THE TEAM ELECTS ITS CAPTAIN
There was a full attendance at the organization meeting which assembled
in the Merricks' front parlor that evening. Besides Gordon himself, Dick
Lovering, Fudge Shaw, Harry Bryan, who had won his father's consent, and
Tom Haley, all of whom we have met, there was Lansing White, otherwise
known as "Lanny," Jack Tappen, Pete Robey, Will Scott, and Curtis
Wayland. Curtis and Will were inseparable companions. Damon and Pythias
would have been excellent, if hackneyed, nicknames for the pair. Dick
had once remarked in his quiet way, when the two chums had appeared arm
in arm on the ball field: "Where there's a Will there's a Way."
Thereafter Curtis was called Way, and Dick's pun was handed over to an
appreciative public in the "Caught-in-the-Corridor" column of _The
Purple_, the High School monthly. Way and Will were both of an age,
which was sixteen, both of the same height to a fraction of an inch,
and, perhaps by reason of having been together ever since they were in
kindergarten, were so much alike in general appearance, manners, and
speech that they were always mistaken for brothers and not infrequently
for twins. Way was a little heavier in build than Will, and had dark
brown hair, whereas Will's was light. For the rest they were much the
same, with brown eyes, short noses, and round, freckled faces. Good,
healthy, jolly, normal boys both.
Pete Robey was fifteen, a lank, dark-eyed fellow, rather diffident and
quiet. Jack Tappen was only fourteen, but he was big for his years. He
was not at all diffident. In fact, Jack had a pretty good opinion of
himself. He was a clever ball player, and, for that matter, did many
things about as well as the older fellows with whom he associated.
Lansing White, or Lanny, as he was always called, was fifteen. Every one
who knew him would have assured you earnestly that Lansing White was
destined for great things. Perhaps they were right. At all events, he
had the fine faculty of making friends on the instant and holding them.
There wasn't a kinder-hearted fellow in school, nor one more thoughtful
of others. If a ballot had been taken for the most popular student,
Lanny would have won, hands-down, over many a fellow far more prominent
in school affairs. He caught for the school nine, played a fine game at
left halfback on the football team, and regularly won his five points in
each of the sprints at the track meetings with Springdale High School.
In appearance he was rather striking by reason of his hair, which was as
near the color of ripe flax as hair ever gets, and his eyes which were
so dark a brown that they looked black. The contrast between light hair
and dark eyes was rather startling. He was always a little too lean, his
parents thought, but his leanness was quite healthy and was due,
probably, to the fact that he was always in training for something.
The nine members of the Clearfield Ball Club sat around the parlor,
occupying every available chair and couch, and discussed the project
exhaustively and with enthusiasm. They all agreed that it was the
bounden duty of someone to humble the pride of those Rutter's Point
chaps, to whom they had long been in the habit of referring as the Silk
Stocking Brigade; and they didn't see but what the duty could be
performed by them as well as by any others. Jack Tappen thought they
could attend to it a little better than any others, and so declared.
That point agreed on, they discussed ways and means. Everyone there
except Fudge and Pete Robey had a High School uniform which it would,
they decided, be quite permissible to wear. Fudge declared that he would
buy a uniform, and Pete was sure he could borrow one. Gordon's
announcement that Dick had been tendered and had accepted the position
of manager met with acclaim, and Will and Way, in the same breath,
demanded a speech. Dick declined to address the meeting, contenting
himself with reminding the turbulent pair that as manager he had the
power to fine them for misconduct. At which Will and Way, pretending to
be much alarmed, subsided. It was agreed that every member was to pay
his own car-fares when the team journeyed from home, and that the
manager's expenses were to be provided for by an assessment on each of
one-ninth of the necessary amount. Dick claimed the floor, there to
state that it would probably not be necessary for the others to provide
his expenses, and that in any case he would pay his own way unless the
team journeyed a long distance.
The name of the team was decided on--the Clearfield Baseball Club. Harry
Bryan was in favor of something with more "snap" to it, something like
the Clearfield Pirates or the Clearfield Giants, but he was defeated.
Dick, who had taken the proceedings in hand, then announced that the
election of a captain was in order, and Tom Haley, Fudge, and Jack
Tappen nominated Gordon in unison. The others signified approval
noisily. Gordon, however, insisted on being heard.
"You fellows don't have to make me captain," he protested, "just because
I started the thing going. It wasn't my idea, anyhow; it was Bert
Cable's. I'll be captain if you really want me, but I think some of the
rest of you would be better, and I nominate Tom."
"Nominate all you like," grunted Tom Haley. "I decline."
"I nominate Lanny," said Will Scott.
"Second the nomination!" piped up Way.
"Much obliged, fellows," said Lanny, "but I'd rather not. Let's make
Gordon captain and not be scared out of it. All in favor make a lot of
noise!"
There was a lot of noise, a very great deal of noise, and Dick
laughingly declared Gordon elected. "Speech! Speech!" shouted the
irrepressible Fudge, beating a tattoo on the hardwood floor with his
heels.
