"I'll settle with you later. I don't seem to have any cash left." "Forget it. I can lend you some." "I may need it, Andy. Hang Gaffington and his crowd anyhow! I'm not going out with them again." Andy made no reply. He had been much pained and hurt by the episode in the theater. Public attention had been attracted to him by Dunk's conduct; but, more than this, Andy remembered a startled and surprised look in the eyes of Miss Fuller, who came out on the stage when Dunk interrupted the tramp act. "If only I could have had a chance to explain," thought Andy. But there had been no time. He had helped to take Dunk away. When this Samaritan act was over the theater had closed, and Andy did not think it wise to look up Miss Fuller at her hotel. "I'll see her again," he consoled himself. The chapel bell boomed out, and Andy started for the door. "What a head!" grumbled Dunk again. "I say, Andy, what's good when a fellow makes an infernal idiot of himself?" "In your case a little bromo might help." "Got any?" "No, but I can get you some." "Oh, don't bother. When you come back, maybe----" "I'll get it," said Andy, shortly. He was late for chapel when he had succeeded in administering a dose of the quieting medicine to Dunk, and this did not add to the pleasures of the occasion. However, there was no help for it. Somehow the miserable day following the miserable night ended, and Andy was again back in the room with Dunk. The latter was feeling quite "chipper" again. "Oh, well, it's a pretty good old world after all," Dunk said. "I think I can eat a little now. Never again for me, Andy! Do you hear that?" "I sure do, old man." "And that goes. Put her there!" They shook hands. It meant more to Andy than he would admit. He had gone, that afternoon, to the theater, where Miss Fuller was on for a matinee, and, sending back his card, with some flowers, had been graciously received. He managed to make her understand, without saying too much. "I'm so glad it wasn't--you!" she said, with a warm pressure of her hand. "I'm glad too," laughed Andy. "No sir--never again!" said Dunk that evening, as he got out his books. "You hear me, Andy--never again!" "That's the way to talk!" It was hard work at Yale. No college is intended for children, and the New Haven University in particular has a high aim for its students. Andy "buckled down," and was doing well. His standing in class, while not among the highest, was satisfactory, and he was in line for a place on the freshman eleven. How he did practice! No slave worked harder or took more abuse from the coaches. Andy was glad of one thing--that Gaffington was out of it. There were others, though, who tackled Andy hard in the scrimmages, but he rather liked it, for there was no vindictiveness back of it. As for Mortimer, he and his crowd went on their sporting way, doing just enough college work not to fall under the displeasure of the Dean or other officials. But it was a "close shave" at times.