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?"

"O, nothing," answered Frank.

They went about their evening's amusements, some to play billiards, some
to read, and some to hear the victrola, but they generally returned to
talk over the events of the previous evening. Frank sat silent and
moody. Soon Dick Brian came up to him. Dick was what you wou