That evening the paper had several pictures concerning the accident. One showed the place from which the bridge had been carried away. Another was of the bridge floating out in the lake. There were also pictures of David and Don and a long article about their hazardous journey down Indian Creek.
Penwood wasn’t the only town struck by the flood. Other small towns in the valley had been struck, too. Some much worse.
David worried about the library books. He spoke to Mom about them. She suggested that he telephone the library and tell them he would pay for the books.
“Don’t worry about it, David,” said Ms. Benson, the librarian. “I’m just grateful you boys saved yourselves.”
“Thank you, Ms. Benson,” replied David. But someday he hoped to repay the library for those books. He knew they were expensive and that the library was allowed only so much money each year for books.
By Thursday the baseball diamond was dry enough to play on. The Flickers met the Gulls. David didn’t start. Coach Beach had Legs Mulligan start at third base and David coach third when the Flickers were up at bat.
Legs didn’t do badly. He handled two grounders and a high pop fly without an error. In the third inning a hitter dragged a bunt down the third-base line, catching Legs off guard. Legs charged the ball, picked it up and heaved it to first. He ignored the shouts of “Hold it, Legs! Hold it!” that his teammates yelled at him, for the runner was almost on first before Legs had the ball.
But Legs threw anyway, and the ball sailed far over first baseman Jimmy Merrill’s head. The runner took another base. A hit scored him.
In the top of the fifth David pinch-hit for Legs. Bonesy was on first. Dick Baron, the Gulls’ pitcher, had walked him. Dick’s first pitch to David was wild, and Bonesy went to second.
With one ball and no strikes on him, David let the next pitch go by. Ball two.
The Gulls’ catcher carried the ball back to Dick Baron, said something to him and walked back. The next pitch Dick threw in was a strike. He followed it up with another one. David saw it coming belt-high. He swung hard. Crack!
The ball arched over the shortstop’s head for a clean hit, and Bonesy scored. When the center fielder pegged the ball in to home, Herm Simmons, coaching first, yelled, “Run to second, David! Run!”
David raced to second. He heard Herm yell, “Hit the dirt!”
He hit the dirt. The second baseman caught the peg from his catcher and put it on David. But David had slid under him.
“Safe!” cried the umpire.
David rose. He brushed the dirt off his pants and stood with one foot on the bag, panting for breath.
Nobody knocked him in. The Flickers were leading 3 to 2.
Bottom of the fifth. The first batter for the Gulls drove a hard grounder to David’s left side. It was one of those a faster player would have caught. David didn’t. The ball went for a base hit.
“Play in, David!” yelled Rex Drake. “Play in!”
That’s right, David thought. This could be a bunt. I should have thought of that myself.
He stepped forward until he was on the grass and ahead of the third-base bag by about three feet.
The pitch. It was a bunt. The batter laid it down neatly toward third.
David charged forward. He scooped up the ball. Fumbled it! He picked it up again, pegged hard to first.
Safe by a half a step!
The Gulls’ fans roared. Whistles shrilled.
David struck the pocket of his glove angrily with his fist. An error the first thing.
“You’ll never make a good Kroft player playing like that, David!” yelled a fan in the bleachers.
The words drummed in David’s mind. He started to chatter then. It was the only way he could ignore the ugly things the fans were saying.
Brad Lodge bore down on the next hitter. With two balls and two strikes on him, the batter hit a hot grounder to short. Bonesy fielded it and whipped it to Ken. Ken stepped on second and pegged the ball to first.
A double play!
“Thataboy, Bonesy!” David yelled. “Nice play!” That double play had saved him from being the cause of a possible run.
The Gulls’ next hitter hit a high pop fly between third and home. David hollered for it. The ball looked like a dot as it soared toward the blue sky. David watched it closely as it started downward. He was sure he was directly under it.
Then he saw that it was falling behind him. Quickly he stepped back, reached up his glove. Caught it!
The Flickers’ fans cheered. Some of the Gulls’ fans laughed. “Almost lost it, David!” they said.
