Miracle at the Plate

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1967 by Catherine M. Christopher

  Copyright © renewed 1995 Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  Little, Brown Books for Young Readers is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09577-8

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Matt Christopher®

  THE #1 SPORTS SERIES FOR KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER®

  To

  Pam, Chuck, and Chris

  1

  Skeeter walked to the plate for the first time against the Barracudas and the men in the outfield stepped back. There were two outs. Joey Spry was on first, and it was the top of the first inning.

  Last year the first time Skeeter faced a pitcher was in a scrub game. He had hit a home run over the left-field fence and had run around the bases twice. He had to run around twice because the first time didn’t count. He had run the wrong way.

  This year Skeeter hadn’t seemed to have learned much more about baseball. Yet, so far, he led the Grasshopper Baseball League in batting. In three games he had been to bat seven times and had collected five hits for an average of .714.

  “Come on, Skeet! Drive it!” someone on the bench yelled. Others joined in the cry.

  Skeeter heard the guys chuckling behind him. They thought it was funny that he batted cross-handed. He was a right-handed hitter, but he gripped the bat with his left hand above his right, just the opposite from the way ordinary right-hand hitters gripped theirs.

  He didn’t stand erect at the, plate either, but crouched forward with his legs far apart. He was tall and thin and clumsy. He knew he was clumsy, but he couldn’t help it. When he was in a hurry his legs seemed to get in the way and he’d stumble all over the place before he’d get where he wanted to. Mom said he was growing too fast, and not to worry about it. So he didn’t.

  He took a called strike that cut the outside corner, then two balls. The next was belt-high. He laid his bat into it.

  The blow was solid. The ball sailed out to left center field. Joey Spry ran all around to home and Skeeter stopped on second for a clean double.

  The crowd yelled and applauded. The Milky Way fans shook their heads unbelievingly and laughed.

  First baseman Bogy Adams was up next. He fouled off two pitches, then socked a high fly to short center. The center fielder ran in and made a one-handed catch. Three outs.

  The Milky Ways ran out to the field. All except Shadow McFitters, who ambled out to the mound as if he had all day. Shadow was a southpaw, tall and even skinnier than Skeeter, who was his pal.

  Shadow hardly had any speed at all. Nor did he have much of a hook. But he did have good control. He whiffed the first two guys and the next grounded out to short for a quick half inning.

  The Milky Ways threatened to score during their turn at bat, but didn’t succeed. The Barracudas came up again. Their first hitter blasted the first pitch out to left field. It was going deep.

  Out in left field Skeeter Miracle turned and ran. His feet tangled and he stumbled. Somehow he kept from falling. By the time he was erect again the ball was sailing over his head. He reached for it and was shy by only inches. The ball struck the ground and bounced out to the fence.

  Skeeter hustled after it, picked it up, and pegged it to the shortstop, Tip Miles. The hitter reached third for a triple.

  Skeeter socked his bare fist into his glove disgustedly and kicked the grass. He should have had that fly, he thought. If he hadn’t stumbled he would have.

  A single drove in the run. Before the half inning was over the Barracudas put across two more to go ahead of the Milky Ways, 3 to 1.

  In the top of the third Skeeter knocked out a single, but the Milky Ways couldn’t score. The Barracudas put across another run, and that was Skeeter’s fault, too. He had charged in after a fly ball, tried to make a shoestring catch, and missed it. The ball bounced out to the fence, and the hitter got three bases.

  Skeeter was sure that Coach Jess O’Hara was going to replace him then and there, because the coach turned and shook his head. But Skeeter stayed in.

  Roger Hyde, playing center field, didn’t like it one bit either. Matter of fact, if it were up to Roger, Skeeter wouldn’t play at all. He’d have Tommy Scott play, just because Tommy was his next-door neighbor and his best pal. As a ball player, though, Tommy wasn’t anything to boast about, in Skeeter’s opinion.

  When the Barracudas were finally retired, Skeeter trotted in from the outfield, his glove folded in his hand.

  “What are you trying to do, Miracle?” snorted Roger. “Be a hero?”

  Skeeter flushed. “I was sure I could catch that ball, if that’s what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Well, you saw what happened. You should’ve waited for the bounce.”

  “I know that now,” Skeeter grunted.

  Third baseman Henry Mall led off. He swung hard at a low pitch and hit a slow grounder down to third. The Barracudas’ third baseman charged in. In his haste he fumbled the ball and Henry made first.

  Leo Sweetman, the stocky catcher, popped up to the pitcher, and Shadow struck out. Then Tip Miles and Joey Spry banged out singles, scoring Henry. Roger Hyde, the second-best hitter on the team, flied out, ending the inning.

  Skeeter was surprised when he saw Jimmy Sutton going out to center in place of Roger. He was sure that he would be replaced, too. But he wasn’t.

  Shadow got into immediate trouble. He walked the first two men up. Something had happened to his control. He simply could not get the ball across the plate. He looked hurt when Coach O’Hara called time and sent Nick Strope in to pitch. Nick, a righthander, struck out the first man and the second hit into a double play.

