"Oh, I don't refer to the fire, but to the Club," observed Frank.
"There was no fire at the Club, as far as I know," remarked Dunn.
"No, but there was a whole lot of breakage over there, and you know all about it. Now, how in the name of Sam Hill did they fix things up by the time we got there in the evening?"
"Young man, if you want to know anything about the Club, I think you'll find Father Boone in his office at his usual hours. And now good night!"
"By gum," muttered Frank, "the old snoozer's no fool. I'll bet if he had an education, he'd be on top somewhere."
Meanwhile, Father Boone was in the Club office attending to the little matters that came up daily. He was poring over a letter which had come in the afternoon mail. It was written on exceptionally fine paper, and was signed "James Roberts." The director indulged in a moment's speculation. "Roberts, Roberts," he reflected. "New name to me. I wonder what he wants. I hope it's not a complaint," he sighed, as he turned back to the first page.
"Reverend Sir:
I trust you will pardon my addressing you without knowing your name. I am sending this letter to the head of the Boys' Club, as that is as definite as I can be for the moment. Later, I hope to call on you personally.
I have just returned from Cuba and found my family in the Hotel Plaza instead of at their home, where I left them. They have informed me of what you already know better than myself. It was my house that was on fire, and my wife and daughter attribute the saving of their lives to a boy of your Club, who hitched up the detached ladder, and in doing so, met with such a dreadful accident.
I've been home for only an hour, but my first duty, I consider, is to convey to you my gratitude and to inquire what I can do for the boy. If you will let me know where he is, I shall have a trained nurse sent to care for him, and I shall consider it my privilege to do anything else that is possible.