Long Stretch At First Base (4 page)

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.

A
T 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.

B
OBBY 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.”