Andy began to feel uneasy. He could see the unhappy condition of his roommate and those with him. The worst he feared had come to pass. Swaying, but still managing not to step on anyone, Dunk made his way to the aisle, and then, getting close to the box where Andy sat, climbed over the rail. The manager motioned to an usher not to interfere. Probably he thought it was the best means of producing quiet. "Here I am, Andy," announced Dunk gravely. "So I see," spoke Andy, his face blazing at the notice he was receiving. "Sit down and keep quiet. There's a good act coming." "Hush!" exclaimed a number of voices as the curtain slid up, to give place to "Bustling Bodkins," the tramp juggler. The actor came out in his usual ragged make-up, and proceeded to do things with a pile of empty cigar boxes--really a clever trick. Dunk watched him with curious gravity for a while and then started to climb over the footlights on to the stage. "No, you don't, Dunk!" cried Andy, firmly, and despite his chum's protests he hauled him back. Then he took Dunk firmly by the arm and marched him out of a side entrance of the show-house. CHAPTER XVII ANDY'S DESPAIR "Pretty bad; was I, Andy?" "Yes." "Whew! What a headache! Any ice water left?" "I'll get some." "Never mind. What's there'll do." It was morning--there always is a "morning after." Perhaps it is a good thing, for it is nature's protest against violations of her code of health. Dunk drank deep of the water Andy handed him. "That's better," he said, with a sigh. "Guess I won't get up just yet." "Going to cut out chapel?" "I should say yes! My head is splitting now and to go there and hear that old organ booming out hymns would snap it off my neck. No chapel for me!" "You know what it means." "Well, I can't be in much worse than I am. I'll straighten up after a bit. No lectures to-day." "You're going the pace," observed Andy. It was not said with that false admiration which so often keeps a man on the wrong road from sheer bravado. Andy was rather white, and his lips trembled. "It does seem so," admitted Dunk, gloomily enough. "Any more water there?" he asked, presently. "I'll get some," offered Andy, and he soon returned with a pitcher in which ice tinkled. "That sounds good," murmured his roommate. "Was I very bad last night?" "Oh, so-so." "Made a confounded idiot of myself, I suppose?" and he glanced sharply at Andy over the top of the glass. "Oh, well, we all do at times." "I haven't seen you do it yet." "You will if you room with me long enough, Dunk." "Yes, but not in the way I mean." "Oh, well, I'm no moralist; but I hope you never will see me that way. Understand, I'm not preaching, but----" "I know. You don't care for it." "That's it." "I wish I didn't. But you don't understand." "Maybe not," said Andy slowly. "I'm not judging you in the least." "I know, old man. How'd you get me home?" "Oh, you were tractable enough. I got a taxi."