THE ATH. FAC. TAKES A HAND
Before the Forest Hill game was a thing of the past, however, the
dissensions between coach and captain had produced the inevitable
result. There was a feeling of disquiet and apprehension among the
players that showed itself in little but unmistakable ways and, while
as yet it showed no apparent effect on their work, threatened to impair
their morale sooner or later. There was a good deal of talk, a good
deal of discussion, and the fellows began to take sides. Five or six
of the veterans honestly considered that Mr. Haynes had been and still
was conducting the affairs of the team in a high-handed manner, and
while they credited him with the best of intentions they still held
that Stuart was “getting a raw deal.” To these faithful supporters were
added a few others who, caring little about the merits of the case,
loved a scrap for its own sake. To be fair to Stuart it should be said
that, if he did little to prevent this situation, he at least did
nothing intentionally to produce it. When he found that the players
were actually beginning to take sides he saw the danger and, not
hypocritically, declared that “Haynes was boss and it was up to them
all to obey orders and not shoot off their mouths.” That, though, only
brought knowing looks. Of course Stuart would talk like that: he would
feel that he had to!
The other side hinted disagreeably that the captain had a swelled head;
that he always had had and that it was bigger than ever since he had
been made captain: and that any fellow who couldn’t get along with a
chap like Mr. Haynes was a natural-born grouch. Stuart found support
and sympathy in an unsuspected quarter in the shape of manager Fred
Locker. Locker had nothing against the coach personally, but he had
spent three years at Manning and had seen things done differently,
and, while he had nothing to say publicly, he let Stuart know his
sentiments. He talked to Jack one evening, too, but he quickly agreed
with the latter that, whoever was in the right, Stuart mustn’t be
allowed to “mess things up and make a fool of himself.” The main thing,
of course, was to lick Pearsall and it was every fellow’s duty to work
for that result.
In the Forest Hill game Stuart played as well as he ever had, although
the incentive to great effort was lacking since the contest was
one-sided from the first. On Monday, however, when the first was
stacked up against the second and Saturday’s players were, contrary to
custom, sent into the scrimmage, Stuart was distinctly off his game.
Scenting an opportunity to triumph, perhaps, the second, coached by
Mr. Webster, who had long since earned the affectionate nickname of
“Old Unabridged,” started in with a whoop. Several of the fellows on
the first team who had played through the Forest Hill game slightly
resented being called on to-day. Some of them were a little bit tired,
or thought they were, which amounts to practically the same thing.
Among them was Stuart. His resentment was principally aimed at the
violation of a long-established precedent which allowed those who had
played through a Saturday game a Monday of rest or, at the most, the
lightest sort of labor. He didn’t much mind playing, although, as he
explained later to Neil, he “didn’t feel very zippy,” but the injustice
rankled. As a result he――well, he was pretty poor.
Second took the kick-off and came up the field hard, using a new
split-formation play that “Old Unabridged” had just taught them,
to such good results that they were on the first’s twenty-yard line
before any one knew what was happening. After that they tried twice to
bore through the center and then tried to heave across the left. Tom
Muirgart spoiled that, however, catching the ball just short of the
line, and the first lined up on her three yards. Stuart called for a
plunge at center, which yielded practically nothing, and then, instead
of letting Tasker punt out of danger, himself took the ball for a run
around the right. In the situation that was as unexpected a play as
it was hazardous. Perhaps Stuart expected its unexpectedness to make
it go, but if he did he was wrong. A big second team tackle slammed
through and got him before he could turn in and heaved him across the
goal line for a safety.
Some of his companions looked on him sorrowfully and reproachfully,
though only half in earnest. Coach Haynes spoke his mind quietly but
crisply. “Bad generalship, Captain Harven,” he said, as Stuart found
his feet again. “Too risky. You should have punted.”
Stuart, knowing all that quite as well as the coach, scowled and
bit his lip. The coach, about to add something further, caught his
expression and wisely changed his mind.
The second chose to kick-off and the pigskin floated high and far
toward the first team goal. Stuart claimed it and got under it near
the ten-yard line. The catch was not a difficult one. The other backs,
never doubting that he would make it, sped ahead to form interference.
