by Rona Arato
Suddenly, Moshe remembered something. “When the stranger gave me Snigger’s egg, he wanted my wood, but he also wanted my amber disk.”
“Of course,” said his father. “He was looking for the pieces that he had given to me. They were especially valuable because each had an ancient inclusion.”
“The count found Snigger in the amber forest. Does that mean Snigger is magical too?” asked Moshe.
“I do not want to end this fascinating conversation,” said Mr. Thornswaddle, “but what does all this have to do with Nick the Stick’s baseball bats?”
Mr. Kaputnik picked up the bat and held it out. “Look inside,” he instructed.
Everyone peered into the hollow opening.
“Whew,” said Ziggy.
“Nick the Stick is lining his baseball bats with amber sap,” said Shoshi.
“The wood is strong because it is from the amber forest. And the sap gives the bat magic,” said Moshe.
“At least Yicky Stickyfingers and the other Yoinkles think it’s magic,” said Shoshi. “I know how we can help the Slobbers win tomorrow’s baseball game. Mama, can you make us a batch of your very hardest matzo balls?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Kaputnik.
Shoshi told them her plan.
Shoshi sat on the fire escape looking down at the street. Moshe climbed through the window and joined her.
“Mama’s giving Papa an earful about how Uncle Mendel stole our money.”
“It’s wonderful having him back,” Shoshi said to her brother. “Moshe, I can’t believe that Salty works for Nick the Stick. And we still can’t trust Mr. Thornswaddle because he lied about knowing Salty. And how does Count Vladimeer fit into all this? Why would he steal Snigger? And how did Snigger end up at Nick the Stick’s warehouse? There must be a connection.” With a determined look, Shoshi said, “First we’ll help Dingle Hinglehoffer win the baseball game. Then, we’ll confront Mr. Thornswaddle and find out what is really going on.”
CHAPTER 24
The Longest Baseball Game
Shoshi could hardly stand still. It was the top of the ninth inning, and the baseball game was tied at two for the Yoinkles and two for the Slobbers. Dingle Hinglehoffer was pitching, and Yicky Stickyfingers was at bat. For the first time, the Slobbers had a chance to win. The Yoinkles had missed many balls and the Slobbers had actually gotten two hits. But there was a problem. No one knew what had happened to the amber bat. To win this game, they needed it. Time was running out.
“It was gone when we got up this morning,” Shoshi said to Mr. Thornswaddle. “Moshe had hidden it in the icebox. But when Papa went to get it, it wasn’t there.”
“It sounds to me like there is skulduggery here,” said Mr. Thornswaddle. He looked out at the field. The matzo balls were working.
In the Yoinkles’ dugout, Nick the Stick paced back and forth. His white shirt was damp with sweat, and his gray hat was pulled down low over his forehead. “Whadda ya bums think yer doin’? I ain’t payin’ ya to lose.” He waved his stick with its razor-sharp tip.
Out in the field, the Slobbers stood at their positions. “We might just win this thing,” Dizzy Dan, the Slobbers’ shortstop, said to their second baseman, Lefty Larue. He had earned his nickname by losing two fingers on his left hand to Nick the Stick the only other time the Slobbers had almost beaten the Yoinkles.
Dingle raised his right hand to get ready to pitch. He turned his body to home plate and threw the ball.
Yicky Stickyfingers swung … and missed.
“Stee-rike one,” shouted the umpire.
“What’re ya doin’ ya stupid ballplayer?” shouted Nick the Stick. He poked Yicky Stickyfingers’ backside with his cane.
“Youch!” Yicky Stickyfingers lowered the bat and, with a venomous look at Nick the Stick, crouched over home plate. This time the pitch was a low curveball that flew off the tip of his bat and behind him into the grandstand.
“Foul ball. Stee-rike two!”
A young boy reached out, plucked it from the air, and waved it over his head like a trophy. “Ycch,” he made a face. “What kind of baseball is this?”
“A special one, young man,” said Aloysius P. Thornswaddle, taking the matzo ball from the boy’s hand. “Here, have a box of Cracker Jack instead. You’ll get a prize.”
“Slobbers, Slobbers, Slobbers!” the crowd chanted, as Dingle Hinglehoffer prepared to pitch again.
