A Boy Knight

by Martin J. Scott

There it was again—in plain words. What really worried every boy in the Club was the fact that somehow, they had disappointed Father Boone. Every fellow there owed him something for special favors in addition to all he had done for the crowd as a whole. And every fellow knew that the very best way to pay Father Boone back, was to be the kind of boy that the director wanted him to be.

What was to be done? Everybody was too devoted to Father Boone to deliberately ignore one of his very strongest principles—"the tell-tale is not a man of honour"—and of all the crowd only two had a right to speak, because only two had actually taken part in the fight. Frank had tried to see Father Boone, without success thus far—and Bill evidently was steering clear of the affair.

Even then, why should a scrap cause the director such great worry—they thought—unless he was angry because it had happened right after what he had said about Bill, and had resulted in his leaving the Club. As for Frank—well, every boy knew that he would do the same himself under the circumstances.

As for Father Boone, the more he thought of the whole affair, the more he was sure of his first decision. It was a free fight in which most of the boys had had some part; only Frank deserved special censure because he had failed in his official capacity. By now the director was beginning to be concerned about Daly who had not appeared at the Club since the disorder. He did not want the boy to get away from his influence and so decided to call at his home.

While the boys were discussing the advisability of sending a committee to the director, he was on his way to Daly's house. When he got there, he was met at the door by Mrs. Daly. She was a large slovenly woman. The home was like herself. It was on the top floor of a side street tenement. A dark and crooked stairs led up to it. Father Boone reflected that some people were like that stairway, and when he reached the top floor and saw before him Bill Daly's mother, he thought that poor Bill was to be pitied more than anything else. "I must hold on to that boy if possible," he mused. "After all, it's not they who are well who need the physician, but they who are ill."

Mrs. Daly conducted him into a dirty room. He was asked to please pass through to the parlor. Groping his way through two dark bed-rooms, with no light or ventilation except from a small window opening upon a shaft, he came to the parlor. Apparently, it was more of a clothes room than anything else. On the couch, which was a bed at night, on the table, and on the chairs were articles of wearing apparel. Father Boone had to remove an armful of assorted garments from a chair to get a seat. His hostess was not at all concerned. It was her normal surroundings.

Mrs. Daly was glad to see the priest. Her heart was good and her religion meant something to her in spite of everything. But she was dragged down by conditions, like many another. Some natures are superior to environment. Her's was not.

"And how is Mr. Daly?" began the priest.

"Drinking as usual," she replied.

"Well, that's a great cross," he continued, "but I hope a turn for the better will come, some time."