Break for the Basket Page 2

  He put away his basketball and hung up his coat and hat. Then he helped the girls remove their coats. They jabbered like little monkeys, telling all the things they had done during the day. Real crazy things, thought Emmett. His mother hustled around the kitchen, from the cabinets to the refrigerator and the gas range. Once more hunger gnawed at Emmett’s stomach, and he remembered the crackers.

  He went to the hall closet, stuck his hand into his coat pocket, and hauled out the crackers he had put into it. They were all broken. He had forgotten all about them.

  “What have you got there?” his mother exclaimed as she saw him come into the kitchen with the crumbled crackers. He told her how hungry he had become, and about the boys coming over and playing with his basketball, about the hole in the ball and everything.

  Then Emmett went into the living room to see his father, who was reading the evening paper.

  “Robin Hood asked me to join their team, the Penguins,” Emmett said.

  His Dad glanced over the edge of the paper.

  “What’s that? A midget basketball league?”

  “It’s the Ice Cap League, Dad,” said Emmett enthusiastically. “Our team’s name is the Penguins.”

  “When does the team play?”

  “Saturday mornings at the Northside Community Hall. Robin Hood said there’s practice tomorrow after school —” Emmett rambled on like water gushing from a spout. And his father listened to every word, a warm smile on his lips.

  Then Emmett remembered something that wasn’t as pleasant. He told about Mr. G.

  Mom had come in from the kitchen, and both she and Dad looked at Emmett in amazement. “What’s gone wrong with that man?” Mom said. “Has he gone crazy?”

  “Nobody is paying any attention to his paintings, so he figures he might as well give it up,” said Dad.

  “But destroy those beautiful creations?” said Mom. “Did you ever see them? They were magnificent!”

  Dad shrugged. “I’ve seen them, and I agree with you. But an artist has a tough time selling his product these days. There are too many good ones. A man hasn’t a chance unless he gets a break.”

  “How does he get a break?”

  “That’s a good question, and I can’t answer it.”

  Emmett wasn’t sure what they were talking about. Could Mr. G. sell those paintings to somebody if they were really good? Is that what Mom and Dad were saying? But, gee whiz, those paintings were really good, weren’t they?

  Emmett brushed the thought from his mind. He liked Mr. G. all right, but when it came to paintings he was lost.

  “Okay. Set the table,” said Mom. “Supper is ready.”

  Emmett could hardly wait.

  Emmett carried his sneakers to the Community Hall with him the next day after school. The other Penguins were already there, dressed in their black satin uniforms. There were six of them. He would be the seventh man. Also present was a man sitting at the sidelines, watching with silent interest.

  “Hi, Emmett!” shouted Rusty Kane.

  Emmett waved. Then he thought he saw double, but it was the Dunbars — Robin Hood and Mickey. One of them came forward. “Hi, Emmett! Want you to meet Mr. Long. He’s our coach. Mr. Long, this is Emmett Torrance. He’s joining our team.”

  Emmett did not need a second guess to know that this one was Robin Hood.

  Mr. Long smiled and stretched out a hand. “Fine,” he said. “Glad to have you with us, Emmett. Put on your sneakers and warm up with the boys.”

  Emmett put on his sneakers. He began to feel very strange again. On the court somebody passed the ball to him. It bounced out of his hands. He went after it, picked it up, and passed to Mickey. It was a poorly aimed throw. The ball hit the wall and bounced back onto the court.

  One of the boys laughed. Emmett blushed. That cold, terrible feeling crept back into him, stronger than ever.

  4

  EMMETT WATCHED THE BASKETBALL pass from one player to another, until someone dribbled up to the basket and shot. He stood by like a store dummy. He felt foolish wearing his long pants and a shirt while the others wore their black satin uniforms.

  Had Robin Hood really meant it when he had asked Emmett to come to practice? Had he asked Emmett just to be nice, really hoping that Emmett would not come? Was that it? Emmett wished he knew, and found himself wondering whether he could trust Robin Hood. When practice was over Mr. Long got up and the team clustered around him.

  “Well, you boys are shaping up fine,” he said. “Maybe we’ll take the Eskimos Saturday morning.” He looked at Emmett. “Get a pair of black trunks and a jersey, young fella. Be here Saturday A.M., nine-thirty sharp.”

