“WHY, GUY, what’s the matter with you?” asked Mr. Walker, giving the boy’s hand a cordial grip and shake. “Been sick?”

“No, sir,” stammered Guy.

“Then you’re going to be. I never saw you look so pale before. What was it you said to me?” added Mr. Walker, addressing himself to the clerk.

“Mrs. Harris has sent down that piece of silk again,” answered Mr. Fellows. “Can we match it?”

“No; and there’s not a piece like it in the city,” said Mr. Walker. “But we’ll have some on Monday sure, for I ordered——”

The gentleman suddenly paused, and looking sharply toward the back part of the store, bent forward in a listening attitude.

Guy listened also, and was almost ready to drop with terror when he distinctly heard a faint, grating noise like that which would be made by turning a key carefully in a lock. It seemed to come from behind the high desk which fenced off the office from the main part of the store.

Mr. Walker stood for an instant as if profoundly astonished, and, with an inquiring glance at the clerk, started on tiptoe toward the office. Mr. Fellows was close at his heels, and Guy, impelled by a curiosity that he could not have resisted if he had tried, brought up the rear. He saw Mr. Walker disappear behind the high desk, and jumping upon a chair and looking over it, he had a full view of the scene that transpired on the other side.

Bob was kneeling in front of an open safe, and was in the very act of crowding a large package of money into his pocket. So intent was he upon what he was doing, that he did not hear his father’s stealthy approach.

Mr. Walker was utterly confounded. Hardly able to believe the evidence of his eyes, he stood for a moment as if deprived of all power of action; then springing forward with a quick bound, he wrenched the package from his son’s grasp, and sunk helpless and almost breathless into the nearest chair.

“Oh. Robert! Robert!” he exclaimed, while the tears he could not repress coursed down his cheeks. “Is this the way you repay my kindness and indulgence? How could you do it! How could you do it!”

A death-like silence followed. Mr. Walker leaned his head upon his hands and shook like a man with the ague. Bob, having recovered his perpendicular—for his father, in his excitement, had thrown him headlong into the nearest corner—stood sullen and motionless. The clerk rubbed his eyes, and looked from one to the other in silent amazement; and Guy, stunned and bewildered, staggered off the chair, and walking like one in a dream, moved slowly out of the store and down the street. He did not know where he was going, and what was more he did not care. When he came to himself he was standing in the upper story of an elevator, gazing in a stupid, benumbed sort of way at the monster wheel as it slowly revolved, bringing up an endless chain of loaded buckets from some dark abyss beneath him. He was able now to think over the incident that had just happened at the store, and as he was not yet fully hardened, he felt his situation most keenly.

“It is all over with me now,” said he, with a calmness that surprised himself, “for of course the part I have played in this miserable business will be known when the folks come home, even if it isn’t known already. Mother will say that she didn’t send me down there to match that piece of silk, and in that way my guilt will be exposed. Besides, Bob is cornered, and I know him too well to indulge in the hope that he will take all the blame upon himself and shield me. I can’t stay here, for I am forever disgraced. I must go, and with only fifteen dollars in my pocket, too. Now that I think of it, I am glad Bob didn’t succeed in stealing that package. I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing that what little money I have, I have earned honestly.”

How Guy managed to exist during that long afternoon was a mystery to himself. He wanted to keep out of sight of everybody, and the loft of the elevator was as good a place of concealment as he could have found. No one intruded upon him during the five hours he spent there. He passed a portion of his time in walking about with his hands in his pockets, thinking over his situation and wondering what should be his first move now that he was fairly adrift in the world, and the remainder in standing at the front window watching the crew of the Queen of the Lakes, who were still busily engaged in loading their vessel.

During the afternoon several passengers arrived, some on foot and some in carriages, and Guy always held his breath in suspense while he sharply scrutinized the face of every one who ascended the gang-plank, and was as often greatly relieved to find that there were none among them he had ever seen before.