  Skeeter led off in the top of the fifth. He swung at the first pitch and smack! A solid blow! He saw the ball reach for the sky as it sailed for deep center field. He dropped his bat and started his hurricane run around the bases. Between first and second he stumbled and almost fell. He regained his balance and kept going.

  The ball soared over the center fielder’s head and struck the fence. The coach at third was swinging his arm like a windmill, urging Skeeter in to home.

  Skeeter headed for home, running that funny way of his.

  “Slide, Skeeter!” Bogy Adams yelled. “Slide!”

  Skeeter saw the catcher crouched, waiting for the throw-in. At that instant, panic swept through him.

  He was afraid to slide. He didn’t know how. He was going to run al
l the way.

  2

  There were only a few feet left to go. The ball was almost to the Barracudas’ catcher. Skeeter watched his bare hand and mitt. He saw the ball strike the mitt just as he crossed the plate, touching it on the inside edge with his right foot.

  The catcher lunged at him with the ball, but it was too late.

  “Safe!” yelled the umpire.

  “What?” screamed a Barracuda fan.

  “Robber!” yelled another.

  Skeeter slowed down as he approached the dugout. He took off his helmet and dropped it on the ground.

  “Nice going, Skeet!” cried Shadow, patting him on the back. “A real blast!”

  “A beautiful hit, Skeeter,” Coach O’Hara said, grinning at him. “But you should’ve slid. You almost didn’t make it.”

  “He’s afraid to slide, that’s why,” Roger Hyde said.

  “Didn’t think I had to,” Skeeter said defensively, and sat in a vacant spot near the end of the dugout. The farther he sat from Roger, the better.

  Bogy knocked a hard grounder through the pitcher’s mound which almost capsized Pete Allison, the Barracudas’ hurler. Spider laid down a bunt inside the third-base line. Pete Allison fielded it and threw Spider out at first by a close margin — so close that the Milky Way fans began shouting at the base umpire.

  “You call that out? Oh, man!”

  “Are those Barracuda guys paying you, ump?”

  Other remarks were blasted at the base umpire, who was just an ordinary parent with no umpire’s uniform on, only a baseball cap. Skeeter didn’t like it. What was the matter with those people, anyway? Why did they yell at the umpire like that? He was as fair as he could be. They should know that.

  Coach O’Hara sent Luther Lee in to bat for Henry Mall. Luther was on the fat side and would have to travel fast to reach first if he managed to hit a ball through the infield.

  He blistered the first pitch over second base and made it to first in plenty of time, but that was because the throw-in was to second and from second to home in an attempt to get Bogy. Bogy scored, but Luther didn’t take any chances. He stayed on first.

  Leo Sweetman got to first on an error and Luther waddled to second. A throw to get Luther was wild, so Luther continued to third. The throw-in from the Barracudas’ outfielder was also wild and the coach waved Luther in. Luther scored standing up and received an ovation almost as loud as Skeeter’s had been.

  He was sweating and breathing hard as he walked to the dugout, a big smile on his pumpkin-round face.

  “You ol’ speedster!” Joey Spry said, slapping Luther on the knee. “You can really move!”

  “Like a bullet!” Skeeter added, laughing.

  Nick and Tip both flied out to end the inning. The Milky Ways had scored three runs, putting them in front 5 to 4. Tommy Scott replaced Skeeter in left field and hauled in two high flies to help keep the Barracudas from scoring. He struck out at the plate, at which Shadow gave Skeeter a nudge with his elbow.

  “He can catch a fly,” Shadow said softly, “but he can’t hit worth beans.”

  The game ended with the score remaining 5 to 4.

  Skeeter picked up his glove and walked off the field with Shadow. Presently an arm encircled him and a strong, cheerful voice boomed, “Nice game, Skeeter! Three for three! And a homer to boot! What an eye you must have!”

  It was Bob, his brother, a freshman next year in college.

  Shadow chuckled. “Not one, but two real good ones,” he added.

  Then Mom and Dad came along. They always came to see Skeeter play, even though neither of them understood much about baseball. Dad didn’t care for sports, except fishing and hunting. Mom liked to sew. Half of Skeeter’s, Bob’s, and Dad’s shirts were sewn by her own hands. And she sewed without the use of eyeglasses. Skeeter figured that he owed his good eyesight to his mother.

  Thinking about Dad’s hunting reminded Skeeter of the letter they had received from Aunt Arlene and Uncle Don in Spring City, Idaho. “Remember your promise that you were coming out this summer during Josh’s two week’s vacation,” Aunt Arlene had written. “Let us know when that is so that Don can make arrangements to take his vacation at the same time …”

  So Mom and Dad had talked it over and decided they’d go. In a way Skeeter could hardly wait to see them and his cousins again. Except that he’d have to leave Gus …

  Mom, Dad, and Bob rode home in Dad’s car, Skeeter and Shadow on their bikes. The boys talked about the game, the number of hits the Milky Ways had gotten and the number of strike-outs Shadow had. Neither of them saw the dog, a Mexican Chihuahua, come rushing out from between the bushes.

