Authors: Matt Christopher
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But, boy, I’ll never do this again!”
They retraced their steps to the cottage. David saw that they had forgotten to put the lawn mower back into the garage. They
did, then started walking up the hill.
They had covered nearly half a mile when David stopped and stared.
“Bonesy,” he said, pointing straight ahead. “Look!”
Coming slowly down the hill toward them was Mrs. Finch’s car.
W
HEN Mrs. Finch reached the boys the first thing she said was, “I’m so sorry, boys! I’m so sorry!”
“What happened, Mrs. Finch?” asked David, wide-eyed.
Her hands and clothes were smeared with dirt.
“Please get in,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”
David and Bonesy piled into the car. Mrs. Finch released the brake and continued slowly down the hill. On the floor near the
backseat was a five-gallon metal container. The boys
could hear the kerosene sloshing inside it as the car waddled down the rut-filled road.
“I had a flat tire,” said Mrs. Finch.
No wonder Mrs. Finch’s hands and clothes were so dirty, thought David.
“Did you change the tire yourself, Mrs. Finch?”
“I tried. But I could barely lift the tire, let alone jack up the car. So I walked a way on the highway and flagged down a
car. You’d be surprised how many drivers there are who are afraid to pick up a stranger!”
David listened with interest. “Did you walk all the way to Penwood?”
“No, thank goodness. Some kind soul finally picked me up. I got Jim Foxx, the young man who works at the gas station, to come
and change the tire for me. But business was so heavy then that he couldn’t leave immediately. Boys, believe me. I’m sorry.
And that wasn’t all.”
David and Bonesy stared at her.
“After Jim changed the tire I drove to Penwood.
I purchased the kerosene and immediately headed back for the cottage. I guess I must have pushed the gas pedal harder than
the law allowed. Anyway, that’s what the trooper told me when he stopped me and handed me a slip of blue paper.”
Bonesy’s brows arched. “Were you stopped for speeding?” he murmured.
Mrs. Finch nodded. “That I was, Bonesy, my boy.”
They reached the cottage, and Mrs. Finch drove the car into the garage.
“We’re sorry about that, Mrs. Finch,” said David humbly.
“So am I,” said Mrs. Finch. “But I’m even sorrier than that. I really wanted to get you boys to your ball game. Whatever things
you’ve thought of me before will be worse now. I wouldn’t blame you if you hanged me in effigy.”
“We’d never do that, Mrs. Finch,” said David. “You couldn’t help what happened.”
Mrs. Finch turned off the ignition and looked
at David and Bonesy. Then she blinked, turned and got out of the car.
“Come on, boys,” she said. “I’ll cook some supper for us, and then we’ll go home. By now that ball game is over, anyway. I
just hope your team won.”
When she saw how cleaned and neat the yard was, her face lit up. “My! That looks just beautiful!” she said.
She washed, put on her other clothes, then cooked supper. The boys ate hungrily.
When they got back to Penwood, Mrs. Finch drove the boys to the ballpark. It was almost empty except for some players and
Coach Beach, who were putting the baseball equipment away. Mrs. Finch gave each of the boys ten dollars. They thanked her,
and David said happily, “Maybe I can buy some of those coins I still need.”
Mrs. Finch’s eyes widened with surprise. “Do you collect coins, David?” she asked.
David nodded. “Good-bye, Mrs. Finch.”
“Good-bye, Mrs. Finch,” said Bonesy.
“Good-bye, boys,” said Mrs. Finch, and then she drove off.
The boys walked into the ball park and up to Coach Beach. They stood nervously behind him as he pushed the last of the baseball
equipment into a large canvas bag.
“Coach,” said David. He swallowed; his heart was thumping like a hammer.
Coach Beach turned. His eyes narrowed when he saw who it was. “Well,” he said. “Welcome back.” He looked angry and disgusted.
David wet his lips. “We want to apologize, Coach. We couldn’t help it. We —”
Then Coach Beach’s face broke into a smile, and he laughed.
“Never mind, boys. I know all about it. Mrs. Finch explained it all, so you have nothing to apologize for.”
David’s and Bonesy’s faces dropped in amazement. “Mrs. Finch told you what happened?”
