“An’—” Ginger’s tone became insinuating—“an’, say, Babe, them light bats ain’t so worse, are they?”
Babe turned a stern countenance on the criminal. “Lay off that, son, lay off,” he replied. “That bat did the trick for me that time, all right. But, as you said to me not so long ago, Ginger, that don’t prove nothing, nothing at all!”
But Ginger, catching the twinkle in Babe’s eyes, thought differently.
The team’s banquet was held at Mander’s Chesapeake Oyster House, in the upstairs room where the ceiling was so low that Babe threatened to bring down the plaster whenever he stood up. All the players were there, and the Coach and the Manager and the Assistant Manager and—Ginger! Ginger was there, of course, in his official position of Mascot, and just at first he was far too embarrassed to take joy from the occasion. But he pulled himself together, in a way of speaking, along about the second course and, perhaps just to prove that he was quite accustomed to banquets—which of course he wasn’t—he finished strong, eating his own three-colored ice cream and Babe’s and Ted Purves’.
Naturally, Ginger had no vote in the election which followed, though it is likely enough that he, too, would have cast his vote for Joe Kenton. Joe, however, didn’t need any more votes than he got on the first and only ballot taken, for his election was unanimous. Hal, privileged as retiring captain to nominate a successor, said so many splendid things about his chum that Joe got very red in the face and looked extremely unhappy until the last cheer for the new leader had died away. Later they sang some songs and felt a trifle sentimental, especially fellows who, like Babe and Hal, wouldn’t be there next year, and at last the banquet came to an end. Many of the fellows seized on suitcases and hurried off for the late train. Others, Joe and Hal and Babe amongst them, went slowly back to school through the warm June night. Ginger, loath to see the last of his friend and hero, tagged along at Babe’s side, and when Routledge was reached allowed himself to be persuaded to ascend to Number 14.
Up there, with the windows open and coats off, they sat and talked long. No one, it seemed, was sleepy even when eleven o’clock struck. But Ginger pulled himself from Babe’s side and said he guessed he’d have to be getting along or the old man would whale the hide off him! They shook hands very gravely with him and Joe said: “Well, see you next year, Ginger.”
Then, to the others’ surprise, Ginger shook his head. “I don’t guess you will,” he said gruffly.
“What!” exclaimed Babe. “Going to desert us?”
“Aw, you won’t be here,” answered Ginger, his gaze on the floor.
“Why, no, old man, I won’t, but Joe will, and a lot of the others. Great Scott, kid, you can’t desert the old team like that!”