Baseball Pals Read Free Page A

side.
    “Well, Jimmie Todd can be our pitcher,” Mr. Nichols said. “I think that after some practice he’ll be just as good as Paul
     Karoski. Let’s hope he’ll be better!”
    Some of the boys laughed. Jimmie felt like smiling himself.
    Yet he wished that Paul was playing with them. It wasn’t right that Paul should play with another team. He belonged here—with
     the Planets.
    “Let’s have batting practice,” Mr. Nichols suggested. “Jimmie, take these three balls and get on the mound. Some of you boys
     pull that batting cage closer to the plate.”
    The cage was moved up.
    “Johnny, Alan, and Billy,” Mr. Nichols said, “you three can start to bat. Hit five and lay one down. Okay, Jimmie! Throw ’em
     in there!”
    Jimmie stood on the rubber, made his windup, and threw the ball. Mr. Nichols, standing behind the batting cage, watched him.
     The pitch was wide. Johnny let it go by.
    “Outside!” Mr. Nichols said.
    Jimmie picked up another ball, wound up, and threw.
    “Too high!” Mr. Nichols said.
    The next pitch hit the dirt in front of the plate.
    The manager gathered up the three balls and tossed them back to Jimmie. “Come on, Jimmie, boy. Take your time. Get ’em over.”
    Jimmie was careful with the next pitch. He didn’t throw it hard. It went over the plate. Johnny swung at it and the ball sailedout to left field. The next pitch was low, but it came in easy, and Johnny swung again. He missed. “Come on! Throw ’em in
     here, will you?” Johnny cried.
    “I wish Paul was pitching for us,” Alan Warzcak murmured softly, but loud enough for Jimmie to hear. “He puts ’em all over.”
    “I know,” Billy Hutt said. “We used to have fine batting practice when he was pitching!”
    “All right, boys. Enough of that,” Mr. Nichols cautioned. “Come on, Jimmie. Take your time, boy. You’ll get ’em in there.”
    But Jimmie couldn’t get them in there. After a while, Mr. Nichols went out to the mound himself and pitched.

7
    T hey practiced all the next week. First they had batting practice, then Mr. Nichols would hit balls to the infielders and outfielders.
     While Mr. Nichols did that, Jimmie practiced pitching.
    He had learned to throw a drop. He was proud of it. Now, if he could only get his fast throws over the plate …
    At the Friday afternoon practice Mr. Nichols called the boys together.
    “I’ve scheduled a game with the Pirates for tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Everybodybe here at one-thirty. I’ll try to get a couple more games before the league starts so that we won’t plunge into it cold.”
    Jimmie was up bright and early Saturday morning. After breakfast he went to Mose Solomon’s house. Mose’s mother came to the
     door and said that Mose was still in bed.
    “Who’s that, Ma?” Mose’s voice came from somewhere upstairs.
    “Jimmie Todd!” she called back. She smiled at Jimmie. “I guess he wasn’t asleep. Just lying there. You want to come in and
     wait for him?”
    “Thank you,” said Jimmie.
    After Mose washed, dressed, and ate his breakfast, he brought his mitt and played catch with Jimmie.
    “Give me a target,” Jimmie said.
    Mose held his mitt in front of his left shoulder until Jimmie could put a ball inthat spot. Then he’d change it to his right shoulder and then in front of his chest. The ball seemed to go everywhere but
     where Mose held the mitt.
    “Come on, Jimmie. Come on,” Mose said encouragingly.
    “I’m trying!” cried Jimmie.
    After a while he became tired. “Let’s quit,” he said. “I’ve still got to pitch this afternoon.”
    As the hour of the game drew near, Jimmie’s stomach tightened into knots. He wanted so much to be a pitcher, but he wasn’t
     doing too well. If he only had control …
    He walked a man in the first inning. The next man singled, sending the runner to third. Jimmie stood on the rubber and looked
     at the two fingers Mose held below his mitt. Mose was signaling for a curve ball.
    Jimmie’s