“Wait ’em out!” yelled Coach Barrows. He paced back and forth.
Dave let the next pitch go by.
“Strike two!”
“Okay! If it’s in there, hit it!”
Wood took his time with the next pitch. This was the one that counted. If it was outside the strike zone, Dave would walk. If it was over, Dave might whack it and knock in another run.
Crack! The ball bounced hard across the infield to short. The shortstop moved in, caught the hop, and pegged to first.
Out!
“Close,” said Coach Barrows. “But not close enough. Okay, fellas. Get out there and get ’em out!”
The Seals put a man on in the bottom half of the third, but he failed to score.
Don Robinson, pinch-hitting for Mark, led off for the Redbirds. He singled with a sharp drive through the pitcher’s box. Jerry Echols followed with a Texas leaguer between short and third. The third-base coach held Don up at second.
Kirby came to bat. Bobby watched from the dugout. Here was Kirby’s chance again to knock in runs.
“Come on, Kirby!” a high-pitched voice shouted from the stands. “Hit it, Kirby!”
Bobby grinned. That was Ann. She was rooting for Kirby, too.
Kirby swung at the first pitch. There was a solid crack as bat met ball. The ball rose high into the air toward left field. Kirby dropped his bat and ran hard for first. Bobby leaped out of the dugout, his heart singing.
I bet that’s a homer! I bet that’s a homer!
Then the ball struck the grass just outside of the white foul line. Bobby groaned.
“Foul ball!” yelled the umpire.
The runners returned to their bases. Kirby ran back to the plate and picked up his bat. His lower lip was tugged over his upper one. What tough luck, thought Bobby. Kirby just could never get a break.
Kirby took a called strike, then a ball. Then he swung hard at a low pitch and struck out. Bobby shook his head sadly.
Cappie blasted a hard grounder through second, scoring a run to break the tie. Bobby and Bert went down to end the inning.
Tony Mandos took Kirby’s place at first base. He caught a couple of wide throws, one from Bobby, the other from Don Robinson. Bobby thought that if Tony hadn’t such a big web on his mitt he would never have caught those throws. Kirby would have made those catches look easy.
Neither team scored in the fifth. In the last inning Tony came to bat with Don on first and one out. He punched out a solid line drive over the shortstop’s head. Bobby had to admit that that was a good, clean hit. No doubt that Tony was a better hitter than Kirby. But without that special mitt of his, Tony could not compare with Kirby as a first baseman. Kirby was left-handed and Tony was right-handed. That, itself, was in Kirby’s favor. Also, Kirby was at least an inch taller. He could reach out farther to catch wide throws.
That mitt, thought Bobby. It was only that mitt that would make the officials choose Tony over Kirby.
Nobody knocked Don and Tony in.
The Seals came up for their last time at bat. They belted out a single. The next hitter walloped a sizzling grounder to Bobby. He fielded it, tossed the ball to second. Second to first. Double play!
The next hitter flied out and the game was over. The Redbirds won, 3–2.
6
AT HOME Kirby wanted Bobby to throw to him while he batted.
“Pitch to me, will you, Bobby?” he pleaded. “I need batting practice. That’s why I can’t hit.”
Bobby did not feel like pitching. He said, “Who’s going to chase ’em?”
“Ann. She’ll chase ’em. Won’t you, Ann?”
“Yes. I’ll chase ’em.”
Bobby looked at them both disgustedly. He wanted to go swimming. The day was hot and he hadn’t gone swimming since sometime last week.
“Why not go swimming instead?” he said. “We just got through playing baseball.”
“We can go swimming tomorrow,” said Kirby. “Come on. Will you, Bobby? Please?”
Bobby pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. Baseball. Baseball. That’s all Kirby ever thought about.
“You like swimming. You like looking for spiders and toads and ants, don’t you?” Ann said to him. Her voice was hard.
Bobby looked at her. Her eyes were hard, too. “Sure, I do,” he said. “Why? Just because you and Kirby don’t like to do that doesn’t mean nobody should.”
