"Augustus, I am surprised at you," said his father.
"Well, father, if you had been in my place, and taken all the abuse I have, you would say the same thing," replied Gus. "Of course he will have more enemies than he's had here, and there won't be anybody to toady to him because he is the son of the wealthiest captain in Clifton. Well, if you want to be alone I'll go away for a little while. I know what you want," he added, in an undertone. "You want to be alone, so that you can gloat over Bob's disappearance. Now, I will go down and see about those ponies the first thing I do."
Gus found his hat on the hall floor, put it on and struck up a lively whistle as he bent his steps toward the gate; but as soon as the gate closed behind him and he began to meet the pedestrians on the street he cut short his whistle and walked along with his gaze fastened on the ground. It seemed as if everybody he met looked at him with a sidelong glance, as if to say that they knew he was in some way responsible for Bob's disappearance. Probably his guilty conscience had something to do with it. After a few minutes he reached the stable, and he knew by the looks of the men that the news had got around there also. They were all angry about something, he could see that plainly enough.
"Halloo, Gus!" exclaimed the proprietor as he came in. "You are clear of your cousin now, at any rate."
"So I have heard," said Gus. "He has gone off to sea and never said a word about it. Do you know where he is?"
"Do I? I guess you had better go aboard the J. W. Smart, and you will find him there."
It was plain that Gus did not want to talk to the livery-stable keeper too much. It was evident that he had something back of it.
"Did Bob bring some horses here yesterday for you to take care of?" he asked, going into his business at once.
"He did," replied the proprietor.
"Well, now, there isn't anybody to pay for their keeping—"