CHAPTER XXIIANDY SAYS “NO!”
Men were thumping each other on the back. Some had smashed their hats over other persons’ heads. Others had broken their canes from much exuberant pounding on the floors of the stands.
Everyone was yelling. On one side there was a forest of blue flags waving up and down, sideways, around in circles. Pretty girls were clinging to their escorts and laughing hysterically. The escorts themselves scarcely noticed the said pretty girls, for they were gazing down on the field—the field about which were scattered eleven players in blue, and eleven in dull red, all motionless now, amazed or joyful, according to their color, over the feat of Andy Blair.
On the Harvard stands there was glumness. The red banners slumped in nerveless hands. It had come as a shock. They had been so sure that Yale could not score—what matter if the Crimson could not herself—if she could keep the mighty Bulldog from biting a hole in her goal line?
But it was not to be. Yale had won. There was no time to play more. Yale had won—somewhat by a fluke, it is true, but she had won nevertheless. Flukes count in football—fumbles sometimes make the game—for the other fellow.
“Oh, you Andy Blair!”
“It’s a touchdown!”
“Yale wins!”
“Yale! Yale! Yale!”
Some one started the “Boola” song, and it was roared out mightily. Then came the locomotive cheer.
Slowly Andy got up from behind the Harvard goal line. The other player who had tackled him, but too late, himself arose. His face was white and drawn, not from any physical pain, though the fall of himself and Andy had not been gentle. It was from the sting of defeat.
“Well—well,” he faltered, gulping hard. “You got by me, old man!”
“I—I had to,” gasped Andy, for neither had his breath yet.
The other players came crowding up.
“It’ll be the dickens of a job to kick a goal from there with that wind,” spoke the Yale captain. “But we’ll try it.”
The whistle ending the game had blown, but time was allowed for a try at kicking the ballover the crossbar. A hush fell over the assemblage while the ball was taken out and the player stretched out to hold it for the kicker. The referee stood with upraised hand, to indicate when the ball started to rise—the signal that the Harvard players might rush from behind their goal in an attempt, seldom successful, to block the kick.
The hand fell. There was a dull boom. The ball rose and sailed toward the posts as the Harvard team rushed out. And then fate again favored Yale, for a little puff of wind carried the spheroid just inside the posts and over the bar. The goal had been kicked, adding to Yale’s points. She had won.
Once more the cheers broke forth, and Andy’s team-mates surrounded him. They slapped him on the back; they called him all sorts of harsh-sounding but endearing names; they jostled him to and fro.
“Come on, now!” cried the Yale captain. “A cheer for Harvard! No better players in the world! Altogether, boys!”
It was a ringing tribute.
And then the vanquished, tasting the bitterness of defeat, sent forth their acclaim of the lads who had bested them.
Andy found himself in the midst of a mad throng, of which his own mates formed but asmall part, for the field was now overflowing with the spectators who had rushed down from the stands.
Some one pushed a way through and grabbed Andy by the hand.
“You did it, old man! You did it!” a frantic voice exclaimed. “I give you credit for it, Andy!”
Andy found himself confronting Chet.
“I told you we’d win,” answered Andy, with a laugh.
“Yes, but you never said you were going to do it yourself,” spoke Chet, ruefully.
“Come on, fellows, up with him!” called the quarterback, and before Andy could stop them they had lifted him to their shoulders, while behind the students had formed themselves into a queue to do the serpentine dance.
Cheer after cheer was given, and then the team passed into the dressing rooms, and into comparative quiet. Comparative quiet only, for the players were babbling among themselves, living the game over again.
“And to think that a substitute did it, after we’ve thought ourselves the whole show all season,” groaned one of the regulars.
“Oh, well, it was just an accident,” said Andy, modestly.
“A mighty lucky accident for Yale, myfriend!” exclaimed Holwell. “May there be more of such accidents!”
Back in the gymnasium, later, after a refreshing shower, Andy managed to get away from the admiring crowd, and finding Chet took him to his room. Dunk was there before them.
“This is a great and noble occasion!” he cried, as Andy came in. “I’m proud of you, my boy! Proud! Put her there!”