“That’s not what I mean,” replied Ann. “You can look for those insects without anybody helping you. With baseball it’s different. Nobody can play baseball by himself, can he?”
Bobby realized what she meant. “Of course not. But we’ve played a lot of baseball today, already. Can’t we wait till tomorrow?”
Ann’s eyes snapped. “In the first place, I see that you don’t care whether Kirby gets picked on the All-Star team or not. Maybe you want Tony Mandos picked. In the second place, you need a lot of practice yourself, throwing. All right. Go swimming if Mom will let you, and I bet she won’t. I’ll play with Kirby myself. I can pitch.”
Ann clutched Kirby’s arm and began to pull him toward the field where the kids played baseball. Bobby stared after them. He could not let Ann and Kirby be mad at him. Maybe he would want them to do something with him sometime.
He uncrossed his arms and ran after them. “Ann! Kirby! Wait! I’ve changed my mind!”
Ann and Kirby stopped.
“Wait for me! I’ll get my glove!” said Bobby.
Ann played the outfield. Bobby pitched. They played for ten or fifteen minutes. Out of all the pitches Bobby threw Kirby hit only two flies to the outfield. Most of the pitches he either fouled to the backstop screen or missed entirely.
Bobby didn’t say anything. Kirby just could not hit that ball. When Bobby threw slower, Kirby told him to throw harder.
Presently, Ann shouted from the outfield, “Wait a minute, Bobby! Don’t pitch!”
Bobby looked over his shoulder. What did she want to do? Bat, too?
Ann ran in, her pony tail flopping. She went up to Kirby.
“Kirby, may I tell you something? I mean about hitting?”
Kirby stared at her. So did Bobby.
“What are you going to tell me?” said Kirby, his voice hurt. “That I can’t hit? I know I can’t. That’s why I want to practice.”
“No,” said Ann. “But I borrowed a book from the library. I’ve read the whole book already. It tells how to play all the positions on the diamond. And it tells how to bat.”
Kirby looked at her puzzledly. “You borrowed the book on baseball? Why didn’t you tell me about it? Is it good?”
“It’s very good,” said Ann. “There’s a chapter about hitting. One of the major league ballplayers wrote it. He says that a lot of hitters hold their hands about two inches from the end of the bat. They hit much better that way.”
“I know what that is,” Bobby broke in. “That’s choking up on the bat.”
“That’s right,” said Ann. “Why don’t you try that, Kirby? Choke up on the bat. Maybe you’ll hit better.”
Kirby shrugged. “You can’t get distance that way.”
“But hits are better than getting distance once in a blue moon, aren’t they?” said Ann. Her voice was sharp, drawing the attention of both boys quickly. “You can’t get on base if you don’t get hits, can you? And how do you expect to be picked on the All-Star team — ”
She stopped. Her lips trembled, and for a moment Bobby thought she was going to cry. She really wanted Kirby to learn how to hit. You seldom saw a sister that interested in her brother. Imagine, thought Bobby. And she had gone so far as to borrow a book on baseball, just to help out Kirby!
“All right,” said Kirby. “I’ll try it. I’ve tried everything else, I guess.”
“Okay,” Ann said. Her eyes brightened. “Wait till I get back out there.”
Bobby walked to the mound with the ball. He waited till Ann was in the outfield, then pitched to Kirby. He threw the first pitch as
hard as he could. Kirby fouled it. Then Kirby began to hit some of the pitches solidly. He smiled as pitch after pitch sailed to the outfield.
Finally Ann yelled from the outfield, “I’m tired of running! Let’s quit!”
Bobby was tired, too, but he wasn’t going to stop until either Ann or Kirby said so. He wanted Kirby to be picked on the All-Star team as much as Ann did.
On Thursday, the Redbirds tackled the Mustangs. The game was tied 6-6 and had to go into an extra inning. With a man on first and two away, a Mustang hitter banged out a triple to score the winning run.
In that game, Kirby was up twice and hit a single. In the following games against the Gulls and the Panthers he did well, too. He hit the ball both times up in the game with the Gulls. Both times the ball was caught and Kirby was thrown out. But the important thing was — he was hitting. In the Panther game he struck out once, and singled.
