Margery looked toward Tom. “Tell him,” he agreed.
She did. The chief looked toward Tom and scowled.
“Wait, though,” Tom continued, not at all frightened. “Now tell the chief that these men admit that our magic is stronger than theirs.”
Margery, smiling in spite of the gravity of the occasion, spoke.
The chief nodded, and his next frown was turned toward Henry, who looked a little desperate. Then he said, softly, to Mort. “But them busybody kids can’t do what we can’t. How can they light the lamp?”
Mort nodded and perked up.
“Tell the chief,” Tom added. “Tell him that our magic is good, and it is even stronger than the other. And to prove it we will make their own magic work.”
When Margery had done this the chief looked at the youths with some surprise and a little mystification. His medicine men also nodded and motioned toward the small, compact picture machine.
“Nicky,” said Tom, “unroll that piece of cloth they brought. And you and Cliff go to the side, about ten feet off, and hold it up, as taut as you can!”
While they were doing as he asked, Tom bent down and examined the picture projecting apparatus. It was not yet “threaded up” with film, and he took from the small case one of the three rolls of films, small, tightly rolled, in little tin containers.