There was a change in the lineup when the Seneca Indians played the Redbirds. Coach Corbin moved Sylvester up to fourth in the batting order. Sylvester had been up there before, in a scrimmage game. Would he perform well enough today to earn the position for good?
The Indians were leading by one run when Sylvester came to bat in the bottom of the first inning. Jim Cowley was on first after uncorking a single.
Bert Riley, a tall, loose-jointed kid with a funny way of throwing the ball, was on the mound. He toed the rubber, stretched, and threw. Every part of his body seemed to go into motion before the ball actually left his hand.
The pitch was wide. “Ball!”
Bert went through his peculiar motions again, and pitched. Pow! The hit was as solid as it sounded. The ball took off like a shot and cleared the left-field fence by at least twenty feet. The crowd roared, and Sylvester started his slow, easy trot around the bases.
He glanced at the bleachers as he reached first base and saw George Baruth sitting there at the end of the third row, smiling that boyish smile of his. He waved and Sylvester waved back.
Then Sylvester saw the kid sitting next to Mr. Baruth waving to him, too, and he recognized Snooky Malone.
“Nice blast, Sylvester!” Snooky shouted.
Hm, thought Sylvester. Apparently Snooky had taken it upon himself to meet George Baruth.
The Indians picked up two runs in the top of the third. Then Sylvester hit his second home run in the bottom of the fourth. Indians 3, Redbirds 3.
As Sylvester ran out to the field, he looked over at George Baruth and Snooky Malone. He expected to see Snooky talking Mr. Baruth’s head off. Snooky was busy talking, all right, but it was with the kid on his left side. Maybe Snooky wasn’t interested in getting into a conversation with an old guy like Mr. Baruth.
Terry’s first pitch was blasted out to deep right, directly at Sylvester. Sylvester sprinted forward a few steps, then suddenly panicked. The ball was hit farther than he expected!
He turned and ran in the opposite direction. His short legs were a blur as he ran. He looked over his left shoulder, then his right. There was the ball, dropping ahead of him!
Somehow he picked up more speed, stretched out his glove hand, and caught the ball.
The applause from the Redbird fans was tremendous. A double between left and center fields braced up the Indians’ hopes of scoring, but a pop fly and then a one-hopper to Terry ended the top half of the fifth inning.
Jim, leading off, flied out to center. Ted walked and advanced to second on Milt’s single over short. Up came Sylvester Coddmyer III and the Redbird fans went wild again.
The Indians called time. The infielders ran in toward the mound, surrounding their pitcher, Bert Riley. They held a quiet, lengthy discussion, then returned to their positions.
What now? thought Sylvester, as Bert Riley faced him for the third time.
“Ball!” shouted the ump, as Bert blazed one in—a mile outside.
“Ball two!” shouted the ump. Another one outside.
“Ball three!” And another.
“He’s afraid of you, Syl!” yelled Snooky Malone. “He’s gonna walk you!”
And that’s just what Bert did. Sylvester was walked his first time ever.