Too Hot to Handle (2 page)

David enjoyed watching Don play short. In the very first inning Don caught two grounders and whipped them like rifle shots
to first. They were easy-to-catch hops, but it was beautiful to watch Don play them. He did it with so little effort.

David paid strict attention to the third basemen of both teams. Since he was playing third now for the Flickers, he wanted
to learn all he could about how far away from the bag he should stand, how deep he should play and where to play when a bunt
situation came up.

The Redbirds won 6 to 5 on a last-inning home run. Don had socked two hits, both singles, and had about seven or eight assists
without an error.

“Too bad we lost that one,” David said to Don as they met outside the locker room.

Don shook his dark head. “Give credit when credit’s due,” he said. “That was a well-hit ball. Just came at the wrong time
for us, that’s all.”

Don was so laid back. Losses didn’t seem to bother him at all.

On Friday the Flickers tangled with the Waxwings, who had lost their first game to the Canaries 10 to 2. The Waxwings didn’t
have any spirit. They were up first, and neither the coaches at the bases nor the players on the bench did any yelling.

“They probably aren’t over their loss to the Canaries,” observed Rex as he came in to the bench after the Waxwings went down
one, two, three. “Look at them. They look half dead.”

Then, as if the Waxwings’ coach had heard Rex, he began to yell to his team: “Come on! Wake up, boys! Let’s hear some noise
out there! What happened? Lose your tongues?”

He was batting balls to the infielders. As if his words were a tonic, the infielders began to chatter, and immediately there
was life on the field.

“Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut,” said Rex.

On the mound for the Waxwings was Peter Parker, a southpaw. He was a tall, gangling boy with black hair sticking out from
under his baseball cap and hanging over his ears.

Leadoff man Ken Lacey stepped to the plate. He looked very short compared to Lefty Parker. Lefty wound up and delivered a
pitch that was a foot over Ken’s head. He delivered two more almost in the same place, then hit the plate with his fourth
pitch.

Ken walked to first.

“Let him pitch to you,” said Coach Beach as Chugger stepped to the plate.

Lefty put the first one over the heart of the plate. Chugger stepped out of the box and looked at the coach.

“Let him do it again,” said Coach Beach.

Lefty did it again, and the Waxwings’ fans roared. Chugger rubbed dirt on his hands, wiped it off on his pants and stepped
back into the box.

Lefty took his time on the mound. He stood
rubbing the ball in his bare hands and looking at Ken on first base.

David, who was coaching first, cupped his hands over his mouth. “Get ready, Ken. If it’s a good pitch Chugger has to hit it.
And if it’s on the ground — go!”

The next two pitches were balls. Then Chugger leaned into the next one and blasted it out to center field. Ken waited halfway
between first and second. The fielder caught the ball, and Ken went back to first.

Jimmy Merrill rapped a single over Lefty Parker’s head. Lefty missed it, and Ken advanced to second. Rex followed up with
another single to left field. Ken rounded third and started for home.

“Run hard! Run hard!” yelled Legs Mulligan, coach at third.

The peg from the Waxwings’ left fielder was just as true as could be. It came in as if on a string, and the catcher caught
it on the first hop.

“Slide, Ken! Slide!” yelled Marty Cass, who was standing nearby, his bat in hand.

Ken slid. Dust flared up as his feet plowed over the dirt and the plate, just a fraction of a second before the catcher tagged
him.

“Safe!” cried the umpire.

Jimmy went to third on the play and Rex to second. Marty Cass took a called strike, then grounded out to short.

Two away.

Bonesy was up. He weaved back and forth with his bat in front of him. No one held a bat like Bonesy. The coach had tried to
correct this fault. But with Bonesy it was no fault. He could still bring the bat back and swing it in time.

Lefty delivered two pitches — both balls. Then he sent in a perfect strike. The next was slightly high, but Bonesy swung at
it.

A smashing drive to left center field!

