If Frank had been "just any boy," the experience of the recess hour would not have caused him such exquisite anguish. But a boy of high honor resents with all his soul the insinuation that he appears one thing, while in reality he is another. "But why," he reflected, almost aloud, "why should I carry a load that is not mine? I did not ask Daly's confidence. Why should I suffer for it?" He knew the answer, at once. Honor demanded it, and honor's price at times comes high. That is what makes its value. But the thing kept coming back. It would not let him alone. When apparently settled, it came again in a new form.
"Daly is gone," he reflected. "He hasn't got to face a crowd and bear their jeers and insults. I kept this secret as long as it could possibly hurt him any. Now, what's the harm in clearing myself?"
This thought clung to him like a wet garment. It looked right, but his fine sense of honor detected the wrong that lurked in it.
"Yes," he said, "Daly is gone, but his father and mother are here. What a blow it would be to them!"
But back again came the temptation, were his own father and mother not to be considered also? Did he not owe more to them than to Bill Daly's parents? And so he went on, balancing duty with duty. Yes, it certainly was right for him to clear himself. This conclusion, however, did not satisfy him either.
"Two things are against it," he mused. "First, any crook can accuse the silent dead. I am free of guilt, but I must not establish my innocence by making the dead guilty. Moreover, who would believe me? They'd all say that a fellow mean enough to wreck a club room, would be mean enough to lie. It wouldn't do me any good to speak out.
"And then—Bill Daly's death made a profound impression on everybody. Father Boone's sermon at the funeral was as good as a mission. All that would be undone if I let out on Daly. I can live this thing down, he can't. Should I, even because of the pain of this thing to myself and my father and mother, break up all that? No. Not even if I was sure it would help my case. I know I am right with God. That counts most. If I am doing something for Him, I must do it right. No whining, nor complaining, nor getting amazed that I am ill-treated. All that goes with the sacrifice."
He entered the church and went to the altar of the Sacred Heart. "O my God, for the love of Thee, I do this. I offer Thee a bleeding heart. It costs me much, but I am glad to give Thee what does cost so much. And, my dear Lord, grant me the grace to give cheerfully what I give. Amen."
He arose and went out, strong and buoyant, like the martyrs who went to the lions rejoicing. "A soldier fights for the flag," he thought, "and does so with enthusiasm, although he may meet with wounds, capture and death. I must fight under the standard of the Cross, and be a brave soldier of Christ, a Knight of the Cross."
There was no school that afternoon and so he took his time getting home. On his way, he was met by Mrs. Joyce, mother of one of the Club members.