It was remarkable. Even the editor had admitted it. “THE BUBBLE MAN’S LAST TOSS,” Jimmie read above it, and below, “MOST UNUSUAL PICTURES EVER PRODUCED, TAKEN BY A BOY’S CANDID CAMERA.”
“Why!” Jimmie sat up. “I took that picture.”
“You, son!” his mother’s eyes widened. “How could you?”
“I did, for all that,” Jimmie admitted reluctantly. “Well,” he thought, “the cat’s out of the bag. The whole story of the Bubble Man is here and my part in his capture too. This will be the end of my newspaper career for this year. And who cares? One week till school starts.”
Then he told his mother the whole story. At the end he said, “When the Bubble Man went into action I got excited and pressed my switch. The flash bulbs exploded. The distance happened to be right. So—o, I got that picture. Played into luck, that’s all.”
“I think,” said his mother soberly, “that you played into luck all the way through. And now,” she sighed, “I hope you are ready to be just a boy again.”
“I am,” said Jimmie simply.
Jimmie heard the ball game on the radio. It was a grand scrap. “Oggie,” his idol, pitched a glorious game and won. Needless to say, there was no Bubble Man in the grand-stand to razz him.
Three days later, when Jimmie made a short visit to his old haunts in the News Building, he came upon Tom Howe, John Nightingale, and Mary Dare. They were gathered in a corner and seemed both happy and excited about something.
“Here’s Jimmie now!” John exclaimed. “Shall we tell him?”