Boy Knight

  Chapter IV

  The Field of Honor

  The next morning Father Boone, in his office, at the Club, sent forThomas Dunn. When the janitor came, the priest said, "It is several daysnow 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 couldfind 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 feelthat to say a word about it would be mean. They may not take the seriousview of it that I do. So now I am going to start in, in my own way, toget at the bottom of it. And I begin with you. Have you observedanything that would give me a clue?"

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

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

  Dunn turned to go, but suddenly recollected something. "I don't knowwhether 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 meto 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 hewas going out I called my boy Harry and I says to him, 'Harry, who isthat chap, do you know'?

  "'Yes, Pa,' he says, and he gave me his name, but I forget it. I'll haveto 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 saidthe boy was Murray, but I'm not quite sure, but it was Murray, orMurphy, or Mulvy or some such name."

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

  But Father Boone! This was adding insult to injury! So Mulvy did knowsomething about it! And instead of coming to the director, he had goneover to the janitor! A nice way for a trusted and honorable boy to act!

  Father Boone had been trying all along to convince himself that somehowMulvy would come out of it clear and clean. He had thought of a thousandexcuses for the delay--questions of divided allegiance or some point orother of honor and so on. But Mulvy's going to the janitor to getinformation looked like an underhand mission, certainly. What for?--Tofind out what the director knew, or how he had taken it--or to arrangesome explanation?

  All these questions shot through his mind with the rapidity oflightning. None of them carried its own answer. All of them seemed outof harmony with what he knew of Mulvy. And yet, there were the facts.

  (II)

  The parochial school was around the corner from the church and club andit was at this very hour that the department of which young Harry Dunnwas a member had been turned loose in the play yard for recess. A gameof tag was soon on, and Dunn, dodging in and out, ran right into NedMullen. The collision sent Dunn sprawling to the ground. He was twoyears younger than Ned, but very stocky. It was nobody's fault that hegot the bump; but nevertheless as soon as he rose to his feet, he rushedat Ned and gave him a kick in the shins. Ned's first impulse was to boxhis ears, but as the boy was so small, he merely took hold of him andgave him a good shaking.

  Dunn began to blubber. In a thrice a crowd gathered, and Dunn, seeingthat he was being teased, got ugly. Turning to Ned, who was about toback off with Tommy, he cried out: "Yes, you belong to the crowd thatsmashed up things! Father Boone will fix you!"

  The threat didn't mean much to Tommy and Ned and they walked away.

  Harry Dunn, however, had heard just enough from his father about theClub damage to think he could best get even by telling his teacherabout it. So, when the boys got into their school rooms again, he triedto tell the Sister that two fellows had thrown him down in the yard. Shepaid no attention to him. After class, he went to her again, and saidthat the boys who broke things at the Club were trying to pick on him."Mind your own business, Harry," she said, "and nobody will pick on you,you little tattletale." As the boys say, he got "his."

  That afternoon Father Boone, passing through the school after class,stopped to talk to the Sister in the vestibule. Just then along cameyoung Dunn.

  "Here's a young gentleman who is talking about a row at the Club," shesaid to the priest, as she held the lad by her eye. She thought the boyhad made a mountain out of a mole hill, and that the director's shrug orlaugh would show the youngster where he stood. Instead, Father Boonegrew instantly serious. The Sister saw she had made a mistake, butbefore she could change the subject, he said, disregarding the boy:

  "It was bad business, Sister. I feel ashamed and hurt about it. I didnot think my boys would act so."

  Then he continued, "But how did you know about it, Sister?"

  "O, a little bird told me."

  "Indeed, and may I ask what the little bird told you?"

  "Really, Father, it's not worth while referring to. I shouldn't haverecalled it but for that young lad who passed us this moment. You knowhim, don't you?"

  "I can't say that I do."

  "He is Harry Dunn, Father, the son of your janitor."

  "O, that's interesting, Sister; so it seems that I know less--"

  At this moment he was interrupted by a messenger who told him that hewas wanted for a sick call. He hurried to the rectory. A woman in theparlor was waiting to give him the name and address of a sick person."Why, that," he exclaimed, "is the house where the Dalys live."