The Kaputniks and Ziggy watched the game from the Slobbers’ dugout. In front of them, Snigger pranced up and down, entertaining the crowd by shooting showers of sparks into the air.
“What a great costume! It looks like a real dragon!” someone yelled from the stands.
“What a great light show – what d’ya think they used? Firecrackers?” yelled another.
Dingle Hinglehoffer wound up for the third pitch. The crowd was on their feet. The cry of “Slobbers, Slobbers, Slobbers” rose from the grandstand like a hot wind.
“Show them how a real pitcher pitches, Hinglehoffer!” a fan called out.
Dingle Hinglehoffer threw the ball. Shoshi watched as it left his hand, arced through the air, and whizzed past Yicky Stickyfingers’ nose.
“Stee-rike three; OUT!” called the umpire.
Yicky Stickyfingers threw down his bat. “Yer blind as a bat!”
“I know a stee-rike when I see a stee-rike, and that was a stee-rike.” The umpire waved his fist under Yicky Stickyfingers’ nose. “Three stee-rikes and yer o-u-t, OUT!”
“Listen, everyone,” Mr. Thornswaddle said, when the Slobbers gathered in the dugout. “Mrs. Kaputnik’s matzo balls have brought us to this point. We are now tied with the Yoinkles. This is a very exciting moment!”
“Thornswaddle, we ain’t got all day,” said Lefty. “Where’s the magic baseball bat?”
Aloysius P. Thornswaddle wiped his face with a handkerchief. His mustache ends twitched like exclamation marks above his mouth. “Trust me. It’s coming.”
“When? It’s the bottom of the ninth,” said the shortstop.
“Play ball,” yelled the umpire.
The Slobbers were now at bat. They were three up and three down. Now they were back out in the field.
The Yoinkles repeated their pattern.
“This game is going into extra innings,” the announcer shouted through a megaphone.
“Where is the bat?” said Mr. Kaputnik.
“I have my people working on it,” said Mr. Thornswaddle.
“What people?”
“People.” Thornswaddle stomped off the field.
“This game is going into extra innings,” the announcer shouted through a megaphone. It was the top of the seventeenth inning. The score was still three to three. The Slobbers were on the field. And then Thumbs Magee, the Yoinkles’ shortstop scored a run.
“We are doomed,” said Mr. Thornswaddle. “Unless we score in the bottom of this inning, they have won.”
“Is this what you are looking for?” Count Vladimeer appeared with a swoosh of his black cape. In his hands, he held Mr. Kaputnik’s amber bat.
The Yoinkles took to the field, with Yicky Stickyfingers on the pitcher’s mound. Excitement fizzed through the crowd like bubbles in a seltzer bottle.
Dizzy Dan was first at bat. Yicky Stickyfingers threw the ball.
Whoosh! Dizzy missed and the ball sliced across the center of home plate.
“Stee-rike one,” called the umpire.
Dizzy hit the next ball, but it flew into the stands behind him.
“Foul ball – stee-rike two!” shouted the umpire.
Dizzy held up his hand for timeout. He turned to Dingle Hinglehoffer, who handed him another bat. Dizzy ran back to home plate.
Whoosh, came the pitch. Thwack! The ball flew past Yicky Stickyfingers and landed far out in left field. The crowd went wild as Dizzy raced to first base.
Next up was the Slobbers’ catcher. Yicky Stickyfingers faced home plate. He squinted, windmilled his arm, and spat on the ball.
Then he threw it.
Crrrack! The Slobbers’ catcher hit a two-base run, and now Dizzy was on third base. The third batter struck out and the fourth batter hit a single and was tagged out at first base. Then the next batter hit a single and loaded the bases. Next up was Hinglehoffer.
“Dingle, Dingle, Dingle,” chanted the crowd.
In the Slobbers’ dugout, the team held their breath. Dingle Hinglehoffer clutched the bat. The game depended on him.
Yicky Stickyfingers pitched.
Thwack! Up, up, up went the ball, over the infield, across the outfield, above the peanut gallery, and over the stadium walls. Splash! It landed in the East River.
