The Reluctant Pitcher (3 page)

Helen was looking at his lips again. And then she shook her head no.

W
ally, Chris, and Sawbones began practicing at the baseball field. Sawbones knocked out flies to Wally. Wally pegged them back
in to him, trying hard to make the ball strike the ground in front of Chris so that Chris could catch the first bounce.

A little while later, a couple other guys showed up. Wally asked one of them to get on second, the other on third. He practiced
throwing to them. When he saw his throws curving to the left, he remembered Cab Lacey’s suggestion to throw overhand instead
of sidearm.

He tried it a few times and found that his throws were more accurate, especially when throwing to second and pegging the real
long ones to third.

Cab Lacey sure knew what he was talking about. Remembering that conversation made Wally think about Cab Lacey’s daughter.

She wasn’t stuck-up at all. Sawbones had been wrong.

Sawbones had apparently been thinking the same thing. When the boys took a break, he said he was feeling bad about the terrible
things he’d yelled at Helen. “I wish I could swallow my own tongue sometimes,” he moaned.

Wally laughed. “Look on the bright side. Maybe something awful will happen to you as punishment for your evil ways!” he said
jokingly.

“I wish!” Sawbones replied.

Most of the boys got tired after two hours
and quit. Sawbones wanted to keep on practicing. But Sawbones . . . he’d practice all day long if he had someone to practice
with. He’d never quit.

On Wednesday the Pacers played the Fireballs. Pitching for the Fireballs was Kim Shields, who was the best pitcher in the
entire league. He was chalking up more strikeouts than any other pitcher.

Luke Hutter wasn’t back yet from his Chicago trip, so Cab Lacey coached the Pacers again. Wally was glad when he saw Dick
Lewis warming up with Chris. That meant that Dick would be pitching and Wally would be in the outfield.

The Fireballs had first raps. Dick mowed them down — one, two, three. Lee, leading off for the Pacers, flied out. Then Sawbones
went down swinging for Kim Shields’s first strikeout.

Wally, batting third, watched Kim’s first two pitches carefully. He took a 1 and 1 count. Kim was a tall right-hander who
looked older than he was. He had a sidearm delivery that frightened a lot of batters because the ball shot toward the plate.
The batter often thought the ball was coming directly at him. He would step back and
zip!
A strike.

Kim stretched and delivered. Wally watched the ball closely. It was heading for the outside corner of the plate. Wally swung.
Ball met bat near the fat end and shot like a bullet down toward third. The third baseman was playing too far to his left
and couldn’t field the ball. Wally crossed first base for a single.

Rocky Newcome socked a long drive to center, but it was caught for the third out.

The Fireballs took the lead in the second inning by scoring a run. In the third inning
they fattened their margin by putting across two more.

Leading 3–0, the Fireballs began acting very confident. They strutted out to the field like bantam roosters in their white
uniforms with red trim and red caps. So far Kim Shields had netted five strikeouts. The Pacers had only three hits, and two
of them were singles off the bat of Wally Morris.

J.J. Adams led off in the bottom of the fourth. He leaped out of the box on Kim’s first pitch to keep from getting hit, then
fouled off three straight pitches. He took two balls for a count of 3 and 2, then leaned into a high pitch and sent it blasting
out to deep left center.

The fans jumped to their feet as the ball headed for the fence. It sure looked as if it were going over. Instead it struck
the fence about a foot from the top and bounced back. The left fielder raced after it, picked it up,
and pegged it to third. By that time J.J. was safely there, a neat triple to his credit.

“Come on, boys. Let’s get ’em,” Cab Lacey kept saying. He was rubbing his face and his nose as he sat there in the dugout.
Wally guessed what he was thinking. This was the second game Cab Lacey had coached in Luke Hutter’s absence. He had lost the
first one; now he was losing the second. Luke Hutter might not like that at all.

They couldn’t score any more that inning. In the top of the fifth, the Fireballs really got on to Pacers pitcher Dick Lewis.
With two outs, they hit two singles in a row. The third was a line drive right between Dick’s legs. J.J. made a perfect peg
from center to the pitcher’s mound, keeping a runner from scoring.

