For the good of the team

The football banquet and election was held the Saturday after the Pearsall game, as was the established custom. Coach Haynes, urged to remain for it, did so, and sat at the head of a long table in the upstairs parlor of the village hotel, for the occasion transformed into a banquet hall and hung with cherry-and-gray streamers and flags. All players who had taken part in the Pearsall or Brown games were on hand, as were Mr. Pierson, chairman of the Committee on Athletics, the manager and Assistant manager and The Laird. In all, twenty-six persons sat down to the feast, and good-fellowship and jollity held sway from oysters to ices. Mr. Pierson spoke and Mr. Haynes spoke and—well, about half of the number said their say before the feast was over. Even The Laird was lifted to his feet and compelled to say something; and it is only fair to add that The Laird, although slow at the start, did extremely well once he had forgotten his embarrassment, and had the whole company convulsed. And, of course, there was singing, a whole lot of singing that, no matter if it wasn’t beyond criticism, sounded mighty well down below on the sidewalk where, after the movie theater had closed its doors, a half-hundred Manning fellows stood and waited to learn the result of the election. There was a well-defined rumor to the effect that the election was “fixed,” but rumors are not always correct. In any case, the rumor produced no expressions of indignation.

It was nearly half-past ten when Mr. Pierson took his leave, pursued down the stairs by the vocal assurance that he was a jolly good fellow. Mr. Haynes, too, would have left then, but by unanimous—and extremely loud—protest was induced to keep his place. The Laird always had witnessed the elections and so he simply drew a chair to a window and stuffed his pipe with evil-smelling tobacco. It was Jack who rapped for order with the lid of a sugar bowl and announced that nominations for the captaincy were in order.

Wally Towne and Harry Leonard found their feet simultaneously and, although Leonard was both nearer and larger than the other, Jack looked right past him and gravely said: “The Member from the Hospital has the floor!”

“It gives me great pleasure,” announced Towne when the laughter had subsided, “and—er—does me much honor to place before you the name of one whose right to the captaincy of the team is incontestable. It would be a waste of time for me to set forth this gentleman’s qualities, because you all know them as well as I do. Fellows, I nominate Stuart Harven!”

There was a din of clapping and cheers. Stuart, struck dumb by surprise, stared incredulously at the speaker. Then he was on his feet. “Fellows! Mr. Chairman!” But others were before him, several others, and Jack, glancing mockingly at Stuart, recognized Tasker. Tom Muirgart, at Stuart’s left, pulled him forcibly back into his chair.

“Shut up,” he said sternly. “You’re out of order!”

“But I don’t want—I won’t accept——” stammered Stuart.

“Order!” called Jack, thumping vigorously with the sugar bowl lid. “Mr. Tasker has the floor.”

“Mr. Chairman, and fellows,” began Howdy, “in seconding the nomination of Harven I’d like to say a few words.”

“Go ahead, Howdy!”

“Who’s stopping you?”

“You tell ’em, Old Timer!”

“Towne says it would be wasting time to say anything about the nominee, but I don’t agree with him. I’ll say there’s a lot to say about him. I’ll say——”

“Take a fresh hold, Howdy!”

“I’ll say—” Howdy gulped and started over. “Look what happened this fall. We elected Harven captain and he got out. I don’t pretend to know all the facts, but I do know that there were mistakes made. Whether Harven made them or the Ath. Fac. or Coach Haynes doesn’t matter. Maybe they all made ’em. Anyway, it’s all over and past now. But what I want to say is this. There aren’t many of us would have acted better than Stuart Harven did under the circumstances. He didn’t sit down and sulk. He saw that he was needed on the team and he walked right back and—and enlisted as a private! And he worked hard and he made good. Every fellow who played during those first ten minutes of the Pearsall game knows that he did. I haven’t got my breath yet! He mighty near drove us off our feet, but we liked it and loved him for it and—and, by gosh, we got there! If I never play football again I’ve had my money’s worth, fellows! And if I play twenty years I’ll always remember that touchdown and be proud that I had a hand in it! Now, I’ll say that a fellow who can handle the team like that, and—and who is the sportsman that Harven is, why, I’ll say—I’ll say——”

But Tasker didn’t have to say any more, for the cheers drowned his voice, and after moving his lips a moment longer he sat down. Half a dozen others demanded recognition, among them the frantic Leonard, and Billy Littlefield was the fortunate one.

“I’d like to say—if I can make myself heard—that I second the nomination of Harven, and I move that we cut out the red tape and declare him unanimously elected!”

