Long Stretch At First Base (6 page)

The next man flied out to end the inning. The score was 6-3, with the Redbirds on the short end.

Bobby sat way at the end of the bench in the dugout. He felt pretty awful about that peg. Kirby came and sat down beside him.
He looked strangely at Bobby.

“You didn’t throw that ball wild on purpose, did you, Bobby?” he asked quietly.

Bobby stared at him as if he had been hit with a rock. Then he looked at some of the others who were watching him. He saw
by their faces that they were thinking the same thing!

“Of course not, Kirby!” he whispered huskily. “I — I could
never
do a thing like that!”

Coach Barrows stopped in front of Bobby and said, “I think you probably tighten up out there, Bobby. Loosen up! And don’t
hurry your throw, unless you have to.”

B
OBBY wished that Coach Barrows would take him out of the game and put someone else in. After what Kirby had said to him, and
the way the other boys looked at him, he did not feel like playing any more. How could they ever think he would throw a wild
peg to Tony Mandos on purpose? That was
crazy!

He remembered that only yesterday he had wanted to take Tony’s glove and hide it. Thinking of that made him feel ashamed again.
But he knew that if he had taken the mitt, he would not have kept it hidden very long. He would have returned it to Tony.

Dave Gessini, Mike Bliss, and Tony
were up at bat in that order. Mike Bliss was a utility outfielder. He was a tall redhead with glasses. He was taking Jerry
Echols’s place.

Dave pounded out a screaming single through second base. Then Mike got up and fouled the first two pitches. He tapped his
bat against the plate a lot, and almost did not raise it in time for the third pitch.

“Ball!” said the umpire.

“He was lucky then,” said Kirby. He raised his voice and yelled at Mike, “Keep your bat up, Mike! Be ready!”

A chest-high pitch came in. Mike swung.
Crack!
The ball sizzled along the grass toward short. The Mustangs shortstop reached down. The ball struck the thumb of his glove
and glanced away from him. He raced after it, but there would be no play.

Dave crossed second. He went past it a few steps, then returned to the bag and stood on it with both feet. Mike held up on
first.

“Now’s our chance,” Kirby said. “Who’s up? Oh — Tony.”

Bobby saw him bite on his lower lip. He wondered what Kirby could be thinking. Was he hoping that Tony wouldn’t get a hit?

“Come on, Tony!” Kirby suddenly shouted. “Drive that apple out of the lot!”

Bobby didn’t know how to feel about Tony’s getting a hit. A hit would score a run or two, depending on how far the ball traveled.
A hit would also help Tony have a better chance of being selected on the All-Star team. Yet, no matter how much Bobby liked
Tony, he still wanted Kirby to be selected.

Crack!
A long fly toward left field! The ball was going — going. It was GONE! It had sailed over the fence for a home run!

Horns blared. The Redbirds fans whistled and cheered. Tony’s long, powerful clout had tied the score.

Everybody in the dugout climbed out and shook Tony’s hand. Bobby felt funny inside. He didn’t know whether he was happy that
Tony had knocked the homer or not. Sure, the score was tied now, 6-6. But Tony probably had made good his chances of being
chosen on the All-Star team.

Cappie fouled out to the first baseman. Bobby, with two and two on him, lined a Texas leaguer to short. The shortstop speared
it for the second out. Al Dakin wiggled at the plate, then blasted a beautiful
double between left and center fields. He died on second when Toby Warren swung at a high pitch for his third strike, missing
the ball by a foot.

The Mustangs pushed over a run in the bottom of the fourth to lead again. The Redbirds came to raps, eager to put on another
rally. But the Mustangs held them.

In the sixth the Redbirds got a man as far as third. The Mustangs played great defensive ball, and held him there till the
third out was called.

The Redbirds lost, 7-6.

“That’s all right, fellas,” said Mr. Barrows. “That was a great game. Nice sock, Tony. You really blasted that ball hard.”

Tony grinned shyly. “Thanks, Coach,” he said.

On the way home in Mr. Jamison’s car, Bobby said to Tony, “I’m sorry about that bad throw, Tony. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Tony. “Forget it.”

“But everybody thought I did it on purpose,” said Bobby.

“On purpose?” Tony’s brows arched. “Why should you do it on purpose?”

Bobby met Tony’s eyes. He knew that Tony was sincere. He knew that, at least, Tony had never thought that Bobby had thrown
the ball wild on purpose.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” answered Bobby.

But all the other boys thought he had a reason, he told himself. They believed he had done it to make Tony look poor on first
base.

“I wish I could find my mitt, though,”
said Tony worriedly. “I’m more used to it. It’s expensive, too. Dad paid about fifty dollars for it.”

“We’ll look for it after supper,” promised Kirby. “We’ll all come down and help again.”

Bobby looked at his tall, dark-haired brother. His face flashed a big, pleased smile.

After supper Bobby, Kirby, and Ann walked to Tony’s house. Terry went with them. He ran ahead of them all the way, his short
tail snapping back and forth like a toy that was wound up too tight.

Tony came out of the house and they all started to look for his mitt.

“I bet it’s gone for good,” said Tony hopelessly. “I’ll never find it.”

“It’s Terry’s fault,” said Bobby. “He’s the one that carried it away.”

“Don’t blame Terry,” said Ann, in defense of the dog all three of them loved so dearly. “You brought him along with you.”

Bobby’s eyes lowered. Yes, that was true. It was his fault more than anyone else’s that Tony’s glove was missing.

