For the good of the team

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Practice,” he muttered. “I might have remembered.” The qualm of disappointment vanished and, abandoning one of his crutches, he set about the unpacking of his suit case. From bag to chiffonier, closet and table he went quickly and efficiently, sometimes throwing his full weight on the remaining crutch, sometimes placing an aiding hand on table or chair back or bedstead. Presently, since his trunk was still to arrive, his task was completed and he seated himself in a chair that faced the south window, laying the crutch beside him. It would have taken keen observation then to have suspected anything wrong with the apparently sound limbs stretched before him, yet the truth is that never in all his life had they once sustained his full weight. Place Neil Orr in the water and he could swim like a fish, but ashore and minus his crutches he was as helpless as a crawling baby. Perhaps had he once had the full use of his legs he would have minded the lack of it a great deal, but as it was, while he often envied others their ability to walk and run and take part in athletics, he was quite contented with his lot.

Perhaps the Lord had been fully as kind to Neil as to seemingly more fortunate youths, for while Neil had been denied the usual means of locomotion he had been blessed with a happy disposition; and were I forced to make choice of the two gifts I’d never hesitate in choosing the happy disposition. You are not to suppose that Neil was one of those objectionably cheerful idiots who, when you pound your thumb with a hammer under the mistaken idea that you’re hitting a nailhead, smilingly reminds you, while you dance around with your thumb in your mouth, that it would have been much worse had you been using an ax, and that “it will be all the same ten years from now.” A sense of proportion must accompany a happy disposition if the latter is to be of use, and in Neil’s case it did. He also had a nice sense of humor and a kindliness of heart that won him friends everywhere. Among those who knew Neil only by sight there were probably some who wondered that Stuart Harven should forgo the privilege of spending his upper middle year in the greater comfort of Meigs Hall in order to remain with the younger boy, but those who were acquainted with the latter didn’t wonder at all. Jack Brewton, close friend of both, smiled to himself when Stuart explained that he had decided to stay on in Lacey because it didn’t seem fair to Neil not to. Stuart honestly thought that he was conferring a benefit, but Jack knew that he was receiving it!

Stuart and Neil had been friendly acquaintances before coming to Manning. Back home, in Springfield, they had gone to school together, been of the same “crowd” and done the same things. Although they were nearly of an age, Stuart was the senior by four months—Neil had always been one year behind the other in school, owing to the fact that Stuart possessed a faculty for, as he phrased it, “hitting the high places” in his studies. Teachers shook their heads over that faculty. They knew perfectly well that Stuart was, to make use of another convenient phrase, “beating the game,” but there was nothing they could do about it. He got high marks, even though his instructors were convinced that he knew far less of the subjects than did many boys who were marked much lower, and there was nothing for it but to pass him. Some did it sadly, with earnest exhortations to more serious and thorough work, others did it quite as grudgingly but with a secret envy for a quality not possessed by their plodding, slow-going minds. Once interested in a course, Stuart could fairly “eat it up,” but the trouble was that few courses interested him, and even during his two years at Manning—he had entered the lower middle class—he had continued to rely on his uncanny ability to learn just enough and no more than was necessary to keep him in good standing. Since the classes were larger here, he managed to fool many of the instructors and even gain a reputation for brilliancy, which reputation helped him to go on fooling them. Among the few who were not deceived was the English instructor, Mr. Moffit. Mr. Moffit—Miss Muffit the boys called him—said one day, half in fun, half in earnest: “Harven, you’re a smart chap, but your smartness is the Devil’s kind, and some day you may regret it. A juggler may toss up a glass bowl and a silk hat and a billiard cue ninety-nine times and catch the hat on his head, the cue on his chin and the bowl on the cue. But the hundredth time something goes wrong and there’s an awful smash. Better watch out for the hundredth time, my boy!” To which Stuart had replied apologetically: “Maybe I don’t go into things as hard as I should, sir, but there’s lots of time yet. You wait till I get to college!”

Neil didn’t have Stuart’s gift, fortunately or unfortunately, as you choose to view it, and he worked much harder for no better surface results. He regarded his friend’s method with secret doubt but never criticized it. When he reached Manning, a year after Stuart, it seemed quite natural that they should take a room together. Neil admired and liked Stuart for the qualities that attracted other fellows, and, besides, for his athleticism. Even in the early school days Stuart had been a leader in games of all sorts. Stuart was as willing as Neil to join forces. He liked the other boy immensely, and was sorry for him, although there was something in Neil’s attitude that prohibited pity, and felt that it would be a friendly act to look after him and see that his physical disability didn’t act as a handicap. They had spent a year together in the corner room in Lacey and everything had gone wonderfully. You couldn’t quarrel with Neil if you wanted to because he simply wouldn’t have it. If you got nasty Neil merely retired within his undisturbed self and waited for you to get over your mood. Then he went on again as if nothing had happened. There might have been rows aplenty had Neil desired them, for, while Stuart wasn’t quarrelsome, he was fond of his own opinions and impatient of others’. But Neil didn’t consider his views or any one else’s views of much importance, certainly not important enough to become ruffled over! What had begun as mutual respect and liking had grown within one school year to something much deeper and stronger, though, boylike, neither would have cared to give a name to it.

The shadows were growing long on the campus when Stuart returned to No. 12. The greetings exchanged were almost casual, but the handclasp was hard and the faces of both boys showed their pleasure.

“I’m beastly sorry I couldn’t meet you, Neil,” said Stuart, “but I couldn’t cut practice to-day. How long have you been here?”

“Perhaps an hour. I unpacked my bag and have been waiting for my trunk. There’s some of your laundry in it, by the way. Your mother sent it over yesterday and asked me to bring it along.”

“Thanks. Well, how are you, anyway?”

“Fine,” smiled Neil. “Don’t I look fairly healthy?”