Captain Danny

XIV. For the Green and White

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING

PAGE

“The ball shot into the air with a vicious curve ”

Frontispiece

“ * Marty Black is here,’ said Craig ” .... 32

“ Baggs was first to bat ” 152

“ ‘ Don’t you know any better than to talk like

Chapter I

C HRISTMAS was in the air. Every Manor Hall boy breathed it as he prepared to depart for his home to enjoy the season. Yet, despite the fact that snow was falling and that this would be a “white Christmas,” there was a matter aside from the Yuletide in the mind of every boy who loved the green and white.

For two years in succession Monroe Academy had shamelessly defeated Manor Hall’s baseball nine. Now the school had made up its mind that Monroe had to be stopped — not gently and kindly, but abruptly and with a thud. So even Christmas couldn’t make the fellows forget that Craig, the coach, had promised to start indoor i baseball practice as soon as they came back to school.

There were no classes to-day. Along in the afternoon the students would begin to go their separate ways toward home. At breakfast there was a merry, buoyant atmosphere about the dining hall. Fiery, red-haired Danny Phipps, the captain of the nine, went about from table to table urging his veteran players to take care of themselves.

“No ice hockey while you’re away, Cross,” he warned his first-baseman.

“Trust me,” Cross answered. “I won’t come back all banged up. I’ll be fit.”

The captain turned to Jerome, a pitcher. “You, too, Nick.”

Jerome flushed. “Oh, I don’t think it matters much about me,” he said.

“Of course it matters,” cried Cross. “Because he passed a few batters last season, Danny, he thinks he’ll never get control. If he doesn’t stop talking that way I’ll walk out and let him find a new roommate.”

Jerome smiled feebly. “You wouldn’t do that, Bert. I’ll never be much of a pitcher. Did you see me throwing snowballs yesterday? I couldn’t throw them where I wanted to for love or money.”

“Snowballs aren’t baseballs,” Danny Phipps said sharply. “You come back here fit. Hear me?”

“Oh, I’ll take care of myself,” the pitcher answered. He added as an afterthought: “I always do, anyway.”

Danny walked away with a frown in his eyes. He was irritated at Jerome’s lack of spirit, and later he left word at Craig’s lodgings that it might be well to say a few words to the fellows before they departed. As a result the coach came to the dining hall while the students were at dinner.

“Careful of the good things,” he advised earnestly. “Candy and cake have ruined many a boy as an athlete. A little, perhaps, isn’t bad, but none is better. I want you back here with bright eyes and good stomachs. I want you back here in shape to give Monroe nine innings of something to worry about.”

“That’s how we’ll come,” yelled a voice.

“There’s another thing,” said Craig. “Every baseball fellow knows what his record was last year. You should all improve. You are all young boys ”

“Wow!” cried a voice.

“Young men,” the coach continued with a slow smile. “Is that better? At your ages improvement from season to season is the rule. So, those of you who did not play as well as you might have played last season, remember that this season you’ll do better. That’s all, fellows.”

Danny had been staring at Jerome, and he had seen the pitcher’s face take on a different look.

“That’s the stuff,” the captain muttered gleefully. “I’m glad I got Craig over here.”

After the meal Danny went off to his quarters with Ralph Dutton, his roommate. Dutton was the nine’s star catcher. A few minutes later Cross came in on them without knocking.

“How is Jerome feeling now?” Danny demanded.

“That talk did him good,” Cross answered. His tone changed. “Did any of you notice Craig?”

“Catch me noticing anybody when there’s roast beef and mashed potatoes for dinner,” Dutton grinned. “What was wrong with him?”

“He didn’t appear to be well.”

“Rats!” Ralph snapped the lock of a grip. “Didnt’ you hear that joke he made about young % men? Did that sound as though he was sick?”

“He didn’t look right,” Cross insisted stubbornly. “How did he look to you, Danny?”

The captain shook his head. “I had my eyes on Jerome. What makes you think he isn’t well? We’d be in tough shape without Craig.”

“Rats!” Dutton scoffed. “Cross has loose ideas. Catch old Craig getting sick.”

