by Kirby Larson
Mitch kept at it with the snide comments. “Go ahead,” he said to Cookie. “Hit it a good one. They can’t catch it.”
Catherine wound up and delivered her pitch.
“Strike one!” called the catcher.
Cookie stamped her foot. “Darn it,” she said. She lifted the bat to her shoulder.
“It’s not fielder’s choice, but fielder’s chumps!” Mitch howled at his own bad joke.
Hobie punched his fist into his glove.
Catherine released the ball.
“Strike two!”
“You can do it, Cookie!” her teammates called.
Cookie held up her hand, to indicate time. Then she turned to face Mitch. Hobie had no idea what she said, but whatever it was, it shut Mitch up.
Cookie stepped back up to the plate.
She swung.
She connected.
“Easy score!” Mitch shouted.
“Mine!” Max yelled, running in on the ball. Then it seemed to shift course, looking to fall right behind him. Max pivoted and dived.
“He got it!” Hobie shouted. “He got it!”
Max leaped up, holding the gloved ball high.
“Yippee ki yi!” screamed Catherine.
Marty put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
“That was beautiful,” Hobie said. “How did you do it?”
Max tossed the ball back to Catherine. “Beginner’s luck,” he said. “The first ball I’ve ever caught.”
“Well, keep it up!” said Hobie.
Max brushed the knees of his dungarees.
“You’re bleeding,” Hobie said.
“And it stings like heck, too!” Max looked at his elbows, then back at Hobie like the cat that caught the canary. “It was worth it, just to shut Mitch up.”
They jogged in to congratulate Catherine.
“I wish I had a camera,” she said.
“Yeah, that was some catch,” Hobie said.
“Not for that.” She covered a smile with her hand. “For the look on Mitch’s face!” She blew a raspberry at Mitch’s departing back.
Max turned to Hobie. “Do you want to come over today?” he asked.
Marty ran up and punched Hobie on the arm. “Ready to listen to Hop Harrigan?”
“Sorry, Max. Another time!” Hobie followed Marty to grab their bikes. “Good game, everybody!”
Catherine gave Hobie a funny look. “What?” he asked her.
She kept glaring.
Girls.
Max hooked his glove over his handlebar. “Bye, Catherine,” he said.
“See you, Max!” Hobie called.
But Max must not have heard him because he didn’t answer.
“Come on!” Marty called. “The show might be starting.” He raced away from the school yard.
“Wait up!” Hobie pedaled after Marty, so fast he was nearly flying.
Hobie Hanson, Ace of the Airways.
Hobie groaned as he rolled over. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that fourth hot dog last night. That would teach him to take a dare from Erik.
He pushed himself out of bed, threw on some clothes, and went to the kitchen.
“Ouch, Mommy!” June squirmed as Mom dabbed Unguentine on her sunburned shoulders.
“This will help it feel better,” Mom assured her. “Now sit still.”
June fussed but let Mom finish applying a layer of the stuff.
“Your face looks a little pink, too.” Mom motioned Hobie over and smeared some ointment on his nose. “I guess we all got too much sun at the picnic yesterday.”
Hobie poured a glass of milk. “I think I’ll just have a piece of toast for breakfast,” he said.
June pretended to feed Kitty some cereal. “What was your favorite part of the picnic, Kitty? I liked wading in the lake.” She listened to her doll. “Oh, the ice cream was good, too.” June munched a spoonful of cereal. “What was your favorite part, Mommy?”
Mom poured herself a cup of coffee. “Being with family. It’s so nice for Ellen and the boys that Tryg is home.”
“Uncle Tryg’s the best hot dog roaster in the world!” June exclaimed.
Hobie groaned again. “Do not mention hot dogs.” He set down his toast.
“What was your favorite part?” June asked. “Probably the fireworks.”
“Those were nifty, but when that B-29 flew over, that was something! It made those B-17s look like toys.”
As part of the city’s celebration, there’d been a flyover. One of Boeing’s brand-new B-29s and two B-17s. The noise of that big plane, the Superfortress, had drilled right down into Hobie’s bones. Erik and Emil had even stopped their usual clowning around to watch. He wondered again, as he had last night, what Dad had done to celebrate Independence Day. Maybe he got in another mission. One mission closer to coming home.
