Presently a hysterical and varied chatter began to pour into his astounded ears.
“It’s real,” he whispered to himself. “It’s— it.”
Anyone looking at the teen-ager in that transfixed moment would have thought that “it”
was the most wonderful thing that the young man could have hoped for. It wasn’t, exactly; but nobody could top it for pure, raging excitement.
In Ferndale, Chuck got through at last to Hink Field. Dinner was spoiled. His mother and his aunt were indignant; Ruth was, in fact, weeping with disappointment and rage. He could hear her say, over and over, “The fools! Oh, the fools! They’re little boys, really. It’s all a big game and they love it.”
Grimly, Chuck hoped that she would go on forever thinking it was just a “big game.” The baby started to cry, as if she, too, realized the party was over, spoiled, done for.
That was when he dialed for the twentieth time and got through.
“Captain Parker here,” a voice said.
“Jeff? This is Chuck Conner—”
“Chuck? Report out here as soon as possible, hunh?”