Too Hot to Handle Read online

  David looked over his collections while he waited for Bonesy to come. The coins in both folders began with the year 1946. There were three sides in each folder. Each side had slots in which to fit the coins. And under each slot was the year and the number of coins minted that year.

  The first side of the dime collection was filled, but the second side still lacked a few. The third side was for dimes that would be minted in future years.

  One of the missing dimes was a 1955. That year there were 12.8 million minted, according to the figures under the slot. David had a 1961 dime but not a 1961—D. He had all the other dimes he needed.

  He had started to look at the quarter folder when there was a knock on the door. David heard Ann Marie say, “Hello, Bonesy,” and then she called to him that Bonesy was here.

  “Come in, Bonesy!” said David.

  Bonesy came into the room. He was wearing a T-shirt and had combed his hair neatly. He had used a lot of water to comb it, because a few drops were still clinging to it at the ends.

  “It’s a 1959—D quarter,” said Bonesy. “I knew you were looking for quarters with certain dates. That’s why I called you.”

  David opened the folder and looked at the slot that was supposed to hold the 1959—D quarter. It was empty.

  “Bonesy!” he cried happily. “It’s one that I need. Thanks. Thanks a million!”

  Bonesy smiled as he handed the coin to David. David looked at the date to make sure Bonesy was right. Bonesy was. Then he pressed the coin into the slot and looked at them all with pride.

  “It’s almost filled, Bonesy,” he said. “All I need is a 1955—D, a 1954—S, a —”

  “A 1953—D and a couple more,” finished Bonesy, laughing. “And, look — there were only three point two million of the 1955—D’s made. Wow! Compared with some of those others, David, that isn’t many. Think you’ll ever get it?”

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll just have to keep trying. How much do you want for the quarter?”

  “Five bucks.”

  “What?” cried David. “Five bucks?”

  Bonesy chuckled. “Don’t get excited. I’ll settle for twenty-five cents.”

  David smiled. “I’ll give you thirty cents when I get my allowance.”

  Bonesy went over and sat on the edge of David’s bed. He crossed his arms and sat there awhile, not saying anything. David knew there was something bothering him.

  “What’s the matter, Bonesy?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Bonesy. He looked squarely at David. “David, do you want to quit baseball? If you do, I’ll quit with you.”

  David stared. “Quit baseball? Me? What gave you that idea?”

  Bonesy looked away again. “Those guys burn me up the way they talk about you. I even told Rex off, but it doesn’t do any good.”

  “Oh,” said David. Now he knew what Bonesy was talking about. “I guess it’s true what they say, though. I’ll never play baseball like my father. Or my two uncles. Guess I just wasn’t born to be a good ballplayer.”

  “But they don’t have to say those things,” said Bonesy angrily. “You’re just as good as I am. You’re just as good as many of them are. Look at Legs.”

  David shook his head. “But his name isn’t Kroft.”

  “That’s it,” said Bonesy. “That’s exactly it. That’s why I think it’s awful what they say.”

  “Maybe I should take up tennis,” said David.

  “But you need money for that,” said Bonesy.

  “Yeah,” replied David. “That’s the trouble. He refolded his quarter album, placed it on top of the dime album and put them both back into the drawer of his desk.

  “Hit me grounders, will you, Bonesy?” David asked.

  “If you say so,” said Bonesy. But he didn’t seem too happy about it.

  David gathered up a bat, glove and baseball and went out to the front yard with Bonesy.

  The Kroft house and all the other houses on the block were set far back from the road, giving each plenty of yard space.

  Bonesy stood with his back to the house to hit to David. In this way there would be no danger of breaking a window if he accidentally hit the ball too high.

  As David walked toward the edge of the lawn to get into position to field Bonesy’s grounders, he spotted Mrs. Finch sitting on the porch across the street. Her full name was Mrs. Gertrude Finch, and there wasn’t a person in Penwood who didn’t know her. She hardly ever cracked a smile. She hardly ever said nice things to people’s faces.

