Miracle at the Plate Page 4

Alan and Skeeter walked home together. Alan had his head bowed, unhappy about the whole thing.

  “I see what you mean,” observed Skeeter. “You guys are unlucky.”

  “I was thinking about that stupid run I made to second,” said Alan.

  “Who’s perfect?” said Skeeter. “At least you don’t get your legs tangled up like I do. And you can field. That double play you made was a honey.”

  Alan seemed not to have heard him. “You know that hit I got was my first this year?” he said.

  Skeeter stared. “It was?”

  “That’s why I tried to stretch it into a double, I guess.”

  Skeeter grinned. “We’re a couple of mixed-up ball players,” he said. “You’re a good in-fielder but a lousy hitter, and I’m a good hitter but a lousy fielder.”

  He laughed, then Alan laughed. Imagine cousins being mixed-up ball players!

  10

  Uncle Don and Dad went hunting every day that week and Bob went with them. On Thursday they brought home a moose which Uncle Don said Dad had shot and Dad said Uncle Don had shot. Skeeter figured they both had shot it together. By the expression on their faces, they seemed pretty proud of it, too.

  Uncle Don took it to a place to be skinned and taken care of. He offered Dad the antlers if he wanted them, and Dad said he did. He’d have them mounted on a board and hung in his den.

  By Friday Skeeter had improved a lot on the skateboard. He had no more trouble skateboarding out to the street sidewalk and making a complete turn. Maybe now Mom and Dad would let him ride it down the sidewalk. He asked them and, after considering it a while, they agreed that it was all right.

  “Just be extra careful,” Mom warned. “Don’t run anyone down.”

  “Gee, Mom, you don’t think I’d try running anyone down, do you?” he said.

  “Maybe we ought to buy him one,” suggested Dad. “It’s no fun for Alan to stand by while Skeeter rides his skateboard.”

  “Right!” Skeeter’s eyes brightened. “I think that’s a good idea, Dad!”

  So Dad and the boys went to a sporting goods store and bought Skeeter a skateboard. The store was where Alan had purchased his, so the two were identical.

  “Now we’ll have fun together,” said Skeeter to his cousin.

  There was practically no danger of striking any pedestrian on the sidewalks. Very few people were on them. Jim Buckley came over with his skateboard and the three skateboarded together.

  On Friday evening the Deerslayers played another ball game. Skeeter wished that Alan would get a hit or two, but Alan didn’t. He did get a walk, though, and scored a run. And the Deerslayers came out on top.

  That night Skeeter wrote his second letter to Shadow.

  Dear Shadow,

  Boy! a week has already gone by. Am I having fun. I’ve learned to skateboard, and Dad bought one for me. I’ve been playing with my cousin’s.

  How’s my pet falcon Gus? You’ve been feeding him regularly, I hope. I know you have, Shadow. You’re a pal. I sure miss him. I miss you, too. And the other guys.

  How are the Milky Ways doing? Uncle Don and Dad shot a moose. Well, see you soon. Good-bye.

  Your friend,

  Skeeter

  P.S. My cousin Alan plays second base with the Deerslayers. They’re pretty good. P.S. Has Tommy Scott been playing regularly?

  He mailed the letter the next morning.

  They spent that weekend and Monday driving around the countryside. Alan played baseball Monday afternoon and Skeeter rode his skateboard as much as he could. He also played catch with Alan and Jim Buckley. On Tuesday morning, two days before the Miracles were to return home, the Deerslayers permitted Skeeter to have batting practice with them. Jim Buckley handled the team since he was captain and Mr. Thompson, the coach, had to work.

  Skeeter faced a tall right-hander and hit the first two pitches directly down the third-base line. “Look,” he heard one of the kids say. “He’s batting cross-handed!”

  Then Skeeter laid into a pitch and sent it sailing over the left-field fence. The next pitch rocketed even further.

  “Hey, look!” the same kid exclaimed. “And cross-handed, too!”

  Skeeter tossed the bat aside and ran out to shag flies in the outfield. He used Jim Buckley’s extra glove.

  “Hey, you really hit that apple!” cried Alan.

  “Just lucky,” said Skeeter.

