A Boy Knight

by Martin J. Scott

"I hope it comes before it's too late," she sighed. "He has all of us nearly as bad as himself with his ways. He drinks his money and leaves nothing for the home, but what Willie brings in. God bless you, Father, for the job you got Willie. It is the only steady money that comes in."

"How is William?" asked the priest. "I've missed him from the Club the last few days, so I have just dropped in to see how he is; I hope he is a good boy."

"Oh, Willie is a good enough boy, he might be worse," answered Bill's mother. "His father sets him no good example, and the poor boy has to put up with a lot of abuse. The wonder is that he is any good at all."

She wiped her face with her apron, and sat down on the edge of a chair. She was evidently in a mood to talk. The kindliness of the priest seemed to invite her confidence, for she began:

"Mike was a good man before the drink got him. We had our nice little home and his wages came in as regular as Saturday night. We went to church together every Sunday morning and God was good to us. But when Willie was about six years old, his father got a job over at King's automobile place. He was ambitious and started in and learned how to drive a taxi. He was out day and night. His money came in fast, and he was good to me and Willie.

"At first, everything went all right, and I thanked God. But soon, he began to leave off Church on Sunday from time to time. After a while, he dropped it entirely. Then he got in with a bad set. It was not long before he came home under the influence. I cried before him and begged him to let the liquor alone. He did for a while, but he began again and kept it up. Then he lost his job. He got another easy enough but he kept at the drink. And then he began to hold back his money. And it wasn't everyday that we had something in the house to eat. I had to sell things from the house to buy food. If I didn't, he would come home drunk and start a fight. And when there was nothing more to sell he began to beat me. If Willie cried, he beat him. The poor boy was often black and blue. Things went on from bad to worse. I had to have him arrested, although it broke my heart. It was a disgrace to us all. Willie was ashamed to go out and play with the other boys. One day as he was going along the street, two boys yelled at him and called his father bad names. Willie liked his dad, even if he was in jail, because he knew what a good father he was once.

"When the boys yelled at Willie, he got afraid and ran. But they ran after him. I suppose if he stood, they wouldn't have chased him. They caught him and beat him. He tried to get away and then he struck out. You see, Father, Willie was a big boy for his age, and very strong. He takes after me. But he never knew his strength. Well, this time he just struck out. He knocked one of the boys down, gave another a fine black eye, and both of them took to their heels. It soon got around that my Willie was a terror. All the boys got afraid of him. He had his own way after that in every gang, and he got into a lot of scrapes, but he was always good to his mother.

"When his father got out of jail, he was surprised to see the difference in Willie. Well, to make a long story short, the father has been drinking ever since, and that's nearly eight years ago, and my heart is broken. If it were not for little Willie, I don't know what I'd do."

The priest was a good listener. Although this was but another of the many similar stories which he had heard, there was something pathetic in the mother's pride, and in her love of Willie.

The home explained itself now. Poor woman. Discouraged and without sufficient means, she had drifted and the home had drifted with her, and Willie too.