The Missing Mitt (2 page)

The bases are loaded! Two outs, the bottom of the ninth. The Bayport Bandits really need this one to win.” The announcer's voice was loud.

“Joe Hardy is stepping up to the plate, lucky bat in hand. His brother, Frank, is on third base, itching for home.”

This was the most exciting World Series final anyone had ever seen. The crowd went wild. They were cheering and chanting, “Hardy! Hardy!
Hardy!” Eight-year-old Joe took a few practice swings. There had to be ten thousand people in the stands. Or more! He'd always dreamed of playing in the World Series. And now the Bayport Bandits had finally made it.

“If Joe can hit a home run, the Bandits will win this game. Otherwise, the Johnston Jupiters will be taking home the Commissioner's Trophy again.”

The Johnston Jupiters were the Bandits' biggest rivals.

The crowd grew quiet as Joe got ready. He looked at his brother, crouched on third base. He gave Frank a thumbs-up. Frank was counting on him. The whole team was counting on him. Joe needed to hit this one out of the park.

The pitcher threw a curveball first. Joe let it fly by. It wasn't the right one. He'd never hit a home run off that one.

“Strike!” the umpire yelled. The crowd booed. Joe held up his hand. The crowd went silent.

The pitcher wound up again. This time the throw was high and inside. Joe swung, but he was too late and too low.

“Strike!” the umpire yelled again. This time, no one booed. The whole stadium was waiting.

Joe nodded at Frank. Frank got ready to run for home plate.

The pitcher threw the ball. It was perfect! Right down the middle of the plate. Joe took a big swing.

CRAAACK!

The sound of the bat hitting the ball was like thunder. Joe took off running. He didn't even look to see where the ball had gone. He knew he'd done it. It was the home run they needed. He had won the World Series!

The crowd was screaming his name.

“Joe! Joe! Joe!”

He rounded first base. His teammates were
jumping up and down. He looked over his shoulder. Frank had reached home plate. Joe made it to second base. Now the crowd was screaming even louder.

“Joe Hardy! You're going to be late!”

Joe shook his blond head of hair. The baseball diamond disappeared. He'd been daydreaming. He was sitting in the secret tree house that he and his older (by one year) brother, Frank, had helped their parents build. They were the only ones who knew about it—except for their mom and dad. He'd come up here to get his baseball gear and change into his uniform. Below, his mother was yelling his name.

“I'm coming!” called Joe. He picked up his backpack. Inside were his mitt, an extra uniform, and a snack. He climbed down the ladder to where Mrs. Hardy was waiting.

“I've been calling you for ten minutes,” she said. She shook her head. “Go inside and eat some breakfast. The big game is today, you know.”

As if he could forget! Today was the final game of the Little League season. The Bayport Bandits hadn't lost a game yet. But the Johnston Jupiters hadn't either. This was going to be the hardest game they'd ever played. Joe couldn't wait!

Frank was at the kitchen table eating Rice Puffs, his favorite cereal. Spread out before him was a large piece of paper filled with names and numbers. Joe grabbed a bowl and sat down next to him.

“What's that?” he asked. “Are you reading the phone book?”

“No,” said Frank, swiping is dark hair away from his face. “It's the batting averages of the Johnston Jupiters. We've got to be ready for this game!”

Frank spent more time practicing with his brain than with his baseball bat. Joe was the opposite. Together, they were the perfect pair.

“They're pretty good,” Frank said. “But none of them are as good as Jason Prime.” Jason Prime was the star first baseman of the Bayport Bandits. He was the best player in the entire league. His father was Willy “Winner” Prime, one of the best pitchers in major league baseball. Jason was the reason the Bandits had made it this far undefeated. But Joe and Frank were pretty good too. Joe played second base, and Frank was the team's catcher.

Joe looked up at the clock. It was eight thirty. They still had plenty of time before the game began. They didn't even need to be at the park until nine o'clock. He poured himself a bowl of cereal.

“Good morning, boys,” said Fenton Hardy as he walked into the kitchen.