  Still, everyone in town liked her. People knew that when she talked back to them in her harsh way she didn’t really mean it.

  There was one thing about her, though, that David didn’t like. Others didn’t like it, either. Mrs. Finch belonged to several organizations in town. In every one of them she urged the members to help do away with many of the sports activities, which, she said, were “turning the beautiful town of Penwood into a sports arena.”

  David couldn’t understand why she was so dead set against sports. Mr. Finch wasn’t like that at all. As a matter of fact, he attended all the games and enjoyed them. What’s more, he bowled.

  But that was the way Mrs. Finch was, and nobody could do anything about it. Not even Mr. Finch.

  “There’s old Crabface,” said Bonesy. “Move over. We wouldn’t want the ball to go bouncing into her yard if you missed it. We’d never see it again.”

  A few moments later Mom and Ann Marie left the house. “We’ll be back shortly, David,” said Mom. “We’re going up to see Mrs. White’s new baby.”

  “Where’s Dad?” asked David.

  “He had to go to a meeting. He shouldn’t be gone long, though. Be careful with that baseball, now.”

  “We will,” promised David.

  David smiled to himself. Dad belonged to organizations, too. He had helped organize the little league baseball teams and the town team on which Don played. He had helped to organize the Boy Scout troop and had led the fund drive for the new skating rink. He was in nearly every young people’s community project that took place in Penwood.

  Of course he and Mrs. Finch had arguments about the sports that Dad had helped to bring to Penwood. And the sports’ being there was proof that Dad had always won out.

  But was Mrs. Finch mad at Dad because he had won? Absolutely not! Mrs. Finch was indeed a most peculiar person. David knew it was just a waste of time for anyone to try to figure her out.

  Bonesy kept hitting him grounders. Once in a while Bonesy would hit a hard one. Sometimes David caught it; sometimes he didn’t.

  And then Bonesy knocked one real hard that David misjudged. The ball bounced up, hit him on the eye, and David fell back onto the lawn. He let out a yell, threw aside his glove and clamped his hands over the eye.

  “I’m sorry, David!” Bonesy cried. “I’m sorry!”

  David lay on the ground awhile, not moving. He could practically feel the swelling grow under his hand. Boy, did it hurt!

  “Look who’s coming!” whispered Bonesy. “Old Crabface!”

  David started to rise to his feet. He was a little dizzy. He bowed his head and tried to keep from swaying.

  “David,” came Mrs. Finch’s strong voice, “did you get hit with a baseball?”

  David nodded. He could hear her snort.

  She put an arm around his shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll take you to a doctor.”

  “No,” he said, and tried to shrug her arm off his shoulder. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Stubborn like your father,” she said. “Here. Take your hands away. Let’s see that eye.”

  He let her glimpse it.

  “Heavens!” said Mrs. Finch. “You must let a doctor see that, David. Come on. I’ll drive you —”

  “No. I’m all right now. I’ll put some ice on it.”

  “David!” Mrs. Finch’s voice was raised almost to a shout. “If you don’t let me take you to a doctor I’ll call an ambulance —”

  She sto
pped, for just then a car had turned into the driveway. David looked with his good eye and saw that it was Dad.

  Thank goodness! he thought.

  4

  DAD looked at David’s eye.

  “Yes, it was hit hard, Mrs. Finch,” agreed Dad. “But I’m sure I can take care of it with an ice pack.”

  Mrs. Finch folded her arms disgustedly. “I’d say you both came out of the same pod,” she grunted. “Stubborn as mules, both of you.”

  Dad chuckled. “A miss now and then does a boy good, Mrs. Finch. The next time David will make sure he has the glove in front of his eye before the ball gets there.”

  He started toward the house with David.

  “Mr. Kroft?”

  Dad turned. “Yes, Mrs. Finch?”

  “Do all of the lessons you teach your children involve this much pain?”

