Young Auctioneers Part 46

"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 b.u.t.t-end of a fis.h.i.+ng-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 a.s.sist 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 a.s.sistance 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 fis.h.i.+ng-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.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

A SURPRISING DISCOVERY.

It looked as if the young auctioneer was in for a serious time of it.

As has been said, the would-be purchaser of a pistol was just drunk enough to be ugly and unreasonable. He had refused to leave the auction store, and now he was bent upon doing mischief to the boy who had failed to treat him as he fancied he ought to be served.

"Now, how do you like that, you young rascal?" growled the man, as he brought the end of the fis.h.i.+ng-rod down for a second time.

"I don't like it at all," returned Matt, as he recovered sufficiently to dodge out of the way, although the stick came uncomfortably close to his ears. "Let me up at once."

"Not much, boy, not much! I'm going to teach you a lesson to be civil to customers!"

"You are getting yourself into serious trouble."

"Ho! ho! I reckon I am able to take care of myself."

Once again the man sought to strike Matt, and this time he succeeded.

The blow landed upon the young auctioneer's shoulder, and caused him to cry out with pain.

At that instant the door opened, and Andy entered the store, carrying on his arm the new overcoat he had just purchased.

"What's the matter, Matt?" he cried, in quick alarm.

"Help me, Andy! This drunken man is trying to knock me out with that stick!"

The senior partner of the firm needed no second call for a.s.sistance.

Without hesitation he flung the overcoat on a packing case, and rus.h.i.+ng up to Matt's a.s.sailant, caught him by the collar and dragged him from behind the counter.