  "Yes, Father."

  "How old is this boy you say is so ill?"

  "About twelve, Father."

  "Do you know whether he is seriously ill; has the doctor been there?"

  "O yes, Father, and he said the boy had typhoid. There is another casein the house also, and the Board of Health has been around."

  He promised to go at once to administer the consolations of religion tothe sick boy. "I am glad the Board of Health is on the ground," he saidto himself, as he was on his way over. "From what I saw of conditionsthere, it's a wonder they're not all down with typhoid. I suppose Williewould have had it, except that he is such a robust and active lad."

  When the priest had finished his ministrations, he went up to the Dalyflat. After his knock at the door, he heard quick movements inside andthen a rather long silence. He rapped again. This time the door wasopened and Mrs. Daly met him. The reason for the delay was evident. Shehad been crying and did not care to exhibit herself to a neighbor. Buton seeing Father Boone she broke out afresh, at the same time showinghim a telegram she had just received from the hospital. It read:"William Daly dangerously ill. You will be admitted any hour." It wassigned by the superintendent.

  Father Boone put two and two together, "Typhoid." He made up his mindat once just what to do. "You stay here until I send a cab for you; thencome along." He himself hurried downstairs, walked quickly over to thetrolley and in ten minutes was at the hospital. Not until he got theredid he go to the phone and call up a taxi for Mrs. Daly. He had a goodstart now, and could pave the way for her.

  Going immediately to the ward, he found the nurse at Daly's bedside."Rather sudden," he remarked.

  "Very," she replied.

  "There were no signs last night, nurse, as far as I could see. Whatseems to be the matter?"

  "Typhoid."

  All this was in a whisper.

  He continued, "I'll just see how he is and say a few words to him beforehis mother comes."

  "He is delirious, Father."

  "Maybe he'll know me," he said, and bent over the patient. He took hishand gently, saying, "Willie boy, you have not said 'hello' to me yet."No answer. "You know Father Boone, don't you, Willie?"

  "Hello, Frank," was the response. "I wish I had your 'sand.' I say,Frank," he continued, "I'm starting right when this thing is over." Hepaused for a moment and then resumed. "I don't blame the
fellows. I'mdown on myself now." Another pause. "Frank, you tell Father Boone I'msorry. I want to see him. You are a brick. I am . . . O, I'll tell . . .the whole thing if it . . . chokes me." This last was said with aneffort.

  Father Boone attributed all he was saying to delirium. He realized thatthe patient's condition was serious, and prepared to give him the LastSacraments. As he took out the Holy Oils, and was about to anoint himthe boy's eyes looked calmly at him and he uttered the words: "Hello,Father."

  The priest was very glad that the boy was conscious, and not knowing howlong he would remain so, he started to hear his confession as quickly aspossible. He began by receiving from him a general acknowledgment of hissins and contrition for them, intending, if time permitted, to hear hisconfession in detail. "You are sorry for all the sins of your life, mychild?"

  "Yes, Father."

  "Say the Act of Contrition."

  He began: "O my God, I am most heartily sorry for all my sins and I . . .and I . . . and . . ."

  When Father Boone saw that William was lapsing into unconsciousness, hetook a crucifix and holding it to the boy's lips, said, "Kiss thecrucifix, my child, and say, 'Jesus have mercy on me.'" As he gave himabsolution, he heard him murmur, "Jesus . . . have mer. . . ." and offhe fell again into delirium.

  The priest was sorry that the confession had been cut short, but wasvery glad that he was able to give him absolution. Then he anointed him,for Daly's condition did not permit of his receiving Holy Viaticum. Thepriest had barely finished the administration of the last rites, whenMrs. Daly appeared. He quickly approached her and cautioned her sternlynot to show emotion in the presence of the patient, as any excitementwould only make his condition worse.

  "O my Willie, my Willie," was her answer, and her body shook withemotion. "Willie was the good boy, he was the good boy to his mother. Oblessed Mother, help me now in my hour."

