“Thanks, old man,” said Dunk, briefly, as they reached their room. “You’ve done more than you know.”
“That’s all right,” replied Andy, in a low voice.
Dunk went to chapel with Andy the next morning, but he was rather silent during the day, and he flunked miserably in several recitations on the days following. Truth to tell he was in no condition to put his mind seriously on lessons, but he tried hard.
Andy, coming in from football practice one afternoon, found Dunk standing in the middle of the apartment staring curiously at a yellow-backed ten-dollar bill he was holding in both of his hands.
“What’s the matter?” asked Andy. “A windfall?”
“No, Gaffington just sent it in to me. Said it was one he took the other night when I flashed it at Burke’s.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” spoke Andy. “You were getting too generous.”
“I know that part of it—Gaffington meant all right. But I don’t understand this.”
“What?” asked Andy.
“Why, this is a ten-spot, and I’m sure I had a twenty that night. However, I may be mistaken—I guess I couldn’t see straight. But I was sure it was a twenty. Don’t say anything about it, though—probably I was wrong. It was decent of Gaffington not to let me lose it all.”