"I hope," he said aloud, "I shall not be disappointed in you, William.

No matter what has happened, I want you to continue in the Club." With that he took his departure. But as he left the house he reflected that if William Daly ever got away from his influence, he might go down hill fast. There was one thing that gave him hope, and that was the boy's love for his mother. He knew that a boy who was so fond of his mother had something to work on.

(VII)

Down the dark and crooked stairs Father Boone made his way. When he got to the street floor and opened the door and took in the clear sunlight, he thought, "Will this dark pa.s.sage of mind in which I find myself terminate in a clear understanding?" While going along he reflected that so far every step had only led into darker ways. He had tried to convince himself that Frank was not cognizant of the mischief. He could not understand how such a boy would fail him. He felt as mean for himself as he did for Frank. To be so utterly deceived in a boy! Frank should have reported it, even though he had no part in it. Decision and consequences should be left to the director of the Club.

When Frank had taken office, it was made clear to him that the secretary as an officer was obliged to keep the director informed concerning matters of importance. This wreckage was a matter of the greatest importance. It had taken him a whole day to restore the place and had cost him no small sum of money. Besides, it was not only that; the breakage indicated a big disturbance. There had been a free fight, evidently, and bad blood. Perhaps there was a division in the Club. It was Mulvy's business to report the affair and leave the rest to the director. He failed to do so. That in itself, in a boy like him, was worse by far than a dozen fights.

Every thing tended to convince Father Boone that Frank had taken a false step. In this indignant mood, he reached the Club about half an hour before closing time. The boys were waiting for him. He was hardly seated in his office, when he heard a knock at the door. Looking up he saw three boys before him. "Well?" said Father Boone sternly, for by now he was in a fighting mood. The committee consisted of Frank, d.i.c.k and Tommy. Frank was spokesman.

"We have come, please, Father, in regard to the trouble in the Club. We have been chosen as a committee to see you about it. We . . ." He got no further.

"We!" shouted the director. "We! Is this committee secretary of the Club or are you?--you sir, Frank Mulvy. Here it is the third day since the disgraceful affair occurred and you--you sir, Mr. Frank Mulvy, Secretary, have kept me in the dark on a matter that it was your official duty to report! Do you understand, sir! that you are the secretary of this Club; and you have duties as well as privileges?"

Poor Frank! If some one had struck him a blow between the eyes, he could not have been half so stunned. He had to exert all his power to master his feelings. He tried to speak. His throat refused to let the words out. Was he to go away again misunderstood? Was he to have the agony of it all over again? He was helpless, speechless. And there sat the director, indignant and angry.

While Frank was trying to get himself together, the director arose, dismissed them, and left his room and the Club.

(VIII)

After the interview, if such it could be called, the committee went back to the crowd. On the way downstairs, d.i.c.k turned to the spokesman. "Why didn't you speak up, Frank?" Frank's soul at that moment was on fire.

"Speak up?" he fairly yelled, "and what were you 'b.o.o.bs' doing? Why didn't you back me up! You stood there like dummies. You'd think we were culprits the way he sailed into us. And neither of you opened your mouths."

"That was your job," retorted d.i.c.k, "and you got cold feet as soon as he looked at you. I thought you had more sand."

"Sand!" echoed Frank, "maybe you'd do better. Didn't you have your chance yesterday at the rectory? And you said yourself that you went out of the place like a sheep. Don't talk to me about 'sand'. You know yourself it's not lack of courage, either on your part or mine. I could face any one else and have it out. But when I saw his face, and heard his voice, I just wilted. You can't fight a man that's already wounded.

The thing is hurting him worse than it hurts us. But I'll be blamed if I know what's up. It's more than that sc.r.a.p we had, I'm sure of that."

By this time they were down with the rest of the boys.

"Well?" they exclaimed anxiously.

"It's all up," said Frank. "He wouldn't even listen to us. He gave me an awful roast."

"Gosh, fellows, it's tough," added d.i.c.k. "You should have seen the way he fired at us. Before we caught our breath, he up and left. We stood stock still for a moment, and didn't know where we were."