  It started barking as it reached the sidewalk, a loud woof! woof! woof! It was hard to imagine that such a small animal could make such a loud noise.

  But it had begun barking too late. Skeeter didn’t see it in time. He swerved the front wheel to prevent hitting the tiny dog. The wheel struck the animal and rolled over one of its hind legs. The dog yelped and then lay there, whimpering in pain.

  Horror swept through Skeeter. He jumped off the bike, ran back and knelt beside the injured animal. Shadow knelt beside him.

  “That’s Pancho, Tommy Scott’s dog,” Shadow said. “Boy, will he be upset!”

  3

  Skeeter realized that they were right in front of Tommy Scott’s house. Had Pancho’s cry been heard? Would someone be running out of the house within the next few seconds?

  No one appeared. He glanced at the yellow house next to it. A trim hedgerow bordered the driveway leading to a garage in the rear, and a blue spruce rose elegantly near the center of the small front lawn. It was Roger Hyde’s house. In a short while both boys would be coming home from the ball park.

  “What’re you going to do?” whispered Shadow. “Leave him here? Looks as if he’s real hurt.”

  Skeeter held one hand against the Chihuahua’s head, and felt the dog’s body with the other. What he hated worse than anything in the world was striking a bird or an animal. Even accidentally. He loved them. He had a white falcon he called Gus — a beautiful, trained bird he had raised from the time it had begun sprouting feathers. Dad had gotten it for him for his ninth birthday. He knew how he’d feel if someone struck Gus and injured him. He’d feel almost as if he, himself, had been injured.

  That was probably how Tommy Scott would feel, too. Because Tommy must love Pancho.

  Skeeter picked up the little animal and cradled it in his left arm. The Chihuahua lay still, trembling. It licked Skeeter’s hand as if it wanted to be friends, as if all that barking had been just to show off.

  Skeeter lifted his bike, climbed on it, and started to pedal away.

  “Where are you taking him?” Shadow asked as he followed close behind on his bike.

  “Home, first. I promised I’d go right home,” said Skeeter. “Then to Dr. Wiggins. I think his leg is broken.”

  The boys rode home. Shadow lived four houses beyond Skeeter’s. “I’ll meet you in about fifteen minutes and we can go to the vet’s,” said Skeeter.

  Skeeter hid Pancho in a corner of the garage, placing him on an old coat he found in there. He didn’t tell anyone about the accident. That had to be just between him and Shadow.

  He got out of his uniform, put on regular clothes, and washed. Mom must have noticed that he was very quiet. She always noticed things like that. She asked him if something was wrong and he said no, there’s nothing wrong. Why?

  “Shouldn’t be anything wrong,” Bob said. “All he did was single, double, and homer.”

  That stopped Mom from asking more questions, but she still seemed puzzled about the way he looked. That Mom. She was always more observant about things than Dad was.

  Skeeter did a lot of thinking while he changed. Dr. Wiggins, the vet, lived about six blocks away. Suppose someone saw Skeeter taking the Chihuahua there, and this someone recognized the dog? How would Skeeter explain that?

  Then he had it figured out. At least, he though
t he did. Calling to his mother that he was going for a bike ride with Shadow, he left the house.

  He rode over to Shadow’s house with two small baskets, one clinging to each handlebar. Shadow was waiting for him. He looked at the two baskets and frowned.

  “Two baskets?” He looked at Skeeter. “How come two baskets?”

  “Just in case,” said Skeeter. “Here, you take this one. Be careful. Pancho’s in there.”

  “And what’s in that one?” Shadow pointed curiously at the other basket, then started sniffing. “Smells good.”

  “It is,” Skeeter replied, and pedaled ahead of Shadow without telling him what was in the basket.

  Tree shadows flickered across their faces as they rode. They passed kids jumping rope and playing catch with a soft ball. Here and there people were sitting on porches, reading the evening paper or just relaxing.

  The boys had two blocks to go when a shout sprang from behind them.

  “Hey, Skeet! Shadow!”

  “Oh-oh!” murmured Shadow.

  Skeeter looked over his shoulder. For an instant, panic shot through him. Four guys were coming up behind them on bikes, including Roger Hyde and Tommy Scott!

  “What shall we do, Skeet?” Shadow cried softly.

  “Act natural,” replied Skeeter. “I’ll handle it.”

  Roger was first to reach them. “Where are you guys going with those baskets?” he wanted to know.

  Skeeter looked at him and then at the others. He flashed a smile. “Are you guys good guys or bad guys?” he asked jokingly. He glanced at Tommy Scott, saw the sober, rather sad look on Tommy’s face. His heart ached again. He wanted to tell Tommy not to worry, that he had Pancho, and that he was taking him to a doctor. But he couldn’t tell that to Tommy. Not yet. Not until he knew that Pancho would be all right.

  The guys laughed, all except Tommy.

  Skeeter turned his attention back to his driving. At the same time he veered his bike slightly to get closer to Roger.

  “We’re bad guys,” said Roger out of the corner of his mouth. “This is a holdup.” Then he grinned and sniffed the air. “Hey! Whatever’s in that basket smells good!”