"Shut up, Fudge! And stop denting the floor with those hob-nailed shoes
of yours. I saw Mr. Brent this morning, and asked him if we could use
the field as long as it wasn't wanted for anything else, and he said we
could. So I propose that if the Point plays us a return game we play on
our own grounds. Now, about practice. You fellows know we've got to get
together and have a good lot of real work before we run up against those
Point fellows. So I say let's have practice every afternoon next week at
four-thirty. Maybe after next week every other day will do, but we don't
want to let those silk-sox chaps beat us, and so we've got to practice
hard. Will all you fellows agree to come to practice every afternoon?
That doesn't mean Tom, because he's got a lot of work to do, and,
besides, we don't need him so much. He will come as often as he can. But
the rest of us ought to get out every day."
"That's right," agreed Jack Tappen. "If we're going into this thing,
let's go into it with both feet. There's no reason I can see why we
shouldn't have as good a baseball team as there is in this part of the
state. We all know the game pretty well----"
"Oh, you right-fielder!" exclaimed Fudge.
"----And most of us have played together this Spring. And with Gordon
for captain we ought to just everlastingly wipe up the county!"
Loud applause greeted this enthusiastic statement, and Fudge began his
tattoo again, but was cautioned by a well-aimed pillow which, narrowly
avoiding a vase on a side table, eclipsed his joyous countenance for an
instant.
"I guess," said Lanny, "that we can all get out and practice; can't we,
fellows? In fact, Gordie, it might be a good plan to have it understood
that any fellow not turning up, without a real, genuine excuse, is to
pay a fine."
"How much?" demanded Fudge anxiously.
"Half a dollar," suggested Will.
"A quarter," said Jack.
"A quarter's enough, I guess," said Dick. "How about it? Everyone
agree?"
"Who's going to decide whether the excuse is a good one?" inquired
Fudge.
"Dick," said Gordon.
Fudge sighed with relief. "All right. Dick's a friend of mine."
"Then Wednesday at four-thirty, fellows," said Gordon, "and bring your
bats. By the way, there's one thing we've forgotten: We'll have to buy
balls. Suppose we all chip in a half to start with?"
That was agreed to, and the meeting was served with lemonade and cakes
and adjourned, everyone departing save Dick, Lanny, and Fudge. These,
with Gordon, went out to the porch and took possession of the front
steps. There was a fine big moon riding in the sky, and, since
Clearfield was economical and did not illuminate the streets in the
residence districts when the moon was on duty, it had no competition.
The leafy shadows of the big elm fell across the porch, blue-black,
trembling as a tiny breeze moved the branches above. Dick leaned against
a pillar and laid his crutches between his knees, and the others grouped
about him. Perhaps the refreshments had worked a somnolent effect on
them, or perhaps the great lopsided moon stared them into silence. At
all events, nothing was said for a minute or two, even Fudge, usually an
extremely chatty youth, having for once no observations to offer. It was
Gordon who finally broke the stillness.
"Some moon," he said dreamily.
"Great!" agreed Lanny. "You can see the man in it plainly to-night."
"Supposing," said Fudge thoughtfully, "supposing you were terribly big,
miles and miles high, and you had a frightfully huge bat, couldn't you
get a d-d-dandy swipe at it!"
"You could make a home run, Fudge!" laughed Lanny. "Only you'd have to
hit pretty quick. Why, if you were tall enough to reach the moon, it
would be going past you faster than one of Tom's straight ones, Fudge!"
"Quite a bit faster," agreed Gordon. "Still, it would be 'in the
groove,' and if you took a good swing and got your eye on it you could
everlastingly bust up the game!"
"I think," replied Fudge, who had literary yearnings, "I'll write a
story about a giant who did that."
"Well, there are some pretty good hitters among the 'Giants,'" commented
Dick gravely. Fudge snorted.
"You know wh-wh-what I mean!" he said severely.
"Of course he does," agreed Lanny. "Dick, you oughtn't to poke fun at
Fudge's great thoughts. Fudge is a budding genius, Fudge is, and if
you're not careful you'll discourage him. Remember his story about the
fellow who won the mile race in two minutes and forty-one seconds, Dick?
That was a peach of a----"
"I didn't!" declared Fudge passionately. "The p-p-printer made a
mistake! I've told you that a th-th-th-thousand t-t-times! I wrote
it----"
"Don't spoil it," begged Dick. "It was a much better story the way _The
Purple_ printed it. Any fellow might run the mile in four-something, but
to do it under three shows real ability, Fudge. Besides, what's a minute
or two in a story?"
"Aw, cu-cu-cut it out!" grumbled Fudge. "You f-f-fellows m-m-m-m----"
"You'll never do it, Fudge," said Gordon sympathetically. "I've noticed
that if you don't make it the first two or three times you----"
"----M-make me tired!" concluded Fudge breathlessly but triumphantly.
"Snappy work!" approved Lanny. "If at first you don't succeed----"
"T-t-try, try again," assisted Gordon. Fudge muttered something both
unintelligible and uncomplimentary, and Gordon turned to Dick: "How did
you get on with Mrs. Thingamabob at the Point, Dick?" he asked. "What's
the kid like?"
