Their feet echoed on the stone flagging of the open courtyard as they headed out on the campus. Past Dwight Hall, the home of the Young Men's Christian Association, they went, out into High street and through Library to York. The thoroughfares were thronged with many students now, for it was the hour for supper. Calls, cries, hails, gibes, comments and appeals were bandied back and forth. For it was the beginning of the term, and many of the new lads had not yet found themselves or their places. It was all pleasurable excitement and anticipation. Huddled close together, talking rapidly of many things they had seen, or hoped to see--of the things they had done or expected to do, Andy, Dunk, and their chums walked on to the eating place. Dunk informed Andy, in a whisper, that his three friends had been at Phillips Academy, in Andover, with him. "Over here!" "This way!" "Lots of room!" "Shove in, Hunter!" "There's Wilson!" "Dunk Chamber, too! Oh, you, Dunk!" "Oh! Thad Warburton, give us your eye!" It was a call to health, and several lads arose holding aloft foaming mugs of beer. For a moment Andy's heart failed him. He did not drink, and he did not intend to, yet he realized that to refuse might be very embarrassing. Yet he resolved on this course. There were more good-natured cries, and healths proposed, and then Andy and his companions found room at the table. Dunk introduced Andy to several lads. "Oh, you, Dunk, your eyes on us!" Several lads called to him, holding aloft their steins. Dunk hesitated a moment and then, with a quick glance at Andy, let his glass be filled. Rising, he gave the pledge and drank. Andy felt a tug at his heart strings. He was not a crank, nor a stickler for forms or reforms, yet he had made up his mind never to touch intoxicants. And it gave him a shock to find his roommate taking the stuff. "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.