CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE TWO MANAGERS
A door opened, and a tall, thin man, with a slight stoop, stood on the threshold, looking down upon the manager of the Hornets. His dark eyes glimmered and a smile stretched his wide mouth, which transformed the almost homely face into one that was positively good-looking.
At the sight of him, Jim Brennan sprang up from his desk so hurriedly that he came near upsetting the revolving chair, and leaped toward the newcomer with hand outstretched.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed. “Put it there, Ken, old boy! It sure does a man good to see your smiling face again. How’s things?”
“Fine!” returned Kennedy, of the Blue Stockings, gripping the other’s hand. “Couldn’t be better, in fact. You’re looking blooming yourself, Jim. Taken on a few pounds over the winter, haven’t you?”
“A few, maybe. I can stand it, though. Once fat, a little more never cuts any ice. Sit down and rest your face and hands. I see you’ve had a clean sweep so far.”
Kennedy dropped into a chair beside the desk, crossing one long leg over the other. Though antagonists on the diamond, in private life the two men were the best of friends, and always enjoyed talking things over in this way whenever they met.
“We have,” rejoined the taller man when Brennan had settled himself at the desk again, “won four games straight, which isn’t so bad to start in the season with.”
Brennan grinned. “Well, you’re up against a team of real ball players to-day, Ken,” he chuckled. “Doing some stunts with a bunch of has-beens on the firing line. I’ve a sort of hunch that we’re going to break up that streak of luck.”