  The first burst of grief over, she really showed wonderful control andapproached the bed quite calmly. Bill was now sleeping. The mother satby his side with her hand on his. Seeing that the priest was waiting,she said, "Are you waiting to give him the Sacraments, Father?"

  "No, I have already done that," he replied, "but, if you don't mind,I'll wait for you."

  "No, no, Father dear," she said, "don't wait for me, for I am afraid itwould be a long wait."

  He considered for a moment, and decided to leave.

  (III)

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

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

  "Say, Frank," began Ned, "that Dunn kid is a fresh guy. Today, afterbumping into Tommy and me, he got ugly and gave me a kick. I shook himup 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 tentimes worse than it was. To hear him talk you would think we had a freefight over there. He spoke of breaking things and a lot of stuff likethat."

  Of course Frank saw at once what had happened. Harry had heard hisfather 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 andhow your name is mixed up in it, you'd mind."

  Frank laughed off this observation, and tried to turn the talk tosomething else. But as they walked along, they were stopped by at leastthree 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 toface when only the Club and Father Boone and his mother knew. How couldthe explanation ever catch up with the story--especially if young Dunngot to talking! Of course, in the end everything would come out allright. In due time, Father Boone would learn the truth from Dalyhimself, but meanwhile--

  He knew his mother was as much upset about the misunderstanding ashimself. And to have affairs still further complicated would be prettybad. Father Boone must know a good deal, for the place could not havebeen set right without his knowledge. But he did not know who had doneit, nor any of the details. That was evident from Daly's story, and soup to now, he was angry with Frank because he had not reported. It hadall the evidences of a free row surely--and his indignation wasjustified--and especially against an official. But now suppose this talkshould reach Father Boone and that it should associate him with theaffair as one of its leaders!

  The very thought made Frank shudder, until he recalled that Bill was notonly 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 wasunder a cloud. There was nothing to do but wait for the wind to blow itaway or the sun to dissipate it.

  But even as he meditated, the cloud was getting thicker and blacker. Hehad hardly returned to school for the afternoon session, when histeacher asked him if the report were true, that he was deposed from hisoffice as secretary. The inquiry gave him a distinct shock. He had thegreatest respect and affection for his professor, and that Mr. Collinsshould entertain for a moment the thought that he had done anything todeserve 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 wasjust the possibility that Father Boone had taken some further action.When his name was called for recitation in Caesar his mind waselsewhere. It was not like Frank to hesitate when called upon, but nowhe was at sea. The teacher saw his predicament, and having genuineregard for him said, "Don't you agree with the preceding translation?Smith, try that passage again." Smith repeated and Frank, now master ofthe situation, took up the portion assigned him. But his mind soonwandered away again. He began to reflect on the consideration histeacher had shown him, and to wonder if his absent-mindedness suggestedthe disquiet of a guilty conscience. It seemed as though every fellow inthe class was watching him.

  When school was out, he went to Mr. Collins to thank him. "I was allupset, sir, by what you said before class."

  "I'm sorry, Frank, that I referred to the matter at all. I really wassure, 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 Boonewere there, and to find out from him if there were anything back of thereport. The priest was not in his office. Frank turned into the readingroom and from force of habit went to look at the notice board where theitems of interest to the Club were usually posted. To his amazement heread:

  "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 achair, he repeated again and again: "The office of Secretary is herebydiscontinued." "A direct slap!" he gasped. "Condemned unheard. It is notfair. That's no way to deal with a fellow. It's an outrage. I did notbelieve that Father Boone could do such a thing. Condemned, disgracedand the whole parish talking about it! It will cut my mother to the veryheart. I've got to keep it from her--to put a stop to it right now. I'llgo to the rectory and have it out with him. This is what I get for nottaking a firm stand in the beginning."

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

  He started for the rectory, but on his way, he began to hesitate. "Whatgrievance
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 jobdone. No one on earth could believe it the work of one or two. FatherBoone naturally expected some word from me. And if old Dunn told him Iwas 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 certainlylooks bad. And if I start something, what can I say? I'd be cornered, nomatter which way I'd turn. The only thing to do is to lie low for awhile, and let things shape themselves. Daly'll tell the whole thinghimself and then it will be my turn. And then Father Boone--gee--I'llfeel sorry for him then!" So Frank put off his visit to the priest andwent home.

