Rather than have the time hang heavily upon his hands he began to clean up the stock. Cutlery and spoons need constant care to keep them looking bright, and Matt was, therefore, never at a loss for employment.
While he was hard at work shining up some silver-plated ware which was slightly tarnished through handling, the door of the store was flung open violently, and a large, heavily-built man staggered 286 in. At a glance Matt saw that the man was much the worse for the liquor he had drunk.
“Say, is this an auction store?” grunted the man, as he tried to walk up to the counter with some show of steadiness.
“It is,” returned the young auctioneer briefly. Of all persons to deal with he hated a drunken man the worst.
“It is, hey—a genuine auction store?” went on the tipsy individual.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” and Matt put the silverware he was handling away.
“I want to buy a pistol.”
Matt was surprised at this statement, and he was also alarmed. The tipsy man was certainly not the person to have a firearm in his possession.
“You wish a pistol?” he said slowly.
“That’s me, boy! Hand out the best pistol you have in the place! I don’t want any toy pop-gun remember!”