CHAPTER II
ON THE ICE
As Dickinson foresaw, Melvin yielded to the pressure brought to bear upon him, and resigned himself to the thankless task of managing the track team. The election was held a week after Thanksgiving, arousing but a lukewarm interest. With fine ice on the river, and the Christmas holidays close at hand, few had more than a thought for the distant spring. Even the problems of the baseball season were as yet but lightly mentioned. There was a general optimism in the air that year at Seaton which carried everything before it, like the high tides of confidence which sometimes sweep over the stock-market. It made little difference who were captains or managers; this was Seaton’s year; the teams were bound to win. Only a few of the wiser heads—perhaps not all the captains and managers themselves—understood fully the danger of such a mood.
If the task of athletic manager proved to Melvin for the time being a sinecure, another office which was suddenly thrust upon him was quite the opposite. No one knew exactly how the hockey rivalry started, or who were the first to fan it into flame. It was just the kind of contest most likely to arise where boys gather from every part of the country, each loyal to his home and state, and each ready to boast superiority, and defend the boast with tongue and muscle. Dick had hardly been twice on the ice when the hockey players began to pair off into New England and Western teams. By some natural agreement the Hudson River was made the boundary line,—a rather unfair division, as it afterwards proved, for the New Englanders included considerably more than half the skaters. At first the rivalry was general and unorganized; then teams were more carefully picked; and finally, as the victory wavered from East to West in these miscellaneous engagements, and enthusiasm and pugnacious patriotism spread, the school was sifted for experts, champion teams were chosen, and a day set for a single decisive contest. It was then that Dick found to his surprise that he was appointed captain of the Western team.
Sands, the captain of the school nine, who lived in Chicago, brought him the news.
“How absurd!” cried Dick, aghast. “Why, I’m no hockey player. There must be a dozen fellows better than I.”
“They think you’ll be the best leader, anyway,” returned Sands; “and as there’s no one else eligible whom the fellows will follow, you’ll just have to take it. When a man handles a football as you did last fall, he’s supposed to be capable of anything. Don’t try for the nine, please. You can’t play ball on a reputation, and I should hate to have to fire you from the squad.”
Sands threw himself on the sofa, and waited for an answer.
“There’s no danger of that,” replied Melvin, unruffled. “I don’t play ball. As for the hockey business, I’m quite willing to act as leader, if it’s understood that I make no pretensions to being a crack.”
He pondered a moment and then went on: “What material is there? Curtis and Toddy don’t live in New England. That gives us four solid men for a nucleus.”