“You have no business to attend to private matters during office hours!” roared Randolph Fenton wrathfully. “You will mind my business and nothing else.”
“But this could not wait. There was a man——”
“I do not care for your explanations, young man. Too much time has already been wasted. Take this message to Ulmer & Grant’s, and bring a reply inside of ten minutes, or consider yourself discharged.”
And with his face full of wrath and sourness, Randolph Fenton thrust a sealed envelope into Matt’s hand.
An angry reply arose to the boy’s lips. But he checked it, and without a word left the office and hurried away on his errand.
“I trust I make a satisfactory arrangement with Andrew Dilks,” said Matt to himself. “It is growing harder and harder every day to get along with Mr. Fenton. Every time he talks he acts as if he wanted to snap somebody’s head off. Poor Miss Bartlett at her desk looked half-scared to death.”
Arriving at the offices of Ulmer & Grant, Matt found that Mr. Ulmer had gone to Boston. Mr. Grant was busy, but would give him an answer in a few minutes.
Matt sat down, wondering what Mr. Fenton would say about the delay. Ten, fifteen, twenty 37 minutes passed. At last Mr. Grant was at liberty, but it was exactly half an hour before Matt managed to gain a reply to the message he carried.
When Matt got back to Randolph Fenton’s office he found the broker in his private apartment alone, and almost purple with suppressed rage.