GUY expected to see something startling, but was disappointed. The public room was as quiet and orderly as it had been at any time since he entered it. The sailors had resumed their game, and the landlord was standing behind the bar with a row of glasses ranged on a shelf before him, into each of which he was putting a small portion of a white powder that he took from a paper he held in his hand. Then he filled all the glasses with some kind of liquor, stirred them with a spoon, and placing them upon a tray started toward the table at which the sailors were sitting. “It is my treat now, lads,” said he, “and here is something to make your suppers set easy.”

“Don’t touch it,” shouted Flint, suddenly starting forward. “Knock him down, some of you. That stuff is doctored.”

Guy did not understand just what Flint meant by this, but it was plain that the sailors did. They all jumped to their feet in an instant, while the landlord put down the tray and looked at Guy’s companion with an expression on his face that was perfectly fiendish. A moment afterward a glass propelled by his hand came sailing through the air, and was shivered into fragments against the wall close beside Flint’s head.

“I’ll be at you in a second,” said the latter, as he coolly made his way behind the bar. “There’s the stuff that’s in your glasses, mates,” he added, throwing upon the counter the paper that contained the remainder of the drug. “If there is a ’pothecary among you, may be he can tell you what it is—I can’t.”

The sailors had, while at the supper table, given abundant evidence that they were in just the right humor for a row, and this was all that was needed to start one going. As Flint came out from behind the counter to pay his respects to the landlord in return for the glass the latter had thrown at his head, that worthy retreated toward the dining-room shouting lustily for help. It came almost immediately in the shape of three or four villainous-looking fellows who were armed with bludgeons. Their sudden appearance astonished Guy. He had seen no men about the house, and he could not imagine where they sprung from so quickly.

“There’s a man who wants to raise a fight,” cried the landlord, pointing to Flint. “Down with him.”

“Stand by me, mates,” said Flint, throwing off his hat, and pushing back his sleeves, “and we will clean the shanty.”

The opposing parties came together without a moment’s delay, and the noise and confusion that followed almost made Guy believe that pandemonium had broken loose. Having never witnessed such a scene before he was overcome with fear and bewilderment. Deprived of speech and the power of action, he stood watching the struggling men, all unconscious of the fact that he was every moment in danger of being stricken down by the glasses which whistled past his ears like bullets. At last the lights were extinguished, and this seemed to arouse Guy from his trance of terror. As quick as a flash he darted into the dining-room, and jerking open a door that led into the street, soon put a safe distance between himself and the combatants.

“Great Scott!” panted Guy, seating himself under a gas-lamp to rest after his rapid run. “I didn’t bargain for such things as this. I’d rather be at home a great sight. Why, a man’s life isn’t safe among such people. I am tired of the sea, and homesick besides; and I think the best thing I can do is to start for Norwall while I have money in my pocket.”

Had Guy acted upon this sensible conclusion, he might have saved himself from a great deal of misery that was yet in store for him. While he was thinking about it—trying to picture to himself the commotion his unexpected return would create in his father’s house, and wondering what sort of a reception would be extended to him—he heard some one coming rapidly down the sidewalk; and fearing that it might be the landlord, or some of his assistants, who were searching for him, he sprung up and darted down a cross street that led to the dock. He was running directly into more trouble, if he had only known, it—trouble that he was not to see the end of for months; and he brought it all on himself by so simple a thing as going to the dock.

While he was running along at the top of his speed, intent on getting out of hearing of the footsteps that seemed to be pursuing him, he suddenly became aware that there was something exciting going on in advance of him. He stopped to listen, and the blood seemed to curdle in his veins when he heard the sounds of a fierce struggle and a faint, gasping cry for help.

He looked in the direction from which the sounds came, and by the aid of the light from a gas-lamp, a short distance behind him, he could distinguish the forms of three men, who, clasped in a close embrace, were swaying back and forth, and so near the edge of the wharf that a single misstep on the part of one of them would have precipitated them all into the water.

“Another free fight,” thought Guy, whose first impulse was to turn and take to his heels. “These sailors are a dreadful set, and I’ll not stay among them a day longer.”

“Help! help!” shouted one of the men, his cry being almost instantly choked off by a strong grasp on his throat.

“Give up the money,” said a hoarse voice, “or over you go.”

A light suddenly dawned upon Guy’s mind; he begun to understand the matter now.