But Craig was sick. An hour later the news began to spread about the snow-piled Yard and up and down the halls of the dormitory building. Boys who departed on the 4:27 train knew that a doctor had been sent for. The group that left on the 6 : 1 8 knew that the doctor had arrived. At 7 :45, when another trainload of Manor Hall fellows departed, the doctor was still there. The students left behind — boys who would not start for home until the morrow — tried to assure themselves that no news was good news.

Next morning Orth, the substitute catcher, spread glad tidings through the school.

“Only a cold,” he said. “I saw his landlady.”

“Huh!” said Danny. “I knew Craig was all right.” He studied a time-table, grabbed his grip and set out on a run for the railroad station.

All the way home in the train the captain’s mind kept reviewing what a friend Craig had been to him. He had come to Manor Hall a hot-headed, two-fisted little fighter, and with the nickname of Danny Fists. In a few months Craig, the patient coach, had taught him to control his fiery nature. Better still, Craig had selected him as quarterback of the school eleven. He had gone in for baseball in his freshman year, but Craig had used him only as a substitute and then only in the minor games. After the season the coach had said to him: “Danny, the fellow who gets riled because the pitcher slips over a strike isn’t worth much to a nine, is he? He’s so busy nursing his soreness that he can’t concentrate on what the next pitch will be.”

Danny remembered how he had digested this, and how he had come to see that the coach had been gently pointing out one of his weaknesses. So, in his sophomore year, he had fought for control of his temper in baseball just as he had fought for it in football — and the middle of the season had found him a regular. Now, a Manor Hall junior, second base was his by a veteran’s right. And he was captain of the nine, too.

He had not conquered his temper in a day. Even yet it still flared up at times. But Craig never lost patience with him. Gently the coach helped him nurse his good resolutions. The night he was elected captain the man had said to him quietly: “Here’s where you must watch your steps, Danny.” And the boy remembered his own question: “You’ll stand by me and help me, won’t you, Craig?” And the coach’s answer: ‘‘Every minute, Danny.” Oh, yes; Craig had been a wonderful friend. Danny gave thanks that it was only a cold that had attacked the coach.

Mr. Phipps had installed a billiard room since Danny had gone off in September. During the Christmas holidays Danny made much use of it, and tried to explain to his mother the science of putting “English” on a ball. Either Danny’s explanations were crude or else his mother was not interested, for during the second week of January Danny went back to Manor Hall with the conviction that only men were capable of grappling with big problems like football, baseball and billiards. Danny counted himself quite a man by this time.

On the train he met Don Baggs.

“What’s this I hear about Craig?” the center-fielder demanded.

Danny caught his breath. “What about him?” His mind raced back suddenly to those days at school before Christmas. “He wasn’t really sick that time, was he, Don?”

Baggs shook his head hopelessly. “I don’t know. I received a letter from one of the fellows who spent Christmas at school. He said that Craig hadn’t come out yet, and that Dr. McDonald was going there two and three times a day.”

“Two or three times a day?” Danny cried. “Why, a man’s sick when a doctor comes that often.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Baggs. “What do you think can be wrong with him?”

Danny didn’t know. As soon as the train reached Manor Hall he bolted into a telephone booth, called Dr. McDonald’s office, and asked how Craig was.

“Ah!” said the doctor. “Mr. Craig is convalescent. I am very glad to say he is on the road to complete recovery.”

“What was the matter with him?” Danny asked.

“Pneumonia,” was the answer.

Danny said a vague “Thank you,” and left the booth. He found Baggs waiting.

“Pneumonia,” he said. “Thunder! That’s a tough sickness, Baggs. Remember when Manning had it?”

“But he’s getting better, isn’t he?” the center-fielder demanded.

Danny nodded. Yes, Craig was getting better.

But somehow the boy felt no elation. Pneumonia ! What a miserable thing to happen to a good fellow like Craig!

Yet, by nightfall, he felt his depression passing. For one thing, every boy he met took a rosy view of the situation. Craig was getting better, wasn’t he? In the end Danny, too, came to this way of thinking. After supper he plunged into a grand campus celebration. He came up the dormitory stairs with Dutton and Cross a few minutes before the ten o’clock bell.

