seat at one of the tables, but the boy shook his head and turned to the desk.
"Can I see the proprietor?" he asked.
The clerk had laid down his paper and gave Matt an ugly stare before replying.
"So you are another one of them," he said slowly, as he surveyed the boy from head to foot.
Matt was somewhat mystified by this, but smiled pleasantly.
"I suppose I am—if you say so," he said. "Did you say the proprietor was in?"
"No, I didn't say so. Say, you'll wish you hadn't come here if old Mattison gives you a chance," went on the young man, in a lower voice.
"Why will I wish that?" questioned Matt, more mystified than ever.
"Because he's a tough customer to get along with."
"But if my goods and the price suit, why, it ought to be all right."
"Goods and price? What are you talking about?" demanded the young man quickly.
"The goods I have to sell—knives, forks, and spoons."
"Oh, pshaw! I thought you were another of those chumps that want my place here. Old Mattison gave me notice to quit next Saturday, and