But Tony Mandos was playing excellent ball, too. Already he had hit two home runs, a triple, and two doubles since the season had started. Bobby thought that some of the throws that Tony had missed on first base Kirby would have caught. But Tony was doing a fine job. Everybody was saying that Tony Mandos was certain to be picked on the All-Star team.
It’s his glove, Bobby told himself. Without that web on his mitt, Tony would not have a chance against Kirby.
Kirby was hitting better. That was definite. He did not hit the ball very far, but he was getting on base more often than he used to. Choking up on the bat had helped him a lot. Thanks to Ann.
But Kirby was a whiz on first. Everybody could see that. He was getting men out in very close plays, plays which otherwise might have meant runs for the opposing teams. Every time Kirby made a long stretch to catch a wild peg, the people cheered and applauded. They wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t good, would they?
On Friday afternoon, a hot and sticky day, Bobby, Kirby, and Ann put on their bathing suits and went swimming down by the bridge. They passed Tony’s house. A blue car trimmed with shining chrome stood in the driveway. It was Mr. Mandos’s car.
“Let’s see if Tony wants to come with us,” suggested Kirby.
He went to the house while Ann and Bobby waited.
Soon he came back out. “Tony’s already at the pond,” he said.
There were a lot of other kids swimming in the pond, too. Tony saw them and swam over. “Hi!” he said. “I wondered if you were coming! The water’s great!”
Bobby didn’t swim around with Tony. He didn’t want to get too friendly with him. Tony was on their baseball team; that was friendship enough.
Bobby climbed up the bank, walked along the edge of the bridge, and dived into the water. He got more fun out of diving than swimming. He wished that the bridge was higher. Boy! Would that be fun, then!
After a while the kids began to leave. Tony left, too. At last Bobby, Kirby, and Ann left. Just as they reached their house a blue car zipped past. It was the Mandoses’.
Bobby stared after it a minute. “Was Tony in it?” he asked.
“I think so,” said Kirby. “But I’m not sure. Why?”
Bobby shrugged. “Oh — nothing.”
They went into the house and dressed. Then Bobby told his mother he was going bike riding for a while.
He rode slowly down the road. He didn’t want to pump fast. Somebody watching might get curious. Terry followed him, yipping at the rear wheel.
At last Bobby reached Tony Mandos’s house. He parked the bike in the driveway. He walked around the house quietly. Terry trailed after him, his nose close to the grass. He sniffed as if he were on the track of something.
Since Tony wasn’t home, Bobby had a chance to look for Tony’s first-base mitt. Bobby didn’t know what he would do with it if he found it. But he would do something.
He looked hard around the yard. Finally he saw it on the front porch. His heart pounded. It was the mitt all right — the mitt with the big web. The mitt which Tony used to make those great catches.
Bobby went on the porch, picked up the mitt.
Just then Tony Mandos came out of the door.
“Hello, Bobby. What are you doing here?” he asked.
7
BOBBY stared. His face grew hot. He could hardly answer Tony. He had been sure that Tony was in his father’s car.
“Hi — hi, Tony,” he managed to say finally. “I just rode down to see if you were here.”
Tony smiled. His crow-black hair was combed neatly back. He was wearing blue jeans and a blue and white striped T-shirt. He came off the porch and looked at the mitt in Bobby’s hand.
“How do you like that mitt?” he asked proudly.
Bobby swallowed. He forced a grin to his lips. “It’s a beauty. I don’t think anybody’s could beat it.”
“I don’t, either,” said Tony. “Except your brother Kirby’s.”
Bobby frowned. “Kirby’s? This is better than Kirby’s. Don’t you think so?”
Tony shrugged. He took the mitt from Bobby and slipped his left hand into it. He tugged at the leather-laced web.
“Kirby’s doesn’t have a web like mine,” he said. “With a web like this almost anybody could catch a ball.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s legal, isn’t it?” All of a sudden Bobby didn’t know what to think of Tony. Before this he had never talked much with Tony Mandos.
