A Boy Knight Part 11

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 the street 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. But old Dunn suspected something right from the start. It is true that Father Boone had not imposed silence in regard to the mischief at the Club, but the janitor was a sensible and loyal man, and he judged that if Father Boone wanted anything to be said about the affair, he would say it himself. The indifference that Dunn displayed whenever Frank tried to lead up to the point, was amazing. The boy finally gave up the flank attack and tried the front.

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

"Quite a bit," said Dunn, "but I guess Daly was not hurt as badly as we thought 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 all about it. Now, how in the name of Sam Hill did they fix things up by the time we got there in the evening?"

"Young man, if you want to know anything about the Club, I think you'll find 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 had an education, he'd be on top somewhere."

Meanwhile, Father Boone was in the Club office attending to the little matters that came up daily. He was poring over a letter which had come in the afternoon mail. It was written on exceptionally fine paper, and was signed "James Roberts." The director indulged in a moment's speculation. "Roberts, Roberts," he reflected. "New name to me. I wonder what he wants. I hope it's not a complaint," he sighed, as he turned back 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 grat.i.tude 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 acc.u.mulate. Every evening saw his desk cleared. No letter that called for a reply was left over for the next day, if he could possibly help it. He answered this letter 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 a.s.sistance to him.

With kindest regards,

Sincerely, Jerome Boone, S.J."

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

Father Boone was always planning how he could help people. Every time he made 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 you one with whom you will be satisfied."

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

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

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

"Please, Father," began the lad, "my father is home from work three weeks now with rheumatism, and mother says would you give me a line to some 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 and got them."

"It's too bad, Vinc., that a bright boy like you must give up school so soon. But I suppose your mother wouldn't do this unless she had to. I'll get you a place, and then we must see about your keeping up your studies at 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 so useful that when there is a vacancy higher up, you will be the first boy they'll think about. And what you do, do pleasantly. Good-bye and G.o.d bless you. And," he added, as Vincent was going out the door, "let me know from time to time how you are doing."

The boy had gone but a few steps when, with a jerk, he wheeled round and returned. "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 be to let me hear a good report of you."

The priest's next thought was, "I must run down to the hospital, and see Willie. But he does not worry me so much just now as Frank does. I can't make out his conduct in regard to this Club mix-up. He is certainly an honorable boy and most considerate, and yet he has left me in the dark all this time. He knows that 'committees' are not my way of doing business. After last night, I'd like to drop the whole matter. But it is not an affair of sentiment. I must see it through for his sake, and for the 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'd do 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. Once more he was going straight to the director,--to tell him now, that there must 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--but perhaps Father Boone would understand that he wasn't really slipping so badly.

He was walking pretty fast, with his head down, his chin buried in his coat 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. The priest 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? So it's '_sir_' now? Good evening, _sir_." He kept on repeating the phrase, indignation following his astonishment. He knew where the priest was going, and realized that the interview with him could not be held that evening. Another day of torture stood before him. He was about to give free rein to his feeling of injustice when he recollected again that the priest with the data he possessed was perfectly right in his att.i.tude.

So, instead of going to the Club, he turned aside and went into the church. 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 G.o.d, ending with the words, "Accept, O Sacred Heart of Jesus, my sad heart as a sacrifice and bless my father and mother and Bill Daly and Father Boone."

So saying, he arose light-hearted and made his way into the street. He actually began to whistle, and when a boy whistles, he is all right with the world. He did not mind now how misunderstood he might be. It was no longer a load of lead that weighed him down. Rather, his sorrow had turned to gold. It was something that G.o.d esteemed. He had been able to give G.o.d something acceptable to Him, because it had cost him a good deal. That made him happy.

Father Boone was on his way to the hospital when he had met Frank so abruptly. For an instant he too had held his breath. Then as he hurried on, he could not but wonder whether Frank's chin in collar, hands deep in pockets att.i.tude, had meant that he was trying to slink past.

Certainly his greeting had been sudden and disturbed. "Well," declared the priest to himself, "I'll settle this whole thing tomorrow. It's gone on long enough."

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

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