"I'll 'phone up and see," was the reply.

"O, don't mind, I am going right up. I just asked because I thought you had news of him here."

"It's only the serious patients whose condition we have here, Father,"

answered the clerk.

"In that case," remarked the priest, "at least he is not seriously ill; that is some news anyway."

There was a sign on the door of the ward saying: "_Closed_, doctors visiting." He knew that this did not apply to him, as he was allowed entrance any hour of the day or night. Still, as it was not an urgent case, he decided to wait until the doctors came out. The nurse at the desk offered him her chair, which he declined with thanks.

"But, if you don't mind," he said, "I'll sit on the edge of this table."

"Certainly, Father," she replied, "until I run and get you a chair."

"No, no," he protested, "I like this much better."

So the ice was broken.

"You have got one of my little fellows inside," he continued. "How is he getting along?"

"You mean that Daly boy?"

He nodded a.s.sent.

"Why, we are all in love with him. He is one grand boy. This morning the doctor had to remove some loose skin from his arm, and he found that he would have to do a little cutting of the flesh to get at some of the skin which had become imbedded. The boy heard him say to me, 'It will hurt him like the mischief.' The lad spoke up, 'Go ahead, Doc. If you can stand it, I guess I can.'

"The doctor didn't want to use cocaine on it, so he took the boy at his word. It was simply terrific, Father! We had to pull the skin out with pincers. He just tightened his jaws, and never let out a moan. That boy is a credit to you. He has always taken just what was given him and has been no trouble to anybody."

As Father Boone was getting ready to reply, the doctors pa.s.sed into the next ward.

The priest went in at once to see his patient. Daly's eyes, as big as saucers, greeted him.

"Well, that was a nice scare you gave us all, you little rascal," was the priest's greeting. All Bill could do was grin. "They tell me there is nothing the matter with you, that you are just a bit frightened."

"O, I don't know about the frightened part," rejoined Daly, "I guess there was somebody else in that boat, as well as myself."

"My boy, I want to congratulate you. Not on your ladder stunt, anyone could do that, and not fall off, either; but on your fort.i.tude here.

True, there are no bones broken or anything like that, but you've had a lot of acute pain to endure, and they tell me you have not whimpered.

You have given the Club a good name here. William, I am proud of you."

Poor Bill! All day long he had been fortifying his resolution to tell Father Boone everything. But after this praise from the priest, he could no more touch on the affair than fly. Two or three times he made an attempt to begin, but the words stuck in his throat. They talked on a lot of things, but after that first allusion to the Club, there did not seem to be another opening for Bill. At last, however, he made one great effort.

"Father," he cried out, "there is something on my mind, I must let it out! It's got me all on fire inside. I'll burn up unless I out with it."

Father Boone could see his excitement and knowing that the boy was in an overwrought condition, which must not be made worse, took him quietly by the hand, patted his head and said, "Now that's all right, Willie. Don't take things to heart so much; we'll have a good talk when you are yourself again." He saw Bill look steadily into his eyes and swallow once or twice, but he did not understand that the words of an accusation were sticking in the boy's throat and blocking his speech. So thinking that the lad had need of rest and quiet, he spoke a few kindly words and withdrew.

Daly felt like calling after him, but before he could make up his mind, Father Boone had gone. Usually, the priest did not leave a bedside without suggesting confession, if the patient were at all seriously ill.

Even if the illness were slight, he frequently took occasion of it to reconcile the sick person with G.o.d, and to bring into the soul that comfort which goes so far to restore health to the body, besides bringing solace and healing to the mind. But as director of the Club, he felt a special delicacy in suggesting confession to one of his boys, and since, just now, Bill had seemed bordering on hysteria, the priest believed that a little rea.s.surance was the proper thing.

"The poor boy got a worse shaking up than he is aware of," he thought, "but it will pa.s.s off soon. I shall see him tomorrow, and arrange to bring him Holy Communion. The dear Lord will do the rest." So he hastened home.

Daly, meanwhile, had quieted down somewhat. But reflections came thick and fast. "Father Boone congratulated me, did he? If he only knew what he was congratulating! Yes, I'm a brave boy! Couldn't open my mouth.

Mulvy would act that way,--not! I wish I had a little of his 'sand.'

Gee, next time I've got to get it out--even if it chokes me!"

He turned over and tried to sleep. The lights were low in the ward now, and a great quiet reigned. But sleep would not come. He began by counting sheep going through a gate. One, two, three--he got up to a hundred, and there before his eyes was a big black sheep stuck in the gate. "That's me," he uttered, and stopped the count. Then he tried going up a very high stairs, counting the steps one by one. At last he got to the top and looking about he saw a room, in disorder. Broken chairs, upset tables, pictures on the floor, and a boy spilling ink.

"That's me," he sighed. Then he rehea.r.s.ed all that his mother and Frank had told him of Father Boone's kindness. He saw the ambulance rushing along and the priest watching tenderly over an unconscious form. "That's me," he thought to himself.

He began to feel very thirsty. "I wish I had a drink," he sighed. An hour pa.s.sed, two, three. He heard the clock strike twelve. A nurse was pa.s.sing. He called to her and asked her for a drink of water. She drew near to him, observed his dry hot face and glistening eyes. His tongue was parched and thick. She felt his pulse. Then she took out a thermometer and put it in his mouth. He submitted patiently to it all, but when the thermometer was withdrawn, he said beseechingly, "Please give me a drink."

The nurse a.s.sured him that she would attend to him and left his side.

Going to her desk in the corridor, she called the house surgeon. "I think, doctor," she told him over the phone, "you'd better come up. That Daly boy has quite a temperature." The doctor was soon in consultation with her, and together they went to the patient. After a careful inspection, they withdrew.

"Typhoid," exclaimed the doctor.

"I was afraid so," she replied.

Chapter IV

The Field of Honor

The next morning Father Boone, in his office, at the Club, sent for Thomas Dunn. When the janitor came, the priest said, "It is several days now since that room was upset. I expected the boys to report it at once.

But not even the officials have said a word to me yet. I know I could find out about it if I wished to quiz them, but I don't want to do that.

It may have been some sort of a mix-up in which the fellows all feel that to say a word about it would be mean. They may not take the serious view of it that I do. So now I am going to start in, in my own way, to get at the bottom of it. And I begin with you. Have you observed anything that would give me a clue?"

"Well no, I can't say that I have," replied Dunn. "The lads have been unusually well behaved since that night."

"Very well, but if you should come across anything that will throw light on the mystery, let me know."

Dunn turned to go, but suddenly recollected something. "I don't know whether it's much of a clue, Father, or if it's worth while mentioning, but one of the boys was over to my house last night seeming to want me to talk on the matter."

"Why, that's a straw that shows how the wind blows. Who was the boy?"

"Well, you know, Father, I don't know the boys much by name. But as he was going out I called my boy Harry and I says to him, 'Harry, who is that chap, do you know'?

"'Yes, Pa,' he says, and he gave me his name, but I forget it. I'll have to ask Harry, if you like, and let you know this evening."

"Very well, Thomas, do so."

Dunn left, and was half way downstairs when he turned back again.

"Pardon me, Father, but I think I've got the name or near it. Harry said the boy was Murray, but I'm not quite sure, but it was Murray, or Murphy, or Mulvy or some such name."

At the name Mulvy, an electric spark seemed to pa.s.s through the director. Dunn did not notice it, as he went out at once. He caught the words "Thank you, Thomas," as he was leaving the room, and that was all.