  (IV)

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

  As a matter of fact, Frank's deductions were all wrong. Mrs. Mulvy wasthe President of the Parish Relief Association of which Father Boone hadcharge. Hence it was not unusual for him to call on Mrs. Mulvy to giveher a list of poor to be visited and helped. He was on such an errandnow.

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

  After his instant of hesitation, and convinced that he knew the subjectof conversation, Frank assumed an indifferent air and stepped forward togreet 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 couldnot look at his mother. If he did, he might break down and he did notwant to give the director that satisfaction. So he stood facing thepriest.

  All three were embarrassed. 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 mymother, 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 anissue, and without his doing, he said, in a deliberate, penetratingtone,

  "Frank Mulvy, do you, or do you not, know anything about that shamefuldestruction at the Club?" Already Frank saw his folly. He was in justthe corner he had foreseen. Acknowledgment would mean the betrayal of asacred confidence. Every moment of silence was agony to his mother.Denial he could not make, for he had never in his whole life made aconscious 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. Hispent up emotions of the past days burst out in sobs, his body shookconvulsively. Both priest and mother tried to soothe him. That only madeit 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 abouthis mother, and burst into renewed sobs. Mrs. Mulvy was puzzled anddistressed but she had full faith in her boy. She let him have his cryout, 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 asingle question, I promise you it will come out more than all right."

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

  "O, I'm so glad, mother, because now I can see it through. I don't mindwhat 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 apparentlyall at sea. He thinks the world of you, Frank, and that is what hurtshim."

  "I know, mother, and that is what hurts me, too, but there is no helpfor 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 agood deal the same. Only, of course, his will is so strong, he won'tshow what he feels. The other day there were tears in his eyes, but hedidn't know I was seeing him."

  "Mother is proud of her boy to hear him talk that way. I'm so glad thatyou're not angry with poor Father Boone--it is hard on him."

  "Maybe I would be, mother, if I did not know him so well."

  A great load was off Frank's mind and the tension was gone. Nothingcould matter now. He could face anything and everything. He realizedthat, at most, only a few days would intervene before Bill Daly wouldclear up the mystery.

  (V)

  When Father Boone left Mrs. Mulvy and Frank, he had indeed troublesomethoughts for companion. The conviction that Frank knew a good deal aboutthe matter was now absolutely sure. Evidently, also, the boy was in someway implicated in a conspiracy of silence. His whole appearance showedthat he was holding back something and that he was doing so reluctantly.His complete collapse indicated a great interior struggle. It alsoshowed that the boy was naturally high-minded and noble. For otherwise,he never would have broken down, as he did.

  But what was holding him back? Why should he fear to trust the director?He found no answer to free him from his quandary. He would gladly settlethe whole matter, and regard the affair closed, if he considered onlyhis own feelings. But his duty to the boys must not be shirked becauseit caused present pain to himself or others. "Better to have a toothpulled," he said, "than to have it the source of future trouble."

  When Father Boone entered his room, he found several letters on hisdesk. They were mostly Church matters. But one was different. It was onbetter quality of stationery than the ordinary. The envelope and thepaper bore a monogram. Opening it, he found these lines:

  Dear Father Boone:

  I want to thank you for all your kindness to John. Enclosed is a little contribution for the Club. Hereafter, it will be impossible for John to attend the Club meetings, and so I request you to drop his name from membership.

  Sincerely yours, Julia Harkins. (Mrs. John Harkins.)

  To Rev. Jerome Boone, S. J.

  John Harkins resigned from the Club!... Anyone who knew Father Boone'sideas about the Club would have understood at once what this resignationmeant to him. Mrs. Harkins' letter didn't explain why it was "impossiblefor John to attend the Club" but it was clearly written between thelines. John Harkins was a boy enjoying exceptional home advantages andhis refinement, manliness and social standards made him just the type togive "tone" to the Club.

