Challenge at Second Base (6 page)

The first pitch was a called strike. The second was in there, too. The batter swung.
Crack!
A hot grounder down to second, right at Stan!

He had to make his decision — right
now!
Home, or first?

He caught the hop, whipped it home. Out! Larry snapped the ball to third. Safe by half a step!

“Nice peg, Stan!” said Tommy, smiling.

One away. Still three on.

A high pop fly to third, going foul, with Mose Finn going under it. Mose had taken Jim’s place. A warm relief came over Stan.
Mose will catch this ball and I won’t have to worry about a double play,
he thought.

The ball came down, a small, white meteor.
It struck Mose’s glove, and bounced out!

“Get a basket!” somebody shouted from the stands.

“Butterfingers!” Stan muttered to himself.

The next pitch was a ground ball to short. Stan raced to cover second. Gary fielded the ball and snapped it hard to Stan.

The ball struck the thumb of Stan’s glove and sailed past him!

He turned, ran after the ball, and picked it up. But it was too late. A runner had just crossed the plate.

“Come on, Stan!” shouted Gary, angrily. “Hold on to ’em!”

Stan blushed. Even though it was the Steelers’ first run, Stan felt that it was his fault. Gary had thrown that ball a little
too hard, but he still should have had it.

Tommy fanned the next man, and the boys hustled off the field.

“You threw that ball too hard, Gary,” accused
Coach Bartlett. “When you’re that close to second, throw it easier. Watch it the next time.”

Stan looked, baffled, at the coach, and then at Gary, who went silently to the dugout. So the coach had noticed. Suddenly,
he felt a lot better.

The Falcons went on to win the game, 8 to 1.

12

I
need a vacation,” said Phil just before August rolled around. “I haven’t been away from home in a long time.”

Dad smiled. “Where do you want to go?”

Phil shrugged. “South somewhere. Georgia. Florida. Just to see some country I haven’t seen before.”

Phil had no steady job. He had worked on construction for a while, on the new senior high school. Then he had had a job as
a stock clerk in a computer factory. He seldom complained, but he hadn’t acted satisfied with either job.

“Boy! Wish I could go with you,” cried Stan.

“Maybe you can — sometime,” Phil said, pinching Stan’s nose. “But not this time.”

“We’ll miss you,” Dottie said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. “But I think a two weeks’ vacation will do you good.”

Phil laughed. “Want to get rid of me?”

“Just for two weeks,” replied his sister, and kissed him on the cheek.

Phil looked at Stan. “If you want any rides in the boat, little buddy, Dad will take you. Don’t you ever take it out by yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” said Stan. “Jeez, don’t you think I know?”

Phil packed his suitcase, and Dad drove him to the bus station.

“Write,” Dad said.

“I will,” Phil promised.

Things did not go very well around second base during the practice sessions. Stan felt sure he knew what it was. Gary just
didn’t like the idea of Stan’s taking over at second.

Was second base very different from shortstop? Stan didn’t think so, yet it could be only for that reason that Gary acted
that way.

Jeb was almost always at the practices, too, sitting in the dugout with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms
crossed over his chest. He had dated Dottie again and Stan didn’t like that at all. There were so many real nice guys. Why
did she have to go out with him?”

The funny part of it was, Stan really couldn’t think of anything bad about Jeb. Maybe he just didn’t
want
to like Jeb because he showed Gary pointers on the ball field. Phil never had done that with Stan.

In a way, when you thought about it, Phil was a strange sort of guy.

Gary played the entire game at short against the Red Devils. Once, a double-play ball, he threw the pill too hard to Stan
just as he had done before, and Stan missed it.
The very next pitch was hit for a grounder and Stan didn’t get his glove down low enough. The ball sizzled through his legs
to the outfield and a run scored.

“The coach must be blind if he thinks you’re an infielder,” said Gary with a very angry look on his face.

A double drove in another run for the Red Devils. Stan was glad when Fuzzy Collins took his place in the fourth inning.

Two runs were all the Red Devils scored. The Falcons beat them, 5 to 2.

They trimmed the Comets, 11 to 1, and on August 4 they played the Steelers again. No team was worried about the Steelers.
Whoever had named that team must have figured that they would be tough as nails. But the Steelers were in the cellar and by
the looks of things would stay there.

The Falcons had a field day against them. Everybody batted around at least three times, and some four and five. Stan and Gary
pulled off two sparkling double plays. Two other times Gary snapped the ball too wildly for Stan to catch. Gary said nothing
at these times, as if he knew Stan couldn’t possibly have caught those throws.

The Falcons had a lot of men left on. Otherwise the score would have been worse than 9 to 3.

Picture post cards came from Phil. They were stamped in Atlanta, Georgia; Memphis, Tennessee; and Nashville, Tennessee.

“Boy! He’s really traveling!” murmured Stan excitedly.

Then, for a few days during the second week of Phil’s vacation, there was no word from him.

“He’s sent us a card almost every day,” Mom said. “Guess he wants to rest a while.”

But Mom looked worried. Of course there was no reason why she should be worried, but Mom was like that. Dad got a little disgusted
with her.

“He’s a man now, Jen. He can take care of himself. You have to get used to that fact.”

“I know,” Mom said quietly. “But it isn’t easy.”

And then, exactly on the day that was to end Phil’s two weeks’ vacation, Mom and Dad received a letter from him.

