one in a million would come back as you're doing.
We're chums, Bill Daly, through thick and thin."

"I like you for that, Mulvy, and I hope you'll never regret it. Here's
something," he continued, timidly showing the crucifix in his other
hand. "I've promised Him, never a crooked thing again,--and a promise to
Him means no going back." They joined hands--and hearts. They were
comrades now. With a look which showed that the past was buried, Frank
tenderly said,

"How's the pain, old man?"

"Well, since I've told you so much, I'll tell you a little more. It's
something awful. I'm not doing any baby stunts,--but--just the same I've
got an awful dose. While on the broad of my back, thinking, and in pain,
I remembered that martyr boy the Sister told us about, who held the
burning coals in his hands, and I said to myself, 'Bill Daly, that kid
didn't have your score, but see what he endured for God.' And that's
when I promised. I just told Him I deserved it all, I'd take it for
penance, and I promised to cut out the cry-baby stuff."

"Daly, you're a brick."

To which Bill rejoined, "And Mulvy, you're all gold--twenty-two carat."

"You'll get over that, Daly," replied Frank. "I must be going now. Mum
is the word. What you've told me, is the same as not said. I'll not
breathe it to a living soul."

A tempest raged in Frank's soul. His was a magnanimous character, and it
pained him to think that circumstances should have framed for Father
Boone, such a strong case against him. The director had placed absolute
confidence in him. No wonder he showed such indignation. "And wasn't it
just like Father Boone--to turn in a half dozen men and fix things up at
once, and then wait for developments as if nothing had happened!"

Frank made his way toward the Club. "If I can get hold of the janitor,"
he thought, "I can find out all I want to know." He turned off to the
street where the janitor lived, and soon found his man.

"Good evening, Mr. Dunn," he began.

"Good evening, sir."

In an apparently indifferent manner, Frank led up to his objective. But
old Dunn suspected something right from the start. It is true that
Father Boone had not imposed silence in regard to the mischief at the
Club, but the janitor was a sensible and loyal man, and he judged that
if Father Boone wanted anything to be said about the affair, he would
say it himself. The indifference that Dunn displayed whenever Frank
tried to lead up to the point, was am