Too Hot to Handle (7 page)

“Come on, Jerry! Hit that ball! Sock it over the fence!”

The voice was coming from someone behind the dugout. It was a loud voice. And it was a woman’s.

David smiled. He knew who that woman was.

Jerry didn’t sock one over the fence. But later on Rex Drake did with two men on bases. When it was Legs Mulligan’s turn at
bat, Coach Beach had David pinch-hit for him. David blasted a double. But he died on second as Windy Hill flied out to center.

The Bluebirds hit two to David that inning as if they had hoped he would get into the game to help them out. David missed
the first one, a hot grounder to his left side.

“Come on, David!” yelled a fan. “A Kroft isn’t supposed to miss an easy grounder like that!”

David blushed.

The second was a high bouncing ball, which he caught. Quickly he pegged the ball to second, forcing out the runner. Second
baseman Jimmy Merrill whipped the ball to first, and the hitter was out on a nice double play.

“Now you’re looking like a Kroft!” cried the same voice.

“Thataboy, David!” yelled another voice. “Fine play!”

That was Mrs. Finch. She caught his eye and waved to him. He smiled and waved back. It was almost impossible to believe that
she was sitting there in the stands, yelling as if she were a regular baseball fan. Beside her was Mr. Finch. He was looking
at her and grinning, too.

Just behind them sat Ann Marie, Don, Dad and Mom. All four of them were laughing heartily over the way Mrs. Finch shouted
and jumped excitedly on the seat.

Dad said something to Mrs. Finch, and she turned and looked around at him. Then she looked away from Dad and didn’t make a
peep
for almost half an inning. Afterward she started in yelling again, and for the rest of the game Dad didn’t say any more to
her.

Maybe, thought David, she was going to like baseball after all. And Dad certainly would not want to discourage her.

The Flickers led 10 to 7 going into the sixth inning. The Bluebirds put one run across, but that was all. The Flickers won
it 10 to 8.

David saw Dad and the rest of the family walking out of the ballpark with Mr. and Mrs. Finch. Everyone was laughing except
Mrs. Finch. Which was natural.

At home David said, “Do you think Mrs. Finch has changed her mind about baseball, Dad? She sure did a lot of hollering at
the game.”

Dad smiled. “She didn’t want to admit it when I asked her that same question,” replied Dad. “However, I think her crust isn’t
as hard as she pretends it is.”

Dad bowled at eight o’clock. Usually, David and Ann Marie went with him on Friday nights. Tonight, Ann Marie stayed home,
and David and Don went.

“Well,” said Dad as he started to sit down to put on his bowling shoes, “look in Lane Number Four. Am I seeing things, or
is that really
her?
”

The boys stared.

Bowling in Lane Number Four was Mrs. Finch! Of course Mr. Finch was bowling, too. But everyone in Penwood knew that Mr. Finch
bowled.

“Just a minute,” said Dad. He went over to the Finches and watched Mrs. Finch throw the big black ball down the lane. The
ball knocked down three pins. Mrs. Finch snapped her fingers disgustedly, turned around and stopped. She was staring at Dad.

“Mr. Kroft,” she said, “are you spying on me?”

Dad laughed. “This is my bowling night, too,”
he said. Then he added, “Mrs. Finch, is it possible that you’re becoming soft? That you really don’t think sports are so bad
after all?”

Mrs. Finch glared at him. “I won’t answer that question,” she said, “on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

She turned to David and Don, her eyes snapping. “Your father,” she said, “just loves to argue!”

The boys burst out laughing. They knew that Mrs. Finch was really having a wonderful time.

I
N the next two games David showed improvement at third base. He even passed Bonesy in a one-hundred-yard sprint. He knew he
would never be as good a ballpayer as Dad, or Don, or any of the other Kroft boys, though.

He was a fair hitter. After that last game his batting average was .289. But even Don hinted that David wasn’t doing as well
as he should at the hot corner.

“Sometimes you’re playing the ball as if you’re depending a lot on the shortstop,” said Don. “You can’t do that. You must
go after every ball you can.”

On Sunday afternoon — the first Sunday of August — David and Bonesy went bike riding in the country. It was a lovely day,
and they hadn’t taken a long trip on their bikes in weeks.

The sun was bright and hot. As the boys pedaled along the road, the trees on the distant hills looked purple and blue. A field
of buttercups sparkled like a sea of yellow dust.

They arrived at a picnic area, rested, then rode on.

At last they reached a small village. They bought a bottle of Coke each to quench their thirsts, then got on their bikes and
started back for home.

They took their time. They were not in a hurry. They talked about baseball — about their own team and also the major leagues.
They talked about David’s coin collection and about Mrs. Finch. They talked about Don’s bad leg and whether he would ever
be as good a ballplayer as before. They talked about a lot of things.

