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 in his garments.
At length the bell for supper rang, and washing up and combing his hair, he went below. He ate his portion leisurely, and was just finishing when
