“You bet he would!” laughed Stillman. “Swell lot Gabriel knows about baseball. Did I hear you running down my friend Locke?” he went on, turning to Eckstein. “Oh, I know you didn’t mean anything personal. It’s just your pessimistic mind, that can’t see anything good in a youngster. Well, let me tell you what Jim Brennan said the last time I saw him, which was about three weeks ago. ‘Jack,’ he said――it was after that last game of the series with the Blue Stockings when the Hornets got the pants licked off ’em――‘Jack,’ he said, ‘don’t send this to your paper, but if ever there was a dumb one manhandling a baseball team I’m it. I’d give two of my best men to have Lefty Locke back again. If I hadn’t been such a thick-headed dope as to let him go, the Hornets wouldn’t be where they are to-day. No, sir! They’d be at the top of the heap, with that position just about nailed. That boy’s a wonder. It makes me sick at the stomach every time I think he might be on my payroll to-day just as well as not.’ That’s going pretty strong for old sorrel-top, isn’t it?” “A trifle,” Eckstein returned. “Well, why did he let him go? There must have been some mighty good reason.” “There was. A rotten sneak named Elgin――a Princeton man, by the way, and a disgrace to the college――had it in for Lefty, and turned every dirty trick he could think of to put Locke in bad with Brennan. He succeeded temporarily, but he got his at last. After Brennan released him Lefty went to the Blue Stockings, and of course the first time Jim ran up against them he realized how he’d been fooled. It all came out, and he sent Elgin back into Class C with the Lobsters. I’ve heard Elgin didn’t even stay there, but is pitching back in the bush, which, if true, is good enough for him. “By Jove! See that drop? Fooled him nicely, didn’t it?” If Donovan was on his mettle, the opposing southpaw was in equally fine trim. In the first of the eighth only four men faced him, in spite of the fact that the heavy hitters were coming up again. “Don’t seem to have lost any of his cunning,” smiled Stillman, as the Blue Stockings romped in from the field like colts. “Things appear to have been didding while I was gone,” he went on in a lower tone to Eckstein. “I knew Collier was dickering for the team, but I thought he’d hold off till the end of the season. And what in thunder does he mean by canning a manager like Jack Kennedy?” The stout man shrugged his shoulders. “Collier got the idea that the team wasn’t pulling well. He seemed to think that was Kennedy’s fault.” “Bah!” snapped Stillman. “What could Kennedy do with his hands tied? I know for a fact that when he wanted to get rid of a certain trouble-maker who was keeping the boys riled up all the time, Beach, the old owner, put his foot down, and wouldn’t let him. And what’s Al Carson ever done, anyhow, that he should supersede an experienced man like Kennedy?” “Not much,” admitted Eckstein.