ELECTING A CAPTAIN
It was an excited crowd of boys and girls that gathered about the steps
of Parker School the next morning, for the news that Phil was going to
leave before the end of the term had spread rapidly. Yet, though they
waited eagerly for his appearance, that they might hear confirmation or
denial from his lips, they were forced to go to their classes
unsatisfied, because the boy, realizing their curiosity, purposely kept
out of the way until after recitation time, and when he did enter the
building, he went directly to the office of the principal instead of to
his class-room.
“What’s all this I hear about your deserting the team, Porter?” asked
that official, as he motioned Phil to a chair.
“I do not know what you may have heard, Mr. Maxwell, but it is true that
I intend to leave school today—and Ted will also.”
“Afraid of the Mercer Academy team?” sneered the principal, who had felt
it keenly that his school had not been able to win the baseball
championship and now saw the unusually rosy prospect of accomplishing
the feat this season vanish.
A hot flush suffused the boy’s face at this taunt, and he arose from his
chair.
“You should know me better than that, Mr. Maxwell. It is for no such
reason. My mother is in a very serious condition, and Ted and I intend
to take the burden of the support of ourselves and our sisters from her
shoulders. Will you call a meeting of the team to elect a new captain,
or shall I?”
As he scanned the manly face before him, the principal was thoroughly
ashamed of his slur.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Phil,” he said. “Also, I admire
your pluck. Just forget, if you can, my remark about Mercer, but you
know I had set my heart on your bringing the interscholastic
championship to Parker and it is a keen disappointment to be informed of
your leaving.”
“But that doesn’t mean Parker won’t win, Mr. Maxwell. The team is
working splendidly and they will probably do better without than with
me.”
“I’m afraid not. Somehow, when you were in the box, it not only gave
confidence to our boys, but it rattled the opposing team. For what time
do you wish me to call the meeting—that is, if you are quite sure you
cannot be persuaded to remain in school until the end of the term?”
“That is out of the question, sir.” And then the boy briefly informed
the principal of the seriousness of his mother’s condition.
“Have you a position yet?” asked Mr. Maxwell, as Phil finished. “If you
have not, I shall be glad to do all I can to assist you. I know several
business men and I shall be pleased to give you letters to them.”
“We are going out West to take up a homestead, but I thank you just the
same.”
“Well, well, we shall not even be able to have your services as coach
for Parker, shall we? That’s too bad. I had hoped we might, at least,
arrange to have you do some coaching. H’m, going to take up a homestead,
eh? You’ll have pretty tough ‘sledding,’ as they say, I’m afraid.”
“No more so than in any other work, and, besides, my mother will be able
to be out-of-doors.”
“Is she going with you?”
“No, Ted and I are going alone. After we have filed our claim and put up
our cabin, we shall send for her and the girls.”
“I’m afraid you will have some difficulty about filing your entry, as
they call filing a claim, in the Land Office. I know something about it
because my father was an ‘entryman.’”
“But why do you think so, sir?”
“Because you are neither of age nor the head of a family, and minors are
not allowed to make an entry unless they have done service in the army
or navy.”
“But widows can file a claim, and Ted and I shall select the homestead,
build a cabin, then send for Momsy and she will make the entry.”
“Clever way of getting around it, Phil, very—that is, if the government
will allow minors to act as settlers. How about that?”
“We do not know yet, but Dr. Blair will write to Washington about it and
he thinks he can arrange it.”
“Probably he can. If you have any difficulty, however, just ask your
mother to let me know and I will do all I can to help her and you. And
now, when do you wish me to call the team together—after school?”
“I rather thought, if you don’t mind, sir, that I should like to speak
to the fellows, but our time is so short that I must go right home to
pack.”
“Then I’ll have the team go to the gymnasium directly. It won’t
interfere with classes very much, for I don’t imagine, in view of the
excitement about your resigning, that recitations are going very well.”
And rising from his desk, Mr. Maxwell went to the various rooms,
summoning the members of the team and substitutes, while Phil went
directly to the meeting place.
As he looked about the gymnasium, whose walls were decorated with the
various trophies won by members of Parker School during its fifteen
years of existence, a lump rose in his throat. For he had often gazed
upon them before and had hoped that he should be able to place upon its
walls the most coveted emblem of all, the pennant betokening the
baseball championship of the interscholastic league.
