Andy at Yale
R >> Roy Eliot Stokes >> Andy at YaleHow he did practice! No slave worked harder or took more abuse from the
coaches. Andy was glad of one thing--that Gaffington was out of it.
There were others, though, who tackled Andy hard in the scrimmages, but
he rather liked it, for there was no vindictiveness back of it.
As for Mortimer, he and his crowd went on their sporting way, doing just
enough college work not to fall under the displeasure of the Dean or
other officials. But it was a "close shave" at times.
Dunk seemed to stick to his resolution. He, too, was studying hard, and
for several nights after the theater escapade did not go out evenings.
Andy was rejoicing, and then, just when his hopes were highest, they
were suddenly dashed.
There had been a period of hard work, and it was followed by a football
disaster. Yale met Washington and Jefferson, and while part of the
Bulldog's poor form might be ascribed to a muddy field, it was not all
that. There was fumbling and ragged playing, and Yale had not been able
to score. Nor was it any consolation that the other team had not either.
Several times their players had menaced Yale's goal line, and only by
supreme efforts was a touchdown avoided. As it stood it was practically
a defeat for Yale, and everybody, from the varsity members to the digs,
were as blue as the cushions in the dormitory window seats.
Andy and Dunk sat in their room, thankful that it was Saturday night,
with late chapel and no lessons on the morrow.
"Rotten, isn't it, Andy?" said Dunk.
"Oh, it might be worse. The season is only just opening. We'll beat
Harvard and Princeton all right."
"Jove! If we don't!" Dunk looked alarmed.
"Oh, we will!" asserted Andy.
Dunk seemed nervous. He was pacing up and down the room. Finally,
stopping in front of Andy he said:
"Come on out. Let's go to a show--or something. Let's go down to Burke's
place and see the fellows. I want to get rid of this blue feeling."
"All right, I'll go," said Andy, hesitating only a moment.
They were just going out together when there came the sound of footsteps
and laughter down the corridor. Andy started as he recognized the voice
of Gaffington.
"Oh Dunk! Are you there?" was called, gleefully.
"Yes, I'm here," was the answer, and it sounded to Andy as though his
chum was glad to hear that voice.
"Come out and have some fun. Bully show at the Hyperion. No end of
sport. Come on!"
Mortimer, with Clarence Boyle and Len Scott, came around the corner of
the corridor, arm in arm.
"Oh, you and Blair off scouting?" asked Gaffington, pausing before the
two.
"We were going out--yes," admitted Dunk.
"We'll make a party of it then. Fall in, Blair!"
Andy rather objected to the patronizing tone of Mortimer, but he did not
feel like resenting it then. Should he go?
Dunk glanced at his chum somewhat in doubt.
"Will you come, Andy?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"Yes--I guess so."
"We'll make a night of it!" cried Len.
"Not for mine," laughed Andy. "I'm in training, you know."
"Well, we'll keep Dunk then. Come on."
They set out together, Andy with many misgivings in his heart.
Noisy and stirring was the welcome they received at Burke's. It was the
usual story. The night wore on, and Dunk's good resolutions slipped away
gradually.
"Come on, Andy, be a sport!" he said, raising his glass.
Andy smiled and shook his head. Then a bitter feeling came into his
heart--a feeling mingled with despair.
"Hang it all!" he murmured to himself. "I'm going to quit. I'll let him
go the pace as he wants to. I'm done with him!"
CHAPTER XVIII
ANDY'S RESOLVE
"Come on back!"
"Don't be a quitter!"
"It's early yet!"
"The fun hasn't started!"
These cries greeted Andy as he rose to leave Burke's place. His eyes
smarted from the smoke of many pipes, and his ears rang with the echoes
of college songs. His heart ached too, as he saw Dunk in the midst of
the gay and festive throng surrounding Gaffington and his wealthy chums.
"I've got to turn in--training, you know," explained Andy with a smile.
It was the one and almost only excuse that would be accepted. Two or
three more of the athletic set dropped out with him.
"Goin', Andy?" asked Dunk, standing rather unsteadily at a table.
