Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net _A Mystery Story for Boys_ MYSTERY WINGS _By_ ROY J. SNELL The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago COPYRIGHT, 1935 BY THE REILLY & LEE CO. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I The Mysterious Chinaman 11 II A Strange Prophecy Comes True 23 III The Thought Camera 33 IV A Place of Great Magic 45 V Johnnyâs Think-O-Graphs 58 VI Beside the Green-Eyed Dragon 63 VII Mystery Ship 70 VIII Strange Passengers 82 IX âWhoâs Afraid of a Chinaman?â 96 X Clues from the Dust 103 XI What an Eye! 112 XII The Vanishing Chinaman 128 XIII Secret of the Pines 135 XIV The Steel-Fingered Pitcher 143 XV The White Flare 155 XVI A Tense Moment 162 XVII A Narrow Escape 172 XVIII The Flying Ball Team 181 XIX A Revelation in Chinese 190 XX Ether and Moth-Balls 200 XXI Liquid AirâAlmost 209 XXII The Smoke Screen 220 MYSTERY WINGS CHAPTER I THE MYSTERIOUS CHINAMAN âPardon, my young friend!â Johnny Thompson started at the sound of these words spoken by someone close behind him. He had been seated in a corner of the park. It was early evening, but quite dark. He sprang to his feet. âPardon! Please do not go away.â There was something reassuring in the slow easy drawl of the stranger. Johnny dropped back to his place. Next instant as the light of a passing car played upon the stranger, he was tempted to laugh. He found himself looking into the face of the smallest Chinaman he had ever known. To Johnny the expression âWhoâs afraid of a Chinaman?â was better known than âWhoâs afraid of the big bad wolf?â But what did this little man with his very much wrinkled face puckered into a strange smile, want? Johnny leaned forward expectantly. âYou think hard. You are worried. Is it not so?â The little man took a seat beside him. âAll the time you think baseball. You do not play. But you think very much. Is it not so? This town, your team, they are everything just now. Is it not so? And you are troubled.â The wrinkles on the little yellow manâs face appeared to crinkle and crackle like very old parchment. âLet me tell you,â he put a hand on Johnnyâs arm. âYou think of Centralia. A long time you have thought, âThey will defeat us unless we find a pitcher, a very good pitcher.â And you have found a pitcher. Perhaps he will do. You are not sure. Is it not so?â Johnny started. All this was true. Centralia was the great rival of the little city he chanced to call home at that moment. He was thinking of the coming game. But this new pitcher! That was a closely guarded secret. Only three people knew and they were pledged to silence. âAh!â the little man leaned forward, âYou are more greatly troubled now. You are thinking, âSomeone has told.â No, my young friend, it has not been told. It is given Tao Sing to know many things. Tao Sing can tell you much.â âAre you Tao Sing?â Johnny fixed his eyes on the dark face beside him. âI am Tao Sing.â The little man blinked strangely. âIt is written, I shall be your friend. Tao Sing shall tell you many things. Ah yes, many, many things.â Johnny was astonished, so much so that for an instant his eyes strayed away to the deep shadows beyond. When his gaze returned the dark figure of the little yellow man was gone. He had vanished into the night. âHow could he know that?â the boy asked himself in great perplexity. âI have only known it three days. It has been a pledged secret.â Here indeed was a mystery. Johnny Thompson was, at that moment, living in the little city of Hillcrest. Having wandered the world over, sleeping beneath the tropical moon and the Midnight Sun, and meeting with all manner of weird adventures, he had returned to the place that had fascinated him most as a very small boyâhis grandfatherâs home. At the edge of this sleepy little city, a hundred and fifty miles from any truly great city, Johnny had found the rambling old home still standing, and in it, a little grayer and slower, but still his kindly old self, was his grandfather. âYouâve come for a long stay this time, Johnny,â he said with a warming smile. âThatâs fine!â âYes,â Johnny had replied, âIâm tired of big cities, of adventures and mysteries. Iâwell, I guess Iâd just like to sit in the sun awhile andâwell, perhaps play around a little.â âThereâs a fine ball team,â the old man had said enthusiastically. âLots of interest in it this summer.â âBaseballââ Johnny said the word slowly. âIâm rather poor at that. Might be ways I could help though.â And there had been ways. When their best pitcherâs arm went bad and their hopes of winning the Summer League pennant promised to go aglimmering, he had marched bravely into the office of Colonel Chamberlain, the townâs most resourceful business man, and said, âColonel, itâs up to you to help us out.â To Johnnyâs vast surprise the Colonel replied, âSure I will, Johnny.â At the same time the Colonel had smiled a mysterious smile. âTruth is,â he said, âIâve been sort of holding out on you boys. Iâve got a man right here in the laboratories who can throw circles all around any pitcher in the League.â âHere in the labââ âWait and see!â the Colonel stopped Johnny. âYou bring Doug Danby around tomorrow night.â (Doug was Captain of the team.) âIâll have him throw over a few for you, just in private.â He had kept his promise. âMysteries,â Johnny thought, sitting there in the park in the dark after the little Chinaman had vanished. âTheyâre not just in big cities nor in tropical jungles either. You find them everywhere. Take that pitcherâone of the most mysterious persons I ever saw. Such a strange looking chap tooâdark-skinned as some priest from India. And can he pitch! âBoy, oh boy!â He spoke aloud without meaning to. âWill we win!â âNo, my friend!