Stuart caught the kindly quizzical gleam in the other’s eyes and grinned sheepishly.
“I—I guess I’ve said it,” he muttered.
CHAPTER XX
“FOR THE GOOD OF THE TEAM”
The football banquet and election was held the Saturday after the Pearsall game, as was the established custom. Coach Haynes, urged to remain for it, did so, and sat at the head of a long table in the upstairs parlor of the village hotel, for the occasion transformed into a banquet hall and hung with cherry-and-gray streamers and flags. All players who had taken part in the Pearsall or Brown games were on hand, as were Mr. Pierson, chairman of the Committee on Athletics, the manager and Assistant manager and The Laird. In all, twenty-six persons sat down to the feast, and good-fellowship and jollity held sway from oysters to ices. Mr. Pierson spoke and Mr. Haynes spoke and—well, about half of the number said their say before the feast was over. Even The Laird was lifted to his feet and compelled to say something; and it is only fair to add that The Laird, although slow at the start, did extremely well once he had forgotten his embarrassment, and had the whole company convulsed. And, of course, there was singing, a whole lot of singing that, no matter if it wasn’t beyond criticism, sounded mighty well down below on the sidewalk where, after the movie theater had closed its doors, a half-hundred Manning fellows stood and waited to learn the result of the election. There was a well-defined rumor to the effect that the election was “fixed,” but rumors are not always correct. In any case, the rumor produced no expressions of indignation.
It was nearly half-past ten when Mr. Pierson took his leave, pursued down the stairs by the vocal assurance that he was a jolly good fellow. Mr. Haynes, too, would have left then, but by unanimous—and extremely loud—protest was induced to keep his place. The Laird always had witnessed the elections and so he simply drew a chair to a window and stuffed his pipe with evil-smelling tobacco. It was Jack who rapped for order with the lid of a sugar bowl and announced that nominations for the captaincy were in order.
Wally Towne and Harry Leonard found their feet simultaneously and, although Leonard was both nearer and larger than the other, Jack looked right past him and gravely said: “The Member from the Hospital has the floor!”
“It gives me great pleasure,” announced Towne when the laughter had subsided, “and—er—does me much honor to place before you the name of one whose right to the captaincy of the team is incontestable. It would be a waste of time for me to set forth this gentleman’s qualities, because you all know them as well as I do. Fellows, I nominate Stuart Harven!”
There was a din of clapping and cheers. Stuart, struck dumb by surprise, stared incredulously at the speaker. Then he was on his feet. “Fellows! Mr. Chairman!” But others were before him, several others, and Jack, glancing mockingly at Stuart, recognized Tasker. Tom Muirgart, at Stuart’s left, pulled him forcibly back into his chair.
“Shut up,” he said sternly. “You’re out of order!”