Two Strikes on Johnny Page 3

  What he expected to happen happened again. Marty French started it. “That-away, Johnny! Nice catch, boy!”

  Then Butchie said something, and then Stevie, and one or two of the others. He was trying to ignore it as he ran in with his head down. He could hear Michael clap his hands. He could hear Sand bark. Johnny had to tell them not to do that again. He just had to.

  He was panting as he reached the bench. He looked at the manager, at Stevie, and then at Marty. But the words would not come. They were frozen in his throat.

  Marty slapped him on the back. He still had on his belly guard and knee guards. He grinned through the sweat and dirt that smeared his face. “Hi, Johnny! Nice catch! You looked like a big leaguer!”

  Johnny looked directly at him. Suddenly the lump melted in his throat and the words spilled from his lips.

  “Stop saying those things, Marty! You must! You and the rest of the team. I know what you're doing it for. You think you're making my brother Michael feel good by yelling like that.”

  “Sure! I know we are!” said Marty. “Did you see him get up and cheer with us?”

  “But it isn't fair!” cried Johnny, shaking his head. “I don't deserve any of that stuff. Anybody could have caught that last fly. And you guys made it sound like I'd made a great catch.”

  “Oh, Johnny,” said Butchie, “forget it. We're doing it for Michael. You want him to be happy, don't you?”

  “Yes. But not that way.”

  “Then how?”

  Johnny looked at the ground. “I don't know,” he said sadly.

  “Break it up, boys,” Mr. Davis said. “Come on, Johnny. You're first hitter. Let him get a strike on you before you take any cuts.”

  Johnny picked up a bat and stepped to the plate. The bases were empty now. Maybe he'd get a hit.

  The first pitch was a ball. The next was over the inside corner. Johnny swung at the third pitch. Missed! He heard the team talking to him from the bench. He heard Michael, too. Michael knew Johnny was batting.

  Then, crack! Johnny dropped the bat, started running for first. The ball was a hot grounder to short. Johnny ran hard. The shortstop caught the ball on a hop, threw it to first. Johnny was out.

  It made no difference, men on bases or not. He could not hit, anyway.

  Mickey walked, starting a rally. By the time the inning ended, they had pushed across three runs.

  Score: Cardinals — 6, Rangers — 4.

  The Rangers came to bat in the last half of the fifth and scored one run. The game was over. The Cardinals won, 6 to 5.

  Johnny walked home with Michael and Sand and some of the other players. The other players talked about the game. Johnny hardly said a word. He was thinking a lot about Michael.

  Finally they reached the walk that led across the lawn to their house. The other fellows said good-by and went on their way. Johnny, Michael, and Sand started up the walk.

  Suddenly Johnny tugged on Michael's hand. He stepped in front of Michael and looked directly into his eyes.

  “Michael, I — I must tell you something,” he cried. He clamped his lips together and held his breath for a second.

  “What?” asked Michael.

  “I've been lying to you! I've been lying to you all along!”

  Michael's jaws dropped. His face paled. “What do you mean, Johnny?”

  “Those stories I've been telling you about me. I never made those home runs and triples and doubles like I said. I made it up. I made it all up!”

  “You — you mean you don't hit? But that can't be true! I heard the team yelling your name. Every time you batted they cheered you. And when you caught a fly ball —”

  “They just did that on purpose.” Johnny choked. “Oh, Michael, don't you understand? They knew I told you stories to make you believe I was good. So they did that for you.”

  Michael blinked. “Then all that — all those stories you told me — they weren't true?”

  “That's right, Michael. None of them were true. I — I'm sorry. Honest I am.”

  A tear dropped on Michael's cheek.

  Johnny took Michael's arm. “I told you I'm sorry, Michael. You believe me, don't you? Don't you, Michael?”

  “I guess so,” Michael said softly. He turned away. “Come on, Sand. Let's — let's go up to the house.”

  7

  JOHNNY did not go to the game against the Tiger Cats after supper Friday. He stayed home and mowed the lawn until he was all tired out. He didn't see Michael around and thought that he must be inside listening to television.

  Johnny rested under the linden tree with his hands folded behind his head and his right leg crossed over his left. The day was sunny, just nifty for baseball. The large green leaves were moving like a million fans in the breeze. A red-winged blackbird flew onto a limb. It rocked back and forth on its skinny legs, sang its song, then flew away again.

  Johnny heard his mother and father come out on the porch. He heard the glider squeak as they sat down on it. Then they rocked to and fro and began talking about the floods in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. Johnny listened awhile.

  He tried not to think of the Cardinals, but Marty and Freddie and all the others came hopping into his mind like rabbits. He tried not to think of baseball, but he couldn't help it.

  He thought about Michael again and his heart ached. Michael had not been his usual self since that last game. He would speak, but he never once mentioned a thing about baseball. He didn't ask when Johnny was going to play again.

