had learned to start off in a backstroke race. As
he pushed off from the side of the pool, Tanya jumped in on one side and Tony, who appeared out of nowhere, jumped in on the
other. The two of them started backstroking furiously next to him, churning up a tidal wave of water in their combined wake.
But Jerry wasn't ruffled. He kept his head and continued to do exactly what he had learned. When he touched the opposite edge
of the pool, Wayne Cabot shouted down to the three of them.
“The winner by a good palm and a half, Jerry Grayson!”
The winner — Jerry Grayson! It sounded great.Deep down, he knew that he would love to hear those words in a real race.
Tony had scrambled out of the pool and was stomping up and down.
“Oh, no,” he cried in mock misery “I've been beaten by that gimpy lump of quicksand Jerry Grayson!”
“Me, too,” cried Tanya, in the pool. “What's left for us in this world?”
“There's nothing!” said Tony. He walked over to the diving board and strode boldly to the edge. “Good-bye cruel world!”
He pinched his nose, bounced high up, and leaped off in a cannonball.
As a huge wall of water rose and began to descend, all the others in his vicinity began splashing water in his direction and
calling out, “Jerry! Jerry!”
He knew they were teasing — and he loved every minute of it.
“I don't believe it!” Mr. Grayson banged his fist down on the newspaper in front of him.
“What's the matter, dear? The stock marketcrash?” asked Mrs. Grayson, seated on the other end of the couch.
“No, look at who the Yankees traded!” He pushed the sports section of the newspaper over to her.
She pored over the picture and the column that filled a quarter of a page. Then she looked up and asked, “Jerry?”
Jerry was playing tug-of-war with Yogi. The feisty schnauzer had clenched a rubber dog toy and wouldn't let go of it. Jerry
dropped his end and looked up.
“What?” he replied.
“Aren't you even interested in what's going on in spring practice? Your father just mentioned the Yankees' big trade today.”
“I heard about it on TV a little while ago,” he said, but he made no other comment about the big news in professional baseball.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stared at each other. This was really unusual for Jerry. He was generally a walking encyclopedia of baseball
information. News about something happening on one of the major league teams usually started him off on a long talk.
Instead, he got up and stretched. “I think I'll hit the hay a little early tonight. We've got a full practice tomorrow.”
“Batting practice?” asked Mrs. Grayson.
“No, swimming,” said Jerry.
He gave his parents good-night kisses and, followed by the faithful Yogi, he went up to his room.
Jerry didn't know it, but after he left, Mr. Grayson shook his head.
And Mrs. Grayson whispered across the room, “Is it my imagination, or is his hair turning a little green?”
On Wednesday morning, Mrs. Grayson reminded Jerry that he had a final doctor's appointment for his leg that afternoon. Doctor
Gold and Bob Fulton had been keeping each other informed of Jerry's progress. So when classes had finished for the day, Jerry
headed for the doctor's office instead of the pool.
To his delight, Doctor Gold gave him a clean bill of health. His bones had completely healed. The muscles were well on their
way to full strength.
“It looks like the swimming has helped,” she said. “But now that you're okay, maybe you'll go back to baseball?”
Jerry was silent for a moment. He couldn't denythat being able to play baseball again was the first thought that had crossed his mind.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how committed he had become to swimming. So he turned to Doctor Gold
and said, “Throw away all that practice time and hard work to sit on the bench during baseball season? No way! Besides, there's
always next year for baseball.”
Jerry left the doctor's
he pushed off from the side of the pool, Tanya jumped in on one side and Tony, who appeared out of nowhere, jumped in on the
other. The two of them started backstroking furiously next to him, churning up a tidal wave of water in their combined wake.
But Jerry wasn't ruffled. He kept his head and continued to do exactly what he had learned. When he touched the opposite edge
of the pool, Wayne Cabot shouted down to the three of them.
“The winner by a good palm and a half, Jerry Grayson!”
The winner — Jerry Grayson! It sounded great.Deep down, he knew that he would love to hear those words in a real race.
Tony had scrambled out of the pool and was stomping up and down.
“Oh, no,” he cried in mock misery “I've been beaten by that gimpy lump of quicksand Jerry Grayson!”
“Me, too,” cried Tanya, in the pool. “What's left for us in this world?”
“There's nothing!” said Tony. He walked over to the diving board and strode boldly to the edge. “Good-bye cruel world!”
He pinched his nose, bounced high up, and leaped off in a cannonball.
As a huge wall of water rose and began to descend, all the others in his vicinity began splashing water in his direction and
calling out, “Jerry! Jerry!”
He knew they were teasing — and he loved every minute of it.
“I don't believe it!” Mr. Grayson banged his fist down on the newspaper in front of him.
“What's the matter, dear? The stock marketcrash?” asked Mrs. Grayson, seated on the other end of the couch.
“No, look at who the Yankees traded!” He pushed the sports section of the newspaper over to her.
She pored over the picture and the column that filled a quarter of a page. Then she looked up and asked, “Jerry?”
Jerry was playing tug-of-war with Yogi. The feisty schnauzer had clenched a rubber dog toy and wouldn't let go of it. Jerry
dropped his end and looked up.
“What?” he replied.
“Aren't you even interested in what's going on in spring practice? Your father just mentioned the Yankees' big trade today.”
“I heard about it on TV a little while ago,” he said, but he made no other comment about the big news in professional baseball.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stared at each other. This was really unusual for Jerry. He was generally a walking encyclopedia of baseball
information. News about something happening on one of the major league teams usually started him off on a long talk.
Instead, he got up and stretched. “I think I'll hit the hay a little early tonight. We've got a full practice tomorrow.”
“Batting practice?” asked Mrs. Grayson.
“No, swimming,” said Jerry.
He gave his parents good-night kisses and, followed by the faithful Yogi, he went up to his room.
Jerry didn't know it, but after he left, Mr. Grayson shook his head.
And Mrs. Grayson whispered across the room, “Is it my imagination, or is his hair turning a little green?”
On Wednesday morning, Mrs. Grayson reminded Jerry that he had a final doctor's appointment for his leg that afternoon. Doctor
Gold and Bob Fulton had been keeping each other informed of Jerry's progress. So when classes had finished for the day, Jerry
headed for the doctor's office instead of the pool.
To his delight, Doctor Gold gave him a clean bill of health. His bones had completely healed. The muscles were well on their
way to full strength.
“It looks like the swimming has helped,” she said. “But now that you're okay, maybe you'll go back to baseball?”
Jerry was silent for a moment. He couldn't denythat being able to play baseball again was the first thought that had crossed his mind.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how committed he had become to swimming. So he turned to Doctor Gold
and said, “Throw away all that practice time and hard work to sit on the bench during baseball season? No way! Besides, there's
always next year for baseball.”
Jerry left the doctor's
Similar Books