“Sure, it’s legal,” replied Tony. He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess it’s all right.” He turned and looked at Terry sniffing around the yard. “That your dog?”
Bobby nodded. “Yes. His name’s Terry. He’s a Scotty.”
“We heard on the radio that a mad dog was loose somewhere around town,” said Tony. He grinned. “Guess it wasn’t yours, was it?”
Bobby laughed. “Not Terry! How long ago did you hear that, Tony?”
“About an hour ago.”
“What kind of a dog was it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention. Mom and Dad heard it, and they spoke about it. Guess by now it’s caught, anyway.”
“Oh, sure,” said Bobby.
Bobby was thinking more about what he had come here for than about the mad dog. He felt guilty and ashamed. Tony was a lot different than he had imagined. Even though Bobby played baseball with him, he hadn’t known Tony very well. Now, just in these few moments of talking with Tony, Bobby had learned a lot about what kind of a guy he was.
Suddenly, Bobby was glad that Tony was home. It would have been terrible to have taken a mitt from a guy like Tony. Guess maybe it would have been terrible to take the mitt anyway, Bobby thought. The feeling of guilt grew worse, as if it were something that had come alive inside him. He hoped that Tony would not notice how he acted.
Maybe if they did something together —
“Want to go for a hike?” Bobby suggested. His breath came fast. He couldn’t ever let Tony know what he had really come here for.
Tony looked up. He grinned. “Down through the gully?”
Bobby’s face brightened. “Sure!”
“Okay!”
Tony tossed the mitt onto the porch. He ran toward the bridge where the kids swam. Bobby followed close behind. Once he looked back to see if Terry was following. But Terry had found something in the yard and was playing with it. He was growling and rolling over and over with whatever it was. It looked like an old shoe. That Terry could have fun with anything, thought Bobby, feeling much better.
Bobby walked behind Tony down along the creek. They walked carefully over the large, flat rocks. Some of the rocks were slimy and slippery. In different places trees had fallen over the creek. The boys climbed onto the fallen trees and walked the full length to the other side. Then they climbed off and walked again along the wet rocks.
The creek water was wide in some places, narrow in others; deep in some places, shallow in others.
“Look!” said Tony suddenly.
Bobby almost collided with Tony as he brought himself to a quick stop. He looked at where Tony
pointed. A thin black snake was swimming in one of the shallow places. The water was so clear that the snake’s whole weaving body — about twenty inches of it — was easily seen.
They saw crabs, too, crawling in the crystal-clear bottom. And polliwogs. And minnows. And skippers on top of the water.
“Boy!” gasped Bobby. “Would I like to camp around here sometime!”
“Me, too,” said Tony.
Bobby told Tony about the tent he and Kirby had in the small woods above their house. And about the deer that had been feeding on their vegetables.
“Wow!” said Tony. “That must’ve been fun!”
“It was,” said Bobby.
Now the rocky sides of the creek were higher. The trees that grew on the banks on either side towered high above their heads. Thin slices of golden sunlight shimmered at their feet.
Just beyond them was a waterfall. It was five or six feet high. Not much water flowed over it now, though.
“Watch yourself,” cautioned Tony.
The boys climbed down the dry, sharpedged rocks alongside the waterfall. They reached the bottom. The water gave off a hollow sound as it spilled down. It foamed up at the bottom like a big pot of boiling water.
“Bobby!” Tony whispered. “Look! A dog!”
Bobby whirled. A brown, curly-coated dog was standing on a rock directly in front of them. His beady eyes were fastened on the boys. A low growl broke from his throat.
“Where did he come from?” asked Bobby.
“He just got here,” said Tony. “He’s breathing hard. He must have been running.”
“Wonder whose dog he is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe his owner’s name is on his tag. I’ll take a look.”
He started forward.
The dog held his ground. He growled again. His eyes flashed angrily. His lips curled back.
“Wait, Tony!” said Bobby. He was staring at the dog’s mouth. “Tony, you don’t think that he’s the mad dog your folks heard about on the radio, do you?”
Long Stretch At First Base Page 3