At length, to his great joy, he discovered a thin cloud of smoke, which grew thicker and blacker every moment, ascending from the propeller’s chimney.

The men who were loading the vessel became quicker in their movements and rolled the freight along at a more rapid rate, encouraged by the voices and gestures of the mates.

Finally one of the planks was drawn in and the after gangway closed, and just as it begun to grow dark two of the four lines that held the steamer to the wharf were cast off and the whistle was blown.

Guy now had another disagreeable piece of business to perform, and that was to transfer himself from the loft of the elevator to the deck of the propeller.

Drawing in a long breath and calling all his courage to his aid he ran swiftly down the stairs, paused a moment at the door and then bounded across the wharf and up the gang-plank. He went directly to the upper deck, and seating himself upon the rail over the gangway, looked closely at every one who came on board the propeller, intending, if he saw Mr. Walker or any of his father’s clerks approaching, to beat a hasty retreat. But all Mr. Harris’ employees were doing just what Guy ought to have been doing—attending to their business. Had they known where he was and what he was about to do, it is probable that some of them would have interested themselves in the matter; but as they did not, Guy was left to his own devices.

At last, to the boy’s intense relief, everything was made ready for the start. The whistle shrieked again, the captain took his stand upon the wheel-house, the lines were handed aboard, and the Queen of the Lakes moved slowly down the harbor.

As soon as clear water was seen between the boat and the wharf Guy told himself that he was safe from pursuit, and settling into a comfortable position on the rail, he prepared to take a last look at the city of Norwall.

As it was already dark he could not see much of it except the lights. These faded out of his sight one by one, and finally when the steamer, after passing the breakwater and the light-house swung around and headed up the lake, they were all shut out from his view.

Then Guy begun to feel lonely and chilly, too, for a keen, cutting wind was blowing and he had no overcoat. As he arose to his feet, intending to go into the cabin where it was warmer, some one suddenly laid a hand upon his shoulder.

Guy started violently, and so surprised and frightened was he that he lost his balance, and would certainly have fallen overboard had not the hand been quickly shifted from his shoulder to his arm, griping it with sufficient force and strength to haul him on board and enable him to recover his equilibrium. As soon as he was fairly on his feet he looked up and was astonished beyond measure to find himself confronted by Bob Walker, who was comfortably wrapped up in an overcoat, held a lighted cigar in his teeth, and wore his hat on one side in the same old rowdy style. He did not look much like a boy who had been caught in the act of robbing a safe.

“Why, Guy,” said he with a laugh, “you are as nervous as an old woman. You must get over that before you reach the mountains, or Kit Carson and Captain Bridges will never have a rival in you. Did you think I was a policeman?”

“Bob,” exclaimed Guy gleefully, “you don’t know how glad I am to see you. I little expected to find you here.”

“What did you think I would do?” demanded Bob. “You didn’t imagine that I would stay in Norwall after being caught in such a scrape, did you? I am not quite so green. I tell you, Guy, if father had stayed away just five minutes longer we’d have been rich. That package I held in my hand had five hundred dollars in it.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Guy, catching his breath.

“It’s a fact. The amount was marked on the wrapper.”

“What did your father say to you?”

“He told me to go home, and I did; but I didn’t stay there long. I got my overcoat and came back to the boat. I’ve been on board ever since two o’clock waiting for you.”

“And I was hiding in the elevator all the while. But, Bob, do you know I am glad that you didn’t get out of the store with that money? It is bad enough to run away from home; it would be worse if we were thieves!”

“Bah!” exclaimed Bob contemptuously, “you’re losing courage already, and you’d better not, for you will have need of all you can muster before we get through with this business. We’ve got to earn money now to buy an outfit, and how are we going to do it? But let’s go into the cabin. It’s cold out here.”

