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And that’s what counted most.

    On Monday they played the Marlins. After the game, the boys were going to a picnic at Orchard Falls Park.
    The Marlins had a right-hander on the mound, Dick Mills, who could throw sharp curves and knucklers. Chico wasn’t worried.
     He was confident he could hit anything the pitcher threw to him. He was going to use his old bat again.
    “These guys are a cinch,” String Becker said. The Royals were sitting in the dugout, watching the Marlins take their infield
     practice. “We trounced them twelve to one in the first round. We ought to be able to do it again.”
    “We’ll make it a shutout this time,” said Dutch Pierce.
    Infield practice ended, and the game started. Dick Mills mowed Ray and Joe down with curves, but he couldn’t foolDutch. Dutch blistered an inside pitch past the third baseman for a single. String acted anxious to send one over the fence,
     but four balls gave him a stroll to first.
    This was a chance for the Royals to score. But with two strikes on him, Billy Hubble swung at a knuckler that must have looked
     as big as a balloon to him. Strike three, and the sides changed.
    The Marlins’ lead-off man punched out a single over short and then stole second. An error on shortstop Ray Ward put another
     man on. The man on second stayed there.
    “C’mon! Look alive!” yelled String at first base. “Let’s get ’em!”
    Frankie worked hard on the third man, a left-hand hitter. A one-bouncer came back at him. Frankie caught it, spun, and whipped
     the ball to second. Ray stepped on the bag, then pegged to first.
    A double play!
    The cleanup hitter was a tall, husky righthander. Chico moved back a dozen steps in left field. He remembered the first game
     with the Marlins. This guy had driven one to deep left. If it hadn’t gone foul, it would have been a homer.
    Crack!
The ball whizzed out to left field like a torpedo. Chico stepped back a little and caught it easily. He knew that if he hadn’t
     played deep for that hitter, he wouldn’t have caught that ball.
    “Nice catch, Chico,” Coach Day said as Chico came running in. “Pick up a bat. You’re up after Buddy.”
    Buddy singled.
    Chico walked to the plate. He was using his regular bat now. He was sure he could hit whatever pitch Mills threw to him.
    “Strike!” He had let that one go by.
    Another pitch. A hook. Chico swung. Missed.
    “Strike two!”
    Chico stepped out of the box, and the umpire called time. Chico adjusted his belt, pulled his helmet down tighter, and stepped
     back into the box.
    Mills threw two more pitches, both balls. Now the count was two and two.
    The next pitch came in. A hook. Chico swung.
Whiff!
    “Strike three!” said the umpire.
    Chico turned glumly, tossed his bat and helmet aside, and walked back to the dugout. He shook his head. He couldn’t understand
     why he had missed those pitches. He just couldn’t.
    Dale Hunt flied out. Then Frankie started a rally with a hot single through short. The Royals scored twice before the Marlins
     got them out.
    They managed to keep the Marlins scoreless for that inning.
    Chico was up again in the third. String and Billy were on base. This was a chance for him to get some RBIs.
    “Strike one!”
    “Strike two!”
    Chico couldn’t believe it. Those hooks looked so easy to hit.
    Then came the knuckler. The ball turned so slowly you could see the seams. Chico swung.
    “You’re out!” shouted the umpire.
    Angrily, Chico tossed his bat aside as if it were the bat’s fault that he hadn’t got a hit. He trembled as he returned to
     the dugout. He was ashamed to face anyone.
    “That’s all right, Chico,” Coach Day said comfortingly. “You’re too anxious. You’ll hit it.”
    In spite of Chico’s failure to hit, the Royals picked up two more runs. Then the Marlins pushed across three runs at their
     turn at bat, making the score 4 to 3, Royals’ favor.
    The Royals scored twice again in the fourth, bringing their score to 6. Chico