The ball fell straight into Stuart’s hands and as straightly bounded
out again. He tried to get it on the bounce as it went on toward the
goal line, failed, and threw himself on it. Again misfortune met
him. The ball somehow wiggled loose and a second team end, who had
marvelously evaded the interference, crashed down across Stuart and
captured the pigskin.
From the seven yards the second carried over in four plays, choosing
Towne as a point of attack. Although she failed at goal, the second
had, beyond any possible doubt, won the game in the first six minutes
of play, and she rejoiced exceedingly and made herself most obnoxious;
so much so that Billy Littlefield came to blows with a second team
end and was yanked out by a stern referee. Stuart, sore and silent,
followed back to position to find Millard Wheaton awaiting him. “Wheat”
was trying hard to look regretful, but the attempt wasn’t very
successful.
“What do you want?” asked Stuart darkly.
“You’re off,” said Wheaton. “Sorry, Cap.”
“Get out of here!” Stuart pulled his head guard on with a jerk.
Wheaton, at a loss, turned to Tasker, but Howdy only shrugged. Of
course his duty was to call the referee’s attention to Stuart’s
refusal, but――well, Stuart was captain of the team, and so, after a
moment’s indecision, Wheaton trotted back to the side-line. Then Mr.
Haynes walked out with Wheaton in tow. Stuart, seeing, went toward them.
“Captain Harven,” said the coach firmly but quietly, “I sent Wheaton in
to take your place.”
“I intend to stay in, sir,” answered Stuart doggedly. “This is a
practice game and a boob play or two don’t matter.”
“I think differently. Kindly do as I say. We can discuss the matter
later.”
“No, sir! I’m captain and I’m within my rights, Mr. Haynes. I’m going
to play this period out. It wasn’t fair to work us to-day, anyhow. Some
of us are done up. If we make mistakes it’s because we oughtn’t to be
here at all. You can put Wheat in the next period if you like, but he
doesn’t play quarter now.”
Mr. Haynes looked a bit white, but he only nodded and turned on his
heel. Then: “Come on, Wheaton,” he said, and led the way back to the
side line. Stuart was aware that the other fellows were very carefully
avoiding looking at him. Harmon broke the silence and the tension with
a cheerful “Come on, First! Let’s get ’em!” and the whistle piped.
Stuart played the twelve-minute period out, as he had said he would,
and played very raggedly, although there were no more glaring mistakes.
When the teams went off, second still holding her 13 to 0 lead, Stuart
tried hard to look nonchalant and smiling and accepted the blanket that
The Laird tossed him with a joking remark. The Laird, though, shook his
head gently. Stuart froze up and watched the rest of the scrimmage in
silence.
He had plenty of time for second thought before the final whistle blew
and the first team trailed off to the gymnasium smarting under a 13 to
7 defeat, and in that time he decided that he had, in the accommodating
language of the baseball diamond, “pulled a boner.” He firmly believed
himself to have been justified in his refusal to accept dismissal
from the line-up. That didn’t trouble him. His mistake had been, he
concluded, in insisting on his right to remain. It would have been
better in every way had he protested with dignity and gone off the
field. He would have had the sympathy of his team mates, avoided the
possible charge of insubordination and added further evidence of the
coach’s high-handedness. As it was, he had the uncomfortable conviction
that he had made himself appear ridiculous rather than heroic. These
reflections were no aid to composure and peace of mind, and, although
he wanted to convey the impression that the incident had left him
undisturbed, no one was deceived by his studied attempt at nonchalance.
He took pains not to avoid Mr. Haynes, but did not seek to reopen the
discussion. For his part, the coach, rather graver than usual, seemed
to have dismissed the matter from his mind.
Stuart went back to Lacey from the gymnasium and recounted the incident
to Neil. He treated it lightly, even flippantly, but under the
lightness was an unconscious note of defiance. He didn’t expect Neil
to altogether approve of his action, but it was typical of him that
he always did tell Neil things whether he looked for commendation or
censure. Perhaps this was largely because the other’s judgments, for or
against, were invariably frank and honest. When Stuart had ended, Neil
smiled and shook his head.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Stuart,” he sighed. “You
do mess things up frightfully!”
