in left.
Infielders, play catch.”
Coach Harper’s hits to the outfielders ranged from line drives to sky-reaching blows. Terry didn’t have a miss and welcomed
the coach’s praises of “Nice going,Terry!” and “Hey, weVe got an outfielder!”
Batting practice turned into a lot of fun, too. The team batted twice around and Terry knocked his share of grounders and
long flies to his usual corner, deep left. His bunting, though, suffered.
“We’re having a practice game with the Boilers tomorrow afternoon,” the coach said to Terry when practice was over. “Like
to have you here.”
Terry smiled, “f 11 be here,” he promised.
He almost forgot Tony Casterline’s coldness as he walked home with Mick. All he could think about was telling Mom, Dad and
Connie that the coach liked his playing and wanted him at the practice game tomorrow.
Then he remembered something else,and he turned to his friend. “Thanks, Mick,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be playing baseball.”
Mick’s eyes glimmered. “Aw, forget it, Terry,” he said. “Somebody would’ve asked you to play.”
A hot June sun blazed down on the baseball field the next afternoon. The teams tossed a coin to see who would bat last, and
the Boilers won. Pitching for them was a red-headed left-hander, Lefty Wallace.
The first three batters for the Forest Lakers were Jeff Roberts, Tony Caster-line and Terry Delaney. Terry couldn’t believe
it. Third batter!
Lefty’s speed worked like magic. Both Jeff and Tony popped up to the infield. After fouling two pitches Terry struck out on
a high, outside throw.
“That was over your head, man!” Tony cried.
Terry ignored him as he dropped the bat, got his glove, and ran out to his position.
The first pitch Mick Jordan delivered to the Boilers’ lead-off man was hit through the hole between first and second base.
The man held up at first as right fielder Caesar Valquez fielded the ball and pegged it to second.
The second batter failed on two bunt attempts, then drilled a long fly to deep left. Terry backpedaled for it, caught it,
then whipped it to third base. The ball barely reached the halfway point between him and the infield. The runner on first
— after tagging up — ran to second, then bolted to third.
Third baseman Ed Caliel rushed outto receive the throw in, but the runner was safely on base by the time he got it and turned to throw.
“Hold it!” Mick yelled.
A second voice sliced through the air, and Terry’s ears filled with its terrible ring.
“Hey! See that? Terry hasn’t got an arm! He can’t throw worth beans!”
2
T ERRY TWINGED . He couldn’t rid himself of his poor throwing arm. It was his big weakness.
Once, a couple of years ago, he had played second base, where he didn’t have to throw very hard. But his coach had discovered
that Terry was better at catching flies than grounders, and so had transferred him to the outfield. Terry liked that better
and had played there ever since, even if he did have trouble when a long fly was hit while men were on base.
He saw the angry look on Tony’s face,and heard a chuckle come from center fielder Rich Muldoon.
“Why don’t you trade in that arm, Terry?” the tall, skinny kid hollered at him. “You sure can’t get a worse one!”
Terry grinned. “I’ll make up for it in other ways, Rich!” he yelled back.
With one out, Mick pitched to the next batter. The Boiler smashed a hot, sizzling liner directly at Ed Caliel at third. The
runner on third started toward home, then stopped. He slipped as he tried to get back to third, and Ed doubled him up. Three
outs.
“Nice play, Ed,” Terry said as he trotted up beside the stocky third baseman.
Ed glanced at him, nodded, and looked away.
“Muldoon, Philips, Caliel,” Coach Harper announced. “Get on, Rich.”
Rich put on his protective helmet, stepped to the plate, took his swings and struck out. Bud Philips hit a
Infielders, play catch.”
Coach Harper’s hits to the outfielders ranged from line drives to sky-reaching blows. Terry didn’t have a miss and welcomed
the coach’s praises of “Nice going,Terry!” and “Hey, weVe got an outfielder!”
Batting practice turned into a lot of fun, too. The team batted twice around and Terry knocked his share of grounders and
long flies to his usual corner, deep left. His bunting, though, suffered.
“We’re having a practice game with the Boilers tomorrow afternoon,” the coach said to Terry when practice was over. “Like
to have you here.”
Terry smiled, “f 11 be here,” he promised.
He almost forgot Tony Casterline’s coldness as he walked home with Mick. All he could think about was telling Mom, Dad and
Connie that the coach liked his playing and wanted him at the practice game tomorrow.
Then he remembered something else,and he turned to his friend. “Thanks, Mick,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be playing baseball.”
Mick’s eyes glimmered. “Aw, forget it, Terry,” he said. “Somebody would’ve asked you to play.”
A hot June sun blazed down on the baseball field the next afternoon. The teams tossed a coin to see who would bat last, and
the Boilers won. Pitching for them was a red-headed left-hander, Lefty Wallace.
The first three batters for the Forest Lakers were Jeff Roberts, Tony Caster-line and Terry Delaney. Terry couldn’t believe
it. Third batter!
Lefty’s speed worked like magic. Both Jeff and Tony popped up to the infield. After fouling two pitches Terry struck out on
a high, outside throw.
“That was over your head, man!” Tony cried.
Terry ignored him as he dropped the bat, got his glove, and ran out to his position.
The first pitch Mick Jordan delivered to the Boilers’ lead-off man was hit through the hole between first and second base.
The man held up at first as right fielder Caesar Valquez fielded the ball and pegged it to second.
The second batter failed on two bunt attempts, then drilled a long fly to deep left. Terry backpedaled for it, caught it,
then whipped it to third base. The ball barely reached the halfway point between him and the infield. The runner on first
— after tagging up — ran to second, then bolted to third.
Third baseman Ed Caliel rushed outto receive the throw in, but the runner was safely on base by the time he got it and turned to throw.
“Hold it!” Mick yelled.
A second voice sliced through the air, and Terry’s ears filled with its terrible ring.
“Hey! See that? Terry hasn’t got an arm! He can’t throw worth beans!”
2
T ERRY TWINGED . He couldn’t rid himself of his poor throwing arm. It was his big weakness.
Once, a couple of years ago, he had played second base, where he didn’t have to throw very hard. But his coach had discovered
that Terry was better at catching flies than grounders, and so had transferred him to the outfield. Terry liked that better
and had played there ever since, even if he did have trouble when a long fly was hit while men were on base.
He saw the angry look on Tony’s face,and heard a chuckle come from center fielder Rich Muldoon.
“Why don’t you trade in that arm, Terry?” the tall, skinny kid hollered at him. “You sure can’t get a worse one!”
Terry grinned. “I’ll make up for it in other ways, Rich!” he yelled back.
With one out, Mick pitched to the next batter. The Boiler smashed a hot, sizzling liner directly at Ed Caliel at third. The
runner on third started toward home, then stopped. He slipped as he tried to get back to third, and Ed doubled him up. Three
outs.
“Nice play, Ed,” Terry said as he trotted up beside the stocky third baseman.
Ed glanced at him, nodded, and looked away.
“Muldoon, Philips, Caliel,” Coach Harper announced. “Get on, Rich.”
Rich put on his protective helmet, stepped to the plate, took his swings and struck out. Bud Philips hit a
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