  Emmett went home, the cold night wind biting his cheeks. Tiny flakes of snow began whipping against his face. He had forgotten that he had to have trunks and a jersey to play on a team.

  He was glad when he reached home and the comfortable warmth of the living room.

  “Well, how did you do?” his Dad asked. Dad was on his hands and knees on the floor. Both Charlene and Georgianne were on his back, “riding” him around.

  Emmett shrugged. “Okay.” He was ashamed to say that the boys had hardly thrown the ball to him, and that when he did have it he was so clumsy that he had acted as if he had never handled a basketball.

  “What about your suit?” said his Dad.

  Emmett looked up in surprise.

  “Well, you have to have a suit, don’t you?” said his Dad.

  Emmett nodded. “Yes. By Saturday morning. But —but where am I going to get a suit?” he stammered, hopelessly.

  “I’ll buy it for you,” said his Dad. “What color do you need?”

  “Black satin,” said Emmett, suddenly feeling very happy. “The trunks and jersey are black satin. And I want number 5 on my jersey. No one else has that number.”

  Friday evening, when Mr. Torrance came home from work, he had the suit with him. Penguins was printed in white letters across the front of the jersey, and the number 5 on the back. He had also bought a little brown bag in which Emmett could carry the uniform.

  Emmett arose early Saturday morning. The thought of playing basketball had been on his mind part of the night. He had even dreamed about it. He dressed and went into the kitchen. His mother and father were having toast, coffee, and eggs for breakfast.

  “Well, look at the early bird,” said Mom. “You don’t have to give me two guesses why you’re up so early.”

  Emmett smiled. He had cereal and milk, then sat around waiting for the minutes to pass. It was only eight o’clock. Boy, how slowly time dragged.

  “I’m going over to see Mr. G. a minute,” he said finally. “Is that all right?”

  His Mom shrugged. “He may still be asleep.”

  “Not him,” said Mr. Torrance. “He’s up at five-thirty every morning. He is a strange fellow if there ever was one.”

  Emmett could not understand why his Dad, or anybody else, talked that way about Mr. G. He couldn’t see what there was peculiar about Mr. G. at all. Except that Mr. G. had very thick red hair which he seldom had cut, and he painted pictures. It wasn’t easy to paint pictures. Mom and Dad couldn’t do it.

  “I’ll just knock easy,” Emmett said.

  He put on his coat, hat, and mittens. He carried the little brown bag with his uniform inside of it to Mr. G.’s apartment and knocked lightly on Mr. G.’s door. He knocked again, but there was no answer.

  He was ready to believe that Mr. G. was asleep when the front door opened and Mrs. Maxwell stuck her head around the corner of the house.

  “If you’re looking for Mr. G., he isn’t here,” she said abruptly. “Matter of fact, he hasn’t been home in three days. I don’t know where he is.”

  She sounded angry and disgusted. She turned and went back into the house.

  Mr. G. not home for three days? Where had he gone? Had he left the city without saying good-bye? Was he that discouraged about his failure as a painter?

  Emmett’s heart ached. Mr. G. was a
real friend. Emmett could not believe that Mr. G. would have left the city without at least saying good-bye to him.

  Emmett started walking toward the Northside Community Hall. Presently he reached a corner. He looked to his right. Two blocks away a tall, orange-brick structure with pillars in front of it caught his eye. It was the Fenway Museum of Art, in which paintings of all descriptions hung on the walls. Many a time he would go there with Mr. G. Together they would look at the paintings. Sometimes they would spend hours there.

  “It’s like reading a book,” Mr. G. had once explained. “I enjoy looking at paintings as much as I enjoy painting. It’s a joy that fills the heart like soft rain in the summertime, or like reading the funnies on an early Sunday morning.”

  Emmett walked rapidly to the building. He walked up the long steps and then pulled open the tall, heavy door. The place was silent. He walked quietly across the carpeted floor. The eyes of the people in the paintings watched him as if they were alive.

  He walked into another vast room filled with paintings of every size and of everything you could think of paintings of a riverboat, a seashore, snowcapped mountains, people, and animals. Emmett began to feel that he wasn’t alone any more.