Before they realized it, they were back in Penwood. And the long ride had made them hungry.

They rode up the sidewalk, Bonesy riding behind David. Finally, Bonesy turned up the street on which he lived.

“See you later, David,” he said.

“Okay,” said David.

It had been a long, pleasant ride. And it seemed to have ended so quickly.

David rode on.

A dog began to bark behind him. David looked back and recognized a new dog in the neighborhood. It belonged to the Elwoods.

Let him bark, thought David.

Soon he reached the corner where the Finches’ big white house stood.

Just as he started to turn the corner, the dog ran up beside him. His bark turned into a growl, and he lunged at David’s leg.

David swerved so quickly that he lost control of the bike. The bike swerved into the Finches’
yard and struck the statue of a boy holding up a sign with the finches printed on it.

The statue fell over and struck the sidewalk leading up to the Finches’ front porch.

It crashed into many pieces.

D
AVID looked in dismay at the pieces and then at the Finches’ house. There was no one on the porch. No one looking from a window.

He turned around. The dog that had caused him to run into the statue was trotting down the sidewalk, returning home quietly
as if he were satisfied with the job he had done.

David yanked out the kickstand of his bike and parked it on the walk. He went up to the house, trembling all the way. He knocked
on the door.

There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer.

He went back to his bike, took it home and told Mom what he had done.

“It was an accident,” said Mom. “Don’t feel so badly about it. Just tell Mrs. Finch exactly what happened.”

“But what about the statue?” asked David. “I’ll probably have to pay for that.”

Mom nodded. “I’m afraid somebody will have to pay for it,” she said.

“I’d better put the pieces in a box,” said David.

Just after noontime Mr. and Mrs. Finch came home in their car. David saw them get out and go look at the box on the walk and
what was left of the broken statue. He saw the expressions on their faces. And he had a good idea of what Mrs. Finch must
be saying.

A little while later he went over there. He knocked on the door. Mrs. Finch answered it.

“Why, hello, David,” she greeted him pleasantly. “Come in.”

He stepped into the house. He was trembling again, more than before.

“Mrs. Finch,” he said, “that statue out there. I broke it with my bike. A dog chased me, and I ran into it.”

“Oh,” she said. “Mr. Finch and I wondered what could have happened.”

David held out the paper sack he held in his hand. “That statue must have cost a lot of money, Mrs. Finch,” he said. “I wouldn’t
want to ask my dad to pay for it. I’ll pay for it with my own money.”

“What is this, David?” asked Mrs. Finch as she took the paper sack from him.

“It’s my quarter coin collection. There are some missing, but I think there are enough there to pay for the statue. If there
aren’t —” He paused.

Mrs. Finch had the folder open, looking at
the coins. She didn’t say anything for a long while. Then she cleared her throat and smiled.

“No, David,” she said. “I can’t accept this. This is something special. Something you have worked a long time for.”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Finch,” said David. “I have a dime collection, too. And I can start in with quarters any time. Please
take them.”

Mrs. Finch smiled. “Okay, David. If you insist. Thank you very much. And thank you for coming over and telling me about it.
If you hadn’t, we — well, we probably would never have found out.”

David left the house. His heart was heavy. He had spent a long, long time collecting those coins.

T
HE next day, Monday, the Flickers played the Canaries. There was one more game — on Wednesday — and the season would be over.

The Canaries had the league pretty well sewed up. They had nine wins and only one loss. The Flickers had seven wins and three
losses. The Flickers were in second place.

Coach Beach started David at third. He had moved him up in the lineup, too. David was to bat fifth, right after Rex Drake.

The game started, and for the first two innings David didn’t get a ball at third. He wished he
would. He felt sure he could catch almost any grounder that came to him. Playing nearly all summer and practicing almost every
day made him feel that way.

In the third he got one. A hard grounder that was hit straight at him. He caught the hop, pegged to first, and the runner
was out.

Then, with two on, a ground ball was hit to him again. This one he fumbled! By the time he picked it up it was too late.

He looked around quickly. The two runners on bases had not dared to advance. The bases were now loaded.

Mandy Rubens, the Canaries’ slugger, pounded out a single. Two runs scored. That was all the Canaries got that inning. But
it was enough to put them one ahead of the Flickers.

David had more chances at third and handled them without a bobble. Coach Beach made substitutions but, much to David’s surprise,
left David in the game.

The Flickers tied it up in the fifth, 7 to 7.
The Flickers’ fans began to yell louder than ever. David could not mistake one of the voices especially. Mrs. Finch’s.

Nobody would have believed it — but it was true. She had become a baseball fan.

The Flickers were up in the bottom of the sixth and won it when Rex pounded out a long triple with Jimmy Merrill on first
base. It was a glorious victory.

Score: Flickers 8; Canaries 7.

“Played fine out there, brother, boy,” Don said as they walked out of the ballpark.