explanation or an apology. And I can't forget that Frank,
no matter what his share or his feelings, should have been true enough
to his duties to come and tell me. It's not the damage; it's the
principle of the thing. What is the use of giving my time to the boys
unless I can hold them up to certain standards? This is a social club
under a priest's direction, and it should stand for what is best in the
formation of character.

"Too much harm is done young fellows by giving in to sentiment. They may
resent my attitude now, but they will thank me for it later. If I take
a firm stand, it will be a lesson to them for life. They will realize
that the right way is the best way. They must be shown that although
honor is not necessarily sanctity, it is, nevertheless, a very close
attendant on it. Some boys think that if they don't break one of the
Commandments, they are all right. They fail to see that the
Commandments, although they must be absolutely kept, are only the big
mile posts on the way of life. A boy may easily lose his way unless he
cultivates the home virtues and the social virtues.

"That's what this club is for, to make the boys better sons and brothers
and later on, better citizens. Anything that is mean must be shunned. A
mean act, a mean fellow, must not be tolerated. If a boy is mean or
indecent, and he can't be set right, he must go. It may hurt him and his
prospects, but that is better than to hurt a crowd and their prospects.
A disgraceful affair has happened in the Club, followed by dishonorable
conduct. I'll see it through." And, hitting the table with his fist, he
exclaimed, "I'll see it through."

(II)

Meanwhile, Frank had got home, and as he would not have much time
tomorrow, he decided on writing his note to Father Boone before going to
bed. The rest of the family were out, except his mother. He sat down at
his study desk and took up his task. He did not know how to begin. If he
could only get a start, the matter would be easy. But that start would
not come. Finally he buried his head in his hands, half thinking, half
discouraged.

"Why," he thought, "should I do any writing at all? I've been 'on the
square.' I have no apology to make. It seems that the harder a fellow
tries to be square, the harder he gets hit. There's 'Bull,' the cause of
all this row. He's a regular thug. Yet he gets off easy. No worry, no
hurt feelings, no penalty. And here I am, fretting and stewing, and I
haven't done