CHAPTER XXII

THE SMOKE SCREEN

“I have a feeling—sort of dread—” Doug Danby’s voice dropped. “I believe they’ll try that trick of theirs again today—those two fellows who go after the ‘Prince’—in a different plane. If they do, then—” he did not finish. His voice trailed off.

“And I too have a feeling—” there was a suggestion of hidden knowledge in Johnny Thompson’s voice. “I have a feeling that if those two ill-wishers, who’ve been trying to break up our game every time the ‘Prince’ is on the mound, try any tricks today, they’ll get fooled!”

He cocked his head on one side as he murmured, “Wind’s in the west, what wind there is. Not much of any. Cloudy and damp. Just right, I’d say.”

“Just right for what?” Doug was curious.

“Don’t ask me. Just wait.” Johnny lapsed into silence.

Doug waited, and as he waited he thought. They were long, long thoughts, I assure you. The opening hour for the last game of the season was approaching. Today the championship of the series was to be decided. The crowd exceeded that of any preceding game. Excitement ran high.

Meggy Strawn, garbed in her brightest and best, was already on the sidelines, ready to lead in the cheering. Little wonder that chills and thrills coursed through her. Was this not the greatest day old Hillcrest had ever known? Had not the four thousand dollars been paid in full? Was not the ball park their very own—theirs to have and to hold for many a year? Yea! Yea! And yet there was mystery in the air.

“Something will happen today.” One might hear this whisper in many a corner. “Something strange, perhaps something quite terrible will happen.”

“Would it?” Meg wondered.

In the meantime, on foot, by train, by auto, the crowd continued to pour in.

“All paid attendance.” Old Professor George rubbed his hands together. “You boys are doing wonders! Hurray for old Hillcrest!”

“Yes!” Doug was truly happy. “But we must win today, Professor. We truly must!”

But would they? Centralia, the opposing team, their ancient rival, was first up to bat. As the mysterious “Prince” strolled out upon the diamond a strange hush fell over the assembled throng.

There were those in that crowd who had said quite boldly that this mystery should not be allowed to continue, that the pitcher should reveal his true identity or stay out of the game. “Only evil people wish to hide their identity,” this was their argument.

So, with the “Prince” in the box, the game began. For three innings he pitched a faultless game. Only two men found their way to first base. They “died” there, Hillcrest scored twice. Hopes ran high. Even Johnny Thompson, sitting on the bench and expecting almost anything, began to smile.

And then, out of the west came a gray streak.

Just as he expected, as on that other day the airplane began to circle. Down it came, lower and lower.

The “Prince” did not glance up. “But he knows,” Johnny whispered. “He’s—he’s beginning to break from the strain.”

Surely this must be true. “Men on first and second; only one out!” Johnny groaned. “They—they’ll make it. Sure to. And then—”

But what was this? A fire? To the west, hardly three blocks away, a dense column of smoke appeared. Rising higher and higher in the all but quiet sky, it at last drifted slowly over the ball grounds. So dense was it that it cast a deep shadow over all.

“Hurray!” Johnny sprang to his feet. “Hurray! That beats ’em!”

This, considering the “Prince” had just walked a man, filling the bases, seemed sheer madness.

“They’ll think I’m out of my head,” was Johnny’s second thought as he sank back into his place.

That Johnny was right was soon enough demonstrated. Seeming to find fresh power flowing through his veins, the mysterious pitcher stiffened his pace. The two men who came up next got three pitches each. They fanned the air. The inning was over.

“We arranged to put up a smoke screen,” Johnny whispered to Meggy. “Set a lot of old tar paper on fire. That checkmated those fellows in the airplane. They couldn’t see through it, nor—nor do anything else!”

“But Johnny! Who’s in that plane?”

“You’ll know tonight, per—perhaps,” was Johnny’s reply.

Three times the airplane circled. Three times a pillar of smoke rose to meet it.

“That airplane is from River Forest,” Big Bill Tyson said to Colonel Chamberlain. “Hate to take you away from the game; but if we’re to be there when they land, we’d better be travelin’.”

