"There are some of the fellows now!" cried Dunk. "Oh! this is great. We must make this a noteworthy occasion. We must celebrate properly!" he was getting quite excited, and Andy began to worry somewhat, for he did not want his roommate to celebrate in the wrong way, and there was some danger lest he might.

"Where is he?"

"Lead me to him!"

"Oh, you Andy Blair!"

Bob, Ted and Thad came bursting into the room, which would not hold many more.

"Shake!" was the general command, and Andy's arm ached from the pump-handle process.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ted.

"We're going to eat!" cried Dunk. "This is on me—a little supper by ourselves at Burke's."

"Count us in on that!" cried some one out in the corridor, and Mortimer Gaffington and some of his cronies shoved their way into the room. "We want to have a share in the blow-out! Congratulations, old man!" and he pumped Andy's arm.

"Oh, what a night we'll have!" cried Clarence Boyle.

"The wildest and stormiest ever!" added Len Scott. "Yale's night!"

"Got to go easy, though!" cautioned Dunk.

"Oh, fudge on you and being easy!" laughed Mortimer. "This thing has to be done good and proper. Come on, let's go out. We'll smear this old town with a mixture of red and blue."

"That makes purple," laughed Dunk.

"No matter!" cried Mortimer. "Come on."

Andy could not very well refuse and a little later he found himself with some of the other football players, at a table in Burke's place.

The air was blue with smoke—veritable Yale air. There was laughter, talk, and the clatter of glasses on every side. The evening wore on, with the singing of songs, the telling of stories and the playing of the game all over again. It was such a night as occurs but seldom.

Andy noticed that Dunk was slipping back into his old habits. And, as the celebration went on this became more and more noticeable.

Finally, after a rollicking song, Dunk arose from his place near Andy and cried:

"Fellows—your eyes on me. I'm going to propose a toast to the best one among us."

"Name your man!"

Dunk was thus challenged.

"I'll name him in a minute," he went on, raising his glass on high. "He's the best friend I've got. I give you—Andy Blair!"

"Andy Blair!" was roared out.

"Stand up, Andy!"

He arose, a glass of ginger ale in his hand.

"We're goin' drink your health!" said Dunk.

"Thank you!" said Andy.

"Then fill up your glass!"

"It is filled, Dunk. Can't you see?"

"That's no stuff to drink a health in. Here, waiter, some real ale for Mr. Blair."

"No—no," said Andy quickly. "I don't drink anything stronger than soft stuff—you know it, Dunk."

For a moment there was a silence in the room. Andy felt himself growing pale.

"You—you won't drink with me?" asked Dunk slowly.

"I'd like to—but I can't—I don't touch it."

"He's a quitter!" cried Mortimer, angrily, from the other side of the table. "A rank quitter! He won't drink his own toast!"

"Won't you drink with me, Andy?" asked Dunk, in sorrowful tones.

"In soft stuff—yes."

"No, in the real stuff!"

"I can't!"

"Then, by Caesar, you are a quitter, and here's where you and I part company!"

Dunk crashed his glass down on the table in front of Andy, and staggered away from his side.



CHAPTER XXIII

RECONCILIATION

Seldom had anything like that occurred before, and, for the moment every student in the room remained motionless, breathing hard and wondering what would come next. Andy, who had been pale, now was flushed. It was an insult; but how could he resent it?

There seemed no way. If Dunk wanted to break off their friendship that was his affair, but he might have done it more quietly. Probably all in the room, save perhaps Mortimer Gaffington, realized this. As for that youth, he smiled insultingly at Andy and murmured to Dunk, who was now passing to another table:

"That's the way to act. Be a sport!"

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.

"Nice day for a walk."

"Yes."

"Ever go for a walk?"

"Sure. Lots of times."

"Going to-day?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"Oh, I didn't mean with me. I've got a date, anyhow. Say, look here, Blair, if you don't mind me getting personal. If you were to take a walk out toward East Rock Park you might meet a friend of yours."

"A friend?"

"Yes."

"You mean——"

"Now look here!" exclaimed Ikey, and his manner was serious. "You may order me out of your room, and all that, but I'm going to speak what's in my mind. I want you to make up with Dunk!"

"Make up with him—after what he did to me!"

"That's all right—I know. But I'm sure he'll meet you more than half-way."

"Well, he'll have to."

"Now, don't take that view of it," urged the kindly Jew. "Say, let me tell you something, will you?"

"Fire away," and Andy walked over and stood looking out of the window across the campus.

"It's only a little story," went on Ikey, "and not much of a one at that. When I was in prep school I had a friend—a very dear friend.

"He was what you call a sport, too, in a way, and how he ever took up with me I never could understand. I hadn't any money—I had to work like the dickens to get along. All my people are dead, and I was then, as I am now, practically alone in the world. But this fellow, who came of a good family, took me up, and we formed a real friendship.

"I think I did him good in a way, and I know he did me, for I used to have bitter feelings against the rich and he did a lot to show me that I was wrong. This friend went in a fast set and one day I spoke to him about it. I said he was throwing away his talents.

"Well, he was touchy—he'd been out late the night before—and he resented what I said. We had a quarrel—our first one—and he went out saying he never wanted to see me again. I had a chance to make up with him later, but I was too proud. So was he, I guess. Anyhow, when I put my pride in my pocket and went after him, a little later, it was too late."

"Too late—how?" asked Andy, for Ikey had come to a stop and there was a break in his voice.

"He went out in an auto with his fast crowd; there was an upset, and my friend was killed."

Andy turned sharply. There were tears in the other's eyes, and his face was twitching.

"I—I always felt," said Ikey, softly, "that perhaps if I hadn't been so proud and hard that—maybe—maybe he'd be alive to-day."

There was silence in the room, broken only by the monotonous ticking of the clock.

"Thanks," said Andy, softly, after a pause. "I—I guess I understand what you mean, Stein." He held out his hand, which was warmly clasped.

"Then you will go for a walk—maybe?" asked Ikey, eagerly.

"I—I think I will," spoke Andy, softly. "I don't understand it; but I'll go."

"You—you'll find him there," went on Ikey. "I sent him out to—meet you!"

And before Andy could say anything more the peacemaker had left the apartment.

For several minutes Andy stood still. He looked about the room—a room suggestive in many ways of the presence and character of Dunk. There was even on the mantel a fragment of the Japanese vase he had broken that time.

"I'll go to him," spoke Andy, softly.

He went out on the campus, not heeding many calls from friends to join them. When they noted his manner they, wisely, did not press the matter. Perhaps they guessed. Andy walked out Whitney Avenue to East Rock Road and turned into the park.

"I wonder where I'll find him?" he mused, as he gazed around.

"Queer that Ikey should put up a game like this."

Walking on a little way, Andy saw a solitary figure under a tree. He knew who it was. The other saw him coming, but did not stir.

Presently they were within speaking distance. Andy paused a moment and then, holding out his hand, said softly:

"Dunk!"

The figure looked up, and a little smile crept over the moody face.

"Andy!" cried Dunk, stepping forward.

The next moment their hands had met in a clasp such as they never had felt before. They looked into each other's eyes, and there was much meaning in the glance.

"Andy—Andy—can you—forgive me?"

"Of course, Dunk; I understand."

"All right, old man. That is the last time. Never again! Never again!"

And Dunk meant it.



CHAPTER XXIV

LINK'S VISIT

Busy days followed. After the football game, the quarrel of Dunk and Andy, and their reconciliation, brought about so effectively by Ikey Stein, little of moment happened except the varsity football games, which Andy followed with devoted interest, hoping that by the next term he would be chosen for a place on the team.

The students settled down to hard work, with the closing of the outdoor sporting season, and there were days of hard study. Yale is no place for weak students, and Andy soon found that he must "toe the mark" in more senses than one. He had to give his days and some of his nights to "grinding."

For some time Andy did not understand how Ikey had brought about the meeting of Dunk and himself—at least, he did not know how the peacemaker had induced Dunk to go to the park. But one day the latter explained.

Following the dramatic scene in Burke's, Dunk had gone out. Not wishing to face Andy he had stayed at a hotel all night. In the morning, while he was remorseful and nearly ill, Ikey, the faithful, had sought him out, having in some way heard of the quarrel. Ikey was not given to frequenting Burke's, but he had his own way of ferreting out news.

To Dunk he had gone, then, and had told much the same story he had related to Andy, giving it a different twist. And he had so worked on Dunk's feelings, picturing how terribly Andy must feel, that finally Dunk had consented to go to the park.

"Well, I'm glad I did, old man!" said Dunk, clapping Andy on the back.

"And so am I. I'm only wondering whether Ikey faked that 'sob story' or not."

"What of it? It certainly did the business, all right."

"It sure did."

Dunk and Andy were better friends than ever, and, to the relief of Andy, Mortimer and his crowd ceased coming to the room in Wright Hall, and taking Dunk off with them.

Occasionally Andy's chum would go off with a rather "sporty" crowd, and sometimes Andy went also. But Dunk held himself well in hand, for which Andy was very glad.

"It's all your doing, old man!" said Dunk, gratefully.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Andy, but his heart glowed nevertheless.

The quiet and rather calm atmosphere of college life was rudely broken when one night, following a mild celebration over the victory of the basketball team, several robberies were discovered.

A number of rooms in the college buildings had been entered, and various articles of jewelry and some money had been taken. Freshmen were mainly the ones who sustained the losses, though no class was exempt.

"This is getting serious!" exclaimed Dunk, as he and Andy talked the matter over. "We'd better get a new lock put on our door."

"I'm willing, though I haven't got much that would tempt anyone."

"I haven't either, only this," and he pulled out a handsome gold watch. "I'm so blamed careless about it that most of the time I forget to carry it."

"Well, let's put on a lock, then. The one we have doesn't catch half the time."

"No, it's been busted too many times by the raiding sophs. I'll buy another first time I'm down town."

But the matter slipped Dunk's mind, and Andy did not again think of it.

The thefts created no little excitement, and it was said that a private detective agency had been engaged by the faculty. Of the truth of this no one could vouch.

Another warning was given by the Dean, and students were urged to see to the fastening of their doors, not only for their own protection, but in order not to put temptation in the way of servants.

Andy came in from a late lecture one afternoon, to find open the door of his room he had left locked, as he thought. At first he supposed Dunk was within, but entering the apartment he saw Link Bardon there. The helper arose as Andy came in and said, rather embarrassedly:

"Mr. Blair, I'm in trouble."

