ty boy, a clerk----"

"So I am. But my Uncle Dan always called me a rolling stone, and that
hits it exactly. I am tired of New York, and I would jump at the first
chance to get out of it and see some of the country."

"Then you are like me," returned Andrew Dilks warmly. He was quite
taken with Matt's candor. "If I had a turnout I would travel all over
the United States, stopping a week here and a week there. How old are
you?"

"Sixteen."

"I am twenty-one. Do you live with your parents?"

"No, I am alone here."

"So am I. I used to live in Chicago before all my folks died. I like
your appearance. What is your name?"

Matt told him, and also gave Andrew Dilks a brief bit of his history.
The auctioneer listened with interest, and then told a number of
things concerning himself. He had been with Caleb Gulligan four years.
He had been sick several times, but, nevertheless, had managed to save
a hundred and thirty-five dollars.

"I've got seventy-five dollars saved, part of which I got from other
brokers than Mr. Fenton, for running errands, and so forth," said
Matt. "That and your money would make two hundred and ten dollars.
Couldn't we start out on that?"

"We might," replied Andrew Dilks reflectively. "You are on your way to
work now, are you not?"

"Yes, and I ought to be at the office this minute!" cried Matt, with a
start. "Mr. Fenton will be tearing mad, I know. But I won't
care--that is, if we come to a deal."

"Come and see me this evening, then. I am stopping at the Columbus
Hotel, on the Bowery."

"I know the place, and I'll be up at seven o'clock," returned Matt;
and on this agreement the two separated.

"My, but I would like to become a traveling auctioneer!" said the boy
to himself, as he hurried down Broadway. "I wish I had enough money so
that we could go in as equal partners. He seems a first-rate chap in
every way, and honest, too, or he would not have gotten into that row
over the five-dollar counterfeit."

Matt had lost much time in talking to Andrew Dilks, and now, in order
to reach Wall street the quicker, he hopped upon the tail-end of a
dray that was moving rapidly toward the Battery.

"Beating the cable cars out of a nickel!" he called to the driver, and
that individual smiled grimly, and said nothing.

Less than ten minutes later the boy entered the stock-broker's main
office. He was just about to pass into Randolph Fenton's private
apartment when the figure of a man moving r