A Boy Knight

by Martin J. Scott

This had a reassuring effect on Bill. A doctor or a nurse might compliment him, but what do they know? But when a boy tells you you have "sand," that's different!

Frank was soon relating to him the fall into the net—the first account Daly had heard of it. Frank went on to tell about the ambulance and Father Boone, and the priest's visit to his parents, and again how the priest came late at night and went up to see him, his kind words to his mother, and finally his sending her home in the taxi. It all seemed like a movie to Daly.

For some time he lay perfectly quiet. Then, although it cost him a deal of pain, he reached for Frank's hand and grasped it firmly. Their eyes met. Bill felt a great yearning to tell Frank everything. He had fully determined to tell only Father Boone. Even that would be hard. But now he really wanted to tell Frank. It would be such a relief!

While they were still grasping hands, he began, pausing after each sentence and speaking with an effort:

"Mulvy, I'm a cur . . . don't stop me . . . I'm worse . . . Let me go on . . . please . . . I've got to get this off my mind or bust . . . I'm bad, clean through, but from now on, never again . . . You've got a good home. . . . You don't know what mine was . . . drunkenness, fights and the like . . . I've lived in the streets . . . nothing but roughnecks . . . became the worst of the lot . . . My Dad was sent to jail . . . Ma and me were in a bad way . . . no money for rent or food . . . Somehow Father Boone turned up . . . helped us out . . . Then he got me a job . . . After that he put me in the Club . . . I didn't fit there . . . You know that . . . Something you don't know . . . I hated the bunch because they were decent . . . picked a fight with you . . . You licked me . . . yes you did . . . I had to clear out . . . But I was yellow and a thug . . . I fought underhand against you all . . . I did the meanest thing out."

At this point Frank tried to remonstrate with him, but at the same time he was keenly interested in what was coming.

"I hated the whole bunch and Father Boone and everybody. So when the crowd left, I sneaked back and broke a lot of chairs, overturned tables, tore down pictures, threw over the victrola, spilled ink on the floor. I knew it'd queer the crowd with Father Boone and spoil the McCormack treat. I got square . . . but . . . well, someone else has got square too. There are different kinds of pain, and my worst now is not my injuries."

There was a moment's silence. Frank was too much amazed to say a word. Bill continued: "I'm taking my medicine. If I'm not the right sort the rest of my life, I hope to be cut and quartered. Look at Father Boone right afterwards helping my Dad . . . He'n' I had a terrible scrap. We'd have killed each other only for mother. Then she got Father Boone to come over. I don't know what he did—but—well, it was all different when I got back. Dad put out his hand to me. We knelt down. Said the 'Hail Holy Queen.' Father took the pledge. I felt like a whipped cur, all next day. I saw I'd have to square myself at any cost. That's why I came to the Club. You know the rest."

Here he paused, heaved a sigh, and exclaimed, "O God, what a relief."

Frank's feelings can be imagined. Here was the key to the mystery, and Father Boone justified. Apparently he had known all about the wreck—and it was natural to suppose that it was the work of a crowd. What a surprise to the director to see that damaged room! And worse—no explanation. It was all clear to Frank now. The fog was lifted. The missing parts of the picture fitted into place. But what of Father Boone?