The Flickers picked up another run at their last turn at bat. The Gulls couldn’t get a man past third, and the ball game ended with the Flickers winning, 4 to 2.
Dad, Mom, David and Ann Marie visited Don at the hospital that evening. Don was in a happy mood. His leg was in a cast, but he did not seem discouraged at all.
David looked at him wonderingly. Don knew he was not able to play baseball anymore this year. How could he be so cheerful?
And Don was a good player. He was the best. I’d be sick all over if it were me, David thought.
After Dad, Mom and Ann Marie spoke to Don awhile, Don turned to David with a pleasant grin on his face.
“Well, brother, how did you make out today?”
“We won,” said David. “Four to two.”
“Fine. Get any ground balls in that hot corner?”
David shrugged. “Well, I only played the last two innings. I caught a pop fly. And I made an error.”
“It was a drag bunt,” explained Dad. “David had to run in fast for it. He fumbled the ball.”
“He threw to first and nearly got the runner, too,” added Ann Marie.
Don smiled. “Drag bunts are tough. All kinds of bunts are tough to field. That’s why I play short.” He laughed and punched David playfully on the chest. “Keep working hard, kid. You’ll have to take over now, you know. I can’t play anymore. At least not anymore this year. It’s up to you to keep the name of Kroft going.”
David stared at Don. His heart began to pound, and he took his eyes away from Don’s.
He felt Dad’s hand on his shoulder and heard him chuckle.
“Don’t worry about it, David. No one is going to really care how well you play. When you’re on the ball field do the best you can. That’s all anyone expects of you. Isn’t that right, Don?”
“Right,” said Don.
But that wasn’t so. And David knew it.
He had to play better. Much better than he was playing now.
7
RIGHT after lunch on Saturday afternoon, David and Bonesy walked to the library. They went by where the old wooden bridge had been. No start had been made yet in replacing it. There was a sign: DANGER.
The boys walked down a path that ran parallel with the creek. They crossed the bridge at the street. It was the only way now to reach the library from where David lived.
David talked to Ms. Benson. He said he’d like to take a few books to Don in the hospital. Was it okay?
It was indeed okay, she said.
“Don and I . . . we’ll pay for those books we lost,” said David.
Ms. Benson smiled. “I told you not to worry, David. The library board knows about it. They’re going to talk with the city officials to see if they can use some special funds to replace the books. How is Don?”
“He’s coming along fine,” said David.
Someone stepped up to the desk beside David. “Why, David Kroft! How are you? And how is your eye?”
David turned. There stood Mrs. Gertrude Finch, smiling at him as if she had succeeded in getting rid of all the sports activities in Penwood.
“I’m fine, thanks,” said David. “And so’s my eye.”
Mrs. Finch looked at the eye closely. “Just a little coloring left. But it’s pretty. By the way, what are you two boys doing this afternoon?”
David looked at her. “Nothing,” he said.
&
nbsp; “We have a ball game at four o’clock,” reminded Bonesy. “That postponed game with the Waxwings.”
“Well, I have a job to be done at our cottage,” said Mrs. Finch. “Mr. Finch is working and can’t be there. I’m going over now to clean inside the cottage. But I need help to clean up the yard. I could use two volunteers. They’ll get paid, of course.”
David looked at Bonesy, and Bonesy looked at David. Then David looked at Mrs. Finch.
“Can you get us back in time for the game?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll go,” he said.
“Fine!” Her eyes blinked happily. “Better call your mothers. Tell them where you’re going.”
David told Ms. Benson he’d pick up the books later. Then the boys called up their mothers. In no time they were piled into Mrs. Finch’s car, driving out of the parking lot and up the street.
Mrs. Finch’s cottage was about six miles from Penwood. To get to it Mrs. Finch had to cut off from the main highway onto a narrow dirt road. The recent rain had left it filled with ruts. The ditches on either side were deep and dangerous. The hill was steep, and Mrs. Finch was forced to drive very slowly and carefully.
