Highpockets (16 page)

Still Duveen was not through. He rose to the occasion as he had so many times, and choked off the rally and the roar of the crowd simultaneously. That roar, from every portion of the stands, died suddenly as Jocko hit a deep fly which the St. Louis center fielder caught and Spike, trying desperately to advance Highpockets, hit a pop-up which the pitcher nabbed between the mound and first base. So the winning run was still on first with two men out.

Bob Russell strolled up to face the tired hurler, who seemed to be getting out of this jam as he had been doing all afternoon. The noise died off; the fans couldn’t take it any more. They felt that the game would go on forever. They could have turned on the lights and played all night without another score, so well was Duveen pitching, so evenly were the two teams matched.

The break came when it was least expected. Bob fouled off a couple of pitches upstairs, and then smashed a wicked line drive just inside first base. The first baseman stabbed for it and missed, and the ball rolled out into foul ground in deep right. Highpockets’ long legs ate up the ground as he raced for third. By this time the relay was coming in to the second baseman, who stood with his back to the plate out on the grass toward right field.

Charlie Draper sized up the situation at a glance. There was a chance—the unexpected, the daring play, a tired man in the field, a speedster on the basepaths. It might work. He gave Highpockets the green light and Highpockets went. Rounding third without hesitation, he wheeled and raced for home.

The second baseman turned, saw Highpockets pass third on his way to the plate, and started at the sight. A quick and accurate throw would have cut him down easily with feet to spare. But the fielder had to recover from that momentary shock of surprise. He drew back and let go hurriedly. The throw was short. The Card catcher had to take several steps forward for the ball, and Highpockets slid in safely through a monsoon of dust.

Confusion! Noise! The crowd on its feet, shrieking. Up above, the organ playing, “Leave Us Go Watch The Dodgers, Rogers.” The whole team is out at the plate, surrounding Highpockets as he rises from the dirt. Here comes Spike rushing from the dugout. He grabs off the big fellow’s cap and ruffles up his hair. He pounds him on the back. He jams the cap back on his head once more.

There goes Highpockets toward the dugout! Now he’s tipping his cap—to a kid frantically waving a scorecard at him from the front box over the Dodger dugout.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 1948 by Lucy R. Tunis

cover design by Milan Bozic

978-1-4532-2113-6

This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media

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