"Trouble!" exclaimed Andy. "What kind?"

"Well, I need money. You see I've got a sick sister and the other day she wrote to me, saying she'd have to have some money to buy an expensive medicine. I sent it to her. She said her husband would get his pay this week, and she'd send it back to me. Now she writes that he is sick, and can't earn anything, so she can't pay me back.

"I was counting on that money, for my wages aren't due for several days, and I have to pay my board. I don't like to ask my landlady to wait, and I thought maybe——"

"Of course I'll let you have some!" exclaimed Andy quickly. "How much do you need?"

"Oh, about seven dollars."

"Better have ten. You can pay me back when you like," said Andy as he extended the bill.

"I don't know how to thank you!" exclaimed Link, gratefully.

"Then don't try," advised Andy, with a smile.



CHAPTER XXV

THE MISSING WATCH

Andy was "boning" on his German, with which he had had considerable difficulty. The dusk was settling down that early December day, and he was thinking of lighting a lamp to continue work on his books, when he heard a familiar step, and a whistle down the corridor. Then a voice broke into a college refrain.

"Dunk!" murmured Andy. "It sounds good to hear him, and to know that there's not much more danger of our getting on the outs. He sure was worth saving—that is, what little I did toward it. He did the most himself, I fancy."

"Hello, old top, hard at it?" greeted Dunk, as he entered.

"Have to be," replied Andy. "You've no idea how tough this German is."

"Oh, haven't I? Didn't I flunk in it the other day? And on something I ought to have known as well as I do my first reader lesson? It's no cinch—this being at Yale. Wonder if I've got time to slip down town before we feed our faces?" and he began fumbling for his watch.

"What's on?" asked Andy, rather idly.

Then, as he saw Dunk giving his shoes a hasty rub, and delving among a confused mass of ties in a drawer, Andy added:

"The witness need not answer. It's a skirt."

"A which?" asked Dunk in pretended ignorance.

"A lady. I didn't know you knew any here, Dunk!"

"Huh! Think you've got the preserves all to yourself, eh? Well, I'll show you that you haven't."

"Who is she?" asked Andy.

"Friend of a friend of mine. I think I'll take a chance and go down just for a little while. Save some grub for me. I won't be long. May make a date for to-night. Want to fill in?"

"If there's room."

"Sure, we'll make room, and I'll get you a girl. Some of us are going to the Hyperion. Nice little play there," and Dunk went on "dolling up," until he was at least partly satisfied with himself.

Dunk was about to leave when a messenger came to announce that he was wanted on the 'phone in the public booth in Dwight Hall, where the Y. M. C. A. of Yale has headquarters.

"I guess that's her now," said Dunk, as he hurried out. "I told her to call up," and he rushed down the corridor.

Andy heard him call back:

"I say, old man, look out for my watch, will you? I must have left it somewhere around there."

"The old fusser," murmured Andy, as he rose from the easy chair. "When Dunk goes in for anything he forgets everything else. He'd leave his head if it wasn't fastened on, or if I didn't remind him of it," and Andy felt quite a righteous glow as he began to look about for the valuable timepiece belonging to his roommate.

"He must have it on him," went on Andy, as a hasty search about the room did not reveal it. "Probably he's stuck it in his trousers' pocket with his keys and loose change. He oughtn't to have a good watch the way he uses it. Well, it isn't here—that's sure."

Andy, a little later, turned on the electric light, but no glow followed the snapping of the button.

"Current off again—or else it's burned out," he murmured. A look in the hall outside showed him other lamps gleaming and he knew that his own light must be at fault.

"Guess I'll go get another bulb," he remarked.

When he returned with the new one he was aware that some one was in the darkened room.

"That you, Dunk?" he asked.

"No," answered a voice he recognized as that of Ikey Stein. "I saw you going down the hall and guessed what you were after, so I took the liberty of coming in and waiting. I've got some real bargains."

"Nothing doing, Ikey," laughed Andy, as he screwed the lamp in the socket and lighted up the room. "Got all the ties I need for my whole course in Yale."

"It isn't ties," said Ikey, and his voice was so serious that Andy wondered at it. "It's handkerchiefs," went on the student-salesman. "Andy, I'm in bad. I bought a big stock of these things, and I've got to sell 'em to get my money out of 'em. I thought I would have plenty of time, but I owe a bill that's due now, and the man wants his money. So I've got to sell these handkerchiefs quicker than I expected. I need the cash, so I'll let 'em go for just what I paid for 'em. I don't care if I don't make a cent."

"Let's see 'em," suggested Andy. The talk sounded familiar. It was "bargain" patter, but an inspection of the handkerchiefs showed Andy that they were worth what was asked for them. And, as it happened, he was in need of some. He bought two dozen, and suggested to Ikey several other students in Wright Hall on whom he might call.

"Thanks," said the salesman, as he departed after a lengthy visit in Andy's room. "I won't forget what you've done for me, Blair. I'm having a hard time, and some people try to make it all the harder. They think, because I'm a Jew, that I have no feelings—that I like to be laughed at, and made to think that all I care about is money. Wait! Some day I'll show 'em!" and his black eyes flashed.

Andy felt really sorry for him. Certainly Ikey did not work his way through college on any easy path.

"I'm only too glad to do this for you," said the purchaser. He could not forget what a service Ikey had rendered to him and Dunk, bringing them together when they were on the verge of taking paths that might never converge.

"Well, I'll see if I can't find some other easy mark like you," laughed Ikey as he went down the hall.

Andy was about to go to the "eating joint" alone when Dunk came in whistling gaily.

"Ah, ha! Methinks thou hast had a pleasant meeting!" Andy "spouted."

"Right—Oh!" exclaimed his roommate. "It's all right for to-night, too. I've got a peach for you."

"Light or dark?" asked Andy, critically.

"Dark! Say, but you're getting mighty particular, though, for a young fellow."

"The same to you. Where do we meet 'em, and where do we go?"

"I've got it all fixed. Hyperion. Come on, let's get through grub, I want to dress."

He began searching hurriedly through his pockets, a puzzled look coming over his face.

"Where in the world——" he began. "Oh, I know, I left it here."

"What?"

"My watch. I called to you about it when I went out to the telephone, and——"

"It isn't here. I looked."

"What!"

"Fact! Unless you stuck it in something."

"No, I left it right on my dresser, on a pile of clean handkerchiefs—hello, where'd these come from?" and he looked at the ones Andy had bought of Ikey.

"Oh, another bargain from our mutual friend," and Andy mentioned the price.

"That is a bargain, all right. I must get some. But look here, where's my watch?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Did you leave it here?"

"I certainly did. I remember now, I put it on the pile of handkerchiefs just before I went to last lecture. Then I came in here, to go out to keep my date, and I didn't have it. I was going to slip it in my pocket when I was called to the 'phone. Look here, here's the impression of it in the handkerchiefs," and Dunk pointed to a round depression in the pile of soft linen squares. It was just the shape of a watch.

"It was there," said Dunk slowly, looking at Andy.

"And now it's gone," finished his roommate. Then he remembered several things, and his start of surprise made Dunk look at his chum in a strange way.

"What's the matter?" asked Dunk.

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Andy. "I want to think a bit."



CHAPTER XXVI

THE GIRLS

"Well?" asked Dunk, after a pause, during which Andy had sat staring at the fireplace. A blaze had been kindled there, but it had died down, and now there was only a mere flicker.

"Are you sure you left your watch on that pile of handkerchiefs?" asked Andy, slowly.

"Dead sure. I remember it because I thought at the time that I was a chump to treat that ticker the way I did, and I made up my mind I'd get a good chain for it and have my watch pocket lined with chamois leather. That's what made me think of it—the softness of the handkerchiefs. Why, Andy, you can see the imprint of it plainly enough."

"Yes, I guess you're right."

"And it's gone."

"Right again."

"Were you in the room all the time I was out?"

"Most all the while. I went to get a new electric lamp for the one that had burned out."

"Was anyone here besides you?"

Andy hesitated. Then he answered:

"Yes, two persons."

"Who?"

"Ikey Stein——"

"That——"

Andy held up a warning hand.

"Don't call any names," he advised. "Ikey did you and me a good service. We mustn't forget that."

"All right, I won't. Who else was in here?"

"Link Bardon."

"Who's he?"

"That farmer lad I was telling you about—the one we fellows saved from a beating."

"Oh, yes. I remember."

"He's working here now. He came in to borrow some money. I found him here when I came back—our door was open."

"By Jove! That lock! I meant to get it fixed. Well, I can see what happened. The quadrangle mystery deepens, and I'm elected. The beggar got my watch!" Dunk started out.

"Where are you going?" asked Andy.

"To telephone for a locksmith. I'm going to have our door fixed. Don't laugh—the old saying—'lock the stable after the horse is stolen.' I know it."

"Wait a minute," suggested Andy. "While you're at it hadn't you better give notice of the robbery?"

"I suppose so. But what good will it do? None of the fellows have gotten back anything that's been taken. But I sure am sorry to lose that watch."

"So am I," spoke Andy. "Look here, Dunk, there are two persons who might have taken it—no, three."

"How three?"

"Counting me."

"Oh, piffle. But I suppose if I made a row it would look bad for Ikey and your friend Link."

"It sure would. I think maybe you'd better not make a row."

"You mean sit down and let 'em walk off with my watch without saying a word?"

"Oh, no. Report the loss, of course. But don't mention any names."

"Well, I wouldn't like to mention Ikey—for the honor of Yale, and all that, you know."

"I agree with you. And, for certain reasons, I wouldn't like you to mention Link. I don't know about him, but I believe he's as honest as can be. Of course he was in need of money, and if your watch lay in plain sight there'd be a big temptation. But I'd hate to think it."

"So would I, after what you've told me about him. I won't think it, until, at least, we get more information. It was my fault for leaving it around that way. It's too bad! Dad will sure be sorry to hear it's gone. I'm going to keep mum about it—maybe it will turn up."

"I hope so," returned Andy. "I hardly believe Link would take it, yet you never can tell."

"Anyhow, we'll get a new lock put on, and I'll report my watch," said Dunk. "Then we'll forget all about it and have some fun. Come on, I'm hungry. It isn't so much the money value of the thing, as the associations. Hang it all—what a queer world this is. Oh, but you should see the girls, Andy!"

