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Stokes, Roy Eliot

"Or, The Great Quadrangle Mystery"

No chapel
for me!"
"You know what it means."
"Well, I can't be in much worse than I am. I'll straighten up after a
bit. No lectures to-day."
"You're going the pace," observed Andy. It was not said with that false
admiration which so often keeps a man on the wrong road from sheer
bravado. Andy was rather white, and his lips trembled.
"It does seem so," admitted Dunk, gloomily enough.
"Any more water there?" he asked, presently.
"I'll get some," offered Andy, and he soon returned with a pitcher in
which ice tinkled.
"That sounds good," murmured his roommate. "Was I very bad last night?"
"Oh, so-so."
"Made a confounded idiot of myself, I suppose?" and he glanced sharply
at Andy over the top of the glass.
"Oh, well, we all do at times."
"I haven't seen you do it yet."
"You will if you room with me long enough, Dunk."
"Yes, but not in the way I mean."
"Oh, well, I'm no moralist; but I hope you never will see me that way.
Understand, I'm not preaching, but----"
"I know. You don't care for it."
"That's it."
"I wish I didn't. But you don't understand."
"Maybe not," said Andy slowly. "I'm not judging you in the least."
"I know, old man. How'd you get me home?"
"Oh, you were tractable enough.


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