ELECTING A MANAGER
Sidney Henderson fairly broke into a run in order to catch up to the
three girls. They heard him coming, and turned around, while Tom and
Phil, some distance off, were spectators of the scene.
"I say!" burst out poor Sid pantingly, as he came to a halt, "I'm
awfully sorry, Miss Harrison, but--er--I can't take you to the
theatricals to-night, after all. I've just received bad news."
"Bad news? Oh, I'm so sorry!" and the blue eyes of the pretty girl, that
had been merry and dancing, as she chatted with Ruth and Madge, took on
a tender glance.
"Oh, it isn't that any one is sick, or--er--anything like that," Sid
hastened to add, for he saw that she had misunderstood him. "It's just
that I have received a message--I have got to go away--I--er--I can't
explain, but some one is in trouble, and I--I'm awfully sorry," he
blurted out, feeling that he was making a pretty bad mess of it. "I've
arranged for Tom Parsons to take you to the theatricals, Miss Harrison."
"You've arranged for Mr. Parsons to take me?" There was no mistaking the
anger in her tones. Her blue eyes seemed to flash, and she drew herself
up proudly. Madge and Ruth, who had shown some pity and anxiety at Sid's
first words, looked at him curiously.
"Yes, Tom will be very glad to take you," went on the unfortunate Sid.
"Thank you," spoke Miss Harrison coldly. "I don't believe I care to go
to the theatricals after all. Come on, girls, or we will be late for
tea," and without another look at Sid she turned aside and walked on.
"Oh, but I say, you know!" burst out the second baseman. "I
thought--that is--you see--I can't possibly take you, as it is, and I
thought----"
"It isn't necessary for anyone to take me!" retorted Miss Harrison
coldly. "It's not at all important, I assure you. Good afternoon, Mr.
Henderson," and she swept away, leaving poor Sid staring after her with
bewilderment in his eyes. It was his first attempt at an affair with a
maiden, and it had ended most disastrously. He turned back to rejoin his
chums.
"Well?" questioned Tom, as Sid came up. "Is it all right? Am I to have
the pleasure of two young ladies to-night?"
"No, it's all wrong!" blurted out Sid. "I can't understand girls!"
"That's rich!" cried Phil. "Here you have been despising them all your
life, and now, when you do make up to one, and something happens, you
say you can't understand them. No man can, old chap. Look at Tom and me,
here, and we've had our share of affairs, haven't we, old sport."
"Speak for yourself," replied the pitcher. "But what's the row, Sid?"
"Hanged if I know. I told her I couldn't possibly go to-night----"
"Did you tell her why?" interrupted Phil.
"Well, I said I had received word that I had to go away, and--er--well I
can't explain that part of it even to you fellows. I've got to go away
for a short time, that's all. It's fearfully important, of course, or I
wouldn't break a date with a girl. I can't explain, except that I have
to go. I tried to tell her that; and then I said I'd arranged with you
to take her, Tom."
"You what?" cried the amazed pitcher.
"I told her I was going to have you take her."
"Without asking her whether it would be agreeable to her?"
"Of course. I didn't suppose that was necessary, as you and Miss Clinton
and Miss Tyler were all going together. I just told her you'd take her."
"Well, of all the chumps!" burst out Phil.
"A double-barreled one!" added Tom.
"Why--what's wrong?" asked Sid wonderingly.
"Everything," explained Phil. "You ask a pretty girl--and by the way,
Sid, I congratulate you on your choice, for she is decidedly fine
looking--but, as I say, you ask a pretty girl to go to some doings, and
when you find you can't go, which is all right, of course, for that
often happens, why then, I say, you coolly tell her you have arranged
for her escort. You don't give her a chance to have a word to say in the
matter. Why, man alive, it's just as if you were her guardian, or
grandfather, or something like that. A girl likes to have a voice in
these matters, you know. My, my, Sid! but you have put your foot in it.
You should have gently, very gently, suggested that Tom here would be
glad to take her. Instead, you act as though she had to accept your
choice. Oh, you doggoned old misogynist, I'm afraid you're hopeless!"
"Do you suppose she'll be mad?" asked Sid falteringly.
"Mad? She'll never speak to you again," declared Tom, with a
carefully-guarded wink at Phil.
"Well, I can't help it," spoke Sid mournfully. "I've just got to go
away, that's all," and he hastened on in advance of his companions.
"Don't stay out too late, and get caught by Proc. Zane again," cautioned
Phil, but Sid did not answer.
Tom and Phil lingered in the gymnasium, whither they went for a shower
bath, and when they reached their room, to put on clothes other than
sporting ones for supper, Sid was not in the apartment. There was
evidence that he had come in, hastily dressed, and had gone out again.