"I'm counting on it!"

When they came back, after a hasty session at the "eating joint," there was a note for each of them tucked under the door, which they had managed to lock pending the attaching of the new mechanism.

"From Gaffington," announced Dunk, ripping his open. "He's giving a blow-out to-night. Wants me to come."

"Same here," announced Andy, reading his, and then glancing anxiously at his roommate.

"I'm not going," said Dunk, wadding up the missive and tossing it into the waste-paper basket.

"Neither am I," said Andy, doing the same.

They began to "doll up," which, being interpreted, means to attire oneself in one's best raiment, including the newest tie, the stiffest collar and the most uncomfortable shirt, to say nothing of patent leather shoes a size too small.

"Whew!" panted Andy, as he adjusted his scarf for the fourth or fifth time, "these bargains of Ikey's aren't what they're cracked up to be."

"I should say not. I don't believe they're real silk."

"Maybe not. They say the Japs can make something that looks like it, but which isn't any more silk than a shoestring."

"I believe you. Maybe Ikey has been dabbling in some more of Hashmi's stuff."

"I wouldn't wonder. Say, it's a queer way for a fellow to get through college, isn't it?"

"It sure is. Yet he's a decent sort of chap. Only for that affair of the vases."

"Oh, he made restitution in that case."

They went on dressing, with hurried glances at the clock now and then to make sure they would not be late. From out in the raised court came a hail:

"Oh, you, Dunk!"

"Stick out your noddle, Blair!"

"Come on down!"

"That's Thad and his crowd," announced Andy.

"Let 'em holler," advised Dunk. "I'm not going with them."

"Oh, you Dunk!"

"Go on away!" called Dunk, shouting out of the window.

"Oh, for the love of mush!"

"Look at him!"

"Girls, all right!"

"Come on up and rough-house 'em!"

These cries greeted the appearance out of the window of the upper part of Dunk's body, attired in a gaudy waistcoat.

"Is that door locked, Andy?" gasped Dunk, hurriedly pulling in his head.

"Yes."

"Slip the bolt then. They'll make no end of a row if they get in!"

Andy slipped it, and only in time, for there came a rush of bodies against the portal, and insistent demands from Thad and his crowd to be admitted. Failing in that they besought Andy and Dunk to come out.

"Nothing doing! We've got dates!" announced Andy, and this was accepted as final.

They were just about to leave, quiet having been restored, when there came a knock.

"Who is it?" asked Dunk, suspiciously.

"Gaffington," was the unexpected answer. "Are you fellows coming to my blow-out."

Dunk looked at Andy and paused. Following the affair in Burke's, where Gaffington had incited Dunk against Andy, the rich youth from Andy's town had had little to say to him. He seemed to take it for granted that his condition that night was enough of an apology without any other, and treated Andy exactly as though nothing had occurred.

"Well?" asked Gaffington, impatiently.

"Sorry, old man," said Dunk, "but we both have previous engagements."

"Oh, indeed!" sneered Mortimer, and they could hear him muttering to himself as he walked away.

Then the two chums sallied forth. On the way Dunk reported the loss of his watch, to the discomfiture of the Dean, who seemed much disturbed by the successive robberies.

"Something must be done!" he exclaimed, pacing up and down the room.

Dunk also left word at the college maintenance office about the door that would not lock, and got the promise that it would be seen to.

"And now for the girls!" exclaimed Andy. "Do I know them?"

"No, but you soon will."

Andy was much pleased with the two young ladies to whom Dunk introduced him later. It appeared that one was a distant relative of Dunk's mother, and the two were visiting friends in New Haven. Dunk's "cousin," as he called her, had sent him a card, asking him to call, and he had made arrangements to bring Andy and spend the evening at the theatre.

Thither they went, happy and laughing, and to the no small envy of a number of college lads, the said lads making unmistakable signals to Dunk and Andy, between the acts, that they wanted to be introduced later.

But Andy and Dunk ignored their chums.



CHAPTER XXVII

JEALOUSIES

"Well, how did you like 'em?" demanded Dunk.

"Do you mean both—or one?" asked Andy.

"Huh, you ought to know what I mean?"

"Or—who, I suppose," and Andy smiled.

He and his chum had come back to their room after taking home the girls with whom they had spent the evening at the theatre. There had followed a little supper, and the affair ended most enjoyably. That is, it seemed to, but there was an undernote of irritation in Dunk's voice and he regarded Andy with rather a strange look as they sat in the room preparatory to going to bed.

"What did you and she find to talk about so much?" asked Dunk, suspiciously. "I brought Kittie Martin around for you."

"So I imagined."

"Yet nearly all the time you kept talking to Alice Jordan. Didn't you like Miss Martin?"

"Sure. She's a fine girl. But Miss Jordan and I found we knew the same people back home, where I come from, and naturally she wanted to hear about them."

"Huh! Well, the next time I get you a girl I'll make sure the one I bring along doesn't come from the same part of the country you do."

"Why?" asked Andy, innocently enough.

"Why? Good land, man! Do you think I want the girl I pick out monopolized by you?"

"I didn't monopolize her."

"It was the next thing to it."

"Look here, Dunk, you're not mad, are you?"

"No, you old pickle; but I'm the next thing to it."

"Why, I couldn't help it, Dunk. She talked to me."

"Bah! The same old story that Adam rung the changes on when Eve handed him the apple. Oh, forget it! I suppose I oughtn't to have mentioned it, but when I was all primed for a nice cozy talk to have you butting in every now and then with something about the girls and boys back in Oshkosh——"

"It was Dunmore," interrupted Andy.

"Well, Dunmore then. It's the same thing. I'll do—more to you if you do it again."

"I tell you she kept asking me questions, and what could I do but answer," replied Andy.

"You might have changed the subject. Kittie didn't like it for a cent."

"She didn't?"

"No. I saw her looking at you and Alice in a queer way several times."

"She did?"

"She did. So did Katy!" mocked Dunk, and his voice was rather snappish.

"Well, I didn't intend anything," said Andy. "Gee, but when I try to do the polite thing I get in Dutch, as the saying is. I guess I wasn't cut out for a lady's man."

"Oh, you're all right," Dunk assured his chum, "only you want to hunt on your own grounds. Keep off my preserves."

"All right, I will after this. Just give me the high sign when you see me transgressing again."

"There isn't likely to be any 'again,' Andy. They're going home to-morrow."

"I've got her address, anyhow," laughed Andy.

"Whose?" asked Dunk, suspiciously.

"Kittie Martin's. She's the one you picked out for me; isn't she?"

"Yes, and I wish you'd stick to her!" and with this Dunk tumbled into bed and did not talk further. Andy put out the light with a thoughtful air, and did not try to carry on the conversation. It was as near to a quarrel as the roommates had come since the affair of Burke's.

But matters were smoothed over, at least for a time, when, next day, came notes from the girls saying they had decided to prolong their visit in New Haven.

"Good!" cried Dunk. "We can take them out some more."

And this time Andy was careful not to pay too much attention to Miss Alice Jordan, though, truth to tell, he liked her better than he did Kittie Martin. And it is betraying no secret to confess that Alice seemed to like Andy very much.

The boys hired a carriage and took the girls for a drive one day, going to the beautiful hill country west of the new Yale Field.

As they were going slowly along they met a taxicab coming in the opposite direction. When it drew near Andy was somewhat surprised to find it contained Miss Mazie Fuller, the actress. She laughed and bowed, waving her hand to Andy.

"Who was that?" asked Dunk, who had been too busy talking to Alice to notice the occupant of the taxi.

"Miss Fuller," answered Andy.

"Oh, your little actress. Yes."

Andy blushed and Miss Martin, who sat beside the youth, rather drew away, while Alice gave him a queer, quick look.

"An actress?" murmured Miss Martin. "She looks young—a mere girl."

"That's all she is," said Andy, eagerly. Too eagerly, in fact. He rather overdid it.

"Tell 'em how you saved her life," suggested Dunk, laughing.

"Forget it," returned Andy, with another blush. "I'm tired of being a hero."

"Oh, I heard about that," said Miss Jordan. "There was something in the papers about it. She's real pretty, isn't she?" and again she looked queerly at Andy.

"Oh, yes," he admitted, taking warning now. "Say, tell me, shall we go over that cross road?"

"To change the subject," observed Miss Martin, with a little laugh, and a sidewise glance at Andy.

He was beginning to find that jealousy was not alone confined to Dunk.

The ride came to an end at last and Andy wondered just how he stood with Dunk and the girls.

"Hang it all!" he mused, "I seem to get in Dutch all along the line."

The girls left New Haven, having been given a little farewell supper by Dunk and Andy. The two boys had hard work to resist the many self-invited guests among their chums.

Several days later there came some letters to Dunk and Andy. One, to the latter, was from Miss Fuller, the actress, telling Andy that she expected to be in New Haven again, and asking Andy to call on her.

"You are going it!" said Dunk, when Andy told of this missive, and also mentioned receiving one from Miss Martin, thanking him for the entertainment he and Dunk had given to her and her chum. "You sure are going it, Andy! Two strings to your bow, all right."

"Never you mind me," retorted Andy. "I'm not on your side of the fence this time."

There was the sound of running feet in the corridor, and someone rushed past the room, the door of which was open.

"Did you see anyone pass?" cried Frank Carr, who roomed a few apartments away from Andy and Dunk. "Did someone run past here just now?"

"We didn't see nor hear anyone," answered Dunk. "Why?"

"Because just as I was coming upstairs I saw someone run out of my room. I thought of the quadrangle robberies at once, and took a look in. One of my books, and the silver vase I won in the tennis match, were gone. The thief came down this way!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BOOK

Andy and Dunk, who had jumped up and come to the door of their room on hearing Frank's explanation, stood looking at him for a second, rather startled by his news. Then Andy, realizing that this might be a chance to discover who had been carrying on the mysterious quadrangle robberies, exclaimed:

"Come on down this way! The hall ends just around the corner and there's no way out. It's a blind alley, and if the fellow went down here we sure have him!"

"Good for you!" cried Dunk. "Wait until we get something to tackle him with in case he fights."

"That's so," said Andy. "Here, I'll take our poker, and you can have the fire tongs, Dunk."

From a brass stand near the fireplace Andy caught up the articles he mentioned.

