He considered for a moment, and decided to leave.

(III)

On his way home, Father Boone had time to review the occurrence at the school earlier in the day. It was the Dunn boy whom the Sister had pointed out, as she told him the little incident. He said the Club boys were "picking on him." It could be that they were retaliating for something connected with the Club affair. He did not like the set of things. But if he could have seen what was occurring in some other quarters, he might have liked the looks of things still less.

After school, Ned and Tommy sought Frank. The Regal High was but a short distance from the parochial school.

"Say, Frank," began Ned, "that Dunn kid is a fresh guy. Today, after b.u.mping into Tommy and me, he got ugly and gave me a kick. I shook him up a bit, and he starts in and blabs about the fight with you and 'Bull.' Afterwards, he told the Sister about it, only he made it ten times worse than it was. To hear him talk you would think we had a free fight over there. He spoke of breaking things and a lot of stuff like that."

Of course Frank saw at once what had happened. Harry had heard his father mention the damaged room. He kept his surmises to himself, however, replying, "O, don't mind that fellow, he's only a kid."

"But, Frank," continued Ned, "if you heard how the thing has spread and how your name is mixed up in it, you'd mind."

Frank laughed off this observation, and tried to turn the talk to something else. But as they walked along, they were stopped by at least three different boys who asked what the row at the Club had been.

By that time Frank began to get anxious. The mix-up was bad enough to face when only the Club and Father Boone and his mother knew. How could the explanation ever catch up with the story--especially if young Dunn got to talking! Of course, in the end everything would come out all right. In due time, Father Boone would learn the truth from Daly himself, but meanwhile--

He knew his mother was as much upset about the misunderstanding as himself. And to have affairs still further complicated would be pretty bad. Father Boone must know a good deal, for the place could not have been set right without his knowledge. But he did not know who had done it, nor any of the details. That was evident from Daly's story, and so up to now, he was angry with Frank because he had not reported. It had all the evidences of a free row surely--and his indignation was justified--and especially against an official. But now suppose this talk should reach Father Boone and that it should a.s.sociate him with the affair as one of its leaders!

The very thought made Frank shudder, until he recalled that Bill was not only willing, but anxious to make a clean breast of his spiteful deed.

So in the end, all would turn out right. For the time being, he was under a cloud. There was nothing to do but wait for the wind to blow it away or the sun to dissipate it.

But even as he meditated, the cloud was getting thicker and blacker. He had hardly returned to school for the afternoon session, when his teacher asked him if the report were true, that he was deposed from his office as secretary. The inquiry gave him a distinct shock. He had the greatest respect and affection for his professor, and that Mr. Collins should entertain for a moment the thought that he had done anything to deserve the censure of Father Boone, was very painful to him.

"This is the first I have heard of it," Frank answered.

"I am so glad I was misinformed," was the reply.

That afternoon, Frank's thoughts could not be held in check. There was just the possibility that Father Boone had taken some further action.

When his name was called for recitation in Caesar his mind was elsewhere. It was not like Frank to hesitate when called upon, but now he was at sea. The teacher saw his predicament, and having genuine regard for him said, "Don't you agree with the preceding translation?

Smith, try that pa.s.sage again." Smith repeated and Frank, now master of the situation, took up the portion a.s.signed him. But his mind soon wandered away again. He began to reflect on the consideration his teacher had shown him, and to wonder if his absent-mindedness suggested the disquiet of a guilty conscience. It seemed as though every fellow in the cla.s.s was watching him.

When school was out, he went to Mr. Collins to thank him. "I was all upset, sir, by what you said before cla.s.s."

"I'm sorry, Frank, that I referred to the matter at all. I really was sure, knowing you as I do, that it was a false rumor."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins."

After school, Frank went straight to the Club to see if Father Boone were there, and to find out from him if there were anything back of the report. The priest was not in his office. Frank turned into the reading room and from force of habit went to look at the notice board where the items of interest to the Club were usually posted. To his amazement he read:

"The Office of Secretary is hereby discontinued.

Members will hereafter deal personally with the Director.

Jerome Boone."

Frank's head was in a whirl. He began to get dizzy. Falling back into a chair, he repeated again and again: "The office of Secretary is hereby discontinued." "A direct slap!" he gasped. "Condemned unheard. It is not fair. That's no way to deal with a fellow. It's an outrage. I did not believe that Father Boone could do such a thing. Condemned, disgraced and the whole parish talking about it! It will cut my mother to the very heart. I've got to keep it from her--to put a stop to it right now. I'll go to the rectory and have it out with him. This is what I get for not taking a firm stand in the beginning."

