Too Hot to Handle Read online

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT © 1965 BY MATTHEW F. CHRISTOPHER

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09607-2

  To

  Bobby, Sharon

  and Gary

  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

  1

  CRACK! The ball was hit hard. It sped down to third with long hops only inches from the close-cut grass. David didn’t move. The ball was coming right at him.

  In that second something came over David like a shower of ice-cold water. A ball had never been hit so hard to him before.

  He reached down for it. The ball brushed the heel of his glove and shot through his legs. He swung around and saw the white pill rolling fast out to left fielder Marty Cass.

  Marty picked it up and pegged it to second, holding the hitter on first.

  “Block those drives, Kroft!” yelled catcher Rex Drake angrily. “Fall in front of them if you have to!”

  David began to yell to drown out Rex’s words. That ball had really been hit. Any third baseman would have had a tough time trying to field it.

  The error helped the Gulls. Their next batter socked a clean single over second baseman Ken Lacey’s head that sent the runner on first all the way to third.

  Brad Lodge got the next two hitters out. The third smashed a line drive to David’s left side. David tried hard for it. He was sure he could stop it. It was a high-bouncing ball and wasn’t traveling as fast as the one that he had missed.

  But he missed it by almost a foot. Shortstop Bonesy Lane couldn’t reach it either. The ball bounced out to left field, and the runner on third scored.

  The Gulls picked up another run before the Flickers could get them out.

  The score was now 4 to 0 in the Gulls’ favor.

  David went directly to the bench and sat down without looking at anyone. Two grounders that he should have gotten, he thought. Two!

  Brad Lodge led off. He flied out on the two-two pitch. Then Ken Lacey put life back into the team as he blistered a pitch for two bases. Chugger Hines socked a single to right, and Ken scored.

  The Flickers’ bench was once again a beehive of excitement. This was the first game of the season. It was the bottom of the third. Up until now the Flickers’ wings had really been struggling. But the two straight hits put them back into the game. They were not out of it — not by a long shot.

  Jimmy Merrill knocked a sizzling grounder through the Gulls’ second baseman’s legs, and Chugger went to second. Rex Drake was up. Rex was the Flickers’ clean-up hitter.

  Chugger began to yell at second to rattle the pitcher. But his yelling didn’t do any good. Rex popped to the first baseman for an easy catch. Two away. He turned and hurled his bat disgustedly to the ground. It bounced a few feet and almost struck little Angie Burns, the mascot.

  “Watch that temper, Rex,” warned Coach Beach from the bench. “You don’t want to be taken out of the game, do you?”

  Rex didn’t answer. He went to the bench and sat down, squeezing in between David and Ken. Rex was like that. Very touchy.

  Marty Cass took a strike and two balls. Then he laced an inside pitch for a clean drive over the third baseman’s head, and Chugger came all the way in to home.

  Jimmy started for third. Legs Mulligan, the third-base coach, ordered him back to second.

  Bonesy was up next with David on deck. Bonesy inherited his nickname from his build. He was so thin his mother had to notch out a hole in his belt to keep his pants from falling.

  He took a called strike, then swung at a pitch far below his knees. He fouled the next pitch, then let three balls go by for a full count.

  “This is the one, Bonesy,” said Coach Beach. “Keep your eye on it.”

  The pitch came in, and Bonesy swung. A smashing drive to center field! The ball was hit hard. It was half a mile high, and the Gulls’ center fielder raced back. Then he stopped, lifted his glove hand, and Bonesy was out.

  Two runs, three hits and one error. David dropped his bat and ran out to third. The excited voices of the fans bothered him. The stands were so close to third base that he could hear almost everything the people said.

  He wished he could stay at shortstop. He liked it there. But he wasn’t good enough. That was why Coach Beach had him exchange positions with Bonesy in the third inning. David had a good arm, but he was short and squat. He was not able to cover as much ground as Bonesy could.

  “Think you’ll keep up that good Kroft name, David?” a voice said from the stands.

  There was humor in the man’s voice. There was nothing nasty about it. But the words burned into David’s mind.

  He knew why that person had said that. Dad had been a great baseball player in his day. Dad had two brothers who were still pretty great. They didn’t live here anymore. They had married and moved south. Both were playing baseball with professional teams.

  Don was good, too. He was David’s older brother. He was sixteen, a junior in high school and just about the best shortstop Penwood High School had ever had. Even Mr. Wooley, the high school athletic coach, said that.

  Practically everyone in Penwood who followed baseball knew that there had never been a Kroft who wasn’t a good player. A real good player.

  And that was why the fan had asked David that question, “Think you’ll keep up that good Kroft name, David?”

  David didn’t answer. He didn’t even look to see who had spoken. He scooped up his glove, got into position near the bag and waited for the practice throw from first baseman Jimmy Merrill.

  Brad bore down on the first hitter. Four pitches and he had the man out of there. Then the Gulls’ catcher came to bat. He smashed a hard grounder down to third. It took two hops and was at David before he could blink an eye. The ball bounced up face-high, struck the top of his glove and sailed far over his head.

