Andy at Yale | Page 8

IV
THE PICTURE SHOW
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. But maybe they've fired him," he added,
hopefully.
"No such luck," spoke Andy, ruefully. "I had a letter from my sister
only the other day, and she mentioned some row that Mort had gotten
into at Yale. Came within an ace of being taken out, but it was
smoothed over. No, I'll have to rub up against him if I go there."
"Well, you don't need to have much to do with him," suggested Frank.
"And you can just make up your mind that I won't," spoke Andy. "I'll
steer clear of him from the minute I strike New Haven. But don't let's
talk about it. Where's that waiter, anyhow? Has he gone out to kill a

fatted calf?"
"Here he comes," announced Ben. "Get a move on there, Adolph!"
"Yah!"
"And don't wait for my French fried potatoes to sprout, either," added
Chet.
"Yah, shure not!"
"Oh, look who's here!" exclaimed Tom, nodding toward a newcomer.
"Shoot in over here, Swipes!" he called to a tall lad, whose progress
through the room was marked by friendly calls on many sides. He was
a general favorite, Harry Morton by name, but seldom called anything
but "Swipes," from a habit he had of taking or "swiping" signs, and
other mementoes of tradesmen about town; the said signs and insignia
of business later adorning his room.
"Got space?" asked Harry, as he paused at the little compartment which
held our friends.
"Surest thing you know, Swipes. Shove over there, Frank. Are you
trying to hog the whole bench?"
"Not when Swipes is around," was the retort. "I'll leave that to him."
"Half-ton benches are a little out of my line," laughed the newcomer, as
he found room at the table. "Bring me a rarebit, Adolph, and don't leave
out the cheese."
"No, sir, Mr. Morton! Ho! ho! Dot's a goot vun! A rarebit mitout der
cheese! Ach! Dot is goot!" and the fat German waiter went off
chuckling at the old joke.
"What's the matter, Andy, you look as if you'd had bad news from your
best girl?" asked Harry, clapping Andy on the shoulder. "Cheer up, the
worst is yet to come."

"You're right there!" exclaimed Andy, heartily. "The worst is yet to
come. I'm going to Yale----"
"Hurray! Rah! rah! That's the stuff! But talk about the worst, I can't see
it. I wish I were in your rubbers."
"And that dub Mortimer Gaffington is there, too," went on Andy.
"That's the worst."
"I don't quite get you," said Harry, in puzzled tones. "Is this Gaffington
one of the bulldog profs. who eats freshmen alive?"
"No, he's a fellow from our town," explained Andy, "and he and I are
on the outs. We've been so for a long time. It was at a ball game some
time ago. Our town team was playing and I was catching. Mort was
pitching. He accused me of deliberately throwing away the game, and
naturally I went back at him. We had a fight, and since then we haven't
spoken. He's rich, and all that, but I don't like him; not because I beat
him in a fair fight, either. Well, he went to Yale last year, and I was
glad when he left town. Now I'm sorry he's at Yale, since I'm going
there. I know he'll try to make it unpleasant for me."
"Oh, well, make the best of it," advised Harry, philosophically. "He
can't last for ever. Here comes my eats! Let's get busy."
"So Mort will be a sophomore when you get to New Haven, will he?"
asked Frank of Andy.
"He will if he doesn't flunk, and I don't suppose he will. He's smart
enough in a certain way. Oh, well, what's the use of worrying? As
Harry says, here come the eats."
Adolph staggered in with a well-heaped tray containing Harry's order,
and he and his chums finished their meal talking the while. The
evening wore on, more students dropping in to make merry in Kelly's.
A large group formed about the nucleus made by Andy and his chums.
These lads were seniors in the preparatory school, and, as such, were
looked up to by those who had just started the course, or who were

finishing their first year. In a way, Milton was like a small college in
some matters, notably in class distinction, though it