“Morning, Dad!” said Frank and Joe.

Mr. Hardy took the clock down from the wall and unscrewed the back of it.

“What are you doing?” asked Frank.

“Mom says the clock stopped. I'm putting in a new battery.”

Joe dropped his spoon. Frank stopped studying his paper. Their eyes grew wide.

“Oh no!” said Joe.

“It's almost nine o'clock!” Frank shouted, looking at his watch. Frank's watch could tell the time in ten different countries, and it had a compass, a calculator, and a tiny camera inside it. You never knew when those things might come in handy.

“Don't you guys need to be down at the park soon?” Mr. Hardy asked.

There was no answer.

“Boys?”

Fenton Hardy turned around just in time to see Frank and Joe rushing out the front door of the house.

2

Frank and Joe were in big trouble. Coach Quinn wouldn't let anyone on the team play if they were late for warm-up. Even their star player, Jason, had to sit out a game once.

“You have to respect your teammates,” Coach Quinn had said. “And being on time is a way of showing respect.”

Nothing would be worse than missing the biggest game of all. If they weren't at the park by nine o'clock, there'd be no championship for them!

They both put on their helmets. Joe's was blue and Frank's was green, just like their bikes. Then they hopped on and started pedaling as fast as they could.

“There's no way we'll make it!” said Frank. “It takes fifteen minutes to get to the park by bike. I know, I've timed it before.”

“I know a shortcut!” yelled Joe. “Follow me.”

Instead of turning left at the end of their street and biking down to Main Street, Joe turned right. Frank was right behind him. Soon Joe turned again, down a narrow alley between two big buildings.

“Whoa!” said Frank. There were garbage cans in the alley. It was hard to keep from knocking into things. A skinny cat ran between the wheels of his bike. He almost fell over twice.

The alleyway let out at the north end of Prospect Park. The baseball diamond was all the way
on the other side. Normally the boys would have biked all the way around the park on the street, to get to the entrance at the south side. But today there was no time.

“This way!” called Joe.

The park was surrounded by thick bushes. Joe aimed his bike right at them. In a second he was going to run straight into them! Frank was about to yell for him to stop, when he saw Joe go right through the hedge. There was a small hidden gap. Frank followed Joe through the secret hole. He could feel the branches just brushing the sides of his face. That was close!

Now they were inside the park, at the top of the hill called Big Tree Hill. Below them were dozens of trees. Frank saw oaks and maples and pine. Then he saw Joe, flying between the trees!

Bump-bump-bump-bump!

Joe's bike rattled and jumped as he rode over
thick tree roots. He turned left and right. A few times he came within inches of crashing into the trees. But he never did. Frank was flying along behind him. He ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch. While he did, he checked his watch.

“We've only got seven minutes!” shouted Frank.

“We're almost there,” Joe replied.

Finally they were out of the trees. Now they were in the big meadow, right by the baseball diamond. They were going to make it!

Suddenly something hit Frank in the back of the head! He lost control of his bike and fell into the field. Luckily, he was wearing his helmet, or he could have been seriously hurt.

“Ow!” he yelled.

Joe stopped his bike and ran over. A big stick was on the ground next to Frank.

“Oh no!” A voice came out of the woods. “I'm so sorry!”

An old man with white hair walked into the meadow. He walked slowly, with a cane. Beside him was a large yellow dog, which took one look at Frank and came running over. It looked like the dog was about to jump on Frank!

“Lucy! Stop! Down, girl!”

The dog ignored the man. She ran right past Frank and Joe and grabbed the stick in her mouth. Then she bounded away.

“We were playing fetch. You boys were riding so fast, I didn't even see you before I threw the stick. Are you okay?” The man sounded very upset.

Frank stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants.

“I'm all right,” he said. He tapped on the helmet with his knuckles and smiled.

“Oh, good,” said the man. “I'm Wilmer Mack. Everyone just calls me Mr. Mack. And you've already met Lucy. She's a good dog, just big and playful. She loves to play fetch. She'll chase after anything.”