  Another error!

  “Come on, Dave!” shouted Rex disgustedly.

  The fans yelled. David heard some of them talking to him. He tried to ignore them. He had learned a long time ago that a ballplayer should never listen to what the fans said.

  But two errors in one game! How long would Coach Beach stand for that?

  David began to chatter, mixing his voice with the rest of the infielders’. It was a good thing Brad was a cool pitcher. It took a lot for Brad to get sore.

  The Gulls banged out a hit, but it did no damage. They didn’t score.

  David led off for the Flickers. He had singled in the second inning. This was his second time at bat.

  “Ball!” Inside.

  “Ball!” Again it was inside.

  “Ball!” Too low.

  David stepped back. His heart hammered. The Flickers were trailing 4 to 2. He had to wait out the pitcher.

  He stepped back into the box and saw two strikes cross the plate. Full count.

  The next pitch came in. It was in there. David swung. Crack! A long
ball to left field. Not high enough. It was caught, and David returned to the dugout.

  “Tough luck, David,” said Coach Beach. “You hit that solid. Legs Mulligan will finish the game at third, David. Warm him up.”

  “Okay,” said David softly.

  He went to third to pick up his glove. Some of the fans commented on his hit. He appreciated it, but didn’t let on that he did. He and Legs went behind the stands and played catch until the Gulls retired the side.

  Legs was built something like Bonesy, except that he seemed to be more legs than anything else. He spat into the pocket of his glove and kept up a steady chatter at third. That was all he did that half inning, just chatter, for not a ball was hit to him.

  In the bottom of the fifth Jimmy Merrill walked and finally scored on a single by Bonesy Lane. In the sixth the Gulls picked up another run to make their total 5. Then Ken Lacey knocked another single, his third hit of the game, and Chugger walked. Jimmy flied out, and Rex singled, scoring Ken. That was the best the Flickers could do. They came out on the tail end, 5 to 4.

  “Tough game to lose,” said Dad as he, Mom, Don and Ann Marie walked out of the ballpark with David. “But it was very exciting.”

  “Guess it was my fault we lost,” said David.

  “Because of those errors?” Don laughed. “They were hard-hit apples, mister. I would have had trouble trying to catch those, myself.”

  I bet, thought David.

  “That big mouth,” broke in Ann Marie disgustedly.

  Mom looked at her. “Who’s a big mouth?” she asked, frowning.

  “Rex Drake. I heard him say that it looks as if there’s one Kroft who won’t keep up the good baseball name. Only he would say a thing like that.”

  “Forget it,” said Dad. “Just give David a chance. Isn’t that right, son?”

  David said nothing. He stared at the ground and remembered what that fan had said to him. It was very much the same thing that Rex had said.

  2

  DAVID knew he might never be as good a ballplayer as Dad used to be. Dad was tall and well-built. He could throw well, hit well and run like a deer. David could throw and hit well, too. But he wasn’t fast. He couldn’t shift to the right or left as quickly as he should. Nor would his legs carry him as fast as they should. The sprints proved it many times. David would always finish somewhere near the tail end.

  Funny how he wasn’t born like Don. Don was like Dad. He was fast, too. And shifty. He could play any position on the ball field with ease. Because he was quick and had a terrific arm, Coach Wooley played him at shortstop.

  Am I hopeless? thought David. Am I the one who will make people say, “Here is one Kroft who never made it”?

  He practiced as hard as he could the next two days. Coach Beach had David alternate at third with Legs Mulligan. David had worried about this before. He had been afraid that Legs might be starting at third. But Legs was a weak hitter, and David could hit. David was sure that that was the only reason why Coach Beach had him start.

  Coach Beach knocked grounders straight at David, then to his left side and his right side. David had no trouble catching the big hoppers that came directly at him. And his throws to first baseman Jimmy Merrill were right on target.

  But when the coach hit to David’s left and right sides, David had trouble. Oh, he caught the high bouncers, all right. His trouble was catching the balls hit hard and close to the ground. These he often missed. And if he fumbled the ball, then picked it up again, his throw to first would be wild.

  “Take your time, David! Make your throws good!” advised the coach.

  David had heard that advice before. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to play baseball. Could you like baseball and still not be meant for it?

  Thursday, after supper, David and Bonesy went to see the Penwood Merchants play the Atlas Redbirds. The game was at the Penwood Athletic Field, which had a grandstand behind the backstop and bleachers behind first and third bases. A board fence covered with advertisements surrounded the outfield.

  A large crowd attended the game. It had been like this last year. During the first few games of the season the people would come out in droves. Then, as the season wore on, the attendance wore off. It wasn’t like the Grasshopper League games. There was always a big crowd watching them.

  David enjoyed watching Don play short. In the very first inning Don caught two grounders and whipped them like rifle shots to first. They were easy-to-catch hops, but it was beautiful to watch Don play them. He did it with so little effort.