Coach Beach nodded. “She did. Told me
about the flat tire and her trouble in catching a ride. So don’t worry. I’m not going to bench you for not showing up.”
“She was stopped for speeding, too,” said Bonesy.
The smile on Coach Beach’s face disappeared. “She was?”
The boys nodded. “She got caught speeding when she went back to the cottage with the kerosene,” explained David. “Guess she
wanted to get us back here in time so that we wouldn’t miss all of the game.”
“Poor Mrs. Finch.” The coach shook his head regretfully. “She really had tough luck today, didn’t she?”
“Guess it was partly our fault,” said Bonesy. “She wouldn’t have been stopped for speeding if it wasn’t for us.”
Coach Beach grinned. “You’re right, Bonesy. That part was your fault.”
“Who won, Coach?” asked David.
“The Waxwings. Eight to six. Maybe you had something to do about that, too. I don’t know. Anyway, make sure both of you are
at the next game.”
“We sure will,” said David, and then he looked at Bonesy.
It had been a rough day all around.
D
AVID asked Dad to knock him grounders in the front yard. Dad reminded him of the black eye he had received from a bad bounce
and suggested that they go to the ballpark.
David called Bonesy, and Bonesy went with them. Dad hit grounders to David’s left side and his right side. David fielded the
big hops easily when the ball wasn’t too far either way. Dad hit other grounders right past him, grounders that would have
been caught by a faster player.
David struck the pocket of his glove angrily when he couldn’t catch those.
“Never mind,” said Dad. “They would be tough ones for anybody to catch.”
But David had seen third basemen spear grounders and line drives that were hit hard on either side of them. It was plays like
those that made a good third baseman.
He remembered what Don had said in the hospital: It’s up to you now to keep the Kroft name going.
Somehow he wished that Don had never said that.
It sprinkled a little Monday morning. The Flickers went to the ballpark early in the afternoon. The rain had settled the dust
around the base paths and the pitcher’s mound. For an hour Rex Drake had the infielders practice on grounders and the outfielders
shagging flies. During the next hour they held batting practice.
Rex was captain and handled the team when Coach Beach was working and couldn’t be there.
Later, before the six o’clock game started, there would be men here who would rake the infield and line the base paths and
the batter’s box with white lime.
The Flickers practiced again Tuesday morning, and David worked as hard as he could at third. He alternated with Legs Mulligan.
Legs didn’t seem to try half so hard as David, yet he fielded the ball more easily and made the catches look simpler.
David didn’t know whether Rex said anything about him to Coach Beach. But when the Flickers played the Canaries the next evening,
David didn’t start.
The Canaries had not lost a game. They had won seven straight. The Flickers had won three and lost three. It was in the heart
of every boy on the Flickers’ team to beat the Canaries today.
The crowd was larger than usual. David saw
that there were more Canaries’ fans there than Flickers’. And they were sitting on the third-base coaching box side.
The Flickers were up first. They got off to a poor start as leadoff man Ken Lacey struck out. Two fly balls to the outfield
ended the Flickers’ half-inning.
Brad Lodge threw in the warm-up pitches to Rex, but when he faced the first Canaries’ batter he had trouble. He gave the man
a free ticket to first on four pitched balls. The next batter bunted to Legs at third. Legs tried to throw the man out at
second, but the ball reached there too late.
Brad was nervous now. He rubbed his forehead with the sleeves of his jersey and kept jerking his shoulders. He toed the rubber,
delivered, and the batter turned his bat toward the ball as if to bunt. The pitch was low.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
The batter went into the same motion several more times, and Brad didn’t put one over the
plate. He gave the man a free ticket, too, and the bases were loaded.
Rex called time and went out to talk to Brad. Legs and Jimmy Merrill walked over to Brad, too. They talked with him awhile,
then returned to their positions.
Whatever they said didn’t do any good. The first pitch Brad put in there was hit for a line drive over short. Two men came
in, and the hitter stopped on second for a clean double.
The Canaries’ fans went wild. It looked surely as if the yellow birds were heading for their eighth straight win.
Then Brad struck out the next hitter, and the next two flied out.
Rex led off in the second. He uncorked a double, went to third on Marty Cass’s hit to right field, then scored on Bonesy’s
single.
