“I know I did. But I’ve decided since then. I’m going to Yale!”
“You are? Good for you!” cried Tom, clapping his chum on the back with such energy that Andy nearly toppled over. “That’s the stuff! Rah! Rah! Rah! Yale! Bulldog!”
“Here! Cut it out!” ordered Andy. “I’m not at Yale yet, and they don’t go around doing that sort of stuff unless maybe after a game. I was down there about a month ago, and say, there wasn’t any of that ‘Rah-rah!’ stuff on the campus at all. But of course I wasn’t there long.”
“So that’s where you went that time you slipped off,” commented Chet. “Down at Yale. And you’ve decided to sign for there?”
“I have. It seemed to come to me as we walked down the hill. I’ve made my choice. I’m going to write to dad.”
They walked on silently for a few moments following Andy’s remarks.
“‘It was the King of France,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched them up the hill,
And marched them down again!’”
Thus suddenly quoted Chet in a sing-song voice, adding:
“If we’re going to get any grub at Kelly’s, it’s up to us to march down this hill faster than we’ve been going, or we’ll get left. That other crowd from Milton will have all the good places.”
“Come on then, fellows, hit her up!” exclaimed Frank. “Hep! Hep! Left! Left!” and they started off at a good pace.