Bob strutted off with as much dignity as if he had been the owner of the vessel, and Guy slowly followed. The cabin was a blaze of light, and most of the passengers had congregated there to escape from the cold wind that was blowing. They sat around in little groups, some reading, others conversing with their friends, and everybody seemed to be happy except Guy. He was indeed losing courage; and if he could have blotted out the events of that afternoon, he would have given everything he ever hoped to possess to have been safe under his father’s roof again. He had not yet got fairly out into the “wide, wide world,” of which he had so often dreamed, had encountered none of its trials and vicissitudes, and yet he knew as well as though he had already tried it, that the struggle he was about to commence would prove too much for him. The longer he thought about it the more nervous and uneasy he became, until at last he could not sit still, or bear to remain in the cabin. The air seemed hot and almost stifling, and the merriment of the passengers grated harshly on his ears. Arising to his feet he made his way to the deck, and for four long hours paced back and forth, all unmindful of the wind and the big drops of rain that now and then dashed into his face.

At last, overcome with fatigue and excitement, he sought his state-room. Bob had already turned in, and was snugly tucked away in the lower bunk. He appeared to be asleep, for his eyes were closed and he breathed heavily.

Guy hastily divested himself of his damp garments, and hanging them upon the hooks that were screwed into the bulk-head, climbed into his bunk and was soon in a deep slumber. He was aroused once during the night by some one moving about the room; but it was only Bob, who, in reply to an inquiry from Guy, said that he had been on deck to see how things were going, and that it was raining buckets and blowing great guns. Guy quickly went off into the land of dreams again, lulled by the rocking of the vessel, but about daylight was awakened by the pangs of seasickness.

All that forenoon he suffered greatly, and was a most forlorn-looking object indeed. Bob, who was as lively as a cricket, faithfully attended to all his wants, and shortly after dinner brought him a lemon and a piece of toast. When he had taken a little of the juice of the former, and a few mouthfuls of the latter, he felt better, and was able, with Bob’s help, to put on his clothes and go on deck. While the two boys were conversing and watching the white-caps as they rolled toward them, the steward approached, and addressing himself to Guy, said:

“Please walk up to the clerk’s office.”

“To pay your fare, you know,” added Bob, seeing that Guy did not quite understand. “I settled mine this morning.”

“Oh, yes. I have been so sick that I forgot all about that. Lend me your arm, please. I haven’t yet got my sea legs on.”

Bob complied, and in a few minutes the two boys were standing before the clerk, who drew the book containing the passenger list toward him, and asked, as he held his pen poised in the air:

“What name?”

“Guy—John Thomas,” replied the seasick runaway, who would have given his true name had not Bob pinched his arm just in time to prevent it.

“Guy John Thomas,” repeated the clerk, as he entered the name in his book. “Where to?”

“Chicago.”

“Eight dollars.”

Guy thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers, and a look of blank amazement suddenly overspread his pale face. The pocket was empty. He felt in the other, and finally searched everywhere about his clothes, but nothing in the shape of a purse could be found.

“My gracious!” gasped Guy.

“What’s the matter?” asked his companion.

“Matter!” Guy almost shouted; “matter enough. I’ve lost my pocket-book.”

“No!” exclaimed Bob, looking surprised.

“But I say yes!” shrieked Guy; “and with it I have lost every cent I had in the world. Oh! what shall I do?”

“It can’t be possible,” said Bob, feeling of his friend’s pockets. “Look again.”

“Oh, haven’t I looked everywhere already?” demanded Guy, the tears starting to his eyes as he begun another thorough examination of his clothing. “It’s lost, I tell you.”

“Perhaps you left it in your valise. Let’s go and look.”

“No, I didn’t. I put it in my pocket yesterday, and I didn’t once take it out. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”

The clerk laid down his pen, leaned his elbows on the desk before him, and waited to see what Guy was going to do about it, and the latter, having satisfied himself that the money was not to be found about his person, allowed Bob to lead him off to his state-room. With frantic haste he overhauled the bundle and tumbled the contents of his valise upon the floor, but no purse rewarded his search. Then he looked under his pillow, and into every corner in the room, but with no better success.

