WHAT AN EYE!
That evening Johnny sat on his grandfather’s porch staring at the moon
and allowing the events of the past few days to glide across his memory
as a panorama glides across a picture screen.
It was strange! Here he was in the quiet little city of his grandfather.
He’d been here many times before. Nothing unusual had happened; but now
there was the little Chinaman who apparently had been seen by no one but
himself and who was now being sought by detectives. And there was the
thought-camera. He wondered whether the little man was still in town, but
had no desire to visit the spice shop to find out for sure—at least not
in the dark. He recalled C. K.’s words, and shuddered afresh.
“And there’s the ‘Prince,’” he thought. “Queer sort of fellow. How did he
come here?” He seemed to see an airplane landing within prison walls. Had
the Colonel rescued him in that strange manner from a prison? “Of course
not!” he whispered. “Perfectly absurd!” And yet, there was that air
pilot’s story. “Mystery wings!” he whispered low. How many mysterious
things might be carried on high in the air—kidnaping, smuggling, daring
robbers escaping from the scene of their crime. What had happened that
day as the airplane soared over their baseball diamond? He had a rather
definite notion. But was that idea correct? He meant to find out.
He thought of the coming ball game. The “Prince” would be there. He had
promised to come. Meggy had brought word of this.
“Good old Meg!” he thought. “How I’d like to tell her about the
thought-camera!” He was burning to tell someone. And yet, had he the
right? Meg would keep the secret. Threats of death would not wring it
from her. Good old Meg! And yet—. He wouldn’t tell, not just now.
How was the ball game to come out? And Goggles’ forty-eyed umpire? Would
it work? They would get a crowd, he was sure of that. But would they be
able to satisfy that crowd?
He stole a glance at his grandfather. As usual, he sat in his big chair
dreaming of the past. Slipping up the stairs, Johnny returned with the
thought-camera under his coat. He recorded one more chapter of the grand
old man’s life. Then he crept back upstairs again.
“Wonder how that thing works,” he murmured as he once more hid the camera
in the bottom of his trunk. “I’d give a lot to know.” He had read of
things scientists were doing with what they called the spectrum, how they
divided it into different rays, red, violet, indigo blue, and how some
rays were life-giving and some deadly. It might be something like that.
If he knew the secrets of that camera he could become the richest person
in the world. Perhaps some day he would know.
“But now,” he laughed low, “the next thing is a ball game.”
He was late to the Wednesday game. His grandfather had a hurry-up call
into the country. Johnny drove the car. Twenty miles from town they got a
flat tire. The bolts stuck. He was a full hour getting it changed. When
he finally reached the ball grounds the game had been in progress for
some time and, to his great surprise and consternation, this is what he
heard:
“Oh! What an eye! Kill that umpire! Git a pop bottle! Git twenty pop
bottles! Wreck him! Wreck him!” The cries were loud and persistent from
every corner of the grandstand.
“Trouble is,” Doug Danby groaned as Johnny came racing up, “they are
liable to break loose any minute and do just that—‘wreck the umpire.’ And
that umpire cost hundreds of dollars. How could we ever pay it back?”
Doug was, he believed, at that moment the most miserable person in the
world. They were losing, losing the game they by all odds should be
winning. And it was all his fault, or at least he accepted the blame. He,
as captain of the team, had stood up for Goggles’ mechanical umpire. “And
now look!” He gave Johnny an appealing glance.
Johnny didn’t want to look. Everyone else was looking; that is, everyone
on the Hillcrest bleachers, and everyone was yelling: “Wide a mile!” or
“Way below his knees!” “Take out that umpire! Wreck him!” “Strike!
Strike! Strike!” They began chanting this as a refrain, and clapping
their hands in a rhythmic accompaniment.
“Johnny, something’s gone terribly wrong!” Meggy Strawn screamed this
into Johnny’s ear above the din.
“You’re telling us!” Doug shouted back. “Terribly wrong! I’d say! Bill’s
out on strikes and all three were balls. Dave’s got two strikes now, and
there—no—that tin umpire called it a ball!”
“There!” Meggy jumped up and down. “Dave swatted it. It’s a two bagger!
Rah for Dave!”
Doug did not shout. He was glad Dave had made second. But he was sure
he’d never see home.
“You can’t beat a crooked umpire,” he groaned. That the umpire was
crooked he could not by this time doubt. Yet, how could it be? A
mechanical umpire with an eye a thousand times faster than the human eye,
set to call balls and strikes impartially, all the balls to be outside
the plate, above the shoulder or below the knee, a mere thing of
electrical tubes and cells, of wires and steel mechanisms, how could that
kind of an umpire be crooked? Doug could find no answer. Nor could
Johnny. He could only stand and stare.
“Johnny,” Meggy whispered, “why does that Fairfield sub always stand
leaning against that post while our team is up to bat?”
The post she spoke of stood before the bench used by the visiting team.
It held one end of the wire cable that kept the crowd off the field.
“Probably leans because he’s the leaning sort,” Johnny chuckled.
“He’s done that for four innings.” Meggy’s tone was low, mysterious.