Perhaps he should buy a new mitt for Tony. He could start selling magazines, or cut lawns to raise the money. Yes, that’s
what he could do.

They searched underneath the porch, around Mrs. Mandos’s hollyhocks and rose-bushes, and in the garden. It was almost dark.

Suddenly Ann shouted, “Look! Look what Terry’s got!”

All the boys looked. There was Terry, trotting proudly from the direction of the road. And dangling from his mouth was Tony’s
mitt!

“He must have had it hidden inside the culvert!” cried Tony happily. “Who’d ever think to look for it there!”

Kirby grinned as he took the mitt from Terry’s mouth. “All right, Terry. Nice work. But why didn’t you find it before?”

Ann’s face was bright with joy and relief. “I guess he just wanted us to sweat it out for a while.”

Bobby fell on his knees. He clutched the little terrier into his arms. He rubbed his face against the dog’s warm body. “You
little mutt,” he said. “It’s a good thing you found that glove! You saved me a lot of hard work and money!”

D
URING the next few days, before their upcoming game with the Seals, Bobby, Kirby, and some of the other members of the team
practiced on the pasture field. Tony practiced with them. Bobby played his regular position at shortstop. Tony played first
base when Kirby was batting.

Bobby, as usual, caught most of the grounders hit to him. Most of his pegs to first were pretty good. But on his wide or high
throws, Tony often failed to catch them. Even his big-webbed mitt was not enough for him to snare those throws. His legs and
arms just were not long enough.
The throws had to be fairly close to him for him to make the catches.

But at the plate Tony was a slugger. Every time he batted he pounded the old apple a tremendous distance into the outfield.

Kirby was practically the opposite. He was tall. His arms and legs were rangy. He could stretch far out and catch nearly all
of Bobby’s wild pegs. But at the plate Kirby just could not swing the bat on the same line the ball came in on. He either
swung over it or under it. Sometimes he met the ball squarely. When he did his face lit up like a Christmas candle. But the
next time up he would strike out.

When the boys practiced on the pasture field again, Bobby didn’t go. He said he wanted to find some praying mantises to add
to his collection. That wasn’t the
real reason, though. He didn’t want to go because it hurt him to see Kirby swing at so many pitches at the plate and miss.

Bobby could hardly understand that. He had tried a long time to figure out why Kirby was such a poor hitter. Even choking
up on the bat did not help him very much. It seems so easy to me, Bobby thought. I swing at the ball where I see it, and I
hit it almost every time. Why can’t Kirby do that?

The sky was gray with scattered clouds on the day the Redbirds tangled with the Seals. Bobby pulled on his jersey and cap
and got his glove from the clothes closet.

“What are you waiting for, Kirby?” he said. His brother was sitting in the living room, reading a book. “Mr. Gessini will
be coming after us any minute.”

“I’m not going,” said Kirby, without glancing up from the book.

Bobby’s mouth fell open. “You’re not
going?”
His voice was almost a shrill cry. “Why not?”

“I quit,” said Kirby.

“You
can’t
quit!”

Kirby burst out of the chair with his book. He stomped heavily across the floor to his room. “Who said I can’t?” he said loudly,
and slammed the door behind him.

Bobby’s mother entered the living room from the kitchen. She had a pen in her hand. She had been writing a letter to someone
— maybe answering the letter she had received yesterday from her mother in Maryland.

She looked toward Kirby’s door, then turned wide, puzzled eyes at Bobby. “Did
he say he has quit playing baseball?” she asked.

Bobby nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“Why did he quit?”

Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe he thinks he hasn’t been playing well.”

His mother took her pen back into the kitchen. Then she went to Kirby’s room. Bobby heard her say something to Kirby, and
heard Kirby answer. But their voices were so soft and muffled he could not make out what they said.

After a while Mrs. Jamison came out of the room.

“Isn’t he coming, Mom?” Bobby asked.

She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t want to. And nothing I say helps. You go alone, Bobby.”

“What shall I tell Mr. Barrows?”

Mrs. Jamison thought a moment. She shrugged her shoulders. “Just tell him Kirby doesn’t want to play.”

Two deep furrows appeared between Bobby’s eyebrows as he walked to the door. He knew how Kirby felt, all right. He knew exactly.

Bobby waited on the porch. Soon Mr. Gessini came along with his car. Bobby got in.

“Where’s Kirby?” Jim Hurwitz asked. Jim was sitting in the front seat with Dave and Mr. Gessini.

“He doesn’t want to come,” replied Bobby.

Jim and Dave looked at him strangely. “Why not?” said Dave.

Bobby climbed into the back seat. “I don’t know,” he said.

They stopped for Tony Mandos. Tony
also asked where Kirby was. Bobby told him.

“Maybe he doesn’t feel well,” said Tony.

Nobody said anything.

Coach Barrows also wondered why Kirby didn’t show up. Bobby told him the same thing he had told the others.

“Well, looks as if Tony will play the whole game,” said Mr. Barrows simply. “But it’s up to you, Bobby, to make those throws
good to first base. Take your time. Tony can’t stretch out as far as Kirby can, you know.”

“I’ll try,” promised Bobby.

The Seals had first raps. For the Redbirds Curt Barrows had the line-up arranged as follows:

B. J
AMISON
— shortstop

A. D
AKIN
— second base

T. W
ARREN
— left field

J. H
URWITZ
— center field

D. G
ESSINI
— catcher

M. D
ONAHUE
— third base