"Yes. Coming?" asked Andy pausing, and hoping, with all his heart, that
Dunk would come.
"Not on your life! There's too much fun here. Have a good time when
you're living, say I. You're an awful long time dead! Here you are,
waiter!" and Dunk beckoned to the man.
Andy paused a moment--and only for a moment. Then he hardened his heart
and turned to go.
"Leave the door open," Dunk called after him. "I'll be home in th'
mornin'."
And then the crowd burst out into the refrain:
"He won't be home until morning,
He won't be home until morning."
Over and over again rang the miserable chant that has bolstered up so
many a man who, otherwise, would stop before it was too late.
Andy breathed deep of the cool night air as he got outside. The streets
were quiet and deserted, save for those who had come out with him, and
who went their various ways. As Andy turned down a side street he could
still hear, coming faintly to him through the quiet night the strains
of:
"We won't go home until morning."
"Poor old Dunk!" mused Andy. "I hate to quit him, but I've got to. I'm
not going to be looking after him all the while. It's too much work.
Besides, he won't stay decent permanently."
He was angry and hurt that all his roommate's good resolutions should
thus easily be cast to the winds.
"I'm just going to quit!" exclaimed Andy fiercely. "I've done all I
could. Besides, it isn't my affair anyhow. I'll get another room--one by
myself. Oh, hang it all, anyhow!"
Moody, angry, rather dissatisfied with himself, wholly dissatisfied with
Dunk, Andy stumbled on. As he turned out of Chapel into High Street he
saw before him two men who were talking earnestly. Andy could not help
hearing what they said.
"Is the case hopeless?" one asked.
"Oh, no, I wouldn't say that."
"Yet he's promised time and again to reform, and every time he slips
back again."
"Yes, I know. He isn't the only one at the mission who does that."
Andy guessed they were church workers.
"Don't you get tired?" asked the questioner.
"Oh, yes, often. But then I get rested."
"But this chap seems such a bad case."
"They're all bad, more or less. I don't mind that."
"And you're going to try again?"
"I sure am. He's worth saving."
Andy felt as though some one had dealt him a blow. "Worth saving!" Yes,
that was it. He saw a light.
The two men passed on. Andy hesitated.
"Worth saving!"
It seemed as though some one had shouted the words at him.
"Worth saving!"
Andy's heart was beating tumultuously. His head and pulses throbbed. His
ears rang.
He stood still on the sidewalk, near the gateway beside Chittenden Hall.
His room was a little way beyond. It would be easy to go there and go to
bed, and Andy was very tired. He had played a hard game of football that
day. It was so easy to go to his room, and leave Dunk to look after
himself.
What was the use? And yet----
"He is worth saving!"
Andy struggled with himself. Again he seemed to hear that voice
whispering:
"Am I my brother's keeper?"
Andy turned resolutely away from the college buildings. He set his face
again down High Street, and swung out into Chapel.
"I'll go get him," he said, simply. "He's worth saving. Maybe I can't do
it--but--I'll try!"
CHAPTER XIX
LINK COMES TO COLLEGE
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.
CHAPTER XX
QUEER DISAPPEARANCES
"Come in!" cried Andy as a knock sounded.
"I'm not going out, I don't care who it is!" exclaimed Dunk, fidgeting
in his chair. "I've just _got_ to get this confounded Greek."
"Same here," said Andy.
The door was pushed open and a shock of dark, curly hair was thrust in.
"Like to look at some swell neckties!" a voice asked.
"Oh, come in, you blooming old haberdasher!" cried Andy with a laugh,
and Ikey Stein, with a bundle under his arm, slid in.
"Fine business!" he exclaimed. "Give me a chance to make a little money,
gentlemen; I need it!"
"No more of that Japanese 'vawse' business!" warned Dunk. "I won't stand
for it."
"No, these are genuine bargains," declared the student who was working
his way through college. "I'll show you. I got 'em from a friend of
mine, who's selling out. I can make a little something on them, and
you'll get swell scarfs at less than you'd pay for them in a store."
"Let's see," suggested Andy, rather glad of the diversion and of the
chance to stop studying, for he had been "boning" hard. "But I don't
want any satsuma pattern, nor yet a cloisonne," he added.
