"I don't care!" he boasted to his sporting crowd. "I can have some fun,
now."
Several times he and his crowd had come around to ask Dunk to go out
with them, but Dunk had refused, much to Mortimer's chagrin.
"Oh, come on, be a good fellow!" he had urged.
"No, I've got to do some boning."
"Oh, forget it!"
But Dunk would not, for which Andy was glad.
Then came a period when Dunk went to pieces in his recitations. He was
warned by his professors and tried to make up for it by hard study. He
was not naturally brilliant and certain lessons came hard to him.
He grew discouraged and talked of withdrawing. Andy did all he could for
him, even to the neglect of his own standing, but it seemed to do no
good.
"What's the use of it all, anyhow?" demanded Dunk. "I'll spend four
mortal years here, and come out with a noddle full of musty old Latin
and Greek, go to work in dad's New York office and forget it all in six
months. I might as well start forgetting it now."
"You've got the wrong idea," said Andy.
"Well, maybe I have. Hanged if I see how you do it!"
"I don't do so well."
"But you don't get floored as I do! I'm going to chuck it!" and he threw
his Horace across the room, shattering the Japanese vase he had bought.
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