Challenge at Second Base (5 page)

“Thanks, guys,” he said gratefully. “We’d have a real damaged boat if it weren’t for you.”

“We were ready to call the Coast Guard,” one of the men replied, grinning.

Hardly five minutes had passed when a car drove up, stopped with a sudden jerk, and three anxious-looking people jumped out.

“Stan! Phil! Are you all right?”

The boys grinned at Mom, Dad, and Dottie, who stared at them white-faced.

“All right?” echoed Phil innocently. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Dottie’s green eyes flared. “Don’t be smart, Philip Andrew Martin! We saw that storm coming, and we knew you were out on the
lake. You and Stan — all of you! Of
course, if we knew you were such a hot-shot pilot —”

“He is!” Stan cried out seriously. “He saved our lives!”

Dottie smiled. Her eyes softened.

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Phil humbly.

“Well, I am!” said Stan.

“So are we,” said Larry earnestly. “If it wasn’t for Phil, we might have all drowned.”

“Drowned? With your life jackets on?” Phil chuckled. Even with his face streaming wet from the rain, you could see it color
a little. “Look, the four of us don’t mind,” he went on, pointing at himself and his three companions. “But don’t you folks
care about getting wet?”

“Yes, we do!” Dad yelled, and led the race to the car and its shelter from the storm.

10

O
n Thursday, July 21, Stan watched the start of the Clippers-Falcons game from the bench. Some of the boys sitting beside him,
especially Larry’s brother Ray, Ronnie Woods, and Mose Finn, chattered without letting up a minute. They seemed satisfied
just wearing the Falcons’ uniform. Fuzzy Collins was more quiet, like Stan.

“Come on, you guys,” said Mose. “Where’s that chatter?”

This nudged Stan and Fuzzy into some yelling, but not for long.

Stan didn’t know about Fuzzy, nor did he
care very much. He had his own self to worry about.

He didn’t like warming the bench three or four innings a game. Of course he knew all fifteen players couldn’t play at the
same time, although the better ones did play every inning.

“Got to keep in the better players so no team could shellac us,” Coach Bennett once said.

Not playing regularly proved he wasn’t one of the better ones. That was what griped him, and made him feel the way he did
now. The season was almost half over, and he wasn’t a bit better now than he had been at the beginning.

Phil was right. Don’t get to love the game very much. You might get awfully discouraged.

I’m awfully discouraged now, thought Stan.

He watched the Clippers take their first
raps and go down under Left Kellar’s fastball pitching. The Falcons came to bat. Frankie Smith smacked a solid single, but
he didn’t get past first.

The Clippers started off the second inning with a single, followed by a sacrifice bunt that put the man in scoring position.
A double sent him around the bases. Another run scored before the Falcons could get the Clippers out.

That last hit was a hot grounder to Gary’s left side. Gary almost had it. But the ball struck the tip of his glove and went
bouncing to the outfield.

I could’ve caught that,
Stan thought.
I would’ve kept that last run from scoring.

It looked easy from the bench.

I have a hobby at home. My airplane and spaceship models. I can work on them. After a time I can forget baseball. A guy can
forget it, can’t he, if he’s away from it for a while?

By the fifth inning the Clippers had a strong
hold of the game. They were leading, 4 to 0.

“Okay, Stan,” said Coach Bartlett. “Get on second. Lots of hustle now.”

Stan picked up the new glove Dad had bought him and raced out to his position at second. A moment later the Clippers’ lead-off
man beat out a dribbling grounder to third. The Falcons’ infield moved in, expecting a bunt.

It was a bunt! The ball rolled toward first, just inside the foul line!

George Page charged in after it. Stan rushed to cover first. At the same time Lefty ran toward first, too.

“I’ll cover, Lefty!” Stan yelled.

Lefty stopped. George fielded the ball, turned, and whipped it to first. The ball just missed the runner. Stan stretched,
and caught the ball in time.

“Out!” cried the umpire.

Stan felt good as he hustled back into position. The next hitter flied out and Lefty walked the third. Then a grounder was hit to short, and Don tossed the ball
to Stan at second for the forced out.

He didn’t get to bat this inning, but he would the next. The Clippers, hotter than fire, mowed down the Falcons one, two,
three in the bottom of the sixth, then scored two more runs at their turn at bat.

With one out and a man on, Stan stepped to the plate. He took a called strike, then leaned into a shoulder-high pitch and
swung with all his might.

“Strike two!” cried the umpire, as Stan’s bat swished through the empty air.

He took a ball, and then another. Now the count was two and two.

Stan stepped out of the box and touched his sweating hands into the soft dirt.
I can’t strike out,
he thought.
I just can’t!

He got back into the box, and the pitcher went into his stretch. The ball breezed in.
It looked a little inside, but it might cut the corner!