  A low, deep voice startled him. “Good morning, young fellow. Enjoying yourself?”

  Emmett whirled. A gray-haired man in shirtsleeves was standing there with a broom and a dustpan.

  “I’m looking for Mr. G.,” said Emmett.

  The man’s brows arched. “Who?”

  “Mr. G.,” Emmett repeated. “A friend of mine. He’s a painter. He’s a little man, and he’s got red hair. I’m looking for him.”

  The lines in the man’s face deepened as he smiled. “Red hair? Why, that must be the fellow who was standing at the door when I opened up. Came in, browsed around awhile, then left.”

  “He was here?” Emmett’s eyes widened. “When did he leave?”

  “Just a few moments ago. Said he was going down to the lake to paint a picture.”

  Almost before saying thank you, Emmett turned and dashed out of the building. He raced down the steps and ran all the way to Crandall Lake, which wasn’t too far. He stopped on its shore. It was a narrow lake and frozen all the way across. Emmett looked around the shore, at the bare trees and the empty picnic tables and benches. There was no sign of Mr. G.

  A train whistle hooted like a sad wail in the distance. Emmett looked across the lake. A figure caught his eyes a familiar figure — standing in the middle of the railroad tracks with a briefcase in his hand. He was looking the other way, at the buildings of the city stretching into the sky like mammoth rocks growing out of the earth, at the columns of smoke rising from a thousand chimneys, at the bright specks of lights that were windows touched by the morning sun.

  So that was what Mr. G. had come to paint. Not the lake, but the city on the other side of the tracks.

  “Mr. G.!” Emmett shouted. “Mr. G.!”

  He started to run across the ice, the uniform bag still in his hand. He wanted to talk to Mr. G., ask him where he’d been these last three days. Maybe if Mr. G. didn’t return to his apartment soon, Mrs. Maxwell might order him to leave. Could he owe her rent? Was that why she was so angry?

  Emmett got halfway across the lake when his foot sank down and splush! — he plunged through the ice!

  His uniform bag skidded away. The next moment he was in the water up to his chest. Desperately he hung onto the jagged edges of the ice, while the cold water gnawed at his legs.

  “Mr. G.!” he screamed. “Mr. G.!”

  5

  THE TRAIN WHISTLED the same time that Emmett yelled. Mr. G. could not possibly have heard him.

  “Mr. G.!” Emmett shouted again. “Mr. G.! Help!”

  He got colder. Another piece of ice broke off the edge. Emmett pushed his arms out full length over the solid part and began to tread water to keep himself up.

  Emmett screamed again. If Mr. G. didn’t hear him now —

  Mr. G. turned. Emmett lifted a hand and waved. “Mr. G.! Help! It’s me! Emmett!”

  The next instant Mr. G. jumped over the rail and down the high, cindered bank. He slid on his back. Then he was on his feet and running on the ice as fast as he could. And that wasn’t fast, because he was slipping so much.

  “Hang on, Emmett!” he said. “Hang on! I’ll be right there!”

  Emmett’s arms were getting tired. But he would hold on until Mr. G. reached him. He just had to. He prayed that Mr. G. wouldn’t plunge through the ice, too.

  At last Mr. G. was there. “Jumping jack rabbits!” he said. “What a fine time to go swimming!” He didn’t get too close. He took off his coat, lay down on his stomach, and tossed a corner of his coat to Emmett.

  “Grab hold, Emmett!” he said. “Grab hold and hang on tight!”

  Emmett grabbed hold of the coat with one hand. Then he put both hands around it. Slowly Mr. G. crawled back on the ice, pulling the coat with Emmett hanging on like a lobster. Seconds later Emmett was out of the water, dripping wet and cold.

  “Th — thanks, Mr. G.!”

  “Never mind that,” said Mr. G. quickly. “We have to get you home where it’s warm, or you’ll catch pneumonia!”

  “Nobody’s home now. Could we go to your place?” Emmett was shivering.

  “Sure, Emmett. Let me get your bag and we will be on our way.”

  Then Mr. G. put his coat over Emmett’s shoulders and helped him to shore. A dozen people were on the frozen bank, watching anxiously.

  “Quit staring like a pack of idiots!” shouted Mr. G. “If anyone wants to do a favor show us your car and take us home! This boy needs care immediately!”