At last they reached the cottage. Immediately David and Bonesy saw what Mrs. Finch had meant. The yard was covered with dried leaves and broken, dried-up twigs. The lawn needed cutting. Indeed, the place needed a thorough cleaning-up.
“There you are,” said Mrs. Finch. “Your work is cut out for you. Put all the leaves and twigs into that big rubbish can there. When you’re ready for the lawn mower, it’s in the garage.”
The boys started working. Slowly but surely the yard began to look a lot better.
Some time later Mrs. Finch came out of the cottage. She had changed into a pair of jeans and had put a white painter’s cap on her head. She certainly did not look like the Mrs. Finch who belonged to social clubs and wanted Penwood to have less sports and more art and music.
“Doing fine, boys,” she said. “Look, I have to get back to Penwood for a few minutes. I’m all out of kerosene. And I can’t heat water without kerosene. The kitchen floor needs washing terribly. I’ll be back before you can say Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”
She got into her car and drove off.
“I hope she’ll be back,” muttered Bonesy quietly.
“You don’t think she’s going to leave us here, do you?” said David.
They finished cleaning up the yard. They took the mower out of the garage and started to cut the grass. It wasn’t a power mower. The grass was nearly six inches high, and it took both boys to push the mower through it.
Once they paused and wiped their brows
on their shirtsleeves. Trees provided beautiful shade over most of the lawn, but the afternoon was scorching hot.
“She should be back by now,” said David.
“Wonder what time it is,” said Bonesy.
Neither one had a watch. David walked to the cottage. He opened the door and looked inside. A clock was on the wall above the kitchen table.
Five minutes after three!
He closed the door and ran back to Bonesy.
“Bonesy! It’s five after three!”
“Geez Louise!” cried Bonesy. “Isn’t she ever coming back?”
They kept mowing the lawn, worrying more every minute. At last they finished mowing, and David went to see what time it was now.
Twenty minutes of four.
“Something’s happened,” said David. “Maybe she got into an accident or something.”
Bonesy’s face was red. “Boy! What are we going to tell Coach Beach?”
“We’ll have to tell him the truth. What else?”
They sat on the grass with their arms crossed over their knees. They were mad, disgusted and afraid. Mad and disgusted with Mrs. Finch, and afraid of what the coach was going to say.
This is the last time I’ll ever do this, thought David angrily. The last time!
The next time David looked at the clock it was ten minutes of five.
“Let’s walk home,” said Bonesy. “Those train tracks will take us straight to Penwood.”
There were railroad tracks along the side of the lake. A freight train went over it once a day.
Bonesy rose and brushed the grass off his pants. He opened the gate and walked down to the tracks.
David watched him a moment. Then he rose and followed Bonesy. Bonesy was walking rapidly, his long legs stepping on every other tie.
David followed him awhile, but it bothered him. They couldn’t just walk away like this. They just couldn’t.
He stopped walking. “Bonesy!” he yelled.
Bonesy paused and looked around. “Oh, come on!” he said.
“We can’t, Bonesy,” said David. “She might come any minute. If she doesn’t see us she’ll get worried. Let’s go back. We’ll walk up the hill. Maybe we’ll meet her coming down.”
Bonesy looked at him a moment. David thought that Bonesy would put up an argument, but Bonesy didn’t.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But, boy, I’ll never do this again!”
They retraced their steps to the cottage. David saw that they had forgotten to put the lawn mower back into the garage. They did, then started walking up the hill.
They had covered nearly half a mile when David stopped and stared.
“Bonesy,” he said, pointing straight ahead. “Look!”
Coming slowly down the hill toward them was Mrs. Finch’s car.
8
WHEN Mrs. Finch reached the boys the first thing she said was, “I’m so sorry, boys! I’m so sorry!”
“What happened, Mrs. Finch?” asked David, wide-eyed.
Her hands and clothes were smeared with dirt.
