e 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?

After a brief silence, which seemed to both a very long while, Frank
gave an extra squeeze to Daly's hand and said, "It's all right, Bill,
we'll stand together. You can count on me to the limit."

The look of gratitude in Daly's face told Frank that there was now a
special bond between them.

"You have told me so much, old man," he said, "that I suppose you won't
mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"All you want," replied Daly.

"Well, first of all, does Father Boone know anything about the affair?"

"Not as far as I know. I was intending to tell him that night of the
fire, but you saw how it turned out. First I was going to tell the
fellows, and then see Father Boone and squeal on myself to him."

"Daly--that was a dirty job . . . but it's past and done. You're no
longer yellow. Only