  The time came at last for the Miracles to go home. The moose antlers would be shipped as soon as they were ready, Dad was promised. Skeeter thought he had never had as much fun as he had visiting his cousin Alan. But he was glad that the time had come to go home, too. He missed Gus terribly. He missed Shadow, and the Milky Ways.

  Once in a while he had thought about Roger Hyde and Tommy Scott and Pancho. He sure hoped that Pancho was all right again. But he thought mostly about Tommy Scott. Had he played a lot during Skeeter’s absence? Had he played well? Real well? Was he as good as Roger seemed to think he was? And then the question that worried Skeeter the most: Had Tommy proven himself to be so good that he’d replace Skeeter as a starter?

  The families said their good-byes at the bus station Thursday noon, and the Miracles were on their way home. They boarded a jetliner in Boise, and that evening they were in New York City. From there they boarded a twin-engined plane, arrived at Crown Point at ten o’clock, and took a cab home.

  “I’ve got to see Gus!” Skeeter cried as the cab stopped in front of their house.

  He ran along the side of the house to the front porch. He tripped climbing the steps so fast, caught his balance, went on. He got to Gus’s cage.

  “Gus!” he cried happily. “Gus! I’m back! Come on out! Where are you, you ol’ buddy?”

  It was moonlight. Gus would have no trouble stepping out of the cage. But Gus didn’t step out. Maybe, thought Skeeter, Gus was so surprised to hear his voice he couldn’t move.

  Skeeter opened the door of the cage and stuck his head inside. “Gus …” he started to say, then stared.

  The cage was empty.

  11

  Skeeter wanted to telephone Shadow and ask about Gus, but Mom told him to go to bed, that he could see Shadow tomorrow. He went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. All he thought about was Gus, his pet falcon. Where was Gus? Why wasn’t he in his cage? Hadn’t Shadow been taking care of him as he’d promised he would?

  Eventually he fell asleep. When he awoke he felt the sun’s warm rays on the covers. He got up, dressed, and ate. Then he telephoned Shadow.

  “Sure, I fed Gus,” said Shadow. “At least until he flew away and never came back.”

  “When — when was that, Shadow?”

  “Last Tuesday. I let him out awhile to get some exercise like you had asked me to do. He flew away and never came back. I — I’m awful sorry, Skeeter. I was going to write, but Mom said I might as well wait till you got home.”

  Skeeter’s heart felt like a ball of lead. “I never dreamed he’d fly away and not come back. Okay, Shadow. Thanks very much for feeding him. I’ll see you later.”

  He started to hang up. But Shadow asked him about the trip, so Skeeter told him. After Skeeter hung up he told the bad news about Gus to Mom, Dad, and Bob. It surprised and bothered them almost as much as it had Skeeter.

  “Gus might’ve gotten homesick for you, Skeeter, and gone out looking for you,” Dad said. “I’ve heard of animals doing that. It’s possible that some birds would do that, too.”

  “Especially an intelligent bird like a falcon,” Mom added, an encouraging smile in her voice.

  Skeeter’s hopes went up a few notches. “You mean it’s possible that he might fly back home to me?”

  Dad nodded. “It’s possible.”

  At ten-thirty Shadow came over with his mother and father. Skeeter and Shadow realized that they couldn’t carry on a conversation very well with the grown-ups around, so they retreated to Skeeter’s bedroom. Shadow and his parents stayed till noon, then left.

  That afternoon som
e of the guys on the Milky Ways baseball team came to the house: Tip Miles, Joey Spry, Spider, and Leo Sweetman.

  “Are we glad to see you!” said Spider.

  “How have the Milky Ways been doing?” asked Skeeter. Practically all of his conversation that morning with Shadow had been about his visit in Idaho.

  “Lousy!” answered Tip. “We played three games since you’ve been gone and lost all three.”

  “Isn’t Tommy Scott doing anything?” Skeeter asked.

  “He’s doing nothing,” Leo Sweetman said disgustedly. “Except striking out or popping up, if you want to call that something. All he got was one hit since you were gone, Skeet. He’s no ball player. We need you. We need your hitting bad.”

  Skeeter turned almost numb. That was the best news he’d heard since coming back from his vacation. At last it must have proven to Roger Hyde that Tommy Scott wasn’t a ball player. Not a real good ball player.