Andy sent his hand into that of his roommate with a resounding whack.
“We’ve got to celebrate!” cried Dunk. “The freshman football season is over. You break training. You’ve got to celebrate!”
“I don’t mind—in a mild sort of way,” laughed Andy.
“Oh, strictly proper—strictly proper!” agreed Dunk.
“I think I’d better be getting back,” remarked Chet.
“No, stay and see the fun,” insisted Dunk, and Chet agreed to do so.
There came a rush of feet along the corridor, and some one whistled “See the conquering hero comes!”
“There are some of the fellows now!” cried Dunk. “Oh! this is great. We must make this a noteworthy occasion. We must celebrate properly!” he was getting quite excited, and Andybegan to worry somewhat, for he did not want his roommate to celebrate in the wrong way, and there was some danger lest he might.
“Where is he?”
“Lead me to him!”
“Oh, you Andy Blair!”
Bob, Ted and Thad came bursting into the room, which would not hold many more.
“Shake!” was the general command, and Andy’s arm ached from the pump-handle process.
“What are you going to do?” asked Ted.
“We’re going to eat!” cried Dunk. “This is on me—a little supper by ourselves at Burke’s.”
“Count us in on that!” cried some one out in the corridor, and Mortimer Gaffington and some of his cronies shoved their way into the room. “We want to have a share in the blow-out! Congratulations, old man!” and he pumped Andy’s arm.
“Oh, what a night we’ll have!” cried Clarence Boyle.
“The wildest and stormiest ever!” added Len Scott. “Yale’s night!”
“Got to go easy, though!” cautioned Dunk.
“Oh, fudge on you and being easy!” laughed Mortimer. “This thing has to be done good and proper. Come on, let’s go out. We’ll smear this old town with a mixture of red and blue.”
“That makes purple,” laughed Dunk.
“No matter!” cried Mortimer. “Come on.”
Andy could not very well refuse and a little later he found himself with some of the other football players, at a table in Burke’s place.
The air was blue with smoke—veritable Yale air. There was laughter, talk, and the clatter of glasses on every side. The evening wore on, with the singing of songs, the telling of stories and the playing of the game all over again. It was such a night as occurs but seldom.
Andy noticed that Dunk was slipping back into his old habits. And, as the celebration went on this became more and more noticeable.
Finally, after a rollicking song, Dunk arose from his place near Andy and cried:
“Fellows—your eyes on me. I’m going to propose a toast to the best one among us.”
“Name your man!”
Dunk was thus challenged.
“I’ll name him in a minute,” he went on, raising his glass on high. “He’s the best friend I’ve got. I give you—Andy Blair!”
“Andy Blair!” was roared out.
“Stand up, Andy!”
He arose, a glass of ginger ale in his hand.
“We’re goin’ drink your health!” said Dunk.
“Thank you!” said Andy.
“Then fill up your glass!”
“It is filled, Dunk. Can’t you see?”
“That’s no stuff to drink a health in. Here, waiter, some real ale for Mr. Blair.”
“No—no,” said Andy quickly. “I don’t drink anything stronger than soft stuff—you know it, Dunk.”
For a moment there was a silence in the room. Andy felt himself growing pale.
“You—you won’t drink with me?” asked Dunk slowly.
“I’d like to—but I can’t—I don’t touch it.”
“He’s a quitter!” cried Mortimer, angrily, from the other side of the table. “A rank quitter! He won’t drink his own toast!”
“Won’t you drink with me, Andy?” asked Dunk, in sorrowful tones.
“In soft stuff—yes.”
“No, in the real stuff!”
“I can’t!”
“Then, by Cæsar, you are a quitter, and here’s where you and I part company!”
Dunk crashed his glass down on the table in front of Andy, and staggered away from his side.
CHAPTER XXIIIRECONCILIATION
Seldom had anything like that occurred before, and, for the moment every student in the room remained motionless, breathing hard and wondering what would come next. Andy, who had been pale, now was flushed. It was an insult; but how could he resent it?
There seemed no way. If Dunk wanted to break off their friendship that was his affair, but he might have done it more quietly. Probably all in the room, save perhaps Mortimer Gaffington, realized this. As for that youth, he smiled insultingly at Andy and murmured to Dunk, who was now passing to another table:
“That’s the way to act. Be a sport!”
