FOR THE GOOD
OF THE TEAM
By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
_Yardley Hall Series_
FOURTH DOWN
FORWARD PASS
DOUBLE PLAY
WINNING HIS Y
GUARDING THE GOAL
FOR YARDLEY
AROUND THE END
CHANGE SIGNALS
_Purple Pennant Series_
THE LUCKY SEVENTH
THE SECRET PLAY
THE PURPLE PENNANT
_Hilton Series_
THE HALF-BACK
FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL
CAPTAIN OF THE CREW
_Erskine Series_
BEHIND THE LINE
WEATHERBY’S INNING
ON YOUR MARK
_The “Big Four” Series_
FOUR IN CAMP
FOUR AFOOT
FOUR AFLOAT
_The Grafton Series_
RIVALS FOR THE TEAM
HITTING THE LINE
WINNING HIS GAME
_North Bank Series_
THREE BASE BENSON
KICK FORMATION
COXSWAIN OF THE EIGHT
_Books Not In Series_
THE LOST DIRIGIBLE
FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS
KEEPING HIS COURSE
THE BROTHER OF A HERO
FINKLER’S FIELD
DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME
THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON
UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN
BENTON’S VENTURE
THE JUNIOR TROPHY
THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP
THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
THE PLAY THAT WON
OVER TWO SEAS (With H. P. HOLT)
FOR THE GOOD OF THE TEAM
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, Publishers, New York
[Illustration: STUART SENT THE BALL TO BURNS ON A DIRECT PASS]
FOR THE GOOD
OF THE TEAM
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF “THREE BASE BENSON,” “KICK
FORMATION,” “FOURTH DOWN,” ETC.
[Illustration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: 1923 :: LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A HERO RETURNS 1
II. CAPTAIN AND COACH 18
III. A BOY ON CRUTCHES 30
IV. “ONLY THE CAPTAIN!” 45
V. A CLASH OF AUTHORITY 60
VI. DEFEAT 77
VII. THE ATH. FAC. TAKES A HAND 93
VIII. A NEW LEADER IS CHOSEN 105
IX. OUT OF A JOB 118
X. THE HANDICAPS 134
XI. THE LAST LAP 147
XII. NEIL INTERVENES 160
XIII. STUART GOES OUT FOR THE TEAM 170
XIV. WANTED, A KICKER 183
XV. THE CONFERENCE 197
XVI. LE GETTE EXPLAINS 212
XVII. TASKER GOES OVER 226
XVIII. IN THE LAST QUARTER 242
XIX. STUART SPEAKS HIS MIND 257
XX. “FOR THE GOOD OF THE TEAM” 275
FOR THE GOOD
OF THE TEAM
CHAPTER I
A HERO RETURNS
Two boys met in the Grand Central Station in New York one warm
afternoon in late September and, greeting each other, passed hurriedly
toward the gate beyond which the Hartford Express waited. Each was
good-looking, well-built, alert and self-possessed. But a few months
separated their ages, although Jack Brewton had seen his eighteenth
birthday and Stuart Harven had not. In the train, their bags at their
feet, they plunged into conversation. While they had been close friends
at Manning School, they had not met during vacation, nor had they
corresponded. At seventeen and eighteen one is far too busy for letter
writing, and, fortunately, friendship doesn’t demand it. There was,
consequently, much to be said, and the journey to Safford was half
over before the subject of summer adventures had been exhausted. Then
Stuart gave the talk a new turn with the careless announcement:
“I had a letter from the new coach about a month ago.”
“Haynes?” asked Jack interestedly. “What did he have to say?”
“Oh, nothing much. Said he thought he ought to get in touch with me
and hoped I was having a pleasant vacation and all that. Suggested my
meeting him in New York and talking things over, but I couldn’t make
it. The date he set was just the time we were starting off on the
cruise.”
“Too bad,” murmured Jack.
