Challenge at Second Base (2 page)

T
hree shelves lined one of the walls in Stan’s room. His Dad had built them for him, and painted them blue. Half of the lowest
shelf contained books. All kinds of books — adventure, science fiction, and sports.

The remainder of the shelf, and the other two, contained a variety of models. Airplanes, ships, submarines, rockets, and satellites.
In one corner stood a table about four feet square. On it was a miniature space base similar to that of Cape Canaveral. Every
piece had been put together and glued by Stan’s own hands.

Right now Stan was assembling a space-station model. This he was going to suspend
by a string from the ceiling to give the illusion of a real space station in outer space.

“Stan!” It was Mom. “You have a friend here to see you!”

“Okay!” he answered. “Send him in!”

He couldn’t leave his model now, not while he was holding two parts of it together, waiting for the glue to dry.

In a moment Tommy Hart came in. His face broadened in a smile as he looked at the many models that decorated the room.

“Boy!” he said. “Would I like something like this!”

Stan grinned with pride. “They were kits. Dad bought most of them for me. Others I got for doing odd jobs.”

Tommy took a few moments gazing wonder-eyed at the models, then came and stood beside Stan. “We lost to the Jaguars Monday,”
he said unhappily. “Four to one.”

“Who pitched?” asked Stan.

“I did. Did we look bad! Don missed two
at short, and Duffy misjudged a fly in center field with a man on.”

He began telling about other incidents that resulted in their losing the game. Stan just listened. He wasn’t interested in
hearing a play-by-play description of the game, but he wouldn’t tell Tommy that. He liked Tommy, and he wouldn’t say anything
to Tommy that might hurt him.

Mom’s voice carried to him again from the kitchen. “Somebody else to see you, Stanley!”

By now the glue was dry. Stan left the partially completed space station on the bench and looked behind Tommy. The overweight
catcher of the Falcons came strolling into the room, shouldering a baseball bat. Sporting a mischievous smile, he stopped
in the middle of the room and stood admiring Stan’s models.

“You going to be an astronaut?” he asked Stan.

“I’d like to,” replied Stan.

“Me, too. But I don’t think they’ll make a space ship big enough to hold me,” said Larry.

He walked up close to the table on which stood the space-base model.

“Gary Newman looked great on second,” he said over his shoulder. “He didn’t make an error and he hit the ball every time.”

“Sure,” said Tommy. “And always into somebody’s hands.”

“That’s better than not hitting the ball at all,” replied Larry. “I struck out once, and you did, too.” He looked around at
Stan. “Why didn’t you come to the game, Stan?”

Stan colored. “Why should I? I didn’t get a suit.”

“You weren’t there. You might have gotten one if you were there. You know what the guys are saying?”

“Larry,” Tommy broke in. “Don’t you think you’re talking too much?”

Stan looked at Tommy and back at Larry.

“What are you guys trying to say?” he asked suspiciously.

Larry shrugged. “They’re saying you didn’t want to show up when the suits were given out because you were afraid you wouldn’t
get one!”

Stan swallowed. He got out of his chair quickly and faced Larry. “I wanted to go, but I couldn’t get there! I was in a boat!”

“I know,” said Larry in a softer voice. “We heard about it.”

Stan frowned. So that was it. They had figured that would be the excuse I’d give for not being at the ball park.

His eyes narrowed. “You figured the same as they did, didn’t you, Larry? You figured that I —”

“Oh, no, Stan! Not me! Honest!”

Larry’s face reddened, and he backed away a little.

“Watch it, Larry!” yelled Tommy.

But it was too late. The top of Larry’s bat
struck one of the rocket models standing on the top shelf. It fell to the floor and broke into a dozen pieces!

Stan stared at the pieces, then at Larry. Hurt choked him. Then anger rose so quickly in him he began shouting before he thought.

“You fat, clumsy ox! Look what you did! Why did you have to bring that lousy bat in here? Why —”

Larry stared at him, his face paling. Then he stooped and picked up the pieces of broken rocket model. His chubby hands were
trembling.

“I’ll pay for it,” he murmured. “Tell me how much it was.”

“I can’t remember,” snapped Stan.

Larry put the pieces on the bench beside the space-ship model Stan was working on, and walked to the door.

Suddenly he turned around. His face was beet red.

“I’m glad you’re not on our team, Stan
Martin!” he cried angrily. “You know that? I’m real glad! You’re just like your brother! Everybody knows he wasn’t good either!”

The words fell on Stan like hailstones. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Larry left hastily, and Tommy, looking embarrassed, followed him out.

Hardly had they left when Phil came into the room. Surely he must have heard Larry’s unkind and untrue remarks. But, if he
had, he didn’t show it.

“I have a couple of things here for you, little buddy,” he said, a warm smile on his lips.