"He's off," remarked Tom.
"Yes, and it's mighty queer business," remarked Phil. "But come on,
we'll get an early grub, tog up, and go get the girls."
"What about Miss Harrison?"
"Hanged if I know," answered Tom. "I'd be glad to take her, of course,
but I'm not going to mix up in Sid's affairs."
"No, of course not. Well, come on."
In spite of hearty appetites Tom and Phil did not linger long at the
table, and they were soon back in their room, where they began to lay
out their dress suits, and to debate over which ties they should wear.
Tom had managed to borrow a dress shirt, and so did not have to buy
one.
"I say, Phil," remarked the pitcher, as he almost strangled himself
getting a tight fifteen collar to fit on the same size shirt, "doesn't
it strike you as queer about Sid--I mean his chasing off this way so
suddenly?"
"It sure does. This is the second time, and each time he scoots off when
he's had a note from some one."
"Remember when he came back last night, smelling so strong of tobacco?"
"Sure; yet he doesn't smoke."
"No, and that's the funny part of it. Then there's the fact of him
having no money to-day, though he had a roll yesterday."
There was silence in the small apartment, while the clock ticked on.
Tom, somewhat exhausted by his struggle with his collar, sank down on
the ancient sofa, a cloud of dust, like incense, arising around him.
"Cæsar's legions! My clothes will be a sight!" he cried, jumping up, and
searching frantically for a whisk broom.
"Easy!" cried Phil, "I just had my tie in the right shape, and you've
knocked it all squee-gee!" for Tom in his excitement had collided with
his chum.
They managed to get dressed after a while--rather a long while.
"Come on," said Tom, as he took a final look at himself in the glass,
for though he was not too much devoted to dress or his own good looks,
much adornment of their persons must be excused on the part of the
talented pitcher and his chum, on the score of the pretty girls with
whom they were to spend the evening.
"I'm ready," announced Phil. "Shall we leave a light for Sid?"
"I don't know. No telling when he'll be in. Do you know, Phil, it seems
rotten mean to mention it, and I only do it to see if you have the same
idea I have, but I shouldn't be surprised if old Sid was gambling."
"Gambling!"
"Yes. Look how he's sneaked off these last two nights, not saying where
he's going, and acting so funny about it. Then coming in late, all
perfumed with tobacco, and getting caught, and not having any money
and--and--Oh, well, hang it all! I know it won't go any further, or I
shouldn't mention it; but doesn't it look queer?"
Phil did not reply for a moment. He glanced at Tom, as if to
fathom his earnestness, and as the two stood there, looking around
their common home, marked by the absence of Sid, the fussy little
alarm clock seemed to be repeating over and over again the ugly
word--"gambler--gambler--gambler."
"Well?" asked Tom softly.
"I hate to say it, but I'm afraid you're right," replied Phil. "Sid, of
all chaps, though. It's fierce!" and then the two went out.
Tom and Phil called at the residence of Miss Harrison's relatives for
Madge and Ruth. Tom tried, tactfully enough, to get Miss Harrison to
come to the theatricals with himself and Ruth, but the blue-eyed girl
pleaded a headache (always a lady's privilege), and said she would stay
at home. Sid's name was not mentioned. Then the four young people went
off, leaving a rather disconsolate damsel behind.
Sid was in bed when Tom and Phil returned, and he did not say anything,
or exhibit any signs of being awake, so they did not disturb him,
refraining from even talking in whispers of the jolly time they had had.
There was a strong smell of tobacco about Sid's clothes, but his chums
said nothing of this.
The next day Sid was moody and disconsolate. He wrote several letters,
tearing them up, one after the other, but finally he seemed to hit on
one that pleased him, and went out to mail it. Amid the torn scraps
about his desk Phil and Tom could not help seeing several which began
variously "My dear Miss Harrison," "Dear Miss Harrison," "Dear friend,"
and "Esteemed friend."
"Trying to square himself," remarked Tom.
"He's got it bad--poor old Sid," added Phil. "It will all come out right
in the end, I hope."
But it didn't seem to for Sid, since in the course of the next week,
when he had written again to Miss Harrison asking her to go with him to
a dance, he received in return a polite little note, pleading a previous
engagement.
"Well," remarked Tom one afternoon, when he and his crowd of players had
thronged out on the diamond, "we're getting into some kind of shape. Get
back there, Dutch, while I try a few curves, and then we'll have a
practice game."
"And pay particular attention to your batting, fellows," cautioned Coach
Leighton. "It isn't improving the way it ought, and I hear that Boxer
has some good stick-wielders this season."