  Mrs. Harkins was rightly very careful of the associations her sonformed, and Father Boone had been her guarantee that in the Club Johnwould mingle with perhaps poor, but good and manly boys. Evidentlyrumors of the affair had reached her.

  "The Club is discredited! The director has been asleep. Cockle in thefield. And here I am sitting and allowing the weeds to grow and thewheat to be choked. I will get to the bottom of this at once. With theClub's name in question, I am certainly justified in drastic action--inprobing the matter directly. I will send for Mulvy right away. I shouldhave done it long ago."

  In answer to
his summons, Frank was on hand a half hour ahead of timethat evening, but not ahead of Father Boone. He went straight to thedirector's office and found him engaged at his desk.

  "Sit down, Frank," the priest began, as he stopped work. "I am going toget right down to business. I am speaking to you as an official of theClub. The Club is being discredited. The parish is filled with reportsand rumors. I am being discredited. Look at that letter. Things havegone too far. Heretofore, I have not asked you any questions on thismatter because your duty was plain. I wanted you to perform it like aman, unsolicited. You have not done it, I regret to say, and now I mustquestion you like the others. The welfare of the Club is at stake, andits fitness for carrying on its work, imperiled. Decent parents won'twant their boys to belong. It is abroad in the parish that rowdyism isrampant here. I want to nail the nasty rumor, and place it where itbelongs. There is an explanation, and I want you to help me get it.Frank Mulvy, did you have a hand in the wreckage wrought in the Club theother night? Answer me _yes_ or _no_."

  "No, Father."

  "Do you know anything about it?"

  "That I cannot answer, Father."

  "You cannot answer! You cannot answer! Do you mean to say that yourefuse to do your duty? Cannot! What do you mean, sir?"

  In an agitated voice, Frank replied, "Father, I cannot say any more,except to add that I am doing what you yourself have always inculcated."

  "Neglect of duty! Explain yourself, sir."

  "Not neglect of duty, Father, but regard for honor. You have always heldthat up to us, along with our religion, and it is honor now that makesme decline to say more. I will answer any questions about myself oranything that I can answer by official knowledge, and take theconsequences. More I cannot say."

  "And more I do not want you to do, Frank. But tell me, why did you notat least inform me of the wreckage; that was official?"

  "Father, I did not know of that until recently."

  "What, do you mean to say that all that terrible row occurred, and thatit's out all over the parish, and you, the chief official of the Club atthe time, did not know of it?"

  "Father," declared Frank, in trembling tones, "I know it all looks bad,all the appearances are against me, I have only my word and character tostand by me."

  "It is your character that has stood by you till now, sir. Were you notMulvy, I had acted differently. But it is because you are Mulvy that Ihave trusted, until the Club and its director are discredited. Butwhat's the matter, boy?"

  For of a sudden, Frank had turned white. He swayed a moment, but FatherBoone caught him in his arms, laid him gently on the floor. It took buta dash of cold water to fully restore him, and for a moment he juststared into the face of the priest. Then Father Boone noticed how hiscolor rushed back and his jaws set and he realized that the boy wassuffering keen mental anguish. It came to him that there was somethingmost unusual and extraordinary about the whole thing.

  After a bit Frank said in a voice choked with emotion, "I know you havesuffered, Father, and that has hurt me." He could say no more but aftera little, he began again. "At first, I did not know anything about thematter, and when I did know, I could not speak. I wish I could clear thematter up, but I cannot do so honorably, and I know you don't want me todo it dishonorably."

  The priest patted him on the back and told him to do what was right andnot to think of consequences. "And as you consider silence the rightthing now, I do not wish you to do otherwise than as you are doing."

  "Thank you, Father," replied Frank. "But please--I am true to you."

  "Yes, I know," answered the priest, "but it's all a mystery,nevertheless, and it must be solved, and," he added vigorously, "itshall be solved."

  Frank went below. The priest closed the door, and fell into a brownstudy. "What am I to do?" he reflected. "This thing must be nailed. Buthow?"

