“Home run, and the game’s over!” a thousand voices shouted. A wild roar of approval greeted the end of the game. Only the little dark man, who had occupied so much of Johnny’s attention, did not cheer. He sat in moody silence. “I wonder why?” Johnny murmured. Then he joined the throng that pressed on toward the spot where the mechanical pitcher stood.
A double rope barrier had been thrown about Goggles, Hop Horner and their strange invention. As for Irons O, he now bowed to the grown-ups who cheered him, and then screamed at the boys who shouted at him. Take it all in all, it had been a day of complete triumph for the Hillcrest boys and their iron pitcher. And the day was not over—far from it.
The crowd had thinned to a mere handful of over-curious boys, and Goggles was reaching for a wrench and pliers for unhooking and unscrewing his good iron friend when, as once before that day, a friendly hand touched his shoulder and smiling eyes met his.
“I’m back,” the stranger said simply. It was the man of the airplane. With him were his two companions. “You see,” he began to explain, “we didn’t just happen to come here. We were sent.”
“I—I guessed that.” Goggles’ heart leaped, though he scarcely knew why.
“You did?” The other seemed surprised. “Well,” he went on, “this is the story. Mr. Montgomery here, who is vice-president of the Northern Airways, read of this—this mechanical man of yours. He wanted to see it perform.”
“I wonder why?” Goggles repeated.
“This is it.” Montgomery, who appeared a quick nervous type of man, stepped forward. “We are anxious to advertise air travel in every way we can. We feel it to be safe and we know it’s a fast and clean way to travel. I said to the boys: ‘If that iron pitcher really works, we’ll pick him up with his whole ball team and carry him across the country in one of our big bi-motors, putting on exhibition games.’ This—this man of yours—what is it you call him?”
“Irons O.”
“Well, he put on a good show—a very fine show. What do you say?”