It was clear that if Andy dropped Dunk, Mortimer stood ready to take him up.
“Don’t mind him, old chap. Dunk isn’t just himself to-night,” murmured Thad in Andy’s ear. “He’ll see differently in the morning.”
“He’ll have to see a good bit differently to see me,” spoke Andy stiffly. “I can’t pass that up.”
“Try,” urged Thad. “You don’t know what it may mean to Dunk.”
Andy did not reply. Some one started a song and under cover of it Andy slipped out, Chet following.
“Too bad, old man,” consoled Andy’s Harvard friend. “Is he often as bad as that?”
“Not of late. It’s getting in with that Gaffington crowd that starts him off. I guess he and I are done now.”
“I suppose so. But it’s too bad.”
“Yes.”
Andy walked on in silence for a time, and then said:
“Come on up to the room and have a chat. I won’t see you for some time now. Not till Christmas vacation.”
“That’s right. But I’ve got to get back to Cambridge. I’ll go down and get a train, I guess. Come on to the station with me. The walk will do you good.”
The two chums strolled through the lighted streets, which were much more lively than usual on account of the celebration of the football victory. But Andy and Chet paid little heed to the bustle and confusion about them.
When Andy got back to his room, after bidding Chet good-bye, Dunk had not come in. Andy lay awake some time waiting for him, wonderingwhat he would say when he did come in. But finally he dozed off, and awaking in the morning, from fitful slumbers, he saw the other bed empty. Dunk had not come home.
“Well, if he’s going to quit me I guess it can’t be helped,” remarked Andy. “And I guess I’d better give up this room, and let him get some one else in. It wouldn’t be pleasant for me to stay here if he pulled out. I’d remember too much. Yes, I’ll look for another room.”
He went to chapel, feeling very little in the mood for it, but somehow the peaceful calm of the Sunday service eased his troubled mind. He looked about for Dunk, but did not see him. Perhaps it was just as well.
After chapel Andy went back to his room, and debated with himself what was best to be done. He was in the midst of this self-communion when there was a knock on the door, and to Andy’s call of “Shove in!” there followed the shock of curly hair that belonged to nobody but Ikey Stein.
“Oh, dear!” groaned Andy in spirit. “That bargainer, at this, of all times.”
“Hello, Andy,” greeted Ikey. “Are you busy?”
“Too busy to buy neckties.”
“Forget it! Do you think I’d come to you now on such a business!”
There was a new side to the character of Ikey—aside Andy had never before seen. There was a quiet air of authority about him, a gentle air that contrasted strangely with his usual carefree and easy manners that he assumed when he wanted to sell his goods.
“Sit down,” invited Andy, shoving a pile of books and papers off a chair.
“Thanks. Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered Andy slowly, wondering what was the object of the call.
“Nice day for a walk.”
“Yes.”
“Ever go for a walk?”
“Sure. Lots of times.”
“Going to-day?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean with me. I’ve got a date, anyhow. Say, look here, Blair, if you don’t mind me getting personal. If you were to take a walk out toward East Rock Park you might meet a friend of yours.”
“A friend?”
“Yes.”
“You mean——”
“Now look here!” exclaimed Ikey, and his manner was serious. “You may order me out of your room, and all that, but I’m going to speak what’s in my mind. I want you to make up with Dunk!”
“Make up with him—after what he did to me!”
“That’s all right—I know. But I’m sure he’ll meet you more than half-way.”
“Well, he’ll have to.”
“Now, don’t take that view of it,” urged the kindly Jew. “Say, let me tell you something, will you?”
“Fire away,” and Andy walked over and stood looking out of the window across the campus.
“It’s only a little story,” went on Ikey, “and not much of a one at that. When I was in prep school I had a friend—a very dear friend.
“He was what you call a sport, too, in a way, and how he ever took up with me I never could understand. I hadn’t any money—I had to work like the dickens to get along. All my people are dead, and I was then, as I am now, practically alone in the world. But this fellow, who came of a good family, took me up, and we formed a real friendship.
