"How this get opened?" she said to herself. Then she heard a noise she didn't where it came from. So she went to the down stairs bathroom to get the dirty laundry out of the hamper. Then went to the basement to wash clothes. She left the basement door wide open because she wasn't sure about the door. While she was in the far corner of the basement with her back turned, then her the door closed."Eric?"she calls, but he wasn't there. She ran up the basement stairs and tries to open the door, but it was locked. "Shit." She went over to the shelf to get a srewdriver to unlock the doornob. Then someone called her name " Carrie". She turned around her and it was Mr. McLane. "Mr. McLane what are you doing here?" Hey, remember call me Jack" How you get in here, get the hell out my house."He slowly started walking towards her. "This how you treat all of your guests?" Don't you come near me."He grabbed her wrist, she had the srewdriver in the hand."Hey! Don't be mean. I'm a nice guy,. 400. The guy estimated the number of at bats I'd get over the remaining 17 games of the schedule, and concluded that I could hit a little under .300 the rest of the way and still make it over the .400 hump.That was comforting, but I wondered what I'd have to hit to reach my true goal of .407 -- one point better than The Splendid Splinter, Ted Williams.When we headed back to Baltimore, I had hit safely in 50 consecutive games. I was the first guy, other than Joe DiMaggio, to have ever reached that 50-game plateau.It had been a rewarding road trip. Sandy had been with me for the whole week, and (unlike earlier road trips) she had been entirely happy about being there. Besides, we were lovers now, so it was far more than just moral support she was providing.Tampa Bay was at Camden Yards for three games and I got one hit in each of the games, meaning I was ahead of the math expert's projections, and I had hit in 53 consecutive games.The brief home series was over and we were heading to.
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