Free Kid Comes Back by John R. Tunis Page B

Roy could hardly believe his eyes. For the man looked like Casey, the sports reporter, but this was a thinner, fitter Casey, tanned and lean. Here come the questions, Roy thought. However, he knew better how to parry questions, and he was sincerely interested in the change that had come over the newspaperman.
    Casey, with his reporter’s eye, spotted Roy on the bench immediately, and came up, hand out, genuinely glad to see him again. They exchanged greetings, and it appeared that Casey had been overseas as a war correspondent. To Roy, war correspondents were merely sportswriters in uniform. But Casey had seen service. He had been with the 4th Marines at Iwo Jima, had gone back to enter Manila with the 37th Division, had flown over Tokyo more than once. Roy’s respect for him increased. The change in his appearance was quite understandable.
    Presently their conversation shifted from battles to baseball.
    “Looks like you’re in good condition, Roy.”
    “To you, yes, Jim. To a ballplayer, no.”
    “Why not? What’s the matter?”
    “Why, Jim, far as baseball is concerned I’m just a baby again. I mean I feel as though I was a rookie once more and had to fight for a job. I’ve got to train and train hard to get my wind and legs in some sort of decent shape. That takes time, y’know.” Then someone yelled at him from above. Jack MacManus wanted to see him in the office. He went up to find the genial owner in a cordial and responsive mood. Asking casually about his condition, the boss explained that all returned servicemen on the club were given a physical examination by a specialist. After some more conversation, he took up the telephone and made a date for Roy to see the doctor the next morning.
    The following day Roy sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office in the hospital, reading Casey’s column. The sportswriter had wasted no time the previous afternoon.
    “Roy Tucker, ace center fielder of the Brooks, is home after four years in the Army, of which 22 months were spent abroad in Africa, Corsica and France. When drafted, back in ’41, Roy was sent to Fort Riley to play on the ballteam there, but the usually good-natured farm boy made such a fuss they had to send him into combat duty overseas. He told them he didn’t come into the Army to play baseball, and meant it, too. Finally they sent him across late in ’42 as a sergeant in the 12th Airforce, where he had fifty-six missions over Europe, was brought down, captured, and escaped shortly before D-Day. The Kid from Tomkinsville refused to talk about his Army experiences, although he returned with the Silver Star and other decorations. He looks in first-class shape and is ready to rejoin the club.”
    Yeah? Says he! How does he know?
    “The doctor will see you now.”
    Tossing the paper aside quickly, he went inside. The man at the desk wore a long, white coat. He was thin, bald, with blue eyes and a warming smile. Best of all, he was not interested in baseball or the Dodgers, and asked no questions about the players. His conversation and his actions were crisp and businesslike. Apparently he cared for his job and nothing else.
    Roy yanked off his clothes, feeling confidence in the man. Without a word the doctor pointed to the table. Roy climbed up, and the doctor went right to his weak spot. Feeling along his hip and leg, he found the tenderness immediately, punching here and there, bringing little exclamations of pain from Roy’s lips, just as the French doctor had done. Then he took a tape measure from his pocket and, stretching out both legs, measured them carefully several times.
    “H’m... h’m... h’m.” Nothing more.
    Taking hold of the left leg, he lifted it with infinite care from the table. To Roy’s amazement, the leg when extended upward would only rise a few inches before that pain began shooting up his hip. Then the doctor tried to move it outward. Again it hurt. Next he told him to stand and bend over to the floor. Once more