"Say, forget that," begged Ikey. "That Jap took me in, as well as he did
you fellows."
"Well, if anybody can take _you_ in, Ikey, he's a good one!" laughed
Dunk.
"Oh, don't mind me!" exclaimed the merchant-student. "You can't hurt my
feelings. I'm used to it. And I'm not ashamed of my nature, either. My
ancestors were all merchants, and they had to drive hard bargains to
live. I don't exactly do that, you understand, but I guess it's in my
blood. I'm not ashamed that I'm a Jew!"
"And we're not ashamed of you, either!" cried Andy, heartily.
"Same here," added Dunk. "Trot out your ties, Ikey."
In spite of the fact that he sometimes insisted on the students buying
things they did not really need, Ikey was a general favorite in the
college.
"There's a fine one!" he exclaimed, holding up a hideous red and green
scarf. "Only a dollar--worth two."
"Wouldn't have it if you paid me for it!" cried Andy. "Show me something
that a fellow could wear without hearing it yell a block away."
"Oh, you want something chaste and quiet," suggested Ikey. "I have the
very thing. There!" holding it up. "That is a mere whisper!"
"It's a pretty loud whisper," commented Dunk, "but at that it isn't so
bad. I'll take it, if you don't want it, Andy."
"You're welcome to it. I want something in a golden brown."
"Here you are!" exclaimed Ikey, sorting over his stock.
He succeeded in selling Andy and Dunk two scarfs each, and tried to get
them to take more, but they were firm. Then the merchant-student
departed to other rooms.
"It's a queer way to get along," commented Andy, when he had finished
admiring his purchases.
"Yes, but I give him credit for it," went on Dunk. "He meets with a lot
of discouragement, and some of the fellows are positively rude to him,
but he's always the same--good-natured and willing to put up with it.
He's working hard for his education."
"Harder than you and I," commented Andy. "I wonder if we'd do it?"
"I'd hate to have it thrust on me. But I do give Stein credit."
"Yes, only for that Japanese vase business."
"Oh, well, I believe that oily Jap did put one over on him."
"Possibly. Oh, rats! Here come some of the fellows!"
The sound of footsteps was heard in the corridor. Andy glanced at Dunk.
If it should prove to be Mortimer Gaffington, who, of late had tried in
vain to get Dunk to go out with him, what was to be done? Andy caught
his breath sharply.
But it proved to be a needless alarm, for Bob Hunter, Ted Wilson and
Thad Warburton came in with noisy greetings.
"Look at the digs!"
"Boning away on a night like this!"
"'Come into the garden, Maud!' Chuck that, you fellows, and let's go
downtown. What's the matter with a picture show?"
It was Thad who asked this, but Bob, with a wry face, put his hand in
his pocket and drew out seven cents.
"It doesn't look much like a picture show for me to-night," he said.
"Oh, I'll stake you!" exclaimed Ted. "Come on."
"Shall we?" asked Dunk doubtfully of Andy.
"Might as well, I guess," was the answer. Andy was glad it had not been
Gaffington, and he realized that it might be better to take this chance
now of getting Dunk out, before the rich youth and his fast companions
came along, as they might later in the evening. He knew that with Bob,
Ted and Thad, there would be no long session at Burke's.
"I haven't done my Greek," objected Dunk, hesitatingly.
"Oh, well, I'll set the alarm clock, and we'll get up an hour earlier in
the morning and floor it," suggested Andy.
"Burning the candle at both ends!" protested Dunk, with a sigh. "Ain't I
terrible? But lead me to it!"
As they went out of Wright Hall, Andy looked across the campus and saw
Gaffington, and some of his boon companions, approaching.
"Just in time," he murmured. When Gaffington saw Dunk in charge of his
friends he and the others turned aside.
"That's when I got ahead of him!" exulted our hero.
They spent a pleasant evening, and Andy and Dunk were back in their room
at a reasonable hour.
"I declare!" exclaimed Dunk, "I feel pretty fresh yet. I think I'll have
another go at that Greek. We won't have to get up with the chickens
then."