He handed Stan an envelope. Whatever the other thing was he held behind his back, out of Stan’s sight.

Stan stared at the envelope. It was very strange. His name and address were made up of words cut out from a newspaper and
pasted on the envelope!

He ripped open the end of it and pulled
out the letter. This, too, was written with words cut out from a newspaper. Stan read the letter and sucked in his breath.

D
ON
’
T QUIT
! Y
OU HAVE ABILITY
! S
TICK TO IT
!

It wasn’t signed.

4

P
hil!” Stan cried. “Read this! Who would send me a letter like this?”

Phil read the letter and whistled. “How do you like that?” he said. “Somebody’s interested in you, little buddy, and wants
to keep it a secret!”

“But why?”

Phil shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever it is must like you, that’s for sure.” He handed the letter back to Stan. “Well, that
should be enough surprise for one day, but here’s another.”

He brought his other hand around from behind him, and gave Stan a gray box. Almost
instantly Stan knew what was in it. He took it and opened it.

“My baseball suit!” he shouted.

He lifted the jersey out of the box, held it against himself for size, then looked at the number 10 sewn on the back.

“Saw Mr. Bartlett on the street,” explained Phil. “He told me to give this to you, and for you to be at practice tonight at
five.”

After his excitement wore off a little, Stan telephoned Tommy Hart and told him the good news.

“See? Didn’t I tell you?” cried Tommy. “Going to practice tonight?”

“I have a suit, haven’t I?” replied Stan.

“I’ll meet you in front of your house,” said Tommy.

He was at Stan’s house at a quarter of five. The two of them walked to the field, carrying their gloves and spikes. Stan felt
as if he were dreaming. Was Coach Bartlett actually choosing him over Gary Newman, or had the coach only picked him to warm the bench?

Some of the players were already at the field playing catch. However, there was one player in the infield working on grounders.
It was Gary Newman. And hitting a ball to him was his brother Jeb.

“He really wants to make sure he plays, doesn’t he?” said Tommy, a trace of disgust in his voice.

“He probably will, too,” replied Stan. To himself he thought,
I wish somebody would work me out like that.

Soon a car pulled up to the curb, stopped, and a tall, thin man wearing a T-shirt stepped out. From the trunk of the car he
dragged out a huge, dirt-smudged bag and carried it toward the dugout. He spotted Stan and grinned.

“Hi, Stan! We missed you!”

Stan smiled bashfully.

Jeb quit hitting to Gary and retired to the
dugout to watch. Coach Bartlett put the boys through batting practice first, with Larry behind the plate and George Page throwing.
Stan tried to avoid Larry as much as possible. When he batted he didn’t speak, nor did Larry.

A left-hand hitter, Stan socked a couple of grounders, missed a pitch, and blasted a fly to right field.

After batting practice the coach asked Jeb to hit fly balls to the outfielders.

“Stan, alternate with Gary at second,” he said.

It was as Stan had expected. Most of the other infielders had their positions pretty well cinched: Larry behind the plate;
George Page at first; Jim Kendall at third; and Don Marion at short. They were a year or two older than Stan and Gary, more
experienced and better ballplayers. It was at second base that the team was weakest.

Coach Bartlett knocked grounders to his
infielders till the sweat rolled down their faces and they showed signs of tiredness. Stan missed several. The coach would
then hit him high bounders, with “handles” on them, which Stan gloved easily. But Gary had no trouble. He was fielding the
grounders skillfully, and pegging them accurately to first.

“Okay, that’s it,” said the coach finally. “Bring it in.”

Jeb helped the coach put the balls and equipment back into the big canvas bag. Stan, carrying a bat toward them, heard them
talking, and hesitated a moment. Distinctly, he heard the coach say:

“He’s going to be a real ballplayer. Watch him in two or three years.”

“He loves it,” said Jeb.

“Loves it? I’ve never seen a kid with so much interest and desire. Believe me, that kid’s a natural!”

Stan knew they were talking about Gary.
Silently, he laid the bat down and walked away.

5

T
he line-up for the Falcons in the game against the Steelers was as follows:

The Falcons, taking their first raps, got two runs in the first inning to start them off. The Steelers’ pitcher, a small,
broad-shouldered boy with hair that needed cutting, allowed a
walk and two hits. One of them was a triple off the powerful bat of Bert “Duffy” Powers. Duffy, a tall, quiet boy with glasses,
couldn’t make it home, for George struck out and Gary popped to short.

The Steelers managed to put a man on first, but there he stayed. Tommy’s straight ball was cutting the corners, and the umpire
was calling them as he saw them.

Larry, leading off in the second inning, belted a long fly to center. The soaring meteor drew a quick response from the fans,
but before the chubby catcher got halfway to first, the fielder caught the ball for the out.