Two Strikes on Johnny (4 page)

Then Butchie said something, and then Stevie, and one or two of the others. He was trying to ignore it as he ran in with
his head down. He could hear Michael clap his hands. He could hear Sand bark. Johnny had to tell them not to do that again.
He just had to.

He was panting as he reached the bench. He looked at the manager, at Stevie, and then at Marty. But the words would not come.
They were frozen in his throat.

Marty slapped him on the back. He still had on his belly guard and knee guards. He grinned through the sweat and dirt that
smeared his face. “Hi, Johnny! Nice catch! You looked like a big leaguer!”

Johnny looked directly at him. Suddenly the lump melted in his throat and the words spilled from his lips.

“Stop saying those things, Marty! You must! You and the rest of the team. I know what you're doing it for. You think you're
making my brother Michael feel good by yelling like that.”

“Sure! I know we are!” said Marty. “Did you see him get up and cheer with us?”

“But it isn't fair!” cried Johnny, shaking his head. “I don't deserve any of that stuff. Anybody could have caught that last
fly. And you guys made it sound like I'd made a great catch.”

“Oh, Johnny,” said Butchie, “forget it. We're doing it for Michael. You want him to be happy, don't you?”

“Yes. But not that way.”

“Then how?”

Johnny looked at the ground. “I don't know,” he said sadly.

“Break it up, boys,” Mr. Davis said. “Come on, Johnny. You're first hitter. Let him get a strike on you before you take any
cuts.”

Johnny picked up a bat and stepped to the plate. The bases were empty now. Maybe he'd get a hit.

The first pitch was a ball. The next was over the inside corner. Johnny swung at the third pitch. Missed! He heard the team
talking to him from the bench. He heard Michael, too. Michael knew Johnny was batting.

Then, crack! Johnny dropped the bat, started running for first. The ball was a hot grounder to short. Johnny ran hard. The
shortstop caught the ball on a hop, threw it to first. Johnny was out.

It made no difference, men on bases or not. He could not hit, anyway.

Mickey walked, starting a rally. By the time the inning ended, they had pushed across three runs.

Score: Cardinals — 6, Rangers — 4.

The Rangers came to bat in the last half of the fifth and scored one run. The game was over. The Cardinals won, 6 to 5.

Johnny walked home with Michael and Sand and some of the other players. The other players talked about the game. Johnny hardly
said a word. He was thinking a lot about Michael.

Finally they reached the walk that led across the lawn to their house. The other fellows said good-by and went on their way.
Johnny, Michael, and Sand started up the walk.

Suddenly Johnny tugged on Michael's hand. He stepped in front of Michael and looked directly into his eyes.

“Michael, I — I must tell you something,” he cried. He clamped his lips together and held his breath for a second.

“What?” asked Michael.

“I've been lying to you! I've been lying to you all along!”

Michael's jaws dropped. His face paled. “What do you mean, Johnny?”

“Those stories I've been telling you about me. I never made those home runs and triples and doubles like I said. I made it
up. I made it all up!”

“You — you mean you don't hit? But that can't be true! I heard the team yelling your name. Every time you batted they cheered
you. And when you caught a fly ball —”

“They just did that on purpose.” Johnny choked. “Oh, Michael, don't you understand? They knew I told you stories to make you
believe I was good. So they did that for
you
.”

Michael blinked. “Then all that — all
those stories you told me — they weren't true?”

“That's right, Michael. None of them were true. I — I'm sorry. Honest I am.”

A tear dropped on Michael's cheek.

Johnny took Michael's arm. “I told you I'm sorry, Michael. You believe me, don't you? Don't you, Michael?”

“I guess so,” Michael said softly. He turned away. “Come on, Sand. Let's — let's go up to the house.”

J
OHNNY
did not go to the game against the Tiger Cats after supper Friday. He stayed home and mowed the lawn until he was all tired
out. He didn't see Michael around and thought that he must be inside listening to television.

Johnny rested under the linden tree with his hands folded behind his head and his right leg crossed over his left. The day
was sunny, just nifty for baseball. The large green leaves were moving like a million fans in the breeze. A red-winged blackbird
flew onto a limb. It rocked back
and forth on its skinny legs, sang its song, then flew away again.

Johnny heard his mother and father come out on the porch. He heard the glider squeak as they sat down on it. Then they rocked
to and fro and began talking about the floods in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. Johnny listened awhile.

He tried not to think of the Cardinals, but Marty and Freddie and all the others came hopping into his mind like rabbits.
He tried not to think of baseball, but he couldn't help it.

He thought about Michael again and his heart ached. Michael had not been his usual self since that last game. He would speak,
but he never once mentioned a thing about baseball. He didn't ask when Johnny was going to play again.

Johnny felt awful. He didn't know what
to do except not to play ball any more. He was sorry, sure. He had told Michael he was sorry. But just telling Michael he
was sorry did not solve the problem. Michael was still hurt because all along Johnny had been telling him how well he was
doing in the games and Michael had believed him. You couldn't blame Michael. But, jumping Jupiter, Johnny had done it only
to make Michael feel happy all the time. Johnny had
wanted
to hit doubles, triples, and homers. He had
wanted
to catch every fly ball that came to him.

