He had taken but a few steps when a sound of laughter attracted him and he paused suddenly. It came from his right hand.
He noticed that he was standing near the side door of a saloon which he thought he had thoroughly investigated on his downward trip.
He remembered then that he had not looked in at any of the so-called private rooms at the back.
This laughter evidently came from such a room, and he was quite certain that he distinguished Mellor's voice. He waited a moment until the laughter ceased and then he heard this in thick accents:
"Shet 'em up 'gain! I c'n rasshle any man 'n Nighted Shtatesh, drunk er shober."
It was Mellor's voice, and Frank's heart sank like lead. For one miserable instant he was in doubt as to what he had better do.
His disgust and anger were so great that he felt like leaving Mellor to his fate, for it would serve the freshman right to let him continue filling himself up and so lose all chance of making a decent appearance in the contests of the following evening.
Then it occurred to Frank that after all there might be some little hope that Mellor could pull himself together sufficiently to make a good effort.
In any event he was a Yale student, and as such Frank felt bound to look after him; so after the slightest hesitation he entered the side door of the saloon and opened a door leading into the small room from which had come the laughter and the sound of Mellor's voice.
He saw the big freshman with a silly smile on his face seated at a table, holding an empty glass unsteadily in his hand, and trying to talk with three companions, each of whom wore a rosette of orange-colored ribbon upon the lapel of his coat.