“Guess it was partly our fault,” said Bonesy. “She wouldn’t have been stopped for speeding if it wasn’t for us.”
Coach Beach grinned. “You’re right, Bonesy. That part was your fault.”
“Who won, Coach?” asked David.
“The Waxwings. Eight to six. Maybe you had something to do about that, too. I don’t know. Anyway, make sure both of you are at the next game.”
“We sure will,” said David, and then he looked at Bonesy.
It had been a rough day all around.
9
DAVID asked Dad to knock him grounders in the front yard. Dad reminded him of the black eye he had received from a bad bounce and suggested that they go to the ballpark.
David called Bonesy, and Bonesy went with them. Dad hit grounders to David’s left side and his right side. David fielded the big hops easily when the ball wasn’t too far either way. Dad hit other grounders right past him, grounders that would have been caught by a faster player.
David struck the pocket of his glove angrily when he couldn’t catch those.
“Never mind,” said Dad. “They would be tough ones for anybody to catch.”
But David had seen third basemen spear grounders and line drives that were hit hard on either side of them. It was plays like those that made a good third baseman.
He remembered what Don had said in the hospital: It’s up to you now to keep the Kroft name going.
Somehow he wished that Don had never said that.
It sprinkled a little Monday morning. The Flickers went to the ballpark early in the afternoon. The rain had settled the dust around the base paths and the pitcher’s mound. For an hour Rex Drake had the infielders practice on grounders and the outfielders shagging flies. During the next hour they held batting practice. Rex was captain and handled the team when Coach Beach was working and couldn’t be there.
Later, before the six o’clock game started, there would be men here who would rake the infield and line the base paths and the batter’s box with white lime.
The Flickers practiced again Tuesday morning, and David worked as hard as he could at third. He alternated with Legs Mulligan. Legs didn’t seem to try half so hard as David, yet he fielded the ball more easily and made the catches look simpler.
David didn’t know whether Rex said anything about him to Coach Beach. But when the Flickers played the Canaries the next evening, David didn’t start.
The Canaries had not lost a game. They had won seven straight. The Flickers had won three and lost three. It was in the heart of every boy on the Flickers’ team to beat the Canaries today.
The crowd was larger than usual. David saw that there were more Canaries’ fans there than Flickers’. And they were sitting on the third-base coaching box side.
The Flickers were up first. They got off to a poor start as leadoff man Ken Lacey struck out. Two fly balls to the outfield ended the Flickers’ half-inning.
Brad Lodge threw in the warm-up pitches to Rex, but when he faced the first Canaries’ batter he had trouble. He gave the man a free ticket to first on four pitched balls. The next batter bunted to Legs at third. Legs tried to throw the man out at second, but the ball reached there too late.
Brad was nervous now. He rubbed his forehead with the sleeves of his jersey and kept jerking his shoulders. He toed the rubber, delivered, and the batter turned his bat toward the ball as if to bunt. The pitch was low.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
The batter went into the same motion several more times, and Brad didn’t put one over the plate. He gave the man a free ticket, too, and the bases were loaded.
Rex called time and went out to talk to Brad. Legs and Jimmy Merrill walked over to Brad, too. They talked with him awhile, then returned to their positions.
Whatever they said didn’t do any good. The first pitch Brad put in there was hit for a line drive over short. Two men came in, and the hitter stopped on second for a clean double.
The Canaries’ fans went wild. It looked surely as if the yellow birds were heading for their eighth straight win.
Then Brad struck out the next hitter, and the next two flied out.
Rex led off in the second. He uncorked a double, went to third on Marty Cass’s hit to right field, then scored on Bonesy’s single.
Legs grounded out to second, Marty was caught trying to steal third, and Windy Hill swung at a third pitch that was far too high, ending the half-inning.
The Canaries kept rolling. They got two hits at their turn at bat and racked up one run. Now it was 3 to 1 in the Canaries’ favor.