Johnny straightened out his legs and turned over on his stomach. He put his face on his arm and shut his eyes. Maybe by lying
this way he could wipe those baseball thoughts from his mind.

Pretty soon he heard some boys walking along the road. He recognized Freddie
Turner's voice and little Mickey Bonzell's. He turned around and sat up. They spotted him and Freddie yelled, “Hi, Johnny!
Where were you? We waited for you!”

Johnny shrugged. “I guess I'm not going to play any more.”

“What? Why not?”

Freddie and Mickey came up the walk.

“Aw, I'm no good. I can't hit or anything, so I thought I — well, I'd better not go down any more.”

“You're the best outfielder we've got!” Mickey cried seriously.

Johnny stared at him. “But I can't hit. It's no fun playing ball if you can't get hits.”

“Oh, baloney,” Freddie said. “You hit as often as I do.”

“You hit better than
me
,” Mickey said.

Johnny grinned. “Who won?” he asked.

“The Tiger Cats. They beat us, 8 to 5.”

“We were ahead once by two runs,” Freddie said. “Then Davie blew up. We had to pull him and put in Jimmie Doty. By then it
was too late.”

Suddenly Freddie and Mickey looked up. They gazed over Johnny's head toward the house. Johnny didn't turn. He thought that
maybe his mother and father were coming, because he couldn't hear the glider swinging.

“Here comes your brother Michael,” Mickey said softly.

Johnny tightened his lips. He wished that the boys would go away. he didn't want to talk baseball anymore.

“Hi, Michael,” Freddie greeted, smiling.

“Hello, Michael,” echoed Michkey.

“Hi, Freddie. Hi, Mickey. I heard you guys talking. I was sitting on the porch.”

Johnny frowned. Michael must have come out on the porch, too, and Johnny had not heard him. Well, Johnny had not said anything
more to hurt Michael. He shouldn't worry.

“Johnny?”

Johnny turned. Sand, at Michael's side, lay on her stomach and put her long black-tipped snout on her front paws. Her brows
quivered as she looked from Johnny to the boys.

“Yes, Michael?”

“Please don't stop playing ball, Johnny.”

Johnny stared. He looked at Freddie and Mickey, and back at Michael. He blushed. “But I've made up my mind. I can help Mom
and Dad a lot around the house. Anyway, I'm not born to be a ball player.”

“Yes, you are,” Michael said. “And you can't quit. You just can't, Johnny.”

Johnny looked past Michael. His mother and father were still sitting on the glider. Johnny could tell by their faces that
they had heard every word that had been said.

Johnny looked up at Michael's freckled face. Michael was serious. He seemed almost on the verge of tears.

“Say you won't quit playing baseball, Johnny,” Michael sobbed. “Please say it!”

Johnny swallowed. “All right, Michael. I'll play. I guess I didn't really mean it, anyway.” Michael's lips curled in a warm
smile. Sand rose on her hind paws, yawned, and stretched. “Come on, Sand. Let's go back,” Michael said.

O
N SATURDAY
afternoon the Doanes packed up a picnic lunch and went to Burdett Park. The park was near Danby Lake, so all four of them
took their bathing suits and went swimming. Michael loved the water. When he was very little, he had been afraid of the water.
But they had taken him often and now he wasn't afraid any more.

Sand went along, too. She had to be tied to a leash, so somebody had to remain on shore with her. At first she barked and
whined, because she wanted to go in the water, too. Both Michael and Johnny
wanted her to go in, but Mr. Doane said that Sand had better stay on shore. Finally Sand stopped fussing and just lay on the
soft grass and watched.

By the time they returned home, the boys were tired. That night Johnny slept like a log.

Late Sunday afternoon Manager Davis telephoned. He said that the Cardinals had a game with the Mudhens on Monday, and for
Johnny to be at the field at five-thirty.

Johnny was excited. He had missed playing baseball. He thought back and realized that he had not played since last Wednesday.

He called up Freddie and asked Freddie to come to the house. He wanted to play catch with him. When Freddie came, he brought
Mickey along. They took turns pitching, batting, and fielding. If the batter missed the pitch when he swung, he had to chase the ball himself.

Johnny ate very little for supper on Monday. He said he wasn't hungry.

“I'll eat more when I come back,” he told his mother happily. He looked at Michael. “Do you want to come to the game with
me, Michael?”

“No, thanks,” Michael answered quietly.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I'm sure.”

“Okay. But you can come if you want to.”

“No. I'm going to listen to television.”

Johnny looked at his mother and father. They looked back at him, but neither of them said anything. Johnny didn't know
why Michael did not want to go to the game. He guessed that his mother and father didn't know either.

He excused himself from the table. Outside he met Mickey and Freddie coming along the road. They started to the baseball field.