“Who is she?” asked Andy.
“Friend of a friend of mine. I think I’ll take a chance and go down just for a little while. Save some grub for me. I won’t be long. May make a date for to-night. Want to fill in?”
“If there’s room.”
“Sure, we’ll make room, and I’ll get you a girl. Some of us are going to the Hyperion. Nice little play there,” and Dunk went on “dolling up,” until he was at least partly satisfied with himself.
Dunk was about to leave when a messenger came to announce that he was wanted on the ’phone in the public booth in Dwight Hall, where the Y. M. C. A. of Yale has headquarters.
“I guess that’s her now,” said Dunk, as he hurried out. “I told her to call up,” and he rushed down the corridor.
Andy heard him call back:
“I say, old man, look out for my watch, will you? I must have left it somewhere around there.”
“The old fusser,” murmured Andy, as he rose from the easy chair. “When Dunk goes in for anything he forgets everything else. He’d leave his head if it wasn’t fastened on, or if I didn’t remind him of it,” and Andy felt quite a righteous glow as he began to look about for the valuable timepiece belonging to his roommate.
“He must have it on him,” went on Andy, as a hasty search about the room did not reveal it. “Probably he’s stuck it in his trousers’ pocket with his keys and loose change. He oughtn’t to have a good watch the way he uses it. Well, it isn’t here—that’s sure.”