  Johnny felt awful. He didn't know what to do except not to play ball any more. He was sorry, sure. He had told Michael he was sorry. But just telling Michael he was sorry did not solve the problem. Michael was still hurt because all along Johnny had been telling him how well he was doing in the games and Michael had believed him. You couldn't blame Michael. But, jumping Jupiter, Johnny had done it only to make Michael feel happy all the time. Johnny had wanted to hit doubles, triples, and homers. He had wanted to catch every fly ball that came to him.

  Johnny straightened out his legs and turned over on his stomach. He put his face on his arm and shut his eyes. Maybe by lying this way he could wipe those baseball thoughts from his mind.

  Pretty soon he heard some boys walking along the road. He recognized Freddie Turner's voice and little Mickey Bonzell's. He turned around and sat up. They spotted him and Freddie yelled, “Hi, Johnny! Where were you? We waited for you!”

  Johnny shrugged. “I guess I'm not going to play any more.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Freddie and Mickey came up the walk.

  “Aw, I'm no good. I can't hit or anything, so I thought I — well, I'd better not go down any more.”

  “You're the best outfielder we've got!” Mickey cried seriously.

  Johnny stared at him. “But I can't hit. It's no fun playing ball if you can't get hits.”

  “Oh, baloney,” Freddie said. “You hit as often as I do.”

  “You hit better than me,” Mickey said.

  Johnny grinned. “Who won?” he asked.

  “The Tiger Cats. They beat us, 8 to 5.”

  “We were ahead once by two runs,” Freddie said. “Then Davie blew up. We had to pull him and put in Jimmie Doty. By then it was too late.”

  Suddenly Freddie and Mickey looked up. They gazed over Johnny's head toward the house. Johnny didn't turn. He thought that maybe his mother and father were coming, because he couldn't hear the glider swinging.

  “Here comes your brother Michael,” Mickey said softly.

  Johnny tightened his lips. He wished that the boys would go away. he didn't want to talk baseball anymore.

  “Hi, Michael,” Freddie greeted, smiling.

  “Hello, Michael,” echoed Michkey.

  “Hi, Freddie. Hi, Mickey. I heard you guys talking. I was sitting on the porch.”

  Johnny frowned. Michael must have come out on the porch, too, and Johnny had not heard him. Well, Johnny had not said anything more to hurt Michael. He shouldn't worr
y.

  “Johnny?”

  Johnny turned. Sand, at Michael's side, lay on her stomach and put her long black-tipped snout on her front paws. Her brows quivered as she looked from Johnny to the boys.

  “Yes, Michael?”

  “Please don't stop playing ball, Johnny.”

  Johnny stared. He looked at Freddie and Mickey, and back at Michael. He blushed. “But I've made up my mind. I can help Mom and Dad a lot around the house. Anyway, I'm not born to be a ball player.”

  “Yes, you are,” Michael said. “And you can't quit. You just can't, Johnny.”

  Johnny looked past Michael. His mother and father were still sitting on the glider. Johnny could tell by their faces that they had heard every word that had been said.

  Johnny looked up at Michael's freckled face. Michael was serious. He seemed almost on the verge of tears.

  “Say you won't quit playing baseball, Johnny,” Michael sobbed. “Please say it!”

  Johnny swallowed. “All right, Michael. I'll play. I guess I didn't really mean it, anyway.” Michael's lips curled in a warm smile. Sand rose on her hind paws, yawned, and stretched. “Come on, Sand. Let's go back,” Michael said.

  8

  ON SATURDAY afternoon the Doanes packed up a picnic lunch and went to Burdett Park. The park was near Danby Lake, so all four of them took their bathing suits and went swimming. Michael loved the water. When he was very little, he had been afraid of the water. But they had taken him often and now he wasn't afraid any more.

  Sand went along, too. She had to be tied to a leash, so somebody had to remain on shore with her. At first she barked and whined, because she wanted to go in the water, too. Both Michael and Johnny wanted her to go in, but Mr. Doane said that Sand had better stay on shore. Finally Sand stopped fussing and just lay on the soft grass and watched.

  By the time they returned home, the boys were tired. That night Johnny slept like a log.

  Late Sunday afternoon Manager Davis telephoned. He said that the Cardinals had a game with the Mudhens on Monday, and for Johnny to be at the field at five-thirty.

  Johnny was excited. He had missed playing baseball. He thought back and realized that he had not played since last Wednesday.

  He called up Freddie and asked Freddie to come to the house. He wanted to play catch with him. When Freddie came, he brought Mickey along. They took turns pitching, batting, and fielding. If the batter missed the pitch when he swung, he had to chase the ball himself.

  Johnny ate very little for supper on Monday. He said he wasn't hungry.

  “I'll eat more when I come back,” he told his mother happily. He looked at Michael. “Do you want to come to the game with me, Michael?”

  “No, thanks,” Michael answered quietly.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  “Okay. But you can come if you want to.”

  “No. I'm going to listen to television.”

  Johnny looked at his mother and father. They looked back at him, but neither of them said anything. Johnny didn't know why Michael did not want to go to the game. He guessed that his mother and father didn't know either.

  He excused himself from the table. Outside he met Mickey and Freddie coming along the road. They started to the baseball field.

  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.

  9

  “THOSE 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.

  10

  ONE 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.