JACK IS SUSPENDED
They talked it over on the way back in the train and the consensus of
Clearfield opinion was that, taking into consideration the indisputable
fact that the umpire had been against them all through the game, the
final score was nothing to be ashamed of. Only Jack failed to subscribe
with any enthusiasm to that verdict. Jack frankly sulked.
Dick called Gordon over to his seat after the discussion had waned and
the fellows had quieted down. "Who," he asked, moving his crutches to
make room for Gordon, "can we get to take Jack's place?"
"To take Jack's place?" exclaimed Gordon. "Why, what's the matter with
Jack?"
"I thought you understood that he was suspended," replied Dick calmly.
"I certainly gave him a fair warning."
"But--but--" blurted Gordon in bewilderment, "you can't do that!"
"Why not?"
Gordon stared. Finally, "Are you in earnest?" he asked.
"Of course. I'm manager of this team. And while I'm manager the fellows
have got to behave. Jack was all wrong. He had no business talking like
that. In the first place, it wasn't up to him to protest the decision.
In the next place he might have got us into a nasty row with those
toughs over there. They were dying for a scrap all along. If they had
started anything we'd have got pretty well mussed up, Gordie."
Gordon nodded. "I know," he said gloomily, "but--Jack was excited, Dick.
And it _was_ a robbery. You can't blame him for getting a bit hot about
it."
"I don't. I blame him for showing it, or, at least, proclaiming it. If
I'm manager, I'm going to manage. If I can't manage, I'm not manager.
Which is it?"
"Why, you're manager, of course, Dick. But--Jack won't like being
suspended. In fact, he will probably get mad and quit altogether."
"I don't think so," replied Dick. "But that's his look-out. He's
suspended for a week--if I'm manager."
"All right," muttered Gordon. "Of course, you realize that leaves us in
a hole next Saturday, Dick. Jack's one of our best players, and I don't
know where we'll find anyone to take his place."
"Neither do I yet. But we've got a whole week to find someone. He'd be
suspended, though, if he was the last player on the team."
"Are you going to tell him?" asked Gordon uneasily. Dick smiled.
"Evidently you don't care to?"
"I surely don't."
"Yes, I'll tell him. He ought to know it, though, because I usually mean
what I say. You needn't mention it to anyone to-day. I'll have a talk
with him to-morrow, maybe."
"He'll quit flat-footed," mourned Gordon. Dick smiled again.
"I don't believe so. I think I know Jack a little better than you do,
Gordie."
The next afternoon, an hour or so after dinner, Dick called Gordon on
the telephone. "Can you come around here for a few minutes?" he asked.
"Yes, I was just starting, Dick. Anything up?"
"Not much. I wanted to talk to you about a chap for Jack's place."
"Oh! You--you haven't changed your mind about that, then?"
"No." Dick's voice sounded amused.
"Well----" Gordon frowned at the telephone instrument. "I'll be over
right away, Dick."
Dick was on the porch, in spite of the fact that it was raining briskly,
and his sister, Grace, was with him. Grace was thirteen and a very
pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes. She was enveloped in a long apron
and had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and explained to Gordon that
she was in the middle of washing up the dinner dishes.
"Dick called me out to read me a perfectly ridiculous story in the
paper," she laughed. "Read to Gordon, Dick, and see if he thinks it
funny."
Dick laughed. "Grace was born without a sense of humor, Gordie, and I
find I can't educate her."
"Sense of humor!" scoffed Grace. "That story isn't the least bit funny.
I'll leave it to Gordon." She jumped up. "I must finish those dishes."
"What's the story?" asked Gordon, seating himself well away from the
dripping vines.
"The story? Oh, never mind that! Jack's just been here."
"He has? Well--what--how did he take it?" asked Gordon anxiously.
Dick gravely regarded the point of one shoe. "Well, I'll tell you the
last thing he said as he went off, Gordie. He said: 'Tell Gordon I know
a fellow named Shores who works in the plating factory. He's a pretty
good ball player. If you like, I'll talk to him and see if he will play
for us Saturday.'"
Gordon viewed his friend with admiration, and shook his head helplessly.
"I don't see how you manage folks the way you do, Dick," he said.
"That comes of being manager," laughed Dick.
"If I'd told Jack he was suspended for a week he'd have sassed me and
gone off in a huff and never played again!"
