Andy at Yale Part 34

"We've got to celebrate!" cried Dunk. "The freshman football season is over. You break training. You've got to celebrate!"

"I don't mind--in a mild sort of way," laughed Andy.

"Oh, strictly proper--strictly proper!" agreed Dunk.

"I think I'd better be getting back," remarked Chet.

"No, stay and see the fun," insisted Dunk, and Chet agreed to do so.

There came a rush of feet along the corridor, and some one whistled "See the conquering hero comes!"

"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 gla.s.ses 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s of ginger ale in his hand.

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

"Thank you!" said Andy.

"Then fill up your gla.s.s!"

"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 gla.s.s down on the table in front of Andy, and staggered away from his side.