“Say,” Cross questioned, “didn’t Manning have. f pneumonia that time he was so sick?”

Dutton nodded.

“He surely did.”

“Didn’t he have to go away and rest up? Suppose Dr. McDonald wants to send Craig away?”

io

“Take him away from the nine for this season?” Danny demanded aghast.

“Whew!” grunted Dutton. “That would be fine, wouldn’t it?”

“It would — not,” said Cross.

Later, as Danny undressed for bed, he began to fret about what would happen should the nine lose Craig. Dutton, however, very sensibly refused to worry until he found something to worry about.

“Craig may be all right,” he insisted.

“He may,” said Danny, “but I have a hunch he isn’t.”

Next morning a message came to the captain from the coach:

Come to my rooms this afternoon.

It was a restless Danny who tramped across to Craig’s lodgings that afternoon. In his room he had left Dutton, Cross, Baggs, Jerome, the pitcher; Talmage, the third-baseman; Chapman, the left-fielder, and Lee, the shortstop. He had ii looked back as he crossed the Yard, and they had waved to him to hurry.

The landlady let him in at the street door with a flustered air of excitement. She made Danny feel that she didn’t approve of the visit — that she thought Mr. Craig should have quiet. So Danny went up the carpeted stairway on his toes. He knocked weakly at the coach’s door.

“Come in, Danny,” called a voice.

Danny’s heart jumped. Why, that voice was just the same as it always had been. He pushed open the door and stalked into the room. His face wrinkled into an honest grin of joy. Then he saw the man, and he caught his breath sharply.

For Craig — the once powerful Craig — looked thin and gone.

“Sort of ran me down between the bases and touched me out, didn’t it, Danny?” the man asked with his old, warm smile.

Danny nodded and said nothing.

“Hello!” cried the man in pretended alarm. “Do I look as poorly as that? Dr. McDonald told me I was well.”

Danny found his voice. “But — but you are better, aren’t you?”

Craig laughed. “Of course I’m better. Stop worrying about me, Danny, and sit down. I want to talk to you about the nine.”

Danny dropped into a chair. “Do we start indoor practice soon?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. That shouldn’t worry you. You have what is practically a team of veterans. You ought to win the Monroe series. You ”

“Hold on,” Danny cried, “why do you say I’ll have a good nine? Why do you leave yourself out?”

“Because,” said the coach, “because I will not be with you. Dr. McDonald ”

“Oh!” said Danny. He sat with his eyes on the floor. Somehow, now that the blow had fallen, he knew that he had expected it. Yet he felt a keen pang of loss.

“H — how long will you be away?” he asked huskily.

“Five months, maybe.”

“Until June?”

“Yes.”

“The — the Monroe series will be over when you come back,” said Danny. He looked at Craig. The coach nodded.

“I won’t be here for the series, Danny.”

Suddenly, to the boy, Manor Hall began to seem lonesome and forlorn. Craig going! And somebody else in Craig’s

“Who’ll be coach?” he demanded.

“The athletic committee has hired Marty Black,” said Craig.

Danny’s chin squared.

“Who’s he?”

“He’s an old-time professional player,” Craig answered. His eyes searched the boy’s face keenly. “And he was a good player, too, son. He stayed in the National League eleven years. He knows baseball from the fence down to the last stitch in the ball.”

“I don’t care what he knows,” the boy cried miserably. “I’d sooner have you, Craig.”

The man’s face softened. “Thank you, my boy. I’m a little bit glad you feel that way. But don’t forget this, Marty will take good care of the nine. He knows the game.”

“That isn’t the only thing he ought to know,” Danny cried. “Does he know the rest of it?”

“Does he know what?”

“Does he know us? Does he know boys? Tell me that, Craig. Does he know boys?”

“He knows the game, Danny,” said the coach gently. “That’s the big thing, son.”

But the captain felt that it wasn’t. He had seen the Manor Hall nine beat better teams, and he had thought on those occasions that the reason was Craig. So, half an hour later when he trudged back across the Yard, he felt heartsick and sore. Marty Black! He shook his head sorrowfully. He felt that he would not give Craig’s little finger for all the Marty Blacks in the world.

