“Well, he’s his own master,” thought Andy. “It’s up to him!”
And then, amid that gay scene—not at all riotous—there came to Andy the memory of a half-forgotten lesson.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Andy wanted to close his mind to it, but that one question seemed to repeat itself over and over again to him.
“Have some beer?”
The voice of a waiter was whispering to him.
“No—not to-night,” said Andy, softly. And what a relief he felt. No one seemed to notice him, nor was his refusal looked upon as strange. Then he noticed with a light heart that only a few of the lads, and the older ones at that, were taking the beverage. Andy noticed, too, with more relief, that Dunk only took one glass.
The meal went on merrily, and then Andy and Dunk, refusing many invitations to come to the rooms of friends, or downtown to a show, went to their own room.
“Let’s get it in shape,” proposed Dunk.
“Sure,” agreed Andy, and they set to work.