People jumped from the stands onto the field. The Slobbers pounded each other on the back. Such was the excitement that no one took notice of Nick the Stick. He flipped open the knife on his cane, raced onto the field, and lunged at Dingle Hinglehoffer. “Yer gonna be minus one pitcher,” he growled.
Out of nowhere, Snigger swooped in and grabbed him by the seat of his pants. With the gangster in his mouth, the dragon flew higher and higher until it seemed to Shoshi that his wings were touching the clouds. Then he nosedived and dropped the gangster, head first, into a pail of water in the Yoinkles’ dugout. Mr. Thornswaddle and three policemen raced over to the dugout. “Officers, arrest this man! He attacked our pitcher with a knife!” said Thornswaddle. The policemen pulled Nick out of the pail and handcuffed him. To the roar of the crowd, they led a very wet and dizzy Nick the Stick off the field.
CHAPTER 25
Victory!
The whole neighborhood had crowded into Mrs. Kaputnik’s Pool Hall and Matzo Ball Emporium for a party. But there were no matzo balls in sight.
“We used them all for the baseball game,” said Mrs. Kaputnik.
No one cared. The Slobbers had defeated the Yoinkles, and Nick the Stick was in jail.
Mr. Shmuel played his violin. Mr. Seltzer pumped his accordion. The organgrinder ground out a tune and Misha danced. Mrs. Shmuel passed out freshly baked cookies, and children held hands, circled around Dingle Hinglehoffer, and sang:
Nick the Stick has gone to jail, gone to jail, gone to jail,
Stuck his head into a pail,
My fair lady-O.
This is such a happy day, happy day, happy day,
Nick the Stick has gone away,
My fair lady-O.
The Brooklyn Slobbers won their game, won their game, won their game,
The Brooklyn Slobbers love their fame,
My fair lady-O.
A woman entered the restaurant with her husband. “See, Zoltan, I told you this is the best place in New York. And, look, they’re having a party.”
“Yes, dear,” said the man.
Shoshi recognized the woman instantly. “It’s Mrs. Finklestein! How did she find us?”
The couple walked up to Mrs. Shmuel, and Mrs. Finklestein said, “You, lady, we want a table.”
“A table?” Mrs. Shmuel looked around the crowded room.
Mrs. Kaputnik came out of the kitchen, and Mrs. Finklestein’s face turned purple. “You!” the woman screamed. Everyone in the room froze. Mr. Shmuel stopped playing his violin. Mr. Seltzer put down his accordion. The organgrinder stopped grinding and Misha stopped dancing. “The meshuganah lady with the dybbuk!” Mrs. Finklestein shrieked.
“I thought they locked you up at Ellis Island!” said Mrs. Kaputnik.
“It is you they should lock up – you and that, that thing! Is it here?” She looked around anxiously.
“Hello, Mrs. Finklestein.” Shoshi sidled over and smiled up at the woman. “Did you bring any sausages for Snigger?”
“Ayeee!” Mrs. Finklestein grabbed her husband’s arm. “Let’s get out of here!” And without another word, she pulled him out the door.
Shoshi, Moshe, and Ziggy sat on the stoop of their tenement building. They were laughing so hard that Shoshi thought her sides would split. “If only Snigger had been here to really scare her.” After depositing Nick the Stick in the pail, Snigger had flown out of the baseball stadium and hadn’t returned. Her smile faded. “Where do you think he is this time?”
“Hee, hee, hee. Ye would no’ by chance be lookin’ fer a green animal, would yer?”
“Salty!” The children jumped to their feet. “What are you doing here?”
“A friend brought me,” he said, pointing to Snigger, who was cooling off in the water from a fire hydrant. “I found ’im gallopin’ up Houston Street.”
Shoshi remembered Salty’s betrayal. “You’re a crook. You were working with Nick the Stick.”
“We saw you carrying wooden crates from the ship into his warehouse,” said Moshe.
“Now calm down, both of ye. Yes, I was workin’ with Nick the Stick but it’s not what ye think.”
The Kaputniks, Aloysius P. Thornswaddle, and Salty sat around a table in the now empty restaurant. Salty launched into his story.
