Two Strikes on Johnny (2 page)

Johnny Doane smiled. Marty made everybody feel like smiling. He was always cracking jokes. He couldn't run fast, because he
had a lot of weight to carry. But he could hit. Johnny wished he could hit like Marty. Then he would not have to tell those
little white lies to Michael.

Oh, he didn't
want
to tell Michael those white lies. Not really. But Michael was sure that Johnny was a good hitter. After each game Johnny
kept telling him how well he had hit the ball, and Michael believed him. Now Michael thought that Johnny was the best hitter
on the team.

How far from the truth that was!

Marty's home run had scored Peter and Buddy, which made the score 4–3 in favor
of the Cardinals. There were two outs and nobody on base.

Pitcher Davie Randall came to bat and hit a line drive to short. The shortstop caught it, ending the inning.

The Mudhens knocked in two runs in their top of the fourth inning.

First baseman Freddie Turner led off for the Cardinals at their turn at bat and singled with a grounder between first and
second. Butchie Long made first on an error by the Mudhens' shortstop. Freddie stopped on second.

With men on first and second and none out, Johnny Doane came to bat. His teammates started to cheer for him again and he could
hear Mr. Greenfield telling him just to meet the ball, not kill it. Mr. Green field, of course, meant for him not to swing
too hard.

But how could a guy hit a ball way out into the field if he didn't swing hard?

Johnny let the first pitch go by.

“Ball one!” said the ump.

The next pitch was going to cut the heart of the plate. Johnny swung hard. Swish!

“Strike!” said the ump.

Johnny wished that there weren't men on bases. Maybe he could hit if the bases were empty.

Johnny swung again. Tick! A foul tip to the catcher. Strike two.

The next pitch was wild. The ball sailed over the catcher's head, hit the backstop screen. Both runners advanced one base
each.

The count now was two and two. Johnny waited. Maybe he would walk. The bases would then be loaded. But
Mickey Bonzell was up next. And Mickey was a poor hitter, too.

The pitch came in. Johnny stepped into it, took his bat off his shoulder. The ball was high. He didn't swing.

“Ball three!” yelled the ump.

Three and two. Johnny was nervous. The next pitch was the one that counted. He hoped it would be a ball.

The ball zipped in. Johnny saw it coming nicely toward the plate. He gripped his bat hard, stepped into the pitch, and swung.

Crack! The ball bounded to the pitcher, struck the tip of his glove, and rolled toward first! The pitcher scampered after
it.

Johnny raced for first. His foot hit the bag just a second before the baseman caught the throw from the pitcher.

“Safe!” cried the base umpire.

Johnny circled to the right, came back, and stood on the bag. Freddie Turner had scored, and Butchie Long was on third.

Well, maybe the pitcher had made an error, but a run had come in, anyway. The score was tied now, 5 and 5.

Johnny looked back and saw Michael smile and clap his hands.

I wonder if he really knows what kind of a hit
that
was, Johnny thought, and shook his head sadly.

M
ICKEY BONZELL
popped out to –.VI the pitcher. Lead-off man Peter Jergens came up and hit a grounder to second. Butchie Long darted for
home.

The Mudhens' second baseman caught the ball on a hop, tossed it to the shortstop. The shortstop touched second, whipped the
ball to first.

A double play!

The Cardinals ran out to the field and the Mudhens came to bat. They scored run, which put them ahead, 6 to 5.

Stevie Little led off for the Cardinals in the last inning. He grounded out to short.
Buddy Greenfield got a single. Marty French hit another long one to left field, but this time the fielder caught it. Then
Davie came to bat. He struck out and the game was over.

The teams collected their bats and balls and other equipment and started for their homes. Mr. Davis took some of the boys
home in his Jeep station wagon.

Johnny took Michael's hand as they walked home. On the other side of Michael walked Sand. Sand was a big dog. Her white and
sand-colored fur was thick and shiny. She had a green collar with her name and license number on it. A green leash was fastened
to the collar. Michael had hold of the leash.

