With hesitating steps Andy pushed open the door of Burke’s place and entered. At first he could make out little through the haze of tobacco smoke, and his return was not noticed. Most of the college boys were in the rear room, and the noise of their jollity floated out to Andy.

“I wonder if Dunk is still there?” he murmured.

He learned a moment later, for he heard some one call:

“Stand up, Dunk! Your eye on us!”

“He’s in there—and I’ve got to save him!” Andy groaned. Then, with clenched teeth and a firm step he went into the rear room, among that crowd of roistering students.

Andy’s reappearance was the signal for a burst of good-natured jibing, mingled with cries of approval.

“Here he comes back!”

“I knew he couldn’t stay away!”

“Who said he was a quitter?”

From among the many glasses offered Andy selected a goblet of ginger ale. He looked about the tables, and saw Dunk at one, regarding him with a rather uncertain eye.

“There he is!” cried Andy’s roommate, waving his hand. “That’s him. My old college chum! I’m his protector! I always look after him. I say,” and he turned to the youth beside him, “I say, what is it I protect my old college from anyhow? Hanged if I haven’t forgotten. What is it I save him from?”

“From himself, I guess,” was the answer. “You’re all right, Dunk!”

“Come on, Dunk,” said Andy good naturedly. “I’m going to the room. Coming?”

Instantly there was a storm of protest.

“Of course he’s not coming!”

“It’s early yet!”

“Don’t you go, Dunk!”

Mortimer Gaffington, fixing an insolent and supercilious stare on Andy, said:

“Don’t mind him, Dunk. You’re not tied to him, remember. The little-brother-come-in-out-of-the-wet game doesn’t go at Yale. Every man stands on his own feet. Eh, Dunk?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re not going to leave your loving friends and go home so early; are you, Dunk?”

“Course not. Can’t leave my friends. But Andy’s my friend, too; ain’t you, Andy?”

“I hope so, Dunk,” Andy replied, gravely.

Somebody interrupted with a song, and there was much laughter. Mortimer alone seemed to be the sinister influence at work, and he hovered near Dunk as if to counteract the good intentions of Andy.

“Here you are, waiter!” cried Dunk. “Everybody have something—ginger ale, soda water, pop, anything they like. Cigars, too.” He pulled out a bill—a yellow-back—and Andy saw Mortimer take it from his shaking fingers.

“Don’t be so foolish!” exclaimed the sophomore. “You don’t want to spend all that. Here, I’ll hand out a fiver and keep this for you until morning. You can settle with me later,” and Gaffington slipped the big bill into his own pocket, and produced one of his own—of smaller denomination.

“That’s good,” murmured Dunk. “You’re my friend and protector—same as I’m Andy’s protector. We’re all protectors. Come on, fellows, another song!”

Andy was beginning to wonder how he would get his chum home. It was getting very late and to enter Wright Hall at an unseemly hour meant trouble.

“Come on, Dunk—let’s light out,” said Andy again, making his way to his roommate’s side.

“No, you don’t!”

“That game won’t go!”

“Let Dunk alone, he can look out for himself.”

Laughing and expostulating, the others got between Andy and his friend. It was all in good-natured fun, for most of the boys, beyond perhaps smoking a little more than was good for them, were not at all reckless. But the spirit of the night seemed to have laid hold of all.

“Come on, Dunk,” appealed Andy.

“He’s going to stay!” declared Mortimer, thrusting himself between Andy and Dunk, and sticking out his chin in aggressive fashion. “I tell you he’s going to stay! We don’t want any of your goody-goody methods here, Blair!”

Andy ignored the affront.

“Are you coming, Dunk?” he repeated softly.

Dunk raised his head and flashed a look at his roommate. Something in Dunk’s better nature must have awakened. And yet he was all good nature, so it is difficult to speak of the “better” side. The trouble was that he was too good-natured. Yet at that instant he must have had an understanding of what Andy’s plan was—to save him from himself.

“You want me to come with you?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, Dunk.”

“Then I’m coming.”

Mortimer put his arm around Dunk and whispered in his ear.

“You don’t want to go,” he insisted.

“Yes, he does,” said Andy, firmly.

For a moment he and the other youth faced each other. It was a struggle of wills for the mastery of a character, and Andy won—at least the first “round.”

“I’m going with my friend,” said Dunk firmly, and despite further protests he went out with his arm over Andy’s shoulder. There were cries and appeals to remain, but Dunk heeded them not.

“I’m going to quit,” he announced. “Had enough fun for to-night.”

Out in the clear, cool air Andy breathed free again.

“Shall I get a cab?” he asked. “There must be one somewhere around.”

“Certainly not,” answered Dunk. “I—I can walk, I guess.”

They reached Wright Hall, neither speaking much on the way. Andy was glad—and sorry. Sorry that Dunk had allowed his resolution to be broken, but glad that he had been able to stop his friend in time.

“Thanks, old man,” said Dunk, briefly, as they reached their room. “You’ve done more than you know.”

“That’s all right,” replied Andy, in a low voice.

Dunk went to chapel with Andy the next morning, but he was rather silent during the day, and he flunked miserably in several recitations on the days following. Truth to tell he was in no condition to put his mind seriously on lessons, but he tried hard.

Andy, coming in from football practice one afternoon, found Dunk standing in the middle of the apartment staring curiously at a yellow-backed ten-dollar bill he was holding in both of his hands.

“What’s the matter?” asked Andy. “A windfall?”

“No, Gaffington just sent it in to me. Said it was one he took the other night when I flashed it at Burke’s.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” spoke Andy. “You were getting too generous.”

“I know that part of it—Gaffington meant all right. But I don’t understand this.”

“What?” asked Andy.

“Why, this is a ten-spot, and I’m sure I had a twenty that night. However, I may be mistaken—I guess I couldn’t see straight. But I was sure it was a twenty. Don’t say anything about it, though—probably I was wrong. It was decent of Gaffington not to let me lose it all.”

And Dunk thrust the ten dollar bill into his pocket.

It was several days after this when Andy, crossing the quadrangle, saw a familiar figure raking up the leaves on the campus.

“What in the world is he doing here—if that’s him?” he asked himself. “And yet it does look like him.”

He came closer. The young fellow raking up the leaves turned, and Andy exclaimed:

“Link Bardon! What in the world are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’ve come to college!” replied the young farm hand, smiling. “How do you do, Mr. Blair?”

“Come to college, eh?” laughed Andy. “What course are you taking?”

“I expect to get the degree B. W.—bachelor of work,” was the rejoinder. “I’m sort of assistant janitor here now.”

“Is that so! How did it happen?”

“Well, you know the last time I saw you I was on my way to see if I could locate an uncle of mine, just outside of New Haven. I didn’t, for he’d moved away. Then I got some odd bits of work to do, and finally, coming to town with a young fellow, who, like myself was out of work, I heard of this place, applied for it and got it. I like it.”

“Well, I’m glad you are here,” said Andy. “If I can help you in any way let me know.”

“I will, Mr. Blair. You did help a lot before,” and he went on raking leaves, while Andy, musing on the strange turns of luck and chance, hurried on to his lecture.