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your mother’s breast, so I will let it pass. But I will add this: You can manage Robinson fairly and correctly, or you can be unemployed.”
    Hopper didn’t reply directly. He didn’t even give any sign he’d heard his boss’s reprimand. But as Jackie headed off the field toward them, he called out, “Attaboy, Jackie! Way to turn two!”
    Rickey nodded. That would do.

    Late that night, the phone rang in Rickey’s hotel room. He sat up and answered, listening for a second as the caller identified himself. “Yes, Wendell, what is it?”
    â€œA guy just stopped by the Brocks’ house,” Smith explained hurriedly. “Said there were fellas coming who weren’t too happy about Jackie’s being here. About him playing with white boys. And that it’d be best if we weren’t here when they arrived.”
    Rickey frowned, though there was no one there to notice it. “I see. Yes, I understand. Wake him up and get him out of there. Put him in the car and start driving for Daytona Beach. Now. And, Wendell, under no circumstance tell him what this is about. I do not want him to get it in his head to stay there and fight.”
    After they hung up, Rickey shook his head, then sighed and rose to his feet. He knew he wasn’t likely to get any more sleep that night.

    Back at the Brocks’, Jackie sat on the edge of his bed, half-dressed and only half-awake. Through his door he could see Smith in his own room across the hall, quickly packing his things.
    â€œI was just getting loose,” Jackie muttered to himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe the dream was over that quickly.
    Smith stuck his head in the doorway. “Don’t just sit there; pack your duds. We’re blowin’.”
    A phone rang somewhere downstairs. They heard Brock answer, then call up, “Wendell?”
    Smith headed down, and Jackie listened as the sportswriter took the phone.
    â€œYes, Mr. Rickey,” he heard Smith say, “I’m with him now. We’re pulling out for Daytona in five minutes, soon as he gets his bag packed. Yes, yes, it’s just one of those things.”
    Jackie hung his head. “One of those things.” Not to him, it wasn’t.
    They left quickly, barely pausing to thank the Brocks for their hospitality. The road was quiet at this time of night, with only a few bars still open. One of those stood at a street corner, and as they braked to a stop, Jackie saw a pickup idling there in its parking lot. A dozen men in shirtsleeves emerged from the bar to speak with the men in the truck. Then one of them glanced up and spotted the Buick and its passengers. He marched over, gesturing for Jackie to roll down the window.
    â€œI wonder what he wants?” Jackie said aloud, already reaching for the window crank.
    â€œTo run us out of town,” Smith answered.
    Jackie turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”
    The man was close now, and Jackie had the window open a crack when Smith suddenly floored it, sending the Buick shooting away with a loud screech. Another car was coming from the other direction, and Smith had to swerve to keep from hitting it.
    â€œSeriously, Wendell?” Jackie found he was shaking a little.
    Smith let out a breath, checked the mirror, and slowed down. “Man came by while you were asleep,” he explained. “Told us more men were coming. Maybe those boys. Mr. Rickey said to get you to Daytona Beach ASAP.”
    Jackie stared at him. “Why didn’t you say so?”
    Smith shrugged. “Mr. Rickey was afraid you wouldn’t leave, that you’d want to fight.”
    Instead of getting angry, Jackie started to laugh.
    â€œWhat are you laughing at?” Smith demanded, his own fear making him snappish.
    It took a second for Jackie to control himself enough to answer. “I thought you woke me because I was cut from the team.”
    After a second, Smith