Michael's pale blue eyes were looking straight ahead. He was smiling. “Did you win, Johnny?” he asked.

“No. We lost.”

“Did you get any home runs?”

Johnny swallowed. “Almost,” he said. “I almost got a home run.”

“What was it — a three-bagger?”

“Yes. That's what it was — a three-bagger.”

Michael's smile grew wider. “How far did you hit the ball, Johnny?”

“Between left and center fields. A line drive. I sure clouted it. A little farther and it would've been a homer.”

“Jimminies,” said Michael. “You always hit, don't you, Johnny?”

“Almost always,” said Johnny softly. “It's hard to hit
all
the time.”

“But
you
hit most of the time. I know you do. That's what you've told me.”

“That's right. I hit most of the time.”

Suddenly a hum sounded in the distance.
It grew loud quickly. Johnny looked toward the blue and white sky. A large silver plane came flying over the hill almost directly
overhead. It was so low Johnny could see the windows and the numbers under the right wing. The plane had taken off from the
Municipal Airport, which was about three miles from Johnny's house.

“I bet it's a DC-3!” Michael shouted. “Is it,. Johnny?”

“That's right. It is,” said Johnny. He was glad to get off the subject of baseball. “You can tell what they are pretty good
now, can't you?”

“Yes. The DC-3's are not as loud as the DC-4's. They don't have as much power, Daddy said.”

“That's right,” said Johnny.

They lived in a gray house with a green
carpet of lawn around it. A lilac bush grew near one corner of the house. Its pretty leaves and purple flowers waved back
and forth in the summer breeze.

“Hi, Mom,” Johnny greeted as he entered the kitchen. “Is supper ready yet?”

Mrs. Doane was paring potatoes at the kitchen sink. She had blond hair like Michael's, but her eyes and nose were like Johnny's.

“Not quite,” she said. She stared at Johnny. “My! Look at that face! You'd better take a bath, young man.”

Johnny grinned. “I will, Ma.”

“Did you have a good time, Michael?”

“I sure did, Morn.” Michael's face lit up brightly. “Johnny hit a three-bagger. It was almost a homer.”

“Johnny's a good ball player,” said Mrs. Doane. “Now, Michael, why don't you
and Sand go outside for a while until Johnny gets cleaned up?”

“Can Johnny tell me about the game afterwards, Mom? He only told me a little.”

“All right. Johnny will tell you about the game.” She ruffled his hair, smiled.

Johnny looked away, his heart heavy. Both Mom and Michael think I'm a good ball player, he thought. But I'm not. I should
never have told Michael how good I was, how many home runs or three-baggers or doubles I got. Nothing I have told him was
true.

After his bath Johnny went outside and sat on the lawn with Michael and Sand. He began to tell Michael about the ball game.
He enjoyed telling it. He told about the hits Butchie Long, Marty French, and Davie Randall had made. And how Marty
said he ought to have his bike to go around the bases with, because he was too fat to run. Michael laughed. He thought it
was very funny. And Johnny laughed, too, because he had made Michael laugh. Sand barked and thumped her tail as if she understood,
too.

That night Johnny said his regular prayers to God, and then added, “I keep telling Michael I'm getting hits when I'm not.
He expects me to tell him that, and I know he'd be awful unhappy if I told him I struck out or didn't get a hit. Am I right,
God, in telling him those things? Gee, I'm not sure. I just don't know what to do, God. Can You help me?” Johnny paused. Then
he said, “Could You help me get two hits in the next game? Maybe —maybe make one of them a home run? Then I wouldn't have
to lie to Michael.”

O
N WEDNESDAY
morning Davie Randall telephoned Johnny. “We have a game with the Rangers this afternoon, Johnny. Mr. Davis asked me to call
you. Could you make it?”

“I think so!” said Johnny hopefully. “Wait a second. I'll ask my mother.”

Johnny asked her and she said he could if he burned the papers, fed the chickens, and collected the eggs.

“Sure, Mom, I'll do all that,” Johnny said excitedly. He told Davie and Davie said, “Okay. Be at the field at two o'clock.
I'll see you.”

