with the boys
themselves, and in a manner that would be helpful to them, and that
would leave no sting. In his mind, it would be an acknowledgment of
defeat if he had to carry a case into the home. He had never done it
yet.

After his instant of hesitation, and convinced that he knew the subject
of conversation, Frank assumed an indifferent air and stepped forward to
greet the priest. Father Boone continued to talk. Frank waited a moment,
bewildered, and then said, "Good afternoon, Father."

"Good afternoon, _sir_," was the response.

Frank stiffened, every muscle of his body became like steel. He could
not look at his mother. If he did, he might break down and he did not
want to give the director that satisfaction. So he stood facing the
priest.

All three were embarrassed. Mrs. Mulvy knew the significance of that
_sir_. Frank, sure now of his suspicions, made a desperate plunge.

"I am sorry, Father, that you felt obliged to carry this matter to my
mother, but I suppose you know best."

Father Boone literally gasped. For a moment he looked at Mrs. Mulvy,
then he turned back to Frank. Realizing that the matter had come to an
issue, and without his doing, he said, in a deliberate, penetrating
tone,

"Frank Mulvy, do you, or do you not, know anything about that shameful
destruction at the Club?" Already Frank saw his folly. He was in just
the corner he had foreseen. Acknowledgment would mean the betrayal of a
sacred confidence. Every moment of silence was agony to his mother.
Denial he could not make, for he had never in his whole life made a
conscious mis-statement. Silence was fatal. Denial was impossible.
Acknowledgment was betrayal of Bill's confidence. What could he do?

Again the priest said slowly and solemnly: "Do . . . you . . . or . . .
do you . . . not . . . know . . . about that act of destruction?"

"Speak up, Frank," his mother said, imploringly.

At the sound of that voice and the look of that face, he collapsed. His
pent up emotions of the past days burst out in sobs, his body shook
convulsively. Both priest and mother tried to soothe him. That only made
it worse. Father Boone turned away and stood at the window, looking out.
Then with only a quiet and casual good-bye, he took up his hat and left.

Hardly had the door closed behind him when Frank threw his arms about
his mother, and burst into renewed sobs. Mrs. Mulvy was puzzled and
distressed but she had full faith in her boy. She let him