“I’ll settle with you later. I don’t seem to have any cash left.”
“Forget it. I can lend you some.”
“I may need it, Andy. Hang Gaffington and his crowd anyhow! I’m not going out with them again.”
Andy made no reply. He had been much pained and hurt by the episode in the theater. Public attention had been attracted to him by Dunk’s conduct; but, more than this, Andy remembered a startled and surprised look in the eyes of Miss Fuller, who came out on the stage when Dunk interrupted the tramp act.
“If only I could have had a chance to explain,” thought Andy. But there had been no time. He had helped to take Dunk away. When this Samaritan act was over the theater had closed, and Andy did not think it wise to look up Miss Fuller at her hotel.
“I’ll see her again,” he consoled himself.
The chapel bell boomed out, and Andy started for the door.
“What a head!” grumbled Dunk again. “I say, Andy, what’s good when a fellow makes an infernal idiot of himself?”
“In your case a little bromo might help.”
“Got any?”