reason for staying away?" asked the priest. There was
silence for a moment.

"He is fishing," thought Bill.

Father Boone looked him steadily in the eye and repeated, "I asked you,
Willie, if there was any reason for your staying away?"

"Better ask Mulvy," Bill replied, with a grin.

Father Boone's heart sank. He wanted to clear Frank--and everybody
else--but here was the secretary's name again. Bill's answer and his
manner both implied that Frank was in the affair deeper than the
director had even suspected.

"I hope," he said aloud, "I shall not be disappointed in you, William.
No matter what has happened, I want you to continue in the Club." With
that he took his departure. But as he left the house he reflected that
if William Daly ever got away from his influence, he might go down hill
fast. There was one thing that gave him hope, and that was the boy's
love for his mother. He knew that a boy who was so fond of his mother
had something to work on.

(VII)

Down the dark and crooked stairs Father Boone made his way. When he got
to the street floor and opened the door and took in the clear sunlight,
he thought, "Will this dark passage of mind in which I find myself
terminate in a clear understanding?" While going along he reflected that
so far every step had only led into darker ways. He had tried to
convince himself that Frank was not cognizant of the mischief. He could
not understand how such a boy would fail him. He felt as mean for
himself as he did for Frank. To be so utterly deceived in a boy! Frank
should have reported it, even though he had no part in it. Decision and
consequences should be left to the director of the Club.

When Frank had taken office, it was made clear to him that the
secretary as an officer was obliged to keep the director informed
concerning matters of importance. This wreckage was a matter of the
greatest importance. It had taken him a whole day to restore the place
and had cost him no small sum of money. Besides, it was not only that;
the breakage indicated a big disturbance. There had been a free fight,
evidently, and bad blood. Perhaps there was a division in the Club. It
was Mulvy's business to report the affair and leave the rest to the
director. He failed to do so. That in itself, in a boy like him, was
worse by far than a dozen fights.

Every thing tended to convince Father Boone that Frank had taken a false
step. In this indignant mood, he reached the Club about half