Free Baseball Pals by Matt Christopher Page B

“Sure, Jimmie,” he said. “I’ll be glad to.”
    He stepped behind the pitcher’s mound and the game resumed.
    Jimmie pitched.
    “Ball one!” said Mr. Nichols.
    Jimmie pitched again.
    “Ball two!” said Mr. Nichols.
    Jimmie grew worried. Why couldn’t he throw that ball over the plate? The home base looked like a big, flat dish up there.
     It should be easy to throw the ball over.
    But Jimmie walked that man, and he walked the next.
    “Take it easy,” Mr. Nichols advised him. “Don’t throw so hard.”
    Maybe that was the trouble, Jimmie thought. He threw easier.
Smack!
The ball sailed over second base! A run scored. Therunner on first stopped on third. The hitter stopped on second. A two-bagger!
    Jimmie’s heart sank. This wasn’t the way it should be. He had plenty of speed. He had a hook. Those batters weren’t supposed
     to hit his pitches.
    At last Johnny’s team made three outs. The score was 4 to 0, and the first inning was only half over!
    Jimmie’s side scored two runs.
    The second inning was a repetition of the first. Johnny’s team was knocking Jimmie’s pitches all over the lot. Before three
     outs were made, four more runs had been scored.
    Jimmie came to bat. He stepped into one of Paul’s fast balls for a line drive over short. The ball sailed deep into the outfield.
     Jimmie raced around the bases and stopped on third. A smile tugged at the corners of hismouth. That hit had felt good and solid. It made up a little for those bad throws and the men he had walked.
    Someday he would be a good pitcher, he thought. He’d throw the ball wherever he wanted to. High, low, inside—anywhere. All
     he needed was practice.

3
    M r. Nichols,” Johnny Lukon said, “we want to play in the Grasshoppers League, but we need a manager. Would you be our manager,
     Mr. Nichols?”
    Mr. Nichols smiled. His gray eyes twinkled as if he had just been honored by something very important.
    “You sure you want me to be your manager?” he asked.
    “Yes. We talked about it. Would you manage us, please, Mr. Nichols?”
    Mr. Nichols chuckled. “Okay. I’d be gladto. I know most of the boys who run the Grasshoppers League, and we will get our team entered as soon as possible.”
    He looked at the hot, anxious faces around him. “Now, do you have a captain?”
    Jimmie stepped forward. “I’m the captain,” he said.
    “Okay. Suppose you come to my house tonight, Jimmie, and give me the names of your players so that I’ll know who’s on our
     team?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “What about bats and gloves? Does everybody have them?”
    “Most of us have.”
    “What about balls?” Billy Hutt asked. “Those are furnished by the league,” Mr. Nichols said. He glanced at the mask and mitt
     in Mose Solomon’s hands. “Are those yours, Mose?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Can you boys be here again the same time tomorrow? We’ll go through fielding and batting practices.”
    “Sure!” the boys said happily.
    Jimmie felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned.
    “I want to go home,” Ervie said.
    “Oh, please, Ervie,” said Jimmie. “Not yet. We have plenty of time.”
    “I’m hungry,” Ervie said.
    “Hungry? Is that all you want to do? Eat?”
    Ervie blinked his eyes. “I think we should go home. It’s late.”
    “You go home if you want to,” Jimmie replied gruffly. “I’m staying here.”
    Ervie peered up at him. There was hurt in his eyes. Jimmie turned his back to him, hoping Ervie would go home. But when he
     looked around, Ervie was still there, gazing at him with those haunting blue eyes.
    “Look, Ervie,” he pleaded, “I’m captain of the Planets. I’m supposed to stay here. I can’t go before the others go. Can’t
     you understand?”
    Ervie didn’t answer. He just blinked his eyes again.
    “Listen, Ervie,” Jimmie said in a low voice, “I want to practice pitching. The best place is here on the diamond. I need the
     practice. You want us to be ready when the league starts, don’t you?