“Seconded!” “Atta boy! Let’s call it a day!” “Harven!”

Jack rapped strenuously. “We’ll have to do this in order,” he announced. “Are there any further nominations?” He looked inquiringly at Leonard, but Leonard, into whose ear Leo Burns was talking emphatically, made no move. Jack whanged the lid down. “We’ll proceed to ballot,” he said gravely. “Gentlemen, is it your pleasure——”

“Hold on!” That was Stuart. In spite of the efforts of Muirgart and Thurston, beside him, he managed to get to his feet. “I’m—I—It’s mighty good of you fellows, and I appreciate it, but I can’t accept. I mean it. I’ll work hard next year and do all I know how, but you’ve got to elect some other chap. I had my whack at being captain, and I made a mess of it, and I’m through. Any one of you will do better than I could. I nominate Howard Tasker. He——”

“You’re out of order, Mr. Harven,” said Jack sternly. “The nominations are closed!”

“All right, but——”

Jack pounded vigorously, and Stuart, still protesting, was yanked back into his chair.

“I move that a standing vote be taken, Mr. Chairman!” called Littlefield. Several seconds were heard.

“Moved and seconded,” droned Jack, “um-um-those in favor-um-contrary minded-um-um-carried! Are you ready for the vote? Those in favor of the election of Stuart Harven to the captaincy will rise and remain standing while——”

Every one save Stuart was on his feet in the instant, cheering, and the balance of Jack’s oration was lost. Even Coach Haynes found himself standing, and, smiling apologetically, sat down again. Leonard, who had entertained the mistaken idea of nominating Hanson, was shouting as loud as any. Jack’s announcement of the result wasn’t heard beyond the sugar bowl whose lid he was rapidly pounding out of shape. Tom Muirgart, grinning, rumpled Stuart’s hair.

“You’re elected, son!” he chuckled. “Get up and make a speech!”

Stuart swallowed hard, grinned in a sickly fashion and shook his head. “All right,” he muttered. “But—but it was a put-up job, Tom!”

“Sure it was!” roared Tom. “It was all fixed. Neil Orr warned us that you’d refuse, and so we had to——”

“Speech!” “Get up there, Cap!” “Speech, Harven!” “Shoot, son!”

Stuart arose, more embarrassed than he could remember ever having been in his life. Comparative silence had been restored and two dozen faces were fixed expectantly on him. But the faces all expressed liking and good will and Stuart found courage.

“I meant what I said, fellows, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. So—well, I accept.”

“You bet you do!” agreed Jack from the end of the board. “You’re elected!”

“All right, but—you’d have done a heap better if you’d selected some one else. Just the same, I thank you, and—and I’ll do my best; and it will be a better best than last time! I made a lot of mistakes, but I’m not going to make them again. Next year things will go a heap better, and if we don’t lick Pearsall to a stiff froth I—I’ll eat my hat!”

Enthusiastic applause greeted that prophecy. When he could make himself heard again Stuart continued. “There’s something else I want to speak about, fellows. We’ve just got to have Mr. Haynes back next year. You don’t need me to tell you that. But I understand that the Committee on Athletics may not be satisfied with his work because we didn’t lick Pearsall. That’s poppycock. It wasn’t his fault. Every fellow here knows that we had a far better team this fall than last. We were in better physical shape and we knew more football. Now it seems to me that it would be a mighty good plan to let the Ath. Fac. know how we feel about Mr. Haynes, let them know that we want him back next year; yes, and the year after that! I propose that we get up a petition and sign it all around and hand it in. It ought to have some weight with them, and as I understand that they are to make a decision the first of next week, the sooner we do it the better. That’s all, I guess. Except that I thank you fellows again for the honor you have done me.”

Stuart sat down again while the table cheered long and heartily. Thurston sprang to his feet, but, seeing that Mr. Haynes was also standing, seated himself again. “After you, Coach,” he said.

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Haynes. “I only want to say that I appreciate Harven’s words. I feel very proud and, at the same time, rather humble. How well I’ve succeeded this season is for you to judge, but I am conscious of having tried hard, and, while I made mistakes, I have learned by them. To know that I have retained your liking and that you still have faith in me is—well, it makes me feel pretty good. I congratulate you on the choice you have made, for, no matter what he says, I know that Stuart Harven is the man for the job. We’ve had our differences of opinion, he and I, but we’ve got over them. What he says about another year I subscribe to heartily, fellows, and if he has to eat his hat I’ll help him! I’ll be right on hand to do it because the Committee on Athletics very kindly offered me a contract for two years more this afternoon and I signed it!”

