JOHNNY did not go to the game against the Tiger Cats after supper Friday. He stayed home and mowed the lawn until he was all tired out. He didn't see Michael around and thought that he must be inside listening to television.
Johnny rested under the linden tree with his hands folded behind his head and his right leg crossed over his left. The day was sunny, just nifty for baseball. The large green leaves were moving like a million fans in the breeze. A red-winged blackbird flew onto a limb. It rocked back and forth on its skinny legs, sang its song, then flew away again.
Johnny heard his mother and father come out on the porch. He heard the glider squeak as they sat down on it. Then they rocked to and fro and began talking about the floods in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. Johnny listened awhile.
He tried not to think of the Cardinals, but Marty and Freddie and all the others came hopping into his mind like rabbits. He tried not to think of baseball, but he couldn't help it.
He thought about Michael again and his heart ached. Michael had not been his usual self since that last game. He would speak, but he never once mentioned a thing about baseball. He didn't ask when Johnny was going to play again.
Johnny felt awful. He didn't know what to do except not to play ball any more. He was sorry, sure. He had told Michael he was sorry. But just telling Michael he was sorry did not solve the problem. Michael was still hurt because all along Johnny had been telling him how well he was doing in the games and Michael had believed him. You couldn't blame Michael. But, jumping Jupiter, Johnny had done it only to make Michael feel happy all the time. Johnny had wanted to hit doubles, triples, and homers. He had wanted to catch every fly ball that came to him.
Johnny straightened out his legs and turned over on his stomach. He put his face on his arm and shut his eyes. Maybe by lying this way he could wipe those baseball thoughts from his mind.
Pretty soon he heard some boys walking along the road. He recognized Freddie Turner's voice and little Mickey Bonzell's. He turned around and sat up. They spotted him and Freddie yelled, “Hi, Johnny! Where were you? We waited for you!”
Johnny shrugged. “I guess I'm not going to play any more.”
“What? Why not?”
Freddie and Mickey came up the walk.
“Aw, I'm no good. I can't hit or anything, so I thought I — well, I'd better not go down any more.”
“You're the best outfielder we've got!” Mickey cried seriously.
Johnny stared at him. “But I can't hit. It's no fun playing ball if you can't get hits.”
“Oh, baloney,” Freddie said. “You hit as often as I do.”
“You hit better than me,” Mickey said.
Johnny grinned. “Who won?” he asked.
“The Tiger Cats. They beat us, 8 to 5.”
“We were ahead once by two runs,” Freddie said. “Then Davie blew up. We had to pull him and put in Jimmie Doty. By then it was too late.”
Suddenly Freddie and Mickey looked up. They gazed over Johnny's head toward the house. Johnny didn't turn. He thought that maybe his mother and father were coming, because he couldn't hear the glider swinging.
“Here comes your brother Michael,” Mickey said softly.
Johnny tightened his lips. He wished that the boys would go away. he didn't want to talk baseball anymore.
“Hi, Michael,” Freddie greeted, smiling.
“Hello, Michael,” echoed Michkey.
“Hi, Freddie. Hi, Mickey. I heard you guys talking. I was sitting on the porch.”
Johnny frowned. Michael must have come out on the porch, too, and Johnny had not heard him. Well, Johnny had not said anything more to hurt Michael. He shouldn't worry.
“Johnny?”
Johnny turned. Sand, at Michael's side, lay on her stomach and put her long black-tipped snout on her front paws. Her brows quivered as she looked from Johnny to the boys.
“Yes, Michael?”
“Please don't stop playing ball, Johnny.”
Johnny stared. He looked at Freddie and Mickey, and back at Michael. He blushed. “But I've made up my mind. I can help Mom and Dad a lot around the house. Anyway, I'm not born to be a ball player.”
“Yes, you are,” Michael said. “And you can't quit. You just can't, Johnny.”
Johnny looked past Michael. His mother and father were still sitting on the glider. Johnny could tell by their faces that they had heard every word that had been said.
Johnny looked up at Michael's freckled face. Michael was serious. He seemed almost on the verge of tears.
“Say you won't quit playing baseball, Johnny,” Michael sobbed. “Please say it!”
Johnny swallowed. “All right, Michael. I'll play. I guess I didn't really mean it, anyway.” Michael's lips curled in a warm smile. Sand rose on her hind paws, yawned, and stretched. “Come on, Sand. Let's go back,” Michael said.