Boy Knight

by Frank V. Webster

  Chapter III

  Comrades

  It was full daylight when Bill Daly opened his eyes the next morning. Onall sides of him were beds. Nurses and doctors were walking noiselesslyup and down the ward. He did not know what to make of it. He had neverbeen in a hospital before, even as a visitor. He had to make an effortto collect his thoughts.

  O yes! the fire. That shaky ladder. The woman and the child at thewindow crying for help. His quick ascent up the ladder. Theadjustment--a sudden sensation of dizziness--and then! Yes, he must havefallen.

  Just then he moved his arm a bit, and a moan issued from his distortedmouth. He knew now--who he was and what had happened. He changed theposition of his head and a groan escaped him. He moved his body ever solittle, and pain shot all through it. "Oh, Oh, Oh," he groaned. Afterthat, for a moment, he lay as quiet as possible. "O, I'm a girl, allright," he told himself. "What am I groaning about? I'll bet Mulvy wouldtake his medicine. That's 'some' boy, Mulvy. Never grunted once, and Ihit him all over. O for a little of his 'sand.'"

  Just then he moved his arm again, and another moan escaped him. A nurse,passing by, heard him.

  "That's all right, little man," she said, "it's painful, but no brokenbones; you'll be on your feet soon." Bill shut his jaw tight. Hissuffering recalled to his mind a story one of the Sisters had told theclass a few years previously, of a little boy led into the RomanAmphitheatre to be tortured for the Faith. They made him hold burningcoals in his hands and told him that if he dropped them he was givingincense to the idols. He held the coals until they burned right throughhis hand. A martyr. His picture was hanging on the wall of the classroom. An angel was placing a crown on his head and he looked--happy!

  "I've been a pretty tough nut," Bill soliloquized, "guess this is mypunishment. That martyr kid didn't do any harm. I've done a lot. Thefellows aren't a bad set. They gave me a pretty good show. They didn'tbutt in on the fight. What grit that Mulvy has! I'd have given up, if hewas on top--but not him! Gee--the way he just squirmed from under, andstarted in, as if only beginning. No wonder he plays football! Afellow's eyes tell you when you can't lick him. And cool as a cucumber!And then--'Let's shake!' 'Some boy' that Mulvy kid! And what a cur I wasto go and smash things the way I did! And spoil the fellows having theMcCormack treat. I'm pretty 'yellow'. And then Father Boone comes overand straightens things out and puts Dad on his feet!

  "Well, I'm through with the roughneck stuff. Pretty painful--but youdon't catch me groaning again. I'll 'offer it up', like Sister said, forthe love of God, to atone for my sins. I've got the sins all right. Sohere goes for the 'offer up' part. No more grunts, Bill Daly."

  He had hardly finished his resolve to bear his pain patiently andwithout murmur, as an offering to God, when the doctor and nurseapproached his bed.

  "Well, sonny," began the doctor, "you did quite a circus stunt, I'mtold."

  Bill grinned for reply, as the doctor proceeded to examine him. It wasnecessary to press and probe and lift and handle him generally. Everypressure and every slightest movement caused him exquisite pain. But nota murmur escaped him. Once or twice there was an "Oh!" in spite of hisbest efforts, but not a complaint nor a whimper. Doctor and nurse weresurprised. Finally, the doctor said, "Son, either you are not much hurtor you are the pluckiest lad I've ever examined."

  "I don't know about the pluck, doctor," he replied, "but I do know thatif I were hurt much more, it would be all over with me."

  He had hardly finished the words when he fainted. When he came to, thedoctor said, "Boy, nothing but dynamite can kill you, and I want to tellyou that your name is pluck." They left him for a few minutes and whenthe nurse returned, she remarked: "You are not seriously injured, butyou will be pretty sore for some days, and I want to tell you, you are alittle hero."

  When she was gone, Bill mused: "I wonder what she'd say to the 'littlehero,' if she saw that damaged room and knew it was spite? I'm gettingmine. I'll cut out the 'hero' stuff, for a while anyway."

