“Johnny,” she whispered a moment later, “did you get it? Did you read his thoughts?”
“Perhaps I did,” Johnny replied slowly. “And again, perhaps I didn’t.”
“Johnny, you’re queer.”
“Perhaps I am. Tell you what, Meg!” Johnny came to a sudden resolve. “Meet me at the heart of The Pines at eleven tomorrow morning. I’ll tell you a secret, Meg.”
“A secret?” Meggy thrilled. “How grand! I’ll be there, Johnny.” She vanished into the dark.
For days Johnny had been fairly bursting with his secret—the story of that strange and seemingly improbable, if not quite impossible, thing, the thought-camera. He could not bear to think of keeping that secret alone. He would tell Meggy.
Just now, however, a question was burning in his mind. Had he got a real picture of the thoughts in that Federal agent’s mind? Perhaps he should not have tried this. Perhaps it was his duty to walk right up to them and tell what he knew.
“May do that tomorrow,” he told himself.
Of a sudden Johnny felt a wave of loneliness sweep over him. He sensed the reason at once. Early that morning a great silver airplane had come swooping down from the sky. It had gathered up the Hillcrest ball players, Doug Danby, Fred Frame and all the rest. Goggles and Hop Horner had stored the steel-fingered mechanical pitcher in the wings of the plane, then had climbed into the cabin with the others.
“I don’t see the little dark man with you,” Johnny had laughed. “The one you know who took such an interest in Irons O.”