For the good of the team

by Ralph Henry Barbour

The coach nodded and a second silence followed. At last he turned and rapped the ashes from his pipe into the ash tray on the arm of his chair. “I’ve got it, Orr,” he said. “The Laird’s the one to do it. I’ll see him this afternoon.”

Neil’s face brightened. “That’s so, Mr. Haynes! They’ve always been great pals! Stuart will listen to The Laird.”

“I’m sure he will. Don’t hurry away, though. I’m mighty grateful to you for doing this, Orr. I wish you didn’t have to use those things.” He pointed smilingly to the crutches. “I’d like you on the team, old man!”

Neil flushed, not at the allusion to the crutches but in real pleasure. You see, he sometimes thought that if he had been like other chaps he could have done rather well in sports, and it was fine to have the coach confirm the thought. He made his way back to school very happy.

Stuart was inclined to be a bit resentful because Neil had left him alone, but he didn’t insist on knowing where the other had been and Neil at once began to bustle around in preparation for church. His prayer book and hymnal had, it appeared, been misplaced, and in aiding in the search Stuart forgot his resentment and any curiosity he may have had. The missing articles were eventually discovered by Neil just where he had left them a week before. It was almost dusk when there came a knock on the door of Number 12 and The Laird came in. Stuart had been humped up on the window seat earnestly wrestling with his English, and Neil was in the middle of a delayed Sunday letter. The Laird explained carelessly that he’d been out for a bit of a walk and thought he’d drop in and pass the time of day. Stuart was glad to see him and equally glad of an excuse to close his books, and he made The Laird comfortable in the biggest of the two easy chairs and was quite merry. Neil ended his letter hurriedly during the first minutes of the trainer’s visit, inclosed it, and, excusing himself, took it down to the letter box in front of Manning Hall. He made the trip very leisurely and, on the way back, stopped in a few minutes with Tom Hanson who lived on the first floor. He was careful not to make his absence suspiciously prolonged, however, and got back to Number 12 some fifteen minutes after his departure. The trainer was still there and neither he nor Stuart appeared to have been aware of Neil’s absence. They were talking football, the pair of them; discussing the chances of Yale coming back in time for the Princeton game next Saturday, and the overthrow of the big colleges in their games yesterday. It was evident to Neil, however, that The Laird had performed his mission, and performed it well since Stuart was unmistakably in an excited and exalted frame of mind. Presently the trainer took his leave, and Neil, after waiting a moment for Stuart to explode the news, asked idly:

“What did The Laird have to say? Anything new in the world?”

“N-no.” Stuart was elaborately careless. Whatever he had to tell, Neil saw, wasn’t going to be exploded! “We were talking about the game Saturday and one thing and another. Where’d you go?”

“Out to post my letter. Then I stopped in at Tom Hanson’s for a minute. It’s getting colder.”

“Yes.” Stuart absently fingered the pages of a book. “I guess we’re in for a cold snap. Glad of it. You need zippy weather for football. That reminds me. I’ve decided to go back on the team to-morrow.”