GUY LEFT the bowling alley shortly after Mr. Jones went out, and avoiding all the principal thoroughfares, and taking all the back streets in his way, finally reached Dutch Jake’s saloon. He had ample time to think over his situation, and was fast giving way to that feeling of desperation which all criminals are said to experience. He was ruined beyond all hope of redemption, he told himself, and he might as well go on. He must go on, for it was too late to turn back.

Guy remained at Dutch Jake’s saloon three hours, apparently the gayest of the gay, and driven by this spirit of recklessness and desperation that had taken possession of him to commit excesses that astonished everybody present. About one o’clock he got into an altercation with somebody, which threatened for a time to end in a free fight, but Dutch Jake promptly put a stop to the trouble by dragging Guy out of the saloon by the collar, throwing him headlong upon the pavement, and then slamming and locking the door to prevent his return.

The boy’s pockets were empty. The last cent of his ill-gotten gains had found its way into Jake’s money-drawer, and all Guy had got for it in return was more alcohol than he could carry and an appellation which, in his maudlin condition, tickled his fancy wonderfully. Some one had called him “the prince of good fellows,” and during the last hour his fuddled companions had dropped his name and addressed him entirely as “Prince.”

“But if I’m a prince,” stammered Guy, holding fast to a lamp-post and looking in an uncertain sort of way toward the door that had just been closed behind him, “wha’s ye use lockin’ m’ out? Do zey want to (hic) ’sult me? Zey’d bet-better mind zer eyes!”

That is the way with saloon-keepers, Guy. It is a part of their business. They have no respect or friendship for you—it is your money they want, and when they have emptied your pockets of the last cent, and the accursed stuff they have sold to you mounts to your brain and steals away your wits, and the Evil One has taken full possession of you, they thrust you into the street, leaving you to shift for yourself.

The next few hours were an utter blank to Guy. He did not know how he got home, but that he got there in some way was evident, for when he came to himself (about daylight) he was lying across the foot of his bed with all his clothes on, and the door of his room was standing wide open.

The instant his eyes were unclosed the events of the night came back to him, accompanied by a splitting headache and a feeling of nervousness and prostration that was almost unbearable.

With scarcely energy enough to move, he staggered to his feet and closed the door; as he did so he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He could scarcely recognize himself. Was that pale, haggard countenance, set off with blood-shot eyes and a black and blue spot on his left cheek, which he had received by coming in contact with some lamp-post on his way home—was that face the face of Guy Harris? Without the beauty spot he looked for all the world as Flint looked on the morning he came creeping out of the forecastle of the Santa Maria, after sleeping off the effects of the drug that had been administered to him.

Sick at heart and so dizzy that he could not stand without holding fast to something, Guy turned and was about to throw himself upon the bed again, when he heard a light step in the hall and a tap at his door.

“Mr. Harris,” said the landlady’s gentle voice, “it is almost eight o’clock.”

“Great Scott!” thought Guy, “and I ought to be at the store this very moment. I don’t see how I can stand it to work all day, feeling as I do. I’ll have to fill up on beer again before my hand will be steady enough to hold a pen. Yes, ma’am,” he added aloud. “I will be down immediately. I declare my voice has changed, too. I’m not myself at all. I feel as if I were going to drop all to pieces.”

The announcement that it was time for him to be at work infused some life into Guy. By the aid of a clean shirt and collar and copious ablutions he made a little improvement in his appearance, but the general feeling of worthlessness and the overwhelming sense of shame that pressed upon him, could not be touched by cold water and clean linen. The thought that he must spend the next ten hours in contact with his fellow-men was terrible. He did not want to see anybody. He opened the door very carefully, and went down the stairs with noiseless footsteps, intending to leave the house before his landlady should see him; but she was on the watch. She met him in the hall, and there was something in her eye which told Guy that she knew at least a part of the incidents that had happened the night before.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris,” said she, with her usual pleasant and motherly smile, “I have kept your breakfast warm for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Willis,” said Guy, in a very unsteady voice, “but I cannot stop to eat anything; I am late now. Besides, I am not hungry.”