  “This way,” a man said.

  Emmett and Mr. G. entered the man’s car, a four-door sedan. Mr. G. barked his address and the car took for.

  “You should have had more sense than to run on that ice,” said Mr. G. “Couldn’t you see those places where it looked thin?”

  Emmett shook his head. “N — no,” he said.

  When the car stopped, Mr. G. stepped out, then helped Emmett out. “Thank you very much,” Mr. G. said to the driver. “I’ll take care of him from here.”

  Mr. G. led Emmett into his apartment. He opened the heat valves in the radiators wide, then helped Emmett take off all of his clothes.

  “A hot bath for you, and then into bed,” said Mr. G.

  The hot bath felt good. It took the cold out of Emmett, made him feel fresh and warm again. Mr. G. loaned Emmett his pajamas. They were just a little bit big for him.

  “Pays for a grownup to be a shorty sometimes,” laughed Mr. G. “Now, crawl into bed. I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate, then go about drying your duds.”

  Mr. G. made the hot chocolate and gave it to Emmett. Then he rinsed out Emmett’s clothes in the sink as much as he could.

  “I’m going to ask Mrs. Maxwell to put these in her automatic dryer,” he said at the door. “They’ll be dry before you can say Peter Piper picked a peck of potatoes.”

  Emmett wondered if Mrs. Maxwell would let Mr. G. use her automatic dryer. He drank the hot chocolate while he waited. It warmed him thoroughly. A few moments later there was a drone upstairs and Emmett knew that the dryer was at work drying his clothes. And that Mrs. Maxwell wasn’t so mad at Mr. G. after all.

  Then a horrible thought struck him. The basketball game against the Eskimos!

  He couldn’t stay here in bed! He had to get to that game! The Penguins would never give him another chance if he failed to show up now!

  6

  MR. G. RETURNED with Emmett’s clothes. A broad smile formed half-moons around his mouth.

  “Well, here you are. Clean and dry.” His black brows arched as he leaned forward and whispered, “I told her you slipped on the ice, but I didn’t tell her where.”

  Emmett grinned. He threw back the covers and started to get out of bed.

  “Hold it,” cautioned Mr. G. “Where do you think you’re going?”

&
nbsp; “The Penguins are playing basketball! I’m late already!” cried Emmett.

  “Do you feel up to it? Are your chills all gone?”

  “I feel fine! Honest, Mr. G.!”

  “Okay. Get into your clothes. But if you start sneezing—”

  “I won’t, Mr. G. I know I won’t.”

  Emmett yanked on his clothes, then looked up at Mr. G. “Mr. G., thank you for pulling me out of the lake. I guess I shouldn’t have run out there.”

  Mr. G. chuckled dryly. “That’s all right. I had just about decided not to make a painting of the city anyway. I was ready to come home when I heard you.”

  Emmett smiled. What a hectic morning this had been so far!

  “See you, Mr. G.!” he said. He picked up his uniform bag and ran out of the door.

  All sorts of crazy thoughts spilled through his mind as he ran all the way to the Northside Community Hall. What time was it? Why hadn’t he thought about looking at the clock in Mr. G.’s apartment? Would the Penguins keep him on the team even though he was late? Maybe the game was already over! The horrifying thought made him run faster.

  He soon reached the hall. Screams from the basketball court told him that the game was still on. He went inside the gym, recognized the Penguins on the court. He glanced at the electric scoreboard.

  PENGUINS 29

  ESKIMOS 27

  Then he saw the green light just above the score. It was the last quarter!

  Emmett saw Mr. Long, the coach, sitting near the table where the scorekeeper sat. Johnny Clark was sitting beside him. Emmett went to him. He trembled with nervousness, wondering if Mr. Long would even recognize him.

  “Hey, it’s Emmett Torrance!” Johnny shouted. “Where have you been?”

  “I fell on the ice and got my clothes all wet,” replied Emmett. He looked questioningly at Mr. Long.

  “The fourth quarter has just started, Emmett,” said the coach. “Hurry into your uniform.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Long!”

  Emmett rushed into the dressing room, his heart thumping with excitement. He dressed in a jiffy. He felt awfully strange as he walked out onto the court. He had never worn a uniform before.