“Course not. Can’t leave my friends. But Andy’s my friend, too; ain’t you, Andy?”
“I hope so, Dunk,” Andy replied, gravely.
Somebody interrupted with a song, and there was much laughter. Mortimer alone seemed to be the sinister influence at work, and he hovered near Dunk as if to counteract the good intentions of Andy.
“Here you are, waiter!” cried Dunk. “Everybody have something—ginger ale, soda water, pop, anything they like. Cigars, too.” He pulled out a bill—a yellow-back—and Andy saw Mortimer take it from his shaking fingers.
“Don’t be so foolish!” exclaimed the sophomore. “You don’t want to spend all that. Here, I’ll hand out a fiver and keep this for you until morning. You can settle with me later,” and Gaffington slipped the big bill into his own pocket, and produced one of his own—of smaller denomination.
“That’s good,” murmured Dunk. “You’re my friend and protector—same as I’m Andy’s protector. We’re all protectors. Come on, fellows, another song!”
Andy was beginning to wonder how he would get his chum home. It was getting very late and to enter Wright Hall at an unseemly hour meant trouble.
“Come on, Dunk—let’s light out,” said Andy again, making his way to his roommate’s side.
“No, you don’t!”
“That game won’t go!”