Miracle at the Plate (4 page)

“Oh, sure. Most kids I know …”

There was another loud rackety sound. This time three kids, two of them girls, were riding skateboards down the sidewalk.
“That’s Jim Buckley,” said Alan. “He’s an outfielder on our team.”

“Those children!” Mom cried. “Aren’t they afraid?”

Aunt Arlene laughed and waved a hand, and you knew that this sight wasn’t anything new to her.

Aunt Arlene cooked supper. Afterwards Skeeter asked Mom and Dad if he could go out and ride Alan’s skateboard.

Mom and Dad exchanged looks, and for a moment Skeeter’s hopes began to fade. He knew they were afraid he might get hurt.

“I won’t get hurt,” he promised, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’ll be all right if he stays on the sidewalk next to the house,” said Bob. “He can’t get too hurt where it’s level.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other again. Then Dad nodded, giving his okay. “All right,” said Mom. “But be careful.”

Skeeter grinned at them. “Thanks!”

“Just remember that you don’t want to be on the disabled list if the Milky Ways need your hitting,” reminded Dad.

“Who’s going to get hurt?” cried Skeeter. “Come on, Alan! Let’s go!”

Alan got his skateboard and they went outside. The skateboard was really jazzy looking — bright blue with silver zigzags and
neat stickers Alan must have collected. Skeeter couldn’t wait to try it out.

“Put your left foot on the board and push yourself along with your other foot,” said Alan. “Like this.”

He showed Skeeter what he meant. After the skateboard got rolling, Alan placed his other foot on the board too, coasted to
the street sidewalk, turned around, and stopped just inside the yard. He gave a hard push with his right foot and the skateboard
coasted to the end of the walk where Skeeter stood waiting.

Then Skeeter tried it. He started off exactly as Alan had. But he had hardly traveled ten feet when the skateboard started
for the lawn.

“Lean to the right!” shouted Alan.

Skeeter leaned to the right, but the skateboard kept going straight ahead and rolled off the sidewalk. The skateboard slowed
down as if it had struck molasses, and Skeeter went running off it to keep from falling.

Bob, who was relaxing on a lawn swing, laughed. “You have to lean with your feet,
too,” he said. “That’s how to steer it. Use your head.”

Skeeter laughed, too. “Make up your mind. My feet, or my head?”

He improved with each try, and finally managed to coast all the way to the street sidewalk.

“Look, Alan! I did it!” he cried happily.

Then fear gripped him. He couldn’t turn around. He tried to lean over, to steer the skateboard with his feet. It turned a
little, but not enough. It was heading for the street. And there was a car coming down.

S
keeter’s mind worked quickly. He lowered himself on the skateboard so that he was almost sitting on it, clutched its sides,
then sprang out both feet and pressed them against the sidewalk. He came to a stop right at the edge of the curb.

He looked up just as the car drove past. The driver didn’t give him as much as a glance.

“Boy! That was quick thinking!” said Alan, running up behind him.

Skeeter turned the skateboard around on
the walk. “One thing I have to learn,” he observed, “is to steer this thing.”

“It’s easy once you get used to it,” said Alan.

After a while Skeeter realized that he wasn’t going to learn to skateboard in one easy lesson. It certainly was going to take
more than a couple hours. He got tired of it and asked Alan if he’d like to play catch.

“Sure!” said Alan. He started running into the house, then stopped. “I’ve only got one glove.”

“Can’t you get another one?”

“I’ll borrow Jim’s,” said Alan. “Come on over and meet him.”

Jim Buckley lived on another block. Skeeter remembered him riding a skateboard like a blue streak down a sidewalk.

Jim pushed back a lock of dark brown hair and stuck out a hand as Alan introduced him to Skeeter. “Okay if the three of us
play?” he asked. “I’ve got two gloves.”

“Sure,” said Alan. The three boys played until it got dark, which wasn’t long afterwards. Then the two families sat in the
living room and talked and talked till Skeeter couldn’t keep his eyes open another minute. Tina Rose had been put in bed and
only the grown-ups seemed able to stay up a lot longer.

Skeeter plopped into bed with Alan. They talked until sleep overtook them practically at the same time.

The next morning Skeeter wrote a letter to Shadow.

Dear Shadow,

How is Gus? I hope that you’re not having any trouble feeding him. How are your mother and father?