Pandemonium reigned supreme then. Billy Littlefield started “For he’s a jolly good fellow” and every one joined. The beauty of that song is that you don’t have to know many words and you can keep on singing it as long as your voice will hold out. In the end, however, it changed to the school song, and while that was still in progress some one started downstairs and the others followed and, still singing, the party made its way out to the sidewalk, where, the news announced, cheers drowned the song.

A few minutes later Stuart found himself walking back to school with Jack’s arm linked in his. Before and behind were others, laughing, singing, sometimes cheering, but at the campus the throng separated into smaller units and ultimately Stuart and Jack found themselves alone in front of Lacey.

“Come on up for a minute,” urged Stuart.

“Pretty late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter to-night. I shan’t get to sleep for hours, and—I want to talk things over.”

So they made their way through the silent corridors to Number 12, to find Neil still up and dressed, an expectant grin on his face. Stuart shied his cap at him. “I’ll bet you had a hand in it,” he charged. “That villainous grin gives you away, old son!”

“Not guilty!” Neil laughed. “I told every one you wouldn’t accept, didn’t I, Jack?”

“You did, Neil, you certainly did,” assented Jack gravely.

Stuart grunted. “Huh, a lot of attention you fellows paid to him, I’ll say!”

Jack grinned. “We certainly did. We stuffed the ballot box, old son. We saw that it wouldn’t be any use to tender the captaincy to you, so we stuffed it down your silly throat!”

Stuart’s pretended indignation faded to a smile as he sat himself on the window seat and took one knee into his hands. Jack perched beside him and Neil swung his chair around to face them after he had turned down the light halfway. “Who started it, Jack?” asked Stuart.

“I don’t know, really. Nobody, I guess. That is, it seemed to be sort of taken for granted all around that you were to have it. The only—only conspiracy was to-night before dinner. Then we sort of fixed to railroad the election through. You weren’t to have any chance to refuse it, or, if you did kick up your heels, we weren’t to pay any attention to you. Of course, everything was strictly according to Hoyle——”

“Yes, it was!” jeered Stuart. “Suppose I didn’t see how you refused to recognize Harry Leonard?”

“Well,” said Jack, “Leonard was only delaying traffic. He had a fool notion that Tom Hanson wanted the election.”

“Didn’t he?”

“Who, Tom? I don’t believe so. Anyhow, he hadn’t a chance, and it was an act of simple kindness to keep him from making a show of himself. Besides, I did give Leonard a chance to speak his little piece, and he wouldn’t.” Jack grinned. “That was after I’d seen Leo talking to him. Maybe Leo showed him the futility of—er—his course.”

Stuart grunted again, and Neil said wistfully: “I wish I’d been there!”

After a moment’s silence in the dim room Stuart said thoughtfully: “Well, there wasn’t anything to do but accept, but—but I don’t see yet why they did it. After the failure I made of it this time, and all!”

“They did it for just one thing, Stuart,” replied Jack earnestly. Stuart looked the question. “They did it for the good of the team.”

The talk died away and each of the three boys sat there in the half-darkness and thought his own thoughts. Stuart’s excitement had given place to a feeling of contentment and well-being and good will. His thoughts passed over his school life, and, while he saw very clearly the many mistakes he had made, he was not disturbed. Wasn’t it Mr. Moffit who had said that one learned by mistakes? Well, he had learned, he told himself, and whatever the mistakes of the future might be, they’d not be the old ones. Thinking forward, he made many good resolutions, most of which, it is only fair to say, he kept. A yawn from Jack broke the long silence.

“I was almost asleep,” he said. “You night owls can stay up if you like, but I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t break up the party,” begged Stuart plaintively. “Say, I wish you were going to be here next year, Jack. I’ll miss you, you old coot.”

“Thanks; same to you. I guess, though, you’ll be much too busy to miss any one, old son. You’ll have a football team to look after, and, speaking from brief experience, I’ll say that’s a man-sized job! Stuart, if you don’t beat Pearsall next year I’ll come back and lick you!”

“You’re permitted to come back and try!”

“Huh! Well, just you see that I don’t have to. Here’s Neil to look after, too. Don’t forget that. That’ll keep you busy, you know; he’s always getting into trouble.”

Stuart failed to note the twinkle in Jack’s eyes. He looked across at his roommate and nodded gravely.

“That’s so,” he assented. “Some one’s got to look after old Neil.”

THE END