“I’ll go you!” exclaimed Andy. “Let’s go get some chocolate. I’m hungry and there isn’t a bit of grub left,” and he looked in the box where he usually kept some biscuits.
They went out together, passing across the quadrangle, in which scores of students were flitting to and fro, under the elms, and in and out of the shadows of the electric lights.
Dunk was saying something over to himself in a low voice.
“What is that—a baseball litany?” asked Andy, with a laugh.
“No, I was trying to get that straight what you said about the supply of old maids in a community depending on the number of clover blossoms.”
“It’s the other way around—but cut it out. You’ll be droning away at that all night—like a tune that gets in your head and can’t get out. Where’ll we go?”
“Oh, cut down Chapel street. Let’s take in the gay white way for a change. We may meet some of the fellows.”
“But no staying out late!” Andy warned his chum.
“I guess not! I want to be as fit as a fiddle in the morning.”
“For we’re going to chew up Princeton in the morning!” chanted Andy to the tune of a well-known ballad.