“I—I think I will,” spoke Andy, softly. “I don’t understand it; but I’ll go.”
“You—you’ll find him there,” went on Ikey. “I sent him out to—meet you!”
And before Andy could say anything more the peacemaker had left the apartment.
For several minutes Andy stood still. He looked about the room—a room suggestive in many ways of the presence and character of Dunk. There was even on the mantel a fragment of the Japanese vase he had broken that time.
“I’ll go to him,” spoke Andy, softly.
He went out on the campus, not heeding many calls from friends to join them. When they noted his manner they, wisely, did not press the matter. Perhaps they guessed. Andy walked out Whitney Avenue to East Rock Road and turned into the park.
“I wonder where I’ll find him?” he mused, as he gazed around.
“Queer that Ikey should put up a game like this.”
Walking on a little way, Andy saw a solitary figure under a tree. He knew who it was. The other saw him coming, but did not stir.
Presently they were within speaking distance. Andy paused a moment and then, holding out his hand, said softly: