The Fox Steals Home Read Online Free Page B

through his trifocals. Balding, and gray around the edges
     of his hair, he still stood up straight as a pole and walked with the graceful bearing of a soldier.
    “Mom thinks there’s too much traffic where we are for me to have a bike,” said Bobby.
    “Pooshwah! It’s a wonder she didn’t worry about you walking up here.”
    “Are you hungry, dear?” Grandma Reenie asked him. Faint lines webbed the corners of her hazel eyes.
    “No thanks, Grandma,” he said.
    “I’ve been meaning to telephone you, Bobby,” said Grandpa. “But your grandmother keeps pestering me with one foolish job after
     another. How did your team make out yesterday?”
    “We lost,” said Bobby. “Seven to six.”
    “Lost?” Grandpa said it as if the word had a terrible taste to it. “How did you do? Get any hits?”
    “One,” replied Bobby. “And one walk. I also stole a base.”
    “You did?” A wide grin splashed over the old man’s face. “Good! You’re pretty good with the stick, are you?”
    “Fair.”
    “Fair? That’s not enough, boy. You’ve got to be good at something, get what I mean? If not with the stick, then with catching
     the ball. Otherwise you won’t be worth more than a lick. What would you like to be good at?”
    “Stealing bases,” said Bobby.
    “Stealing bases?” Grandpa’s jaws dropped a few notches. “Why? You a whiz on bases?”
    “No. I just like to run.”
    “Oh. So you just like to run. Well, I suppose it’s the runners that score, isn’t it?” He grinned warmly.
    “That’s right,” said Bobby.

5
    I’ ve got a theory about life, Bobby,” Grandpa said, focusing his eyes through the upper third of his glasses at his grandson.
     “And that is, it’s best to specialize in one thing, at least. Two or three things are better, but could be more difficult.
     So,
at least
one thing. Get what I mean?”
    Bobby nodded. Anyway, he
thought
he got what his grandfather meant.
    “What I’m saying is that if you want to be a base stealer, go all out at it. Be good at it. Be the best. Look how long Ty
     Cobb held the base-stealing record. Then Maury Wills comes along and breaks it. Then somebody else comes along and breaks
     his. Why? Because they made a specialty of it, that’s why. Get what I mean?”
    Again Bobby nodded. He had known that hisgrandfather enjoyed baseball, but he had never dreamed that the old man was so psyched up about it. It was as if he wished
     he were young again himself to show Bobby what he was talking about.
    “Practice is the key, Bobby,” Grandpa Alex went on, emphasizing the word
key
to let it sink in. “Like everything else, a guy has to practice at his craft to be the best. Why work at anything if that
     isn’t your aim? Get what I mean?”
    Bobby grinned. “I get it, Grandpa,” he said. He hadn’t thought about being the best in anything. But, the way Grandpa put
     it, it didn’t sound bad at all.
    “Okay. Tell you what we’ll do,” said his grandfather. “I’ll fetch my gloves and a ball, and we’ll go to the ballpark. We’ll
     stop at your house first for you to put on your baseball pants. Okay?”
    Bobby nodded.
    “Okay. Come on. We can put in about a half hour’s practice, then come back and rest up before lunch.” He turned and looked
     at Grandma Reenie sitting on the porch, crocheting an afghan. “Did you get all this chatter, Grandma?” he askedher. “Bobby and I are going down to the ballpark. I’m going to make this kid into the best base stealer in Lyncook County.”
    “Just as long as you don’t teach him to steal anything else,” Grandma Reenie said, glancing up through her glasses but not
     missing a stitch. “And be back by lunchtime. I’m making chicken and dumplings.”
    “Half an hour. That’s all we’ll be gone,” said Grandpa Alex.
    He went into the house and stayed so long that Bobby began to wonder if he were ever going to find the gloves and ball. But
     he came out eventually, carrying them. They looked at