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I wonder when this thing will stop?" No one could answer him. Mortimer switched off the light in the store room, remarking that he'd have another look for the bat later. Then he accompanied Andy and the others on their way back down the corridor. Gaffington departed to his own dormitory, while Frank went to report to the Dean, and Andy and Dunk turned into their room.
The door, which Dunk had neglected to chain after the admission of his friends, was suddenly burst open, and in came, with a rush, Mortimer Gaffington and several other sophomores. "Rough house!" was their rallying cry. "Rough house for the freshies!" "Rough house!" Andy and his chums were taken completely by surprise.
"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. I got a taxi." "I'll settle with you later. I don't seem to have any cash left." "Forget it. I can lend you some." "I may need it, Andy. Hang Gaffington and his crowd anyhow!
Get up off him! Don't you know enough, Gaffington, to tell when a man's down?" Andy heard the sharp voice of the coach, Holwell, but the tones seemed to come from a great distance. "Water here!" "Somebody's keeled over!" "It's that freshman, Blair. Plucky little imp, too!" "Who tackled him?" "Gaffington. Took him a bit high and fell on him!"
Andy's chums looked curiously at him. Chet's chance remark had brought back to them the memory of the old enmity between Andy Blair and Mortimer Gaffington, the rich young "sport" of Dunmore. It was an enmity that had happily been forgotten in the joy of life at Milton. Now it loomed up again. "That's right, that cad Mort does hang out at New Haven," remarked Tom. "That is, he did.
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