  David paid strict attention to the third basemen of both teams. Since he was playing third now for the Flickers, he wanted to learn all he could about how far away from the bag he should stand, how deep he should play and where to play when a bunt situation came up.

  The Redbirds won 6 to 5 on a last-inning home run. Don had socked two hits, both singles, and had about seven or eight assists without an error.

  “Too bad we lost that one,” David said to Don as they met outside the locker room.

  Don shook his dark head. “Give credit when credit’s due,” he said. “That was a well-hit ball. Just came at the wrong time for us, that’s all.”

  Don was so laid back. Losses didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  On Friday the Flickers tangled with the Waxwings, who had lost their first game to the Canaries 10 to 2. The Waxwings didn’t have any spirit. They were up first, and neither the coaches at the bases nor the players on the bench did any yelling.

  “They probably aren’t over their loss to the Canaries,” observed Rex as he came in to the bench after the Waxwings went down one, two, three. “Look at them. They look half dead.”

  Then, as if the Waxwings’ coach had heard Rex, he began to yell to his team: “Come on! Wake up, boys! Let’s hear some noise out there! What happened? Lose your tongues?”

  He was batting balls to the infielders. As if his words were a tonic, the infielders began to chatter, and immediately there was life on the field.

  “Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut,” said Rex.

  On the mound for the Waxwings was Peter Parker, a southpaw. He was a tall, gangling boy with black hair sticking out from under his baseball cap and hanging over his ears.

  Leadoff man Ken Lacey stepped to the plate. He looked very short compared to Lefty Parker. Lefty wound up and delivered a pitch that was a foot over Ken’s head. He delivered two more almost in the same place, then hit the plate with his fourth pitch.

  Ken walked to first.

  “Let him pitch to you,” said Coach Beach as Chugger stepped to the plate.

  Lefty put the first one over the heart of the plate. Chugger stepped out of the box and looked at the coach.

  “Let him do it again,” said Coach Beach.

  Lefty did it again, and the Waxwings’ fans roared. Chugger rubbed dirt on his hands, wiped it off on his pants and stepped back into the box.

  Lefty took his time on the mound. He stood rubbing the ball in his bare hands and looking at Ken on first base.

  David, who was coaching first, cupped his hands over his mouth. “Get ready, Ken. If it’s a good pitch Chugger has to hit it. And if it’s on the ground — go!”

  The next two pitches were balls. Then Chugger leaned into the next one and blasted it out to center field. Ken waited halfway between first and second. The fielder caught the ball, and Ken went back to first.

  Jimmy Merrill rapped a single over Lefty Parker’s head. Lefty missed it, and Ken advanced to second. Rex followed up with another single to left field. Ken rounded third and started for home.

  “Run hard! Run hard!” yelled Legs Mulligan, coach at third.

  The peg from the Waxwings’ left fielder was just as true as could be. It came in as if on a string, and the catcher caught it on the first hop.

  “Slide, Ken! Slide!” yelled Marty Cass, who was standing nearby, his bat in hand.

  Ken slid. Dust flared up as his feet plowed over the dirt and the plate, just a fraction of
a second before the catcher tagged him.

  “Safe!” cried the umpire.

  Jimmy went to third on the play and Rex to second. Marty Cass took a called strike, then grounded out to short.

  Two away.

  Bonesy was up. He weaved back and forth with his bat in front of him. No one held a bat like Bonesy. The coach had tried to correct this fault. But with Bonesy it was no fault. He could still bring the bat back and swing it in time.

  Lefty delivered two pitches — both balls. Then he sent in a perfect strike. The next was slightly high, but Bonesy swung at it.

  A smashing drive to left center field!

  Jimmy scored. A short distance behind him came Rex.

  David was up next. He swung at the first pitch and missed. Then he hit a letter-high pitch to center that was caught, and the big rally was over.

  The Flickers had scored three runs.

  The Waxwings were a quiet, unhappy bunch as they sat in the dugout and watched their hitters go to the plate and be put out. They had been up twice already, and neither time had a ball been hit to David.

  The Flickers kept rolling. They scored again in the second and again in the third to bring their total to five. In the fourth the Waxwings knocked out two doubles, one right after the other, and scored twice before the inning was over.

  They managed to put another run across in the sixth inning, but that was all. They lost to the Flickers 6 to 3 and walked off the field as silently as they had walked onto it.

  David wasn’t a bit enthusiastic about his performance today. Not one ball had come to him at third. He had hit a double and had flied out. In the fifth Coach Beach had taken him out and put in Legs.

  Somehow David was glad when the game ended.

  An hour later David received a telephone call from Bonesy.

  “I found a coin,” said Bonesy. “I think it’s one you need. Can I bring it over to you?”

  “Of course,” said David. “Bring it right over, Bonesy.”

  3

  BESIDES playing baseball, David liked to collect coins. He had two folders of them. One held dimes, the other quarters. Grandpa Miller, Mom’s father, had given David a good start. Coin collecting was Grandpa’s hobby, too.