We took a jetliner from New York City. Boy, was it fun! My cousin Alan has a skateboard and I’m learning to ride it. I
can ride it pretty good already, but my trouble is steering it. I almost rode it into the street yesterday.

I hope the Milky Ways trim the pants off the Jets tomorrow. And I hope that Roger Hyde and Tommy Scott both strike out every
time. … No, I don’t either. Guess I shouldn’t say that. Mom will probably read this letter and she’ll probably cross out what
I said about those guys. Also I feel sorry for Tommy about his dog Pancho. I guess I’ll never forget that. Is he getting along
okay? Pancho, I mean.

Thanks for feeding Gus for me. We’re all fine.

Your friend,

Skeeter

Mom read the letter, but she didn’t cross out a single word. At one part she smiled, and Skeeter figured it was the part about
Roger and Tommy. Dad couldn’t read it. He had gone hunting with Bob and Uncle Don before the younger boys had gotten out of
bed. Bob had gone along just in hopes he might see a moose, or a mountain lion, or anything else that was big and wild. He
carried no gun. He didn’t care about hunting.

How was Pancho? Skeeter wondered. Was he able to walk around yet? To run? Then Skeeter realized that it was only a few days
ago that he and Shadow had been walking up the road with Pancho inside a basket and Tommy Scott and his sister had come along.
What a moment that was! It would be one he’d long remember.

Poor Pancho. And poor Tommy, too. Guess it must’ve been terrible worrying about Pancho all that time. Not knowing where he
was, or what had happened to him.
It was all wrong not to have told
Tommy about striking the Chihuahua with my bike,
thought Skeeter.
I should’ve told him right away instead of taking Pancho to the vet and then waiting and waiting. No wonder Tommy called me
a meathead. I deserved it. His heart must’ve been busted to pieces all that time.

Thinking about Pancho made him also think about Gus. He sure missed Gus. Imagine being away from him for almost two weeks.
Skeeter had an idea how Tommy must have felt. Only Tommy hadn’t known where his pet was, while Skeeter did.

D
ad, Bob, and Uncle Don came home at five o’clock — empty-handed. Neither Dad nor Uncle Don had fired a shot. But they had
seen a moose and a bear, so their trip hadn’t been all in vain.

After supper both families went to the baseball part to watch the Deerslayers play the Badgers. The game started at six-thirty.
The Deerslayers had last raps. They looked sharp in their white uniforms and blue caps, and Skeeter wished he was out there
with them. The first baseman, a tall left-hander, threw a ball around to the infielders, while a
small left-handed pitcher threw in warm-up pitches.

Alan wasn’t playing. Probably he’d get in later, thought Skeeter.

The infield ball was thrown in toward the Deerslayers’ dugout. The umpire yelled, “Play ball!” and the game started. The Deerslayers’
infield began a loud, steady chatter.

“Come on, Chuck! Whiff ’im, boy!”

“Breeze it past ’im, Chuck!”

“Easy meat, Chucky, ol’ boy!”

Skeeter felt goose pimples pop out on his arms. Everything was the same as back home. The chatter. The talk to the pitcher.
The enthusiastic fans.

The little left-hander got a signal from the catcher. He nodded, wound up, delivered. “Strike!” cried the umpire.

Uncle Don tapped Skeeter on the knee. “That’s Chuck Kelly pitching,” he said. “What do you think of his speed?”

“He’s got a lot of it,” admitted Skeeter.

Chuck Kelly got two strikes on the batter, then delivered one outside for ball one. The next was low. The batter swung, topped
the ball, and it went dribbling toward the pitcher. Chuck fielded it easily and threw the man out.

Chuck struck out the second batter and the third hitter popped to short. The Deerslayers got up and scored a run. Neither
team threatened again until the third inning when a Badgers hitter laid into one for a clean triple. The next hitter singled
him in, and the next man walked. The Deerslayers coach called time, went out to the mound and talked to Chuck.

“Those two hits shook Chuck up a little.” Uncle Don smiled. “Guess that’s natural, isn’t it?”

“Our pitchers get shook up, too,” said Skeeter.

“So do the opposing pitchers after Skeeter tags on to one,” put in Bob. “You don’t know it, Uncle Don, but that boy sitting
beside you leads the Grasshopper League in hits
and
home runs.”

“Is that so?” Uncle Don beamed at Skeeter. “Maybe the Deerslayers might like to purchase you for next year, Skeeter — if the
price isn’t too high, that is,” he added, chuckling.