  Dad smiled. “No, Mrs. Finch, don’t worry.”

  Mrs. Finch glared at him a moment. Then she shook her head, laughed and struck her sides with her hands.

  “I give up!” she cried. “I give up! Good-bye, and make sure you fix up that eye! You hear?”

  With that she walked briskly away. David and Bonesy chimed in with Dad’s laughter, and the three of them went into the house.

  “I can’t figure her out,” said David.

  “Oh, she’s all right,” said Dad, as he went to the refrigerator and took out an ice tray. “She says she dislikes sports. She wants the clubs she’s in to try to stop some of them. She wants more art in Penwood. High-class music, for example. And a children’s theater.”

  Bonesy whistled. “Guess she wants everything high-class!”

  “Penwood could still have those things,” said Dad. “All Mrs. Finch has to do is drum up more interest. I just don’t like her to step on our toes while she’s doing it, that’s all.”

  He put the ice into an ice bag and placed it against David’s swollen eye. The eye had already turned colors and was swollen shut.

  “Think I’ll be able to play baseball next Wednesday, Dad?” asked David anxiously.

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” replied his father.

  The day of the Flickers-Bluebirds game came, and David’s eye was better. The swelling had gone down, but it was still black and blue.

  David played third. The moment he faced the Bluebirds’ first hitter, a strange feeling came over him. He got to thinking about his eye. He didn’t want to be afraid. He couldn’t be afraid.

  He started up a continuous chatter and pounded his fist into the pocket of his glove. No ball was hit to him that inning. In the next inning and the next he kept up the chatter.

  In the fourth a high-bouncing grounder came to him. He caught it, whipped it to first and threw the runner out. He had a put-out that inning, too. A pop fly in foul territory.

  He felt better. His chattering had helped him forget about his eye and about being afraid of getting hit again.

  The Flickers won the game 6 to 5.

  On Friday they tangled with the Canaries. The Canaries had won their first three games. They were still hot as they played the Flickers. Mandy Rubens, their clean-up hitter, smashed out a grand-slam home run. The game ended in the Canaries’ favor, 7 to 3.

  That evening the sky darkened and thunder rolled. It started to rain, and it rained all night. It rained all day Saturday and Sunday.

  The baseball field was drenched. The Monday game between the Flickers and the Waxwings was postponed to July 22 — providing the field would be dry enough to play on then. David was sure that no games would be played that week. It was still raining Monday afternoon.

  “I’m getting tired just sitting around and watching television,” said Don. “Want to walk to the library with me, David?”

  “Sure,” said David.

  They put on their boots and raincoats and went out into the rain. The Penwood Public Library was on another street, just beyond a narrow wooden footbridge that crossed Indian Creek.

  For a while they stood on the bridge and watched the water flowing underneath. It looked wild and dangerous. Up the creek David could see the high falls in the distance. Never had he seen so much water come over the falls before.

  The sight made him tremble. “Let’s go, Don,” he said.

  They continued on to the library. Don picked up two adventure novels and two sports novels.

  David selected a horse story and two books on baseball. They put the books underneath their slickers and started back for home.

  Partway over the bridge, Don suddenly stopped.

  “David!” he said. “This bridge is moving!”

  David noticed it, too. “Let’s run for it!” he shouted.

  They started to run. They were nearly across when the bridge broke loose from its holdings in front of them. David felt the wooden plankings give way under his feet and the cold water rush across his legs as he went down with the bridge.

  He yelled with all the strength he had in his lungs. At the same time he let go of the books and grabbed hold of the railing. In the next second the bridge tore loose at the other end and shot downstream. David turned and saw Don clutching the railing desperately, too.

  Don was on one knee. The railing from the other side was lying across his leg.

  5

  THE bridge was like a raft carrying the two boys down the stream. It bobbed and seesawed with the swiftly flowing water.

  “David!” shouted Don. “Duck your head! We’re coming to a bridge!”

