World Series Read Online Free PDF

standing there, bag in hand. In a second he was surrounded. They were glad to have him back and their faces showed it.
    “Hey, Roy...how are ya, Kid...here he is now...glad to see you back again, Roy...who said they could kill him off...boy, we sure can use that old bat of yours right now...c’mon, Roy, climb in the old monkey suit, we can use you...how you feel, boy, okay?” A dozen hands grasped his, a dozen arms reached for his shoulder.
    “Hullo, Fat Stuff, hullo, Raz old kid, hullo, Dave, hullo, Harry. Hi there, Swanny. Hullo, Red. Sure I’m okay. Well...you know...little wobbly...that’s natural the medicos say. But I’ll be in there....”
    They left the room and went out. Clack-clack, clackety-clack, clack-clack, clackety-clack; the sound of their spikes on the concrete was sweet to his ears. He hurried off his clothes, half listening to the old catcher who paused a moment at his locker. “Roy, I shan’t play you today. Want you should sit on that bench with me and try to size up this gang. We’ve got one tough fight on our hands and I’ll need you before it’s over. So take it easy. Don’t run much. Moment you feel least bit dizzy, sit down. Keep outa the sun. Understand?”
    He nodded. In half a minute he was grabbing his shoes. “Hullo, Chiselbeak. How are ya?” He laced them up. Clack-clack, clackety-clack on the concrete tunnel to the dugout. Crunch-crunch on the wooden planks of the dugout floor. He looked round. Whew! Say, this was a ballpark. This was big, this stadium was. A different park and a different scene. But still the same old sounds of baseball. The get-’em-red-hot of the dog men, the program vendors, the shouts of the crowd from the stands, all the sounds of baseball; sounds he only half heard but recognized now coming back to them again. Someone stopped him. A man presented an autographed baseball and a fountain pen.
    “Oh...” he looked at the signature. “You’re Tucker, hey? Thought you was beaned in Brooklyn!” He eyed him suspiciously. Roy grinned and said nothing. You can’t please some folks, as Dave always said.
    Gosh though, it was great to be back. To watch Harry with that familiar gesture knock the dirt from his spikes with a bat, to see Dave in his crouch at the plate tip his mask and take a high inside one from the pitcher, and Red Allen swinging those two war clubs. Yes, it was swell to be back. Back with the team, with men he loved. He felt he couldn’t stand sitting all day in the dugout. Then he jumped instinctively to avoid a foul and got that twinge in the back of his neck. While all the time the bong-bong-bong went on in his head.
    “Hey Roy!” Eddie Davis stopped on his way to the plate. “D’ja see what Casey called you in his column? He called you ‘Wooden-Head Tucker.’ Says you tried to use your nut for a bat.”
    “Yeah? Well, I wish it hada been Casey out there. Just let him stick his neck in front of Miller’s fast one and he’ll find out how wooden...”
    A hand gripped his arm. It was a hand of steel. He turned about and looked into the freckled face of an older man. He had sandy hair parted on one side and blue eyes with crinkles at the corners.
    “Listen, boy! Don’t pay any attention to that man Casey, hear me?” As he talked he emphasized his remarks by taps on the Kid’s arm with his other hand.
    “Hullo, Mr. MacManus.” It was Jack Mac-Manus, owner of the Dodgers, one of the smartest men in baseball. Everyone knew Jack’s heart was set on a Series title and usually he got what he went after.
    “That man Casey! Lemme tell you. He always has to ride someone. That’s the sort of sports-writer he is. Don’t let him bother you. If you do, and he thinks it worries you, he’ll wisecrack you to death every morning. I know. I had several run-ins with that baby when I was in Chicago. Get me?”
    “Sure do. And thanks lots, Mr. MacManus.”
    “How you feel? Didn’t expect that high inside one on the first pitch there, did