"Oh, no, he wouldn't! Jack's a good, sensible chap. He's a little bit
stuck on himself, but that doesn't matter, and he will get over it some
time. I just told him that he was wrong, and made him see it. And I
convinced him without much trouble that it was for the good of the team
that he should sit on the bench for a week. Of course, he was a bit
huffed at first, but he got over that. In fact, Gordie, I think he's
rather proud of being suspended. It sounds sort of professional and
big-leaguish!"
"You could convince a fellow it was a real pleasure to have his head cut
off!" said Gordon. "I wish I had your--your diplomacy."
"That's a big word for it, Gordie. Last night's meeting was rather a
fizzle, wasn't it?"
Gordon nodded gloomily. "I don't see how we're going to get a field in
time for football practice if we don't do more than we did last night."
"Too much talk," agreed Dick. "Somebody ought to just go ahead and find
a field and then make a report on it. As for paying a hundred and
twenty-five dollars a year rent for one, why, that's poppycock. We
couldn't afford it, especially as we'll have to build a running track
before next Spring."
"Way suggested that we could transfer next Spring's meet to Springdale.
That would give us nearly two years to fix up a track."
"Not a bad idea. Most of the fellows seemed to fancy that place across
the river beyond the carpet mills. It would be fairly near home, but
it's a mean part of town."
"Punk! If we have to find a new place--and I suppose we must--I'm for
going out toward the Point. Fellows seem to think it's too far out
there, but you can jump on the trolley and get there in no time. They'd
put a stop opposite the field for us if we asked."
"Yes, I should think Mr. Brent would do that much for us since he's
taking our field away," agreed Dick. "By the way, seen Morris yet?"
"No; I thought I'd go over this afternoon and see how he is. Maybe he's
receiving callers by this time. Dick, do you know anything about running
an automobile?"
Dick stared. Then he laughed. "Well, hardly, Gordie! How should I?"
"Well, of course you've never run one, but you know such a raft of stuff
fellows usually don't know that----"
"You thought I'd made a study of autos? No, I'm afraid I can't advise
you much, Gordie. Thinking of buying one?"
"N-no, not exactly."
"Going to rent it, then?"
"No, you idiot. I--I only wondered. I dare say you could drive an
automobile finely, though. Your arms are all right and you told me once
that you thought of getting one of those velocipede chairs that you work
with your feet."
"I see what you're driving at. Old Man Brent has commissioned you to
sell that car of Morris'. Is that it?"
Gordon looked startled, but shook his head. "No, he hasn't. I dare say,
though, anyone could buy it pretty cheap," he remarked carelessly.
"I'm afraid I couldn't afford it, Gordie," Dick laughed. "You'll have to
find another buyer."
"I know. I was just wondering if you _could_ run an auto if you had
one."
"Why, I suppose so. I've got plenty of strength in my legs when I'm
sitting down, you know, and so far my arms are still working. But I
don't believe I'll ever have a chance to try, Gordie. At least, not
unless you get an auto and let me run it for you. How would I do as a
chauffeur?"
"I'll bet you could run an auto to the King's taste, Dick! You do most
everything better than the rest of us."
"You mean I think I could! Well, I'm not stuck-up about my automobile
driving, Gordie. That's one thing I'm not conceited about. Going now?"
"Yes, I guess I'd better run over to Morris'. I told his sister I'd look
in pretty soon. When he can see folks, Dick, will you go over with me
some time?"
"Of course. Glad to. Let me know when you want to go."
"Really?"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I thought--you seemed sort of down on Mr. Brent and maybe
you wouldn't want to go to his house."
"Oh, I'm not as down on him as all that," laughed Dick. "And, anyhow,
his house never did anything to me." He paused and added soberly: "For
that matter, Gordie, I don't want you to think that I am really sore
against Mr. Brent. Sometimes I get sort of peeved about that affair of
dad's, but maybe, after all, it was more his fault than Mr. Brent's.
Anyway, I've never accused Jonathan Brent of being dishonest. I don't
think he is. Give my regards to Morris if you see him, and tell him I'll
come over and call some day if he doesn't mind. See you to-morrow
afternoon, Gordie. We've got to practice hard this week. And I'll tell
Jack to look up his friend in the plating works."