“I think I did him good in a way, and I know he did me, for I used to have bitter feelings against the rich and he did a lot to show me that I was wrong. This friend went in a fast set and one day I spoke to him about it. I said he was throwing away his talents.
“Well, he was touchy—he’d been out late the night before—and he resented what I said. Wehad a quarrel—our first one—and he went out saying he never wanted to see me again. I had a chance to make up with him later, but I was too proud. So was he, I guess. Anyhow, when I put my pride in my pocket and went after him, a little later, it was too late.”
“Too late—how?” asked Andy, for Ikey had come to a stop and there was a break in his voice.
“He went out in an auto with his fast crowd; there was an upset, and my friend was killed.”
Andy turned sharply. There were tears in the other’s eyes, and his face was twitching.
“I—I always felt,” said Ikey, softly, “that perhaps if I hadn’t been so proud and hard that—maybe—maybe he’d be alive to-day.”
There was silence in the room, broken only by the monotonous ticking of the clock.
“Thanks,” said Andy, softly, after a pause. “I—I guess I understand what you mean, Stein.” He held out his hand, which was warmly clasped.
“Then you will go for a walk—maybe?” asked Ikey, eagerly.
“I—I think I will,” spoke Andy, softly. “I don’t understand it; but I’ll go.”
“You—you’ll find him there,” went on Ikey. “I sent him out to—meet you!”
And before Andy could say anything more the peacemaker had left the apartment.
For several minutes Andy stood still. Helooked about the room—a room suggestive in many ways of the presence and character of Dunk. There was even on the mantel a fragment of the Japanese vase he had broken that time.
“I’ll go to him,” spoke Andy, softly.
He went out on the campus, not heeding many calls from friends to join them. When they noted his manner they, wisely, did not press the matter. Perhaps they guessed. Andy walked out Whitney Avenue to East Rock Road and turned into the park.
“I wonder where I’ll find him?” he mused, as he gazed around.
“Queer that Ikey should put up a game like this.”
Walking on a little way, Andy saw a solitary figure under a tree. He knew who it was. The other saw him coming, but did not stir.
Presently they were within speaking distance. Andy paused a moment and then, holding out his hand, said softly:
“Dunk!”
The figure looked up, and a little smile crept over the moody face.
“Andy!” cried Dunk, stepping forward.
The next moment their hands had met in a clasp such as they never had felt before. They looked into each other’s eyes, and there was much meaning in the glance.
“Andy—Andy—can you—forgive me?”
“Of course, Dunk; I understand.”
“All right, old man. That is the last time. Never again! Never again!”
And Dunk meant it.
CHAPTER XXIVLINK’S VISIT
Busy days followed. After the football game, the quarrel of Dunk and Andy, and their reconciliation, brought about so effectively by Ikey Stein, little of moment happened except the varsity football games, which Andy followed with devoted interest, hoping that by the next term he would be chosen for a place on the team.
The students settled down to hard work, with the closing of the outdoor sporting season, and there were days of hard study. Yale is no place for weak students, and Andy soon found that he must “toe the mark” in more senses than one. He had to give his days and some of his nights to “grinding.”
For some time Andy did not understand how Ikey had brought about the meeting of Dunk and himself—at least, he did not know how the peacemaker had induced Dunk to go to the park. But one day the latter explained.
Following the dramatic scene in Burke’s, Dunk had gone out. Not wishing to face Andy he hadstayed at a hotel all night. In the morning, while he was remorseful and nearly ill, Ikey, the faithful, had sought him out, having in some way heard of the quarrel. Ikey was not given to frequenting Burke’s, but he had his own way of ferreting out news.
To Dunk he had gone, then, and had told much the same story he had related to Andy, giving it a different twist. And he had so worked on Dunk’s feelings, picturing how terribly Andy must feel, that finally Dunk had consented to go to the park.
“Well, I’m glad I did, old man!” said Dunk, clapping Andy on the back.
“And so am I. I’m only wondering whether Ikey faked that qlsob story’ or not.”
“What of it? It certainly did the business, all right.”
“It sure did.”
