A Fox Inside by David Stacton Page B

name, might have that background . It made a great deal of difference. For one thing he was uncomfortably aware of where he stood with the Irish: they were not particularly kind to anybody but themselves.
    They ran local government, the way they ran it everywhere . Once in a while they threw a bone to the Italians, but that was all. They were not much noticed in the public, or the social, or the cultural life. There were not interested in public or cultural life and they had their own society. They were interested in politics, which had made them rich. With the money they sprinkled the city with convents, seminaries, and churches. Their ideas of taste came out of a shanty, and what they built had a shanty look, but they built anyway.
    The taxi deposited him in front of the school. It was an ugly building of yellow cement Byzantine with alobby that smelled of Fels-naptha and rubber. Once inside and he felt more at his ease.
    He finally got himself conducted into the presence of a Father O’Leary, the registrar. Father O’Leary had, if anything, a Lutheran appearance. He had black hair and a prognathous jaw and his eyes were sympathetic. Luke did not think he could have stumbled on a better man.
    “Oh, yes. I read about it. It upset me.” O’Leary’s voice was matter of fact. He picked up a penwiper and began to twiddle with it, glancing at the office door, which was half glass. “The point is, why are you here?”
    It wasn’t an easy question to answer. There was a green and brown map of the state behind O’Leary’s back and Luke looked at that, wondering how much he should say. “Mrs. Barnes is a client,” he said.
    “Yes,” said O’Leary, “I’ve met her.” He smiled at Luke. “It bothered me.”
    “It may bother a lot of people.”
    “I don’t think so,” said O’Leary. He breathed deeply and pulled out a handkerchief.
    “It’s funny. I never realized he was Irish.”
    “Or Catholic? Well, he was born Catholic, if that makes him one. And as for being Irish, I’m afraid he was ashamed of that. A lot of people are, and Charles had his eye on things where being Irish isn’t always a help.” O’Leary looked at Luke with amusement. “It doesn’t always help, you know.” He coughed gently. “I remember him well. I looked up his record after I saw the papers. He came to us when he was twelve and left when he was sixteen. He was a good learner, a little too bright, if anything. I taught him logic.” He considered. “That was a mistake, I think. Logic is an excellentscience, but not a way of life. I suppose what bothered me when I read the papers was that I didn’t like him. Nobody liked him; and I don’t think he wanted anybody to.”
    “And then?”
    O’Leary shrugged. “Then he left.”
    “A boy of sixteen can’t just leave.”
    “That’s what he did, though.”
    “What about his family? He must have had some family.”
    O’Leary looked uncomfortable. “He didn’t. At least, not so far as we knew. He had a guardian, a woman who brought him here. I never met her.”
    “But there must be some record of all that.”
    “Oh, yes, there was a record. To-day I looked for it, but it wasn’t there. They’re kept in open files.”
    “Somebody took it?”
    O’Leary seemed put out. “I imagine he took it himself . And recently. You see, I forgot all about him until a few years ago. Then I bumped into him at some political rally. It upset him, I think. Later he came here. He came once or twice and said he wanted to do something for us. He said he wanted to make a donation. He even made several. They were anonymous.”
    “Why should he want to destroy his record?”
    “That’s what I wondered. I think it was because he didn’t want to have any past. And well—the donations were rather large. It seemed better not to say anything.”
    Luke understood. He wondered just when O’Leary had discovered that missing file.
    “He had a knack of meeting people who were useful ,” added