"No . . ." thought he, "that is too much; for such vandalism there should have been an explanation or an apology. And I can't forget that Frank, no matter what his share or his feelings, should have been true enough to his duties to come and tell me. It's not the damage; it's the principle of the thing. What is the use of giving my time to the boys unless I can hold them up to certain standards? This is a social club under a priest's direction, and it should stand for what is best in the formation of character.
"Too much harm is done young fellows by giving in to sentiment. They may resent my attitude now, but they will thank me for it later. If I take a firm stand, it will be a lesson to them for life. They will realize that the right way is the best way. They must be shown that although honor is not necessarily sanctity, it is, nevertheless, a very close attendant on it. Some boys think that if they don't break one of the Commandments, they are all right. They fail to see that the Commandments, although they must be absolutely kept, are only the big mile posts on the way of life. A boy may easily lose his way unless he cultivates the home virtues and the social virtues.
"That's what this club is for, to make the boys better sons and brothers and later on, better citizens. Anything that is mean must be shunned. A mean act, a mean fellow, must not be tolerated. If a boy is mean or indecent, and he can't be set right, he must go. It may hurt him and his prospects, but that is better than to hurt a crowd and their prospects. A disgraceful affair has happened in the Club, followed by dishonorable conduct. I'll see it through." And, hitting the table with his fist, he exclaimed, "I'll see it through."
(II)
Meanwhile, Frank had got home, and as he would not have much time tomorrow, he decided on writing his note to Father Boone before going to bed. The rest of the family were out, except his mother. He sat down at his study desk and took up his task. He did not know how to begin. If he could only get a start, the matter would be easy. But that start would not come. Finally he buried his head in his hands, half thinking, half discouraged.
"Why," he thought, "should I do any writing at all? I've been 'on the square.' I have no apology to make. It seems that the harder a fellow tries to be square, the harder he gets hit. There's 'Bull,' the cause of all this row. He's a regular thug. Yet he gets off easy. No worry, no hurt feelings, no penalty. And here I am, fretting and stewing, and I haven't done a thing I can put my hand on. Father Boone's treated me like a dog. I don't deserve that from him. He's done a lot for me, of course, but that doesn't give him the right to jump on me." Springing up, he brought his fist down on the table with a bang, and said aloud, "I'll not stand for it—from Father Boone or anybody else."
He looked up in defiance only to see his mother standing before him. Good mother that she was, she took in the situation at once. She did not say anything, but sat down alongside him, and took his hand in her own. When he had calmed down a bit, she said, "Won't you let mother help you, dear? You know we always make a good team."
Frank did not reply. He turned his face away. He was deeply agitated. His mother knew his tenderness and his strong will. She knew there was a tempest raging in his soul, and her heart ached for him. She put her arm about him and pressed him a little closer.
Presently he gasped in choked and vehement words: "I have . . . always . . . tried to do . . . my best . . . and this . . . is . . . the result." Again his mother felt the convulsive trembling through his body. But under her tactful sympathy this paroxysm soon passed off and with considerable calm he gave her the outlines of his trouble.
Mrs. Mulvy not only knew her boy, but she knew Father Boone as well. Her heart told her there was a misunderstanding, and a big one at that.