“Here’s a bit of bad luck! My father has broken his leg skiing! We had to come down from Zermatt - and all my hopes of becoming a champion this winter are squashed. I’m condemned to staying here all the holidays!”
“Poor old Simon! But we must hurry up, it’s nearly 10 o’clock, and you know Cyril doesn’t like waiting. After all, you’re no worse off than I am. At least we’re going to plan something exciting today.”
A quick run in the melting snow, and the two boys reached the hut where the other four members of the gang were assembled.
“Ah! Here you are at last,” said Cyril. “Why, Simon, you here too? I thought you were on the mountain.” Simon told of his father’s accident, and enlarged again on his sad lot.
“Nothing is more boring than this holiday season. There is nothing to do but listen to the radio,” cried Bob.
“Have you any plans for New Year’s Day?” asked Cyril of the two brothers, Charlie and Andrew.
“The same as usual. Dad and Mum will be at the theater till midnight and sleep nearly all day. We’ll go to watch television at one of our schoolmates.”
“And you, Patrick, what are you doing?”
“Nothing special. My sister is at Grandma’s, and Mum will go to fetch her that day. I shall be at home alone.”
“If you are all in favor of it, this is my proposal: a little tour for six by car!”
“What car? Have you borrowed one?” cried Bob in astonishment.”
“No.”
“Well?”
“Oh, well, one will turn up,” said Cyril. “You couldn’t ask your father for his, could you, Simon? Being in the hospital, he can’t use it.”
“I can’t see him lending it to us! Besides, who’d drive?”
“I’ll undertake that,” said Cyril.
“But you’ve no license, since you’re not eighteen yet.”
“I’m a mechanic, you know. Nothing is easier than to drive a car.”
“It costs a lot to hire a car,” said Patrick.
“Hire! The idea! You take us for millionaires. We are going - quite frankly - to pinch [borrow without permission] one for a day. Everyone should have a chance for a bit of pleasure.”
“And if we get caught?” cried Charlie.
“Not so stupid!”
“But, I say, Cyril, we’ve already been nabbed once,” said Bob. “You remember last year - ”
“I was green in those days. Now I’m experienced. Do you really know how to drive?”
“Where shall we go? When do we start?”
“Shut up!” said Cyril, “or don’t speak all together. Before we decide where to go or when to start, we must organize ourselves. This evening, each of you will explore one part of the town, noticing the cars and vans parked on the streets. At 8:30 meet at Simon’s to report. You understand?”
“Right!” agreed all the lads except Patrick, who was seated a little apart. Simon noticed this and taunted him loudly.
“This project doesn’t rouse your enthusiasm, old boy. Are you afraid of the cops, or what?”
A fierce conflict was going on in the boy’s heart. “It looks to me like stealing,” he murmured. Cyril’s sneering voice answered him. “You’ve never pinched anything in your life, of course? You won’t make me believe that.”
“This is not stealing,” chimed in Bob, “since we shall return the car in the evening.”
“Now, Patrick, just think; it would be marvelous driving all six of us!” cried Simon. “We’ll go and ski on the mountain.”
“Just when we could have a little pleasure for once,” added Andrew bitterly, “you are trying to spoil it.”
“I’ll see,” said Patrick, getting up; “I’ll decide this evening.”
He went out of the hut bewildered, his mind in a turmoil. He resolved to go up as far as Philip Berger’s, in the unconfessed hope of finding a solution to his inner conflicts. No one expected him for dinner; Carol was gone for the holiday, and his mother would not be home till evening.
The peace of the countryside sleeping under a light covering of snow calmed his spirit. The dark outline of the leafless trees had an austere beauty that appealed to him. After a long walk in the frozen solitude, the Berger’s farm appeared, like a haven of refuge. It was Philip who welcomed him with his usual friendliness. “I hope you’ll come in and eat with us,” he said, when they had paid a visit to Ralph. “I’m sure we have enough for one more.”
Patrick accepted eagerly and felt cheered at once by the warmth and appetizing smell of the big kitchen, where a huge fire was blazing. Before the soup was served, something to which Patrick was unaccustomed took place. The family bowed their heads as Mr. Berger thanked God for the food that He gave them and asked His blessing on the household.
“How are you spending your holidays?” asked the farmer while his wife filled the plates.
“I think you’re studying your German dictionary,” said Philip mischievously.
“Not much! I have more than enough of that at school. Please don’t speak to me of school during the holidays!”
“And I would have liked so much to study,” said Philip. Patrick turned an astonished face on the young man.
“My son, Philip, has denied himself for the family’s sake,” said Mr. Berger. “So that his younger brothers should have a chance, he gave up college and agreed to help me.”
“It’s not a great sacrifice, Father,” said the modest lad, wishing they would not speak of him. “At least the winter is free for my books. Bring me yours, Patrick, and we’ll work together.”
Patrick’s face flushed. He dared not admit that he had failed in the term’s exams and would probably be flunked in the spring.
Philip noted the boy’s discomfort and the troubled look he wore since his arrival. He said no more, but resolved to have a word with him alone. After dinner he asked him to accompany him to a neighboring village, hoping that he would open up more easily during the walk. To his disappointment Patrick refused. He was expected at a friend’s house for something important, he explained. Philip read such distress in the boy’s eyes that he couldn’t help saying: “Patrick, we don’t know each other very well yet. I am only a farmer and can’t make speeches, but it seems to me that you have a weight on your mind. I won’t question you or force your confidence. Only be sure that I am always ready to help you. No matter what the circumstances are, don’t be afraid to come to me.”
“Thank you,” said Patrick, gruffly. How he longed to tell all to this loyal, good friend, but he had promised never to speak of the club or of what was planned there. Impossible to turn back now!
“There are some circumstances,” went on Philip, “when no one can help us but God. His help is never withheld from those who ask it with all their heart.”
Patrick, his throat too dry to speak, held out his hand to Philip. Then, turning away quickly, he ran towards the gate. For one instant, under the young man’s influence, he thought of giving up the gang. But what would the others think? They would accuse him of cowardice and treachery. And had not the club become the spice of life to him?
“Dad has deserted us,” he thought bitterly. “What does it matter whether I behave well or badly?”