  About an hour later, as he was lying quietly on his back, he wasdelighted to see his mother coming towards him. The sudden movement hemade, hurt him dreadfully but he quickly mastered himself, and gave noindication whatever of the pain he experienced. The nurse had given themother strict orders not to touch him but, when she saw her Willie therebefore her, the great love she bore him made her forget everything. Shethrew her arms about him and before he could say a word, had given him ahug and a hearty kiss. It was almost as bad as the doctor's examination.Willie writhed in pain, but he uttered no complaint.

  "O my dear, dear boy," exclaimed Mrs. Daly, seeing his efforts atsuppressing the pain. "The nurse told me not to touch you, and here I'vealmost squeezed the life out of you, and made you suffer in every partof your body."

  His suffering was so intense that it was some minutes before Bill couldreply to her. At length he said, "O mother, I'm so glad to see you. Itseems so long since I left the house yesterday and, mother, life seemsso different."

  This exhausted him. He just lay still, his mother's hand on hisforehead, and her eyes looking into his. In his weakened state, tearssoon gathered, not of pain, but of gratefulness, of emotion from a highresolve to bury the old Bill Daly and to live anew.

  By degrees they began to talk. She told him of the night before, and themeeting with the boy at the office below, and his kindness to her. Billwas all interest. She could not recall the boy's name and she was a poorhand at description. Bill mentioned a number of his corner chums. TheClub boys did not even enter his head. "Think hard, mother, and see ifyou can't get it. I want to know. I didn't think anyone cared so muchfor me."

  "O yes, now I remember," she replied, "When Father Boone came in hecalled him Frank."

  That was too much for Bill. He thought of a thousand things all at once.His mother, only half understanding, continued: "He was one of thenicest boys I ever saw. When we got to our house, he took me by the handand says, 'Don't worry, Mrs. Daly. You've got one of the finest boys inthe world, and he'll be home with you soon,' and his voice as kind andas tender as a woman's, God bless him!"

  Bill was still thinking. This was the boy he had provoked to fight, theone who had had to take the brunt of the director's anger! Mrs. Daly wasrambling on when Bill looked up and asked her if Father Boone had beenaround.

  She was not a little surprised. "Didn't you know about him, dear?" sheinquired. Then she proceeded to tell everything in detail, from the timethat Father Boone brought her the news until he closed the taxi door andsent her home with Frank. The narration seemed to Bill like a story froma book. He had the illusion, again, of not being a party to the eventsat all, but just a spectator. Then the thought of his ingratitude cameback full force. The kindly and tactful deeds of Father Boone bored intohis soul like a red hot iron. What an ingrate he was. Hero! indeed. Sucha hero!

  While he was thus reflecting, the nurse came over and informed hismother that it was time to go now, as the doctors would be in soon.Reluctantly she bade good-bye to her boy. Wiser by experience, she didnot embrace him, but just bent low and kissed him gently on theforehead.

  (II)

  The doctors made their usual round of the ward, and when they came toDaly, the physician who had dressed his bruises the night beforeremarked, "Here's the hero kid." The head doctor looked at him kindly."Well, little man," he said, "the next time you go to a fire, send usword so we can see you perform." They all laughed at this, and Billsmiled. After the examination, the doctor assured him, "Nothing thematter, my boy. You're sound as a dollar, just a little shaken up andbruised; and you'll be out in a few days."

  When Mrs. Daly came in again about four o'clock in the afternoon, shewas over-joyed to hear the good report of her son's condition. She sawnow, however, that he was very serious. Indeed, it had been the mostserious day of his life.

  All day long Bill had been reflecting on what his mother had told him ofFather Boone and of Frank. He had begun to realize that he had somethingto do besides being grateful to them both. There was a du
ty to perform.It had been hard to go to the Club when he intended to tell them aboutthe breakage. And now it seemed ten times harder. How could he do it?After all the goodness shown him, to be obliged to admit that he was athug. The thought had tortured him all the day. It was still racking hismind when his mother came in.