Two ruffians had set upon somebody with the intention of robbing him and throwing him into the harbor, and he was fighting hard for his life and property. Instantly Guy’s tongue was loosed, and he begun shouting at the top of his voice:

“Police! police!” he yelled. “Fire! murder! help!”

“There, we’re discovered,” exclaimed one of the robbers. “Let’s throw him over and run.”

Guy’s frantic appeal met with a prompt and most encouraging response—the rattle of a policeman’s club on the pavement. It was given probably as a warning to the robbers that there was somebody coming, and they had better be making off if they wished to avoid arrest. They acted upon the friendly hint by releasing their prisoner and trying to run away; but he, being strong and determined, seized them both with the intention of preventing their escape, at the same time awakening a thousand echoes among the deserted warehouses by his lusty cries for help, in which he was ably seconded by Guy. The robbers finally succeeded in throwing off their victim’s grasp, and one of them ran down the dock, while the other dodged into a door-way just as a policeman made his appearance around the corner.

“What’s the matter here?” demanded the officer with becoming dignity and imperiousness. “Is this you, Mr. Heyward?” he added, peering sharply into the face of the rescued man. “What’s all this row about?”

“Two men were trying to rob me,” replied Mr. Heyward, feeling in his pockets to satisfy himself that his purse and watch were safe.

“Well, where are they now? Why didn’t you hang onto them till I came?”

“I couldn’t. They broke away from me and ran off.”

“And one went that way and the other in there,” said Guy, pointing with his right hand down the dock, and with his left toward the door-way into which one of the highwaymen had fled for concealment. “I saw them both.”

The guardian of the night darted into the door-way, closely followed by Mr. Heyward, and presently Guy heard the sounds of a desperate fight going on in the dark. But it was over in a few seconds, and the policeman and his assistant reappeared, dragging the robber between them.

“That’s the man,” said Guy. “I know him by his fur cap.”

“Will you swear to him?” asked Mr. Heyward. “I think I recognize him; but, to tell the truth, he and his comrade assaulted me so unexpectedly, and kept me so busy, that I didn’t have a chance to take a good look at either of them.”

“Of course I’ll swear to him,” replied Guy. “I would know him anywhere.”

“All right. I shall want you for a witness to-morrow. What is your name and where do you live?”

“I don’t live anywhere. I’m a sailor,” said Guy, who did not think it best to answer the first part of the question.

“Then I shall have to take you with me,” said the policeman. “Come on.”

“Where must I go?”

“Why, to the station, of course.”

“To the watch-house!” exclaimed Guy, greatly amazed. “Oh, now, what must I go there for? I haven’t been doing anything.”

“I know it,” said Mr. Heyward. “No one accuses you. But I intend to prosecute this ruffian to the full extent of the law, and you will be the principal witness against him—in fact, the only one whose evidence will amount to anything. In order to convict him I must have some one to swear positively that he is the man who attempted to rob me. I can’t do it, and neither can the policeman.”

“Come on, and don’t waste any more words over it,” commanded the officer.

Guy, whose courage had been completely frightened out of him by the scenes of violence he had witnessed, timidly obeyed. He fell in behind the officer and Mr. Heyward, who led the robber toward the police headquarters.

Guy had read in the papers that lodgings were sometimes furnished at watch-houses, and that night he learned what it meant. He found that those who were accommodated with quarters at the expense of the city were not provided with comfortable beds and private apartments, as they would have been had they put up at a first-class hotel. He was thrust into a room with a lot of homeless wanderers, and lay all night on the hard floor, with no covering, and nothing but his tarpaulin to serve as a pillow. How homesick he was, and how heartily he wished himself under his father’s roof once more!

Very frequently, as he rolled about, trying to find a plank soft enough to sleep upon, he would raise himself upon his elbow, look around at the ragged, slumbering men by whom he was surrounded, and think of the neat little bedroom and soft, warm couch to which he had been accustomed at home. While brooding over his boyish troubles and trials he had never thought of the comforts and privileges that fell to his lot, but he thought of them now, when it was too late to enjoy them.

He passed a most miserable night, and was glad indeed when day began to dawn and the lodgers to disperse; but he was not allowed to leave the station, not even long enough to get his breakfast. He was kept under lock and key until ten o’clock, when Mr. Heyward’s case came up for trial. When he was conducted into the court-room, which was packed with loungers and embryo lawyers, as justices’ courts almost always are, he felt and looked more like a criminal than the hardened wretch who sat in the dock. He had never been in a court-room before, and he knew so little of the manner in which proceedings are conducted there that he was shown the witness-stand three different times before he could be made to comprehend that he was expected to occupy it.

