“I wonder if Dunk is still there?” he murmured.
He learned a moment later, for he heard some one call:
“Stand up, Dunk! Your eye on us!”
“He’s in there—and I’ve got to save him!” Andy groaned. Then, with clenched teeth and a firm step he went into the rear room, among that crowd of roistering students.
Andy’s reappearance was the signal for a burst of good-natured jibing, mingled with cries of approval.
“Here he comes back!”
“I knew he couldn’t stay away!”
“Who said he was a quitter?”
From among the many glasses offered Andy selected a goblet of ginger ale. He looked about the tables, and saw Dunk at one, regarding him with a rather uncertain eye.
“There he is!” cried Andy’s roommate, waving his hand. “That’s him. My old college chum! I’m his protector! I always look after him. I say,” and he turned to the youth beside him, “I say, what is it I protect my old college from anyhow? Hanged if I haven’t forgotten. What is it I save him from?”