Daly was angry with himself, with Mulvy, with the Club, even with Father Boone. He was desperate. Instead of going home, he waited around the corner. He was boiling with resentment. He must do something to square things. After thinking awhile he decided to try to "queer" the crowd with Father Boone and break off the McCormack treat. But how was he to do it? If he could only bring some discredit on the Club, it would hurt the fellows as well as Father Boone. That was it. He acted quickly on the thought. Going back, he waited on the opposite side of the street, in the shadows, until the last light in the Club was out. He knew a way of getting into the building by a basement window, but when he tried it, he found that it was locked. Fearing that someone might still be within, he withdrew to the opposite side of the street again and waited a half hour. When he was certain that there was nobody in the Club, he crossed over and tried one window after another. All were locked. He turned to the door under the front steps. It was bolted, as usual. Looking up to the story above, he saw a window slightly opened. But it was too high for him to reach. Just then, a policeman came along. Bill heard his steps and concealed himself in the areaway. He began to reflect that he was taking a risk. "Suppose the cop caught me," he said to himself. But his resentment was greater than his caution, and so he kept at his design.
He figured that by a long reach from the railing of the steps to the window sill, he might get a hold and enter. Up he leaped to the railing, and by a supreme effort, clinched the window sill and swung over. It took him but a minute to open the window and enter. Once in, he went straight to the room where the fight had occurred. He threw everything about in disorder, broke several chairs, threw down two large pictures from the wall, overturned the victrola and records and made the place look like the scene of a mob fight. He then went upstairs to the library, threw the books around, damaged some, overturned a desk, upset a table and spilled ink on the floor. "I guess that's enough for one round," he said, and cautiously went to the window and got out unobserved.
Next morning when the janitor came to set things in order, he scarcely believed his eyes as he looked upon the wreckage before him. He straightway went to Father Boone.
"Impossible, my good man!" the director exclaimed. "You must be mistaken."
"Perhaps I am," he replied, "and you may be mistaken too when you see it."
The janitor was so agitated and vehement that the priest went over to the Club rooms to see for himself. There it was. Worse, in fact, than the janitor had described. What did it mean? His boys! St. Leonard's Boys' Club! With the instinct which was part of his nature, he divined at once that this was an enemy act. Who the enemy was, what his motive, he could not say. But his instinct told him it was not his boys. He told the janitor to put everything in order. He sent for the carpenter to mend the chairs and tables and hang the pictures. He himself got some acid and removed the inkstains from the floor. The Club was never occupied except evenings, and by the time it was open, everything was in ship-shape.
(III)
That night as the boys came in, in twos and threes, they talked over the fight, and what they were to do in regard to Daly. Of course not one of them suspected that anything had occurred after they left. When Frank came in, they gave him a cheer. He was now the official and popular head of the crowd. He had won his leadership last night by the means most admired by boys, courage and generosity, and he took his honors modestly.
After talking on various phases of the fight, the crowd turned to Frank, who as yet had said nothing.
"What's the matter, old man? Why are you so glum?"