As they came rapidly nearer and Johnny could make out a figure at the wheel, he concluded that this was one of those new machines that had recently come to be so much the thing—a glider.
“But five thousand feet in the air!” He was truly astonished. “Could only reach that height by tying on to an airplane. And that’s forbidden. Too dangerous.”
A final shock was to follow. As they neared the glider he recognized the figure seated serenely there. A tall, gaunt figure it was. A long gray coat was draped about its body. A gray cap hid its eyes. Its gray beard shone in the sun.
“The Gray Shadow!” he gasped.
As if he had heard these words, which was not possible, of course, with the thundering of the motors, the lone glider turned his machine directly about and at once lost himself in the great white morning cloud.
“It is strange,” Johnny mused, as they went thundering on their way. “That person, or spirit, or whatever he may be, appears to haunt my path. I cannot escape him. On the carnival grounds, in a tunnel, at the shack, in the air, it is always the same.
“And after all,” he philosophized, “what’s the use of wanting to escape him. No harm has come from his presence. Good may yet come. Who knows?”
And in this last he was more accurate than he knew.
* * * * * * * *
Joyce Mills had arrived at her room none the worse for her experience with the sofa, two pairs of fat ankles and a mouse.