  He was not looking for boys to punish, but for the solution of theproblem, and the clearing of the good name of the Club. Taking out alarge sheet of paper, he wrote in big letters for the notice board inthe library reading room:

  "Boys of St. Leonard's Club:

  This is an appeal to the boys who have the good name of the Club, and their own at heart. I want no boy to tell on another. But I do request that the perpetrators of that act of wanton destruction declare themselves to me at once. You know my ways, and that I am the first to make every allowance and to see fair play. I await in the office a response to this notice this very night.

  Jerome Boone."

  The first boy to read the notice was Ned Mullen. "Whew!" he exclaimed,with a long whistle. He ran into the games-room, "Hey, fellows, seewhat's up--some notice--riot act!"

  At first they paid no attention to him, saying merely, "Quit yourguying, kid."

  But as he shouted out, "Frank, Tom, Dick, come see the board, a reallive circus is in town," they all dropped their games, and trooped intothe reading room.

  "Gee!" was the exclamation from every throat.

  "That's news."

  "What row is that?"

  "Wanton destruction!"

  "That sounds good."

  "O, but say, it's the real thing."

  "That's Father Boone's handwriting. What does it mean?"

  Then they fell to asking questions all together.

  Finally, it settled down to what had happened, and when it happened,and how it happened. Everybody asked everybody else what it was allabout, and everybody told everybody he did not know. Some boys gotaround Frank and began to quiz him.

  "Did you see any damage done, Mulvy?"

  "No."

  "Let's form a committee and send our regrets to Father Boone, and alsosay there must be a mistake."

  They all agreed.

  "Name Mulvy spokesman of the committee," shouted McHugh.

  Frank protested, but they paid no attention to him. Soon the committeewas formed, and was ready to go upstairs. They waited for Frank. As hedid not move they said, "Step along, Mulvy, we are all ready."

  "I said no. Count me out."

  "Count you out, nothing," yelled several. "You're elected, now go."

  Frank did not move. Sunney Galvin, one of the biggest boys in the Club,and a good fellow, walked up to him and said, "No nonsense, Frank, facethe music; you owe it to Father Boone and the Club to help set mattersright."

  "Sunney, I said no, and that settles it."

  "It settles nothing," said Sunney. "Unless you are in the scrapeyourself, you'll go like a man and do your part. You have been chosen."

  "Chosen or not, I don't go. That's final," he said with vigor.

  "O ho, Mulvy, so there's somebody involved after all! You wouldn't playsafe if you were not concerned."

  "See here, Galvin," said Frank, "you know me well enough to know that Iam square. Give a fellow credit for knowing his own business."

  "O that's very well, and all that, Mulvy. But your business here and nowis to do the duty you've been elected to. And if you don't, you'reyellow."

  "Yes, and something worse," cried another.

  "Do you know too much for your own reputation?" shouted another. Foralthough Frank was the best liked and most admired boy in the Club, boysare boys, and they talk right out. Frank knew they had a certain amountof right on their side and that was what helped him to swallow theinsults, which otherwise he would have resented vigorously.

  The crowd was rather amazed itself that he did not resent theirinsinuations more than he did. Gradually the word passed that he was inthe thing himself, and did not dare face Father Boone. Dick resentedthat intensely.

  "He is not, and you all know it."

  "Hank, old man," he said, "clear yourself, come along with us."

  "I can't, Dick."

  "O nonsense," replied Dick, "you've got some honor bug in your bonnetand you're making a fool of yourself. Come along now, and give the crowda solar plexus."

  "Dick, please do
n't urge. I tell you I can't go."

  The crowd stood around, listening to the dialogue, giving Dick everyencouragement and signalling to Frank to give in. When the fellows sawhis stubborn stand, they resented it. It was not fair. It lookedcompromising.

  While they stood, thus-minded, Dick said rather timidly, "May I ask youa question, Hank?" There were only a few boys in the Club who could callFrank by that name. Dick was one of them.

  "Certainly, kid, fire away."

  "Did you have anything to do with this racket?"

  "No."

  "I knew it," said Dick. "That's why I asked you. Now another question.Do you know anything about it?"

  "That's another matter," said Frank.

