Free King of the Mound: My Summer With Satchel Paige by Wes Tooke

keep that thing on until a doctor tells you to take it off. Understand?”
    Nick nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    His father gave his pants another look. “Well, I guess we’d better go downtown and find you something.”
    The something they found turned out to be a heavy wool suit that was on sale at Woolworth’s and a white dress shirt with so much starch that it felt as if it were made out of paper. The instant Nick stepped out of the store into the warm summer night, sweat began pouring from his armpits and down the small of his back, and his entire body felt like one giant itch. His father had also decided that his shoes still fit—the definition of wishful thinking—so he was hobbling even more than normal as they walked up to Mr. Churchill. He was standing on a corner at the center of town, his eyes locked on a makeshift mound that a few men were constructing in the street, and he grinned when he noticed Nick.
    “You look like a priest,” he said. “Do you worship at the altar of our Almighty Father or the Church of Baseball?”
    “Baseball,” Nick said. “Except on Sunday morning.”
    “Good answer,” Mr. Churchill said. He reached into a satchel lying on the pavement next to him and pulled out a stack of flyers. “Easy assignment tonight. You just have to give away all of these.”
    Nick glanced around the street, which was quiet for a Tuesday night. “To who?”
    “I’m willing to make a bet that this street is packed in ten minutes,” Mr. Churchill said. “How about a nickel?”
    “I don’t have a nickel to bet,” Nick said.
    Mr. Churchill pursed his lips. “Well, it’s Tuesday night so we have to make some kind of bet.” His eyes focused on the flyers in Nick’s hands. “How about this. . . . You give away all of those flyers and you can come on our next road trip. Otherwise, you’re stuck here in Bismarck while we barnstorm across the great Midwest.”
    Out of the corner of his eye Nick noticed his father’s eyebrows shoot up, but he didn’t say anything. “Deal,” Nick said.
    He and Mr. Churchill shook hands, and then Nick glanced down at the top flyer. It was just three sentences printed with bright red ink: THE LEGEND RETURNS! BISMARCK CHURCHILLS PRESENT LEROY SATCHEL PAIGE, GUARANTEED TO STRIKE OUT THE FIRST NINE MEN OR YOUR MONEY BACK! TICKETS GOING FAST!
    “They look pretty good, don’t they,” Mr. Churchill said. “And if you give them all away, we’ll have a full house tomorrow.”
    Nick gave the street another glance. “I’ll do my best.”
    “I already told you not to worry about finding people,” Mr. Churchill said. “Believe me, I’ve got a whole mess of tricks up my sleeve.”

    The tricks began ten minutes later while Nick was standing outside the five-and-dime store trying to convince an old woman to take a flyer even though she claimed she’d never been to a game because “that little ball moves too fast.” The first sign that something unusual was about to happen wasthe honking of a car horn in the distance. Nick turned his head in time to see two men on horseback galloping down the street. They were carrying a banner between them that read BISMARCK CHURCHILLS—TEAM OF CHAMPIONS . As they pulled up in front of Mr. Churchill, their huge horses snorting and lathered with sweat, the two men stood out of their saddles and saluted. Nick’s eyes widened as he realized that it was Moose Johnson and Joe Desiderato from the team.
    “Those about to play ball salute you!” they shouted in unison.
    Mr. Churchill stepped forward. In the few minutes since Nick had last seen him, he had wrapped himself in a white sheet and put a wreath of leaves on his head. He looked like a Halloween version of a Roman emperor.
    “Have you brought me tribute?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Joe replied. He spoke in a loud monotone. “We have found the greatest pitcher in all the land.”
    “And where can I find this gallant champion?” Mr. Churchill asked, his voice booming.
    Joe turned