“After breakfast, can you run to Lee’s for me? We’re out of condensed milk,” Mom said. “Did Uncle Tryg need you today?”
Hobie drained his glass. “No. He said tomorrow or the next day; he had some stuff he needed to do around the house first.”
“Then you’ll have time to mow the lawn,” Mom said.
Across the room, the Kit-Cat clock, eyes moving and tail twitching, showed nine. If Hobie hustled to the store, he could mow and still make it to the school for baseball.
He ate the last bites of his toast. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. He quickly brushed his teeth, and then zoomed over to Lee’s.
Mrs. Lee was helping a lady when he got there. He had to wait his turn while they discussed which soap flakes were the best buy. The lady finally decided on Lux.
“Oh, don’t go yet, Edna,” Mrs. Lee said. “I bet Hobie’s got a joke for us.”
Hobie felt a little odd telling a joke to a stranger, but he went ahead. “Dad sent me this in his last letter,” he said. “What do you get if you cross a skunk and a dog?”
“Tomato juice,” said the lady. “That’s the only thing that gets out the skunk smell.”
“Right, but this is a joke, Edna.” Mrs. Lee pursed her lips. “I give!”
“Rid of the dog,” Hobie said.
The lady, Edna, hooted with laughter. “I’m going to tell that to my grandson. If I can remember it!” As she walked out of the store, Hobie heard her muttering, “Cross a skunk and a dog. Skunk and dog.”
“Oh, that was one of your best.” Mrs. Lee was still chuckling as Hobie handed over the ration stamps and twenty-nine cents for the two tins of milk.
The dog joke reminded Hobie that he still hadn’t come up with a solution for getting Duke back. And there’d been another letter from Pfc. Corff. This time, he’d tucked in a few photos of him and Duke, with some of the other war dogs.
He pedaled home, thinking hard. Could he talk Mom into taking a vacation to California? Then they could bring Duke back. Hobie jounced over a crack in the sidewalk. Not likely. Even if Mom liked to drive long distances, which she didn’t, there was the little problem of gas rationing.
Hobie concentrated so hard on getting Duke back, he could almost hear him.
Hobie cocked his head.
He did hear a dog. Whimpering.
Hobie veered around. The sound seemed to be coming from a shed on the vacant lot behind him.
He eased closer. A kid knelt on the floor of the shed, his back to Hobie. The dog — some kind of black-and-white mutt — was on the ground. A string of tin cans was tied to its tail.
“Hey,” Hobie said, stepping forward. “Leave that poor dog alone.” He jerked the boy’s shoulder.
It was Max.
“What are you doing?” Hobie couldn’t believe Max would be so cruel.
“I didn’t do this,” Max said. “I’m trying to undo it.” He pulled out a pocketknife to cut through the twine. “Geez. This is tied so tight, I’m afraid I’m going to cut him.”
The dog thrashed wildly to get away from Max and his knife. But it didn’t growl or try to bite.
“Let me help.” Hobie k
nelt down. The dog looked like some kind of lab but with shorter legs. “Hey there, boy —” He did a quick check. “I mean, girl. It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”
She twisted around again, trying to get free. Hobie began stroking the spot between her eyes. That used to calm Duke down when he was riled up.
“Let’s get those dumb cans off you, okay?” Hobie spoke calmly. Quietly. After a few more minutes, the dog stopped squirming. She rolled on her back. “Good girl,” Hobie said, rubbing her skinny belly.
Max quickly sliced the string to free the cans. “I need to get that part off her tail. It’s so tight, she’s bleeding.”
Hobie could see he was right. “I don’t suppose you have any food on you?”
Max shook his head.
“Me, either.” It was going to be tricky. Without a treat to distract her, how were they going to cut that string? Hobie thought about the first time he’d had to trim Duke’s toenails. Man, did Duke put up a fight! Then Hobie got the idea to leave the trimmers around, by Duke’s dish, by his blanket in the kitchen, in Hobie’s room. He gave Duke every chance to check them out. And he praised Duke every time he let Hobie touch him with the trimmers. It took a while, but Duke got used to them.