“No matter; you can’t work all day without taking something nourishing,” returned the landlady, and as she spoke she took Guy’s arm, and paying no heed to his remonstrances led him into the cozy little dining-room, and seated him at the table.

A tempting breakfast, consisting of his favorite dishes and a cup of coffee, such as Mrs. Willis only could make, was placed before him, but Guy could not eat. He wished he could sink through the floor out of the lady’s sight. He wished she would go away and leave him to the companionship of his gloomy thoughts; but she had no intention of doing anything of the kind. She closed all the doors, and then came and stood by the boy’s side with her hand resting on the back of his chair.

“Guy,” said she sorrowfully, “what made you do it?”

The clerk stirred his coffee, but could make no reply.

“I know you will forgive me for speaking about this,” said Mrs. Willis, laying her soft, cool hand on Guy’s feverish forehead, “I do it because I feel a mothers interest in you. I have a son somewhere in the wide world, and if he should fall into such ruinous habits as these, I should feel very grateful if some kind soul would whisper a word of warning in his ear. Stop and think of it, Guy! Stop now, while you can. What would your dear mother say?”

As Mrs. Willis uttered these words—the first really kind, affectionate words that had fallen upon his ear from the lips of a woman for long, long years—Guy’s heart softened, a great lump came up in his throat, and tears started to his eyes. Mrs. Willis was in a fair way to accomplish something until she spoke of his mother. Then Guy thought of his father’s wife, and the old feeling of desperation came back to him.

“I have no mother,” said he. “She is dead.”

“Then think of your father,” urged Mrs. Willis. “What would he say? Surely he loves you, and you ought to respect his feelings.”

“Well, if he loves me he has never shown it,” retorted Guy bitterly. “I don’t care what he thinks. He never respected my wishes or feelings while I was at home, and I don’t see why I should respect his now.”

“Oh, Guy, don’t talk so. There must be some one whose good opinion you value—some one you love. Who is it?”

Guy was silent. He could not recollect that during the time he had been absent from home he had thought of more than one of his relations with any degree of affection.

“I don’t know of anybody,” said he at length, “except my Aunt Lucy—and you.”

“Then for your aunt’s sake—for my sake, Guy, promise me that this shall never happen again. Promise me faithfully that, as long as you live, you will never touch a drop of anything intoxicating, and that you will never again go inside a billiard saloon or a card-room. Promise me.”

Again Guy was silent, not because he was unwilling to answer, but because he could not. His heart was too full. Mrs. Willis was satisfied that if the promise was once made, it would be religiously kept. She had read Guy as easily as she could read a printed page, and was well enough acquainted with him to know that when he once fully made up his mind to a thing, he was like Hosea Biglow’s meeting-house—too “sot” to be easily moved. So she was resolved to have the promise, and she took a woman’s way to exert it. She put her arms around Guy’s neck, and drew his face up so that she could look into it. When she saw that his eyes were filled with tears, she knew that she had conquered.

“Promise me,” she repeated.

“I promise,” said Guy in a husky voice.

“Heaven help you,” said Mrs. Willis fervently; and as she said it she kissed him and glided out of the room.

“Great CÆsar!” exclaimed Guy as soon as she had disappeared.

He jumped to his feet, overturning his chair as he did so, ascended the stairs four steps at a time, entered his room and slammed the door behind him. He was not accustomed to such treatment as this, and he hardly knew what to make of it. It was some minutes before he had collected himself so that he could think calmly.

“I looked for nothing but a good scolding and an invitation to make myself scarce about this house,” said Guy to himself; “and if Mrs. Willis had treated me in that way she would have served me just right. But she has given me a chance for my life. If she will only stand by me I will come out all right yet, for I’ll keep that promise no matter what happens. She doesn’t know about my swindling operations, but Mr. Walker must know of them. I am going to rub this thing all out and begin over again; and, in order to do it as it ought to be done, I must tell him everything. If it brings me my walking papers I shall have nobody to thank but myself.”

Guy put on his hat and went down the stairs and out of the house, walking with a firm step and his countenance wearing a determined expression. He scarcely looked to the right or left while he was passing along the street, and when he arrived at the store he went straight to the private office, where Mr. Walker sat busy with his correspondence.