David heard the Canaries’ fans yelling cheerfully. Even the players were laughing and joking away in the field, confident that this was just another game. That they would put this one in their pocket, too.
Brad Lodge, leading off in the top of the third, gave the Canaries more to cheer about as he went down swinging. Then Ken changed the picture. He belted out a single and went to second when the shortstop missed Chugger Hines’s smashing grounder.
The coach gave Jimmy Merrill the bunt signal. It would be better to have men on second and third, in scoring position, than to take the chance of having Jimmy hit into a double play.
Jimmy missed the first pitch. He fouled the second and struck the plate disgustedly with the tip of his bat. Now he had to swing.
Rocky Stone, the tall right-hander for the Canaries, delivered a pitch just level with Jimmy’s knees. Jimmy swung. Out!
Rex was up. He had doubled his first time up. Could he repeat?
Apparently Rocky Stone didn’t want him to. He walked Rex to load the bases.
Now it was the Flickers’ fans’ chance to cheer. And they did.
“Come on, Marty!” they yelled. “Drive it out of the lot! Blast it over the fence!”
Rocky took his time. He removed his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Then he looked for the signal from his catcher. He nodded, stepped on the rubber, made his stretch and delivered.
“Strike!”
The Canaries’ fans shouted happily. “Thataway, Rocky! He’s your man now!”
Marty waited for the next pitch. He held his bat high and his legs close together. The pitch came in. He swung.
“Strike two!”
“He’s all yours, now, Rocky boy!” yelled the Canaries’ catcher.
Marty almost swung at the next one. It was wide.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
Rocky still took his time. He picked up the rosin bag, rubbed his fingers on it a moment, then dropped it. He toed the rubber, stretched and delivered the pitch. Like a white bullet the ball sped toward the plate. Marty swung.
Crack! A smashing drive over short! Ken scored. Not far behind him came Chugger. The shortstop caught the throw-in from the center fielder and made a beautiful peg to the catcher. Rex held up at second.
The Flickers’ bench went wild.
Bonesy struck out. But the Flickers were strongly back in the game. They had tied it up, 3 and 3.
Mandy Rubens, the Canaries’ slugging outfielder, broke the tie with a blast over the left-field fence with the bases empty.
The Flickers came to bat in the top of the fourth, trailing by the score of 4 to 3. It was a close game so far. The Canaries were a different bunch in the field now. They were not laughing and joking. They were serious. They had begun to realize that this was a game they could lose.
David started to run toward the third-base coaching box when he heard Coach Beach yell at him.
“David, bat for Legs! Let’s see you get a hit, kid! Start a rally.”
David looked at the coach. Something cold gripped him. He didn’t move for a moment. He almost wished that Coach Beach wouldn’t ask him to go into the game. Legs was doing all right. Why not let him stay in?
David walked to the bats lined up on the ground. He picked up his favorite one, put on a helmet and stepped to the plate.
He was not only nervous as he waited for Rocky Stone to throw. He was frightened, t
oo.
10
“STRIKE!” The ball was over the heart of the plate. David pursed his lips. He felt as if someone had kept him from swinging the bat.
Rocky threw a couple outside, then put another one over the plate. David corked it. It was a long high fly to left field.
He dropped the bat and raced for first. Just as he made the turn, the first-base coach, Herm Simmons, yelled for him to stop. The left fielder had caught the ball.
Steve Pierce pinch-hit for Windy Hill. He did better than David. He singled on the second pitch and went to second when the center fielder missed Brad Lodge’s fly. Chugger got a single that inning, too, but no Flicker went past third base.
David caught a few warm-up grounders from Jimmy Merrill before the first Canaries’ batter stepped to the plate. The batter hit the first pitch down the third-base line, and David leaped after it. The ball struck the top of his glove, shot up into the air and dropped behind him. David picked it up and pulled his arm back to throw.
“Hold it, Dave!” yelled Bonesy. “Hold it!”