  Maybe now Roger will change his mind about me, Skeeter thought. Sure I miss a fly in the outfield now and then. Sure I’m not the most graceful baseball player on the team. But, at least, I can hit. Everybody admits that.

  Then Skeeter thought of Tommy’s, pet dog, Pancho — and of his own falcon, Gus. Suddenly he was sorry for Tommy, and didn’t care if Tommy started every game during the balance of the baseball season. He knew now how Tommy must’ve felt when Pancho had turned up missing. Tommy must’ve felt just as miserable as Skeeter did now.

  “You’re going to play with us today, aren’t you, Skeet?” Joey asked. “We’re playing the Dragonflies. They’ll swamp us if you don’t.”

  “We need your power, Skeet,” said Spider. “Maybe you’re no great outfielder, but nobody can beat you at the plate.”

  Skeeter smiled. Boy, it was good to be back among the guys again. It seemed as if he’d been gone a whole year instead of only a week and a half.

  “Maybe you guys haven’t heard that my pet falcon Gus flew away,” he said.

  “Yes, we did,” replied Spider. “Shadow told us. He feels real bad about it. He blames himself.”

  “It wasn’t his fault. I told him to let Gus fly off once in a while for exercise. Gus flew off, and didn’t come back.”

  “Maybe he will sometime,” said Joey.

  Skeeter shrugged. “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath, and let it out. “I’ll be at the game tonight. But maybe Coach O’Hara won’t let me start. Maybe he’ll start Tommy Scott. Anyway, that would be all right with me.”

  The boys stared at him. “Why do you say that?” asked Tip.

  “I bet I know,” said Spider. “It’s because of Pancho, Tommy’s dog.”

  Skeeter remained quiet awhile, then rose from the step and went to the door. “See you guys at the game,” he said. He didn’t want to talk about Pancho, nor Gus. It was hard enough just thinking about them.

  12

  Bob had a date that afternoon. Skeeter knew he did because he was whistling one song after another. Girls were pretty funny creatures, Skeeter thought. You’d never catch him whistling just because of some girl.

  He went skateboard riding over to Shadow’s house. Shadow had never been on a skateboard. He tried to ride Skeeter’s, lost his balance the first couple of times and almost fell. But Shadow had good balance. He tried again and stayed on. Skeeter felt certain that Shadow would learn to skateboard much sooner than he had.

  “You know what?” Shadow said excitedly. “I’m going to ask Dad to get me one.”

  “They’re fun,” said Skeeter. “But you can’t be wise with ’em. You’ve got to be careful.”

  “Listen to who’s giving old Shadow McFitters advice about being careful!” said Shadow, laughing.

  That evening Skeeter went to the ball game and said “Hi” to both Roger Hyde and Tommy Scott. They returned his greeting. Then he asked Tommy how Pancho was.

  “He’s okay,” said Tommy. “He’s running and barking as if he’d never been hurt.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Skeeter.

  “I heard your falcon flew away,” said Tommy.

  Skeeter nodded. “Yeah. Last Tuesday.” It choked him to think about Gus.

  Coach O’Hara and the other members of the Milky Ways whom Skeeter hadn’t seen since his return from vacation welcomed him back warmly. Then he played catch with Luther Lee. Later he heard the coach read off the starting lineup. His name wasn’t called.

  The Milky Ways had first raps. Skeeter sat in the middle of the dugout, his arms crossed and his legs propped against the supporting post of the dugout. Here he was, he thought, a hitter with a batting average of over .700, warming the bench. It didn’t seem sensible. Sure he had felt sorry for Tommy because of what had happened to Pancho. But this was different, wasn’t it? This was a crucial baseball game, wasn’t it? And didn’t the guys say they really needed Skeeter?

  On the mound for the Dragonflies was Cal Fielding, who seemed to be extremely nervous today. He was tugging at the visor of his cap, touching his chin and wiggling his shoulders. The Dragonflies began a steady chatter.

  Lead-off man Tip Miles dug his rubber cleats into the dirt and waited for Cal to throw. The first two pitches were balls. The third was a strike. Tip lifted his bat higher, moved it back and forth as he waited for the next pitch. He swung. Crack! A high fly to short center. The Dragonflies’ center fielder came in and took it for the first out.