"Where's something for me?" asked Frank.

"Here, take the shovel," spoke Dunk passing it over. "Say, what sort of a fellow was it you saw run out of your room?"

"I didn't have much chance to notice, he went so like a flash."

"Was it—er—one of our fellows—I mean a college man—did he look like that?" asked Andy. He was conscious of the fact that he had rather stammered over this. Truth to tell, he feared lest Link might have yielded to temptation. Since the episode of Dunk's watch Andy had been doing some hard thinking.

"Well, the fellow did look like a college chap," admitted Frank, "but of course it couldn't be. No Yale man would be guilty of a thing like that."

"Of course not!" agreed Dunk. "But say, if we're going to make a capture we'd better get busy. Are you sure there's no way out from this corridor, Andy?"

"Sure not. It ends blank. The fellow is surely trapped."

They hurried out into the corridor, and started down it, armed with the fire irons. Though they had talked rather loudly, and were under considerable excitement, no attention had been attracted to them. Most of the rooms on that floor were not occupied just then, and if there were students in the others they did not come out to see what was taking place.

"Say, it would be great if we could capture the thief!" said Dunk.

"Yes, and end the quadrangle mystery," added Andy.

"I don't care so much about ending the mystery as I do about getting back my tennis cup and the book," spoke Frank.

"What sort of a book was it?" Andy inquired.

"A reference work on inorganic chemistry," answered Frank. "Cost me ten plunks, too. I can't afford to lose it for I need it in my work."

"Some book!" murmured Andy, as the three hastened on.

They tried door after door as they passed, but most of them were locked. One or two opened to disclose students dressing or shaving, and to the rather indignant inquiries as to what was wanted, Dunk would exclaim hastily:

"Oh, we are looking for a fellow—that's all."

"Hazing?" sometimes would be inquired.

"Sort of," Dunk would answer. "No use telling 'em what it is until we've got something to show," he added to his companions. They agreed with him.

They had now reached the turn of corridor where a short passage, making an L, branched off. So far they had seen no trace of the thief.

"There's a big closet, or storeroom, at the end," explained Andy. "The fellow may be hiding in there."

An examination of the few rooms remaining on this short turn of the passage did not disclose the youth they sought. All of the doors were locked.

"He may be hiding in one of them," suggested Dunk.

"If he is all we'll have to do will be to wait down at the other end, if we don't find him in the store room," spoke Andy. "He'll have to come out some time, and it's too high up for him to jump."

"It's queer we didn't hear him run past our room," remarked Dunk.

"He had on rubber shoes—that's why," explained Frank. "He went out of my room like a shadow. At first I didn't realize what it was, but when I found my stuff had vanished I woke up."

"Rubber shoes, eh?" said Andy. "He's an up-to-date burglar all right."

"Well, let's try the storeroom," suggested Dunk, as they neared it. They were rather nervous, in spite of the fact that their forces outnumbered the enemy three to one. With shovel, tongs and poker held in readiness, they advanced. The door of the big closet was closed, and, just as Andy was about to put his hand on the knob, the portal swung open, and out stepped—Mortimer Gaffington.

"Why—er—why—you—you——!" stammered Andy.

"Did you—have you——?" This was what Dunk tried to say.

"Is he in there?" Frank wanted to know.

Mortimer looked coolly at the three.

"I say," he drawled, "what's up? Are you looking for a rat?"

"No, the quadrangle thief!" exclaimed Andy. "He went in Frank's room and took his book and silver cup, and lit out. Came down here and we're after him! Have you seen him?"

"No," replied Mortimer, slowly. "I came up here to get Charley Taylor's mushroom bat. He said he stuck it in here when the season was over, and he told me I could have it if I could fish it out. I had the dickens of a time in there, pawing over a lot of old stuff."

"Did you get the bat?" asked Dunk.

"No. I don't believe it's there. If it is I'd have to haul everything out to get at it. I'm going to give it up."

As he spoke he threw open the closet door. An electric light was burning inside, and there was revealed to the eyes of Andy and his chums a confused mass of material. Most of it was of a sporting character, and belonged to the students on that floor, they using the store room for the accumulation that could not be crowded into their own apartments.

"A regular junk heap," commented Frank. "But where the mischief did that fellow go who was in my room?"

"It is sort of queer," admitted Andy, as he looked down. Without intending to do so he noticed that Mortimer did not wear rubber-soled shoes, but had on a heavy pair that would have made noise enough down the corridor had he hurried along the passage.

"Maybe you dreamed it," suggested Mortimer. "I didn't see anything of anyone coming down here, and I was in that closet some time, rummaging away."

"Must have been pretty warm in there—with the door closed," suggested Dunk.

"It was hot. The door swung shut when I was away back in a corner trying to fish out that bat, and I didn't want to climb back and open it. Well, I guess I'll go clean up. I'm all dust."

Truth to tell, he was rather disheveled, his clothes being spotted in several places with dust and cobwebs, while his face and hands were also soiled.

"Well, I guess he fooled us," commented Andy. "I can't understand it, though. We came down this hall right after him, and there's no stairway going up or down from this end. How could he give us the slip?"

"Easily enough," said Mortimer. "He could have slid into some empty room, locked the door on the inside and waited until you fellows rushed past. Then he could come out and go down the stairs behind you without you seeing him."

"That's what he did then, all right," decided Dunk. "We might as well give it up. Report your loss, Frank."

"Yes, I will. Whew! Another quadrangle robbery to add to the list. I wonder when this thing will stop?"

No one could answer him. Mortimer switched off the light in the store room, remarking that he'd have another look for the bat later. Then he accompanied Andy and the others on their way back down the corridor. Gaffington departed to his own dormitory, while Frank went to report to the Dean, and Andy and Dunk turned into their room.

"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Andy.

"I don't know," responded his roommate. "Mortimer's explanation seems to cover it."

"All the same we'll leave our door open, on the chance that the thief may still be hiding in some empty room, and will try to sneak out," suggested Andy.

"Sure, that's good enough."

But, though they watched for some time, no one came down the corridor past their room but the regular students.

And so the theft of the book and silver cup passed into history with the other mysteries. Further search was made, and the private detective agency, that had been engaged by the Dean, sent some active men scouting around, but nothing came of it.

The Christmas vacation was at hand and Andy went home to spend it in Dunmore. Chet, Ben and his other school chums were on hand, and as Andy remarked concerning the occasion, "a jolly time was had by all."

Chet and Ben were with Andy most of the time, and when Andy told of the doings at Yale, Chet responded with an account of the fun at Harvard, while Ben related the doings of the Jersey Tiger.

Andy's second term at Yale began early in the new year, and he arrived in New Haven during a driving snow storm. He went at once to his room, where he found a note from Dunk, who had come in shortly before.

"Come over to the eating joint," the missive read, and Andy, stowing away his bag, headed for the place.

"Over in here!"

"Shove in, plenty of room!"

"Oh, you, Andy Blair!"

"Happy New Year!"

Thus was he greeted and thus he greeted in turn. Then, amid laughter and talk, and the rattle of knives and forks, acquaintanceship and friendship were renewed. Andy was beginning to feel like a seasoned Yale man now.

The studies of the second term were of increasing difficulty, and Andy and Dunk found they had to buckle down to steady work. But they had counted on this.

Still they found time for fun and jollity and spent many a pleasant evening in company with their other friends. Once or twice Mortimer and his cronies tried to get Dunk to spend the night with them, but he refused; or, if he did go, he took Andy with him, and the two always came home early, and with clear heads.

"They're a pair of quitters!" said Len Scott, in disgust, after one occasion of this kind. "What do you want to bother with 'em for, Mort?"

"That's what I say," added Clarence Boyle.

"Oh, well, I may have my reasons," returned Mortimer, loftily. "Dunk would be a good sort if he wasn't tied fast to Andy. I can't get along with him, though."

"Me either," added Len. "He's too goody-goody." Which was somewhat unjust to Andy.

The winter slowly wore on. Now and then there would be another of the mysterious robberies, and on nearly every occasion the article taken was of considerable value—jewelry, sporting trophies or expensive books. There was suspicion of many persons, but not enough to warrant an arrest.

One day Hal Pulter, who roomed in Wright Hall, near Dunk and Andy, reported that an expensive reference book had been taken from his room. The usual experience followed, with no result.

Then, about a week later, as Andy was walking past the small building at High and Elm streets, where the University Press had its quarters, he came up behind Mortimer Gaffington, who seemed to be studying a book.

Andy wondered somewhat at Mortimer's application, particularly as it was snowing at the time. This enabled Andy to come close up behind Gaffington without the latter being aware of it, and, looking over the shoulder of the youth, Andy saw on the fly-leaf of the volume a peculiar ink blot.

At once a flash of recollection came to Andy. Well did he know that ink blot, for he had made it himself.

"Why, that's Pulter's book!" he exclaimed, speaking aloud involuntarily. "Where did you get it?"

Mortimer turned quickly and faced Andy.

"What's that?" he asked, sharply.

"I say that's Pulter's book," Andy went on.

"How do you know?" asked Mortimer.

"Why, by that big ink blot. I made it. Pulter was in our room with the book just before it was stolen, and my fountain pen leaked on it. That sure is Pulter's book. Where did you get it? That's the one he made such a fuss about!"



CHAPTER XXIX

THE ACCUSATION

"Pulter's book, eh?" murmured Mortimer, slowly, as he turned it about, looking on the front and back blank pages.

"It sure is," went on Andy, eagerly. "I'd know that ink blot anywhere. Pulter let out a howl like an Indian when my pen leaked on his book. The blot looks like a Chinese laundryman turned upside down."

"That's right," agreed Mortimer. "Queer, isn't it?"

"Yes," went on Andy, his curiosity growing. "Where did you get it?"

"Found it," spoke the rich lad, quickly. "I went out to the new Yale Field to see how the stadium was coming on, and I saw this under a clump of bushes. I knew it was a valuable book, so I brought it back with me. It hasn't got Pulter's name in it, though."

"No," went on Andy. "His name was on the other front leaf. That was worse blotted with the ink than this one, and he tore it out. But I'm sure that's Pulter's book."

"Very likely," admitted Mortimer, coolly. "I'll take it to him. I'm glad I found it. Going my way?"

"Yes," and Andy walked beside the lad from his home town, thinking of many things. Mortimer went into Wright Hall, but Pulter was not in.

