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forehead with the flat of his hand. “I’m going to get you a pair of glasses.”
    Snoop Myers lashed a liner through second for a clean single, scoring both Eddie and Andy. Then Marv struck out.
    Finches 0, Sunbirds 3.
    “Hey, Fox, you did all right!” yelled one of the kids as Bobby sprang from the dugout and headed for his position at third.
    “Thanks.” Bobby grinned. He had at least two good supporters, that was for sure.
    Someone sitting on the third-base side of the bleachers chuckled. “Nice steal, Bobby.”
    The sound of the familiar voice struck a sensitive chord, and Bobby glanced toward the bleachers. It was his father! He was
     sitting there in the fourth row, wearing that familiar yellow cap.
    “Thanks, Dad,” his heart answered.
    He was thrilled and surprised to see his father there. It was something he had hoped for, but not really expected.
    The Sunbirds kept the Finches from scoring, and it looked as if the Sunbirds would go through the inning scoreless, too, as
     Hank flied out and Sherm fanned. Ollie Hitchcock, whose ability as a hitter had not ever been a major threat to any opposing
     team, stepped up to the plate.
    Bert got two strikes on him, and was on his way for his third strikeout as Ollie went into his third consecutive swing. But
     this time a resounding crack exploded as bat met ball, catapulting it through the hole between left and center fields. The
     unbelievable became believable as Ollie made it to second base standing up.
    “Knock him in, Bobby!” encouraged a fan as Bobby strode to the plate.
    He felt comfortable and confident, none of that nervousness he had felt the first two times up. That 3-0 lead could do that
     for you.
    Bert whistled two pitches by him, both balls, then wrangled in a strike. The fourth came in knee-high and Bobby swung, meeting
     the ball squarely for a single over short. Ollie raced in to home, boosting the lead another notch.
    Bobby looked for the steal sign, eager to givehis legs another workout. He stood there, some five feet away from the first-base sack, leaning forward, both arms swinging
     loosely. Since he had decided to excel as a base thief, nothing was more important anymore. Nothing, that is, as far as baseball
     was concerned.
    But he didn’t get the steal sign. Apparently Coach Tarbell wanted him to play it safe.
    Eddie stroked the first pitch to center field for the third out. Discouraged because he was deprived of his chance to attempt
     another steal, Bobby trotted to the bench, got his glove, and headed to his position at third.
    He took a quick glance at his father, who met his eyes and smiled.
    The Finches, coming up for the top of the fifth inning, still could not find the handle of Ollie’s pitches, and went back
     out to the field, a bunch of defeated sad sacks.
    Again the Sunbirds picked up a run as Andy scored on a triple to deep left off the bat of Snoop Myers. The Finches, unable
     to find the magic that would give them any momentum at all, picked uponly horse collars again in the sixth and seventh innings, and the Sunbirds walked off with the win, 5-0.
    The first thing Bobby did was head for his father, who descended from the bleachers and met him near the first row.
    “Three hits and a stolen base,” said his father happily. “Congratulations. You’re playing like an old pro.”
    The third hit had come in the sixth inning, giving Bobby three-for-four for the day. His mind easily tallied up the percentage:
     .750. If he continued hitting like that, he’d be the envy of the league.
    “It’s my best game so far,” said Bobby proudly. “But it’s only my second,” he added, smiling.
    “Yeah. Well, you’ll do all right in the rest of them, too,” his father assured him. “You’ve got the spunk. That comes first.
     All the rest will follow.”
    A voice cut in. “Hey, Bobby! You coming?”
    It was Billy Trollop, walking toward the gate with his parents and another couple.
    “I’ve got to go, Dad,” said Bobby,