Skeeter grinned. “I’m not for sale,” he said. “Anyway, I’m a poor outfielder. I’m all legs when I’m chasing after a fly ball.”

“You’ll outgrow that,” said Uncle Don. “Alan’s just the opposite. He can field but he can’t hit.”

The top half of the third inning ended with the Badgers leading 2 to 1. The Deerslayers came to bat but went down one, two,
three.

Alan replaced the Deerslayers’ second
baseman in the top of the fourth. A ball came to him, a hot grounder on his left side. He fielded it neatly and threw the
man out. A hard-hit ball zipped through the third baseman’s legs, putting a man on for the Badgers. The man was put out trying
to steal second, and Chuck Kelly struck out the third.

The Deerslayers’ lead-off man grounded out in the bottom of the fourth, and Alan was up. He took a count of two and two, then
hit a hard grounder through the hole between third and short. The Deerslayers’ fans shouted wildly, including Skeeter, Bob,
Uncle Don, and the rest of the two families. Alan rounded first and headed for second.

“What’s he doing?” cried Uncle Don, rising to his feet. “No! No, Alan!” he shouted.

But Alan kept going. Skeeter’s heart pounded as he saw the left fielder pick up the ball and peg it to second.

“Hit the dirt, Alan!” he yelled, his voice drowned out among the cries of the other fans. “Hit it!”

Alan hit the dirt as if he’d heard Skeeter. But the shortstop had caught the ball and tagged Alan a yard in front of the bag.
An easy out.

Alan got up and brushed the dust off his pants as he ran across the diamond toward the dugout.

A kid sitting behind the backstop screen stood up and yelled, “What’re you trying to do, Alan? Show off for your cousin?”

“Trying to stretch a single into a double, Alan?” yelled another.

Skeeter looked at Uncle Don and smiled. “Everything’s like it is back home,” he said. “Even the fans.”

“Oh, sure,” said Uncle Don. “Baseball’s the same all over. So are fans.”

The Deerslayers’ next hitter tripled, and
was knocked in for their second run to tie the score. In the top of the fifth the Badgers got men on first and second. Then
Alan caught a hot grounder near the keystone sack, touched the bag, and threw to first for a beautiful double play. The crowd
yelled and applauded. The next Badger popped out.

“Here’s your chance to win the ball game, Alan!” a fan shouted when Alan came to bat. There was one out and men on first and
second.

Alan hit a slow grounder to short. The shortstop played it to second in an effort to get a double play. The runner was out
at second, but Alan made it to first in time.

Two outs, runners on first and third. Chuck Kelly was up. He singled to right! A run scored! Alan was held up at third. Good
thing he didn’t run in then, thought Skeeter. He would’ve been out again, and then the
fans would
really
scream. Well, you had to listen to the first- and third-base coaches. They weren’t there for scenery.

The next Deerslayers hitter hit the first pitch to left field and it was caught. They ran out to the field, full of confidence
that this game would be theirs. But the Badgers scored twice. The Deerslayers could do nothing during their turn at bat, and
the game went to the Badgers, 4 to 3.

Alan and Skeeter walked home together. Alan had his head bowed, unhappy about the whole thing.

“I see what you mean,” observed Skeeter. “You guys are unlucky.”

“I was thinking about that stupid run I made to second,” said Alan.

“Who’s perfect?” said Skeeter. “At least you don’t get your legs tangled up like I do. And you can field. That double play
you made was a honey.”

Alan seemed not to have heard him. “You know that hit I got was my first this year?” he said.

Skeeter stared. “It was?”

“That’s why I tried to stretch it into a double, I guess.”

Skeeter grinned. “We’re a couple of mixed-up ball players,” he said. “You’re a good in-fielder but a lousy hitter, and I’m
a good hitter but a lousy fielder.”

He laughed, then Alan laughed. Imagine cousins being mixed-up ball players!

U
ncle Don and Dad went hunting every day that week and Bob went with them. On Thursday they brought home a moose which Uncle
Don said Dad had shot and Dad said Uncle Don had shot. Skeeter figured they both had shot it together. By the expression on
their faces, they seemed pretty proud of it, too.

Uncle Don took it to a place to be skinned and taken care of. He offered Dad the antlers if he wanted them, and Dad said he
did. He’d have them mounted on a board and hung in his den.