Three minutes later a long gray car shot away to the east. In it rode Big Bill and Colonel Chamberlain. Big Bill was at last truly interested in the boys of his city.

Johnny saw them leave the field. He knew why they were going, and smiled.

The boy who received the greatest surprise, however, was Fred Frame, the one-time star pitcher. As the team came in for its turn at bat, Doug Danby sidled over to him at the end of the sixth inning and said in a low tone:

“You are to pitch next inning.”

“Why! What?” Fred’s brain whirled. Was he to finish this last game? Score 2 to 0 in Hillcrest’s favor! The championship at stake! He to pitch! He could not understand.

Nor was he to know more save that the “Prince,” a trifle more stooped than usual, but walking with a firm, proud tread, was leaving the grounds.

Slowly a buzz like the swarming of bees sounded through the crowd. Then all was still.

It was well that Fred did not come up to bat that inning. He surely would have fanned.

As at last he stood in the pitcher’s box, he found above him a cloudless, smokeless sky where no airplane soared and circled.

“Think I’m small fry!” he muttered. “Not worth bothering with! I’ll show ’em!”

The seventh and eighth innings passed without a score on either side.

In the ninth, two Centralia men fanned. The game seemed over. Then came a two-bagger, followed by a single that brought in a run. By taking wild chances, the runner on first base stole second, then third. So there it was, last inning, two men down and the tying run on third.

Wildly Fred’s eyes searched the crowd for the familiar figure of the “Prince.”

“He’s gone,” a voice seemed to whisper. “You may never see him again. Perhaps he is no real person at all—just a sort of imaginary being. It’s up to you, and you alone!”

Then the catcher gave him a signal. For such a time as this, it seemed a piece of madness, that signal. But Fred was desperate. He took the chance.

Winding up, he sent the ball spinning. It was a wild throw—a perfect wild throw, if wild throws you want. By one mad leap the catcher was able to knock it down. Even so, he did not stop it. It went on rolling. He was after it in a mad scramble.

Shooting down the course came the tying run.

But not so fast! Francisco the catcher had the ball. He was on the home plate. The runner turned to dash back. He all but fell into Fred’s arms. And Fred had the ball. Francisco had passed it back to him.

This mad play, so cleverly planned and executed, had won! The game was over. Hillcrest was champion!

The crowd went wild. Seizing Fred, they tossed him to their shoulders, shouting: “Hurray for Fred! Hurray for Fred!” He tried to shout, “The ‘Prince’!” but his cries were drowned by a roar.

It was an interesting group that gathered in Colonel Chamberlain’s office two hours later. There was Johnny and Goggles, Fred Frame and Meggy. Besides these there was Big Bill Tyson and close beside him, grim and sullen, sat the two strangers who had caused so much trouble. There was too a tall, slightly stooped young man. At first the boys stared at him in wondering silence. “Who is he? Who can he be?” they whispered.

“I see you do not recognize a friend,” Colonel Chamberlain smiled. “I am surprised.

“This—” he paused to smile once more. “This is your old friend J., the one you have called the ‘Prince.’ Today, for the first time, he is able to remove the dye that might have concealed his identity from some people.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came as in one breath.

“And now,” the Colonel said, turning to J., “perhaps you will tell them your story. Only,” he warned, “be brief. There’s a big feast of real good things to eat in store for us after it is told. Tonight the business men of Hillcrest are giving a banquet to all the boys who have fought so bravely for the honor of their city.”

“Tell us! Tell us!” they all pleaded.

“I shall be glad to,” the “Prince” replied.

“You see,” he began, “I’ve always been fascinated with chemistry. My native home is in Europe. Three years ago I was allowed to enter another country as a student. At once I was successful with my chemistry. Men said I had made some remarkable discoveries.

“Well,” he sighed, “success brings enemies. There are those who wished to possess my secrets.

“The part of that strange country I was in,” he went on after a period of silence, “was disputed territory. In time it became known that it was to be controlled entirely by this nation that was not friendly to my native land. This meant that I must leave. Many men came to me demanding to know my scientific secrets, which—pardon my pride—were very valuable.

“I refused. They threatened to have me sent to prison. I defied them and finally, with my secret formula hidden away in my garments, I escaped to America.