“What about others?” asked Stuart in injured tones. “Who started the
trouble to-day?”
“Don’t be a goop,” begged Neil. “If some one shies a brick at you, is
there any reason why you can’t side step it? Whether you realize it
or not, you’ve been trying to make out a case against Mr. Haynes ever
since you got here. Of course, that’s poor business, but if you must
do it, why do everything you can to spoil it? No matter who was in the
right to-day, and I’m not enough of a football man to know, your cue
was instant obedience. Then, if there was any injustice, you’d have
had public opinion on your side. Can’t you see that, you chump? What
happened afterwards?”
“Nothing. He didn’t open his mouth, and so I didn’t.”
“You better, though,” said Neil earnestly. “See him this evening and
make some sort of an apology.”
“I will like fun!” exclaimed Stuart indignantly.
“You’ve got to,” Neil replied firmly. “You can insist all you please on
your rights in the matter, but you must own up that you acted wrongly.
You did, you know. That was a poor example to set the rest of the team,
Stuart.”
The other was glumly, rebelliously silent for a minute. Then: “Of
course I did the wrong thing,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “Seems to
me I’m always doing it where Haynes is concerned. He gets my goat,
confound him! I had a good case against him to-day and I spoiled it,
just as you say. I won’t go over to his rooms and lick his boots, Neil,
but I’ll call him on the telephone after supper.”
Neil considered a moment doubtfully. After all, even that was quite a
concession from Stuart, and so he nodded. “All right, but be decent,
Stuart. Don’t talk haughty.”
“All right, but I won’t apologize: understand that! I’ll say I was
wrong in staying in after he told me to come out, but I _won’t_ say
that I didn’t have a perfect right to!”
But after supper, although Stuart went twice to the telephone
downstairs, Mr. Haynes didn’t respond, and so that near-apology wasn’t
made. There was much talk that evening among the players and even
Stuart’s stanchest upholders could find no good excuse for him. The
best they could do was plead extreme provocation; and even that was
challenged by the opposition. By the next day the school in general had
hold of the story and there were many and varied versions of what had
actually happened. The most sensational story had it that blows had
been exchanged between coach and captain. The school in general stood
loyally behind the captain, for, especially amongst the younger boys,
he was looked up to as a hero. Junior class fellows viewed his progress
across the campus that morning with an admiration so evident as to make
Stuart uncomfortable.
Returning from a recitation at eleven, he found an envelope in his box
bearing the inscription, “Manning School, Safford, Conn. Committee
on Athletics.” Communications from the Athletic Faculty, usually on
routine matters, were no unusual affairs, and Stuart slipped the
letter into his pocket with no disturbing premonition and only slight
curiosity. In fact, it was not until he had been in Number 12 for
several minutes and had settled down to dig for an impending hour
test in English that he recalled the missive and dug it from his
pocket. Since Neil was at a recitation, Stuart had the room to himself,
something that he was later very thankful for. He made nothing of the
letter at the first reading, for incredulity turned the phrases into a
meaningless jumble. Then, a puzzled frown between his eyes, he read it
again.
Mr. Stuart Harven,
Captain Manning School Football Team,
12 Lacey Hall.
Dear Sir:
At a meeting of the Committee on Athletics held this evening
the following Resolution was passed:
“Whereas, in the judgment of this Committee, Captain Stuart
Harven has shown himself unable or unwilling to act in
coöperation with the Coach in the conduct of the affairs of the
Football Team, which fact this Committee considers detrimental
to the welfare of the Team, it is
“Resolved that Captain Stuart Harven be directed to appear
before this Committee at eight o’clock on the evening of October
26 and show cause why his resignation as captain should not be
requested for the good of the Team; and that a copy of this
Resolution be delivered to Captain Stuart Harven.”
For the Committee on Athletics,
Chas. E. Dodge, Secretary.