Keystone Kids by John R. Tunis Read Free Book Online

sounded like a temple in China, but an ordinary sleeper. Bob’s ticket called for an upper. He looked at Spike and Spike glanced at Bob, both thinking the same thing. Going back is different from coming up.
    The break-up of the Russell boys! Each one was thinking to himself: What a pair we could have been out there around second for the Dodgers. Now we can never show them. How the blazes’ll I ever get along without him? Without Spike? Without Bob?
    “Say hullo to all the folks at Mis’ Hampton’s for me. And tell the old dame to be sure and keep some stew for you when there’s an extra inning game. No more of that funny stuff. Don’t you stand for it, Bob; you gotta get your meals.”
    “Sure will. I’ll tell her.”
    “And give my regards to Grouchy, the old bear. He taught me lots, tell him.”
    “You betcha, Spike.”
    “And all the boys, Tom and Dopey and the rest.”
    “Yessir. Now you take care of yourself, hear me?”
    “You, too. I’ll be writing you, Bobby.” Writing to Bob, the best guy who ever lived...
    “Same here. G’d-by.”
    Why, it had come, now, this minute. The time they never thought would come, ever. It was here at last.
    “You’ll be back, I reckon, boy.”
    “You betcha. I’ll be back all right.”
    Yeah, he’ll be back. Back on the Cubs or the Cards or the Sox. They can’t keep a guy with a pair of hands like that down on the farm very long. But he won’t come back to us, though. This is the end, the bust-up of the Russell boys. Here it is. The moment has come, the moment we dreaded, both of us, that we never thought would come, never talked about...
    He couldn’t stand it. He squeezed his brother’s hand, turned and walked down the aisle of the car, out of the door. A conductor, watch in hand, was waving slowly to the front of the train.
    Then just as Spike stepped onto the platform he was seized by a maniac. The maniac wore no hat, no necktie; he was sweating and excited and very red in the face, different from the way Bill Hanson, the club secretary, usually looked. Usually he was cool, collected, urbane, never upset even when being called down by Jack MacManus, the club owner.
    “Hey! Hey, Spike! Get him off, get him off quick... your kid brother... get him off... out... off... quick...”
    He ran back along the car toward Bob’s seat. At last he found it and began tapping wildly on the window and gesticulating.
    “C’mon,” he shouted. “Come on out... get off... get off quick... get off, ya bum, ya...”
    “All aboard! All aboard!” shouted the conductor, snapping his watch just as Bob appeared on the platform of the Pullman, a questioning look on his face. He couldn’t understand what it was all about and no more could Spike.
    The secretary didn’t hesitate. He shoved the conductor aside and, pushing back the porter, grabbed Bob by one arm and hauled him to the platform just as the car began to move.
    “Here... you can’t do that,” said the conductor from the car steps.
    But Bob was off. The train was moving gently past, the windows filled with passengers, their noses against the glass in an attempt to discover what the excitement and the shouting was about.
    “What’s up? What’s happened, Mr. Hanson?”
    “Ed Davis! He caught his bat in the elevator door and it broke his arm. You gotta stay.”
    “Stay! Stay!” shouted Bob. “I can’t...”
    “You can’t? Why not?” Hanson was shrieking now.
    “My bag! I left my bag on the train—with all my things.”
    The secretary stared at him in a fury. Then the anger changed to laughter. “To blazes with your bag! We’ll buy you a whole new outfit.”

7
    G INGER C RANE PACED up and down the room with nervous steps. His brain trust, Cassidy and Charlie Draper, the two coaches, sat glumly at his side. The boss was in a bad mood, and when the boss was like that suggestions and encouragement were of little help. He walked up and down, up and down, carrying on what he thought was a conversation but what