“Oh, I don’t know. What’s the good of talk? There wasn’t anything to be
done until we got the team together. I hope to goodness he isn’t going
to be one of the talky kind: his letter looked that way: he wrote about
four pages, I guess. Said he hoped I was keeping in good condition
and wasn’t neglecting kicking.” Stuart chuckled. “I haven’t touched a
football but once since spring practice. Then we had a sort of a game
up at the camp one day. A lot of the college chaps were football men:
Means of Cornell, and Davis of Dartmouth, and five or six others. We
had quite a scrappy little game. Played two twenty-minute periods.
Of course the counselors won, but they had to work for it. I played
quarter and got off two dandy runs, one for nearly seventy yards.”
“You ought to have put in some practice, just the same, Stuart,” said
Jack disapprovingly. “It wouldn’t have done any harm.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, I’ve been at it pretty steadily for the last month.”
“Faithful old Fido!” laughed Stuart. “Well, I don’t believe in it. A
fellow comes back much fitter and more ready for work if he doesn’t
wear himself out during the summer. I don’t think it hurts you any, for
you’re a shark for work, and always were, but I get stale if I overdo
it. Bet you I’ll show more pep to-morrow than the fellows who have been
summer training.”
“Maybe,” answered Jack, smiling but unconvinced. “Still, pep isn’t
everything. I’ll bet you can’t kick five goals out of ten tries from
the thirty-yard line to-morrow.”
“What of it?” laughed Stuart. “I’ll be able to next week. Look here,
what’s the good of bringing the team back five days before term opens
if they’re going to know it all before they come? That’s what the early
session’s for, to get us back in shape.”
“We ought to be in shape when we get back,” answered Jack. “We can’t
afford to give Pearsall even one day’s start of us, Stuart.”
“Don’t you worry about Pearsall this year,” replied the other, smiling
and confident. “We’re going to do her up brown.”
“Hope so.”
“Sure to! At least, we will if Haynes turns out all right. I’m still
wishing, though, we’d gone after Corcoran.”
“What’s the use of wishing it?” asked Jack, with a shrug. “You know we
couldn’t have paid his price. Take my advice, old son: forget Corcoran
and make the best of ‘Hop’ Haynes. Anyhow, Stuart, don’t start out with
a prejudice toward him.”
“Oh, I’ve got nothing against the man. I dare say he will do well
enough. Still, you know yourself, Jack, he’s just a ‘small town’ coach:
never did anything big.”
“If he had Manning wouldn’t have got him,” replied Jack. “He put in
three successful years at Fisherville, though, and was assistant at
Erskine a year before that.”
“Fisherville doesn’t play a team unless she knows she can beat it. Any
one could coach Fisherville to win. Bet you I could myself!”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “You’re a great little quarterback,
Stuart, and you’re the youngest captain Manning has ever had, and all
that, but don’t ever try coaching, old son. You couldn’t do it.”
“How do you make that out?” demanded Stuart. “You don’t have to be a
wonder to coach a football team.”
“No, but you have to have one quality that you haven’t, Stuart,”
answered the other in good-humored raillery.
“What’s that?” asked Stuart suspiciously.
“Amenability,” replied Jack gravely.
“What’s amenability? You mean good nature? Rot!”
“Look it up when you get a chance,” laughed Jack. “Anyhow, you stick to
captaining.”
“I believe I’ve been insulted, but no matter. Say, I ran across a
couple of nice-looking plays this summer. They’re not new, of course,
but we’ve never used them and they might be good medicine for
Pearsall. Got a piece of paper? An old letter will do. That’s the
ticket!” Stuart produced a pencil and the two boys leaned their heads
close while it traced strange lines on the back of an envelope.