Chapter II

D ESPITE the fact that his thoughts were gloomy, Danny was too wise a campaigner and too close a student of Craig’s methods to let the members of the nine see how dejected he was. He went into his room, where the crowd was gathered, with a buoyant step and with a laughing tilt to his head. Cross jumped up.

“How is he, Danny?”

“He’s been sick, Bert.”

Cross looked at him. “How sick, Danny?” “Too sick,” the captain answered bitterly, forgetting for the moment the part he had to play. He caught himself. “Too sick to suit any of us fellows who like him,” he added.

Cross’s eyes clouded with thought. He felt that the captain wasn’t telling the whole story. Talmage took up the questioning:

“What did Craig want?”

Danny’s answer was an attempt at carelessness. “He wanted to tell me about Marty Black.”

“Wasn’t he a professional ball player?” Dutton asked with a frown.

“You bet he was,” Danny cried. “He lasted for eleven years in the National League.”

“Eleven — ” Dutton took a step forward. “Look here, Danny, what did Craig tell you? Is Marty Black coming to Manor Hall?”

Danny nodded.

Jerome gave a short whistle. Cross walked over to the window and drummed on the glass. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Is this Black going to coach us?”

Danny forced a smile. “You bet he is. Craig says he knows ”

“Where will Craig be?” Cross interrupted.

“He’s going south for his health,” Danny answered. “Marty Black will have charge for the whole season — the Monroe series and all.”

He had told them the worst. Now he watched them narrowly. They said nothing. One by one they made excuses and departed. Danny, in silence, watched them go.

For he knew how they felt. They had a feeling for Craig that was down deep in their hearts. It was faith, love, adoration. They understood their coach, and he understood them. They took the news that a former big leaguer was coming to Manor Hall with a blank lack of interest. It was not that they were prejudiced against Marty Black. They did not doubt his ability. But Craig was Craig — and without Craig they felt helpless.

Dutton remained in the room with Danny. He drew a sighing breath. And at that Danny bristled.

“Oh, cut it out, Dut,” he cried. “I’m not going to have any of you fellows holding funerals when there’s nobody dead. Craig says Marty knows baseball from the fence to the last stitch in the ball.”

“But he’s a big leaguer,” the catcher wailed.

“Well, what of that? It ought to help us. He certainly had to know something fc about baseball to stay in the National League eleven years.”

“But he’ll come here and look down on us,” Dutton cried. “All big leaguers do. They call other players bushers. They treat them contemptuously. That’s what Marty Black will do.”

It was on the tip of Danny’s tongue to say, “Just let me see him.” He held himself in check.

“Marty isn’t that kind,” he defended. “He knows we’re green about the game. That’s why we need him to coach us. Marty will be all right.”

“He won’t be Craig,” said Dutton.

There was no denying that. Danny had an idea that if something wasn’t done mighty quickly he’d find his nine completely discouraged months before it played even its first game.

By supper time the whole school knew that Craig was going away. Danny had had a feeling that all the fellows would be downcast. Instead, he found the school regretting Craig’s loss, but at the same time secretly rejoicing in the thought that a former big leaguer was coming to them. The fact that he had been a star in his day threw an atmosphere of greatness around him. Why, even Craig had never been in the big leagues. Of course, the school would be delighted when Craig came back; but wasn’t it bully to get a man like Marty Black?

Danny felt like taking a couple of the fellows and banging their heads together. That sort of reasoning seemed to him like disloyalty to Craig. But after thinking the matter over he came to the conclusion that he would force the school to help him. The students expected great things with the coming of Marty Black! All right; he’d try to inoculate the baseball squad with the same feeling.

But here he failed. The veterans of the nine could not forget all that Craig had been to them.

“Don’t rush at us that way,” Cross pleaded.

“Black may make the best coach in the world. I’m not saying he won’t. I hope, for the sake of the nine, that he does make good. But we’re losing Craig, and we must get used to that thought, Danny, before we can throw up our hats for anybody else. Give us time.”

“But,” Danny insisted, “Craig says ”

“What else would Craig say?” Cross demanded bluntly.