  If only Father Boone would come around, he reflected. It would be easierto make a clean breast of it to him. He would understand. Father Booneseemed to understand everything. He'd see, too, that the Bill who haddone the rough stuff was changed. He'd know without a lot of explaining,how some things hurt more than pain. The thing to do was to tell FatherBoone and let it all rest with him.

  That was Bill's conclusion and his resolve. He did not dare tell hismother. He wondered how much the boys knew. His mother, sittingadmiringly at his side, told him one piece of news which pleased himgreatly. Father Boone had got his father a good job and he had startedin right away. That was why he was not down with her to see him. But hewould be around in the evening. While she was telling this, Billinterrupted her.

  "O mother, see," he whispered, indicating two nuns who were comingtoward them, "and one of them is Sister Mary Thomas."

  They were Sisters from the school which Daly had attended before he wentto work, and they greeted the mother and her boy sympathetically. Aftera bit, Mrs. Daly recalled that her husband returning from work would bewaiting for his dinner, and she hurried away. The Sisters stayed forsome time, giving Bill that comfort which they alone can impart. Beforegoing Sister Mary Thomas placed a crucifix and a pair of beads in hishands. "He suffered for you, William," she said, "and you must alsosuffer for Him--now especially."

  He watched them going out, as he might gaze on departing angels. Thenhis eyes were turned toward the crucifix. "He suffered in mind as wellas body for me," he mused. For Bill was remembering many things now,which he had not recalled since the Sisters had taught them to him inhis school days. Calvary had a meaning for him now--an atonement for sinand a restoration to goodness. "Some job--to tell on myself," he sighed,"but I'll show the Lord that I mean business."

  About seven o'clock in came Frank. Bill was both glad, and not glad, tosee him. Everything Frank did for him only made matters harder for Bill.And yet he wanted that boy near him. Bill recognized the combination ofstrength and goodness in Frank. Indeed, one reason for the fight, hadbeen his envy of Mulvy. But Bill's disposition had undergone a change.After what his mother had told him Frank appeared as a boy of noblermould than the rest.

  Frank began with an offhand, "Well, how goes it, old man?"

  "Fine," answered Bill.

  "You're all right, Bill. Your stock is pretty high now at the Club."

  But Bill was thinking of other things than compliments, and after amoment's silence, Frank decided that the patient was suffering a gooddeal, and that he'd better go.

  "No, don't go yet, Mulvy," Bill begged, "stay with a fellow a littlewhile."

  "Why, you are crying, old man," said Frank, as he looked into his face,"you must be suffering terribly. It takes a lot of pain to make youcry."

  "It's not pain," he whispered. "It's something worse."

  "O, I know, old fellow. You're thinking about your father and mother.But you're not seriously hurt, the nurse told me. Father Boone has beenaround to see your folks, and he has made them feel all right."

  "It's something worse than that," answered Daly. "If I told you, you'dcut me dead, and so would the other fellows."

  "Come now, old chap, you are not yourself. You've nothing to worry over.You're a guy that's got sand."

  This had a reassuring effect on Bill. A doctor or a nurse mightcompliment him, but what do they know? But when a boy tells you you have"sand," that's different!

  Frank was soon relating to him the fall into the net--the first accountDaly had heard of it. Frank went on to tell about the ambulance andFather Boone, and the priest's visit to his parents, and again how thepriest came late at night and went up to see him, his kind words to hismother, and finally his sending her home in the taxi. It all seemed likea movie to Daly.

  For some time he lay perfectly quiet. Then, although it cost him a dealof pain, he reached for Frank's hand and grasped it firmly. Their eyesmet. Bill felt a great yearning to tell Frank everything. He had fullydetermined to tell only Father Boone. Even that would be hard. But nowhe really wanted to tell Frank. It would be such a relief!

