Brennan chuckled a little over Kennedy’s retort, and then turned to Lefty, his face suddenly serious.
“I’ve found out about that fake telegram,” he said, in a low tone. “Jack Stillman ferreted out the truth, and the Hornets won’t have any further use for Elgin.”
He walked away without waiting for a reply, leaving Lefty almost bewildered at the events which were coming so thick and fast. In the midst of everything, however, he kept thinking of Janet and wondering whether there was any possible chance of her coming down upon the field.
The question was swiftly answered by the appearance of Jack Stillman, elbowing his way through the crowd.
“Some pitching for a starter in the Big League, old man,” he laughed, his face glowing; “you were pretty fair! I can’t keep you now, though; there’s somebody over by the stand who wants a word with you. See you in the clubhouse, later.”
Taking his friend by the arm, he piloted him through the throng, now beginning to stream toward the gates, to a point from which he could see the girl he had been thinking about so much. She stood near one of the lower boxes of the center stand, a slim, graceful figure in a blue tailor-made gown. At a little distance her friends were gathered, watching the animated scene interestedly.
Janet herself was talking earnestly to Buck Fargo, but her eyes were quick to spy out Lefty as he approached. The glad smile she gave him was something to be treasured long in his memory.
“Lefty!” she exclaimed, in a low voice, which vibrated with emotion. She took a quick step forward; their hands met. “I can’t tell you how glad and proud I am—and sorry.”
The man held her hands for an instant. His face was puzzled.
“Sorry?” he repeated. “What have I done to make you sorry?”