It was clear that if Andy dropped Dunk, Mortimer stood ready to take him up. "Don't mind him, old chap. Dunk isn't just himself to-night," murmured Thad in Andy's ear. "He'll see differently in the morning." "He'll have to see a good bit differently to see me," spoke Andy stiffly. "I can't pass that up." "Try," urged Thad. "You don't know what it may mean to Dunk." Andy did not reply. Some one started a song and under cover of it Andy slipped out, Chet following. "Too bad, old man," consoled Andy's Harvard friend. "Is he often as bad as that?" "Not of late. It's getting in with that Gaffington crowd that starts him off. I guess he and I are done now." "I suppose so. But it's too bad." "Yes." Andy walked on in silence for a time, and then said: "Come on up to the room and have a chat. I won't see you for some time now. Not till Christmas vacation." "That's right. But I've got to get back to Cambridge. I'll go down and get a train, I guess. Come on to the station with me. The walk will do you good." The two chums strolled through the lighted streets, which were much more lively than usual on account of the celebration of the football victory. But Andy and Chet paid little heed to the bustle and confusion about them. When Andy got back to his room, after bidding Chet good-bye, Dunk had not come in. Andy lay awake some time waiting for him, wondering what he would say when he did come in. But finally he dozed off, and awaking in the morning, from fitful slumbers, he saw the other bed empty. Dunk had not come home. "Well, if he's going to quit me I guess it can't be helped," remarked Andy. "And I guess I'd better give up this room, and let him get some one else in. It wouldn't be pleasant for me to stay here if he pulled out. I'd remember too much. Yes, I'll look for another room." He went to chapel, feeling very little in the mood for it, but somehow the peaceful calm of the Sunday service eased his troubled mind. He looked about for Dunk, but did not see him. Perhaps it was just as well. After chapel Andy went back to his room, and debated with himself what was best to be done. He was in the midst of this self-communion when there was a knock on the door, and to Andy's call of "Shove in!" there followed the shock of curly hair that belonged to nobody but Ikey Stein. "Oh, dear!" groaned Andy in spirit. "That bargainer, at this, of all times." "Hello, Andy," greeted Ikey. "Are you busy?" "Too busy to buy neckties." "Forget it! Do you think I'd come to you now on such a business!" There was a new side to the character of Ikey--a side Andy had never before seen. There was a quiet air of authority about him, a gentle air that contrasted strangely with his usual carefree and easy manners that he assumed when he wanted to sell his goods. "Sit down," invited Andy, shoving a pile of books and papers off a chair. "Thanks. Nice day, isn't it?" "Yes," answered Andy slowly, wondering what was the object of the call.