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—qlBeware 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.