Dunk and Andy were better friends than ever, and, to the relief of Andy, Mortimer and his crowd ceased coming to the room in Wright Hall, and taking Dunk off with them.
Occasionally Andy’s chum would go off with a rather “sporty” crowd, and sometimes Andy went also. But Dunk held himself well in hand, for which Andy was very glad.
“It’s all your doing, old man!” said Dunk, gratefully.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Andy, but his heart glowed nevertheless.
The quiet and rather calm atmosphere of college life was rudely broken when one night, following a mild celebration over the victory of the basketball team, several robberies were discovered.
A number of rooms in the college buildings had been entered, and various articles of jewelry and some money had been taken. Freshmen were mainly the ones who sustained the losses, though no class was exempt.
“This is getting serious!” exclaimed Dunk, as he and Andy talked the matter over. “We’d better get a new lock put on our door.”
“I’m willing, though I haven’t got much that would tempt anyone.”
“I haven’t either, only this,” and he pulled out a handsome gold watch. “I’m so blamed careless about it that most of the time I forget to carry it.”
“Well, let’s put on a lock, then. The one we have doesn’t catch half the time.”
“No, it’s been busted too many times by the raiding sophs. I’ll buy another first time I’m down town.”
But the matter slipped Dunk’s mind, and Andy did not again think of it.
The thefts created no little excitement, and itwas said that a private detective agency had been engaged by the faculty. Of the truth of this no one could vouch.
Another warning was given by the Dean, and students were urged to see to the fastening of their doors, not only for their own protection, but in order not to put temptation in the way of servants.
Andy came in from a late lecture one afternoon, to find open the door of his room he had left locked, as he thought. At first he supposed Dunk was within, but entering the apartment he saw Link Bardon there. The helper arose as Andy came in and said, rather embarrassedly:
“Mr. Blair, I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble!” exclaimed Andy. “What kind?”
“Well, I need money. You see I’ve got a sick sister and the other day she wrote to me, saying she’d have to have some money to buy an expensive medicine. I sent it to her. She said her husband would get his pay this week, and she’d send it back to me. Now she writes that he is sick, and can’t earn anything, so she can’t pay me back.
“I was counting on that money, for my wages aren’t due for several days, and I have to pay my board. I don’t like to ask my landlady to wait, and I thought maybe——”
“Of course I’ll let you have some!” exclaimedAndy quickly. “How much do you need?”
“Oh, about seven dollars.”
“Better have ten. You can pay me back when you like,” said Andy as he extended the bill.
“I don’t know how to thank you!” exclaimed Link, gratefully.
“Then don’t try,” advised Andy, with a smile.
CHAPTER XXVTHE MISSING WATCH
Andy was “boning” on his German, with which he had had considerable difficulty. The dusk was settling down that early December day, and he was thinking of lighting a lamp to continue work on his books, when he heard a familiar step, and a whistle down the corridor. Then a voice broke into a college refrain.
“Dunk!” murmured Andy. “It sounds good to hear him, and to know that there’s not much more danger of our getting on the outs. He sure was worth saving—that is, what little I did toward it. He did the most himself, I fancy.”
“Hello, old top, hard at it?” greeted Dunk, as he entered.
“Have to be,” replied Andy. “You’ve no idea how tough this German is.”
“Oh, haven’t I? Didn’t I flunk in it the other day? And on something I ought to have known as well as I do my first reader lesson? It’s no cinch—this being at Yale. Wonder if I’ve got time to slip down town before we feed ourfaces?” and he began fumbling for his watch.
“What’s on?” asked Andy, rather idly.
Then, as he saw Dunk giving his shoes a hasty rub, and delving among a confused mass of ties in a drawer, Andy added:
“The witness need not answer. It’s a skirt.”
“A which?” asked Dunk in pretended ignorance.
“A lady. I didn’t know you knew any here, Dunk!”
“Huh! Think you’ve got the preserves all to yourself, eh? Well, I’ll show you that you haven’t.”
“Who is she?” asked Andy.
“Friend of a friend of mine. I think I’ll take a chance and go down just for a little while. Save some grub for me. I won’t be long. May make a date for to-night. Want to fill in?”