Legs grounded out to second, Marty was caught trying to steal third, and Windy Hill swung at a third pitch that was far too
high, ending the half-inning.
The Canaries kept rolling. They got two hits at their turn at bat and racked up one run. Now it was 3 to 1 in the Canaries’
favor.
David heard the Canaries’ fans yelling cheerfully. Even the players were laughing and joking away in the field, confident
that this was just another game. That they would put this one in their pocket, too.
Brad Lodge, leading off in the top of the third, gave the Canaries more to cheer about as he went down swinging. Then Ken
changed the picture. He belted out a single and went to second when the shortstop missed Chugger Hines’s smashing grounder.
The coach gave Jimmy Merrill the bunt signal. It would be better to have men on second and third, in scoring position, than
to take the chance of having Jimmy hit into a double play.
Jimmy missed the first pitch. He fouled the second and struck the plate disgustedly with the tip of his bat. Now he had to
swing.
Rocky Stone, the tall right-hander for the
Canaries, delivered a pitch just level with Jimmy’s knees. Jimmy swung. Out!
Rex was up. He had doubled his first time up. Could he repeat?
Apparently Rocky Stone didn’t want him to. He walked Rex to load the bases.
Now it was the Flickers’ fans’ chance to cheer. And they did.
“Come on, Marty!” they yelled. “Drive it out of the lot! Blast it over the fence!”
Rocky took his time. He removed his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Then he looked for the signal from his catcher.
He nodded, stepped on the rubber, made his stretch and delivered.
“Strike!”
The Canaries’ fans shouted happily. “Thataway, Rocky! He’s your man now!”
Marty waited for the next pitch. He held his bat high and his legs close together. The pitch came in. He swung.
“Strike two!”
“He’s all yours, now, Rocky boy!” yelled the Canaries’ catcher.
Marty almost swung at the next one. It was wide.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
Rocky still took his time. He picked up the rosin bag, rubbed his fingers on it a moment, then dropped it. He toed the rubber,
stretched and delivered the pitch. Like a white bullet the ball sped toward the plate. Marty swung.
Crack!
A smashing drive over short! Ken scored. Not far behind him came Chugger. The shortstop caught the throw-in from the center
fielder and made a beautiful peg to the catcher. Rex held up at second.
The Flickers’ bench went wild.
Bonesy struck out. But the Flickers were strongly back in the game. They had tied it up, 3 and 3.
Mandy Rubens, the Canaries’ slugging outfielder, broke the tie with a blast over the left-field fence with the bases empty.
The Flickers came to bat in the top of the fourth, trailing by the score of 4 to 3. It was a close game so far. The Canaries
were a different bunch in the field now. They were not laughing and joking. They were serious. They had begun to realize that
this was a game they could lose.
David started to run toward the third-base coaching box when he heard Coach Beach yell at him.
“David, bat for Legs! Let’s see you get a hit, kid! Start a rally.”
David looked at the coach. Something cold gripped him. He didn’t move for a moment. He almost wished that Coach Beach wouldn’t
ask him to go into the game. Legs was doing all right. Why not let him stay in?
David walked to the bats lined up on the ground. He picked up his favorite one, put on a helmet and stepped to the plate.
He was not only nervous as he waited for Rocky Stone to throw. He was frightened, too.
“
S
TRIKE!” The ball was over the heart of the plate. David pursed his lips. He felt as if someone had kept him from swinging
the bat.
Rocky threw a couple outside, then put another one over the plate. David corked it. It was a long high fly to left field.
He dropped the bat and raced for first. Just as he made the turn, the first-base coach, Herm Simmons, yelled for him to stop.
The left fielder had caught the ball.
Steve Pierce pinch-hit for Windy Hill. He did better than David. He singled on the second
pitch and went to second when the center fielder missed Brad Lodge’s fly. Chugger got a single that inning, too, but no Flicker
went past third base.
David caught a few warm-up grounders from Jimmy Merrill before the first Canaries’ batter stepped to the plate. The batter
hit the first pitch down the third-base line, and David leaped after it. The ball struck the top of his glove, shot up into
the air and dropped behind him. David picked it up and pulled his arm back to throw.