Two Strikes on Johnny (5 page)

Mickey and Freddie were doing all the talking. The Cincinnati Redlegs had won again in the National League. In the American
League the Yankees had lost, which put them only two and a half games in first place. Johnny, though, caught only pieces of
their conversation. He wasn't listening, nor was he saying anything. He was thinking of Michael.

That was the first time Michael had refused to go to a game with him. Why? He had always jumped at the chance before.

Well, maybe he really did want to listen to television. There was a cowboy program on at six o'clock. Maybe that was what
he wanted to hear.

“T
HOSE
look like rain clouds,” Fred die said, pointing a finger at a cluster of dark clouds stirring in the south.

“I hope not,” replied Johnny. “I haven't played baseball since last Wednesday. I'll be out of practice.”

The boys arrived at the field. Only half of the Cardinals' team was present. The Mudhens were already there. Some were having
batting practice; some were chasing flies in the outfield. The Cardinals' players were playing pitch and catch.

By ten minutes of six, though, the Cardinals'
entire team was at the field. Manager Davis was also there, and so were the umpires.

Promptly at six o'clock the game started. The Mudhens had last raps, since they batted first in their first game against the
Cardinals.

Manager Davis had changed the batting order. Peter Jergens still led off, and Johnny and Mickey still batted eighth and ninth.
But the rest of the order was shifted. He had it like this:

Peter Jergens — 2nd base

Freddie Turner — 1st base

Davie Randall — pitcher

Marty French — catcher

Butchie Long — 3rd base

Stevie Little — shortstop

Buddy Greenfield — left field

Johnny Doane — center field

Mickey Bonzell — right field

The Cardinals started their chatter as soon as Peter walked to the plate.

“He'll walk you, Peter! Wait 'em out!”

Peter waited till the count was two strikes and three balls. Then he struck out. The Mudhens cheered their pitcher and threw
the ball around the horn.

Freddie Turner blasted a low pitch to short. The Mudhens' shortstop speared it and heaved it to first for the second out.
Then Davie came up and hit one over the second baseman's head.

“Now's your chance, Marty! Duck on the pond!”

Marty grinned as he carried his bat to the plate. He let the first pitch go by and lined the second to the outfield. Davie
crossed the plate, and Marty stopped on second for a clean double.

“Thataway, Marty! Nice hit!”

Marty stood with both feet on the bag, his deep chest rising and falling as he panted.

Butchie stepped to the plate and flied out to center for the third out.

The Mudhens took their turn at bat. The third baseman hit a single, but he died on first. Nobody could knock him in.

In the top of the second inning Stevie drew a walk. Buddy hit a grounder to third. The third baseman caught the hop, threw
him out. Stevie ran safely to second.

Johnny came up. He felt fine. He didn't think about Michael. All he thought about was hitting that ball.

“Wait for the good one, Johnny!” Mr. Davis yelled.

The first pitch was low. The second was wide. The third came in across the heart of the plate. Johnny swung. The bat connected.

The ball sailed in a clothesline drive over short. Johnny dropped the bat, raced to first. It was a single, but the hit scored
Stevie for the Cardinals' second run.

“Nice hit, Johnny, or kid!” Marty French yelled from the bench. His grin was a mile wide. So was Mr. Davis's.

Johnny's heart pounded. He had hit with a man on. It was the first time the first time in a long, long time.

O
NE
out and Johnny Doane on first base. Top half of the second inning, Mickey was the batter.

He cut at the first pitch. The ball sailed foul to the right of first base.

Johnny looked at Freddie standing in the coaching box. Freddie tipped his cap. The steal signal was on.

The Mudhens' pitcher stepped on the mound. Johnny leaned off the base. As soon as the pitcher started to throw, Johnny dug
his toes into the dirt and ran for second. He saw the shortstop run to
cover the bag. Johnny slid. His foot hit the bag just as the shortstop caught the ball.

“Safe!” snapped the ump.

The Cardinals' bench cheered. Johnny rose, brushed himself off. He didn't smile, but he felt fine. Just fine. He was doing
all right.

The Mudhens' shortstop carried the ball halfway to the pitcher, then tossed it to him. “Don't worry about it, Dick,” he said.
“He won't go any farther.”

The next pitch to Mickey was low. Mickey swung. He hit a grounder to second. Johnny sprinted to third. The second baseman
caught the ball, whipped it to third. The throw was low. The third baseman tried to catch the hop, but the ball hit his foot
and bounded away. Johnny touched third and raced for home.

“Hurry up, Johnny!” yelled Mr. Davis. “Hurry!”

Johnny ran hard. He saw the catcher move away from the plate, lift his mitt and his hand to catch the ball. Plop! The ball
stuck in the catcher's mitt. The catcher pulled down the ball to touch Johnny. Johnny slid under him. Both his feet skimmed
over the plate.

Breathing hard, Johnny turned and looked up through the shower of dust at the umpire. The umpire had both his hands out flat.

Safe!

“Nice slide!” Manager Davis grinned broadly as Johnny walked toward the bench, dusting himself off for the second time.

“Thanks.” Johnny grinned back.