Here was the whole game in a new light. How many of the nine thought that Craig was talking for effect when he praised Marty Black?

That afternoon Danny went over to the coach’s rooms. Some of the color had come back to the man’s cheeks.

“Where can I get Marty Black’s record?” he asked Craig.

The coach went over to his desk and brought back a pile of old baseball records. From some the covers were gone. Danny counted the books. Eleven, one for each year Marty had spent in the big league.

“I sent for them,” Craig said quietly. “I thought you’d be over for something like that sooner or later.”

Danny had not planned to explain how the boys felt. He saw, however, that Craig understood.

“I wouldn’t need these,” he scowled, “if the fellows would pitch in and forget what can’t be helped. Every time I try to get them going they begin to talk about how they’re losing Craig. It’s going to make things a whole lot harder. And yet — yet ”

“Yet?” the coach asked.

Danny shook his head. “I’d want to hit them with a bat if they didn’t feel that way. Isn’t there a chance — just a little chance, Craig — that you can get back in time for Monroe?”

There was a moment of silence. And then the boy awakened to the fact that the nine were not the only persons who felt the pang of coming separation.

“Danny,” said the coach, “don’t tempt me.”

The captain tucked the books under one arm. At the door he turned back a moment.

“If anything goes wrong, Craig, can’t I write you a letter and ask for advice?”

“Marty Black will give you any advice you need, son.”

“But if ”

“None of that, Danny. If I was here I’d let no other man put his fingers in my pie, and I know that Marty will feel the same way. You dig his record out of those books. You’ll feel better when you find how good a player he was.”

“But he isn’t — ” Danny began.

“None of that,” said Craig. “Fair play, young man.”

As the result of that talk Danny carried a new thought back to his room. So far he had been guided in all his talks with the nine by the ambition to make his nine a winner. Now he saw that he had to stand loyally by Marty Black not so much because he was captain of the nine, but through a clean spirit of fairness. He had to meet Marty half way, square and above board. His secret regrets that Craig was going would have to be killed.

In his room he went through the records. Year by year he copied Marty Black’s fielding and batting averages.

“He’s a whale,” Danny breathed when he saw the figures. “Why, he never hit less than .289, and look at his fielding.”

Dutton came in just as the captain finished his labors. The catcher glanced at the records.

“Hello! What are you up to, Danny? Oh! Marty’s records, eh?”

Dutton studied them. Danny pretended to search for a pencil.

“Well?” he asked suddenly.

“The pitchers weren’t as good in his day as they are now,” said Dutton. “Of course, Danny, I don’t mean ”

“You mean that you’re going to keep thinking about Craig,” hot-headed Danny flared. “This man is coming here to help us win, and I think it’s up to every one of us to stand by him.”

Dutton turned away from the figures. “You needn’t jump all over me. I’ll stand by you ”

“I know you will,” Danny broke in contritely.

“I guess I’m getting grouchy, Dut. But why in thunder can’t you fellows warm up to Marty?”

“You didn’t warm to him at first,” said the catcher. “Give us a chance. You know how we feel toward Craig.”

“We must play fair with Marty Black,” said Danny.

Later the captain went to the room of Keating, the editor of The Greertie , the school’s weekly newspaper.

“Look here, Keat,” he pleaded, “can’t you give the nine a hand? If I don’t get Marty in right with the fellows we’re in for a bad season of baseball.”

Keating wore round, black-rimmed eyeglasses. He took them off and tapped them against his chin. “What do you want, Danny?”

“I want these printed.”

Keating surveyed the figures that told the story of Marty Black’s record.

“I’ll print them,” he said solemnly, “in the next number. Will that be all right?”

“You bet it will,” said Danny. “Make it strong, Keat. All about his experience, and how he’s going to give us a team that will stop Monroe. You know how to do it, Keat.”

“I surely do,” the editor admitted.

Three days later, when The Greenie appeared, Danny admitted that Keating certainly did know how to do it. The story was two columns long, and Marty Black’s record was set in black, heavy type. It was the sort of record to make boys enthuse. The dormitory building and the Yard began to chant the prowess of the new coach. The veterans of the nine began to feel the pull of sentiment. They became more hopeful and less inclined to mourn Craig.