“May I have a few minutes’ private conversation with you, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly, Guy,” replied the merchant, looking up with some surprise. “Lock the door and sit down.”

Guy did as he was directed, and then, without any preliminary words by way of apology or excuse for his conduct, begun and told the story of his mistakes from beginning to end. He kept back nothing except the name of the confederate who had assisted him in fleecing Mr. Whitney, and that he revealed only when it was demanded. Mr. Walker was greatly astonished. When Guy finished his story he sat for some moments in silence.

“I wish the boy had a pleasant home to go to,” thought the merchant. “That’s the place he ought to be, and there’s where he would be safe. But I am sorry to say he hasn’t got it. If he goes back to Norwall his father’s unreasonable strictness and partiality, and his mother’s indifference will drive him straight to ruin. He ought to have kind words now, for he has had more than his share of harsh ones.”

“Don’t hesitate to speak out, Mr. Walker,” said Guy, who believed that the merchant was thinking how he could best communicate to him the fact that his services were no longer needed. “If I am to be discharged, please say so.”

Mr. Walker understood and fully appreciated the situation. Guy was thoroughly penitent—there could be no question about that; but there was an ominous glitter in his eye and a determined set to his tightly closed lips which the merchant did not fail to notice, and which told him as plainly as words that if there ever was a moment in one’s life when his future was to be decided for good or ill, that moment in Guy’s life had arrived. The right word just then would have buried his resolutions of amendment beyond all hope of resurrection, and sent him down hill with lightning speed. Mr. Walker was not an instant in deciding on his course.

“My dear boy,” said he, rising and taking Guy’s hand in his own with a cordial grasp, “I have no intention of saying anything of the kind. Why should I discharge you when I have all faith in you? You are a capable, painstaking clerk, and until yesterday I never knew there was anything in your conduct with which anybody could find fault. It has been a bitter lesson, Guy, you know. Will you profit by it?”

“Indeed I shall, sir,” replied the boy with tears in his eyes.

“Then I shall rest perfectly satisfied that you will never make these mistakes again. My confidence in you is as strong as it ever was, for there is always hope for one who voluntarily confesses a fault. So take courage and begin over again. You have the making of a smart man in you, Guy, and I hope to live to see you honored and respected.”

These words were too much for Guy. Had Mr. Walker upbraided him, as he knew he deserved, the old spirit of recklessness and desperation, which Mrs. Willis had so nearly exorcised, would have come back to him, and he could have kept up a bold front; but the accents of kindness touched his heart.

He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. Mr. Walker waited until the violence of his grief had subsided and then continued:

“You have made all the amends in your power, Guy, and now I will help you to do the rest, so that you can begin over again in good shape. In the first place, you must return Mr. Whitney’s money.”

“Oh, Mr. Walker!” exclaimed Guy.

“It must be done!” said the merchant. “No half-way work will answer. I will furnish the funds, and I will also provide means for the payment of all your debts. I will be your only creditor. And when you have settled with all these men, Guy,” he added earnestly, “make a resolution and stick to it, that as long as you live you will never again go in debt. Wear a threadbare coat, if you must, but wear one that is paid for.”

As Mr. Walker said this, he turned to his safe, and counting out a sum of money in bank-notes, handed it to Guy.

“I don’t deserve this kindness, sir,” said the boy, his tears starting out afresh.

“Yes, you do, Guy. I regard you as well worth saving.”

The merchant passed out of the private office, and Guy, hastily wiping his eyes, went into the wash-room, where he spent a few minutes in removing all traces of his tears, after which he hurried out of the store and bent his steps toward the Olive Street Hotel.

“Bob Walker was a fool,” thought Guy, feeling of his well-filled pocket-book to make sure that the scene through which he had just passed was a reality, and not a dream. “A boy who will run away from a father like that deserves to be hanged.”

It required the exercise of all the courage Guy possessed to face Mr. Whitney, but being determined to go through with the good work so well begun in spite of every hazard, he boldly entered the hotel, and almost the first man he saw when he entered the reading-room was the swindled gentleman from Ann Arbor, who was pacing back and forth, with his hands under his coat-tails, and an expression of great melancholy on his face. When he saw Guy approaching, he stopped and stared at him as if he could scarcely believe his eyes.

