“Boys, it's time to break trainin'. I ain't got much to say. You're the best team I ever developed. Let it go at that. In a few minutes you are free to go out to the banquets and receptions, to all that's waitin' for you. And it will be great. To-morrow you will be sayin' good-bye to me and to each other and scatterin' to your homes. But let's not forget each other and how we plugged this year. Sure, it was only baseball, but, after all, I think good, hard play, on the square and against long odds, will do as much for you as your studies. Let the old baseball coach assure you of that.”
He paused, paced a few steps to and fro, hands behind his back, thoughtful and somewhat sad.
The members of the varsity sat pale and still, faces straight before them, eyes shining with memory of that long up-hill struggle, and glistening, too, with the thought that the time had come for parting.
“Homans, will you please see to the election of the new captain?” said Worry.
Homans stepped out briskly and placed a hat, twelve folded slips of paper, and a pencil upon the table.
“Fellows, you will follow me in our regular batting order,” directed Homans. “Each man is to write his name on one side of a slip of paper and his choice for captain on the other side. Drop the paper in the hat.”
Homans seated himself at the table and quickly cast his vote. Raymond hobbled up next. Reddy Ray followed him. And so, in silence, and with a certain grave dignity of manner that had yet a suggestion of pleasure, the members of the varsity voted.
When they had resumed their seats Homans turned the slips out of the hat and unfolded them.
“These votes will be given to the athletic directors and kept on record,” he said. “But we will never see but one side of them. That is Wayne's rule in electing captains, so the players will not know how each voted. But this is an occasion I am happy to see when we shall all know who voted for who. It shall be a little secret of which we will never speak.”
He paused while he arranged the slips neatly together.