  "We know it's another matter," shouted several, "and we've got a rightto know. It concerns the bunch."

  "The bunch doesn't make wrong right," fairly yelled Frank. "The bunchdoesn't make a mean thing honorable. Yes, I know about it, and that'swhy I can't go. I can't say more because I have said all I can say, inhonor."

  "Honor!" hissed one of the boys, "it's queer honor that will distressFather Boone and queer a whole crowd."

  By this time the racket had grown into a half riot. The voices were loudand raucous. Their echoes reached Father Boone above. He closed his dooras he did not want to hear what was not intended for his ears. But hehad caught enough to let him know that there was a deepening mysteryabout the affair, and that most of the boys were not a party to it.

  Things were gradually shaping for a fight. It was clear that Frank hadtaken a firm stand. It was equally clear that the crowd was notsatisfied or in sympathy with it.

  Some of the larger boys did not relish his excusing himself on theground of honor. Fred Gibney bawled out, "You're prating a lot abouthonor, Mulvy. What about the Club's honor?"

  "Look here, Gibney," snapped Frank, "I have the Club's honor as much atheart as any of you, and you know it. But just now--" his voicequivered, "I know how you regard the matter. I suppose I'd feel the sameif I were in your place. All I can say is that I know what I know inconfidence, and I'm in honor bound. Will that satisfy you? I have saidmore than I intended to, but it's because I want to go the limit tosatisfy the crowd on my stand."

  "That sounds like a book speech," retorted Gibney, "and it's all verywell for you to hide behind honor. Any of us could get out of a bad holethat way."

  "That means that you think I am lying?" questioned Frank, his eyesfairly aglow.

  "It means what you want to make of it," snapped Gibney.

  Frank jumped from his place to get at Gibney. Dick got in between thetwo, but found it more than he could do to restrain Frank. As blows wereon the point of being exchanged, steps were heard on the stairs, and theboys signalled that Father Boone was on the way down. At his approach,the boys assumed a more or less quiet posture. Not so Frank. He stoodjust where he was and as he was. His fists were clenched, his wholeframe was trembling with excitement, and his face was determined andpale.

  Father Boone took in the situation at a glance. He appeared, however,not to see the impending fight. Beckoning to Ned, he said, "I want youand four or five boys to help me unpack something upstairs." He knewthat this interruption would give all a breathing spell, and stopfurther animosity. Then like a flash, it occurred to him to settle thewhole thing then and there.

  "Boys," said he, "your shouts and some of your talk have reached meupstairs. I am very much hurt over this affair, and I know, from whathas happened, that most of you feel as I do. I caught some of the wordsbetween Gibney and Mulvy. They reveal a lot to me. First of all,apparently, what has happened was not the work of the crowd, but of afew only and you are as much mystified as I am. I am glad to know thatthe Club as a whole is not implicated. But a bad report has gone throughthe parish in regard to that occurrence, and I am bound, in duty to theparish and in devotion to you, to clear up the matter.

  "And so I say now to you all, what I have already said by that notice, Iask the boys who perpetrated that rowdyism or who know anything aboutit, to stand out and declare themselves!"

  Not a boy moved. After a moment's silence, Frank came forward and stoodbefore the priest. "Well, Frank, have you anything to say?"

  "Only what I said to you upstairs, Father."

  "Do you still feel in conscience that you can say no more?"

  "Yes, Father."

  "Very well," replied the priest. After a pause he continued, "I do notwant any boy to act dishonorably. But there are certain cases wherejustice is concerned, where the rights of many are in conflict withthose of a few, where scandal is involved, where the instrument fordoing substantial good is in danger of being destroyed; under suchcircumstances it is not only not dishonorable to speak out, but it ishighly honorable to do so. I know a boy's code of honor, and how heregards a 'squealer.' But it is not squealing to denounce a criminal.And in this case nothing short of a crime has been committed. Wilfuldamage has been done to property, and consequent damage has been done toreputation. If you saw a boy break into your home, and destroy valuablethings, you would not consider it squealing to denounce him to theauthorities. That very thing has occurred here. And you are in dutybound to stop sin or crime if it is in your power to do so.