And then Danny took up the cry of fair play to Marty Black. Within a week the veterans like Baggs and Cross and Talmage had come the way the captain wanted them to go. Back came much of the old confidence.

Danny felt a glow of joy. He had brought the boys around to feel that things were going to go right. That meant half the battle. And he knew, too, that Craig would be pleased.

Now that so much had been settled, two big questions remained. When would Marty Black appear? When would indoor practice start? Danny was anxious to get his candidates to work as soon as possible, for he had a fifteen-game schedule ahead of him. He interviewed Pilgrim, a member of the athletic committee, but Pilgrim said he did not know. Next Danny dropped in on Craig.

“He’s coming,” said the man. “That’s all I know.”

“But,” the captain argued, “suppose he doesn’t show up until March first ”

Craig laughed. “He’ll be here before February first,” he said. “The first thing you know you’ll be worrying about this nine of yours.”

“Pm worrying now,” said Danny ruefully. “If you hadn’t been sick we’d be at indoor work before this.”

However, the boy was wise enough to know that worry never yet helped anything. So as to give the baseball players something to look forward to, he announced that Marty Black would arrive before February first. Dutton looked at the calendar and said that February first fell on Friday and that everybody knew that Friday was a hard-luck day.

“All right,” Danny cried hotly; “but to-day will be a hard-luck day for somebody if that kind of talk isn’t stopped.”

The catcher looked surprised. “Gosh, Danny! You talk as though you’d like to fight me.

“I’d fight Craig if he said discouraging things like that,” Danny retorted, and Dutton, after a moment of silence, said soberly:

“I guess you’re right. I’ll cut that out.”

The catcher meant what he said. But he had taken hold of the thought that Marty Black, exprofessional, would come to Manor Hall and look down upon them. Twice, in the next few days, he voiced pessimistic sentiments, and Danny had to struggle to hold his temper down. Then came word that Mr. and Mrs. Phipps were going south for a month or more and that Danny was wanted at home to see them off. So the captain journeyed back to Westbrook for a day, and was not at all sorry to go.

After his father and mother had departed, he had an hour to wait before his train started back for the school town. He wandered up Main Street to the store of the Westbrook Sporting Goods Company. There was a shiny black bat in the window that he had more than once admired. Now he stepped inside and asked to see it.

What a wonderful bat it was! Not too thick at the handle, not long enough to be clumsy, and not heavy enough to prevent him taking a free swing. He spanked at the air and thought joyously that this particular bat was just made for him.

“A very fine piece of wood,” said the salesman.

Danny didn’t know whether the wood was fine or not. Nevertheless he ran his fingers down the grain, and squinted wisely, and said yes, it was very fine indeed.

“Only one dollar and a quarter,” said the salesman.

Danny sighed. He would have to live pretty quietly, because there wouldn’t be much left of his spending money, but

“I’ll take it,” he announced.

“Of course you’ll want a bat bag,” said the salesman.

“Oh, of course,” said Danny recklessly.

Five minutes later he was out with his bat and bag. He had twenty cents in his pocket, and that twenty cents would have to last him three weeks. But then, again, he had a wonderful bat, and he’d like to see the pitcher who would send him back to the bench on strikes. He certainly would like to see that pitcher.

When his train arrived at the Westbrook station, he climbed into the nearest car. He dropped into a seat alongside a man who had been staring out of the car window. He had the bat bag between his legs. After a while he became conscious that the man had turned in the seat and was looking at him and smiling. Danny smiled, too.

“I see you’ve got a stick there,” said the man.

“It’s a good one,” said the boy. “A very fine piece of wood.” He spoke with an air of superiority.

“Regular home run bat, eh?” the man asked.

“Well,” Danny confessed, “I haven’t hit any home runs with it yet.”

“No? How’s that?”

“Haven’t had it in any games yet.”

“Oh! So that’s the only reason you haven’t hit home runs, what?”

“Well,” said Danny with enthusiasm, “I guess I could hit a couple if I had a chance.”

The man grunted. “I guess you’re the best player on your team, aren’t you?”

“The fellows elected me captain.”