A Boy Knight

by Martin J. Scott

"Good gracious, my dear woman," he exclaimed, "this is no place for you at this hour. And you, Frank? I must say I am glad to see you here, but we must all go home now. Wait for me a minute. I'll just run upstairs and see William." As a priest, he had access to the wards at any hour of the day or night. It occurred to him that the patient might be conscious by that time, and he decided to see him and hear his confession if possible. He was conducted to Daly's bed, and saw that he was sleeping soundly. He knew that sleep was the best medicine; so he left the patient, after giving him his blessing.

"He is sleeping like a baby, Mrs. Daly," was the way he saluted the mother, as he drew near. Then, waiting for neither yes nor no, he took it for granted that they were all going home. Under his dominant and kindly manner, Mrs. Daly was like a child. Father Boone called a cab and gave the driver the order to take both Mrs. Daly and Frank to their homes. He put a bill in Frank's hand to pay the fares, and without waiting for thanks or protestations, closed the taxi door, and walked briskly homeward.

Father Boone felt, after the crowded events and impressions of the day, that he needed the walk back to the rectory to clear his head. "I was right," he declared to himself, "Mulvy is all gold. The consideration of that boy! I've gone wrong somewhere! Frank's too tender-hearted to cause me pain, deliberately, and he is too brave to shirk responsibility—to fail in the discharge of his duty. Deductions do not avail against known characteristics. A boy of Mulvy's character doesn't do a cowardly thing. I know that—evidence or no evidence. And yet—that plagued mystery keeps staring me in the face! If they had told me they'd had a free-for-all! I can make allowances. I know boys. Here it's nearly a week, and not one word in regard to the affair. And they know I am all cut up over it.

"What's up anyway? Why didn't I send for Mulvy after the first day and demand a report or explanation? Pride, I suppose; hurt, at their lack of confidence in me. Well, the only thing is to get down from my high horse now. I've got to begin with myself.

"And yet," his thoughts swung around, "I don't know as it is pride exactly. There's the fitness of things—just indignation. Our Lord himself had to show it to the Scribes and Pharisees. I want those boys to know they're not acting right. That's my real motive." He sighed deeply. "Here I am again between post and pillar. I don't know what to do. I want to take the stand that will be of true benefit to the boys, not merely now but later."

So reflecting, he reached the rectory. A few minutes later, the light in his room was out and he had finished a busy and painful day.

Meanwhile, Frank saw Mrs. Daly home, and in a little while he was dismissing the chauffeur at his own door. Quickly he ran up the steps of his apartment house and in a moment had climbed the three flights of stairs. Everybody was in bed but his mother. Her first words were, "O my boy, what has happened to you? I was alarmed at your staying out so late."

Frank felt he should at least give some account of himself at once. In the most matter of fact way, he narrated the evening's events. But his mother discerned his generous heart beneath his words, and she was proud of him—so brave and so tender. And especially was she glad that Father Boone had found Frank at the hospital with Mrs. Daly. She knew how that would affect the misunderstanding, and she was more than satisfied with the turn of affairs when Frank finished his recital by saying, "I tell you, mother, Father Boone is a brick." Then, as he feared that this did not convey a great deal of meaning to her, he added, "He is 'some' man."

"And somebody is 'some' boy," echoed his mother, kissing him good-night.

Frank went to his room, said his prayers and jumped into bed. "I'll sleep until noon," he muttered, as he got under the covers. He closed his eyes, but although he was dead tired, he could not sleep. Indeed, it seemed he was more wide awake than at midday. The clock struck twelve, and still his mind was all activity.