, sir," put in the boy previously
mentioned. "The man shoved the statue toward her, and when she drew
back it slipped from his hand to the floor. She was not in the least
responsible."

"Thank you for that, Matt Lincoln," said the young lady, with a
grateful nod. "I shall not forget this service."

"Oh, that's all right, Miss Bartlett," returned the boy, blushing. "I
like to be of service to you."

"You evidently seem to know this young lady?" said the auctioneer,
turning to Matt Lincoln.

"I do; she is the stenographer at our office. That's how I came to
notice her when she came in."

"No wonder you try to shield her!" sneered the auctioneer. "But I
can't afford to let this matter pass. You will have to pay for the
damages done, madam. The cost price of that piece of bric-a-brac was
ten dollars, but I'll throw off two dollars and call it eight."

CHAPTER II.

A LIVELY DISCUSSION.

At the intimation that she must pay eight dollars, the face of the
young lady stenographer grew pale, while that of Matt Lincoln flushed
up.

"I--I cannot pay the money!" gasped Ida Bartlett. "I have no such
amount with me."

"It's a swindle!" burst in Matt Lincoln indignantly. "Don't you pay a
cent. Miss Bartlett. It was not your fault, and he cannot force you to
pay."

"Shut right up!" snarled the auctioneer, turning to Matt fiercely.
"Unless you want to get yourself into trouble."

"I won't shut up and see this young lady ill-treated!" retorted Matt,
flushing still more. "You may think you can ride over me, but you
can't do it. I'll----"

"Hush, Matt!" pleaded the stenographer, catching him by the arm. "Do
not say anything rash."

"But, Miss Bartlett, this chap wants to force you into paying for
something you didn't do! I wouldn't stand it! I'd fight him first!"

"You would, would you?" growled the auctioneer, his face growing dark
and sour.

"Yes, I would!" retorted the boy defiantly. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"Say, that boy's game!" laughed a bystander.

"Yes, a regular little bantam," replied another.

"I'll settle with you in a minute," said the auctioneer, finding he
could not silence Matt. "Now, madam,