Too Hot to Handle (4 page)

“Thank you, Ms. Benson,” replied David. But
someday he hoped to repay the library for those books. He knew they were expensive and that the library was allowed only so
much money each year for books.

By Thursday the baseball diamond was dry enough to play on. The Flickers met the Gulls. David didn’t start. Coach Beach had
Legs Mulligan start at third base and David coach third when the Flickers were up at bat.

Legs didn’t do badly. He handled two grounders and a high pop fly without an error. In the third inning a hitter dragged a
bunt down the third-base line, catching Legs off guard. Legs charged the ball, picked it up and heaved it to first. He ignored
the shouts of “Hold it, Legs! Hold it!” that his teammates yelled at him, for the runner was almost on first before Legs had
the ball.

But Legs threw anyway, and the ball sailed far over first baseman Jimmy Merrill’s head. The runner took another base. A hit
scored him.

In the top of the fifth David pinch-hit for Legs. Bonesy was on first. Dick Baron, the Gulls’ pitcher, had walked him. Dick’s
first pitch to David was wild, and Bonesy went to second.

With one ball and no strikes on him, David let the next pitch go by. Ball two.

The Gulls’ catcher carried the ball back to Dick Baron, said something to him and walked back. The next pitch Dick threw in
was a strike. He followed it up with another one. David saw it coming belt-high. He swung hard.
Crack!

The ball arched over the shortstop’s head for a clean hit, and Bonesy scored. When the center fielder pegged the ball in to
home, Herm Simmons, coaching first, yelled, “Run to second, David! Run!”

David raced to second. He heard Herm yell, “Hit the dirt!”

He hit the dirt. The second baseman caught the peg from his catcher and put it on David. But David had slid under him.

“Safe!” cried the umpire.

David rose. He brushed the dirt off his pants and stood with one foot on the bag, panting for breath.

Nobody knocked him in. The Flickers were leading 3 to 2.

Bottom of the fifth. The first batter for the Gulls drove a hard grounder to David’s left side. It was one of those a faster
player would have caught. David didn’t. The ball went for a base hit.

“Play in, David!” yelled Rex Drake. “Play in!”

That’s right, David thought. This could be a bunt. I should have thought of that myself.

He stepped forward until he was on the grass and ahead of the third-base bag by about three feet.

The pitch. It
was
a bunt. The batter laid it down neatly toward third.

David charged forward. He scooped up the ball. Fumbled it! He picked it up again, pegged hard to first.

Safe by a half a step!

The Gulls’ fans roared. Whistles shrilled.

David struck the pocket of his glove angrily with his fist. An error the first thing.

“You’ll never make a good Kroft player playing like that, David!” yelled a fan in the bleachers.

The words drummed in David’s mind. He started to chatter then. It was the only way he could ignore the ugly things the fans
were saying.

Brad Lodge bore down on the next hitter. With two balls and two strikes on him, the batter hit a hot grounder to short. Bonesy
fielded it and whipped it to Ken. Ken stepped on second and pegged the ball to first.

A double play!

“Thataboy, Bonesy!” David yelled. “Nice play!” That double play had saved him from being the cause of a possible run.

The Gulls’ next hitter hit a high pop fly between third and home. David hollered for it. The ball looked like a dot as it
soared toward the blue sky. David watched it closely as it
started downward. He was sure he was directly under it.

Then he saw that it was falling behind him. Quickly he stepped back, reached up his glove. Caught it!

The Flickers’ fans cheered. Some of the Gulls’ fans laughed. “Almost lost it, David!” they said.

The Flickers picked up another run at their last turn at bat. The Gulls couldn’t get a man past third, and the ball game ended
with the Flickers winning, 4 to 2.

Dad, Mom, David and Ann Marie visited Don at the hospital that evening. Don was in a happy mood. His leg was in a cast, but
he did not seem discouraged at all.

David looked at him wonderingly. Don knew he was not able to play baseball anymore this year. How could he be so cheerful?

And Don was a good player. He was the best. I’d be sick all over if it were me, David thought.

After Dad, Mom and Ann Marie spoke to
Don awhile, Don turned to David with a pleasant grin on his face.

“Well, brother, how did you make out today?”

“We won,” said David. “Four to two.”

“Fine. Get any ground balls in that hot corner?”

David shrugged. “Well, I only played the last two innings. I caught a pop fly. And I made an error.”

“It was a drag bunt,” explained Dad. “David had to run in fast for it. He fumbled the ball.”

“He threw to first and nearly got the runner, too,” added Ann Marie.

Don smiled. “Drag bunts are tough. All kinds of bunts are tough to field. That’s why I play short.” He laughed and punched
David playfully on the chest. “Keep working hard, kid. You’ll have to take over now, you know. I can’t play anymore. At least
not anymore this year. It’s up to you to keep the name of Kroft going.”

David stared at Don. His heart began to pound, and he took his eyes away from Don’s.

He felt Dad’s hand on his shoulder and heard him chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it, David. No one is going to really care how well you play. When you’re on the ball field do the best
you can. That’s all anyone expects of you. Isn’t that right, Don?”

“Right,” said Don.

But that wasn’t so. And David knew it.

He
had
to play better. Much better than he was playing now.

R
IGHT after lunch on Saturday afternoon, David and Bonesy walked to the library. They went by where the old wooden bridge had
been. No start had been made yet in replacing it. There was a sign: DANGER.

