“You’re becoming famous, Andy, my boy!” whispered Tom.
“Forget it,” advised his chum.
The boys reached their dormitory with a scant minute or so to spare before locking-up time, for the rules were rather strict at Milton. There were hasty good-nights, promises to meet on the morrow, and then quiet settled down over the school.
Andy went to his room, and for a minute, before turning on the light, he stood at the window looking over the campus. Many thoughts were surging through his brain.
“It sure has been one full little day,” he mused. “The scrap with the farmer, dousing the sparks on that girl, and—deciding on going to Yale!
“Jove, though, but I’m glad I’ve made up my mind! Yale! I wonder if I’ll be worthy of it?”
Andy leaned against the window and looked out to where the moonlight made fantastic shadows through the big maples on the green. Before his eyes came a picture of the elm-shaded quadrangle at Yale, which once he had crossed, hardly dreaming then that he would ever go there.
“Yale! Yale!” he whispered to himself. “What a lot it means! What a lot it might mean! What a lot it often doesn’t signify. Oh, if I can only make good there!”
For some time Andy had been vacillating between two colleges, but finally he had settled on Yale. His parents had left him his choice, and now he had made it.
“I must write to dad,” he said. “He’ll want to know.”