"I'll leave the book for him," Mortimer said to Andy, "and you can call his attention to it. If it isn't his let me know, and I'll post a notice saying that I've found it."

"All right," agreed our hero. "But I know it's Pulter's."

He was telling Dunk about the incident, when his roommate came in a little later, and they were discussing the queer coincidence, when Pulter came bursting in.

"Oh, I say!" he cried. "I've got my book back! What do you know about that? It was on my table, and——"

He stopped and looked queerly at Andy and Dunk, who were smiling.

"What's the joke?" demanded Pulter. "Did you fellows——"

"Gaffington found it," said Andy. "Sit down and I'll explain," which he did.

"Well, that is a queer go!" exclaimed Pulter. "How in the world did my book get out to Yale Field? It isn't so queer that Gaffington would find it, for I understand he goes out there a lot, on walks. But how did my book get there?"

"Probably whoever took it found they couldn't get much by pawning or selling it, and threw it away," suggested Dunk.

"Looks that way," agreed Andy. "But it sure is a queer game all around."

They discussed it from many standpoints. Pulter was very glad to get his book back, for he was not a wealthy lad, and the cost of a new volume meant more to him than it would to others.

"Well, Andy, how do you size it up?" asked Dunk, when Pulter had gone back to his apartment and Andy and his chum sat in their cozy room before a crackling fire.

"How do you mean?" asked Andy, to gain time.

"Why, about Gaffington having that book. Didn't it look sort of fishy to you?"

"It did in a way, yes. But his explanation was very natural. It all might have happened that way."

"Oh, yes, of course. But do you believe it?"

"I don't know why I shouldn't. Gaffington's folks have no end of money, you know. He wouldn't be guilty of taking a book. If he did want to crib something he'd go in for something big."

"Well, some of these quadrangle robberies have been big enough. There's my watch, for instance."

"What! You don't mean you believe Gaffington is the quadrangle thief!" exclaimed Andy, in surprise.

"I don't believe it, exactly, no. If he's rich, as you say, certainly he wouldn't run the risk for the comparatively few dollars he could get out of the thefts. But I will admit that this book business did make me suspicious."

"Oh, forget it," advised Andy, with a laugh. "I don't like Gaffington, and I never did, but I don't believe that of him."

"Oh, well, I dare say I'm wrong. It was only a theory."

"I would like to know who's doing all this business, though," went on Andy.

"It's probably some of the hired help they have around here," suggested Dunk. "They can't investigate the character of all the men and women employed in the kitchens, the dormitories and around the grounds."

"No, that's right. I only hope my friend Link doesn't fall under suspicion."

For a week or so after this, matters went on quietly at Yale. There were no further thefts and the authorities had begun to hope there would be no more. They had about given up the hope of solving the mystery of those already committed.

Then came a sensation. Some very valuable books were taken one night from Chittenden Hall—rare volumes worth considerable money. The next morning there was much excitement when the fact became known.

"Now something will be done!" predicted Andy.

"Well, what can they do that hasn't already been done?" asked Dunk. "They may make a search of every fellow's room. I wish they'd come here. Maybe they'd find that my watch, after all, has hidden itself away somewhere instead of being taken."

"They're welcome if they want to look here," said Andy. "But I don't believe they'll do that. They'll probably get a real detective now."

And that was what the Dean did. He disliked very much to call in the public police, but the loss of the rare books was too serious a theft to pass over with the hiring of a private detective.

Just what was done was not disclosed, but it leaked out that a close watch was being kept on all the employees at Yale, and suspicion, it was said, had narrowed down to one or two.

One day Link called on Andy to pay back the money he had borrowed.

"There's no hurry," said Andy. "I don't need it."

"Oh, I want to pay it back," said the young farmer. "I have plenty of cash now," and he exhibited quite a roll of bills.

"Been drawing your salary?" asked Andy, with a laugh.

"No, this is a little windfall that came to me," was the answer.

"A windfall? Did someone die and leave you a fortune?"

"No, not exactly. It came to me in a curious way. I got it through the mail, and there wasn't a word of explanation with it. Just the bill folded in a letter. A hundred-dollar bill, it was, but I had it changed."

"Do you mean someone sent you a hundred dollars, and you don't know who it's from?" asked Andy, in surprise.

"That's right!" exclaimed Link, with a laugh. "I wish I did know, for I'd write and thank whoever it was. It surely came in handy."

"Why, it's very strange," spoke Andy, slowly. "Could you tell by the postmark where the letter came from?"

"It was from New York, but I haven't a friend there that I know of."

"Well, I'm glad you've got it. Take care of it, Link."

"I intend to. I can lend you some now, if you need it, Mr. Blair."

"Thank you, I have enough at present."

Andy watched his protege walk across the campus, and near the middle observed him stopped by a stranger. Link appeared surprised, and started back. There was a quick movement, and the young farmer was seized by the other.

"That's queer!" exclaimed Andy. "I wonder what's up? Link may be in trouble. Maybe that fellow's trying to rob him."

The quadrangle was almost deserted at the time. Andy hurried down and ran over to where Link was standing. The student caught the gleam of something on the wrist of his friend. It was a steel handcuff!

"What—what's up, Link?" Andy gasped.

"Why, Mr. Blair—I don't know. This man—he says he's a detective, and——"

"So I am a detective, and I don't want any of your funny work!" was the snappish retort. "There's my badge," and it was flashed from under the armhole of the man's vest, being fastened to his suspenders, where most plain-clothes men carry their official emblem.

"A detective!" gasped Andy. "What's the matter? Why do you want Link Bardon?"

"We want him because he's accused of being the quadrangle thief!" was the unexpected answer. "Stand aside now, I'm going to take him to the station house!"



CHAPTER XXX

THE LETTER

Andy could scarcely understand it. Surely, he thought, there must be some mistake. He was glad there was not a crowd of students about to witness the humiliation of Link—a humiliation none the less acute if the charge was groundless.

"Wait a minute—hold on!" exclaimed Andy, sharply, and there was something in his voice that caused the detective to pause.

"Well, what is it?" the officer growled. "I haven't any time to waste."

"Do you really want him on a robbery charge?" asked Andy.

"I do—if his name is Link Bardon," was the cool answer. "I guess he won't attempt to deny it. I've been on his trail for some time."

"That's my name, sure enough—I have no reason to deny it," said Link, who had turned pale. His eyes had traces of tears in them. After all, he was not much older than Andy and he was a gentle sort of youth, unused to the rough ways of the world.

"I thought I was right," the detective went on. "I've been watching for you. Now the question is—are you coming along quietly, or shall I have any trouble?"

"I won't give you any trouble—certainly not," protested Link. "But this is all a mistake! I haven't taken a thing! You know I wouldn't steal, don't you, Mr. Blair?"

"I certainly believe it, Link, and I'll do all I can to help you. What are you going to do with him?" he asked the detective.

"Lock him up—what do you suppose?"

"But can't he get out on bail?"

"Oh, it could be arranged. I have nothing to do with that. I'm just supposed to get him—and I've got him!"

"But I—I haven't done anything!" insisted Link.

"That's what they all say," sneered the detective. "Come along!"

"Do—do I have to go with him?" asked Link, turning to Andy in appeal.

"I'm afraid so," was the answer. "But I'll go with you and try to get bail. Don't worry, Link. It's all a mistake. You'll soon be free."

"Don't be too sure of that," warned the officer. "I've been searching your room, young man, and I guess you know what I found there."

"You certainly found in my room only the things that belonged to me!" exclaimed Link, indignantly.

"Did I? What do you call this?" and the detective took from his pocket a small book. Andy recognized it at once as one of the valuable ones taken from Chittenden Hall.

"You—you found that in my room?" cried Link, aghast.

"I sure did. In your room on Crown street. Now maybe you won't be so high and mighty."

"If you found that in my room, someone else put it there!" declared Link. "I certainly never did."

"Well, I won't say that couldn't happen," spoke the officer coolly, "but if you think I planted it there to frame up some evidence against you, you've got another guess coming. I took your landlady into the room with me, to have a witness, and she saw me pull this book out from the bottom of a closet."

"I never put it there!" protested Link.

"You can tell that to the judge," went on the officer. "How about all the money you've been sporting around to-day, too?"

Link started. Andy, too, saw how dangerous this evidence might be.

"I've had some money—certainly," admitted Link.

"Where'd you get it?"

Link hesitated. He realized that the story would sound peculiar.

"It was sent to me," he answered.

"Who sent it?"

"I don't know. It came in the mail without a word of explanation."

The detective laughed.

"I thought you'd have some such yarn as that," he said. "They all do. I guess you'll have to come with me. I'm sorry," he went on in a more gentle tone. "I'm only doing my duty. I've been working on the quadrangle case for some time, and I think I've landed my man. But it isn't as much fun as you might think. I'll only say that I believe I have the goods on you, and I'll warn you that anything you say now may be used against you. So you'd better keep still. Come along."

"Must I go?" asked Link again of Andy.

"I'm afraid so. But I'll have you out on bail as soon as I can. Don't worry, Link."

Andy learned from the detective before what judge Link would be arraigned and then, as the young farmer lad was led away in disgrace, Andy started back to his room.

"I've got to get Dunk to help me in this," he reasoned. "To go on bail you have to own property, or else put up the cash, and I can't do that. Maybe Dunk can suggest a way."

Andy was glad it was so dark that no one could see Link being taken away by the officer.

"How did that book get in Link's room?" mused Andy. "That sure will tell against him. But I know he didn't steal it. Some other janitor or helper who could get into Chittenden may have taken it, and then got afraid and dumped it in Link's closet. A lot of college employees live on Crown street. I must get Link a lawyer and tell him that."

Andy found Dunk in the room, and excitedly broke the news to him.

"Whew! You don't say so!" cried Dunk. "Your friend Link arrested! What do you know about that? And the book in his room!"

"Somebody else put it there," suggested Andy.

"Possibly. But that money-in-a-letter story sounds sort of fishy."

"That is a weak point," Andy admitted. "But we'll have to consider all that later. The question is: How can we get Link out on bail? Got any money?"

Dunk pulled out his pocketbook and made a hurried survey.

"About thirty plunks," he said.

"I've got twenty-five," said Andy. "Link has nearly a hundred himself."

"That won't be enough," said Dunk. "This is a grand larceny charge and the bail will be five hundred dollars anyhow. Now I'll tell you the best thing to do."