“It’s no use; it’s gone,” screamed Guy, throwing himself upon Bob’s bunk and giving away to a torrent of tears, “and here I am without a copper in my pocket, and no friend to help me! I can’t go back home, and I don’t know what to do. I wish I was dead. Have you got any money, Bob?”

“Not a dollar; not even half a dollar. I had just enough to pay my fare, and expected to look to you for a few dimes. We’re in a fix, that’s certain. When we reach Chicago we shall be strapped as flat as pancakes, and in a strange city, too. I’ll go and speak to the skipper. Perhaps he can do something for you.”

Bob easily found the captain, who listened patiently while he stated his friend’s case, and accompanied him to the presence of Guy, to whom he propounded a few inquiries: Had he any idea where he lost his money? Might he not have dropped it or had his pocket picked before he came on board the propeller. Had he seen any stranger in his room the night before? and had he any relatives or friends in Chicago? To all these questions Guy replied in the negative. The captain looked thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, said it was a hard case, but he didn’t see that he could do anything, and turning on his heel he left the room, while Bob seated himself on the edge of his bunk, and looked at his friend with a very sympathizing expression on his countenance.

A dozen times that afternoon Guy searched all his pockets, examined the contents of his valise and bundle, and peeped into every part of the state-room, hoping that in his hurry and excitement he had overlooked the purse, and that it would yet come to light; but he as often abandoned the search in utter despair, and threw himself upon the bunk to indulge in a fresh burst of tears. Bob lent willing assistance, and tried to utter words of consolation, but these did not help Guy. He did not want sympathy, but money.

About four o’clock the door opened, admitting the steward.

“Have you found it yet?” he asked.

“No,” sobbed Guy, “and I never shall.”

“Did you lose all you had?”

“Every red cent.”

“Then, of course, you can’t pay your fare to Chicago. I have been talking to the captain about you, and he says you must go ashore the first landing we make, which will be at Saginaw. In the meantime you will have to give up this room and go into the steerage. You will find an empty bunk there.”

“Oh, I haven’t got any bed-clothes, and how am I to sleep on those hard boards?” exclaimed Guy.

“I don’t know I am sure. But you will have it to do, if you sleep at all. We have three or four passengers who slept on chairs in the cabin last night, and I must put one of them in here.”

Guy covered his face with his hands and cried lustily.

“Come, come! Shoulder your dunnage and clear out! I am in a hurry,” said the steward sharply.

Guy saw that he had no alternative. Slowly arising from his bunk he picked up his valise, while Bob took his bundle, and together they went their way to the steerage. It looked ten-fold more dingy and forbidding now than it did when Guy first saw it. He did not think he could live there, and told Bob so.

“Nonsense!” said his companion. “You will live in worse places than this before you see the Rocky Mountains. But I’d be a man if I were you, Guy. Choke down your tears.”

“Oh, yes; it’s all well enough for you to talk, for you’ve nothing to trouble you. Your passage is paid and you’ve a nice room to sleep in. But you won’t go to Chicago, will you?”

“Why not?”

“And leave me alone?”

“I don’t see that I can help it. I have paid my passage, and I might as well go on.”

“But, Bob, what shall I do without you?”

“A fellow can’t live in this world without money, Guy, and if I go ashore in the woods how am I going to earn any?”

“How am I going to earn any?” retorted Guy with more pluck and independence than he had yet exhibited. “But I see what you are at very plainly. You want to go back on me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do; and I don’t care either. If you want to desert me while I am in trouble, do it. I don’t ask any odds of you. All I want you to do is to keep away from me from this time forward. Don’t speak to me, or even look at me. But bear one thing in mind—we must both struggle for an existence now, and I’ll come to the top of the heap first.”

As Guy said this he snatched the bundle from Bob’s hand, pitched it, with the valise, into one of the empty bunks, and turning square about left the steerage.