“If there’s room.”
“Sure, we’ll make room, and I’ll get you a girl. Some of us are going to the Hyperion. Nice little play there,” and Dunk went on “dolling up,” until he was at least partly satisfied with himself.
Dunk was about to leave when a messenger came to announce that he was wanted on the ’phone in the public booth in Dwight Hall, where the Y. M. C. A. of Yale has headquarters.
“I guess that’s her now,” said Dunk, as hehurried out. “I told her to call up,” and he rushed down the corridor.
Andy heard him call back:
“I say, old man, look out for my watch, will you? I must have left it somewhere around there.”
“The old fusser,” murmured Andy, as he rose from the easy chair. “When Dunk goes in for anything he forgets everything else. He’d leave his head if it wasn’t fastened on, or if I didn’t remind him of it,” and Andy felt quite a righteous glow as he began to look about for the valuable timepiece belonging to his roommate.
“He must have it on him,” went on Andy, as a hasty search about the room did not reveal it. “Probably he’s stuck it in his trousers’ pocket with his keys and loose change. He oughtn’t to have a good watch the way he uses it. Well, it isn’t here—that’s sure.”
Andy, a little later, turned on the electric light, but no glow followed the snapping of the button.
“Current off again—or else it’s burned out,” he murmured. A look in the hall outside showed him other lamps gleaming and he knew that his own light must be at fault.
“Guess I’ll go get another bulb,” he remarked.
When he returned with the new one he was aware that some one was in the darkened room.
“That you, Dunk?” he asked.
“No,” answered a voice he recognized as that of Ikey Stein. “I saw you going down the hall and guessed what you were after, so I took the liberty of coming in and waiting. I’ve got some real bargains.”
“Nothing doing, Ikey,” laughed Andy, as he screwed the lamp in the socket and lighted up the room. “Got all the ties I need for my whole course in Yale.”
“It isn’t ties,” said Ikey, and his voice was so serious that Andy wondered at it. “It’s handkerchiefs,” went on the student-salesman. “Andy, I’m in bad. I bought a big stock of these things, and I’ve got to sell ’em to get my money out of ’em. I thought I would have plenty of time, but I owe a bill that’s due now, and the man wants his money. So I’ve got to sell these handkerchiefs quicker than I expected. I need the cash, so I’ll let ’em go for just what I paid for ’em. I don’t care if I don’t make a cent.”
“Let’s see ’em,” suggested Andy. The talk sounded familiar. It was “bargain” patter, but an inspection of the handkerchiefs showed Andy that they were worth what was asked for them. And, as it happened, he was in need of some. He bought two dozen, and suggested to Ikey several other students in Wright Hall on whom he might call.
“Thanks,” said the salesman, as he departedafter a lengthy visit in Andy’s room. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me, Blair. I’m having a hard time, and some people try to make it all the harder. They think, because I’m a Jew, that I have no feelings—that I like to be laughed at, and made to think that all I care about is money. Wait! Some day I’ll show ’em!” and his black eyes flashed.
Andy felt really sorry for him. Certainly Ikey did not work his way through college on any easy path.
“I’m only too glad to do this for you,” said the purchaser. He could not forget what a service Ikey had rendered to him and Dunk, bringing them together when they were on the verge of taking paths that might never converge.
“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find some other easy mark like you,” laughed Ikey as he went down the hall.
Andy was about to go to the “eating joint” alone when Dunk came in whistling gaily.
“Ah, ha! Methinks thou hast had a pleasant meeting!” Andy “spouted.”
“Right—Oh!” exclaimed his roommate. “It’s all right for to-night, too. I’ve got a peach for you.”
“Light or dark?” asked Andy, critically.
“Dark! Say, but you’re getting mighty particular, though, for a young fellow.”
“The same to you. Where do we meet ’em, and where do we go?”
“I’ve got it all fixed. Hyperion. Come on, let’s get through grub, I want to dress.”
He began searching hurriedly through his pockets, a puzzled look coming over his face.
“Where in the world——” he began. “Oh, I know, I left it here.”
“What?”
“My watch. I called to you about it when I went out to the telephone, and——”
“It isn’t here. I looked.”