Half an hour later the friends parted, Stuart carrying his bag to Lacey
Hall and Jack taking his to Meigs. They were to meet later for supper
in the village; meals for the football candidates were to begin with
breakfast in Lyceum House to-morrow; and meanwhile there were trunks
to be unpacked. Stuart’s room, on the second floor of Lacey, had been
prepared for his occupancy. One of the two small beds was made up and
the accumulated dust of the summer had been removed. Stuart set his
bag on the table and looked about him. The room, with its gray papered
walls, its brown craftsman furniture, its two-tone blue rug and its
pictures and trophies, was surprisingly like home, and he gave a sigh
of satisfaction as he threw aside his coat and went to the end window.
The sun had traveled past, and when he raised the shade and the lower
sash a cool breeze entered, bringing with it a few dried ivy leaves
from the stone sill. Below him lay a narrow strip of grass between the
building and School Lane. The young maples that lined both sides of
the way――the lane had been cut through but four years ago――were still
green, but the leaves looked dry and tired, as though the hot summer
had been almost too much for them. Across the graveled thoroughfare,
seen from the window between the upper branches of the trees, was
Memorial Building, the dining hall, its buff sandstone front, with its
four tall columns, hot in the afternoon sunlight. Further to Stuart’s
left stood the library; beyond it, the tennis courts. Straight ahead,
the school grounds ended at an iron fence half hidden by shrubbery
and vines, and then came an open field that descended to the placid,
winding river. The new steel bridge over which High Street led was just
visible past the corner of Memorial. Beyond it, nestling ’neath tall
elms, spread the town. Two church spires, one slenderly conical and one
square and dignifiedly squatty, pierced the greenery with their white
forms, and now and then a weathered gray roof or a red-brown chimney
peeked forth.
Safford was like half a hundred other Connecticut towns, quiet, as
placid as the river that flowed around it and unvexed by the problems
that beset larger communities. Twice a day the express paused for
a moment at the little station and at four other times local trains
tarried on their way up and down the valley. There were no street
cars and, speaking comparatively, even automobiles were scarce.
Safford’s only claim to renown was Manning School; and there had been
occasions――perhaps there still are――when Safford’s inhabitants would
have been willing to worry along without such fame. The celebrations of
athletic victories occur only infrequently, however, and for the most
part the townsfolk had no cause for complaint, and were doubtless glad
enough of the presence of the big school across the river. I know the
storekeepers were, anyway.
Stuart’s trunk arrived before he had quite finished washing off the
dust of travel, and for nearly an hour after that he busied himself
unpacking, stowing his things methodically away in drawers or hanging
them neatly in the closet, in the latter process carefully taking up
no more than his half of the hooks. The occupant of the other bed and
proprietor of the second chiffonier would be along in a few days, and
there must be space for his belongings. Neil Orr came from Stuart’s
home city and represented the reason why Stuart was remaining in Lacey
through his upper middle year instead of moving to Meigs as was the
privilege, almost invariably taken advantage of, of the third-year
students. Neil was a lower middle class fellow, and since he must
remain in Lacey, Stuart had elected to remain with him. To his own
belief at least, Stuart had acted as guide and protector to Neil during
the previous year and he couldn’t conceive of Neil’s getting along
without him. Perhaps he exaggerated his usefulness to Neil somewhat,
but the motives that prompted him to forego life in the upper class
dormitory were wholly creditable.
It was still too early for supper when he had finished his task and
changed into a comfortable old suit, and, probably because Neil was
still in his thoughts, he went down and crossed the old campus to
Holton Hall. The northern half of the school property had become known
as the old campus when School Lane had been cut through. It held five
dormitories and Manning Hall, the latter accommodating the recitation
rooms, the assembly hall and the offices. Of the five dormitories,
Holton was the elder brother and stood back from the rest as though
keeping a fraternal watch on them. Stuart was not sure that his visit
would prove successful, for there still remained four days before the
faculty members were required to report, but when he came within sight
of the corner study which was his destination his doubts were removed.
