Challenge at Second Base (4 page)

S
tan held the
Courier-Star
open to the sports pages, and was reading the Falcons’ box score of the game with the Steelers.

a — Flied out for Smith in 5th; b — Singled for Newman in 6th; c — Struck out for Lee in 7th, d — Grounded out for Hart in
7th; e — Popped out for Marion in 7th.

Falcons … 203 200 0 — 7

Steelers … 000 000 0 — 0

Presently he sensed somebody watching him. He lowered the newspaper and saw Dottie standing behind him with her hands on her
hips and a flattering smile on her lips.

“Bet I know what you’re reading,” she said.

He grinned, and looked back at the paper. “Maybe you do,” he answered.

“Oh, don’t be so rude,” said Dottie. “You got a hit, and you guys won, didn’t you? What more do you want?”

“Nothing,” he said. He recalled that she had gone out with Jeb Newman the other night, and he went cold all over.

“Why did you go out with that Jeb Newman guy?” he said, talking through the paper. “What’s the matter with Joe Warner? Or
Tom Miller? You’ve been out with them before.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” she said. “But Jeb’s nice, too.” She laughed. “You’re just prejudiced.”

He stared at her over the edge of the paper. “Preju-what?”

“Prejudiced. You don’t like him because his brother Gary is working hard to be the regular second baseman on the team, and
you want to play second base yourself.”

He closed the paper hard, folded it, and tossed it on the coffee table.

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Stan said, and started to walk past his sister on his way out of the room.

She grabbed his arm. “Stan,” she said, “don’t be like that. Jeb is really a nice guy.”

He looked up into her green eyes. There was a gentleness in them that brought a smile to his lips.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I am preju — whatever that word is.”

“Prejudiced.” She laughed.

“Maybe I am prejudiced.” He echoed her laughter, then turned, and walked out.

The Falcons practiced at five-thirty that afternoon. Jeb was hitting grounders to Gary when the rest of them arrived at the
field.
Boy!
Stan thought.
Gary really wants to make sure he plays!

Coach Bartlett had the boys bat around twice — hitting five and laying one down. Then he showed them how to bunt. Stan watched
with strong interest. He had always thought that bunting was just for somebody who couldn’t hit. But now he heard the coach
explain how really important it was.

“A good bunt can advance a man from first to second,” he said, “and put that man in a position to score. If a man is on third
the batter can squeeze him in. A lot of games have been won with a run squeezed in, so don’t take bunting lightly.”

On Friday they played the Jaguars. Gary started at second. In the first two innings he handled three grounders without an
error. The Jaguars played good defensive ball and began hitting Lefty Kellar hard. The score was tied in the fifth, 3-all.
With one out and men on first and third, Coach Bartlett put Tommy Hart in to pitch.

A hit meant at least one run. An extra-base drive could mean two runs.

Tommy threw in some warm-up pitches, then waited for the hitter to enter the batting box. Tension mounted and the infielders
began chattering in what sounded like a lot of jumbled words.

“Getimout, Tommy! Getimout!”

“Throweminthere, Tom! Strikeimout!”

Tommy stepped on the rubber, stretched, and delivered.
Crack!
The ball zipped across the infield close to second base. Gary ran hard, reached for the hop, caught it, and snapped the ball
to shortstop Don Marion covering the bag. Don whipped the ball to first.

In time! A double play!

“Nice play, Gary,” said the coach, as the second baseman came trotting in. “Fielded that ball like a major leaguer. Nice play,
Don.”

Then the Falcons broke the tie. With a man on first, Duffy Powers socked a double and George Page singled. The Falcons went
ahead by two runs.

Stan replaced Gary at second. He snagged a pop fly, then bobbled a grounder. He picked up the ball quickly and, almost without
looking, snapped the ball to first. The ball went wide, and the runner advanced to second.

However, the Jaguars didn’t score. Neither did they push across any runs in the final inning, and the score ended with the
Falcons coming out on top, 5 to 3.

On July 5, Stan played the first three innings and bobbled two grounders. One of them resulted in a run for the opponents,
the Red Devils. But the Falcons managed to keep ahead from the first inning on and won again, 3 to 1.

We’re lucky to win,
thought Stan.
I’m playing as if I’m a real rookie!

He was worried out there. He was thinking about how much better Gary Newman was than he. That was why he kept bobbling so
many grounders.

Phil was right. You can love the game with all your heart. But your heart can get hurt awfully easy.

The same thing was happening to Stan that had happened to Phil.

8

T
he hot July days skipped by quickly. Stan almost forgot about the mysterious letter he had received. He had thought that some
member of his family had sent it — perhaps his Dad — but he wasn’t sure.

So far Phil hadn’t seen the Falcons play. Stan didn’t encourage him, either. Dad and Mom went as often as they could, and
so did Dottie.