“Why, Benjamin,” he cried, “is this really you? What made you two fellows run away and leave me in such a hurry last night?”

Guy did not know what to say to this. He did not want to spoil things by telling lies, so he concluded that it would be best not to answer the question at all.

“That man you saw me with last night left the city at eleven o’clock on business, and I have come to return your money,” said Guy, taking out his pocket-book.

“Have you!” exclaimed Whitney, so overjoyed that his voice was husky.

“Yes. There are your fifty dollars, and if you will take a friend’s advice, you will never make another bet with strangers.”

“I don’t think I ever shall,” said Whitney, pocketing his recovered cash. “You have read me the best lesson I ever received. Do you know, it had been running in my head all the morning that I fell among thieves last night? Curious, wasn’t it? Why, I have several times been on the point of starting for the police headquarters. That burglar-proof arrangement of Robinson’s is a fine thing, I’ll warrant. I guess it wasn’t locked when we opened it the first time. I should like to go down to his store and see how it looks on his safe, but I have just received a telegram asking me to come immediately, for my mother is very ill, so I must be off by the first train. I could not have gone through, if you had not been good enough to return my money. Let’s go and take something.”

“No, sir; nothing for me,” said Guy.

“A cigar, then?”

“No, I am obliged to you. Good-day. Thank goodness that job is done,” said Guy, as he left the hotel, “and I am glad to get through with it so easily. Suppose Whitney had given the police a description of Jones and myself, and had us arrested. Whew! I’ll not run another such a risk.”

Guy made good use of his time, and by twelve o’clock he had called upon every one of his creditors and paid all his debts in full. The invitations to drink and smoke which he received were almost as numerous as the places he visited, but he firmly declined every one of them. He carried home with him a much lighter heart than he had brought away. He went straight to Mrs. Willis with the story of Mr. Walker’s kindness, and had she been his own mother—as Guy wished from the bottom of his heart she was—she could not have been more delighted with the turn affairs had taken.

That day proved most emphatically to be the turning point of Guy’s life. His choice had been made for all time. His subsequent career showed that Mrs. Willis had not been mistaken in her estimate of his character. His stability and fixedness of purpose surpassed her expectations. Never once did he forget his promise. And his performance in well-doing met with its reward. Long before he had time to repay the money advanced him by Mr. Walker, that gentleman promoted him to the position of assistant book-keeper, and Guy never gave him reason to regret the step.

Will Jones and his brother terminated their connection with the store on the very day Guy held his memorable interview with Mr. Walker. The former was discharged, and a dispatch sent after the commercial traveler commanding his immediate return to St. Louis; but Mr. Jones, scenting danger from afar, did not see fit to obey. Guy never heard of him afterward.

The scenes in the life of Guy Harris which I have attempted to describe in this story were enacted more than twelve years ago, and Guy has now become a man. Strict regard for truth compels me to say that he is neither a governor nor a member of the legislature; but he is a prosperous man and a happy one, and in the city in which he has taken up his abode there are none who are held in higher esteem than he.

Now and then he visits his father at Norwall, but he does it from a sense of duty and not for pleasure, for his old home has no more attractions for him now than it had in the days of his boyhood. Between him and his relatives there is a great gulf fixed which they can all see, and which they know can never be bridged over. Mr. Harris is painfully conscious of the fact, and would willingly give every cent of his possessions to have it otherwise, but it is too late. “It might have been,” but the favored hour has gone by. Guy’s affections were long ago alienated. There are two people in the world, however, upon whom he bestows all the love of his ardent nature, and they are Mrs. Willis and Mr. Walker. If there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, are there not rich blessings laid up in store for those who lead that sinner to repentance?

This series affords wholesome reading for boys and girls, and all the volumes are extremely interesting.—Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.

JOE’S LUCK; or, A Boy’s Adventures in California. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

JULIAN MORTIMER; or, A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home and Fortune. By Harry Castlemon.

ADRIFT IN THE WILDS; or, The Adventures of Two Shipwrecked Boys. By Edward S. Ellis.

FRANK FOWLER, THE CASH BOY. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

GUY HARRIS, THE RUNAWAY. By Harry Castlemon.