"Yes, and they've got some one else on their nine, too," added Bricktop
Molloy. "Have ye heard the news, byes?" for sometimes the red-haired
shortstop betrayed his genial Irish nature by his brogue.
"No, what is it?" asked Phil.
"Fred Langridge is playing with them."
"What? Langridge, the bully who used to be here?" cried one student.
"That same," retorted Bricktop.
"Have they hired him?" inquired Holly Cross.
"No, he's taking some sort of a course at Boxer Hall, I believe."
"A course in concentrated meanness, I guess," suggested Tom, as he
thought of the dastardly trick Langridge had tried to play on Phil
during the previous term.
"Well, no matter about that," came from the coach. "You boys want to
improve your batting--that's all. Your field work is fair, and I haven't
anything but praise for our battery."
"Thanks!" chorused Tom and Dutch Housenlager, making mock bows.
"But get busy, fellows," went on the coach. "Oh, by the way, captain,
what about a manager?"
"Election to-night," answered Tom quickly. "The notice has been posted.
Come on, we'll have a scrub game. Five innings will be enough. There
ought to be----"
"My uncle says----" began a voice from a small knot of non-playing
spectators.
"Fenton's wound up!" cried Dutch, making an attempt to penetrate the
crowd and get at the offending nephew of the former coach.
"Can him!" shouted Joe Jackson.
"Put your uncle on ice!" added Pete Backus.
"Leave him out after dark, and Proc. Zane will catch him," came from
Snail Looper.
"Well, I was only going to say," went on Ford, but such a storm of
protesting howls arose that his voice was drowned.
"And that's the chap they talk of for manager," said Phil to Tom
disgustedly.
"Oh, I guess it's all talk," remarked the pitcher. "We will rush Ed Kerr
through, and the season will soon start."
The scrub game began. It was not remarkable for brilliant playing,
either in the line of fielding or batting. Tom, though, did some fine
work in pitching, and he and Dutch worked together like well-built
machines. Tom struck out three men, one after the other, in the second
inning, and repeated the trick in the last. Sid Henderson rather
surprised the coach by making a safe hit every time he was up, a record
no one else approached that day, for Rod Evert, who was doing the
"twirling" for the team opposed to Tom's, was considered a good handler
of the horsehide.
"Good work, Henderson," complimented Mr. Leighton. But Sid did not seem
particularly pleased.
"Everybody on hand for the election to-night," commanded Tom, as the
game ended, the pitcher's team having won by a score of eight to four.
There was a large throng assembled in the gymnasium that evening, for at
Randall sports reigned supreme in their seasons, and the annual election
of a baseball manager was something of no small importance. For several
reasons no manager had been selected at the close of the previous
season, when Tom had been unanimously selected as captain, and it now
devolved upon the students who were members of the athletic committee to
choose one.
As has been explained, among the players themselves, or, rather, among
the majority, Ed Kerr, the catcher of the previous season was favored,
but, of late there had been activity looking to the choosing of some one
else.
There were vague rumors floating about the meeting room, as Tom Parsons
went up on the platform, and called the assemblage to order. It was
noticed that Bert Bascome, a freshman who was said to be quite wealthy,
was the center of a group of excited youths, of whom Ford Fenton was
one. Ford had tried for the 'varsity the previous season, had failed,
and was once more in line. As for Bascome, he, too, wanted to wear the
coveted "R."
"Politics over there all right," observed Phil Clinton to Dutch. "Any
idea of how strong they are?"
"Don't believe they can muster ten votes," was the answer. "We'll put Ed
in all right."
Tom called for nominations for chairman, and Mr. Leighton, who was in
the hall, was promptly chosen, he being acceptable to both sides.
"You all know what we are here for," began the coach, "and the sooner we
get it over with the better, I presume. Nominations for a manager of
the ball nine are in order."
Jerry Jackson was on his feet in an instant.
"Mr. Chairman," he began.
"Are you speaking for yourself or your brother?" called Dutch.
Bang! went the chairman's gavel, but there was a laugh at the joke, for
Jerry and Joe, the "Jersey twins" were always so much in accord that
what one did the other always sanctioned. Yet the query of Dutch seemed
to disturb Jerry.
"Mr. Chairman," he began again. "I wish----"
"Help him along, Joe," sung out Snail Looper. "Jerry is going to make a
wish."
"Boys, boys," pleaded the coach.
"My uncle says----" came from Ford Fenton, indiscreetly.
"Sit down!"
"Put him out!"
"Muzzle him!"
"Silence!"
"Get a policeman!"
"Turn the hose on him!"
"Don't believe he ever had an uncle!"
These were some of the cries that greeted Ford.
Bang! Bang! went the gavel, and order was finally restored, but Fenton
did not again venture to address the chair.
