o do more than I have done. You
expect a boy to do two men's work for a boy's pay----"

"Stop!"

"Not until I have finished, sir. I am perfectly willing to leave, even
though times are dull, and have been contemplating such a step on my
own account for some time. I was getting tired of being a slave."

"You outrageous imp! Not another word from you. I will not have you in
this place another minute! Go to Mr. Gaston and draw your pay and
leave, and never let me see your face again!"

And white with passion, Randolph Fenton sprang to his feet and threw
open the door for Matt to pass out.

CHAPTER VI.

A BUSINESS PARTNERSHIP.

Mr. Randolph Fenton's voice had been raised to its highest pitch, and
thus the attention of every one in the offices had been attracted to
what was going on.

Ida Bartlett again came forward to speak in Matt's behalf, but ere she
could say a word the boy put up his hand warningly, and turned to the
book-keeper.

"I will take what is due me, Mr. Gaston," he said.

Mr. Gaston, a somewhat elderly man, nodded, and without a word, turned
to his desk and passed over to Matt two new one-dollar bills.

"I'm sorry, my boy, it isn't more," he whispered.

"Thank you," returned Matt. "Good-by," he went on, turning to the
other office workers. And with a smile and a bow to Ida Bartlett, he
passed out of the place.

Not until he was some distance away did he draw a deep breath. Somehow
he felt as if he had just emerged from a prison cell.

"It's a wonder to me that I stood it so long," he muttered to himself.
"Mr. Fenton is a regular tyrant, and ought to move to Russia. How poor
father ever came to invest in those mining shares through him is a
mystery to me." Matt gave a sigh, and for an instant an unusually
sober look crossed his handsome face. "If only I could learn what
became of poor father--if I could make sure whether he was alive or
dead--I wouldn't care how other matters went. I must continue my
searching as soon as I can afford to do so."

Matt boarded with a private family on Third avenue, and having nothing
else to do, he walked slowly to the place. He wished he might meet the
man with the red mustache or Andrew Dilks, but he saw nothing of
either. When he arrived at the boarding-house it was still an hour to
supper-time. He ascended to his roam and spent the time in looking
over his wardrobe, for Matt was handy with a needle, and disliked to
have buttons off or rent seams i