"All right. The name is Townsend. They're at the hotel. The boy is
thirteen and he's--he's a bit spoiled, I guess. There's an older
brother, too, a fellow about seventeen. He confided to me that I'd have
a beast of a time with the youngster. His name--the brother's--is Loring
Townsend. Anybody know him?"
There was no response, and Dick continued:
"He seemed rather a nice chap, big brother did. As for the kid--his name
is Harold, by the way----"
"Fancy names, what?" said Gordon. "Loring and Harold."
"No fancier than your own," commented Fudge, still a trifle disgruntled.
"Gordon! Gee, that's a sweet name for a grown-up fellow!"
"Not as sweet as Fudge, though," answered Gordon.
"That's not my n-n-name!"
"There, you're getting him excited again," said Lanny soothingly. "Move
out of the moonlight, Fudge. It's affecting your disposition. What about
the kid, Dick? Is he the one you're going to tutor?"
"Yes; he's entered for Rifle Point in the Autumn, and he's way behind on
two or three things. The worst of it is that he doesn't seem very
enthusiastic about catching up. I guess I'll have my work cut out for
me. The big brother told me that I was to take no nonsense from young
Harold, and that he'd back me up, but--I don't know. I guess Mrs.
Townsend wouldn't approve of harsh measures. She's trying her best to
spoil the kid, I'd say. I'm to go over five mornings a week, beginning
Monday."
"I'm glad I don't have to do it," commented Gordon. "I'll bet the kid is
a young terror, Dick."
Dick smiled. "He is--something of the sort. But I guess he and I will
get on all right after a while. And if he's got it in him to learn, he
will learn," Dick added grimly. "That is, unless his mother----"
"She's bound to," said Lanny. "They all do. Inside of a week she'll be
telling you that you're working her darling too hard."
"How do you know so much about it?" challenged Fudge. "Anyone would
think you were a hundred years old!"
Lanny laughed. "I've kept my eyes open, Fudge, sweet child. Mothers are
pretty fine institutions; no fellow should be without one; but they are
most of them much too easy on us. And you know that as well as I do."
"Mine isn't," murmured Fudge regretfully. "She's worse than my father at
making me do things!"
"Oh, well, you're an exceptional case," said Gordon gently. "When a
fellow shows criminal tendencies like yours, Fudge----"
"Yes, writing stories at your age! You ought to be ashamed!" Lanny spoke
with deep severity. Fudge only chuckled.
"Some day," he announced gleefully, "I'm going to write a story and put
you fellows all into it. Then you'll wish you hadn't been so fresh. The
only thing is"--and his voice fell disconsolately--"I don't suppose, if
I told what I know about you, I could get it published!"
"Deal gently with us, Fudge," begged Dick humbly. "Remember, we used to
be friends. I must be getting along, fellows. Coming over to-morrow,
Gordie?"
"Yes, I'll drop around in the morning. We've got to get busy and send
out some challenges. Who can we get to play with us, Lanny, besides
Lesterville and, maybe, Plymouth?"
"I don't know. I think there are plenty of teams, though, if we can find
them."
"They have a team at Logan," said Fudge, "but I guess they're older than
we are."
"What do we care?" asked Gordon. "Logan's a good way off, though, and I
suppose it would cost like the dickens to get there."
"Make them come over here," suggested Lanny.
[Illustration: "'Good-night,' responded Gordon and Fudge"]
"Yes, but then they'd want their expenses guaranteed."
"Look here," observed Dick, "why couldn't we charge admission to some of
the games after we got started? I dare say quite a lot of folks would
pay a quarter to see a good game."
"They might," conceded Lanny. "We could try it, anyway. If we could get,
say, a hundred admissions, we'd have twenty-five dollars, and then we
could pay the expenses of any team around here. That's a bully idea,
Dick. As a manager you're all to the good."
"I thank you," replied Dick, setting his crutches under his arms. "We'll
talk it over to-morrow. You come over, too, Lanny; and Fudge if he is
not in the throes of literary composition."
"I'll walk around with you," said Lanny. "It's too bully a night to go
to bed, anyway. Good-night, fellows."
"Good-night," responded Gordon and Fudge. "Good-night, Dick."
They watched the two as long as they were in sight in the white radiance
of the moon, and then:
"They're two of the finest fellows in the world," said Fudge warmly.
"And wouldn't Dick be a wonder if he was like the rest of us, Gordie?"
"Y--yes," replied Gordon thoughtfully, "only--sometimes I think that
maybe if Dick was like the rest of us, Fudge, he might not be the
splendid chap he is."
Fudge objected to that, but afterward, returning home by way of the back
fence, he thought it over. "I suppose," he told himself, as he paused on
his porch for a final look at the moon, "what Gordie means is that
tribulations ennoble our characters." That struck him as a fine phrase,
and he made a mental note of it. Still later, as he lay in bed with the
moonlight illumining his room, he began to plan a perfectly corking
story around the phrase, with Dick as the hero. Unfortunately, perhaps,
for American literature, sleep claimed him before he had completed it.