"Mr. Chairman," began Jerry Jackson once more, and this time he secured
a hearing, and was recognized. "I wish to place in nomination," he went
on, "a manager who, I am sure, will fulfill the duties in the most
acceptable manner; one who knows the game from home plate to third base,
who has had large experience, who is a jolly good fellow--who----"
"Who is he?"
"Name him!"
"Don't be so long-winded about it!"
"Tell us his name!"
"He's going to name Ford's uncle!"
Once more the horse-play, led by Dutch, broke out.
Bang! Bang! went Mr. Leighton's gavel again.
"I nominate Ed Kerr!" sung out Jerry.
"Second it!" came from his brother in a flash.
"Mr. Kerr has been nominated," spoke the chairman. "Are there any
others?"
"Move the nominations be closed," came from Tom quickly, but, before it
could be seconded, Bert Bascome was on his feet. He had a sneering,
supercilious air, that was in distinct bad taste, yet he seemed to have
a sort of following, as, indeed, any youth in college may have, who is
willing to freely spend his money.
"One moment, Mr. Chairman," began Bascome, and so anxious were the
others to hear what was coming that they did not interrupt. "When I
came to Randall college," went on the freshman, with an air as if he had
conferred a great favor by his act, "I was given to understand that the
spirit of sportsmanship and fair play was a sort of a heritage."
"So it is!"
"What's eating you?"
"Who's the goat?" came the cries. Bert flushed but went on:
"Closing the nominations before more than one name----"
"The nominations have not been closed," suggested Mr. Leighton.
"Then am I out of order?" inquired Bascome sarcastically. He seemed to
know parliamentary law.
"No," answered the coach. "You must speak to the point, however. Have
you a name to place in nomination? Mr. Parsons' motion was lost for want
of a second."
"I _have_ a name to place in nomination," went on Bert deliberately,
"and in doing so I wish to state that I am actuated by no sense of
feeling against Mr. Kerr, whom I do not know. I simply wish to see the
spirit of sport well diversified among the students, and----"
"Question! Question!" shouted several.
"Name your man!" demanded others.
"I believe Mr. Kerr is highly esteemed," continued Bascome, holding his
ground well, "and I honor him. I believe, however, that he belongs to a
certain crowd, or clique----"
"You're wrong!" was a general shout.
"Mr. Chairman!" shouted Kerr, springing to his feet, his face strangely
white.
"Mr. Bascome has the floor," spoke Mr. Leighton quietly.
"Name your man!" was the cry from half a score of youths.
"I nominate Ford Fenton for manager!" shouted Bascome, for he saw the
rising temper of some of the students.
"Second it," came from Henry Delfield, who was the closest chum of the
rich lad.
"Move the nominations close!" cried Tom quickly, and this time Phil
Clinton seconded it. The battle was on.
"Two students have been nominated," remarked Mr. Leighton, when the
usual formalities had been completed. "How will you vote on them, by
ballot or----"
"Show of hands!" cried Tom. "We want to see who's with us and who's
against us," he added in a whisper to Phil and Sid.
"I demand a written ballot," called out Bascome.
"We will vote on that," decided the chairman, and it went overwhelmingly
in favor of a show of hands.
"We've got 'em!" exulted Tom, when this test had demonstrated how few
were with Bascome--a scant score.
A moment later the real voting was under way, by a show of hands, Kerr's
name being voted on first. He had tried to make a speech, but had been
induced to keep quiet.
It was as might have been expected. Possibly had the ballot been a
secret one more might have voted for Fenton, but some freshmen saw which
way the wind was blowing, changing their votes after having declared for
a secret ballot, and all of Bascome's carefully laid plans, and his
scheming for several weeks past, to get some sort of control of the
nine, came to naught. Fenton received nine votes, and Kerr one hundred
and twenty. It was a pitiful showing, and Fenton soon recognized it.
"I move the election of Mr. Kerr be made unanimous!" he cried, and that
did more to offset his many references to his uncle than anything else
he could have done. Bascome was excitedly whispering to some of his
chums, but when Fenton's motion was put it was carried without a vote in
opposition, and Kerr was the unanimous choice.
"Well, I'm glad that's over," said Phil with a sigh of relief, as he and
his chums drifted from the gymnasium.
"Yes, now we'll begin to play ball in earnest," added Tom. "Come on,
Sid, I'll take you and Phil down to Hoffman's and treat you to some ice
cream."
"I--er--I'm going out this evening," said Sid, and he blushed a trifle.
"Where, you old dub?" asked Tom, almost before he thought.
"I'm going to call on Miss Harrison," was the somewhat unexpected
answer.