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.