“Yes, I know you are taking a deep interest in the work at our local Y. M. C. A.,” the older gentleman went on to say, still gripping Harry’s hand warmly in his. “It was largely through the benevolence of your good father that we were able to hire that building, and establish a home for our many young men, where they could be kept off the street nights, and enjoy themselves in clean sport.”
The boys and young men in Cliffwood had no better friend in all that region than the Rev. Thomas Holwell. It had been largely through his hearty labors that the idea of having a local Y. M. C. A. finally assumed definite shape, and leading men of the town had subscribed enough money to put the project through.
“I fancy the younger element in town must have been pretty busy last night,” Harry remarked, partly to change the subject, for he was very modest, and never liked to hear his own praises sung, even by the minister whom he loved so well.
“Oh! as to that,” the older gentleman observed, “we always expect something along the line of innocent pranks to happen on that one boys’ night of the year. Wise people take in their doormats and clothes-poles. Some I know even make it a point to hide all gates that are removable, ash barrels, and such things. We mustn’t forget that we were boys ourselves once upon a time.”
Harry laughed as though some memories connected with sundry doings along those same lines haunted him.
“They seem to be getting bolder every year, I’m afraid,” he continued. “I was out for a tramp as a sort of bracer, after daylight this morning, and wondered what on earth old Farmer Hasty could be doing up on the roof of his big barn. It seems some boys had taken one of his wagons all apart, and fastened the wheels along the ridge-pole. He was pretty mad about it too.”
Mr. Holwell sighed and shook his head.
“Some of those boys are getting to be pretty wild, I’m afraid, Harry,” he went on to remark, reflectively. “They pursue their desire for fun too far. I’ve been doing more or less hard thinking lately about them, and mean to have a serious talk with you soon, to see if something can be done to lead that love for a frolic in the right channel.”
“Here comes Mr. Nocker, and looking more severe than I ever knew him to be,” remarked Harry Bartlett. “I wonder if any of the boys have been playing practical jokes on the deacon. I can remember doing that same thing, and once got a good drenching in the bargain from a bucket of water at his hands.”
“Good morning, Deacon Nocker,” said Mr. Holwell, as the richest storekeeper in Cliffwood reached them. “Harry here was saying you looked worried this fine morning. I hope you have not had anything more happen to trouble you?”