Andy paused a moment—and only for a moment. Then he hardened his heart and turned to go.
“Leave the door open,” Dunk called after him. “I’ll be home in th’ mornin’.”
And then the crowd burst out into the refrain:
“He won’t be home until morning,
He won’t be home until morning.”
Over and over again rang the miserable chant that has bolstered up so many a man who, otherwise, would stop before it was too late.
Andy breathed deep of the cool night air as he got outside. The streets were quiet and deserted, save for those who had come out with him, and who went their various ways. As Andy turned down a side street he could still hear, coming faintly to him through the quiet night the strains of:
“We won’t go home until morning.”
“Poor old Dunk!” mused Andy. “I hate to quit him, but I’ve got to. I’m not going to be looking after him all the while. It’s too much work. Besides, he won’t stay decent permanently.”
He was angry and hurt that all his roommate’s good resolutions should thus easily be cast to the winds.
“I’m just going to quit!” exclaimed Andy fiercely. “I’ve done all I could. Besides, it isn’t my affair anyhow. I’ll get another room—one by myself. Oh, hang it all, anyhow!”