  While they were still grasping hands, he began, pausing after eachsentence and speaking with an effort:

  "Mulvy, I'm a cur . . . don't stop me . . . I'm worse . . . Let me go on. . . please . . . I've got to get this off my mind or bust . . . I'mbad, clean through, but from now on, never again . . . You've got a goodhome. . . . You don't know what mine was . . . drunkenness, fights andthe like . . . I've lived in the streets . . . nothing but roughnecks. . . became the worst of the lot . . . My Dad was sent to jail . . . Maand me were in a bad way . . . no money for rent or food . . . SomehowFather Boone turned up . . . helped us out . . . Then he got me a job. . . After that he put me in the Club . . . I didn't fit there . . .You know that . . . Something you don't know . . . I hated the bunchbecause they were decent . . . picked a fight with you . . . You lickedme . . . yes you did . . . I had to clear out . . . But I was yellow anda thug . . . I fought underhand against you all . . . I did the meanestthing out."

  At this point Frank tried to remonstrate with him, but at the same timehe was keenly interested in what was coming.

  "I hated the whole bunch and Father Boone and everybody. So when thecrowd left, I sneaked back and broke a lot of chairs, overturned tables,tore down pictures, threw over the victrola, spilled ink on the floor. Iknew it'd queer the crowd with Father Boone and spoil the McCormacktreat. I got square . . . but . . . well, someone else has got squaretoo. There are different kinds of pain, and my worst now is not myinjuries."

  There was a moment's silence. Frank was too much amazed to say a word.Bill continued: "I'm taking my medicine. If I'm not the right sort therest of my life, I hope to be cut and quartered. Look at Father Booneright afterwards helping my Dad . . . He'n' I had a terrible scrap. We'dhave killed each other only for mother. Then she got Father Boone tocome over. I don't know what he did--but--well, it was all differentwhen I got back. Dad put out his hand to me. We knelt down. Said the'Hail Holy Queen.' Father took the pledge. I felt like a whipped cur,all next day. I saw I'd have to square myself at any cost. That's why Icame to the Club. You know the rest."

  Here he paused, heaved a sigh, and exclaimed, "O God, what a relief."

  Frank's feelings can be imagined. Here was the key to the mystery, andFather Boone justified. Apparently he had known all about the wreck--andit was natural to suppose that it was the work of a crowd. What asurprise to the director to see that damaged room! And worse--noexplanation. It was all clear to Frank now. The fog was lifted. Themissing parts of the picture fitted into place. But what of FatherBoone?

  After a brief silence, which seemed to both a very long while, Frankgave an extra squeeze to Daly's hand and said, "It's all right, Bill,we'll stand together. You can count on me to the limit."

  The look of gratitude in Daly's face told Frank that there was now aspecial bond between them.

  "You have told me so much, old man," he said, "that I suppose you won'tmind if I ask you a few questions?"

  "All you want," replied Daly.

  "Well, first of all, does Father Boone know anything about the affair?"

  "Not as far as I know. I was intending to tell him that night of thefire, but you saw how it turned out. First I was going to tell thefellows, and then see Father Boone and squeal on myself to him."

  "Daly--that was a dirty job . . . but it's past and done. You're nolonger yellow. Only one in a million would come back as you're doing.We're chums, Bill Daly, through thick and thin."

  "I like you for that, Mulvy, and I hope you'll never regret it. Here'ssomething," he continued, timidly showing the crucifix in his otherhand. "I've promised Him, never a crooked thing
again,--and a promise toHim means no going back." They joined hands--and hearts. They werecomrades now. With a look which showed that the past was buried, Franktenderly said,

  "How's the pain, old man?"

  "Well, since I've told you so much, I'll tell you a little more. It'ssomething awful. I'm not doing any baby stunts,--but--just the same I'vegot an awful dose. While on the broad of my back, thinking, and in pain,I remembered that martyr boy the Sister told us about, who held theburning coals in his hands, and I said to myself, 'Bill Daly, that kiddidn't have your score, but see what he endured for God.' And that'swhen I promised. I just told Him I deserved it all, I'd take it forpenance, and I promised to cut out the cry-baby stuff."

  "Daly, you're a brick."

  To which Bill rejoined, "And Mulvy, you're all gold--twenty-two carat."

