Two Strikes on Johnny (7 page)

Nobody would be faking a cheer for Johnny, either. Johnny had made Marty and the rest of the team understand that. And no
matter what Johnny did, he would tell Michael the truth. Every bit of it. If Johnny struck out, he'd tell Michael so. If he
missed a fly, or threw to second when he should have thrown to third, he would tell Michael so. If he hit a double,
or a triple, he would tell Michael that, too.

But then, what if Michael did not believe him? That was the thing Johnny was afraid of.
What if Michael did not believe him?

Johnny was sick at the thought. How long could he stand it with Michael feeling like that about him? They couldn't go on like
that forever, could they?

A loud shout brought Johnny's attention back to the game. He saw the white pill-like baseball hopping to the outfield, and
Butchie running down the first-base line. A hit for Butchie! Marty circled third and galloped for all he was worth down the
long stretch for home. He had his cap squeezed in his hand.

“Come on, Marty! Run, run, run!”

Then, just as the ball hit the ground for
the hop to the catcher, Marty crossed the plate.

Johnny laughed. It was fun to watch fat little Marty run bases.

Butchie had reached second on the play. Now Stevie was up. Stevie fouled the first pitch, then popped out to the catcher.

Two outs. Buddy Greenfield was up.

“Stee-rike!” yelled the ump.

“Stee-rike two!” he yelled again.

Hit it, Buddy! Johnny said to himself. I want to hit this inning, too!

The pitcher hurled two wide ones. Buddy fouled the next pitch, then walked.

“Okay, Johnny,” Manager Davis said. “The tying run is on first. Get a nice bingle, kid.”

“Ball!” shouted the ump as the first pitch steamed in just outside the plate.

Then, “Stee-rike!”

Johnny fouled the next pitch to the left of third base. Then he let another pitch go by. It was inside for ball two.

Two and two now. Johnny held his bat ready. He watched the pitcher stretch, throw. The ball zipped in knee-high. Johnny swung.
Swish!

“Strike three!” shouted the ump.

Johnny stood still for a few seconds. Strike three! He had struck out!

He dropped the bat and ran out to the outfield. He kept his eyes down. Ducks on the pond and he had struck out. Could he tell
that to Michael? Would Michael believe him?

Johnny picked up his glove and wiped the sweat rolling down his face. Even if he did not tell Michael, his father would.
Johnny tore a handful of grass from the ground and hurled it back down. The wind scattered the tiny blades.

Michael has
got
to like me, he thought, no matter how poor a player I am! I'm his brother!

T
HE
Rangers' lead-off man popped out to Davie. The second batter singled through second; then a long fly ball was hit out to
Johnny. He called for it, caught it, and relayed the ball to Peter. The next batter foul-tipped two pitches, then struck out.

Peter was first man up for the Cardinals. He walked again for the second time that game. Freddie grounded out to third. Davie
belted a line drive to left field. Peter circled second and tried to make third. The fielder heaved in the ball. The
Rangers' third baseman caught the hop, spun around, and tagged Peter just as Peter started to slide.

The umpire's thumb went up into the air. “Out!”

Peter argued the play a few seconds, then brushed himself off and came in to the bench. “Wasn't I safe, Mr. Davis?” he asked
seriously.

Manager Davis shook his head. “Almost, but he had you, Peter. Let's not take too many chances from now on. We have only one
more raps besides this one.”

Marty stepped to the plate. The Rangers' pitcher walked him on four straight throws. Now there were men on first and second
and two outs.

Butchie singled through second, scoring Davie. Marty went to third. He smiled and fanned himself with his cap
while he waited for the pitcher to step into the box.

The few rooters in the grandstand cheered.

Suddenly one of the voices sounded familiar to Johnny. Could that be … could that be Michael?
Could it?

And then he heard a dog bark. That was Sand! He could recognize Sand's bark anywhere! There was no doubt about it now. Michael
was sitting in the stands! He had changed his mind and had come to the game!

Johnny wet his lips and swallowed. He turned and saw Michael, Sand, and his mother sitting with his father. They were all
smiling. Especially Michael. Mr. Doane leaned toward Michael and said something. Then Michael stood up and waved.. Johnny
choked, waved back.

Stevie Little popped out to the catcher, and the inning was over. Score: Rangers — 5, Cardinals — 4.

Top of the last inning. The Rangers' lead-off man hit a smashing hot grounder to Stevie. Stevie fumbled it. Then he picked
up the ball and snapped it to first. The runner was there by a step.