The boys walked down a path that ran parallel with the creek. They crossed the bridge at the street. It was the only way now
to reach the library from where David lived.

David talked to Ms. Benson. He said he’d like to take a few books to Don in the hospital. Was it okay?

It was indeed okay, she said.

“Don and I . . . we’ll pay for those books we lost,” said David.

Ms. Benson smiled. “I told you not to worry, David. The library board knows about it. They’re going to talk with the city
officials to see if they can use some special funds to replace the books. How is Don?”

“He’s coming along fine,” said David.

Someone stepped up to the desk beside David. “Why, David Kroft! How are you? And how is your eye?”

David turned. There stood Mrs. Gertrude Finch, smiling at him as if she had succeeded in getting rid of all the sports activities
in Penwood.

“I’m fine, thanks,” said David. “And so’s my eye.”

Mrs. Finch looked at the eye closely. “Just a little coloring left. But it’s pretty. By the way, what are you two boys doing
this afternoon?”

David looked at her. “Nothing,” he said.

“We have a ball game at four o’clock,” reminded Bonesy. “That postponed game with the Waxwings.”

“Well, I have a job to be done at our cottage,” said Mrs. Finch. “Mr. Finch is working and can’t be there. I’m going over
now to clean inside the cottage. But I need help to clean up the yard. I could use two volunteers. They’ll get paid, of course.”

David looked at Bonesy, and Bonesy looked at David. Then David looked at Mrs. Finch.

“Can you get us back in time for the game?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll go,” he said.

“Fine!” Her eyes blinked happily. “Better call your mothers. Tell them where you’re going.”

David told Ms. Benson he’d pick up the books later. Then the boys called up their mothers. In no time they were piled into
Mrs. Finch’s car, driving out of the parking lot and up the street.

Mrs. Finch’s cottage was about six miles from Penwood. To get to it Mrs. Finch had to cut off from the main highway onto a
narrow dirt road. The recent rain had left it filled with ruts. The ditches on either side were deep and dangerous. The hill
was steep, and Mrs. Finch was forced to drive very slowly and carefully.

At last they reached the cottage. Immediately David and Bonesy saw what Mrs. Finch had meant. The yard was covered with dried
leaves and broken, dried-up twigs. The lawn needed cutting. Indeed, the place needed a thorough cleaning-up.

“There you are,” said Mrs. Finch. “Your work is cut out for you. Put all the leaves and twigs into that big rubbish can there.
When you’re ready for the lawn mower, it’s in the garage.”

The boys started working. Slowly but surely the yard began to look a lot better.

Some time later Mrs. Finch came out of the cottage. She had changed into a pair of jeans and had put a white painter’s cap
on her head.
She certainly did not look like the Mrs. Finch who belonged to social clubs and wanted Penwood to have less sports and more
art and music.

“Doing fine, boys,” she said. “Look, I have to get back to Penwood for a few minutes. I’m all out of kerosene. And I can’t
heat water without kerosene. The kitchen floor needs washing terribly. I’ll be back before you can say Peter Piper picked
a peck of pickled peppers.”

She got into her car and drove off.

“I hope she’ll be back,” muttered Bonesy quietly.

“You don’t think she’s going to leave us here, do you?” said David.

They finished cleaning up the yard. They took the mower out of the garage and started to cut the grass. It wasn’t a power
mower. The grass was nearly six inches high, and it took both boys to push the mower through it.

Once they paused and wiped their brows

on their shirtsleeves. Trees provided beautiful shade over most of the lawn, but the afternoon was scorching hot.

“She should be back by now,” said David.

“Wonder what time it is,” said Bonesy.

Neither one had a watch. David walked to the cottage. He opened the door and looked inside. A clock was on the wall above
the kitchen table.

Five minutes after three!

He closed the door and ran back to Bonesy.

“Bonesy! It’s five after three!”

“Geez Louise!” cried Bonesy. “Isn’t she ever coming back?”

They kept mowing the lawn, worrying more every minute. At last they finished mowing, and David went to see what time it was
now.

Twenty minutes of four.

“Something’s happened,” said David. “Maybe she got into an accident or something.”

Bonesy’s face was red. “Boy! What are we going to tell Coach Beach?”

“We’ll have to tell him the truth. What else?”

They sat on the grass with their arms crossed over their knees. They were mad, disgusted and afraid. Mad and disgusted with
Mrs. Finch, and afraid of what the coach was going to say.

This is the last time I’ll ever do this, thought David angrily. The last time!

The next time David looked at the clock it was ten minutes of five.

“Let’s walk home,” said Bonesy. “Those train tracks will take us straight to Penwood.”

There were railroad tracks along the side of the lake. A freight train went over it once a day.

Bonesy rose and brushed the grass off his pants. He opened the gate and walked down to the tracks.

David watched him a moment. Then he rose and followed Bonesy. Bonesy was walking rapidly, his long legs stepping on every
other tie.

David followed him awhile, but it bothered him. They couldn’t just walk away like this. They just couldn’t.

He stopped walking. “Bonesy!” he yelled.

Bonesy paused and looked around. “Oh, come on!” he said.

“We can’t, Bonesy,” said David. “She might come any minute. If she doesn’t see us she’ll get worried. Let’s go back. We’ll
walk up the hill. Maybe we’ll meet her coming down.”

Bonesy looked at him a moment. David thought that Bonesy would put up an argument, but Bonesy didn’t.