“Mr. Stick and ’is gang ’as been terrorizin’ our ship’s crew fer years. They pay crew members to steal cargo and deliver it to ’em so they can resell it. If someone refuses …” He ran his finger across his throat. “Last year, their goon Igor strong-armed me. ’E told me if I didn’t cooperate ’e’d make sure I was arrested. Said ’e had ’is sources with the police, and I’d spend the rest ’o me life in jail.” Salty paused for breath. He looked around the table at his audience and grinned. “Thought ’e ’ad me, ’e did. But I fooled ’im.”
“How?” said Shoshi. “What did you do?”
“I met this ’ere gent.” He nodded at Mr. Thornswaddle.
Mr. Thornswaddle hooked his fingers through his suspenders. “I, dear friends, am a private detective. I was hired by the steamship line to break up a ring of thieves. I had been working on the case for two years with nary a break, until I met Salty. And, you children helped.”
“We did?” Moshe said with surprise.
“You gave Snigger to Salty, who was working for me from inside the ship. Salty was my spy.”
Salty took over the narrative. “When Snigger came down into the boiler room, I saw an opportunity. I could ’elp you two and, at the same time, Snigger could ’elp me by scarin’ me shipmates into lettin’ me in on their operation.”
“Our biggest problem,” said Mr. Thornswaddle, “was to find out how they were getting the stuff off the ship, and where they were taking it. Once Salty was involved, we were able to track them. I didn’t know about your father until after you rescued him. While we were at the baseball game, the police raided the factory and arrested Igor and the whole motley crew.”
“As fer me shipmates,” Salty piped up, “they were apprehended on the ship. So, you see children, by leadin’ us to Nick the Stick, you are heroes, and so is Snigger.”
The dragon raised his head and roared. Everyone laughed.
“Mr. Thornswaddle,” said Shoshi. “Where does Count Vladimeer fit into all this?”
“You see, I really am a circus barker extraordinaire. It is what I did before becoming a detective, and it is now my cover operation. The count and I work together and travel the world seeking ancient treasure and mystical creatures that evil people sell on the black market. We want to keep these treasures from being destroyed.”
The count suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Did I hear my name?” he said, crossing the floor.
“Ah, the very person I want to see.” Mr. Thornswaddle greeted him. “I was just telling these good people about our partnership. But first, dear Vlad, pray tell us, how did you find the amber bat?”
Before he could answer, Salty leapt from his seat. “You!” He turned to the others. “This man tried to kill me and steal Snigger.”
“My dear man, you exaggerate. I wasn’t going to harm you; I only wanted to scare you into parting with the dragon. You see, it’s very important that we keep the dragon safe from harm. I was surveying your apartment and saw Dingle Hinglehoffer take the dragon, so I seized the opportunity to liberate the pet. I had gott
en him as far as our circus, but what I didn’t know was that I, too, was being followed – by Igor. When I stepped out of the wagon, my back was turned, and he knocked me on the noggin. When I came to, the dragon was gone. As for the bat, Igor also took that. Moshe saw him sneaking out of the kitchen with it last night.”
“I wanted to go after him myself,” Moshe explained, “but Thornswaddle said I should let him handle it.”
The count reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant egg. “I found Igor at the factory, and I traded him one of these for the bat.”
Everyone gasped.
“Is it another dragon?” said Moshe.
The count winked his blue eye. “Let us just say that by Thanksgiving Day, Mr. Igor will have the biggest turkey in New York.”
“And ’e’ll be eatin’ it in jail,” said Salty.
Shoshi and Moshe were back on the stoop, hoping to catch whatever cool nighttime breeze drifted in from the river. Snigger, exhausted from the excitement, slept on the sidewalk. Salty and Mr. Thornswaddle joined them.
“Mr. Thornswaddle,” said Moshe, “is the amber bat really magic?”
“It is if you want it to be. Nick the Stick used your father’s hollow bats to hide the jewelry they stole from the ship’s passengers. One day, Yicky Stickyfingers picked up a bat filled with amber, instead of his real one. He hit five home runs in that game and decided it was his lucky bat. Who knows?” He shrugged. “Maybe it was magic. It certainly helped Dingle Hinglehoffer in today’s game.”
