The day for their second battle with the Centralia baseball team approached.
“We’ll win!” Johnny said to Meggy Strawn.
“We’ve got to,” was Meggy’s reply.
Johnny wondered if the thought-camera would help any. “Not a chance,” was his final decision. “But I’ll take it along anyway, just for company.”
Three times that week he sat in the great room with Wung Lu and the ancient dragon. Each time his uneasiness grew. Each time that he delivered the think-o-graphs, as he had come to call them, to the wrinkled Tao Sing, the little man’s enthusiasm increased.
“Wung Lu’s thoughts must be very wonderful,” was the boy’s mental comment. “And yet—” one more shudder. “Could it be that Tao Sing was learning things he had no right to know? And was he, Johnny, assisting him?” The thought gave him a start. “Secrets,” he whispered, “sometimes I think they’re no good.”
CHAPTER VII
MYSTERY SHIP
“I can’t get over the way that pitcher came to us,” Goggles Short murmured low to Johnny Thompson. They were seated in the bleachers. The Saturday game was about to begin. The new pitcher from the laboratories, cap drawn low, eyes gleaming, was putting over a few to the catcher.
“It is strange,” Johnny said. “Prince of India!” he exclaimed. “I gave him that name and I’m proud of it.” In his publicity produced by the thought-camera Johnny had played up the name “Prince of India.” He liked the sound of it. “He looks the part too! Look at that slim nose of his,” he went on, “those thin lips, that high forehead. You’d take him for a Frenchman, or perhaps an Englishman, if it weren’t for that dark skin of his. If he’s not a Prince of India, he should be. Watch him pitch!” The slender man on the mound, moving with the smooth agility of a cat, seemed to fairly slide the ball over the plate.
“Listen to the crowd!” Goggles cried. “And is it a crowd! That publicity stuff of yours was great! We’ll get nearly half the money we need for that first payment today. And Wednesday! It’s in the bag.”