  "If you know those who are guilty in this matter, it is your duty to seeto it that they declare themselves, in order that the good name of theClub may not suffer further, and that the damage done to property may bemade good.

  "With this explanation, I again ask those concerned to declarethemselves." Not a boy moved.

  "Frank Mulvy, after what I have said, do you still find you are notjustified in speaking out?"

  "I do, Father."

  "I respect your conscience, Frank, but I am hard put to find ajustification for it. If you were a lawyer or a doctor or a priest, andhad got your information in your capacity of adviser, I could see yourpoint of view. But you are a boy of fourteen, and hardly of the age thatinvites confidence. If I did not know you as well as I do, I shouldconsider you a party to the affair. As it is, you seem to be the onlyboy who knows anything about the matter, or--the only one who has thecourage to say so."

  Here Dick spoke up. "Father, the whole thing has us puzzled. We do notknow yet just what you refer to. You speak of damage and rowdyism. Wehave not seen any. It was only by report that we heard about it andwe've got into lots of trouble denying and resenting it. Until yournotice was put up today, we treated the entire matter as a calumny. Theonly row we know of was that scrap between Frank and Bill Daly. That wasnothing. Frank himself went up to tell you about that. We were all atsea when we saw you so indignant. We formed a committee to wait on you.As things are it looks bad for Frank. But we all know him and I--I--wantto go on record now as standing by him, if he says he can't tell, inhonor."

  Frank seized his hand. "Dick, you're true blue."

  "That's all right, Richard," said Father Boone slowly, and then, takingFrank by the hand, he added, "Frank, I trust you absolutely."

  "Then I am ready for anything, Father."

  Gibney now came up rather sheepishly, saying "Mulvy, I hope you'llpardon me."

  "Nothing to pardon, old man, you did what any fellow would do," answeredFrank. Then he swung around to the crowd quickly. "Fellows, I feel I'm'in bad.' Everything is against me as things go ordinarily. You havenothing but my word for my defence. I hardly deserve such trust. But Ihope you won't regret it."

  "Frank, take that notice off the bulletin board and put it on my deskupstairs." As Frank left the room, Father Boone turned to the crowd.

  "Boys, a good character is the best thing in life. Frank Mulvy'scharacter alone stands between him and your condemnation. If thismatter has no other issue than the present, it is worth while. I couldtalk on uprightness a month, and it would not impress you as much aswhat has happened before us."

  At this point Frank returned and Tommy spoke up: "Will you tell us,Father, what it is that you are so much worked up over? We don't knowwhat has happened, you know, about breakage and wanton destruction."
/>
  "I hope," said the priest, "that every boy here is as you are, Tommy,wholly ignorant of the matter. That only adds to the mystery, for youmay as well expect a man to walk without legs as to have a lot of thingsbroken and smashed without arms. Whose were the arms, if not yours ofthe Club, I'd like to know? I shall describe to you what occurred, andleave the mystery to you."

  Then in a few words he told them how he had come to the Club a fewmornings ago, and found it all upset, chairs broken, tables overturned,pictures torn down, ink spilled on the floor, and the rest of it. As thenarration went on, the eyes of the boys got as big as saucers. If looksand gestures were significant, they told of surprise, disgust,condemnation. As he finished, Dick spoke:

  "Father, that solves one mystery. We could not understand why youwithdrew the McCormack treat, and took on so dreadfully. We know, now,and I for one want to beg your pardon for any feeling I had againstyou."

  "Me, too!", "Me, too!", came from different parts of the room.

  "That is one cloud rolled away, boys," said the priest. "May it be anaugury that the others and bigger ones will vanish also. We are liketravelers in the desert who often see things where they do not exist.Weary and exhausted caravans frequently have visions of trees andsprings which lure them on, only to see them vanish in thin air.Scientists call it a _mirage_. Life, too, has its mirages."

  "How strange," said Frank to himself, as they were leaving the room,"Bill and I used the same expression when we were talking together atthe hospital."

  The boys went home a pensive lot. But everyone of them was determined tosolve the mystery.