“_If_ we could,” exclaimed Rufe Manning, the treasurer. “There’s that if. You don’t s’pose Kennedy would monkey with a little bush team like ours after being manager of Big League champs, do yer?” “No tellin’. Perhaps he might.” “He won’t,” said the lawyer. “He told me himself that he was done with baseball. Why, he hasn’t even had interest enough since coming home to see one of our games, though he’s been invited to do so.” “No tellin’ what can be done with him,” persisted the hotel proprietor. “He ought to have enough local pride to want to see his own town stand well in this league. If somebody could prick that pride a little, mebbe he’d take holt. I don’t reckon he’s workin’ himself to death on his farm. He’s got the time.” “Well, you’re the man to try him,” said Gange. “It’s up to you, Peter.” “All right,” agreed Peter. “Leave it to me and I’ll see what I can do. We’re going up against Bristol’s bunch of Buccaneers this afternoon, and I’ll look out for Kennedy if he comes in for his mail same as usual.” CHAPTER XXI BACK IN THE GAME When he cornered old Jack at the post office, half an hour before the game was to start, McLaughlin’s proposition failed to arouse the retired manager’s interest. “I’m done with the game, Peter,” said Kennedy. “I’m just a plain farmer now. As long as I don’t mean to get mixed up with it again, it’s best that I should keep away from the field.” “Do you know, Jack,” said the hotel man, “folks around here say you’ve got a grouch. They say you’re sore on baseball ’cause you was turned down. We’ve been rather proud of you in this town. When you come home twice after winning the championship we gave you a blow-out both times. You seem to have forgot that.” “No, I haven’t forgot it, Peter. But when a man has quit a certain line of business, and quit it for good, he’d better cease to monkey with it. With me baseball was a business for a good many years. I own up that I was rather proud of my record at it.” “And you was so proud of being manager of Big League champs that now you won’t even ask how the little fellers are doing in your own home town. You used to set round my office winters and talk it over with the boys and give them points, but this time you’re changed so folks scarcely know you. Why, there’s Hank Bristol, manager of the Buccaneers, who’s asked for you every time he hit Deering, saying as how he used to know you well and he’d like to put his blinkers on you again. He was some baseball player once himself, and he’s pretty clever at it yet, as fur as our sort of baseball goes. I should think you’d like to see him operate around second base. He’s up to the field right now with his bunch, and he says he’s goin’ to drive another nail in our coffin. His team ain’t only a few points behind the Stars, and Hank reckons the pennant’s as good as nailed.”