"Tom Gaffney. He was down to the rectory before supper and Father Boone had just come back from the hospital. He told him that Bill was delirious three days. He also said that he had given him the last rites, and that there was slim chance for his recovery."

Frank and d.i.c.k accelerated their pace. They were both anxious to hear more about the matter. At the Club, they met Father Boone going out.

"Boys, say a little prayer for William Daly. I think he is near the end."

"Was he prepared?" asked Frank, a lump in his throat.

"Everything except confession," replied the priest. "You see, he is delirious. I have been down to see him twice a day the last two days, but he has not regained consciousness. I am going down now in hopes I may find him able to go to confession. If not, we must leave him to G.o.d and the Blessed Mother."

Saying that, he started off to the hospital.

Frank turned white as a sheet.

"What's the matter, Hank?" said d.i.c.k. He could not answer. "Why, what's up, Frank?"

"O, nothing, d.i.c.k, I'm all right now."

Like a flash it had occurred to Frank. "What if Daly should die without saying anything about the Club affair!" No wonder his heart beat like a hammer! No wonder d.i.c.k showed alarm.

"I've been intending to go down and see Daly," said Frank, "but it has been one thing after another these past two days. Besides, I left him all right. Yes, I hope he comes out of it."

When the two friends entered the Club they found the crowd pretty serious. The exploit which had landed Daly in the hospital had endeared him to the fellows, and they now felt genuinely sorry for him. They began to recall their mean treatment of him on the very night of the fire. They asked one another what it was he had wanted to say, when they gave him no chance to open his mouth. Everything occurred to them except the one thing, the damage at the Club. Somehow that never seemed to connect itself with Daly.

As they sat around more or less in silence, Frank said, "Tomorrow is the First Friday; what do you say, fellows, if we go to Communion for Bill?"

Every boy a.s.sented.

When, about an hour later, Father Boone returned, he was very serious.

"Boys," he said, "Daly is in a critical condition. The doctors hold out little hope. Tomorrow I shall say Ma.s.s for him. I hope you boys will also remember him in your prayers."

"We are all going to Communion for him tomorrow, Father," said Ned.

"O, that's good," answered the priest. "That's very good of you. G.o.d knows what is best. His holy Will be done, but we shall pray that if it is G.o.d's Will, he may be spared."

"Was he conscious?" anxiously asked Frank.

"No," answered the priest, "I have been watching him carefully the past two days, but so far he has not got out of his delirium." Frank had a return, suddenly, of that faint feeling. True, the Club damage was in the background now, in the presence of death, but it was only deferred, not settled. And what would happen if the secret died with Daly?

Frank was extremely conscientious. He was not counting on what he could lawfully do in case Daly should die. He was determined that if worse came to worst he would bear the brunt of the disgrace himself rather than say a word that would blacken the name of one who had pa.s.sed away.

He must not flinch. He must be a real Knight of the Cross.

Frank left the Club much earlier than usual and alone. Something seemed to draw him to the hospital. At any rate, after five minutes, he found himself on the avenue going down to where Bill Daly lay in delirium. He got permission at the office to visit him. When he reached the patient, he found Mr. and Mrs. Daly there. Mrs. Daly welcomed him and introduced him to Mr. Daly as "that nice boy I told you about."

"And you are Willie's friend?" said Mr. Daly.

"Yes, I am glad to say."

"O, he was the good boy," continued Bill's father. "He should have had a better chance!"

Frank said nothing.

Then the mother began, "Willie was all I had to live for these many years, and now that his father's himself again, maybe G.o.d will take away my boy. Oh, but it's a cruel world and hard to understand! But G.o.d knows best."

"We are all going to Communion for him tomorrow," said Frank, sympathetically. "When Father Boone told us that William was dangerously ill, all the boys of the Club agreed to go to Holy Communion for him.

You know tomorrow's the First Friday."

"O, thank you, you are such good boys," she sighed.

Frank did not know whether to stay or go. Bill lay there unconscious, muttering from time to time. His father and mother sat by the bed on either side. Frank was standing. They were in a private room. Bill had been moved from the ward after a visit from Mr. Roberts. Every comfort that good nursing and attention could give was supplied. An automobile, moreover, took Bill's parents to and from the hospital. Mr. Roberts had told Mrs. Daly that as soon as her boy got well he would put him to school and see him through to any profession he chose, and that he would place Mr. Daly in a good position.

