For the good of the team

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Well, I’ll tell you the truth, sir,” chuckled the trainer. “I’m as prideful an angler as any, Mr. Haynes, but as the Good Book says, pride goeth before the Falls. ’Twas worms I used.”

Further on Mr. Haynes said: “Captain Harven is rather a brilliant player, I understand, Mr. McCranie.”

“You’re right, sir. ’Twas he won the Pearsall game last fall. A very clever lad, Mr. Haynes. One of the finest quarters we’ve ever had here. And a grand runner. ’Twas his getting away for nearly sixty yards that brought us the victory. After that he could have been president if the lads could have made him such. They did the best they might, and, in spite of his being only a third-class boy this year, elected him captain.”

“A steady player?” inquired the coach casually.

The Laird shot a quick, keen glance at him. “You’re fair observing, sir. I’ll not say the lad’s a steady player, for he’s not, but you’ll be forgiving him that for the way he plays when he’s at his best. He’s high-strung like, with a wee bit of temper, but a fine lad for all, sir. There’s two kinds. There’s them that’s always reliable. You know beforehand what they’ll time at every lap. They’re grand, but there’s never a surprise in them, sir. Their time to-day is their time to-morrow, barring an accident. Then there’s the other sort. To-day you’ll click them one time, to-morrow another. You never know for certain what they’ll do. But when the time comes they’re like thoroughbred horses, Mr. Haynes. A touch of the spur and they tear loose, sir, and naught can head them. Maybe they’ll drop, past the line, but they’ll win!”

“That sort requires careful handling,” mused the coach.

“Man, you speak true! Haven’t I learned it? But they’re worth the trouble, sir.”

“Well, I’ll stop here,” said Mr. Haynes as they reached the hotel. “I hope you and I will get along splendidly, Mr. McCranie. I shall look to you for a lot of advice, for I’m pretty much of a stranger yet.”

“We’ll get along grand, sir,” replied the trainer heartily, “and I’m not denying there’s things I can tell you, for I’m an old dog here. But I’ll be asking you drop the ‘Mister,’ sir. McCranie’s my name, or Angus if you like it better. The lads call me The Laird, and that’s a name I’m fair proud of, Mr. Haynes, for they’d never have given it me if I’d not come by it rightly.”