“What—what happened?” he asked, weakly. “Where—where am I?”
“Where you don’t belong,” replied Dunk, sharply. “It’s your move—get out!”
“You—you struck me!” went on Mortimer, accusingly to Andy.
“No, indeed, I did not! I thought you were coming for me, and so I raised the bat. It slipped.”
“I guess that’s right, old man,” said one of the sophomores, frankly. “I saw it. Mort has been going it too heavily. We’ll get him out of here. No offense, I hope,” and he looked around the dismantled room. “This is the usual thing.”
“Oh, all right,” said Dunk. “We’re not kicking. I guess we held up our end.”
“You sure did,” returned one of the sophomores, as he glanced at the wilted Mortimer. “Come on, fellows.”
Andy, feeling easier now that he was sure Mortimer was not badly hurt, looked at the other lads. Two of them he recognized as the ones who had been with Gaffington when the loss of the money was discovered. Andy wondered whether it had been found, but he did not like to ask.
“I—I’ll get you for this! I’ll fix you!” growled Mortimer, as his chums led him out of the room. “You—you——” and he swayed unsteadily, gazing at Andy.
“Oh, dry up and come on!” advised Len Scott. “We’ll go downtown and have some fun.”