“Safe!” said the ump. An error on Stevie. Johnny saw Stevie kick at the ground with the toe of his shoe. Shucks, everybody
makes errors sometimes.

The next batter popped out to first. Then Davie walked a man. Marty called time, walked to Davie and had a talk with him.
Then he returned to his position in the catcher's box. He squatted, gave Davie the signal. Davie toed the rubber, stretched,
and threw.

“Stee-rike!”

“Thataboy,. Davie!” Marty shouted. “Come on, you guys! Let's hear that chatter!”

The hitter lined the next pitch to center field. Johnny ran after it. He saw that he would not be able to catch it in the
air. It was a hit.

Johnny caught the ball on the first hop. He saw the Rangers' runner circle third and make a dash for home. Johnny pulled back
his arm and pegged the ball in as hard as he could.

Davie was standing halfway between the pitcher's box and second base. The ball sailed over his head. It hit the ground between
the pitcher's box and home plate, bounced. Marty caught it, spun around, and put the ball on the runner.

“Out!” shouted the ump.

A cheer rose from the grandstand.

“Nice throwing, Johnny!” somebody yelled.

“Nice arm!”

The next batter grounded out to Peter, ending the first half of the last inning.

Buddy was first batter for the Cardinals. He lined a two-two pitch to third. The third baseman caught it, pegged it to first
for the put-out.

Johnny stepped to the plate. This was his last chance. He would not bat again in this game. And he had to hit. He just had
to. Michael would
expect
him to.

“Ball one!”

Johnny mopped his brow. He tapped the plate with the tip of his bat, then waited for the next pitch.

“Strike!”

One and one. He had to be ready now. He had to swing at the next good pitch.

The ball came in belt-high, but wide of the plate. Johnny held his bat steady.

One strike, two balls. The score was 5 to 4. A homer would tie it. A slim chance, but it could be done. Hadn't Mickey Bonzell
hit a homer one day last week?

“Strike two!”

Johnny stepped back from the plate. He looked at the umpire. “Wasn't that pitch too low?” he wanted to say to the ump, but
he didn't. He stepped back into the box.

“Ball three!”

The next pitch came in chest-high. It looked perfect. Johnny swung. Crack! The ball bounded down to short. Johnny dropped
his bat, raced for first.

He saw the first baseman stretch. Then — “Out!”

Johnny slowed up and started back for
the bench. He was sick. He didn't dare look up at the people in the grandstand as he walked behind the catcher's box. He was
ashamed to see the look on Michael's face, because Michael would know what had happened. He would know that Johnny had grounded
out — that Johnny wasn't anything like the great ball player he used to say he was.

Suddenly he heard a voice. Michael's!

“Johnny! Don't worry! You can't always get a hit, you know!”

Johnny turned, stared at Michael.' Michael seemed to be looking directly at him. On his face was a big grin. Beside him sat
Sand, thumping her tail.

Johnny's lips creased into a smile. The heavy weight in his heart disappeared. “Hi, Michael! I — I'll see you after the game!
Okay?”

“You bet!” said Michael.

Mickey Bonzell pinch-hit for Kenny. He hit a high bounder to third. The third baseman threw the ball to first for the put-out,
and the game was over.

The Rangers were the winners, 5 to 4.

Somehow Johnny did not mind it so much. Something more important to him than winning the ball game had happened.

He met Michael and his mother and father after the game, and every one of them was wearing a big happy smile. Even Sand was
happy. Sand could not know who had won the game, but it made no difference. When the Doane family was happy, Sand was happy,
too.

“You played a good game, Johnny,” Michael said. “Too bad you lost, but you can't always win.”

“That's right,” said Johnny softly.

“Daddy kept telling me about it,” Michael went on. “That was a nifty throw, too, when you threw the man out. Boy, that must've
been a throw.”

Johnny blinked. “Daddy told you —everything?”

Michael shrugged. “Well — not exactly all of it. I told him not to. I wanted you to tell me about the game, too — if you will.”

“Sure, I will! But I'm really not a good player, Michael. I used to tell you that I was. But I'm not. I make errors. And I
strike out. I struck out today with two men on.”

The smile vanished from Michael's lips. But just for a second, and then it carne back again.

“Well, jimminies, a guy strikes out sometimes. He can't always hit the ball, can he? Even in the big leagues they strike out.”

Johnny wet his lips. “You — you mean it's all right with you? I mean — you're not disgusted with me because I — I'm not such
a hot player?”

Michael nodded. “I'm not disgusted with you, Johnny! Jimminies, I'm your brother!”