“They—they—” In his excitement Johnny stood up. He crushed his cap within his tight clenched hands. “No! No! Thank—” He did not finish. With a burst of speed, a thunder of motors, the airplane righted itself, then shot upward. But what was that? Did Johnny’s eyes deceive him? Did he catch a gleam of fire—or was it only a brilliant flash of light? Half unconsciously he waited the report of a shot fired. It did not come.
“It’s the strangest thing!” he murmured as he settled back in his place. Already the airplane was a long way off.
So filled was the boy’s mind with wild speculations that he failed to follow the game. Perhaps this was just as well. Dame Fortune appeared to have deserted the mysterious pitcher. He walked another man. The bases were full.
“But look at him,” Meggy whispered in Johnny’s ear. “Look at him wind up! You’d think he was doing it in his sleep!”
Indeed, as Johnny focussed his attention upon this mysterious stranger, he appeared to waver, as if he might fall.
“Something awfully queer about that,” Johnny murmured.
With what appeared to be tremendous effort the pitcher hurled the ball. It would have cut the plate squarely in the middle had not a stout bat met it to send it high and far.
When the commotion was over, the score stood 5 to 6 in favor of Centralia. There were men on second and third. What was more, the “Prince” was walking unsteadily toward the bench.
“Listen!” Meggy exclaimed. “They’re calling for Fred Frame.”
“Something queer about that!” Johnny repeated as he turned to watch the “Prince” walk away toward the showers. “The eagle swooped downward, and now—” he did not finish.