Jimmy scored. A short distance behind him came Rex.

David was up next. He swung at the first
pitch and missed. Then he hit a letter-high pitch to center that was caught, and the big rally was over.

The Flickers had scored three runs.

The Waxwings were a quiet, unhappy bunch as they sat in the dugout and watched their hitters go to the plate and be put out.
They had been up twice already, and neither time had a ball been hit to David.

The Flickers kept rolling. They scored again in the second and again in the third to bring their total to five. In the fourth
the Waxwings knocked out two doubles, one right after the other, and scored twice before the inning was over.

They managed to put another run across in the sixth inning, but that was all. They lost to the Flickers 6 to 3 and walked
off the field as silently as they had walked onto it.

David wasn’t a bit enthusiastic about his performance today. Not one ball had come to him at third. He had hit a double and
had flied out.
In the fifth Coach Beach had taken him out and put in Legs.

Somehow David was glad when the game ended.

An hour later David received a telephone call from Bonesy.

“I found a coin,” said Bonesy. “I think it’s one you need. Can I bring it over to you?”

“Of course,” said David. “Bring it right over, Bonesy.”

B
ESIDES playing baseball, David liked to collect coins. He had two folders of them. One held dimes, the other quarters. Grandpa
Miller, Mom’s father, had given David a good start. Coin collecting was Grandpa’s hobby, too.

David looked over his collections while he waited for Bonesy to come. The coins in both folders began with the year 1946.
There were three sides in each folder. Each side had slots in which to fit the coins. And under each slot was the year and
the number of coins minted that year.

The first side of the dime collection was filled, but the second side still lacked a few. The third side was for dimes that
would be minted in future years.

One of the missing dimes was a 1955. That year there were 12.8 million minted, according to the figures under the slot. David
had a 1961 dime but not a 1961—D. He had all the other dimes he needed.

He had started to look at the quarter folder when there was a knock on the door. David heard Ann Marie say, “Hello, Bonesy,”
and then she called to him that Bonesy was here.

“Come in, Bonesy!” said David.

Bonesy came into the room. He was wearing a T-shirt and had combed his hair neatly. He had used a lot of water to comb it,
because a few drops were still clinging to it at the ends.

“It’s a 1959—D quarter,” said Bonesy. “I knew you were looking for quarters with certain dates. That’s why I called you.”

David opened the folder and looked at the slot that was supposed to hold the 1959—D quarter. It was empty.

“Bonesy!” he cried happily. “It’s one that I need. Thanks. Thanks a million!”

Bonesy smiled as he handed the coin to David. David looked at the date to make sure Bonesy was right. Bonesy was. Then he
pressed the coin into the slot and looked at them all with pride.

“It’s almost filled, Bonesy,” he said. “All I need is a 1955—D, a 1954—S, a —”

“A 1953—D and a couple more,” finished Bonesy, laughing. “And, look — there were only three point two million of the 1955—D’s
made. Wow! Compared with some of those others, David, that isn’t many. Think you’ll ever get it?”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll just have to keep trying. How much do you want for the quarter?”

“Five bucks.”

“What?” cried David. “Five bucks?”

Bonesy chuckled. “Don’t get excited. I’ll settle for twenty-five cents.”

David smiled. “I’ll give you thirty cents when I get my allowance.”

Bonesy went over and sat on the edge of David’s bed. He crossed his arms and sat there awhile, not saying anything. David
knew there was something bothering him.

“What’s the matter, Bonesy?”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Bonesy. He looked squarely at David. “David, do you want to quit baseball? If you do, I’ll quit
with you.”

David stared. “Quit baseball? Me? What gave you that idea?”

Bonesy looked away again. “Those guys burn me up the way they talk about you. I even told Rex off, but it doesn’t do any good.”

“Oh,” said David. Now he knew what Bonesy was talking about. “I guess it’s true what they say, though. I’ll never play baseball
like my father. Or my two uncles. Guess I just wasn’t born to be a good ballplayer.”