  "You'll get over that, Daly," replied Frank. "I must be going now. Mumis the word. What you've told me, is the same as not said. I'll notbreathe it to a living soul."

  A tempest raged in Frank's soul. His was a magnanimous character, and itpained him to think that circumstances should have framed for FatherBoone, such a strong case against him. The director had placed absoluteconfidence in him. No wonder he showed such indignation. "And wasn't itjust like Father Boone--to turn in a half dozen men and fix things up atonce, and then wait for developments as if nothing had happened!"

  Frank made his way toward the Club. "If I can get hold of the janitor,"he thought, "I can find out all I want to know." He turned off to thestreet where the janitor lived, and soon found his man.

  "Good evening, Mr. Dunn," he began.

  "Good evening, sir."

  In an apparently indifferent manner, Frank led up to his objective. Butold Dunn suspected something right from the start. It is true thatFather Boone had not imposed silence in regard to the mischief at theClub, but the janitor was a sensible and loyal man, and he judged thatif Father Boone wanted anything to be said about the affair, he wouldsay it himself. The indifference that Dunn displayed whenever Franktried to lead up to the point, was amazing. The boy finally gave up theflank attack and tried the front.

  "Mr. Dunn, that was quite a bit of damage we had over there the otherday, wasn't it?"

  "Quite a bit," said Dunn, "but I guess Daly was not hurt as badly as wethought at first."

  "Oh, I don't refer to the fire, but to the Club," observed Frank.

  "There was no fire at the Club, as far as I know," remarked Dunn.

  "No, but there was a whole lot of breakage over there, and you know allabout it. Now, how in the name of Sam Hill did they fix things up by thetime we got there in the evening?"

  "Young man, if you want to know anything about the Club, I think you'llfind Father Boone in his office at his usual hours. And now good night!"

  "By gum," muttered Frank, "the old snoozer's no fool. I'll bet if he hadan education, he'd be on top somewhere."

  Meanwhile, Father Boone was in the Club office attending to the littlematters that came up daily. He was poring over a letter which had comein the afternoon mail. It was written on exceptionally fine paper, andwas signed "James Roberts." The director indulged in a moment'sspeculation. "Roberts, Roberts," he reflected. "New name to me. I wonderwhat he wants. I hope it's not a complaint," he sighed, as he turnedback to the first page.

  "Reverend Sir:

  I trust you will pardon my addressing you without knowing your name. I am sending this letter to the head of the Boys' Club, as that is as definite as I can be for the moment. Later, I hope to call on you personally.

  I have just returned from Cuba and found my family in the Hotel Plaza instead of at their home, where I left them. They have informed me of what you already know better than myself. It was my house that was on fire, and my wife and daughter attribute the saving of their lives to a boy of your Club, who hitched up the detached ladder, and in doing so, met with such a dreadful accident.

  I've been home for only an hour, but my first duty, I consider, is to convey to you my gratitude and to inquire what I can do for the boy. If you will let me know where he is, I shall have a trained nurse sent to care for him, and I shall consider it my privilege to do anything else that is possible.

  I await your reply.

  Gratefully, James D. Roberts."

  Father Boone never allowed his correspondence to accumulate. Everyevening saw his desk cleared. No letter that called for a reply was leftover for the next day, if he could possibly help it. He answered thisletter even before he read the rest which were on the table before him.

  "My dear Mr. Roberts:

  I want to thank you for your letter. The boy is out of danger, and is getting the best of care at the Lawrence Hospital. I shall let him know of your kind inquiry, and of your wish to be of assistance to him.

  With kindest regards,

  Sincerely, Jerome Boone, S.J."

  "A good man to interest in Willie's family," he reflected, as headdressed the letter.

  Father Boone was always planning how he could help people. Every time hemade the acquaintance of anyone in a position of authority or influence,he seized the opportunity to remark:

  "If you ever need a good bright boy, let me know, and I shall send youone with whom you will be satisfied."

  In this way, he got many a boy placed in a good position. Often, too, hegot jobs for their fathers. He was always so careful to recommend onlythe right sort, that a word from Father Boone was the bestrecommendation a man or boy could have in getting work.