Hello, everybody! Sorry I haven’t dropped you even a post card these last few days, but I’ve been very busy. Doing what? Well,
listen! I have just signed with Harport! Yes, I’m back with them, and I’m happy! I’ll have to come home for some of my things,
and to tell my boss I’m quitting. Until then, be good and be cheerful!

Love,

Phil

13

P
hil flew home and Dad drove to the airport to meet him. Stan went along, too, excited as ever over the news about Phil’s playing
professional baseball again.

Phil had barely climbed down the steps from the plane when Stan rushed up to him and asked:

“How are you doing, Phil? Are you hitting that apple?”

Phil grinned, and pinched Stan’s nose as he sometimes did. “Maybe not like Mantle, but I’m hitting. Let’s wait till I get
home and I’ll tell you all about it. Right now I’m so hungry I could eat a bear!”

Mom and Dottie kissed Phil as if he had
been away a year. Then Mom cooked a quick meal and everybody sat around the table listening to Phil talk while he tried to
eat.

“Oh, let the poor boy eat,” said Mom.

But whenever Phil said anything, she was all ears too.

“So you took your vacation just for the purpose of trying out with Harport again,” said Dad, grinning.

“That’s right,” answered Phil between bites, his glance swinging from one to the other. “I wanted to play baseball again.
Matter of fact, nobody really knows how much I missed it and wanted to play.”

His eyes rested on Stan for a moment, then turned away. I know, Stan thought. I know
exactly
how he felt.

Phil said he had to return to Harport day after tomorrow. They were playing a night game.

“Oh, boy!” said Stan, and looked up at Dad
with wide, eager eyes. “Can we go back with Phil, Dad? Can we see him play?”

“That’s a good idea!” said Phil. Smiling, he tapped his left hip pocket where his wallet was. “I signed for a nice bonus.
The trip will be on me. Better yet, how about Mom and Dottie going, too?”

“Nothing doing!” cried Mom. “No airplane trips for me! I’m keeping my feet on the ground!”

“Mom,” said Dottie, “don’t be so oldfashioned. We’ll make the trip. Phil will buy us all round-trip tickets, and we’ll go.
Right, big brother?”

“Right!” said Phil.

Mom insisted she wasn’t going by air, and that was that. She kept her word, too, at least until the next afternoon.

Once again Dad got disgusted with her.

“All right,” he said. “If you’re not going, neither am I.”

“Oh, no,” Mom said. “You’re going.
I’m
staying home.”

When the plane departed the next afternoon, Phil, Stan, Dottie, Dad
and
Mom were on it.

Stan laughed when the plane taxied down the long runway, and then took off. Mom had her eyes closed. It wasn’t until the plane
was quite high that she opened them again and dared a glance out of the window.

“Oh, my,” she said.

She was quiet for a while, fascinated by the view passing slowly underneath them. The earth below stretched out like a giant
patchwork quilt. Hills loomed in the distance. Rivers wound crookedly, finally emptying into small lakes that flashed the
sunlight like tiny mirrors.

“This is beautiful,” Mom finally said. “Really beautiful.”

At her side, Dad grinned with satisfaction,
winked at Stan, and then leaned his head back to rest.

The game, played under lights, drew a large crowd. Stan and his family sat in reserved seats, directly behind the Harport
dugout. Phil, dressed in his white uniform, winked at them as he walked past. Broad-shouldered and head held high, he looked
even taller than he did in regular clothes.

The game got under way. Phil played short, and Stan watched him eagerly. It had been a long time since he had seen Phil play.
Phil moved lightly on his feet, and he threw the ball like a bullet.

Each time a ball galloped down to short, Stan bit his lip. But Phil played the ball like the professional he was, catching
the hop and whipping it to first for the put-out. Once he worked a double play without an assist. The ball was hit to his
side of second base. Running
hard, he nabbed the ball in his gloved hand, stepped on the bag, then pegged to first.

Then, in the fifth inning, he fumbled a hard-hit grounder. He finally picked up the ball and fired it to first, but the runner
was already there.

“Oh-oh,” muttered Dad.

Stan got nervous. How would Phil act now? Would that error bother him so that he might miss another? Or would he not play
as well as he had been playing the earlier part of the game?

In the seventh inning a hard-driven ball headed between third and short. There were two outs, and a man was on third. Harport
trailed by one run. This extra run would be an “insurance” run for the other team.

Phil’s too far from it! thought Stan. He just can’t possibly get that ball!

Then Phil stretched out his
bare right hand,
caught the ball, and pegged it to first!
The throw was long, swift, and accurate. It beat the runner by a step!

“Wow!” gasped Dad. “Did you see that?”

“Man, what a catch!” cried Stan.

The fans gave Phil a big hand.

So far, at the plate, Phil had grounded out and drawn a walk. Now, with a man on, he stepped into the batter’s box again.
He was a right-hand hitter. He stood tall and loose.

The pitches came in, and he looked them over carefully. At last he had a full count on him — three and two.

“This is the one that counts,” whispered Stan excitedly.

The pitch came in, and Phil smacked it. It sailed far out to left, over the fielder’s head! The ball struck the fence and
bounced back. A run scored and Phil stopped on third base with a triple.

The next hitter scored Phil. Harport kept ahead the rest of the game and won it, 4 to 3.

The crowd cheered, and then began to drift out of the ball park.

Dad stood up, a pleased smile on his lips.