“Let her sniff the knife,” Hobie told Max.
“What?” Max asked.
“Just try it.”
Max held out the knife while Hobie kept petting the dog. Praising her.
“See? That won’t hurt you,” Hobie said as she nosed at the knife handle. He rub-rub-rubbed her belly.
“We need to use it, to get the string off,” he explained to the dog. He could feel her relax under his petting and words. After a while, he motioned for Max to cut.
“Got it!” Max said, holding up the snipped string. “Wow, you’re good with dogs.”
“Well, I have one, you know.” The words slipped out before Hobie could stop them. But he did have a dog. And would have him back soon.
Max reached over and began petting the dog’s head. She kept trying to lick him. “I bet she got scared by the fireworks last night and ran away,” he said.
“Maybe,” said Hobie. “But her ribs are poking out, and” — he waved his hand in front of his nose — “she stinks.” He saw something jump in her fur. “Looks like fleas, too.”
“One of us needs to take her home.” Max stroked her silky black ears. “I mean, while we look for her family.”
The dog barked. “She likes that idea.” Max scratched her under the chin.
“I have all the dog stuff,” Hobie said. “I bet Mom would say okay to keeping her for a while.”
Max ducked his head. “I know you’re good with dogs,” he said. “But I’d like to take her.” He pulled a twig off the dog’s fur.
“Sure. Go ahead,” Hobie said.
Max rocked back on his heels. “The thing is, Ma says we don’t need another mouth to feed.”
“I can bring over some of Duke’s food,” Hobie offered. “And you could tell your mom it probably wouldn’t be for very long. I’ll help you put up signs.”
Max rubbed the dog’s head. “Yeah. Not for very long.” But he didn’t sound happy about that.
“We can start on the signs this afternoon,” Hobie said. “I gotta mow the lawn first.” He could skip the baseball game this once. For a good cause.
“Okay.” Max stared into the dog’s face. “For now, I’ll call you Pepper,” he said.
Hobie’s neck was itchy from mowing the grass. He turned on the kitchen faucet and ducked his head under it. He felt even better after downing an ice-cold glass of lemonade.
“Someone’s at the door!” June called.
“I’ll get it.” Hobie scrambled to beat his sister to answer it.
It was Max. “I hope it’s okay that I brought Pepper,” Max said. “By the way, did you know you have some mail?”
“Did you get a dog?” June pushed under Hobie’s arm. “Here, doggy.”
“She’s lost,” Hobie said, reaching around through the doorjamb to pull the letters from their mailbox.
“But I’m keeping her while we look for the owners,” Max explained. “Hey, one of those letters is to you.”
The top envelope was addressed to Hobie. In Pfc. Corff’s handwriting.
“It’s from Duke!” June exclaimed. “Read it!”
“Duke?” Max said. “Isn’t that your dog?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hobie cleared his throat. “His handler writes me like Duke’s writing.” Would Max laugh at him? Call him a baby?
Max tilted his head. “Wow. That’s nifty.”
Hobie let out the breath he realized he’d been holding. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes!” June and Max said at the same time. June scooted onto the porch swing. “Here, Pepper.”
Pepper looked at Max. “It’s okay, girl,” he said. Pepper jumped up next to June as Max leaned against the railing.
Hobie opened the envelope and began to read.
Dear Hobie,
The war dogs unit is in tip-top shape, even if the two-legged Marines don’t have quite the pep that my four-legged buddies and I do.
You’ll be glad to know that I passed my swimming test with flying colors. I can dog-paddle with the best of them!
We’re at a new camp now. Not posh by a long shot, but I get to bunk with Marv, so that’s okay. It’s kind of hot where we are. Times like this, I almost wish I was a Doberman. Less fur.
Time for chow.
Your pal,
Duke
P.S. Duke has been swell; he is one of the top dogs in the unit. Bet you’re not surprised about that. I sure sleep better at night now. I’d take him over Rin Tin Tin any day.