He sat down. He took out a handkerchief
and mopped his brow. A single, a steal. to second, and finally a slide into home. If he could play half that well most of
the time, he would be happy. Maybe he should leave Michael home all the time. Maybe he couldn't play well because when Michael
was at the game, he thought about Michael.

Could that be? Was he playing well just because Michael wasn't there?

Johnny wondered if Michael had really meant it when he said he didn't want to come to the game. Sometimes Johnny couldn't
understand that brother of his.

The game rolled on. By the fifth inning the Mudhens led by two runs. The score was 6 to 4.

Stevie led off in the top of the fifth. He got a free ticket to first. Buddy waited till the pitcher had a two and two count
on
him, then slammed a grounder back at the pitcher. The ball hit his glove and glanced off toward the third-base line. Both
the pitcher and the third baseman went after it. The pitcher picked it up, whipped it to first, but Buddy was already there.

Johnny Doane was up next. He swung at the first pitch and missed. “Strike one!”

“Ball!” A wide throw.

Johnny waited out the pitcher and drew a walk. The bases were loaded, and Kenny Parks, who had replaced Mickey, was next batter.

Johnny looked at Stevie on third and Buddy on second. Buddy was the tying run. If Johnny could score, he would put the Cardinals
in the lead. Johnny sucked in his breath softly and leaned off base. “Hit it, Kenny!” he cried. “Hit it!”

Kenny walloped a grass-cutting grounder through second. Johnny took off. The dirt puffed up at his heels as he ran. Stevie
scored. Buddy scored. It was up to Johnny to break the tie.

He raced around second. The coach at third motioned him on. Johnny touched the bag and sprinted for home. Everybody on the
Cardinals' bench was standing up and yelling like crazy.

“Hit the dirt, Johnny! Hit the dirt!”

The catcher was waiting for the throw-in. I've got to make it, Johnny told himself. I've got to make it!

He was tired, but he had only a little farther to go. He ran harder, then he hit the dirt in a slide that carried him across
the plate. The catcher caught the throw-in, tagged Johnny on the shoulder with the ball.

“Safe!” shouted the umpire.

Manager Davis jumped from the bench and ran toward Johnny. He thumped Johnny on the back. “Johnny, you did it! You really
put on the steam going home! Nice running, fella!”

“Thanks!” whispered Johnny, a wide grin like a quarter moon on his face.

The Cardinals didn't get another run, but neither did the Mudhens when they came up for their last raps.

The Cardinals won, 7 to 6.

Johnny's heart was light as a cloud as he walked home with Freddie and Mickey. Wait till he told Michael about
this
game. And every bit of it would be true!

“
W
ELL
, who won today?” Mrs. Doane asked. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled.

Johnny's grin spread from ear to ear. “We did! Seven to six! Where's Michael, Ma? I have to tell him about it!”

“Oh? And what did you do — get a home run or something like that?” she chuckled.

“No. But I got two hits. And I scored the winning run!”

“Well! How about that?”

Johnny looked around anxiously. “Where is he, Ma? Where's Michael?”

“He went for a walk with Sand.” Suddenly her smile left her face. Her brown eyes grew worried. She walked to the window and
pulled the curtain aside. “Oh, dear!” she said. “Those black clouds are coming this way fast. It'll be raining hard in a few
minutes.”

Johnny grew worried, too. He forgot about the baseball game. Right away the only thing he was interested in was Michael. He
saw a streak of lightning dart across the black distant sky. He heard the soft roll of thunder.

He went up to his mother. “Mom, where did Michael go for a walk? Did you see him?”

She pointed out the window. “Down the road toward the Turner farm. But he should be coming back any minute. He must have been
gone an hour or
more. Maybe he's visiting the Turners.”

“What if he isn't?” Johnny said.

She turned and put comforting hands on his shoulders. “Oh, quit worrying your little head about Michael. Sand is with him.
And you know that Sand takes care of him almost as well as any one of us.”

She looked at him that way for a while. Then she gently took her hands off his shoulders and looked out the window again.
Johnny saw the smile fade a little. He saw the two tiny lines of worry come to the corners of her eyes.

She's just trying to make me believe she isn't worried, Johnny thought. But she is. She's as worried as I am. I bet that Michael
didn't go to the Turner farm. The Turner farm is two miles away. He never walked that far with Sand, unless Mom or Dad or
I was with him.

“Phone to them, Mom. See if he is at the Turners'.”

She phoned. After a few moments she put the phone down. “He isn't there,” she said softly.

“I'm going after him,” Johnny said. He started for the door.

“Johnny, wait!” cried his mother. “I'll go with you! And put on your raincoat!”

“Oh, Ma! You can't come with me!” said Johnny. “I can run a lot faster than you can! You — you'll just slow me up!”

She stared at him. A tear shone in her eye and she dried it with the bottom of her apron. “But how would you know where to
look, Johnny?”

“I'll know,” he said. “I'll get my slicker, and Michael's, too.”

He ran to his bedroom closet, yanked out the slicker, put it on, and pulled the hood over his head. Then he took out Michael's, folded it, stuck it under his slicker,
and ran out of the house.