Guy Harris, the Runaway

by Harry Castlemon

“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.