“There are two questions to be submitted for the action of the club at this meeting,” continued Frank, with more than his usual gravity.  “They are questions of momentous consequence, and I have felt the need of counsel from our director; but my father declines giving me any advice, and says he prefers that we should discuss the questions independently; though, as you all know, if our final action is wrong, he will—­he will—­”

“Veto it,” added Fred Harper.

“Yes, he will not permit us to do a wrong, though he wants us to think for ourselves, and do the best we can.”

“Precisely so; he wants—­” Charles Hardy begun.

“Order!” said Frank, with gentle firmness.  “The first question is this:  Tim Bunker, who has recently been discharged from the house of correction, has applied to be admitted as a member of the club, in place of Tony Weston, resigned.  Shall he be admitted?”

“Mr. President, I move that he be not admitted,” said Charles.

“Is the motion seconded?”

There was no response.  The members all felt that it was a very delicate matter, and that it required careful deliberation.

“The motion is not seconded, and, of course, cannot be entertained,” continued the president.

“I move that he be admitted,” said Fred Harper.

“Second the motion,” added William Bright.

Charles Hardy felt a little nettled, and his first impulse was, to rise and express his astonishment, as Squire Flutter had done in the “March meeting,” at the motion of his friend on the other side of the table:  but the impulsive youth had learned quite recently that a second thought is oftentimes much better than a first, and he reserved the expression of his surprise till a later stage of the debate.

As no one seemed disposed to open the discussion, Frank requested Fred Harper to take the chair, while he temporarily assumed the position of one of the disputants.

“Mr. Chairman,” said he, “I rise to offer a few remarks in favor of the motion which is now before the club.  Perhaps I cannot better introduce my own views upon the subject than by relating the substance of the conversation that occurred when Tim applied to me for admission to the club.  He said that he had had a hard time of it in the house of correction; but he hoped his long confinement had done him good.  He had firmly resolved to be a good boy.  ‘But,’ said he, ’what can I do?  If I go with the fellows I used to associate with, how can I keep my resolution?  I know I have been a very bad boy, and I want to do what is right.’  I told him that our rules were very strict; that no fellow was allowed to swear or to use bad language of any kind and that every member was required to keep straight himself, and help keep the others straight.  He would agree to all this, would sign the constitution, and my father and the club would soon see that he meant all he said.  I confess that I felt for him.  What he said about keeping company with the ’Bunkers’—­I suppose we must drop that name now—­was true.  He could not be a good fellow with such as they are.  Now it won’t do any harm to try him, and he may be saved from the error of his ways.  As it is, he has got a hard name, and people will shun him:  and, being discouraged, he may plunge deeper into vice than ever.  This is about all I have to say.”