“But they don’t have to say those things,” said Bonesy angrily. “You’re just as good as I am. You’re just as good as many
of them are. Look at Legs.”

David shook his head. “But his name isn’t Kroft.”

“That’s it,” said Bonesy. “That’s exactly it. That’s why I think it’s awful what they say.”

“Maybe I should take up tennis,” said David.

“But you need money for that,” said Bonesy.

“Yeah,” replied David. “That’s the trouble. He refolded his quarter album, placed it on top of the dime album and put them
both back into the drawer of his desk.

“Hit me grounders, will you, Bonesy?” David asked.

“If you say so,” said Bonesy. But he didn’t seem too happy about it.

David gathered up a bat, glove and baseball and went out to the front yard with Bonesy.

The Kroft house and all the other houses on
the block were set far back from the road, giving each plenty of yard space.

Bonesy stood with his back to the house to hit to David. In this way there would be no danger of breaking a window if he accidentally
hit the ball too high.

As David walked toward the edge of the lawn to get into position to field Bonesy’s grounders, he spotted Mrs. Finch sitting
on the porch across the street. Her full name was Mrs. Gertrude Finch, and there wasn’t a person in Penwood who didn’t know
her. She hardly ever cracked a smile. She hardly ever said nice things to people’s faces.

Still, everyone in town liked her. People knew that when she talked back to them in her harsh way she didn’t really mean it.

There was one thing about her, though, that David didn’t like. Others didn’t like it, either. Mrs. Finch belonged to several
organizations in town. In every one of them she urged the
members to help do away with many of the sports activities, which, she said, were “turning the beautiful town of Penwood into
a sports arena.”

David couldn’t understand why she was so dead set against sports. Mr. Finch wasn’t like that at all. As a matter of fact,
he attended all the games and enjoyed them. What’s more, he bowled.

But that was the way Mrs. Finch was, and nobody could do anything about it. Not even Mr. Finch.

“There’s old Crabface,” said Bonesy. “Move over. We wouldn’t want the ball to go bouncing into her yard if you missed it.
We’d never see it again.”

A few moments later Mom and Ann Marie left the house. “We’ll be back shortly, David,” said Mom. “We’re going up to see Mrs.
White’s new baby.”

“Where’s Dad?” asked David.

“He had to go to a meeting. He shouldn’t be gone long, though. Be careful with that baseball, now.”

“We will,” promised David.

David smiled to himself. Dad belonged to organizations, too. He had helped organize the little league baseball teams and the
town team on which Don played. He had helped to organize the Boy Scout troop and had led the fund drive for the new skating
rink. He was in nearly every young people’s community project that took place in Penwood.

Of course he and Mrs. Finch had arguments about the sports that Dad had helped to bring to Penwood. And the sports’ being
there was proof that Dad had always won out.

But was Mrs. Finch mad at Dad because he had won? Absolutely not! Mrs. Finch was indeed a most peculiar person. David knew
it was just a waste of time for anyone to try to figure her out.

Bonesy kept hitting him grounders. Once in a while Bonesy would hit a hard one. Sometimes David caught it; sometimes he didn’t.

And then Bonesy knocked one real hard that David misjudged. The ball bounced up, hit him on the eye, and David fell back onto
the lawn. He let out a yell, threw aside his glove and clamped his hands over the eye.

“I’m sorry, David!” Bonesy cried. “I’m sorry!”

David lay on the ground awhile, not moving. He could practically feel the swelling grow under his hand. Boy, did it hurt!

“Look who’s coming!” whispered Bonesy. “Old Crabface!”

David started to rise to his feet. He was a little dizzy. He bowed his head and tried to keep from swaying.

“David,” came Mrs. Finch’s strong voice, “did you get hit with a baseball?”

David nodded. He could hear her snort.

She put an arm around his shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll take you to a doctor.”