Angry with himself, David shook his head and tossed the ball to Brad. He ran back to his position, then realized that a bunt might be tried. He trotted forward until he stood on the grass.
The pitch. The batter turned to bunt, and David charged in. It was a slow grounder just inside the third-base line. David ran as hard as he could. He fielded the ball with both hands, pivoted on his right foot and whipped the ball underhand to first.
A good throw! It was close!
“Safe!” cried the umpire.
David spun, saw that Bonesy was covering third, then took his time walking back. He played on the grass again. It was still a bunt situation.
Again the Canaries bunted! This time the ball was hit too hard. David fielded it. He pegged to second. Out by a step!
Jimmy didn’t try the play to first.
“Nice play, David!” shouted Bonesy.
One out. Men on first and third.
A pop fly over Rex’s head. He caught it for the second out.
The fans of both teams were shouting wildly now. The Flickers’ infielders were chattering like monkeys. It was a way to keep from thinking in these tense, anxious moments.
Crack! A hard grounder to David’s right side! He turned, then lunged after it for a backhanded catch. The ball brushed the tip of his glove and bounded to the outfield. A run scored. The hitter went to second.
Now there were runners on second and third.
Coach Beach called time. He left the dugout and talked a bit with Brad. David thought he would put in another pitcher, but he didn’t. The next batter popped up to first, and the sides retired.
Score: Canaries 5; Flickers 3.
“Hold them, Canaries!” shouted the Canaries’ fans. “Strike them out, Rocky!”
Rex led off. He waited Rocky out and won a free ticket to first. Perhaps Rocky was afraid to pitch him anything good.
Marty waited till Rocky put a strike over the plate, then belted a single over Rocky’s head. Bonesy socked a grounder to short. The shortstop fielded the ball nicely, fired it to second and got Marty out. The second baseman whipped the ball to first. Bonesy, running as fast as his legs could go, made it by half a step.
The Canaries booed the umpire, and for a moment the first baseman said a thing or two to him. The umpire said a thing or two back, and the first baseman shied away.
Coach Beach chuckled. “Never underestimate the power of an umpire,” he said.
David pressed the helmet down comfortably on his head and waited for Rocky to pitch. He had made up his mind to swing at the first good one that came in.
Rocky toed the rubber, looked at the runners on base, then delivered. It was high.
Rocky came in with the next pitch, and David swung. His bat met the ball solidly, and he knew instantly that this time the ball was going.
He saw the first-base coach smiling and swinging his arm like a windmill, urging David on to second. David kept going. He saw that the ball had just struck the fence in left center field, that it had bounced back and both left and center fielders were chasing after it.
He rounded second and went on to third. He reached the base standing up for the longest triple he had ever hit, scoring Rex and Bonesy.
Steve Pierce belted his second single of the game, scoring David. The coach had Jerry Hines pinch-hit for Brad. Jerry flied out, then Ken struck out to end the big inning.
“Beautiful hit, David,” said the coach. “Too bad it wasn’t just a wee bit higher.”
David grinned. “Thanks,” he said. He turned and went out to the field.
The Flickers were ahead now, 6 to 5. David felt good. Now, if only the Flickers could protect that lead.
The Canaries didn’t get a man past first base that bottom half of the fifth. In the top of the sixth Herm Simmons pinch-hit for Chugger. He singled to start things off for the Flickers. Jimmy laid down a sacrifice bunt, putting Herm on second. Rex lifted a long fly to center that was caught.
Marty drilled a liner at the third baseman. The third sacker fumbled it and was puzzled for a moment trying to find it. He finally picked it up just a few feet behind him. The second-base coach had Herm play it safe.
It turned out to be a good idea, for Bonesy blasted out a double and Herm scored. David fouled two pitches, then struck out.
The Canaries were solemn birds as they came to bat for the last time. Even their fans had become saddened and quiet.
