A spirit of unruliness diffused itself among us and, under its
influence, differences of culture and constitution were waived.
We banded ourselves together, some boldly, some in jest and
some almost in fear: and of the number of these latter, the re-
luctant Indians who were afraid to seem studious or lacking in
robustness, I was one. The adventures related in the literature
of the Wild West were remote from my nature but, at least,
they opened doors of escape. I liked better some American de-
tective stories which were traversed from time to time by un-
kempt fierce and beautiful girls. Though there was nothing
wrong in these stories and though their intention was some-
times literary they were circulated secretly at school. One day
when Father Butler was hearing the four pages of Roman His-
tory clumsy Leo Dillon was discovered with a copy of The
Halfpenny Marvel.

"This page or this page? This page? Now, Dillon, up!
'Hardly had the day' . . . Go on! What day? 'Hardly had the
day dawned' . . . Have you studied it? What have you there
in your pocket?"

Everyone's heart palpitated as Leo Dillon handed up the
paper and everyone assumed an innocent face. Father Butler
turned over the pages, frowning.

"What is this rubbish?" he said. "The Apache Chief! Is this
what you read instead of studying your Roman History? Let
me not find any more of this wretched stuff in this college. The
man who wrote it, I suppose, was some wretched fellow who
writes these things for a drink. I'm surprised at boys like you,
educated, reading such stuff. I could understand it if you were
. . . National School boys. Now, Dillon, I advise you strongly,
get at your work or . . ."

This rebuke during the sober hours of school paled much of
the glory of the Wild West for me and the confused puffy face
of Leo Dillon awakened one of my consciences. But when the
restraining influence of the school was at a distance I began to

-20-