He sat with his head on his arms on the table. His inclination was to give way to his feelings, but after a moment, he jumped up, stood erect and exclaimed, "I'll win out."

He started for the rectory, but on his way, he began to hesitate. "What grievance have I got anyway? When it comes down to 'kicking,' what 'kick' have I got coming? From Daly's own story, there was an awful job done. No one on earth could believe it the work of one or two. Father Boone naturally expected some word from me. And if old Dunn told him I was over there pumping him--? That was a bad move--puts me in deeper.

Young Dunn was only repeating what he got from his father. It certainly looks bad. And if I start something, what can I say? I'd be cornered, no matter which way I'd turn. The only thing to do is to lie low for a while, and let things shape themselves. Daly'll tell the whole thing himself and then it will be my turn. And then Father Boone--gee--I'll feel sorry for him then!" So Frank put off his visit to the priest and went home.

(IV)

If Frank had experienced a sense of relief in deciding not to see the priest, it was short-lived. He walked into his home, and faced Father Boone and his mother engaged in serious conversation. His heart leaped into his mouth. The worst had happened! The priest evidently considered this affair so serious that he had come to see his mother. And it would break her heart to have a priest complain of him! And especially Father Boone--that would be a dagger thrust! These and like thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant.

As a matter of fact, Frank's deductions were all wrong. Mrs. Mulvy was the President of the Parish Relief a.s.sociation of which Father Boone had charge. Hence it was not unusual for him to call on Mrs. Mulvy to give her a list of poor to be visited and helped. He was on such an errand now.

Father Boone's method of directing a club found no place for carrying information to parents. He preferred to settle matters with the boys themselves, and in a manner that would be helpful to them, and that would leave no sting. In his mind, it would be an acknowledgment of defeat if he had to carry a case into the home. He had never done it yet.

After his instant of hesitation, and convinced that he knew the subject of conversation, Frank a.s.sumed an indifferent air and stepped forward to greet the priest. Father Boone continued to talk. Frank waited a moment, bewildered, and then said, "Good afternoon, Father."

"Good afternoon, _sir_," was the response.

Frank stiffened, every muscle of his body became like steel. He could not look at his mother. If he did, he might break down and he did not want to give the director that satisfaction. So he stood facing the priest.

All three were embarra.s.sed. Mrs. Mulvy knew the significance of that _sir_. Frank, sure now of his suspicions, made a desperate plunge.

"I am sorry, Father, that you felt obliged to carry this matter to my mother, but I suppose you know best."

Father Boone literally gasped. For a moment he looked at Mrs. Mulvy, then he turned back to Frank. Realizing that the matter had come to an issue, and without his doing, he said, in a deliberate, penetrating tone,

"Frank Mulvy, do you, or do you not, know anything about that shameful destruction at the Club?" Already Frank saw his folly. He was in just the corner he had foreseen. Acknowledgment would mean the betrayal of a sacred confidence. Every moment of silence was agony to his mother.

Denial he could not make, for he had never in his whole life made a conscious mis-statement. Silence was fatal. Denial was impossible.

Acknowledgment was betrayal of Bill's confidence. What could he do?

Again the priest said slowly and solemnly: "Do . . . you . . . or . . .

do you . . . not . . . know . . . about that act of destruction?"

"Speak up, Frank," his mother said, imploringly.

At the sound of that voice and the look of that face, he collapsed. His pent up emotions of the past days burst out in sobs, his body shook convulsively. Both priest and mother tried to soothe him. That only made it worse. Father Boone turned away and stood at the window, looking out.

Then with only a quiet and casual good-bye, he took up his hat and left.

Hardly had the door closed behind him when Frank threw his arms about his mother, and burst into renewed sobs. Mrs. Mulvy was puzzled and distressed but she had full faith in her boy. She let him have his cry out, and then said gently: "Don't mind, dear, you are mother's best boy; she knows this will come out all right."

"O mother, if you feel that way, and will trust me, without asking me a single question, I promise you it will come out more than all right."

"Very well, darling," she replied, "I'll say nothing again on the matter except you yourself bring it up."

"O, I'm so glad, mother, because now I can see it through. I don't mind what others say or think as long as it is all right with you."

"But I feel so sorry for Father Boone," she sighed. "He is apparently all at sea. He thinks the world of you, Frank, and that is what hurts him."

"I know, mother, and that is what hurts me, too, but there is no help for it at present. He's got to get all the facts first--and I can't--"

He broke off and then added, shyly, "You know, mother, I think we are a good deal the same. Only, of course, his will is so strong, he won't show what he feels. The other day there were tears in his eyes, but he didn't know I was seeing him."