BEN BURTON, THE SLATE-PICKER. By Harry Prentice.

TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

TOM, THE READY; or, Up From the Lowest. By Randolph Hill.

THE CASTAWAYS; or, On the Florida Reefs. By James Otis.

CAPTAIN KIDD’S GOLD. The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor Boy. By James Franklin Fitts.

TOM THATCHER’S FORTUNE. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

LOST IN THE CAÑON. The Story of Sam Willett’s Adventures on the Great Colorado of the West. By Alfred R. Calhoun.

A YOUNG HERO; or, Fighting to Win. By Edward S. Ellis.

THE ERRAND BOY; or, How Phil Brent Won Success. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

THE ISLAND TREASURE; or, Harry Darrel’s Fortune. By Frank H. Converse.

A RUNAWAY BRIG; or, An Accidental Cruise. By James Otis.

A JAUNT THROUGH JAVA. The Story of a Journey to the Sacred Mountain by Two American Boys. By Edward S. Ellis.

THE KING OF APELAND. The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal-Trainer. By Harry Prentice.

TOM, THE BOOT-BLACK; or, The Road to Success. By Horatio Alger, Jr.

ROY GILBERT’S SEARCH. A Tale of the Great Lakes. By William P. Chipman.

THE TREASURE-FINDERS. A Boy’s Adventures in Nicaragua. By James Otis.

BUDD BOYD’S TRIUMPH; or, The Boy Firm of Fox Island. By William P. Chipman.

The above stories are printed on extra paper, and bound in Handsome Cloth Binding, in all respects uniform with this volume, at $1.00 per copy.

For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of price, by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St., New York.

Why, When and Where. A dictionary of rare and curious information. A treasury of facts, legends, sayings and their explanation, gathered from a multitude of sources, presenting in a convenient form a mass of valuable knowledge on topics of frequent inquiry and general interest that has been hitherto inaccessible. Carefully compared with the highest authorities. Edited by Robert Thorne, M.A. 500 pages. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“In fact it is a miniature encyclopedia devoted to concisely stated facts on matters of every-day interest, yet beyond the scope of every-day knowledge.”—Hartford Times.

A Cyclopedia of Natural History. Comprising descriptions of Animal Life: Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, Batrachians and Fishes. Their Structure, Habits and Distribution. For popular use. By Charles C. Abbott, M. D. 620 pages. 500 illustrations. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“The author has shown great skill in condensing his abundant material, while the illustrations are useful in illustrating the information furnished in the text.”—Times, Troy.

The National Standard Encyclopedia. A Dictionary of Literature, the Arts and the Sciences, for popular use; containing over 20,000 articles pertaining to questions of Agriculture, Anatomy, Architecture, Biography, Botany, Chemistry, Engineering, Geography, Geology, History, Horticulture, Literature, Mechanics, Medicine, Physiology, Natural History, Mythology and the various Arts and Sciences. Prepared under the supervision of a number of Editors, and verified by comparison with the best Authorities. Complete in one volume of 700 pages, with over 1,000 illustrations. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

Law Without Lawyers. A compendium of Business and Domestic Law, for popular use. By Henry B. Corey, LL.B., member of New York Bar. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“The volume before us is a very convenient manual for every-day use, containing a general summary of the law as applied to ordinary business transactions, social and domestic relations, with forms for all manner of legal documents.”—Troy Times.

Dr. Danelson’s Counselor, with Recipes. A trusty guide for the family. An illustrated book of 720 pages, treating Physiology, Hygiene, Marriage, Medical Practice, etc. By J. E. Danelson, M. D. Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

“The Counselor is pure and elevating in its morals, and wise and practical in the application of its counsels. It can but be a helper in homes following its directions.”—Rev. J. V. Ferguson, Pastor M. E. Church, Mohawk, N. Y.

The National Standard History of the United States. A complete and concise account of the growth and development of the Nation, from its discovery to the present time. By Everit Brown. 600 pages. Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, price $1.00.

In this most interesting book our country’s history is told from the discovery of America down to the election of Benjamin Harrison as President of the United States.

For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of price, by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St., New York.

• Transcriber’s Notes:
  • Typographical errors were silently corrected.
  • Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.