"I'm with you," agreed Andy, and they did more studying than they had
done in some time.
"Well, I'm through," yawned Dunk, flinging his book on the table. "Now
I'm going to hit the hay."
The next day Dunk was complimented on his recitation.
"Oh, I tell you it pays to bone a bit!" Andy cried, clapping Dunk on the
back as they came out.
"That's right," agreed the other.
In the days that followed Andy watched Dunk closely. And, to our hero's
delight, Gaffington seemed to be losing his influence. Several times
Dunk refused to go out with him--refused good-naturedly enough, but
steadfastly.
Andy tried to get Dunk interested in football, and did to a certain
extent. Dunk went out to the practice, and Andy tried to get him to go
into training.
"No, it's too late," was the answer. "Next year, maybe. But I like to
see you fellows rub your noses in the dirt. Go to it, Andy!"
Link Bardon seemed to find his employment at Yale congenial. Andy met
him several times and had some little talk with him. The young farmer
said he hoped to get permanent employment at the college, his present
position being only for a limited time.
Andy had received letters from some of his former chums at Milton. Among
them were missives from Ben Snow and Chet Anderson. Chet wrote from
Harvard, where he had gone, that he would see Andy at the Yale-Harvard
game, while from Ben, who had gone to Princeton, came a similar message,
making an appointment for a good old-fashioned talk at the annual clash
of the Bulldog and Tiger.
"I'll be glad to see them again," said Andy.
It was about two weeks after the arrival of Link Bardon at Yale that
some little disturbance was occasioned throughout the college, when an
announcement was made at chapel one morning. It was from the Dean, and
stated that a number of articles had been reported as missing from the
rooms of various students.
"You are requested to keep your doors locked when you are out of your
rooms," the announcement concluded.
There was a buzz of excitement as the students filed out.
"What does it mean?"
"Who lost anything?"
"I have," said one. "My new sapphire cuff buttons were swiped."
"I lost a ring," added another.
"And a diamond scarf pin I left on my dresser walked off--or someone
walked off with it," spoke a third.
There were several other mysterious losses mentioned.
"How did it happen?" asked Andy of a fellow student who had said a few
dollars had been taken from his dresser.
"Hanged if I know," was the answer. "I left the money in my room, and
when I came back it was gone."
"Was the room locked?"
"It sure was."
"Did any of the monitors or janitors see anyone go in?"
"Not that I know of; but of course it could happen. There are a lot of
new men working around here, anyhow."
Andy thought of Link, and hoped that the farmer lad would not be
suspected on account of being a stranger.
But as the days went on the number of mysterious thefts grew. Every
dormitory in the quadrangle had been visited, but the buildings outside
the hollow square seemed immune.
CHAPTER XXI
A GRIDIRON BATTLE
Harvard was about to meet Yale in the annual football game between the
freshman teams. The streets were filled with pretty girls, and more
pretty girls, with "sporty" chaps in mackinaws, in raglans--with all
sorts of hats atop of their heads, and some without hats at all.
There had been the last secret final practice on Yale Field the day
before. That night the Harvard team and its followers had arrived,
putting up at Hotel Taft.
Andy, in common with other candidates for the team, was sitting quietly
in his room, for Holwell, the coach, had forbidden any liveliness the
night before the game. And Andy had a chance to play.
True, it was but a bare chance, but it was worth saving. He had played
brilliantly on the scrub team for some time, and had been named as a
possible substitute. If several backs ahead of him were knocked out, or
slumped at the last moment, Andy would go in. And, without in the least
wishing misfortune to a fellow student, how Andy did wish he could play!
There came a knock at the door--a timid, hesitating sort of knock.
"Oh, hang it! If that's Ikey, trying to sell me a blue sweater, I'll
throw him down stairs!" growled Andy. He was nervous.
"Come in!" called Dunk, laughing.
"Is Andy Blair----Oh, hello, there you are, old man!" cried a voice and
Chet Anderson thrust his head into the room.
"Well, you old rosebud!" yelled Andy, leaping out of the easy chair with
such energy that the bit of furniture slid almost into the big
fireplace. "Where'd you blow in from?"