  Just as he finished his letter to Mr. Roberts, he heard a knock at hisdoor, and a moment later, a bright little chap of about thirteenpresented himself.

  "Good evening, Vincent," said the priest. "What can I do for you?"

  "Please, Father," began the lad, "my father is home from work threeweeks now with rheumatism, and mother says would you give me a line tosome place downtown to get a job?"

  "Well, my little man, have you got your working papers?"

  "Yes, Father, my mother went with me to the City Hall this morning andgot them."

  "It's too bad, Vinc., that a bright boy like you must give up school sosoon. But I suppose your mother wouldn't do this unless she had to. I'llget you a place, and then we must see about your keeping up your studiesat night school." He wrote a line or two, and addressing the envelope,gave it to the boy.

  "Now, Vincent, I am sorry to do this, but you just make the best of it.I'm sending you to a very nice place with a good chance for advancement.The pay is not much, but you're only thirteen, and it's a fine start.Now that you are starting out, mark well what I say: Make yourself souseful that when there is a vacancy higher up, you will be the first boythey'll think about. And what you do, do pleasantly. Good-bye and Godbless you. And," he added, as Vincent was going out the door, "let meknow from time to time how you are doing."

  The boy had gone but a few steps when, with a jerk, he wheeled round andreturned. "O Father, excuse me," he faltered, "I forgot to thank you."

  "That's all right," said the priest. "The best way to thank me will beto let me hear a good report of you."

  The priest's next thought was, "I must run down to the hospital, and seeWillie. But he does not worry me so much just now as Frank does. I can'tmake out his conduct in regard to this Club mix-up. He is certainly anhonorable boy and most considerate, and yet he has left me in the darkall this time. He knows that 'committees' are not my way of doingbusiness. After last night, I'd like to drop the whole matter. But it isnot an affair of sentiment. I must see it through for his sake, and forthe sake of the rest also. If nothing develops before tomorrow night,I'll take the initiative myself. I hate that,
and I'd much rather they'ddo the right thing of their own accord. But,--" he shut down his desk,put on his hat and coat, and started for the hospital.

  Frank, at the same time, was on his way from Dunn's to the Club. Oncemore he was going straight to the director,--to tell him now, that theremust be a misunderstanding, and that he was sorry to see him grieved.He saw the director's point of view--of course he couldn't explain--butperhaps Father Boone would understand that he wasn't really slipping sobadly.

  He was walking pretty fast, with his head down, his chin buried in hiscoat collar, and his hands deep in his pockets. Buried in his thoughts,he did not see Father Boone approaching on his way to the hospital. Thepriest was almost on top of him before he was aware of his presence.Looking up suddenly he tipped his hat and stammered--"Good evening,Father."

  "Good evening, sir," answered the priest and hurried on.

  Frank stopped. He was dumfounded. "Good evening, _sir_! _Sir_, is it? Soit's '_sir_' now? Good evening, _sir_." He kept on repeating the phrase,indignation following his astonishment. He knew where the priest wasgoing, and realized that the interview with him could not be held thatevening. Another day of torture stood before him. He was about to givefree rein to his feeling of injustice when he recollected again that thepriest with the data he possessed was perfectly right in his attitude.So, instead of going to the Club, he turned aside and went into thechurch. It was always open from five in the morning until ten at night.Going up to the altar of the Sacred Heart, he knelt down and prayed.

  Long and earnestly he poured out his soul to God, ending with the words,"Accept, O Sacred Heart of Jesus, my sad heart as a sacrifice and blessmy father and mother and Bill Daly and Father Boone."

  So saying, he arose light-hearted and made his way into the street. Heactually began to whistle, and when a boy whistles, he is all right withthe world. He did not mind now how misunderstood he might be. It was nolonger a load of lead that weighed him down. Rather, his sorrow hadturned to gold. It was something that God esteemed. He had been able togive God something acceptable to Him, because it had cost him a gooddeal. That made him happy.