“What!”
“Fact! Unless you stuck it in something.”
“No, I left it right on my dresser, on a pile of clean handkerchiefs—hello, where’d these come from?” and he looked at the ones Andy had bought of Ikey.
“Oh, another bargain from our mutual friend,” and Andy mentioned the price.
“That is a bargain, all right. I must get some. But look here, where’s my watch?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Did you leave it here?”
“I certainly did. I remember now, I put it on the pile of handkerchiefs just before I went to last lecture. Then I came in here, to go out to keep my date, and I didn’t have it. I was going to slip it in my pocket when I was called to the’phone. Look here, here’s the impression of it in the handkerchiefs,” and Dunk pointed to a round depression in the pile of soft linen squares. It was just the shape of a watch.
“It was there,” said Dunk slowly, looking at Andy.
“And now it’s gone,” finished his roommate. Then he remembered several things, and his start of surprise made Dunk look at his chum in a strange way.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dunk.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” said Andy. “I want to think a bit.”
CHAPTER XXVITHE GIRLS
“Well?” asked Dunk, after a pause, during which Andy had sat staring at the fireplace. A blaze had been kindled there, but it had died down, and now there was only a mere flicker.
“Are you sure you left your watch on that pile of handkerchiefs?” asked Andy, slowly.
“Dead sure. I remember it because I thought at the time that I was a chump to treat that ticker the way I did, and I made up my mind I’d get a good chain for it and have my watch pocket lined with chamois leather. That’s what made me think of it—the softness of the handkerchiefs. Why, Andy, you can see the imprint of it plainly enough.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
“And it’s gone.”
“Right again.”
“Were you in the room all the time I was out?”
“Most all the while. I went to get a new electric lamp for the one that had burned out.”
“Was anyone here besides you?”
Andy hesitated. Then he answered:
“Yes, two persons.”
“Who?”
“Ikey Stein——”
“That——”
Andy held up a warning hand.
“Don’t call any names,” he advised. “Ikey did you and me a good service. We mustn’t forget that.”
“All right, I won’t. Who else was in here?”
“Link Bardon.”
“Who’s he?”
“That farmer lad I was telling you about—the one we fellows saved from a beating.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.”
“He’s working here now. He came in to borrow some money. I found him here when I came back—our door was open.”
“By Jove! That lock! I meant to get it fixed. Well, I can see what happened. The quadrangle mystery deepens, and I’m elected. The beggar got my watch!” Dunk started out.
“Where are you going?” asked Andy.
“To telephone for a locksmith. I’m going to have our door fixed. Don’t laugh—the old saying—qllock the stable after the horse is stolen.’ I know it.”
“Wait a minute,” suggested Andy. “Whileyou’re at it hadn’t you better give notice of the robbery?”
“I suppose so. But what good will it do? None of the fellows have gotten back anything that’s been taken. But I sure am sorry to lose that watch.”
“So am I,” spoke Andy. “Look here, Dunk, there are two persons who might have taken it—no, three.”
“How three?”
“Counting me.”
“Oh, piffle. But I suppose if I made a row it would look bad for Ikey and your friend Link.”
“It sure would. I think maybe you’d better not make a row.”
“You mean sit down and let ’em walk off with my watch without saying a word?”
“Oh, no. Report the loss, of course. But don’t mention any names.”
“Well, I wouldn’t like to mention Ikey—for the honor of Yale, and all that, you know.”
“I agree with you. And, for certain reasons, I wouldn’t like you to mention Link. I don’t know about him, but I believe he’s as honest as can be. Of course he was in need of money, and if your watch lay in plain sight there’d be a big temptation. But I’d hate to think it.”
“So would I, after what you’ve told me about him. I won’t think it, until, at least, we getmore information. It was my fault for leaving it around that way. It’s too bad! Dad will sure be sorry to hear it’s gone. I’m going to keep mum about it—maybe it will turn up.”
“I hope so,” returned Andy. “I hardly believe Link would take it, yet you never can tell.”
“Anyhow, we’ll get a new lock put on, and I’ll report my watch,” said Dunk. “Then we’ll forget all about it and have some fun. Come on, I’m hungry. It isn’t so much the money value of the thing, as the associations. Hang it all—what a queer world this is. Oh, but you should see the girls, Andy!”