The two end windows on the lower floor were wide open and the brown
silk sash curtains were pushed wide. Mr. Moffit, attired principally
in a pair of discolored gray flannel trousers and a running shirt, was
applying a piece of emery cloth to the head of a lofter when Stuart,
accepting the invitation to enter, pushed the study door wide. A golf
bag leaned against the morris chair at the instructor’s elbow, but it
went to the floor with a rattle and crash of its contents when Mr.
Moffit jumped up.
“Hel-lo, Harven!” he exclaimed in pleased surprise. “So we’re back
again! My, my, and all browned up like a berry! Well, I am glad to see
you, my boy!” He shook hands with a grip that made the visitor wince
and pushed the latter toward a chair. “You’ve found me in rather an
undignified moment, it seems. Suppose you take your own coat off and
lend me countenance. It’s been frightfully hot here to-day.”
“Hot everywhere, sir. New York was like an oven.”
“You came that way? Isn’t there a shorter route from Springfield?”
“Yes, but you have to change, sir. And I wired Jack Brewton to meet me
at the Grand Central. Been playing golf, sir?”
“Yes, quite a lot this summer. But it’s over with.” Mr. Moffit sighed.
“Harven, I’m more than ever convinced that the Destiny that shapes our
ends made a botch of it in my case. I ought to have been born with a
silver spoon. I’m naturally the laziest man on earth except as to one
thing. That’s golf. I’ll toil from sunup to pitch dark playing golf,
but anything else――especially the teaching of English――comes mighty
hard. And this fall it seems to me that I’m lazier than ever before. I
don’t want to go back into harness one earthly bit, my boy. I sigh for
wealth and slothfulness, for silken shirts and shaded porches. The gods
bestow their favors blunderingly.”
“You’d soon get tired of silk shirts and porches,” laughed Stuart. “I’m
sure I would. Want some help with those, sir?”
“Thanks, but this is the last. I’m putting them to bed for a nine
months’ sleep. Unless――” the instructor’s eyes brightened――“you play?
There’s a very fair links over at Harrington, and I could sneak in a
couple of hours in the morning.”
“I don’t, sir. Besides, football begins to-morrow and I suppose we’ll
have two sessions a day until Wednesday.”
“That’s why you’re back. I’d forgotten.” Mr. Moffit slipped the lofter
into the bag with a sigh. “That reminds me that I met your new coach
this forenoon. He seems a very pleasant, affable sort, but he doesn’t
play golf. Have you met him yet?”
“No, sir. Do you know where he’s staying?”
“He told me, but I’ve forgotten. I’m afraid I lost interest when I
found he was not a golfer. Somewhere in the village, of course.”
“I thought of looking him up this evening, but if I don’t know where
he’s living I suppose I can’t do it.”
“He’s probably taking his meals at the hotel. I fancy you’d get a word
of him there, Harven.”
“Yes, sir, but there’s no hurry. I’ll see him in the morning. Are there
many of the team back, do you know?”
“I don’t. You’re the first chap I’ve seen. No one’s come yet, except
Mr. Wallace and me, so far as I know. Doctor Gurley’s back, of course.
I took dinner with him last evening. Vacation appears to have toned him
up remarkably. So it has you, my boy. Have a pleasant summer?”
“Dandy, sir! You’re looking awfully fit, too.”
“I suppose so. Yes, I’m feeling fairly rugged, thanks, but――but not at
all ambitious! I purposely came back a few days ahead to do some work.
I’ve got a new course to map out, for one thing. But all I’ve done so
far is clean five golf clubs!” And Mr. Moffit looked with humorous
sadness at the bag beside him.
Stuart laughed. “Don’t you worry, sir. You’ll soon be in form again and
making things hard for us as usual.”
Mr. Moffit smiled and shook his head. “I trust that you are right, but
to-day there’s no iron in my make-up. I’m absolutely out of character
and the sorriest theme ever handed in by a junior couldn’t move me to
wrath! Well, you’ve come back to a pretty stiff task, my boy, haven’t
you? Do you know, I’m not certain that I wouldn’t rather have my own
job than yours. If I make mistakes I can remedy them or I can gloss
them over, but if you make them they’ll stand out on the football
season like so many sore thumbs, and you won’t have time to remedy
them. A bit awed by the responsibility, are you?”
