MICKEY BONZELL popped out to –.VI the pitcher. Lead-off man Peter Jergens came up and hit a grounder to second. Butchie Long darted for home.
The Mudhens' second baseman caught the ball on a hop, tossed it to the shortstop. The shortstop touched second, whipped the ball to first.
A double play!
The Cardinals ran out to the field and the Mudhens came to bat. They scored run, which put them ahead, 6 to 5.
Stevie Little led off for the Cardinals in the last inning. He grounded out to short. Buddy Greenfield got a single. Marty French hit another long one to left field, but this time the fielder caught it. Then Davie came to bat. He struck out and the game was over.
The teams collected their bats and balls and other equipment and started for their homes. Mr. Davis took some of the boys home in his Jeep station wagon.
Johnny took Michael's hand as they walked home. On the other side of Michael walked Sand. Sand was a big dog. Her white and sand-colored fur was thick and shiny. She had a green collar with her name and license number on it. A green leash was fastened to the collar. Michael had hold of the leash.
Michael's pale blue eyes were looking straight ahead. He was smiling. “Did you win, Johnny?” he asked.
“Did you get any home runs?”
Johnny swallowed. “Almost,” he said. “I almost got a home run.”
“What was it — a three-bagger?”
“Yes. That's what it was — a three-bagger.”
Michael's smile grew wider. “How far did you hit the ball, Johnny?”
“Between left and center fields. A line drive. I sure clouted it. A little farther and it would've been a homer.”
“Jimminies,” said Michael. “You always hit, don't you, Johnny?”
“Almost always,” said Johnny softly. “It's hard to hit all the time.”
“But you hit most of the time. I know you do. That's what you've told me.”
“That's right. I hit most of the time.”
Suddenly a hum sounded in the distance. It grew loud quickly. Johnny looked toward the blue and white sky. A large silver plane came flying over the hill almost directly overhead. It was so low Johnny could see the windows and the numbers under the right wing. The plane had taken off from the Municipal Airport, which was about three miles from Johnny's house.
“I bet it's a DC-3!” Michael shouted. “Is it,. Johnny?”
“That's right. It is,” said Johnny. He was glad to get off the subject of baseball. “You can tell what they are pretty good now, can't you?”
“Yes. The DC-3's are not as loud as the DC-4's. They don't have as much power, Daddy said.”
“That's right,” said Johnny.
They lived in a gray house with a green carpet of lawn around it. A lilac bush grew near one corner of the house. Its pretty leaves and purple flowers waved back and forth in the summer breeze.
“Hi, Mom,” Johnny greeted as he entered the kitchen. “Is supper ready yet?”
Mrs. Doane was paring potatoes at the kitchen sink. She had blond hair like Michael's, but her eyes and nose were like Johnny's.
“Not quite,” she said. She stared at Johnny. “My! Look at that face! You'd better take a bath, young man.”
Johnny grinned. “I will, Ma.”
“Did you have a good time, Michael?”
“I sure did, Morn.” Michael's face lit up brightly. “Johnny hit a three-bagger. It was almost a homer.”
“Johnny's a good ball player,” said Mrs. Doane. “Now, Michael, why don't you and Sand go outside for a while until Johnny gets cleaned up?”
“Can Johnny tell me about the game afterwards, Mom? He only told me a little.”
“All right. Johnny will tell you about the game.” She ruffled his hair, smiled.
Johnny looked away, his heart heavy. Both Mom and Michael think I'm a good ball player, he thought. But I'm not. I should never have told Michael how good I was, how many home runs or three-baggers or doubles I got. Nothing I have told him was true.
After his bath Johnny went outside and sat on the lawn with Michael and Sand. He began to tell Michael about the ball game. He enjoyed telling it. He told about the hits Butchie Long, Marty French, and Davie Randall had made. And how Marty said he ought to have his bike to go around the bases with, because he was too fat to run. Michael laughed. He thought it was very funny. And Johnny laughed, too, because he had made Michael laugh. Sand barked and thumped her tail as if she understood, too.
That night Johnny said his regular prayers to God, and then added, “I keep telling Michael I'm getting hits when I'm not. He expects me to tell him that, and I know he'd be awful unhappy if I told him I struck out or didn't get a hit. Am I right, God, in telling him those things? Gee, I'm not sure. I just don't know what to do, God. Can You help me?” Johnny paused. Then he said, “Could You help me get two hits in the next game? Maybe —maybe make one of them a home run? Then I wouldn't have to lie to Michael.”