Poor Bill! All day long he had been fortifying his resolution to tell Father Boone everything. But after this praise from the priest, he could no more touch on the affair than fly. Two or three times he made an attempt to begin, but the words stuck in his throat. They talked on a lot of things, but after that first allusion to the Club, there did not seem to be another opening for Bill. At last, however, he made one great effort.
"Father," he cried out, "there is something on my mind, I must let it out! It's got me all on fire inside. I'll burn up unless I out with it."
Father Boone could see his excitement and knowing that the boy was in an overwrought condition, which must not be made worse, took him quietly by the hand, patted his head and said, "Now that's all right, Willie. Don't take things to heart so much; we'll have a good talk when you are yourself again." He saw Bill look steadily into his eyes and swallow once or twice, but he did not understand that the words of an accusation were sticking in the boy's throat and blocking his speech. So thinking that the lad had need of rest and quiet, he spoke a few kindly words and withdrew.
Daly felt like calling after him, but before he could make up his mind, Father Boone had gone. Usually, the priest did not leave a bedside without suggesting confession, if the patient were at all seriously ill. Even if the illness were slight, he frequently took occasion of it to reconcile the sick person with God, and to bring into the soul that comfort which goes so far to restore health to the body, besides bringing solace and healing to the mind. But as director of the Club, he felt a special delicacy in suggesting confession to one of his boys, and since, just now, Bill had seemed bordering on hysteria, the priest believed that a little reassurance was the proper thing.
"The poor boy got a worse shaking up than he is aware of," he thought, "but it will pass off soon. I shall see him tomorrow, and arrange to bring him Holy Communion. The dear Lord will do the rest." So he hastened home.
Daly, meanwhile, had quieted down somewhat. But reflections came thick and fast. "Father Boone congratulated me, did he? If he only knew what he was congratulating! Yes, I'm a brave boy! Couldn't open my mouth. Mulvy would act that way,—not! I wish I had a little of his 'sand.' Gee, next time I've got to get it out—even if it chokes me!"
He turned over and tried to sleep. The lights were low in the ward now, and a great quiet reigned. But sleep would not come. He began by counting sheep going through a gate. One, two, three—he got up to a hundred, and there before his eyes was a big black sheep stuck in the gate. "That's me," he uttered, and stopped the count. Then he tried going up a very high stairs, counting the steps one by one. At last he got to the top and looking about he saw a room, in disorder. Broken chairs, upset tables, pictures on the floor, and a boy spilling ink. "That's me," he sighed. Then he rehearsed all that his mother and Frank had told him of Father Boone's kindness. He saw the ambulance rushing along and the priest watching tenderly over an unconscious form. "That's me," he thought to himself.
He began to feel very thirsty. "I wish I had a drink," he sighed. An hour passed, two, three. He heard the clock strike twelve. A nurse was passing. He called to her and asked her for a drink of water. She drew near to him, observed his dry hot face and glistening eyes. His tongue was parched and thick. She felt his pulse. Then she took out a thermometer and put it in his mouth. He submitted patiently to it all, but when the thermometer was withdrawn, he said beseechingly, "Please give me a drink."
The nurse assured him that she would attend to him and left his side. Going to her desk in the corridor, she called the house surgeon. "I think, doctor," she told him over the phone, "you'd better come up. That Daly boy has quite a temperature." The doctor was soon in consultation with her, and together they went to the patient. After a careful inspection, they withdrew.
"Typhoid," exclaimed the doctor.