"It seems," said Frank, "that he is terribly put out because I did not officially report the matter."

"Well, you'd think there was a robbery or a murder or something like that, the way you fellows talk," said Ned Mullen. "A sc.r.a.p is a sc.r.a.p, and that's all there is to it," he added, "and I don't see the reason for all this fuss, except it may be because he is angry that an official was in it."

He paused for a moment and, as the crowd seemed to concur with him, he continued, "I say, Frank, why don't you write him a note? He can't fire at that, nor run away from it. If you write the note, I'll take it to him, or if you don't like that, mail it."

The proposal struck the fellows as sensible and practicable. Frank agreed to have the note ready by the next night and to read it to the crowd before sending it. After a little further talk, they wound up the evening and started for home.

As Ned was going out, Frank signalled him to hang back a little. He gave the same hint to d.i.c.k. In a few minutes the three were together, Frank, d.i.c.k and Ned.

Ned Mullen was one of the smallest boys of the Club. He was a bundle of nerves and laughter. Wherever Ned was, there was mirth. Everybody liked him. These three were close friends. They were three of a kind. Ned had won his cla.s.s-medal three years in succession. d.i.c.k was always first or second in his cla.s.s, and besides he had had the great distinction of winning the diocesan gold medal for the best English essay. Frank had led his cla.s.s as far back as the boys could remember.

When they were alone, Frank said to Ned, "Well, little bright eyes, you've certainly saved the situation. I was just about desperate when you 'b.u.t.ted in.' I had made up my mind to resign and clear out altogether. But I guess if Father Boone gets our explanation, it will fix things all right."

"Why didn't you go to him in the beginning, Frank?" asked Ned.

"I did, kid, but I got cold feet." And then he told d.i.c.k and Ned all that had occurred from the start.

"There's more to it than appears," suggested d.i.c.k.

"You said it," added Ned, and then continued, "I never saw Father Boone like this before. The fellows have got into lots of worse sc.r.a.pes than this, and he only laughed. Why, you remember that day in the woods last month, on the outing. Do you suppose he didn't know all about that fight between Barry and Dolan? And he never said a word. Except about a week after, if you noticed, he wanted two boys to go on an errand to Bailey's and he sent them. It turned out that they had to help at putting on labels for the Hospital Fair and Mrs. Bailey gave them a dollar each.

They came back chums. Father Boone doesn't 'grouch' or snarl if a fellow breaks out. He just says nothing, or else mends matters quietly in his own way."

"Say, Ned, that's quite a speech," exclaimed d.i.c.k, a bit envious. "You ought to have been on that committee."

At that "Bright Eyes" chuckled and soon he had the others laughing.

After a moment Frank announced, "I want you fellows to help me out with this note. I never did anything like it before. I've written lots of compositions. But this is diplomatic work."

Ned tapped his forehead and took on a look of deep thought. d.i.c.k coughed and struck the att.i.tude of a thinker.

"O, laugh if you like, but if you had been through what I have, you wouldn't think it was a joke," muttered Frank.

"Well, what do you want us to do?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Put our heads together and send the right kind of note," answered Frank.

"I say," suggested d.i.c.k, "suppose we each write a note and the one that's best, goes."

"Good idea," replied Frank, "and let's do it now, right here."

So they sat down to frame the note. For ten minutes not a word was spoken. Each boy at his own place was poring over a few lines he had written and then scratched, and then written again.

The silence was broken at last by Frank's voice exclaiming, "Well, who's through?" No reply. "I say fellows, I can't get started."

"Ditto," echoed d.i.c.k.

"Me too!" chimed in Ned.

Each boy had about ten pages partly written and scratched or torn. They had never before realized the arduous task of a diplomat. For this had to be a real diplomatic note. A lot was at stake, and a single word might spoil everything. At least so they fancied.

"Let's do it at home, and get down here early tomorrow night and settle it," said d.i.c.k.

"Agreed," exclaimed Frank and Ned together. And so hearty was their approval that they left without even putting the stopper on the ink bottle, let alone picking up the scribbled and torn papers.

Chapter II