Semper Fi,
Marv
June clapped her hands when Hobie finished. “I knew Duke would be the best dog,” she said.
Hobie flicked his finger against the corner of the letter. He didn’t feel like talking for a minute.
Max looked at him. “It sounds like Duke’s doing great,” he said. “Like they’re both doing great.”
Hobie slowly folded up the letter. What it sounded like was that Pfc. Corff and Duke were becoming best friends.
“Even if he’s in the Marines, he’s still your dog,” Max said, as if he could read Hobie’s mind.
“I know,” Hobie said. But a little seed of doubt had been planted. “Well, we better get to work on those signs.”
Max moved toward the open door and Pepper jumped off the swing to follow.
“Do you want to help us?” Max asked June.
“No!” said Hobie.
“Yes!” June slid off the swing. “We can use my new crayons.”
Hobie made a face. “She’s never going to leave us alone,” he warned.
Max jiggled the rope leash he’d rigged up. “Sorry.”
An only child like Max probably didn’t understand anything about little sisters. Hobie sighed. “It’s okay.”
They scrounged up some blank paper and went to work. Pepper plunked down on the floor under the kitchen table.
“I’m doing my best penmanship,” June said. “Isn’t it good, Max?”
“Very nice.” Max looked up from the sign he was working on. “I like the colors you chose, too.”
June began to sing. “How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggledy tail? How much is that doggy in the window? I do hope that doggy’s for sale!”
Pepper’s tail thumped on the floor.
“She likes my song!” June said.
Hobie was almost finished with the sign he was working on. “What’s your telephone number?” he asked Max.
“Aren’t I a good singer?” June said, coloring in the picture of a dog she’d drawn. “Aren’t I?”
“Real good,” Max said to her. Then he gave his number to Hobie.
Mom brought them some cookies as they finished up.
“Ten, eleven, twelve.” Hobie counted the signs. “This should get us started anyway. Are you ready?�
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“Can I come?” June asked.
Hobie answered before Max could. “No.”
“Mommy!” June whined.
Mom popped her head in the kitchen. “June, the boys don’t need you tagging along today. Why don’t you help me pick some peas for dinner?”
“I’d rather go with them.” June pointed at the boys. “I could hold on to Pepper.”
“June.” Mom used her that’s-the-end-of-the-discussion voice. “Come with me.”
Max tugged on Pepper’s leash. “Let’s go, girl.” Neither he nor Pepper seemed too excited.
“I thought we’d hang a couple by where we found her,” Hobie said.
Max clumped down the steps. Slowly. “Okay. And I guess we should hang a couple near the school.”
“Maybe Mrs. Lee would let us hang one up at her store,” Hobie suggested.
They figured out twelve places to hang the signs, saving Lee’s Grocery for last.
“Here,” said Max, handing Hobie the leash. “You watch Pepper while I go in and ask.”
Hobie scratched Pepper’s back. He could see that Max was getting very attached to her. That would only make it harder to give her up to her real family.
“She said okay.” Max jumped down the steps. “But she said she hadn’t heard of anyone losing a dog lately.” He rubbed Pepper’s head. “Maybe you don’t have a family,” he said. “Yet.”
One look at Max’s face and Hobie knew he had fallen for Pepper, hook, line, and sinker.
Hobie took the steel brush and sandpaper from Uncle Tryg.
“You can use the paper wet or dry,” Uncle Tryg explained. “But we need to get every bit of rust off that anchor.” He chuckled. “I guess I don’t mean ‘we’ — I mean ‘you.’ I’ll be working on the engine. You okay here?”
Hobie took one look at the anchor braced up on the sawhorses. Even though he wasn’t sure he was okay, he told Uncle Tryg that he was. He set the supplies on the deck and inspected the anchor more closely. He was going to grow some muscles scraping away all that rust, no doubt about it. He arranged a canvas tarp under the anchor and got to work.
At noon, Uncle Tryg announced a lunch break. “I’m not done yet,” Hobie said.
Uncle Tryg’s laugh bubbled up from his toes. “And you won’t be done for a goodly while,” he said. “All the more reason to stop for lunch.”