Cab called time. He had Terry Towns warming up in the bull pen. He walked out to Dick, put his arm around his shoulders,
and walked off the field with him. The way Dick lowered his head and smacked the ball into the pocket of his glove, you knew
exactly how he felt. The Pacers’ fans cheered him.

Terry went in and threw some warm-up pitches to Chris, then the game resumed.

The pitch sizzled in.
Sock!
A blow to right field! It was high — higher than Wally had ever seen hit to right on this field before.

Wally ran back, keeping his eye on the ball. Man, it was high.

The ball looked blurry for a moment. It was coming down. It looked so small, like a white pill.

Wally held out his glove.
Smack!
The ball struck the side of his glove — and bounded to the ground!

A shrill cry rose from the Pacers’ fans. A cry of utter dismay!

“Oh, Wally!” J.J. groaned from center field.

Wally picked up the ball and pegged it as hard as he could to home. The first run scored. The second runner tried to score,
too, but the throw was perfect and Chris tagged him out.

“Tough luck, Wally,” said Cab Lacey as Wally ran in from the field. “That was a pretty high ball.”

“Let’s get those runs back,” said Rocky Newcome. “That Kim isn’t so hot.”

Lee started it off with a single. Sawbones flied out. Wally kept it going with a double, his third hit of the game, scoring
Lee. Rocky singled, scoring Wally, but that was as far as they went. J.J. popped out to the pitcher, and Pete Jason, pinch-hitting
for Steve Collins, struck out.

The Fireballs couldn’t do a thing in the top of the sixth. But neither could the Pacers when they came to bat. The game went
to the Fireballs, 4–3.

T
he Pacers were at the field again on Saturday morning. Cab Lacey was there, and so was Luke Hutter. Mr. Hutter had flown back
from his business trip the day before.

From the expression on Luke Hutter’s face, Wally knew that something was bothering him. But Coach Hutter didn’t say anything.
Not until Cab Lacey mentioned it to him first.

The men were standing in a corner of the dugout. Most of the team had taken their positions in the field. Wally had stopped
to tie his shoe outside the dugout. He hadn’t
meant to eavesdrop, but then he heard his name.

“Guess Wally Morris’s faith in my coaching didn’t bear out,” Cab said. “We lost both games.”

Luke Hutter, ready with a bat and ball to start hitting grounders to the infielders, cleared his throat.

“I don’t mind that too much, Cab,” he said. “That could happen even with me coaching. But why did you put him in right field?”

“That’s the position he can play best,” Mr. Lacey answered.

“Because Wally said so? He’s a bashful boy, Cab. He just
thinks
he can play right better than he can pitch. But that boy can throw. He has the physique of a pitcher. And he’s left-handed.
He has everything a kid needs to be a great pitcher when he gets older.”

“Tall left-handers make good outfielders, too, Luke,” replied Mr. Lacey. “There’s nothing wrong in letting Wally play right
field. With that arm of his, he can throw a man out at third and at home. And he hits better when he’s in the outfield because
he’s more confident in that position. He got three for three against the Fireballs.”

“Yes. And he missed a fly ball that gave the game to them, too,” Luke Hutter answered quickly.

“He made a good try,” said Mr. Lacey. “That ball was real high.”

“Cab,” Luke said, “let’s not stand here and argue about it like a couple of old fools. I’ve had a lot of baseball experience.
I can tell who could make it as a pitcher and who could make it as an outfielder. I think that if Wally played any position
other than pitcher, he’d lose out on his best opportunity in baseball.”

Wally was hurt that Cab Lacey was blamed for putting him in the outfield, and embarrassed that they were talking about him.
He picked up a ball and had started away when Mr. Lacey called him back.

“There you are, Wally. Say, do you know who Mr. Hutter played with? Some professional team?”

“No. He just played with a team around here, Mr. Lacey. My dad used to play with him.” He squinted against the bright morning
sun. “Did you ever play with a professional team, Mr. Lacey?”

“Had about five years’ experience in minor league baseball, Wally,” answered Cab. A warm light twinkled in his eyes. “I was
with Williamsport in the New York—Pennsylvania league most of the time.”

Wally stared in surprise. “Wow! What position did you play?”

