Kid tucked the note between the leaves of the book which he knew
Stanley to be reading in his leisure moments and crawled back into bed
just in time. Mrs. Merton entered with a bowl of chicken broth and some
very dry toast. Kid was hungry and the broth tasted very well. Also
the toast, but he did wish there had been butter on it. After Mrs.
Merton had gone again he half wished that Stanley would come up. But
he didn’t. And after a while the fellows went in to dinner and the
time for action had come. Kid dressed as quietly as possible so that no
one underneath would hear him moving around and suspect anything. He
would like to have put on his best clothes, but commonsense told him
that he would stand a much better chance of being engaged as cabin-boy
if he wasn’t too well dressed. A few small belongings he tucked in his
pockets, deciding to be burdened with no baggage. An old red sweater
went on over his waistcoat and his ulster he hung over his arm. A
last look about the room, with a sort of choking sensation deep down
in his throat and a mistiness in his eyes, and he went out quietly,
closing the door behind him and stole down the front stairs. From the
dining-room came the cheerful clatter of dishes and the hum of voices.
Kid’s courage almost deserted him then and he hesitated on the landing,
invisible hands seeming to drag him back toward the security and warmth
of his bed. But with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob,
Kid trampled upon his weakness, dodged across the hall until out of
sight of the diners and so gained the front door.
He took a last glance about the place and his gaze fell on the
bookcases along the wall. “Hairbreadth Harry!” Why not rescue him now?
But even as Kid took the first step toward the books a chair scraped
in the dining room and in a panic Kid pulled open the front door and
passed out into the cold world.