  Father Boone was on his way to the hospital when he had met Frank soabruptly. For an instant he too had held his breath. Then as he hurriedon, he could not but wonder whether Frank's chin in collar, hands deepin pockets attitude, had meant that he was trying to slink past.Certainly his greeting had been sudden and disturbed. "Well," declaredthe priest to himself, "I'll settle this whole thing tomorrow. It's goneon long enough."

  Father Boone entered the hospital and ascending the stairway leading tothe office, found himself before the Bureau of Information.

  "How is that little fire hero?" he asked of the clerk.

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

  "O, don't mind, I am going right up. I just asked because I thought youhad 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_, doctorsvisiting." He knew that this did not apply to him, as he was allowedentrance any hour of the day or night. Still, as it was not an urgentcase, he decided to wait until the doctors came out. The nurse at thedesk 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 hegetting along?"

  "You mean that Daly boy?"

  He nodded assent.

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

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

  As Father Boone was getting ready to reply, the doctors passed into thenext ward.

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

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

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

  "My boy, I want to congratulate you. Not on your ladder stunt, anyonecould do that, and not fall off, either; but on your fortitude here.True, there are no bones broken or anything like that, but you've had alot 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 tellFather Boone everything. But after this praise from the priest, he couldno more touch on the affair than fly. Two or three times he made anattempt to begin, but the words stuck in his throat. They talked on alot of things, but after that first allusion to the Club, there did notseem to be another opening for Bill. At last, however, he made one greateffort.

  "Father," he cried out, "there is something on my mind, I must let itout! 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 anoverwrought condition, which must not be made worse, took him quietly bythe hand, patted his head and said, "Now that's all right, Willie. Don'ttake things to heart so much; we'll have a good talk when you areyourself again." He saw Bill look steadily into his eyes and swallowonce or twice, but he did not understand that the words of an accusationwere sticking in the boy's throat and blocking his speech. So thinkingthat the lad had need of rest and quiet, he spoke a few kindly words andwithdrew.

  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 bedsidewithout suggesting confession, if the patient were at all seriously ill.Even if the illness were slight, he frequently took occasion of it toreconcile the sick person with God, and to bring into the soul thatcomfort which goes so far to restore health to the body, besidesbringing solace and healing to the mind. But as director of the Club, hefelt a special delicacy in suggesting confession to one of his boys, andsince, just now, Bill had seemed bordering on hysteria, the priestbelieved that a little reassurance was the proper thing.

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

  Daly, meanwhile, had quieted down somewhat. But reflections came thickand fast. "Father Boone congratulated me, did he? If he only knew whathe 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 bycounting sheep going through a gate. One, two, three--he got up to ahundred, and there before his eyes was a big black sheep stuck in thegate. "That's me," he uttered, and stopped the count. Then he triedgoing up a very high stairs, counting the steps one by one. At last hegot to the top and looking about he saw a room, in disorder. Brokenchairs, upset tables, pictures on the floor, and a
boy spilling ink."That's me," he sighed. Then he rehearsed all that his mother and Frankhad told him of Father Boone's kindness. He saw the ambulance rushingalong and the priest watching tenderly over an unconscious form. "That'sme," he thought to himself.

  He began to feel very thirsty. "I wish I had a drink," he sighed. Anhour passed, two, three. He heard the clock strike twelve. A nurse waspassing. He called to her and asked her for a drink of water. She drewnear to him, observed his dry hot face and glistening eyes. His tonguewas parched and thick. She felt his pulse. Then she took out athermometer and put it in his mouth. He submitted patiently to it all,but when the thermometer was withdrawn, he said beseechingly, "Pleasegive me a drink."

  The nurse assured him that she would attend to him and left his side.Going to her desk in the corridor, she called the house surgeon. "Ithink, doctor," she told him over the phone, "you'd better come up. ThatDaly boy has quite a temperature." The doctor was soon in consultationwith her, and together they went to the patient. After a carefulinspection, they withdrew.

  "Typhoid," exclaimed the doctor.

  "I was afraid so," she replied.