“Some guy who thought he knew a lot
about baseball had tried to make a pitcher out of me. After a few years, my arm went bad and I couldn’t play any other position.
Without a throwing arm, you won’t find a place in baseball, Wally. Well, better get going. Chris is waiting for you.”

After practice all the boys began leaving the field. Luke Hutter asked Wally to wait.

“I have to tell you, Wally,” Mr. Hutter said. His voice was friendly, his eyes the warmest blue Wally had ever seen them.
“You really reminded me of my son, Del, out there today. I suppose that might sound foolish to you. But it isn’t. You two
were great pals. I had figured on both of you being on my pitching staff this year. I hope that’s what you want, too.”

Wally’s throat was dry. He looked at Luke Hutter for a minute, then looked away. He got to thinking about the boat ride two
years
ago. He got to thinking about the explosion and about Mr. Hutter’s pulling Del out of the water and swimming back out after
him. He would have drowned if it weren’t for Luke Hutter.

He met Mr. Hutter’s warm blue eyes.

“Uh, sure, Coach,” he said. “I mean, of course I’ll pitch.”

Coach Hutter clapped him on the back. “I knew it! You’ll be great once you get the hang of it.”

But Wally wasn’t so sure. No, he wasn’t sure about that at all.

T
he day the Pacers were scheduled to play the Blue Raiders was gray and dismal. It looked as if it might rain, and Wally hoped
that it would. He wouldn’t have to pitch then.

He was just wondering what he would do for the afternoon when the phone rang. It was Sawbones.

“Dad’s going over to the dairy farm today to give all the cows their shots. He needs someone to record their ear numbers so
he can be sure he got them all, and he won
dered if we’d like to do it. You want to come along with us?”

“Sure,” Wally replied. He wasn’t as crazy about the big animals as Sawbones was, but sometimes the farmer had other animals,
like dogs or goats. He checked with his mother.

“Okay,” she said. “Be back by supper-time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Into the telephone he said, “Okay, Sawbones. I can go. See you in a little while.”

Sharon was in the backyard, practicing gymnastics. She was wearing a white T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, and a ribbon around
her head to keep her hair from falling all over her face.

It seemed as if she could twist her body any way she wanted to. She laid her hands flat against the grass and lifted her legs
slowly into the air. When she had them straight up, she held herself steady for a few moments, then did a quick somersault
backwards, landed on her feet, and slid her legs straight out into opposite directions — a perfect split.

She was really graceful at it. She had performed several times at the school and was sometimes asked to perform between acts
of a play and at social functions.

She liked to play volleyball and Ping-Pong, too. Wally was secretly proud of her. He never told her so because she seemed
to suspect it anyway.

Half an hour later, Wally and Sawbones were writing down numbers as Dr. Davis’s assistant called them out. They helped out
for an hour, then Dr. Davis told them they could take a break and look around for a while. “Just be sure you’re back here
in half
an hour so we can head for home,” he reminded the boys before they took off.

“Let’s go to the dairy store and see if we can get a couple of chocolate milks,” Sawbones suggested.

“Okay,” said Wally. There was nothing he liked better than a frosty cold glass of milk. The chocolate was a bonus.

Then Wally thought about the game scheduled to start at six o’clock. He had no idea what time it was. Neither he nor Sawbones
wore a wristwatch. And he couldn’t tell anything from the sun, because it hadn’t been out all day. It was as cloudy and sultry
now as it had been hours ago.

They walked up the long driveway to the white stucco building where the dairy store was. To the right of the building was
the large white house where Mr. Riker, the owner of the dairy farm, lived. Beyond the stucco building were the great red barns
in which
were housed the many cows that furnished the milk for the dairy.

In the summertime, the cows were permitted to graze outside in the huge fields of the farm. In the early morning hours of
each day, and in the evenings, they were brought into the barns and milked with electric milking machines.

Wally and Sawbones entered through the front door. There was a large glass-door refrigerator in a corner filled with containers
of milk. On a table was a small cash register. There was no one in the room.

Sawbones led the way into a large room where all the machines that filled the containers with milk were kept. The place was
silent. No one was around.

“Hello!” Sawbones called.