Challenge at Second Base Read online

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 1962, 1991, 1992

  by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  Illustrations copyright © 1992 by Marcy Ramsey

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark

  of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09549-5

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The #1 Sports Series for Kids: MATT CHRISTOPHER®

  Matt Christopher®

  To Fred and Gloria

  1

  The white runabout hopped and skipped over the rough water like a rabbit chased by a fox. Not far away a bird glided down, touched the water with its bill, and swooped away.

  Stan, sitting on the rear seat behind his brother Phil, felt the bumps. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he straightened as if somebody had prodded him in the back.

  Wasn’t this Monday? The day the baseball suits were given out?

  Stan’s heart flipped. Yes, it was!

  “Look at me!” he cried out loud. “Playing around in the middle of Lake Mohawk! Phil!” he yelled into the wind to the boat’s pilot. “Phil, what time is it?”

  Phil looked at his wrist watch. “Five minutes of five!” he answered over his shoulder.

  “Holy catfish!” shouted Stan. “They were passing out the suits at four-thirty! I have to get home and get out of my trunks, Phil!”

  “You won’t right away!” replied Phil. “Look ahead of us and to our left! Somebody’s in trouble!”

  “But, Phil!” Stan protested. “I’ve got to— ”

  “Not till we help out that guy first!” said Phil sternly.

  Stan squinted past the sharp bow of the boat, to the left of Phil’s head. He saw something white in the water, but could not make out what it was. He stood up, angry at himself for having let the time go by unnoticed.

  “It’s a sailboat!” he yelled. “Somebody’s waving at us!”

  The sailboat was lying on its side, its white sail flapping in the water. A person was clinging to it, waving frantically.

  Phil gunned the motor and turned the wheel. A short scream burst from Stan as he lost his balance and started to fall. For a brief moment he was looking straight down at the deep green water. His face was hardly more than two feet away from it. Then his hands gripped the edge of the boat and he held on tightly.

  Seconds later he was sitting down, his heart pounding.

  Quickly, Phil approached the tipped sailboat. He cut the motor and the boat lost speed.

  Stan was able to read the name on the boat, even though it was upside down. Mary Lou.

  “It’s Jeb Newman’s boat!” Stan cried. “That’s Jeb!”

  “Hi, guys!” greeted the boy in the water. He was grinning as if a tipped sailboat were a common occurrence with him. “Thanks for the rescue!”

  “We’ll help you put her back up!” said Phil.

  Jeb was wearing swim trunks. Stan expected to see Gary with him. Gary was Jeb’s younger brother, a strong prospect for second base on the Falcons’ team. That was all right, except that Stan wanted to play second base, too.

  Phil let the motor idle as he drifted close to the sailboat. Stan dived in, and he and Jeb swam to the other side of the boat. While Phil lifted the mast, Stan and Jeb pushed against the side of the boat until it was back up in position.

  Jeb climbed into it, the water inside the boat up to his shins. Then Phil helped pull Stan back into the motorboat.

  “A gust of wind caught me off my guard while I was turning,” explained Jeb. “Guess I’m still an amateur.” He unhooked a pail and began bailing out the water.

  “How come you’re not at the ball park?” he asked Stan. “You’re playing with the Falcons, aren’t you?”

  “I forgot about it,” said Stan, and looked anxiously at his brother. “Maybe we can still make it, Phil.”

  “See you around, Jeb!” yelled Phil, and once more gunned the motor.

  The sudden burst of noise frightened a flock of birds flying low near them. Stan was afraid he had little chance beating out Gary at second base. After all, why shouldn’t Gary be good? Jeb was working him out a lot — going to the field with him when nobody else was there and hitting grounders to him for hours.

  If Phil would help Stan like that, Stan would be good, too. Phil, though, acted as if he didn’t care whether Stan played or not.

  Stan shook his head. He just couldn’t figure out Phil anymore. Last year Phil had played professional baseball with Harport. This year he didn’t play at all, except pitch and catch with Stan. And Stan practically would have to twist his arm to get him to do that.

  “I’m afraid we’ll be late, Stan,” said Phil.

  “I’m afraid, too,” replied Stan sadly.

  2

  Phil drove Stan directly to the baseball field. The place was as empty as an open sea.

  “Guess I don’t get a suit.” Stan’s voice caught a little.

  “Don’t lose all your hopes,” replied Phil. “The coach is probably holding one for you.”

  “I doubt it,” said Stan. “Coach Bartlett is real strict about these things. He said that if a boy didn’t have a good reason for not showing up at practice, he wasn’t interested in playing. He was keeping out somebody else who was.”

  “But you have a good reason for not being here this afternoon,” said Phil. “It was my fault.”

  Stan didn’t answer.

  On the way home in the car, Stan got to thinking about Phil. From the brief conversation he had between Mom and Dad, he knew that Phil hadn’t done too well with Harport. Even so, he could have signed a contract with them this year, but he had refused. Stan didn’t know exactly why Phil had refused. If Stan were in that position he certainly would not have!

  “Why didn’t you play with Harport this year, Phil?” Stan asked. “Did you want more money?”

  “What?” Phil seemed to be daydreaming. “Oh! No. No, it wasn’t money,” he said finally.

  “Then what was it?”

  Phil looked at Stan. He seemed a little embarrassed. “You won’t mind if I don’t want to talk about it, will you, little buddy?”

  Stan shrugged. “No. If you don’t want to.”

  He couldn’t understand it at all. What other reason was it if it wasn’t money?

  Well, Stan had his own worries now. Without a suit he couldn’t play for the Falcons in the league. What was he going to do now? Most of his pals would make the team. He was sure of that.

  I’ll have more time with my space projects, he told himself. I don’t have to play baseball. But he was just thinking up excuses, for h
e loved baseball more than anything.

  Saturday afternoon, Larry Jones and Tommy Hart came to the house, dressed in brand-new baseball uniforms. They were carrying their spikes and gloves. Larry’s was a catcher’s mitt.

  “Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Larry asked. He was almost as wide as he was tall. His hair was copper-colored, and he had freckles sprinkled around his nose. “Didn’t you know Coach Bartlett was passing out the suits?”

  “I got there too late,” said Stan.

  “You should’ve been there,” said Tommy. “You would’ve gotten a suit.” He was the team’s pitcher, a tall, slender boy who could hit as well as he could throw.

  “Was Gary there?” Stan asked quickly.

  “Of course,” replied Tommy. “You don’t think he’d miss it, do you?”

  “We’re going down to the field, now,” said Larry. “Jeb Newman is going to pick us up here.”

  “Here?” Stan frowned. “Why here?”

  Larry shrugged his large shoulders. “Because we told him to. You’re coming along, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t have a suit,” said Stan. “If Coach Bartlett had wanted to give me one, he would have brought it over by now — I guess.”

  “Our first league game is Monday, “ Tommy said. “Against the Jaguars.”

  Why are they telling me this? thought Stan. I don’t want to hear it!

  Just then Jeb Newman drove his car up to the curb. Beside him sat his brother Gary in baseball cap and uniform.

  Larry and Tommy trotted to the car and got in.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Gary called.

  Stan shook his head, turned, and went back into the house.

  Outside, the car roared away from the curb.

  3

  Three 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.

  DON’T QUIT! YOU HAVE ABILITY! STICK TO IT!

  It wasn’t signed.

  4

  Phil!” 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.