Johnny missed that tone. He was too much absorbed by what was going on to
notice it. “When his team comes up to bat,” Meg went on, “he goes back to
the bench. Then when we are at bat again, he hops up, strolls slowly to
the post and stands there until the inning is over. Johnny, I—”
“There!” It was Doug who interrupted her. “Steve struck out. I’m up.
Watch me fan! All I got to do is stand right still, and that tin umpire
will call ‘Strike! Strike! Strike!’ and I’m out! You just watch!”
“Doug!” Meggy gripped his arm tight. “You—you’re being almost yellow.
Buck up! Get in there and win in spite of odds. There’s something crooked
about it. We all know that. But we can’t help it. At least not now.
Listen! Uncle Rob told me once he’d seen a lot of crooked things tried in
all sorts of games, but he’d found out this—if the straight player stood
up to it and did his level best he’d win; but that a fellow who is
crooked can never do his best—his conscience won’t let him. So you just
get in there and swat that ball! Strike at every one. Boot it over the
fence! And next time, when you’re up, I’m going to—”
She did not finish. Doug was gone.
With Meggy’s words ringing in his ears, Doug marched up to the plate. Ten
seconds later he saw the ball coming. Figuring it would be “wide a mile,”
he gave a quick side-wise lurch, swung the bat, struck the ball low and
hard, then dashed for first base.
“Go! Go! Go! Go on!” came in a deafening roar. Nor did that call subside
until he had crossed the home plate. He had boosted the ball clear out of
the lot, a home run just like that.
“But even that won’t win,” he told Johnny gloomily. “The score is still 5
to 3 in their favor. And that tin umpire is set dead against us.”
This conclusion seemed fair enough, for when Tim Tyler, the best batter
on their team, came up next he went down “One, two, three.” After that
the Hillcrest players wandered gloomily to their places on the diamond.
Doug played right field. Since the men on the opposing team almost to a
man batted right handed, he now had plenty of time to think. And those
were long, long thoughts, you may be sure. “How could that electrical
umpire be crooked?” he asked himself over and over. “It worked perfectly
every time yesterday. If it wasn’t for the pledge that both teams made to
see the thing through, I’d demand a new umpire. But thunder! We’d look
fine throwing out our own umpire!”
Yes, they had tried the umpire out the day before. Goggles had secured
the necessary equipment from the electrical shop which was really a
laboratory for research work, and with the assistance of the head
electrician had set the electrical umpire in place on the ball grounds.
“You see,” he had explained before they started to test it out, “there’s
a battery of ten lights shining out at the side beyond the plates. There
are ten above the batter’s shoulder, and ten below the knee. These lights
shine on electric eyes. The moment one of these lights is shut off, even
for an instant, a red light will flash and a phonograph shout, ‘Foul.’
Two other batteries of lights watch for strikes. Another phonograph calls
’em. Now you fellows try it.”
They did try it. Tried it many times and not once had the mechanical
umpire failed.
“It did not slip once yesterday,” Doug groaned to himself out there on
the field watching for any chance fly that might come his way. “And now,
today, when the Fairfield batters are up, it works perfectly, but when we
are up it just squints its forty eyes and gives the pitcher all the
breaks.
“Crowds,” the boy grumbled, “are queer. One minute they are with you,
next they are against you.” It had been so with the crowd from his own
town in regard to the mechanical umpire. When they had heard it call
“Strike!” “Foul!” then “Strike!” once more, they had gone wild over it.
“But now,” he groaned, “they’re all against it. May swarm onto the field
any minute and smash it up. Worst is,” he grumbled on, “we agreed to
abide by the decision of that brainless mechanical man—even put it in
writing. Both teams signed it—so—”
He broke short off. There had come a wild shout from the enemy’s
bleachers. A high fly came sailing his way. Judging it correctly, he
turned his back and ran; then, whirling about just in time, put up a
single hand to nab the ball. It was a beautiful catch. Even the rivals
applauded.
“Fine! Great! Wonderful!” His teammates patted him on the back as they
raced in for their turn at bat.
“Lot of good that will be,” Doug grumbled. “We’re beat right now; beaten
by our own little tin umpire. What an eye! is right.”
Then Meggy’s words came back to him: “Go in and beat them anyway. Fellows
that are crooked seldom win. Their conscience won’t let them.”
“We’ll win!” He set his teeth tight. “Win in spite of it all. We—”
His thoughts broke short off. What was Meggy up to now? She had walked
away from her regular place, had crossed the field and was standing
leaning against the white post just before the bench used by the rival
team—the one she had said the Fairfield sub leaned on.
“You’d think she’s gone over to the enemy,” Doug whispered to Johnny. She
hadn’t, though. He knew Meggy better than that. But what _was_ she there
for? Surely that was a puzzler.
Shortly after the “Prince” took up his batting position for old
Hillcrest, the sub from the Fairfield bench moved forward to touch Meggy
on the shoulder.
“Sorry, Miss, you’ll have to move. It’s this way. The boys back on the
bench can’t see through you.” His tone was apologetic.
“Oh! Is that so?” Meggy’s pug nose turned fully half an inch higher.
“Well then! Suppose they try sliding along on the bench.” She held her
position.