“But they followed, still threatening me. I put on that disguise, which has deceived some. Unfortunately it did not deceive all. So tonight I am removing it. Tonight I have taken out my first papers as an American citizen. Soon I shall belong to your wonderful country.”

“Good! Good! Fine! Wonderful!” came from the throats of his hearers.

Only two were silent—the two strangers.

“And you!” The “Prince” made a dramatic gesture. “Why do you still persecute me?” He had turned upon the silent pair.

“I think,” said the Colonel when the men did not reply, “it is because of greed and a deplorable race hatred. You need not, however, fear them any longer. They have done enough to send them to prison.”

“This,” the “Prince” exclaimed, “I do not wish! Only that they shall pledge themselves never to disturb me again.”

“Very well,” said the Colonel, “you shall be the judge.”

He turned upon the strangers. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, yes sir. We do!” was the answer.

“Very well. You may go.”

“Any other questions?” The Colonel turned to his young guests.

“I—I’d like to know what happened that day when the—the ‘Prince’ was obliged to leave the pitcher’s box,” said Meggy, “that first day.”

“That—” Johnny sprang up, “let me try to explain that.”

He held out a long tube with a very bright inside, also a small battery and two small bottles of powder. “You put the two powders in the tube, then touch them off with the battery. This makes a blinding flash that may be directed like the shot of a gun at any single individual. That’s what they did to the ‘Prince’ from the airplane,” he explained rapidly.

“What I can’t understand,” he went on in a puzzled tone, “is why it should spoil your game.” He turned toward the “Prince.”

“I will explain,” said the “Prince.” “I once was in a terrible chemical explosion. My sight was saved only as a sort of miracle. Since then, a flash of light half blinds me for hours. These men, knowing this, invented that instrument of torture. So now,” he added, smiling, “you know.”

“But why did you leave the game today?” Meggy asked.

“Oh that!” The “Prince” smiled a rare smile. “That was a case of _noblesse oblige_. The team was yours. The game yours too. How could I, a stranger, truly win it when that plucky boy of yours had tried so nobly? It was a duty of honor.”

“That—” Johnny’s eyes were dimmed. “That’s what I call sporting!

“One more question!” Johnny was on his feet. “This may seem strange, but ‘Prince,’ were you ever in prison in America?”

“No.” The “Prince” smiled a strange smile. “I have not had the honor.”

“Just one of my bum guesses,” Johnny thought to himself. He was thinking of the story told to him by that air pilot.

“And now,” said the Colonel, springing to his feet, “I call you all to a banquet.”

The banquet was all that anyone could ask, but, as for Johnny Thompson, his mind was on other things. As he was hurrying to this meeting, Chief Gallagher had called to him: “Come in and see me as soon as you can. I’ve got something big to tell you.”

“It has to do with the little Chinaman Tao Sing and the thought-camera,” Johnny assured himself more than once. As soon as he could, he was away to the Chief’s office.

“You’re right the very first time, Johnny,” the Chief laughed when Johnny hazarded a guess. “We caught up with that little Chink this afternoon. He and two others were tryin’ to make a getaway in an airplane. Guess they didn’t savvy that plane. Anyway, that plane didn’t get far. Those Chinamen had parachutes. They landed safely. Our men picked them up. Plane came down in flames.

“Queer part—” he rumbled, “that little fellow wanted to jump right into the flaming wreck. Said he wanted to save something—only one in the world. Man that made it was dead—all that stuff.

“Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “my men wouldn’t let him commit suicide that way. He’ll go back to China with those other fellows. The tong war is over.”

“That thing he wanted to save,” said Johnny soberly, “must have been the thought-camera. And I—you know I’m sort of glad it’s gone and that there are no more in the world. For you know—it’s no fun at all to take pictures of other people’s thoughts. And to have other people taking pictures of yours—why that would be simply terrible!”

“Yes,” the Captain said with a laugh. “It sure would be!”

Johnny enjoyed a few peaceful days in Hillcrest. After that he was off for fresh adventure. If you wish to know of these adventures look for our new book, _Red Dynamite_.

Transcriber’s Notes

--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.

--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)