Mrs. Daly told all this to Frank as he stood looking down into the patient's fevered face. "But now I suppose it's all over with Willie,"

she groaned, "G.o.d's ways are not our ways. His holy will be done! I told Mr. Roberts about you, and how good you were to Willie and me. He said he wants to see you. He will be down soon, so you must wait till he comes."

"I shall be glad to," replied Frank.

Bill was tossing about a good deal and now he began a string of incoherent words. His father and mother bent over him to see if they could help him in any way. But he was only rambling. After a little while, he began to speak again. "Dad, you'll never drink again, will you? Dad, you'll be good to Ma, won't you?" Frank was about to retire when Mrs. Daly beckoned to him to remain.

"Don't mind what he says, dear," she whispered. "He talks that way all day." Then she added, the tears filling her eyes, "and what he says is so often the truth. But sometimes he talks awful nonsense. Just before you came, he was telling us about smashing tables and furniture at the Club, poor boy!"

"And what he says is so often the truth," repeated Frank mentally.

Again Bill began to talk. "O, he has 'sand.'"

"I wonder what that means?" asked Mrs. Daly.

Frank shrugged his shoulders.

"But, he's good, too," continued Bill. "That's why he has 'sand.' What a cur I was to put him in bad." Then, after a pause, "Mulvy, never again for me! Straight goods for mine. No more yellow for Bill Daly."

His parents looked at one another. It was all Greek to them. But it had much meaning for Frank. Mr. Daly sat there in deep thought. He was thinking of his early days, his happy home, his fond child. And then came the years after. The broken home, the broken hearts and here now, his dying boy.

"G.o.d is punishing me," he thought to himself. "But I wish He would not punish the mother for my sins. O G.o.d, spare my boy!"

This last he said out loud. Frank and Mrs. Daly turned suddenly toward him. His voice was choked as he said, "O G.o.d, punish me but spare those I love!" Frank's eyes filled as he gazed on the broken man before him.

Again Bill's voice was heard. "Mother, I want Frank. Send for Frank. I want Frank and Father Boone. Dad, we'll never quarrel again. Home will be nice for us all. Mother, mother, mother!" And he lapsed into unconsciousness again.

Frank felt terribly out of place. Twice while Bill was talking, he had started to go, but Mrs. Daly held him. He seemed to be necessary to her now. He was her boy's friend and she wanted him by her. Frank perceived this and he made up his mind to wait as long as he could. After about an hour Father Boone came in.

"I was down near here on a sick call, and I thought I'd just drop in for a moment," he said. "O, you here, Frank? Well now, that's nice, I declare." And he sat down.

The doctor was making his final rounds for the evening, and entered just as the priest was seated. He saluted all, gave a special nod to Father Boone, and then, after excusing his interruption, went over to the patient. All were quiet as he made his examination. When he finished, the mother stood up and looking him direct in the eyes, said, "Doctor, is my boy going to die?"

"We never know, Madam. We can't tell. We do all we can, and hope for the best. That is what you must do too. But he is very ill."

From the tone it was said in, the mother gathered that there was little hope. That was Father Boone's impression also. Mr. Daly seemed to be in a trance. His mind was elsewhere. But his taut face showed that he was thinking regrettable things.

When the doctor left, Father Boone took Mrs. Daly by the hand and said, "My dear child, you must be brave. These are the moments when our blessed Faith means everything to us. G.o.d's will is the greatest thing in the world. That is why our Lord, in teaching us to pray, said: 'Thy will be done.' He taught us that because it was necessary. He taught it by example as well as by precept. In Gethsemani He prayed, 'Not my will but Thine be done.' He, the Son of G.o.d, had His sorrows too. Resignation to G.o.d's will does not mean that we must not feel or suffer, but that in spite of our feelings, we rise up in Faith and see G.o.d as our Father. We must realize that He loves us, and we must say to Him, 'Thy will be done.' His will may cause pain now, but it is the pain that profits to life everlasting, and the pain that makes us like unto Him and dear to Him. Let us all kneel down, all of us, and say the 'Our Father.'"