The sub returned to his bench discomfited.
In the meantime, wonder of wonders, the electrical umpire of forty eyes
had at last apparently taken pity on the Hillcrest team and was giving
them a square deal. The “Prince” actually got a base on balls.
The fans on the bleachers ceased their fruitless razzing of the tin
umpire and began to cheer. The opposing pitcher appeared to be losing his
poise. After dealing out three more balls, he tossed Dave Dawson an easy
one and Dave swatted it for a two bagger. Another walk, and the bags were
loaded.
Fairfield changed pitchers. The fresh pitcher bore down hard. The result
for that inning was one score for Hillcrest.
“Come on boys!” Doug yelled. “A shut-out this time! Then we’ll go after
them. Two more runs and we got ’em. Something’s happened. I don’t know
what, but at last we’re getting a square deal from our old tin ump.”
The shut-out was managed easily. The “Prince” did his part nobly. Two
pop-ups and a strike-out did the work. All this time Doug was like one in
a trance. Strange things were happening. The mechanical umpire had
suddenly gone on the square. But poor Meg! She had apparently quite lost
her mind. She was still leaning on that white post before the enemy’s
bench. Had anyone been close beside her, however, he would have noticed
that her attention was divided between a certain spot on the ground close
to the post and a Fairfield player who had remained on the bench. The
player was captain of the rival team. He had sent the sub out to take his
place.
Hardly had the batting begun than this captain rose with some dignity to
approach Meggy. “Sorry, dear child,” his air was patronizing, “but you’ll
have to leave. This is our side of the diamond. Besides, you are in
danger of being struck by a foul ball.”
“Oh! Thank you!” Meggy smiled sweetly. “I’m awfully good at ducking.”
“But you _must_ leave!” The visiting captain’s tone was stern.
Meggy did not answer. Instead she turned her back upon him to cup her
hands and shout across the diamond.
“Yoo-hoo! Johnny! Bring me that spade! There’s a dandelion, a great big
one, here.”
The astonished Johnny did her bidding. The rival captain held his ground.
A look of dread overspread his face. He seemed to be saying to himself,
“What will this wild young creature do next?”
He did not have long to wait. Seizing the spade, Meggy hissed, “There!
Right down there!” then sank her spade deep.
The captain made a move as if to stop her, opened his mouth as if to
speak, then retired in apparent confusion.
There was no dandelion where Meggy sank her spade. The spot of gold that
was a yellow “dannie” was fully a yard away. She did not trouble the
dandelion at all. Instead, she sank her spade with a vicious poke of her
stout young foot three times. Then, shouldering her spade as if it were a
rifle, she marched back to her own bleachers and took up the task of
cheer leader. She led the Hillcrest team to such a victory as the old
town had never before witnessed. When the ninth inning was ended and Doug
was borne in triumph off the field, the score stood 22 to 7 in favor of
the home team. Doug, riding aloft on his fellow townsmen’s shoulders, was
disturbed by a vague feeling that Meggy was far more richly deserving of
this ride than he. But why? This he could not tell. That was to come
later.
“Meggy, you’re holding something back,” Johnny insisted as he sat with
Meg and Doug on Meg’s porch drinking lemonade late that evening.
“All right,” Meg laughed, “then I am. And I suppose you’d like to know
what. They say,” she smiled whimsically, “that ‘figures won’t lie but
liars will figure.’ Well, Goggles may be able to make a perfect
mechanical umpire, but he can’t keep some other electrical shark from
tampering with it.
“You see—” she leaned forward, eyes gleaming, “you set up your equipment
yesterday. During the night some smart boy from Fairfield came over and
cut in a switch that would turn half the eyes of old Mr. Umpire off when
they wanted them off. That gave Mr. Ump only half sight. And of course
they made him half blind every time our team came up. He couldn’t see the
balls.”
“But I don’t under—”
“Wait!” Peggy held up a hand. “The switch was by that white post. They’d
buried the wires underground two or three inches. When I saw that sub
stand there every inning, I guessed there was a reason. So—o, you see,”
she laughed, “I took his place.
“He’d been throwing the switch off and on with his toe. Couldn’t while I
was there. Bye and bye I discovered the switch, figured out where the
wires ran, then chopped one off with that spade. After that old Mr. Ump
could see very well all the time.”
“Meg!” Doug exclaimed, “You’re a whizz!”
“Oh I don’t know about that,” Meg laughed. “One thing I do know. The
score wouldn’t have been so terrible if they hadn’t tried to cheat. Which
all goes to show that the fellow that cheats can’t win.”
“Correct!” Johnny laughed. “Now how about another lemonade?”
“Well—” Doug sighed a happy sigh as he rose to leave a half hour later,
“we got our thousand dollars and a little left over. So the old ball
ground is safe, at least for a while.”
“Wasn’t the ‘Prince’ gr—and today!” Meg’s tone was rich and mellow.
“Isn’t he mysterious!”
“He sure was good!” Johnny agreed. “And no one bothered him today. That
airplane did not come back.”
“But it will,” a voice seemed to whisper in his ear. “You wait! Mystery
wings!”