"What?"

"Hire a good lawyer. We've got money enough, with what Link has, to pay a good retaining fee. Let the lawyer worry about the bail. Those fellows always have ways of getting it."

"I believe you're right," agreed Andy. "We can put up fifty dollars for a retainer to the lawyer."

"I'll telegraph for more from home to-night," said Dunk. "Andy, we'll see this thing through."

"It's mighty good of you, Dunk."

"Nonsense! Why shouldn't I help out your friend?"

"Do you think he's guilty?"

"I wouldn't want to say. Certainly I hope he isn't; but I'd like to get my watch back."

"Well, let's go get a lawyer," suggested Andy.

A sporty senior, whom Dunk knew, and who had more than once been in little troubles that required the services of a legal man, gave them the address of a good one. They were fortunate in finding him in his office, though it was rather late, and he agreed to take the case, and said he thought bail could be had.

Andy and Dunk made a hasty supper and then, letting their studies go, hurried to the police court, where, occasionally, night sessions were held.

Link was brought out before the judge, having first had a conference with the lawyer Dunk and Andy had engaged. The charge was formally made.

"We plead not guilty," answered the lawyer, "and I ask that my client be admitted to bail."

"Hum!" mused the judge. "The specific charge only mentions one book, of the value of two hundred dollars, but I understand there are other charges to follow. I will fix bail at one thousand dollars, the prisoner to stand committed until a bond is signed."

Andy and Dunk gasped at the mention of a thousand dollars, but the lawyer only smiled quietly.

"I have a bondsman here, your Honor," he said.

A man, looking like an Italian, came forward, but he proved to have the necessary property, and signed the bond. Then Link was allowed to go, being held, however, to answer to a higher court for the charge against him.

"Now if you'll come to my office," suggested the lawyer, "we'll plan out this case."

"Oh, I can't thank you two enough!" gasped Link, when he was free of the police station. "It was awful back there in the cell."

"Forget it," advised Dunk, with a laugh. "You'll never go back there again."

The consultation with the lawyer took some time, and when it was over Link started for his room. He was cheered by the prospect that the case against him was very slight.

"Unless they get other evidence," specified the lawyer.

"They can't!" cried Link, proudly.

Andy and Dunk went back to their room, to do some necessary studying. On their way they stopped in the Yale branch postoffice. There was a letter from home for Andy, and when he had read it he uttered such an exclamation that Dunk asked:

"Any bad news?"

"Yes, but not for me," replied Andy. "This is from my mother. She writes that Mr. Gaffington—that's Mortimer's father—has failed in business and lost all his money. This occurred some time ago, but the family has been keeping it quiet. The Gaffingtons aren't rich at all, and Mortimer will probably have to leave Yale."

"Too bad," said Dunk, and then he started off, leaving Andy to read the letter again.



CHAPTER XXXI

ON THE DIAMOND

Andy Blair stood in the middle of his room, carefully examining a bat he had taken from a closet containing, among other possessions, his sporting things. The bat was a favorite he had used while at Milton, and he was considering having it sand-papered and oiled. Or, rather, he was considering doing the work himself, for he would not trust his choicest stick to the hands of another.

"Yes, she'll look a little better for a bit of attention, I think," said Andy, half aloud. "Though I don't know as I can bat any better with it."

He gave two or three preliminary swings in the air, when the door suddenly opened, a head was thrust in and Andy gave it a glancing blow.

"Wow! What's that for?" the newcomer gasped. "A nice way to receive company, Andy! Where'd you learn that?"

"I beg your pardon, Bob, old man!" exclaimed Andy, as he recognized Hunter, Dunk's friend. "I was just getting out my bat to see how it felt and——"

"I can tell you how it felt," interrupted Bob, with emphasis. "It felt hard! Better put up a sign outside your door—'Beware of the bat.'"

"And have the fellows think this is a zoological museum," laughed Andy. "I will not. But, Bob, I'm very sorry you got in the way of my stick. Does it hurt? Want any witch hazel or anything like that?"

"Oh, no, it isn't so worse. Good thing I wear my hair long or I might have a headache. But say—where's Dunk?"

"He was with me a little while ago. We stopped in the postoffice, and I thought he came on here. But he didn't. Have you seen him?"

"No, but I want to. Gaffington and his crowd are going to have another blow-out to-night, and I wanted to make sure Dunk wouldn't fall by the wayside."

"That's so. Glad you told me. I'll do all I can. But say, he and I have had a strenuous time to-day."

"What's up?" asked Bob. "I've been so blamed busy getting primed for a quiz that I haven't had time to eat."

"It's about the robberies—the quadrangle thefts," explained Andy. "They arrested Link Bardon."

"What! Your farmer friend?"

"Yes. Dunk and I bailed him out."

"Good for you! Now I suppose the thefts will stop."

"Not necessarily," returned Andy, quickly. "Link wasn't the thief."

"He wasn't? Then why did they pinch him? Of course I don't know anything about it, and if he's your friend, why, of course, you have a right to stick up for him."

"Oh, it isn't that so much," explained Andy. "I don't know him very well; but I'm sure he isn't guilty of the thefts. There are some queer circumstances about them, but I'm sure they can all be explained."

"Well, it's your funeral—not mine," said Bob, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I wonder where Dunk is. I think I'll go hunt him up."

"All right, bring him back here when you come," urged Andy.

"Yes, and I suppose you'll stand ready to greet us with a club—you cheerful reception committee!" laughed Bob. "Well, I'll see you later."

Andy sat down, placing his bat across his knees.

"So Gaffington is going to give another spread, eh?" he mused. "That's queer—on top of the news mother sends in her letter. What did I do with it?"

He found it after looking through a mass of papers in his pockets, and read it again. Following its receipt at the college branch postoffice Andy had imparted the news to Dunk. Then the latter, meeting a friend, had walked off with him, while Andy came on to his room.

On reaching his apartment, Dunk not having come in, Andy found a notice from the Freshman Athletic Committee, stating that baseball practice would soon start in the indoor cage.

Andy was an enthusiastic player, and had made a good record at Milton. As a freshman he was not eligible for the Yale varsity nine, but he could play on his class team, and he was glad the chance had come to him.

Andy was thinking of many things as he sat there in the room, now and then swinging his bat. But he was careful not to let it go too close to the door, in case other visitors might chance in.

"A whole lot of things have happened since morning," said Andy to himself. "That sure was a strenuous time over poor Link. I wonder what he'll do? Probably the college will fire him from his job. I guess I'll have to see what I can do to get him another. But that won't be easy when it becomes known that he's out on bail on a theft charge.

"Then there's that news about Mortimer. And to think that he's known all along that he might have to leave Yale, yet he's been going on and living as if his father's millions were in a safe deposit box. I wonder——By Jove!" exclaimed Andy, leaping up. "I never thought of that. Why not? If he needs money——"

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on his door, which had swung shut as Bob Hunter went out.

"Come in!" invited Andy, and he started as Mortimer Gaffington slid in. Andy gave him a quick glance, but either Mortimer was a good actor, or he did not feel his father's loss of money, providing the news Mrs. Blair had sent her son was correct.

"Hello, Andy," greeted Gaffington, as he slumped into an easy chair. "Where's Dunk?"

"I don't know. Bob Hunter was just in looking for him. Make yourself at home—he may be in soon." In spite of his dislike of Gaffington, and his fear lest he influence Dunk for evil, Andy could do no less than play the part of host.

"Thanks, I will stay for a while," answered Mortimer. "Been looking for thieves again?" he asked, noting the bat in Andy's hand. He referred to the time when Andy and his two friends had sought an intruder down the corridor, and had only found Mortimer delving in a storeroom.

"No, not this time," laughed Andy. "But the freshman team is going to get together, so I thought I'd get out my fishing tackle, so to speak."

"I see. I guess the varsity indoor practice will start soon. Say, what's this I hear about someone being arrested for the quadrangle thefts?"

"It's true enough," replied Andy, looking sharply at his visitor. "Link Bardon was arrested, and Dunk and I got him bailed out."

"You did!" cried Mortimer, almost jumping from the chair.

"Why, was there anything strange in that?" asked Andy, in surprise.

"I should think so!" exclaimed Mortimer, sharply. "Here the whole college has been upset by a lot of robberies, and your own roommate loses a valuable watch. Then, as soon as the thief is arrested, you fellows go on his bail! Strange? Well, I should say so!"

"I didn't say we went on his bond," spoke Andy, quietly. "Dunk and I only got him a lawyer who arranged for it. But I don't believe Link is guilty."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," said Mortimer, and there was anger in his voice. "Of course, though, if he's your friend you do right to stick up for him."

"Yes," agreed Andy, "he is my friend. And it's at a time like this that he needs friends."

"Oh, well," said Mortimer, with a shrug of his shoulders, "let's forget it. I wonder what's keeping Dunk?"

"Anything I can do?" asked Andy, wishing Mortimer would leave before Dunk came in. He did not want his chum taken to Burke's for a "won't be home until morning" affair if he could help it.

"No, I want to see Dunk on a personal matter," said the caller. "Guess I won't wait any longer, though," and he arose to go out. Just as he reached the door Dunk came in whistling.

"Anything on?" Andy heard Mortimer ask quickly.

"No. Why?"

"Can I see you a moment outside?"

"Sure. I'll be back in a minute, Andy," said Dunk. "I met Bill Hagan just as I left the postoffice and he wanted me to look at a bull pup he wants to sell."

Dunk and Mortimer walked down the hall. Andy was a little anxious as to what might develop, but he need have had no fears. Dunk returned presently, looking rather grave.

"Did he want you to go to his blow-out?" asked Andy, with the privilege of a roommate.

"Yes, but I'm not going. He wanted some money. Said he was dead broke."

"And yet he's going to blow in a lot. Did you give it to him?"

"What else could I do? When a fellow's down and out that's just the time he needs help."

"That's right," agreed Andy, thinking of Link. "But did Mortimer say anything about his father's losses?"

"Not a thing. Just said he was temporarily broke, and asked for a loan. I couldn't refuse."

"No, I suppose not. But you must be strapped after putting up for Link. I know I am. I'm going to telegraph home."

"You needn't. I got a check in the mail to-night and I cashed it. I can lend you some if you want it."

"Well, I may call on you. But say, it's queer about Mortimer, isn't it?"

