For the good of the team

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Stuart, if the Committee accepts your resignation the players won’t have anything to say about it! Don’t you see that? They couldn’t do anything if they wanted to. If you’d only waited and talked it over first! I—I’m awfully afraid you’ve messed things up again!”

“Oh, piffle! You wait and see, old man. They’ll be talking mighty small to-morrow. Jud McColl knows me well enough to tell them that I’m not the sort to be kicked out of the captaincy and then keep right on playing for them! Haynes knows it, too. He’s no fool, if he does act it.”

But in spite of his pretended assurance Stuart began to wonder secretly if he had, after all, made a mistake. Haynes had proved pretty conclusively that he stood strong with the Committee. He began to consider what would happen if they did the impossible thing and accepted the resignation. Short of inciting the team to mutiny, he realized, with a sinking sensation, that there wasn’t anything he could do! And, for that matter, it might be that the number of fellows on the team who would stand by him would be too small to cause anything approaching a mutiny. And, besides that, Stuart wasn’t sure that he would want a mutiny. That would be going too far. It would play hob with the team and, no matter how it resulted, would set them back badly. After all, even though the confounded bunch of old women that called themselves the Committee on Athletics didn’t seem to believe it, the success of the team was first in his thoughts! Then he banished doubts. Neil was always more or less of a pessimist. Of course, maybe it might have been wiser to have waited and talked it over a bit first, but it was mighty unlikely that the Ath. Fac. would cut off its nose to save its face, or, put differently, would lose a star quarterback to retain its dignity!

There was no apparent knowledge of the Committee’s letter among the fellows on the field that afternoon. Evidently the matter was still a secret. Coach Haynes was the same as usual, formally polite to Stuart, and the unpleasant incident of yesterday seemed to have been forgotten. Stuart went at his work with a resolution to emphasize his value to the team and played the game with all the dash and brilliancy of which he was capable. It was one of his good days and he made the most of it. “Old Unabridged’s” pets were torn asunder and trampled on, out-generaled and out-fought, and the first walked off the field at the end with a 17 to 0 victory.

“Now,” said Stuart to himself, “let them go ahead and fire me!”

His high spirits, though, failed to lighten Neil’s gravity.

Jack came over to Number 12 that evening and he and Stuart talked a good deal of football and a good deal of other things, and, apparently there was no cloud in the sky. But Neil didn’t have much to say, and when rallied by Jack only smiled and answered that he was far too much awed by so much brilliance to venture remarks of his own. Stuart, realizing the real reason for his roommate’s quietness, had brief moments of uneasiness.

Oddly, when morning came, he awoke with the feeling of uneasiness vastly increased, and, although he told himself that there was no cause for anxiety, he remained nervous all during breakfast and through his first two classes, and it was with positive relief that, at half-past eleven, he returned to Lacey and spied a letter in his box. Up in Number 12, he hesitated for a long minute before he slit the envelope. When at last he did so and read the contents his face paled. After that he sat for many more minutes, the letter in his hand and his eyes fixed broodingly on the floor.

It was a very polite missive, almost cordial in spite of its brevity. It thanked Mr. Stuart Harven for his communication, appreciated his spirit of loyalty to the school, accepted his resignation with regret for the necessity for doing so and hoped that the incident would not be allowed to affect his interest in the Team’s success or impair his usefulness. When Neil came in later Stuart had recovered his poise. He handed the letter to Neil with a smile that, if it didn’t deceive Neil, established the attitude which Stuart was to hold for some time. Neil said nothing for a moment after he had read the epistle. When he did speak he only said gravely: “I’m sorry, Stuart.”

Stuart shrugged. “Why, so am I, in a way,” he replied with seeming candor. “I guessed wrong, and no fellow likes to make mistakes. As for the rest of it, resigning and all that, why, I’m not sure it isn’t a good thing, Neil. Trying to get along with Haynes is a good deal of a job, and the next fellow will find it out. And I’ll miss playing, I suppose, for awhile.”