Stuart shook his head smilingly. “No, sir, I don’t think so. Of course,
it’s going to take some work, but we’ve got a good crowd to start with.
If Mr. Haynes knows football as he’s supposed to, things will run along
all right, I guess.”
“The confidence of youth is a beautiful thing,” murmured the other.
“Well, I sincerely hope that things will run along all right and I
wish you the best luck in the world. And that means a successful
season crowned by a glorious victory over Pearsall. I’ll be watching
with a great deal of interest how the youngest captain ever elected
here performs his task, my boy. I hope, though, you won’t start out
overconfident. I’ve been here twelve years and overconfidence at one
stage or another of the season has lost more games for us than any
other one factor. Heed the words of age and experience, Harven, and
don’t write the answer until you’ve worked out the proposition.”
“Oh, I’m not cocksure,” laughed Stuart. “I’m confident that we can
win, but I realize that we’ve got to work every minute, and work hard.
By the way, sir, what does amenability mean? Jack told me that was a
quality I didn’t have.”
“Amenability?” repeated the instructor. “It means several things. For
one, it means the quality of being open-minded, of willingness to be
governed. We speak of a person as being amenable to reason, which
usually means that the person has taken our advice, or, at least,
listened to it.”
“Sounds as though he was calling me pigheaded,” said Stuart.
“Hardly as bad as that,” laughed the other; “he was probably trying to
convey the idea, and convey it as politely as possible, that you are
likely to rely too implicitly on your own judgment and are slightly
contemptuous of others’. Isn’t that more likely to be it?”
“Then it means cocksure,” grunted Stuart. “I don’t think I am. Do you,
sir?”
Mr. Moffit smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “You and I have been pretty
good friends for two years, Harven,” he answered, “and we’ll probably
remain so as long as we don’t ask each other questions like that.”
Stuart grinned. “But seriously, Mr. Moffit, am I like he says? I don’t
mean to be.”
“I’m sure you don’t, my boy. To be frank, there’s something in
Brewton’s indictment, I fancy, but not enough to trouble about.
I’d prefer to call it self-dependence, which, up to a point, is an
admirable attribute of youth.”
“Well, he’s always getting off something like that,” said Stuart. “I
don’t mind him.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d just make certain that his charge is incorrect,
Harven.”
“Yes, sir.” Then: “Gosh, I was almost forgetting what I came to see you
about! You know Neil Orr, Mr. Moffit. He’s eligible for a society this
year, and I’d like mightily to get him into Lyceum. I’m pretty sure he
can make Manning if he wants to, but I’d rather have him with us, and I
guess he’d rather, too.”
“Orr is a splendid fellow in my judgment,” answered Mr. Moffit, “and
I’d be glad to have him in Lyceum, but you know, Harven, I’m only the
faculty director and have no vote.”
“Yes, sir, I know that, but I thought you might speak a good word for
him when the time comes. I’m going to put him up right off.”
“Gladly, if my opinion is asked, but I can’t promise more than that,
my boy. You wouldn’t want me to, I’m sure.”
“No, sir, of course not.” Stuart agreed, but not very fervently. After
a moment he added, “I think some of the fellows won’t want him on
account of his being like he is, and I don’t think that’s fair.”
“I doubt that,” answered the instructor. “I can’t imagine any of our
fellows objecting to Orr on account of physical――ah――disabilities,
Harven. I’d dislike to think it was so.”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” said Stuart. “Only, something was said last spring
that made me think that way. Well, I must be off to supper. Jack is
probably as mad as a hornet by this time. Good-by, sir.”
“Good-by, Harven. Very glad to have seen you again. Drop in some
evening before term starts, and bring Brewton along, won’t you?”