Stan swung.

Smack!

The sound was the ball hitting the pocket of the catcher’s mitt.

“You’re out!” yelled the umpire.

Stan went back to the dugout, sick at heart.

Fuzzy batted for Eddie Lee, and fanned, ending the ball game. The Clippers took it, 6 to 0.

Stan spent a lot of time the next day looking at the spaceship models in the Hobby Shop on Darby Street. He would earn money
somehow — there were always people who wanted their lawns cut — and save it up to buy more models. He could spend hours and
hours just assembling models. It wouldn’t be long before he’d forget baseball altogether.

He didn’t say much around the house, but
the way everybody looked at him they certainly must have suspected that he wasn’t happy about something. Mom tried to pry
the trouble out of him, but he told her that there was nothing wrong.

“I bet!” said Dottie, who was suspicious about anything.

The next day he got a letter. He stared at the address on the envelope. It was exactly like the one he had received before.
The words were cut out of either a newspaper or a magazine.

He tore off the end of the envelope and took out the letter. This, too, was made up of cut-out words.

Y
OU ARE GIVING UP TOO EASILY
. N
O BOXER QUIT BECAUSE HE LOST A FIGHT
. Y
OU LOVE BASEBALL
. I
T
’
S A GOOD GAME
. S
TICK WITH IT
.

The last three words were underlined twice in ink.

“Mom,” he said, the letter trembling in
his hands, “who keeps sending me these letters?”

Mom shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said. “But whoever it is must certainly know what’s bothering you!”

11

E
verybody in the family read the strange letter. If one of them had sent it, his — or her — face did not show it. Everyone
acted just as surprised as Stan did, and looked at each other suspiciously, too.

Maybe it’s somebody on the team, Stan thought. But who would care enough about him to send a letter like that?

Tommy Hart? Larry? Or could it be Coach Bartlett?

He did not mention the letters to any of his teammates. Maybe one of these days the person who had sent them would say something
unintentionally that would give him away.

“Just the same, that letter makes good sense,” Dad said. “Everybody should take its advice.”

Phil’s face colored a little, and he turned and walked away.

Beginning with the next practice, Stan played harder and harder. He tried to forget about himself and just do what he had
to do, and do it the best he could.

He improved fast. Coach Bartlett noticed it.

“I’ve been noticing you, Stan,” he said. “You’ve picked up a lot of spark lately. Just as if you’ve shaken off some kind of
bugaboo. What’s happened?”

Stan grinned shyly, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just playing harder, that’s all.”

“Guess you are,” said the coach. “Okay, get on second. Gary!” he shouted across the diamond. “Play short! I want to try something
new!”

Gary looked puzzledly at him. “Short? But Coach, I’ve never played short.”

“Don’t say never,” replied Coach Bartlett. “A good infielder plays any position in the infield. Your arm is strong. Get on
short and don’t argue.”

Gary got on short, and Coach Bartlett began hitting grounders to him and Stan. They worked double plays. The coach showed
Stan how to cover second and then throw to first when the ball was hit to short. Then he showed Gary how to work the play
when the ball was hit to second.

“You’re doing great,” he commented after he had the boys sweating. “Something tells me you’re going to turn into a great double-play
combination.”

Coach Bartlett said things like that. The kids liked him for it, even though what he said didn’t always turn out to be true.

It was Wednesday, July 27, when the coach had Gary and Stan try out their new positions
in a game. The new line-up was as follows:

The Falcons had first raps against the Steelers. Jim walked, and Stan laid a beautiful bunt down the first-base line to put
Jim in scoring position. Frankie socked two pitches back to the screen, then whiffed. Two outs.

Duffy Powers walked to the plate and smashed the first pitch to deep center for a triple. Jim scored, and then George beat
out a dribbler to third, scoring Duffy.

Gary walked, and Stan was sure that the
Steelers’ coach would put in a new pitcher. But he didn’t, even when Larry singled and Eddie Lee singled right behind him.
It was Tommy who ended the merry-go-round, hitting a ball to deep center which the center fielder caught almost without moving.

Score: 4 to 0.

The Steelers were helpless at the plate, but for the next several innings they held the Falcons to one hit. In the fifth the
Falcons found their eye again, and blasted the ball for three runs. This time the Steelers’ pitcher went to the showers.

At their turn at bat, the Steelers seemed to find their eye at last. The first two batters singled, and Tommy walked the third
to load the bases.

Coach Bartlett waved the infielders in.

For the first time since the game had started, Stan felt scared. What should he do if the ball was hit to him? Throw home,
or to second? He looked at Gary, and then at
Tommy. But Gary was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, chattering for all he was worth. He had lots of life, Gary did.
Tommy was facing third, rubbing the ball, just taking his time. He didn’t look worried at all.