“But the rabbit will come out again? Another inning?” a voice seemed to whisper in his ear.
With that, for a time at least, he forgot the strange airplane and gave his attention to the ball game.
“Hello Meggy,” he said a moment later as she slid into the place beside him. “We’re going to win, Meg!” he cried.
Meg’s voice was low. “Yes, we must, Johnny!”
Suddenly Meggy pinched Johnny’s arm. “Look! He—he’s up to bat! Isn’t he mysterious! The—the ‘Prince of India’—that’s what they call him.”
Once again Johnny’s eye was on the ball. The opposing pitcher shot it through to the Prince, but it went high and wide. The dark-faced one never moved a muscle.
“Believe he can bat,” was Johnny’s mental comment. His practiced eye swept over the diamond. Arthur Lowe was on first, Fred Frame on second. There were two men out. No score on either side.
“Now,” he whispered hoarsely, “just one good swat! That’s all we need! Get a grand lead! We—”
He did not finish. Came the crack of a bat and the ball went soaring high and far.
“Yea! Yea! Yea!” The crowd sprang to its feet and howled madly. “Yea! Yea! Yea! Prince! Prince! Prince!”