Going over to the spot where were the footballs, with the scores of the
games in which they had been used marked upon them, he was fondly
fingering one bearing the legend Parker 12—Mercer 6, 1910, a victory in
which his work at fullback had played no mean part, when there was a
patter of footsteps and in rushed a group of excited, eager boys.
For the moment, as they beheld Phil standing before the footballs, they
were hushed. Then, as they began to sense his feelings, one of them
shouted:
“Three cheers for good old Phil!”
Lustily they were given, and they were about to be repeated when another
group of boys entered and began to groan and catcall.
“Stop that—instantly,” rang out the stern voice of the principal, who
was close upon their heels, unbeknown to the boys.
But though the hoots were silenced, those who had uttered them kept up a
continual growling and grumbling among themselves, even after Mr.
Maxwell had mounted the instructor’s platform, at one end of the
gymnasium, and rapped for order.
“I have called you together to listen to me, not to listen to you,”
exclaimed the principal. “If I hear any more derisive words, I shall
suspend the utterer from the team for the remainder of the term.
Undoubtedly, from the reports that have come to me from the classrooms
as to the hopelessness of your recitations, you have heard the rumour
that Phil Porter intended to resign from Parker School. I am only too
sorry to say that it is true. I—”
“Quitter! He’s afraid of Mercer!” burst from different parts of the
room.
“Jenkins, you and Whitten leave the gymnasium, and after school bring
your uniforms to me. We will now proceed to elect a captain to take
Phil’s place. Hawley, I appoint you to gather the votes.”
Abashed at the drastic punishment meted out to the two of their number
who had expressed their opinions, the other members of the team searched
for paper and pencils, then divided into groups, discussing the best
candidates.
While they were thus absorbed, Phil approached Mr. Maxwell.
“I know it is none of my business, sir, but won’t you lift your ban from
Jenkins and Whitten? Just because they do not like me is no reason why
Parker should be made to suffer from their loss.”
No answer did the principal make to the boy’s request, and he turned
away, sick at heart to think that the team had been still further
crippled on his account.
But when young Hawley quietly walked up to the platform and handed his
hat containing the votes to Mr. Maxwell, the master exclaimed:
“Phil has importuned me to revoke my suspension of Jenkins and Whitten
so that Parker shall not be weakened any more. While you all know that I
am not in the habit of changing my mind, as Phil is going out West and
on a particularly praiseworthy purpose, I shall yield to his wish.
Hawley, fetch Jenkins and Whitten back.”
Ere the words had left the principal’s mouth, hearty cheers for their
old captain rang through the room, punctuated by cries of “Speech!
Speech!”
With a smile Mr. Maxwell nodded to Phil, and the boy walked to the
platform, then turned and faced his former team-mates.
“I’m sorry that I must resign, fellows, but I must, so there’s no use
talking about it. We have the best nine at Parker that we have had for
years, and if you all give your new captain the same kind of support you
have given me, there is no reason why the pennant should not hang on the
wall of this gym.”
Again cheers rang through the room, and as they subsided Mr. Maxwell
announced:
“The voting has resulted as follows: Sydney Thomas, 14; Bertram Peters,
7; Jenkins, 1. Thomas is, therefore, elected captain to succeed Porter.”
“Good boy, Syd!” cried his friends, gathering around him, excitedly. But
Thomas broke from them and walked to where Phil stood.
“Whatever I know about baseball I have learned from Phil, and for his
sake I want you all to work hard with me to bring the pennant to
Parker,” he exclaimed.
When the cheers subsided, the former captain said:
“I only wish I had taught Syd. There is no need to tell you fellows that
it is hard to leave my—I mean the—team. But Syd knows more inside
baseball than I do, and he can lead you to the championship, as I said
before, if you will only give him the support you have given me. Though
I shall be far away, I want some of you to write to me and tell me how
things are going, but if you don’t win the pennant, you needn’t expect
to receive any replies from me. If I can get out to practise this
afternoon, I shall, but as I start in the morning, I haven’t much time
to get ready. And now, just to please me, let’s cheer old Parker and
Syd.”
Willing was the response to this request, but instead of cheering their
new captain, the boys shouted for their old one, surging about him and
wringing his hands; even Jenkins and Whitten, who had returned, speaking
with him, grateful for his intervention in their behalf.