nothing but supplying funds.... Father McGowan was not reduced to a pulp, but he was genuinely angry. He thought with a longing of a hickory cane which hung on the back porch of the rectory. 

 "How old are you, John?" asked Father McGowan. 

 "Eighteen," replied the overgrown boy. "Gettin' on, yes, gettin' on."  He lounged back in his chair. Father McGowan leaned across the table. 

 "Old enough to take tender care of your sister when she gets back," he said. 

 "Certainly," answered John. He studied his finger nails. They were gorgeous examples of the manicure's art. John wished the old man would get on. He had a date.... He wondered what he was driving at anyway? He covered a yawn and muttered a pardon.... "Late hours," he added, in explanation. 

 Father McGowan again thought of a cane which hung on the back porch. 

 "How's your father?" he asked. 

 "Oh,—the Gov'ner?" replied John in a tone of entire surprise.  "Really, I don't know. I haven't seen him for a week."  He again looked at his finger nails then he thought of a girl he did not meet socially. His thoughts and attentions ran to that kind. 

 "What a rotten life a priest's would be! Staying in a dull room like this—" he thought, then became conscious of a long silence. He looked up. Father McGowan's eyes were full on him.... Space faded. John was a baby in a crowded flat. He cried, and a little, tired-eyed girl picked him up.  "Aw, Johnny!" she said. Flies buzzed about. The dull hum of traffic came from the street below. 

 Some one called, "Celie, aw Celie! Quick!" from a room off of the kitchen. The little girl vanished. He heard unpleasant sounds, then moans. 

 John started up. The chair in which he'd sat overturned.  "You devil!" he said to a fat priest. The dream had faded. John breathed in gasps. 

 "I will excuse you," said Father McGowan, "if you will remember what a sister did for you, and in return give her the greatest gift: a pride in the boy she loves. Good-night, John." 

 After the boy had gone, Father McGowan scratched his head, as was his manner when perplexed.  "What was the matter with him?" he asked aloud. Then he sighed. The talk, he was afraid, had done little good. At first he had gotten only a supercilious smile, and then that 

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