Johnny collected all the old papers from the wastebaskets in the house, carried them out to the incinerator, and set fire
to them. Then he went out to the red chicken house, scooped up a dipperful of corn, and scattered the yellow kernels on the
ground. The forty-nine tall white Leg-horns clucked and fluttered their feathers. Their heads bobbed up and down and their
sun-red combs shook as they gobbled up the corn.

Johnny heard laughter and looked across the large green lawn toward the sprawling branches of the linden tree. Michael was
sitting in its shade, playing with Sand.

All at once Johnny thought: I'll go to the field without Michael. He's having a lot of fun with Sand, anyway. Maybe I will
play a better game if he's not there.
The Rangers are not as hot as the Mud-hens. Ronnie Hyde pitches for them and he doesn't have the speed of Dick Manning, the
Mudhens' pitcher.

Tall, red-haired Freddie Turner and little Mickey Bonzell stopped at the house on their way to the field. Freddie had his
first-base mitt with him and Mickey had his fielder's glove.

“Hey, Johnny! Are you ready?” Freddie called from the road.

Johnny jumped off the porch steps. His ball cap fell off. He scooped it up, plopped it back on his mop of black hair, and
ran down the cement walk to the boys.

They walked along the road, talking about the Yankees' getting beaten by a shut-out yesterday, and about the Cincinnati Reds'
new Bonus Baby's twenty-third homer for the season. They made the turn
in the road and walked halfway down the hill when suddenly Johnny stopped.

The two boys stared at him. “What's the matter?” Freddie asked. “Forget something? You have your glove.”

“Yes. I did forget something,” said Johnny. “I'm going back. You guys go on. I'll be at the field by the time the game starts.
Don't worry.”

Mickey rubbed his nose. “For crying out loud, what do you have to go back for?”

“I know,” said Freddie. “It's Michael, isn't it? You're going back to get him.”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders. “What for?” he said to Johnny. “He couldn't see the game, could he?”

Johnny looked hard at Mickey. He swallowed. “You guys go on. I'm going back after my brother.”

He turned and started running up the hill. He thought of what Mickey had said and a lump rose in his throat. His legs were
tired by the time he reached the curve in the road. He walked for a while, and then he ran again. He ran slowly so that he
would not get too tired.

He was still a long way from the house, but he could see a figure standing on the cement walk close to the road. It was Michael.
With him was Sand.

Johnny's heart turned light as a feather again. A smile lit up his face; his blue eyes brightened. Whatever had made him think
he could leave Michael home? He just could never do a thing like that. Not ever.

He cut across the lawn and stopped at Michael's side. Michael's face shone, too, as he turned toward Johnny. He put out
his hand. Johnny took it, squeezed it a little. Sand wiggled her body like a snake, wagged her bushy yellow and white tail,
and made soft happy noises in her throat.

“I'm sorry, Michael.” Johnny sucked in deep breaths of air. “We started talking about the big leagues and the leading hitters
and all that and I forgot about you. Come on. I'll hold your hand.”

“Won't you be late?”

“Heck, no. We have plenty of time. We'll just walk fast. They'll wait for me.”

They reached the curve in the road and Johnny looked way down the other road for Freddie and Mickey. But they were out of
sight. At last they reached the ball field. The Rangers were already there. So were the Cardinals.

“It's about time,” Johnny heard somebody on the Rangers' team say.

He tried not to let the words bother him. Michael had a tender smile on his lips as he sat in the empty stands. Maybe he had
not heard what that kid had said. If he had, he did not show it.

Johnny walked toward the bench. He saw Marty French lean toward Mr. Davis and point a thumb in Michael's direction. Mr. Davis
looked back over his shoulder a moment, then looked away again. He nodded his head.

Johnny's forehead creased with a frown. What had Marty said to the manager about Michael?

The game started. Cliff Dickson, father of the Rangers' second baseman, umpired, because the regular umpire had not shown
up. The managers of both teams agreed that it was all right.