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suddenly it was curving downward. It was falling fast — dizzily. Marvin put up his gloved hand.

    The ball hit the heel of his glove — and dropped to the ground!
    A roar burst from the crowd, died quickly. Marvin bent, picked up the ball, and heaved it to the infield. A runner was tearing for home. Another was already on second. The shortstop got the ball and threw it home, but the runner had already scored. The man on second raced to third. The catcher saw him and whipped the ball to third. It sailed over the third baseman’s head to the outfield. Marvin went after it. He took his time. He saw that the runner on third was already halfway home.
    Three runs! Three runs because he had missed that fly ball! A lump formed in his chest, and grew into a big knot.
    The game ended 7 to 4 in the Bears’ favor.

19
    O NE o’clock Saturday afternoon, and Marvin was still home. The game was scheduled to start at exactly one-thirty. He used to get there at twelve-thirty, or even a few minutes before. Today he did not care. Today he did not want to go at all. He had lost the ball game for the Tigers yesterday by missing that fly ball. He had struck out twice. Sure, he had hit the ball twice, too. But they were grounders, right into somebody’s hands. They were not hits, Not the kind he used to get with his own bat.
    That bat was lucky. No matter what Daddy, or Jim, or anybody said. He had never been as good as people said he was. The credit belonged to the bat. Nobody had known that but Marvin. Maybe now they’d find out where the credit had really belonged!
    His daddy appeared at the living room door. A frown crossed his forehead, as if he was surprised to see Marvin sitting there.
    “Marvin! I thought you had gone to the field?”
    Marvin met his eyes, then looked away. His heart started to pound. “I”m not going to the game,” he said.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I”m no good. I can’t hit. I can’t field. Jim just lets me play because I used to be good.”
    “That’s no way to talk, son,” his daddy said, smiling. “Jim lets you play because he knows you’re good. You’re just thinking about that bat again. And you’re wrong. I wish I could make you understand that.”
    The doorbell chime clanged and his daddy went to answer it. Marvin heard a familiar voice ask for him.
    “Marvin!” his daddy called. “Someone to see you!”
    Marvin got off the chair. He walked across the room to the door, and stopped. It was Freckles Ginty.
    He smiled so that the freckles on his face were almost crawling over each other.
    “Hello, Marvin,” he smiled. “I got something for you.”
    Marvin frowned. “What?”
    “This!”
    From behind his back Freckles pulled a bat. Marvin stared. It was exactly like the one he had broken!

    His mouth fell open. For a moment he could not speak. Then he managed to say: “Where — where did you get it?”
    “It’s the same one you broke,” Freckles said, grinning. “My father fixed it together again for you.”

20
    S TRIKE one!” yelled the umpire. Marvin drew his foot back and rested the bat again on his shoulder. He wasn’t worried about having a strike called on him. This was his fourth trip to the plate. Outside of hitting a long fly ball that the center fielder had caught in the third inning, he had two hits. One was a single, the other a triple.
    Mr. Ginty had sure paid Marvin back for saving his little boy on the street that day. Imagine fixing up the bat so that it was like new again! He sure was a wonderful man!
    The pitcher threw in another one. “Ball!” said the umpire. “One and one!”
    The score was 7 to 5. The Tigers were ahead. There was a man on first. It would not hurt to knock in another run. The Bears were good players. You could not tell when they might start hitting Larry hard and threaten to win the ball game. The team that won this game won the trip to the World Series.
    “Come on, Marv!” the gang on the bench shouted. “Come on, kid! Hit that