“I don’t see what you’re worried about,” said Dad after the Falcons’ game with the Clippers. “You got a hit and made two assists.
Is that bad?”

It did not happen to be bad that time, but the Falcons had lost the game, 7 to 4. Then
the Comets gave them a lacing, 6 to 2, a game in which Stan went without a hit. However, he didn’t feel so bad. Some of the
others went hitless, too, including Duffy Powers.

One warm afternoon, as they were riding in Phil’s boat, Larry remarked to Stan and Tommy, “You know, there’s one guy who surprises
me on our ball team.”

“Who?” said Stan.

They were discussing baseball, trying to figure out why the Falcons had lost their third game in a row yesterday. In that
game they had gone two extra innings. Then a triple broke the tie, ending the game in the Red Devils’ favor, 7 to 6.

“Gary Newman,” said Larry. “That guy’s really gone to town. Know what his batting average is?”

Stan turned away and looked at the waves swirling alongside the fast-moving boat. He
knew, all right. And so did everybody else on the team.

“Three-seventy-two,” said Tommy. “The highest on the team.”

“And he hasn’t missed many at second,” went on Larry.

Maybe he didn’t realize he was “rubbing it in” Stan. And maybe he did. It was a wonder Stan wasn’t benched for good.

The boys had played catch on shore and had brought their gloves and a ball on board with them. Now Stan struck the dark, oily
pocket of his fielder’s glove hard with his right fist. Why did the guys keep bringing up Gary’s name? He wished he had never
heard of Gary Newman.

“Hey, you guys!” yelled Phil suddenly. “Look what’s coming over that hill at our left!”

The three boys turned. A yell burst from all three. The northwestern sky was almost black. Mountainous clouds bore toward
them, twisting in the sky before a strong wind.

A streak of lightning flashed and then thunder rumbled.

“We’d better head for shore right now!” Phil said, turning the wheel of the craft. “Put on your life jackets! We can’t take
any chances!”

The boys each turned to pick up a life jacket. As Stan reached for his, the boat turned and he lost his balance. Quickly,
he caught himself, but his fielder’s glove slipped from his hand and went over the edge.

“My glove!” he shouted. “Phil! My glove!”

Panic overtook him as he saw his almost-new glove riding the crest of a wave, then gradually sinking.

If he didn’t do something right now, that glove would be gone forever!

Stan dived into the water and felt the pleasant shock of its warmth cover his body. He opened his eyes and looked around hastily.
Then he rose, whipped the water from his head and leaped high to look for the glove. Again and again he leaped, searching
the dark, greenish water.

Then he knew that the worst had happened. He’d never see that glove again.

9

Y
ou crazy fool!” yelled Phil as he slowed the boat alongside Stan so that Tommy and Larry could haul the boy in. “What’re you
trying to do? Drown?”

“I wanted to save my glove,” Stan murmured hoarsely.

“Save your glove?” Larry echoed. “You make it sound as if it was human.”

With his friends’ help, Stan got into the boat and sat on the rear seat. Instantly, Phil increased the throttle, and the boat
began speeding forward again.

“To blazes with the glove!” yelled Phil over his shoulder. “I’m trying to save us from being
hit by a storm and you want to save a glove! Try to top that, will you?”

Phil would say that, of course. Perhaps he had never felt the way Stan did about a glove. Perhaps that was why he didn’t care
about playing baseball any more.

“Here, put this on,” said Tommy, and helped Stan with a life jacket.

Stan steadied himself against the bouncing of the boat. Already the waves were rolling high. Drops of water fell upon them.
For a moment Stan wasn’t sure whether they came from the water about them or the heavy clouds swirling overhead.

Again lightening pierced the sky for a moment and then abruptly vanished. Again thunder rumbled.

The boys hung on for dear life to the sides of the boat. Ahead of them the shoreline seemed to be rising and falling. Trees
leaned under the power of the wind. Leaves broke
loose from their branches, flew swiftly and crazily through the air. Birds swooped low and high, carried every which way by
the wind. The drops fell thicker, and now Stan knew they were falling from those black clouds.

The boat lifted on the crest of a wave, then came down
smack!
The bow pierced the water, and gallons of the churning whiteness spilled into the boat, covering the boys’ feet.

Phil hung desperately onto the wheel to keep the boat from getting out of his control. It was up to him now. It was a fight
between him and the mad waters of the lake.

For a while the gap between the boat and the shore seemed to remain the same. Then slowly it closed, and Stan saw several
men appear on the dock. They were waiting to help pull in the boat and secure it.

Finally the boat rocked close to the dock. The boys tossed out the rope. The men caught
it, pulled the boat in against a pair of rubber tires, and secured it. The last
puff-puff
of the motor died away as Phil turned it off.