  David had seen the bridge ahead of them. There were only a few feet of space between it and the flooding stream.

  He ducked his head. This was going to be close. Real close!

  Seconds later they were under it. There were only inches between the top of the railing and the bridge, but they passed safely through.

  David heard shouts behind him and looked back. A couple of cars had stopped on the street. People were jumping out of them, pointing at the boys. Yelling.

  The brothers had to pass under another bridge. Fear gripped David again. But they passed under this one safely, too.

  Gradually the stream widened. The water became less bumpy. It didn’t splash over the bridge anymore. The ride was easier. Less than a hundred yards away was the lake.

  David saw Don lift the railing off his leg and heave it back. Then he saw Don rub his leg, saw the pain on Don’s face.

  “You hurt bad, Don?” David asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know,” said Don. “That railing hit me pretty hard.”

  David raised himself with difficulty to his feet. When he stood at the railing, he could see that Don was favoring his hurt leg.

  A few minutes later they were out on the lake.

  “Well,” smiled Don, “that was quite a ride. We’ll never forget this one, will we, David?”

  David grinned with relief. “Wow! I guess not!”

  They heard the sound of a motorboat. In a moment they saw it coming across the waters from Regent’s Boat Landing.

  The boat came up close. There were two men in it. The boys knew them both. The one with a straw hat was Mr. Regent himself. The other was Mr. Thomas, a man who worked at the landing.

  They pulled up alongside the bridge. Mr. Thomas stood up and held on to the bridge railing while the boys got into the boat.

  David hopped in easily. But Don had trouble. He couldn’t walk on his hurt leg. He got down on his knees and crawled backward into the boat. David saw Don wince from the pain, but Don didn’t utter a peep.

  “You boys had quite an experience,” said Mr. Regent, as he revved up the motor and headed the boat back toward the landing. “Lucky you both weren’t thrown off. The waters are mighty dangerous up at the other end.”

  “You can say that again,” replied Don.

  “We lost our books,” said David.

  “Books?” echoed Mr. Regent.

  “Yes. We were just coming back from the library. I had three books and Don had four. We lost them all.”

  “Don’t
worry about them,” said Mr. Regent. “Books can be replaced. Your lives can’t.”

  When they arrived at the landing, Mr. Regent and Mr. Thomas got on either side of Don and helped him out of the boat. An ambulance was standing by, waiting for him. Don was laid on a stretcher and put into the ambulance.

  “Can I go with him?” David asked the driver.

  “You sure can,” said the driver.

  “Will you please call my mother and tell her about this, Mr. Regent?” said Don. “And tell her not to worry.”

  “Of course, my boy.” Mr. Regent smiled.

  At the hospital, X rays were taken of Don’s leg. They showed that the bone just above the ankle was fractured.

  Mom, Dad and Ann Marie were there. Mom had called Dad immediately at work after she had received the message from Mr. Regent about Don.

  “We’ll have to put a cast on that leg,” said Dr. Stevens, a small, chunky man with glasses. “And keep Don here for at least a week. That isn’t bad at all, you know. Those boys were very lucky.”

  “Will he — will he be able to play baseball anymore this year?” David asked worriedly.

  The doctor smiled at him. “I’m afraid not, David. I guess you’ll be the only Kroft we’ll be watching the rest of this year. Don will have to sit it out.”

  6

  WHEN David woke up the next morning the sun was shining through the window. He leaped out of bed and pulled aside the curtains. Below him the front lawn was green as a freshly scrubbed rug. A breeze was teasing the leaves of the big trees that lined the street. How good it was to see the sun again!

  He dressed quickly, went to the bathroom and washed. Then he hurried downstairs. He had reached the bottom when he remembered.

  Don is in the hospital. His leg is fractured. He can’t play ball anymore this year.

  Mom and Ann Marie were up. Ann Marie was practicing the piano in the living room. Mom was at the telephone. She was telling someone about the bridge accident and about Don’s being in the hospital.