Approval and derision seemed mingled in the cries that greeted the appearance of the little prince.
"Quiet them if you can, Miela," I said. "Speak to them."
I steadied the boy with my hand, and he stood there unafraid, a sturdy, manly little figure.
Miela raised her voice and began speaking. The shouts partially ceased, then suddenly a stone struck the parapet almost in front of us.
A sudden rage possessed me. I fumbled at the cylinder I held. It was very much like a little hand flashlight, and seemed to have a knob at my thumb. Miela stopped speaking and turned to me.
"There—press that, Alan. Careful! Aim it there! See! Over there against those palms."
I held the thing up and pointed it toward the huge royal palms, aiming at their graceful fronds high over the heads of the people. My hand pressed the knob; the little cylinder seemed to thrill in my grasp. A tiny beam of light shot out‑quite plainly visible—a green, shading into red. It struck the palm branches, and silently yet rapidly, as though they were under some giant blow‑torch, they shriveled, crackled, and burst into flame.
Miela's fingers bit into my arm. "Enough, Alan! Stop!"
My thumb yielded to the upward pressure of the tiny knob against it, and abruptly the light vanished. A narrow swath had been cut through the palms—a furrow of death plowed by the pressure of my thumb against a bit of metal!
The crowd had frozen into the immobility of terror. Now, as the dreaded ray vanished as suddenly as it had sprung forth, they turned with cries of fright to escape. No one had been hurt. I shuddered as I realized now that many girls had been in the air, and through no thought or skill of mine had they escaped.