"Yes, but we don't know all the ins and outs of it yet. Maybe that rumor about his folks losing all they had isn't true."

"Maybe. I'll write home and find out. Say, but I'm tired!"

"So am I! I'm going to stay in to-night."

So it came about that neither Dunk nor Andy went to the little affair Mortimer gave on borrowed money. It was "quite some affair," too, as Bob Hunter reported later, having heard stories about it, and one or two participants were suspended as a result of their performances after the spread.

After the rather exciting time concerning Link's arrest matters at Yale, as regards the happenings with which this chronicle concerns itself, quieted down. Link's case would not come up for trial for some time. Meanwhile he was allowed his liberty on bail. He was, of course, discharged from his position.

"But I've got another job," he said to Andy, a day or so later. "That lawyer is a good sort. He helped me. I'm just going to stick here until I prove that I didn't have a hand in those robberies."

"That's the way to talk!" cried Andy. "You didn't hear where the hundred dollars came from, did you?"

"No, and I can see that my explanation of how I got it isn't going to be believed in court. But it's true, just the same."

"Then the truth will come out—some time," said Andy, firmly. "In the meanwhile, if I can do anything, let me know."

"Thank you."

The months passed. Spring was faintly heralded in milder weather, by the return of the birds, and the presence of little buds on the leafless trees.

Somewhat to the disappointment of Andy there were no more quadrangle robberies. That is, Andy was disappointed to a certain extent. For if the thefts had still kept up after the discharge of Link, it would at least show that someone besides the young farmer was guilty. As it was, it made his case appear all the worse.

"But I'm not going to believe it!" exclaimed Andy. "Link is not guilty!"

"Go to it, old man!" cried Dunk. "I'm with you to the end."

Indoor baseball practice was held in the cage on Elm street, back of the gymnasium, and Andy was picked to catch for the freshman nine. Dunk, to his delight, was first choice for pitcher. Then came intense longings to get out on the real diamond.

The chance came sooner than was expected, for there was an early Spring. The ground was still a little soft and damp, but it could be played on, and soon crowds of students began pouring out to Yale Field to watch the practice and the games between the class nines, or the varsity and the scrubs.

"Come on now, Dunk, sting 'em in!"

"Fool him, boy, fool him!"

"Make him give you a nice one!"

"Watch his glass arm break!"

These cries greeted Dunk, who was pitching for the freshmen against a scrub nine one afternoon. It was a few days before the game with the Princeton freshmen—the first game of the season, and the Yale freshman coaches were anxious to get their nine into good shape.

"Ah! There he goes!" came a yell, as the scrub batter hit the ball Dunk pitched in to Andy. But the ball went straight back into the hands of Dunk, who stopped it, hot liner though it was, and the batter was out—retiring the side.



CHAPTER XXXII

VICTORY

Mortimer Gaffington stayed on at Yale. How he did it Andy and Dunk, who alone seemed to know of his father's failure, could not tell. Andy's mother confirmed her first news about Mr. Gaffington's losses. Yet Mortimer stayed at college.

Afterward it developed that he was in dire straits, and only by much ingenuity did he manage to raise enough to keep up appearances. He borrowed right and left, taking from one to satisfy the demands of another—an endless chain sort of arrangement that was bound to break sooner or later.

But Mortimer had managed to make a number of new friends in the "fast" set and these were not careful to remind him of the loans he solicited. Then, also, these youths had plenty of money. On them Mortimer preyed.

He gave a number of suppers which were the talk of the college, but he was wise enough to keep them within certain bounds so that he was not called to account. But he was walking over thin ice, and none knew it better than himself. But there was a fatal fascination in it.

Several times he came to Dunk to invite him to attend some of the midnight affairs, but Dunk declined, and Andy was very glad. Dunk said Mortimer had several times asked for loans, but had met with refusals.

"I'm not going to give him any more," said Dunk. "He's had enough of my cash now."

"Hasn't he paid any back?" asked Andy.

"Some, yes, and the next time he wants more than at first. I'm done."

"I should think so," remarked Andy. "He's played you long enough."

"Oh, Mortimer isn't such a bad sort when you get to know him," went on Dunk, easily. "I rather like him, but I can see that it isn't doing anyone any good to be in his crowd. That's why I cut it out. I came here to make something of myself—I owe it to dad, who's putting up the cash, and I'm not going to disappoint him. Then, too, you old scout, I suppose you wouldn't let me go sporting around the way I used to."

"Not much!" laughed Andy, but there was an undernote of seriousness in his words.

There was nothing new in Link's case. It was still hanging fire in the courts. And there were no more robberies. It was somewhat of a puzzle to Andy that they should cease with the arrest of Link, whom he could not believe guilty.

Dunk's watch had not been recovered, nor had any more of the valuable books, one of which was found by the detective in Link's room, been discovered. How it got in the closet of the young farmer, unless he put it there, the lawyer whom Andy and Dunk had hired said he could not understand.

"I've had my man interview the boarding mistress at the house in Crown street," the lawyer told the boys, "and she says no one went to Link's room, but himself, the day the book was found. But I haven't given up yet."

It was the night before the Yale-Princeton freshman baseball game, which was to take place at Yale Field. Andy and Dunk were in their room, talking over the possibilities, and perfecting their code of signals.

"It looks as though it would be good weather," observed Andy, getting up and going to the window. "Nice and clear outside."

"If it only keeps so," returned Dunk. "Hope we have a good crowd."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come!" called Andy and Dunk together. The two chums looked at each other curiously.

Ikey Stein entered, his face all smiles.

"Such bargains!" he began.

"Socks or neckties?" asked Andy, looking for a book to throw at the intruder.

"Socks—silk ones, and such colors! Look!" and from various pockets he pulled pairs of half hose. They fell about the room, giving it a decidedly rainbow effect.

"Oh, for the love of tomatoes!" cried Dunk. "Have you been raiding a paint store?"

"These are all the latest shades—the fashion just over from Paris!" exclaimed Ikey, indignantly. "I bought a fellow's stock out and I can let you have these for a quarter a pair. They're worth fifty in any store."

"Take 'em away!" begged Andy. "They hurt my eyes. I won't be able to play ball to-morrow."

"You ought to buy some—look, I have some dark blue ones," urged Ikey, holding them up. "These are very—chaste!"

"Those aren't so bad," conceded Dunk, tolerantly.

"Take 'em for twenty cents," said the student salesman, suddenly. "I need the money!"

"Tell you what I'll do," spoke Andy. "If we win the game to-morrow I'll buy a dollar's worth, provided you let us alone now."

"It's a bargain!" cried Ikey, gathering up the scattered socks.

"And I'll do the same," promised Dunk, whereupon the salesman departed for other rooms.

"Queer chap, isn't he?" remarked Dunk, after a pause that followed Ikey's departure.

"Yes, but do you know, I rather like him," said Andy, with a quick look at his chum. "There's one thing that a fellow gets into the habit of when he comes to Yale—or, for that matter, to any good college, I suppose."

"What's that?" asked Dunk, his mind quickly snapping to some of the not very good habits he had fallen into.

"It's learning how to take the measure of a fellow," went on Andy, "I mean his measure in the right way—not according to the standards we are used to."

"Quite philosophical; aren't you?" laughed Dunk, as he picked up a book, and leafed it.

"Well, that's another habit you get into here," said Andy, with a smile. "But you know what I mean, don't you Dunk?"

"Well, I suppose you mean that you get tolerant of persons—fellows and so on—that you have a natural dislike for otherwise; is that it?"

"Partly. You learn to appreciate a fellow for what he is really worth—not because his dad can write a check in any number of figures, and not turn a hair. It's worth that counts at Yale, and not cash."

"You're right there, Andy. I think I've learned that, too. Take some of the fellows here—we needn't mention any names—their popularity, such as it is, depends on how much they can spend, or how many spreads they can give in the course of the year. And the worst of it is, that their popularity would go out like a candle in a tornado, once they lost their money."

"Exactly," agreed Dunk. "They get so to depending on the power of their cash they think its all that counts."

"And another bad thing about that," continued Andy, "is that those fellows, if they wanted to, could make a reputation on something else besides their cash. Now there's one chap here—no names, of course—but he's a fine musician, and he could make the glee club, and the dramatic association too, if he liked. But he's just to confounded lazy. He'd rather draw a check, give an order for a spread, and let it go at that.

"Of course the fellows like to go to the blow-outs, and—come home with a headache. This fellow thinks he gets a lot of fun out of it, but it's dollars to some of these socks Ikey sells, that he'd have a heap more fun, and make a lot more permanent friends, if he'd get out and take part in something that was worth while.

"Now you take our friend Ikey. I don't imagine it's any great fun for him to be going around selling things the way he does—he has to, I understand it. And yet at that, he has a better time of it than maybe you or I do—and we don't exactly have to worry where our next allowance check is coming from."

"Right, Andy old man. Jove! You'd better have taken up the divinity school. I'm thinking. You're a regular preacher."

"I don't feel a bit like preaching though, Dunk old boy. In fact I'd a heap sight rather turn in and snooze. But, do you know I'm so nervous over this game that I'm afraid I'll lie awake and toss until morning, and then I won't be much more use than a wet dishrag, as far as my nerve is concerned."

"I feel pretty nearly the same as you do, Andy. Let's sit up a while and talk. I s'pose, though, if we ever make the varsity we'll laugh at the way we're acting now."

"Oh, I don't know," spoke Andy musingly. "Some of these varsity fellows have as bad a case of nerves before a big game as we have now, before our little Freshman one."

"It isn't such a little one!" and Dunk bridled up. "The winning of this game from Princeton means as much to our class, and to Yale, in a way, as though the varsity took a contest. It all counts—for the honor of the old college. How are you feeling, anyhow?"

"Pretty fit. I'm only afraid, though, that I'll make some horrible break in front of the crowd—muff a foul, or let one of your fast ones get by me with the bases full," concluded Andy.

"If you do," exclaimed Dunk, with a falsetto tone calculated to impress the hearer that a petulant girl was speaking—"if you do I'll never speak to you again—so there!" and he pretended to toss back a refractory lock of hair.

Andy laughed, and pitched a book at his chum, which volume Dunk successfully dodged.

"Well, I wouldn't want that to happen," said the catcher. "And that reminds me. There's a rip in my glove, and I've got to sew it."