  Joey Spry grounded out to second, bringing up Roger. Cal pulled at his cap, rubbed his chin, and hitched his pants. He threw three consecutive balls, then got one across. The next was low and inside, and Roger walked. That was as far as he got. Bogy struck out on three pitches.

  The Dragonflies threatened to score after their lead-off man singled to left and reached second on Tommy Scott’s throw-in. Instead of throwing to second, Tommy had thrown to third, so the alert runner had advanced to second.

  Skeeter shook his head. Even he knew that the play should’ve been to second base.

  Nick Strope, the Milky Ways’ dark-haired right-hander, struck out the next hitter. Third-baseman Henry Mall caught a high-bouncing ball and threw the third hitter out. Then Leo Sweetman caught a pop fly behind home plate to end the threat.

  The second inning went by scoreless for both teams, too. The third started off hot for the Milky Ways. Nick Strope singled. Tip Miles walked. Joey Spry got up with the fans really rooting for him. He watched the pitches carefully, got a two-two call, then a three-two.

  You could see Joey was really nervous then. He stepped out of the box, rubbed his hands in the dirt, rubbed the dirt off, yanked on his protective helmet, and stepped back in the box. Cal made his stretch, delivered, and Joey swung.

  “Strike three!” yelled the umpire. Joey retreated to the dugout, looking like a pup that had lost its bone.

  Roger hit an outside pitch past the pitcher that looked good for a hit. Both Nick and Tip started running as hard as they could. The Dragonflies’ second baseman raced after the grounder bouncing across the grass near the keystone sack. He made a spectacular back-handed catch of the ball, then stumbled! Quickly he raised to his knees and flipped the ball to the shortstop, who was covering the base.

  Out! The shortstop then snapped the ball to first, but too late. Roger was there. Nevertheless, the fans gave the Dragonflies’ second baseman a big hand. It was a wonderful play.

  Bogy Adams walked, filling the bases.

  “Spider! Hold it!”

  Spider Webb, on his way to the batting box, halted in his tracks. Coach O’Hara waved him to the bench.

  “Okay, Skeeter,” the coach said. “Pick up a bat. Get up there and do your stuff.”

  Skeeter stared. Had he heard right? Or was he dreaming?

  “Let’s break this game wide open, Skeet,” the coach said.

  With a nervous look about him, Skeeter climbed out of the dugout. He put on a protective helmet, selected his favorite bat, and went to the batting box.

  “Yeah, Skeeter!” the Milky Way fans shouted. “Come on,
Skeet! A grand slammer, boy!”

  He stepped into the box, faced Cal Fielding, and for the first time in many moons he felt shaky. He had hoped to be in the lineup. He had hoped he could bat when men were on. Now that his hopes were fulfilled, he was scared.

  The pitch came in. Skeeter watched it cross the outside corner for a called strike.

  The next pitch was across his knees for strike two.

  “Step out a second, Skeeter!” advised Coach O’Hara. “Keep loose up there, buddy!”

  Skeeter stepped out of the box, jiggled his helmet, wiped sweat from his forehead, stepped back in again.

  The pitch breezed in like a bullet. It looked slightly high, but it might be called a strike. It just might.

  Skeeter swung.

  “You’re out!” said the umpire.

  13

  Skeeter walked back to the dugout, his head bowed, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. From the third-base side of the bleachers the Dragonflies’ fans were yelling and cheering like crazy. With the bases loaded, their pitcher had struck out the league’s leading hitter.

  Skeeter gathered up his glove from the dugout and started for right field. What a flop he was. Striking out first time up!

  “Just a minute, Skeeter,” said Coach O’Hara.

  Skeeter paused. Now, what? Was the coach going to yank him from the game without even giving him a chance in the outfield?

  “You all right, Skeet?” the coach asked, putting a hand on Skeeter’s shoulder.

  Skeeter nodded. “Yes. I’m okay. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

  The coach smiled. “That’s all I want to know, Skeeter. Okay, get out there. And don’t miss any fly balls. Okay?”

  Skeeter tried not to miss any, but all the trying in the world didn’t help him. He missed a high fly that struck the fingertips of his glove and rolled to the fence. The runner took second on the error. Skeeter’s throw-in to third held him there.

  Nick struck the next man out, then caught a hot liner that was hit in a straight line back at him. Quickly he spun and threw to second, doubling off the runner before he could tag up.