The Twilight Zone: Complete Stories by Rod Serling Read Free Book Online

there,” he said, his voice quivering a little. “That’s the New York Giants.” He spoke the words as if they were synonymous with a social disease. “And while we’re out there playing tonight”—again his voice quivered—“there’s a big fellah named Casey lying on a table, struggling to stay alive.”
    Tears shone in Monk’s eyes as the big catcher got a mental picture of a courageous kid lying on a hospital table. Guppy Ransack, the third baseman, sniffed and then honked into a handkerchief as a little knot of sentiment tightened up his throat. Bertram Beasley let out a sob as he thought about what the attendance record was, six weeks B.C.—before Casey—and did some more projecting on what it would be without Casey. Mouth McGarry walked back and forth before the line of players.
    “I know,” he said, his voice tight and strained. “I know that his last words before that knife went into his chest were—‘Go up there, Dodgers, and win one for the big guy!’”
    The last words of this speech were choked by the tears that rolled down McGarry’s face and the sob that caught in his own chest.
    The street door to the locker room opened and Dr. Stillman came in, followed by Casey. But all the players were watching Mouth McGarry, who had now moved into his big finale scene.
    “I want to tell you something, guys! From now on”—he sniffed loudly—“from now on there’s gonna be a ghost in that dugout. Every time you pick up a bat, look over to where Casey used to sit—because he’s gonna be there in spirit rooting for us, cheering for us, yelling, ‘Go Dodgers, go!’”—McGarry turned and looked at Casey, who was smiling at him. Mouth nodded perfunctorily. “Well there, Casey,” he said and turned back to the team. “Now I’m gonna tell you something else about that big guy. This fellah has a heart. Not a real heart, maybe, but this fellah that’s lying’ there with a hole in his chest—”
    Mouth’s lower jaw dropped seven inches, as he turned very slowly to look at Casey. He had no chance to say anything, however, because the team had pushed him aside as they rushed toward the hero, shaking his hand, pounding him on the back, pulling, grabbing, shouting at him. Mouth spent a moment recovering and then screamed, “All right, knock it off! Let’s have quiet! Quiet! QUIET!” He pulled players away from Casey and finally stood in front of the big pitcher. “Well?” he asked.
    Stillman smiled. “Go ahead, Casey. Tell him.”
    It was then that everyone in the room noticed Casey’s face. He was smiling. It was a big smile. A broad smile. An enveloping smile. It went across his face and up and down. It shone in his eyes. “Listen, Mr. McGarry,” he said proudly. He pointed a thumb at his chest and Mouth put his ear there. He could hear the steady tick, tick, tick.
    Mouth stepped back and shouted excitedly. “You got a heart!”
    There was a chorus of delighted exclamation and comment from all the players and Beasley, poised for a faint, decided against it.
    “And look at that smile,” Stillman said over the shouting. “That’s the one thing I couldn’t get him to do before—smile!”
    Casey threw his arm around the old man. “It’s wonderful. It’s just wonderful. Now I feel—I feel—like—togetherness!”
    The team roared their approval and Bertram Beasley mounted a rubbing table, cupping his hands like a megaphone, and shouted, “All right, Dodgers, out on the field. Let’s go, team. Casey starts tonight. The new Casey!”
    The team thundered out on to the field, pushing Mouth McGarry out of the way and blotting out the first part of the speech which had begun, “All right, you guys, with vim, vigor and vital—” He never got to finish the speech because Monk, Resnick and a utility infielder had carried him with their momentum out the door and up to the dugout.
    When Casey’s name was announced as the starter for the Dodgers that night the crowd let out a roar that