"Can you sew?"

"Oh, a bit," answered Andy. "I'm strictly an amateur though, mind you. I don't do it for pay, so if you've got any buttons that need welding to your trousers don't ask me to do it."

"Never!" exclaimed Dunk. "I've found a better way than that."

"What is it—the bachelor's friend—or every man his own tailor? Fasten a button on with a pair of gas-pliers so that you have to take the trousers apart when you want to get it off?"

"Something like that, yes," laughed Dunk, "only simpler. Look here!"

He pulled up the back of his vest and showed Andy where a suspender button was missing. In its place Dunk had taken a horseshoe nail, pushed it through a fold of the trousers, and had caught the loop of the braces over the nail.

"Isn't that some classy little contrivance?" he asked, proudly. "Not that I take any credit to myself, though. Far be it! I got the idea out of the comic supplement. But it works all right, and the beauty of it is that you can use the nail over and over again. It is practically indestructible.

"So you see if you are wearing the nail all day, to lectures and so on, and if you have to put on your glad rags at night to go see a girl, or anything like that, and find a button missing, you simply remove the nail from your day-pants and attach it to your night ones. Same suspenders—same nail. It beats the bachelor's friend all to pieces."

"I should imagine so," laughed Andy. "I'll have to lay in a stock of those nails myself. The way tailors sew buttons on trousers nowadays is a scandal. They don't last a week."

"There's one trouble, though," went on Dunk, and he carefully examined his simple suspender attachment as if in fear of losing it. "With the increasing number of autos, and the decrease in horses, there is bound to be a corresponding decrease in horseshoe nails. That's a principle of economics which I am going to bring to the attention of Professor Shandy. He likes to lecture on such cute little topics as that. He might call it 'Bachelor's future depends on the ratio of increase of automobiles.'"

"I see!" exclaimed Andy with a chuckle. "Just as Darwin, or one of those evolutionists proved that the clover crop depended on old maids."

"How do you make that out?" asked Dunk.

"I guess you've forgotten your evolution. Don't you remember? Darwin found that certain kinds of clover depended for growth and fertilization on humble bees, which alone can spread the pollen. Humble bees can't exist in a region where there are many field mice, for the mice eat the honey, nests and even the humble bees themselves.

"Now, of course you know that the more cats there are in a neighborhood the less field mice there are, so if you find a place where cats are plentiful you'll find plenty of humble bees which aren't killed off by the mice, since the mice are killed off by the cats. So Darwin proved that the clover crop, in a certain section, was in direct proportion to the number of cats."

"But what about old maids?"

"Oh, I believe it was Huxley who went Darwin one better, come to think of it. Huxley said it was well known that the more old maids there were the more cats there were. So in a district well supplied with old maids there'd be plenty of cats, and in consequence plenty of clover."

"Say, are you crazy, or am I?" asked Dunk, with a wondering look at his friend. "This thing is getting me woozy! What did we start to talk about, anyhow?"

"Horseshoe nails."

"And now we're at old maids. Good-night! Come on out and walk about a bit. The fresh air will do us good, and maybe we'll sleep."

"I'll go you!" exclaimed Andy. "Let's go get some chocolate. I'm hungry and there isn't a bit of grub left," and he looked in the box where he usually kept some biscuits.

They went out together, passing across the quadrangle, in which scores of students were flitting to and fro, under the elms, and in and out of the shadows of the electric lights.

Dunk was saying something over to himself in a low voice.

"What is that—a baseball litany?" asked Andy, with a laugh.

"No, I was trying to get that straight what you said about the supply of old maids in a community depending on the number of clover blossoms."

"It's the other way around—but cut it out. You'll be droning away at that all night—like a tune that gets in your head and can't get out. Where'll we go?"

"Oh, cut down Chapel street. Let's take in the gay white way for a change. We may meet some of the fellows."

"But no staying out late!" Andy warned his chum.

"I guess not! I want to be as fit as a fiddle in the morning."

"For we're going to chew up Princeton in the morning!" chanted Andy to the tune of a well-known ballad.

"I hope so," murmured Dunk. "Look, there goes Ikey," and as he spoke he pointed to a scurrying figure that shot across the street and into a shop devoted to the auctioning of furnishing goods.

"What's he up to, I wonder?" spoke Andy.

"Oh, this is how he lays in his stock of goods that he sticks us with. He watches his chance, and buys up a lot, and then works them off on us."

"Well, I give him credit for it," spoke Andy, musingly. "He works hard, and he's making good. I understand he's in line for one of the best scholarships."

"Then he'll get it!" affirmed Dunk. "I never knew a fellow yet, like Ikey, who didn't get what he set out after. I declare! it makes me ashamed, sometimes, to think of all the advantages we have, and that we don't do any better. And you take a fellow like him, who has to work for every dollar he gets—doesn't belong to any of the clubs—doesn't have any of the sports—has to study at all hours to get time to sell his stuff—and he'll pull down a prize, and we chaps——"

"Oh, can that stuff!" interrupted Andy. "We're worse than a couple of old women to-night. Let's be foolish for once, and we'll feel better for it. This game is sure getting our goats."

"I believe you. Well, if you want a chance to be foolish, here comes the crowd to stand in with."

Down the street marched a body of Yale students, arm in arm, singing and chanting some of the latest songs, and now and then breaking into whistling.

"Gaffington's bunch," murmured Andy.

"Yes, but he isn't with 'em," added Dunk. "Slip in here until they get past," and Dunk pulled his chum by the arm as they came opposite a dark hallway.

But it was too late. Some of the sporty students had seen the two, and made a rush for them.

"Come on, Andy!"

"Oh, you, Dunk! Grab him, fellows!"

Immediately the two were surrounded by a gay and laughing throng.

"Bring 'em along!"

"Down to the rathskeller!"

"We'll make a night of it!"

"And we won't go home until morning!"

Thus the gay and festive lads chanted, meanwhile circling about Andy and Dunk, who sought in vain to break through. Passersby went on their way, smiling indulgently at the antics of the students.

"Fetch 'em along!" commanded the leader of the "sports."

"Come on!" came the orders, and Andy and Dunk were dragged off toward a certain resort.

"No, we can't go—really!" protested Dunk, holding back.

"We just came out for a glass of soda," insisted Andy, "and we've got to get right back!"

"Oh, yes! That's all right."

"Soda!"

"Listen to him!"

"Regular little goody-goody boys!"

"They were trying to sneak off by themselves and have a good time by their lonesomes!"

And thus the various laughing and disbelieving comments came, one after another.

"Bring 'em along with us, and we'll show 'em how to enjoy life!" someone called. "Gaffington will meet us at Paddy's!"

Dunk flashed Andy a signal. It would not do, he knew, to spend this night—of all nights—the one before an important game—with this crowd of fun-loving lads. They must get away.

"Look here, fellows!" expostulated Andy, "we really can't come, you know!"

"That's right," chimed in Dunk. "Let us off this time and maybe to-morrow night——"

"There may never be a to-morrow night!" chanted one of the tormentors. "Live while you can, and enjoy yourself. You're a long time dead. To-morrow is no man's time. The present alone is ours. Who said that, fellows? Did I make that up or not? It's blamed good, anyhow. Let's see, what was it? The present——"

"Oh, dry up! You talk too much!" protested one of his companions, with a laugh.

"What's the matter with you fellows, anyhow?" demanded another of Andy and Dunk, who were making more strenuous efforts to get away. "Don't you love us any more?"

"Sure, better than ever," laughed Andy. "But you know Dunk and I have to pitch and catch in the Princeton freshman game to-morrow, and we——"

"Say no more! I forgot about that," exclaimed the leader. "They can't be burning the midnight incandescents. Let 'em go, fellows. And may we have the honor and pleasure of your company to-morrow night?" he asked, with an elaborate bow.

"If we win—yes," said Dunk.

"It's a bargain, then. Come on, boys, we're late now," and they started off.

Andy and Dunk, glad of their escape, flitted around a corner, to be out of sight. A moment later, however, they heard renewed cries and laughter from the throng they had just left.

"Now what's up?" asked Dunk. "Are they after us again?"

"Listen!" murmured Andy, looking for a place in which to hide.

Then they heard shouts like these:

"That's the idea!"

"Come on down to the Taft!"

"We'll give the Princeton bunch a cheer that will put the kibosh on them for to-morrow."

"No, don't go down there," cautioned cooler heads. "We'll only get into a row. Come on to the rathskeller!"

"No, the Taft!"

"The rathskeller!"

Thus the dispute went on, until those who were opposed to disturbing the Princeton players had their way, and the crowd moved out of hearing.

"Thank our lucky stars!" murmured Dunk. "Let's get our chocolate and get back to our room."

"I'm with you," said Andy.

"Oh, by the way, isn't there one of your friends on the Princeton team?" asked Dunk, as he and Andy were sipping their chocolate in a drugstore, on a quiet street.

"Yes, Ben Snow. He's with the crowd at the Taft."

"Did you see him?"

"For a little while this evening."

"I reckon he thinks his nine is going to win."

"Naturally," laughed Andy. "The same as we do. But don't let's talk about it until to-morrow. I've gotten over some of my fit of nerves, and I want to lose it for good."

"Same here. That little run-in did us good."

The two chums were back again in their room, and Andy brought out his catching glove, which he proceeded to mend.

Quiet was settling down over the quadrangle and in the dormitories about the big, elm-shaded square. Light after light in the rooms of the students went out. In the distant city streets the hum of traffic grew less and less.

It was quiet in the room where Dunk and Andy sat. Now and then, from some room would come the tinkle of a piano, or the hum of some soft-voiced chorus.

"What was that you said about horseshoe nails and bees?" asked Dunk, drowsily, from his corner of the much be-cushioned sofa.

"Forget it," advised Andy, sleepily. "I'm going to turn in. I'm in just the mood to drowse off now, and I don't want to get roused up."

"Same here, Andy. Say, but I wish it were to-morrow!"

"So do I, old man!"

The room grew more quiet. Only the night wind sighed through the opened window, fluttering the blue curtains.

Andy and Dunk were asleep.

The day of the ball game came, as all days do—if you wait long enough. There was a good crowd on the benches and in the grandstand when Andy and his mates came out for practice. Of course it was not like a varsity championship contest, but the Princeton nine had brought along some "rooters" and there were songs and cheers from the rival colleges.