“Oh, ho! Shut ’em out, eh? How many strike-outs?”
“Twelve,” Sandy said, blushing. “But you should have seen the homer Jerry hit! Boy! It must have traveled close to four hundred feet in the air. Honestly, Dad, Jerry James could play in the big leagues if he wanted to. Why, he’s got a big-league arm already. Today he caught two men trying to steal second and he picked another man off third.”
Inwardly pleased at his son’s refusal to boast of his shut-out victory, John Steele said, “Well, the pitching helps, too, Sandy.” He turned to lead the way into the dining room of their comfortable home, when he was stopped in his tracks by a cry of dismay from Sandy.
“What’s wrong, son?” he said, turning. “What is it?”
“Alaska!” Sandy burst out. “Don’t you remember, Dad? Jerry and I were going to join you in Alaska this summer! That’s why we’d saved all the money we made at Mr. James’s drugstore.”
Sandy’s father struck his forehead with the flat of his hand. “By George, I’d forgotten all about it,” he said.
“Yes,” Sandy said, dejected. “It looks as if Jerry James and I will be the only ones around Valley View this summer.” His face darkened. “Pepper March is going to South America with his father. Won’t he rub it in when he hears that our Alaska trip is off!” He shook his head. “And Quiz Taylor’s got a job as counselor at a boys’ camp.”
“Oh, come now,” his father said. “It isn’t that bad. Maybe you and Jerry can use all that spare time to sharpen up your forward-passing combination.”
Suddenly, the look of disappointment disappeared from Sandy’s face. In an instant he was his old high-spirited self, and he all but shouted, “Dad! Dad! I’ve got it! Why can’t Jerry and I go to Minnesota?”
“Minnesota! What on earth would you do there?”