“You seem to be very dull, young man,” said the justice sharply. “What is your name?”

The tone of voice in which the question was propounded, accompanied as it was by a fierce frown on the judicial face, was enough to frighten away what few wits Guy had left about him. He did not know what reply to make. If he gave his own name it might go into the papers and be seen by everybody who knew him, and if he gave a fictitious one, the judge might find it out in some way and punish him.

“Witness, did you hear my question?” demanded the justice. “What is your name?”

“Guy Harris,” answered the boy.

“Well, why couldn’t you have said so at once and not kept me waiting so long? Swear him.”

A red-faced gentleman, with a long nose and ruffled shirt, arose and mumbled a few words which Guy did not understand, and when he sat down, another, who proved to be a lawyer, took him in hand and went at him in a way that completed his discomfiture. He reminded Guy that he was on his oath, informed him that he should expect the truth and nothing but the truth from him, and ended his exordium by asking him where he lived—another question that Guy did not care to answer.

And it was so all through the examination. The lawyer insisted upon knowing all about matters that Guy wanted to keep to himself, and the consequence was that in less than five minutes he was completely wound up, and stammered, hesitated and blushed in a way that made everybody believe that he was not telling the truth. At the end of half an hour he was told that he might step down, and he was very glad to do it, for he was perspiring as if he had been engaged in some severe manual labor, trembling in every limb and so weak that he could scarcely remain upon his feet. He had seen quite enough of a court-room, and anxious to get out of it as soon as possible, began elbowing his way through the crowd toward Mr. Heyward, who was sealed beside his lawyer.

I know I might make this part of my story more interesting by saying that Mr. Heyward, who beyond all doubt owed his rescue entirely to Guy, was a rich merchant; that to show his gratitude to his preserver he took him home with him and dressed him like a gentleman; that he gave him a situation in his store, and that Guy was so smart and quick to learn that he became a full partner in two years and married the merchant’s beautiful and only daughter, and that the merchant finally died, and left him heir to two millions of dollars. That would be a grand way to wind up the career of our hero, but unfortunately he is a bad boy, and it is only the good ones whose lines fall in such pleasant places.

Guy had a very different future before him. Mr. Heyward did not even thank him for the service he had rendered, and Guy did not expect it. All he cared for was to get out of the court-room and that as quickly as possible.

“Are they through with me now?” he asked, when he reached Mr. Heyward’s side.

“Yes, for the present,” was the answer.

That was enough for Guy, who began crowding his way toward the door, paying little heed to the growling of those whose toes he trod upon or whose sides he jammed, with his elbows. He breathed, easier when he reached the street, and hurried away looking for a restaurant where he might find something to satisfy his appetite, for it was now twelve o’clock and he had had no breakfast.

“Thank goodness, I am out of there at last!” said he, wiping his dripping forehead, “and I’ll never go near a place like it again if I can help it. If I see a fight going on, I’ll run away and not stop to learn who comes out first best. How savagely that prisoner looked at me while I was giving my evidence! There was an expression in his eye which said, as plainly as words, ‘I’ll pay you for that some day, my boy!’ I wonder what they are going to do with him anyhow?”

To explain what happened afterward it is necessary to answer this question. The prisoner was convicted on Guy’s evidence and held to bail to answer to a higher court for an assault with intent to commit robbery. Bail was speedily found by his friends, and the man was at liberty to go where he pleased until the following month, when his case would come up for trial.

As soon as this decision was rendered, Mr. Heyward, who was resolved that the robber should not escape punishment, began looking about for his witness, intending to have him locked up until the day of trial. But the boy was not to be found about the court-room, and a policeman was sent out to hunt him up.

The runaway little dreamed that he had a prospect before him of being shut up in jail for a whole month.

Guy found an eating-house at last, and entering, stood at the counter while he drank a cup of muddy coffee, ate a cold boiled egg and a ham sandwich, and thought over his prospects—or rather his want of them. He was alone in the world once more, for Flint, his only friend, was gone. He had not seen him since the fight at the boarding-house. Guy was afraid to go back there after him, or to get his luggage, and more than that, he was not certain that he could find his way there, even if he wanted to go. Of one thing he was satisfied, and that was, that if Flint was still alive and at liberty, the place to look for him was on the dock in the neighborhood of the shipping. Thither Guy accordingly bent his steps as soon as he had finished his breakfast.