"All right!" I says. "Come up and cook your head off. I'm game! But if you're as good a cook as you are a ball player, I can see where me and the wife suspends friendly relations for about a year!"
Alex is already on hand when we get to the house and I introduced him to Hector.
"Howdy!" he says. "I seen you pitch the other day and I must say it was a treat! The support they give you was brutal or you'd of shut them other fellers out with ease."
"You know it!" says Hector. "If they's any one thing I can do, it's play baseball. That's my dish!"
The wife horns in.
"I'm so glad to meet you, Mister Sells," she says, givin' Hector the old oil. "My husband talks of nothin' but you night and day!"
Which was true—only not the way she meant it.
"That's fine!" says Hector. "Me and Mac has been friends since they burnt Rome. Where's the kitchen?"
I showed him, and the wife shakes her head as much as to say, "Another rummy, eh?" I steered Hector over to the ice box and told him to go ahead and run wild. When I come out, Alex is featurin' his famous grin, and I gotta show the wife my breath. In about ten minutes the kitchen door opens and Hector's head pops out. His hands is full of flour and so's his suit for that matter, but his face is all lit up like Coney Island.
"I don't wanna be no bother, Mrs. Mac," he pipes, "but could a man get a apron around here?"