“I’m counting on it!”
When they came back, after a hasty session at the “eating joint,” there was a note for each of them tucked under the door, which they had managed to lock pending the attaching of the new mechanism.
“From Gaffington,” announced Dunk, ripping his open. “He’s giving a blow-out to-night. Wants me to come.”
“Same here,” announced Andy, reading his, and then glancing anxiously at his roommate.
“I’m not going,” said Dunk, wadding up the missive and tossing it into the waste-paper basket.
“Neither am I,” said Andy, doing the same.
They began to “doll up,” which, being interpreted, means to attire oneself in one’s best raiment,including the newest tie, the stiffest collar and the most uncomfortable shirt, to say nothing of patent leather shoes a size too small.
“Whew!” panted Andy, as he adjusted his scarf for the fourth or fifth time, “these bargains of Ikey’s aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”
“I should say not. I don’t believe they’re real silk.”
“Maybe not. They say the Japs can make something that looks like it, but which isn’t any more silk than a shoestring.”
“I believe you. Maybe Ikey has been dabbling in some more of Hashmi’s stuff.”
“I wouldn’t wonder. Say, it’s a queer way for a fellow to get through college, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. Yet he’s a decent sort of chap. Only for that affair of the vases.”
“Oh, he made restitution in that case.”
They went on dressing, with hurried glances at the clock now and then to make sure they would not be late. From out in the raised court came a hail:
“Oh, you, Dunk!”
“Stick out your noddle, Blair!”
“Come on down!”
“That’s Thad and his crowd,” announced Andy.
“Let ’em holler,” advised Dunk. “I’m not going with them.”
“Oh, you Dunk!”
“Go on away!” called Dunk, shouting out of the window.
“Oh, for the love of mush!”
“Look at him!”
“Girls, all right!”
“Come on up and rough-house ’em!”
These cries greeted the appearance out of the window of the upper part of Dunk’s body, attired in a gaudy waistcoat.
“Is that door locked, Andy?” gasped Dunk, hurriedly pulling in his head.
“Yes.”
“Slip the bolt then. They’ll make no end of a row if they get in!”
Andy slipped it, and only in time, for there came a rush of bodies against the portal, and insistent demands from Thad and his crowd to be admitted. Failing in that they besought Andy and Dunk to come out.
“Nothing doing! We’ve got dates!” announced Andy, and this was accepted as final.
They were just about to leave, quiet having been restored, when there came a knock.
“Who is it?” asked Dunk, suspiciously.
“Gaffington,” was the unexpected answer. “Are you fellows coming to my blow-out.”
Dunk looked at Andy and paused. Following the affair in Burke’s, where Gaffington had incitedDunk against Andy, the rich youth from Andy’s town had had little to say to him. He seemed to take it for granted that his condition that night was enough of an apology without any other, and treated Andy exactly as though nothing had occurred.
“Well?” asked Gaffington, impatiently.
“Sorry, old man,” said Dunk, “but we both have previous engagements.”
“Oh, indeed!” sneered Mortimer, and they could hear him muttering to himself as he walked away.
Then the two chums sallied forth. On the way Dunk reported the loss of his watch, to the discomfiture of the Dean, who seemed much disturbed by the successive robberies.
“Something must be done!” he exclaimed, pacing up and down the room.
Dunk also left word at the college maintenance office about the door that would not lock, and got the promise that it would be seen to.
“And now for the girls!” exclaimed Andy. “Do I know them?”
“No, but you soon will.”
Andy was much pleased with the two young ladies to whom Dunk introduced him later. It appeared that one was a distant relative of Dunk’s mother, and the two were visiting friends in New Haven. Dunk’s “cousin,” as he calledher, had sent him a card, asking him to call, and he had made arrangements to bring Andy and spend the evening at the theatre.
Thither they went, happy and laughing, and to the no small envy of a number of college lads, the said lads making unmistakable signals to Dunk and Andy, between the acts, that they wanted to be introduced later.
But Andy and Dunk ignored their chums.