Jerry, pitching now in place of Brad, walked the first batter. There followed two outs in succession. Then the Canaries began belting the ball. They scored a run and had two men on bases when David fielded a ground ball and touched third for the last out.
The Flickers jumped and yelled with joy at the victory. They had played the best team in the league and had won. They had clipped the Canaries’ wings.
Ann Marie smiled proudly at David as they left the ballpark and headed for home. “That was a beautiful hit, David,” she said. “You played wonderfully today.”
“Sure did,” said Dad. “I wish Don could have been here to see you.”
David smiled. He had bobbled a couple today, but that triple with two men on bases had sure made things a lot brighter.
11
DAD took David with him to the hospital later that evening to bring Don home. Don was glad to leave — but not especially so. As a nurse pushed Don out of his room and down the long white corridor, other nurses looked on regretfully.
David grinned. Don’s magnetic personality had even conquered the nurses.
Dad helped Don onto the backseat of the car, then placed the two crutches in beside him. Don thanked the nurse, said good-bye to her and leaned back comfortably against the seat.
“Home, Dad,” he said.
He sat with his bad leg on the seat. David, sitting beside Dad, saw that the cast was covered with autographs. Probably every visitor from school had signed his or her name on it.
After they drove awhile Don asked David about how the Flickers were doing. And how he was doing at third.
“We beat the Canaries today,” replied David. “I had two errors,” he added solemnly.
“But he hit a triple and knocked in two runs,” said Dad. “He helped win the ball game.”
Don’s face brightened. “Fine,” he said. “Wait’ll tomorrow. We’ll go down to the field and give you a workout. Third base is a lot tougher than a lot of people think.”
“You’re telling me,” said David. It took a player like Don to realize a thing like that.
There was much rejoicing when Don got home. Mom and Ann Marie kissed him, and Ann Marie immediately began telling him about a dozen things that had happened in and around town, hardly giving Mom a chance to squeeze in a word. Dad laughed. David shook his head in puzzlement. Where had he ever got such a talkative sister? Don just sat there, smiling happily about the whole thing. You could see that he was certainly pleased to be home.
The following morning D
avid telephoned Bonesy to tell him that he and Don were going to the ballpark. Would Bonesy like to come along? Bonesy would.
On their way to the park — Ann Marie went, too — they met Rex Drake and Marty Cass. The boys were glad to see Don and were willing to practice with them. They looked at Ann Marie and the glove on her hand with suspicion, though, then rushed home after their gloves.
Under Don’s direction, Bonesy hit grounders to David at third. Ann Marie backed up her brother. She picked up and threw in the grounders that David missed. She had played pitch and catch with David for several years and could throw well.
After they had worked out awhile a car drove into the parking lot and stopped. Two people walked in through the gate. David recognized them immediately. Mr. and Mrs. Finch! What were they doing here?
They walked up to Don, smiled and shook his hand. David heard them ask Don about his leg. Then he heard Mrs. Finch say, “You just won’t give up, will you?”
Don laughed. “I guess not, Mrs. Finch,” he said.
“And you want your brother to be a baseball player like yourself?”
“No,” said Don. “I want him to be better than I am.”
Mrs. Finch shook her head. “I can’t understand it,” she said. “You boys spending your precious time out here hitting a little white ball all over the place and then chasing it just so it can be hit all over again. Really now, Don, is that practical? Does it make sense?”
Don shrugged. “There are millions of Americans who think so, Mrs. Finch. And, I bet, so does Mr. Finch.”
Mr. Finch, a big man with graying hair, grunted. “I never played baseball, Don. Football was my sport. But I’m a fan, I’ll tell you that.”
“Never mind asking Mr. Finch,” said Mrs. Finch. “Sometimes I think he’s still a boy.”
Mr. Finch grunted again, and Don laughed.
“Why don’t you come to a game, Mrs. Finch?” invited Don. “These boys play tomorrow. Why don’t you come with Mr. Finch? You will understand better maybe watching it why kids just never grow up when it comes to playing baseball.”
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