“Please get in,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”
David and Bonesy piled into the car. Mrs. Finch released the brake and continued slowly down the hill. On the floor near the backseat was a five-gallon metal container. The boys could hear the kerosene sloshing inside it as the car waddled down the rut-filled road.
“I had a flat tire,” said Mrs. Finch.
No wonder Mrs. Finch’s hands and clothes were so dirty, thought David.
“Did you change the tire yourself, Mrs. Finch?”
“I tried. But I could barely lift the tire, let alone jack up the car. So I walked a way on the highway and flagged down a car. You’d be surprised how many drivers there are who are afraid to pick up a stranger!”
David listened with interest. “Did you walk all the way to Penwood?”
“No, thank goodness. Some kind soul finally picked me up. I got Jim Foxx, the young man who works at the gas station, to come and change the tire for me. But business was so heavy then that he couldn’t leave immediately. Boys, believe me. I’m sorry. And that wasn’t all.”
David and Bonesy stared at her.
“After Jim changed the tire I drove to Penwood. I purchased the kerosene and immediately headed back for the cottage. I guess I must have pushed the gas pedal harder than the law allowed. Anyway, that’s what the trooper told me when he stopped me and handed me a slip of blue paper.”
Bonesy’s brows arched. “Were you stopped for speeding?” he murmured.
Mrs. Finch nodded. “That I was, Bonesy, my boy.”
They reached the cottage, and Mrs. Finch drove the car into the garage.
“We’re sorry about that, Mrs. Finch,” said David humbly.
“So am I,” said Mrs. Finch. “But I’m even sorrier than that. I really wanted to get you boys to your ball game. Whatever things you’ve thought of me before will be worse now. I wouldn’t blame you if you hanged me in effigy.”
“We’d never do that, Mrs. Finch,” said David. “You couldn’t help what happened.”
Mrs. Finch turned off the ignition and looked at David and Bonesy. Then she blinked, turned and got out of the car.
“Come on, boys,” she said. “I’ll cook some supper for us, and then we�
��ll go home. By now that ball game is over, anyway. I just hope your team won.”
When she saw how cleaned and neat the yard was, her face lit up. “My! That looks just beautiful!” she said.
She washed, put on her other clothes, then cooked supper. The boys ate hungrily.
When they got back to Penwood, Mrs. Finch drove the boys to the ballpark. It was almost empty except for some players and Coach Beach, who were putting the baseball equipment away. Mrs. Finch gave each of the boys ten dollars. They thanked her, and David said happily, “Maybe I can buy some of those coins I still need.”
Mrs. Finch’s eyes widened with surprise. “Do you collect coins, David?” she asked.
David nodded. “Good-bye, Mrs. Finch.”
“Good-bye, Mrs. Finch,” said Bonesy.
“Good-bye, boys,” said Mrs. Finch, and then she drove off.
The boys walked into the ball park and up to Coach Beach. They stood nervously behind him as he pushed the last of the baseball equipment into a large canvas bag.
“Coach,” said David. He swallowed; his heart was thumping like a hammer.
Coach Beach turned. His eyes narrowed when he saw who it was. “Well,” he said. “Welcome back.” He looked angry and disgusted.
David wet his lips. “We want to apologize, Coach. We couldn’t help it. We —”
Then Coach Beach’s face broke into a smile, and he laughed.
“Never mind, boys. I know all about it. Mrs. Finch explained it all, so you have nothing to apologize for.”
David’s and Bonesy’s faces dropped in amazement. “Mrs. Finch told you what happened?”
Coach Beach nodded. “She did. Told me about the flat tire and her trouble in catching a ride. So don’t worry. I’m not going to bench you for not showing up.”
“She was stopped for speeding, too,” said Bonesy.
The smile on Coach Beach’s face disappeared. “She was?”
The boys nodded. “She got caught speeding when she went back to the cottage with the kerosene,” explained David. “Guess she wanted to get us back here in time so that we wouldn’t miss all of the game.”
“Poor Mrs. Finch.” The coach shook his head regretfully. “She really had tough luck today, didn’t she?”
Too Hot to Handle Page 3