â So startled this time was Johnny, at once more hearing the sound of the little yellow manâs voice that he sprang to his feet, wild-eyed and staring. âNo, my friend, you will not win,â the little man repeated quietly. âThere is a reason. Soon I shall tell you the reason, my young friend.â âWhy youââ Johnny saw a yellow hand waving before him for silence. âOne more thing I will tell you,â the little man continued. âThere is a pep meeting tomorrow night. You will not go.â âNo, Iââ Johnny did not finish. Once more the little yellow man had disappeared. âHow could you know that?â Johnny called into the darkness. âI have a picture of your thoughts,â came drifting back. âYou will not believe. Sometime I shall show you this picture of your thoughts.â âAâa picture of my thoughts.â Johnny dropped back to his place on the bench. âA picture of my thoughts? How could that be? And yetâ âHow could he know?â he repeated after a long period of silence. And indeed how could this little man know all he had told? In regard to the mysterious pitcher the Colonel had discovered for the team, there was a bare chance that someone had talked. They, the three of them, Doug Danby, Colonel Chamberlain, and Johnny, had agreed to keep this a secret for at least one more day. âYes,â he thought slowly, âsomeone might have talked. But that pep meeting! I only decided last night that Iâd better not go. And yet he, a strange Chinaman I have never seen before, he comes and tells me what I have thought. How strange! Howâhow sort of impossible. And yetâ âHe said he had a picture of my thoughts. IâI hope he brings it round for me to see.â Laughing a short uncertain laugh, the boy rose from the bench to walk slowly toward his grandfatherâs home. A rather strange city was this one where, for the time, Johnny had a home. No city of its size has a more unusual population. A dozen or more years back it had been a mere village. Only native-born Americans lived there. Then it began to grow. The Chinese people came first. For some reason all his own, a very rich Chinese merchant, Wung Lu, had settled there. In almost no time at all, he had gathered about him a large group of the strange little yellow men. They had erected a Chinese Chamber of Commerce. Men came from afar to bargain here for Oriental goods from across the sea. âTheyâre queer, these little yellow men,â Johnny told himself now, âbut somehow I like them.â Yes, though he was not very conscious of it, this was one of Johnnyâs great gifts. He had a way of âsomehow likingâ everyone. And because they somehow came to know this, they liked him in turn. He and Wung Lu, the Chinese merchant who, rumor had it, was immensely rich, had become great friends. âBut this little fellow with the wrinkled face,â he thought, ânow who can he be? I supposed I had seen them all. And he is one I could never forget, yet Iâve never seen him before. âStrange sort of fellow,â he mused. âSaid he had a picture of my thoughts. How could he have? But then how could he know those things he told me?â Johnny had read books about the way people think. He remembered reading something about one person being able to read anotherâs thoughts. Could this little man do that? Had he read his thoughts? He shuddered a little. It was so mysterious, so sort of ghost-like. âHe couldnât have read my mind, at least not when he found out I wasnât going to the pep meeting. I hadnât thought of it once, at least not tonight.â The whole affair was so baffling that he gave it up and turned his thoughts to Saturdayâs baseball game. Johnny had known for a long time that Centralia, nine miles away, and Hillcrest had been rivals, friendly rivals, but the keenest of rivals all the same. For four years, one straight after the other, Centralia had won the annual summer baseball tournament. âLast year,â Johnny thought, âHillcrest almost beat them in the last game. But this year weâll win ifâ âBut thenââ his mood changed. âHe said we wouldnât win, that little yellow man with the wrinkled face said that!â he exclaimed, half in anger. âHow could he know? And yet, how could he know what I had been thinking? âOh well!â He stamped the ground defiantly. âWhatâs one game? There are others to be played. If we lose one, weâll win in the end. And weâll not lose this one! See ifââ He broke short off. Soft footsteps were approaching. It was the little Chinaman again. âItâs he,â Johnny whispered. âWill I never get rid of him? Heâs like a shadow, a ghost haunting a fellow in the night.â As the little man came close to Johnny he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, âYou know that Centralia baseball captain, Barney Bradford?â Johnny grumbled, âOf course I do. Suppose you have a picture of his thoughts too.â âYe-s-s,â the little man drawled, âTao Sing has picture of that oneâs thoughts.â âOh, you have?â This affair was getting almost funny. âWhat does he think?â âHe thinks his pitcher has been sick. He thinks, not sick now. Pitch tomorrow. Win tomorrow. He thinks thisâBarney Bradford.â The little Chinaman let out a low cackle. âI have the picture of his thoughts. So now you know that Tao Sing tell no lie. You did not know this pitcher is well again. Is it not so?â âIâI did not know,â Johnny agreed reluctantly. âAnd your team mates did not know. But Tao Sing, he know. Listen!â The little manâs voice dropped to a whisper. âYou are a friend of Wung Lu, the rich and wise one, is it not so?â âY-yes, thatâs right,â Johnny stammered, too astonished to think clearly. âAh yes, you are a friend of Wung Lu,â the little man murmured. âPerhaps some day I will show you the picture of your thoughts. Perhaps very soon, some day I shall show you.â Once more the little yellow man vanished into the darkness. He left an astonished boy staring at the place where he had been. A few moments later Johnny met Meggy Strawn at his own door. Meggy was champion cheer leader for Hillcrest. âWhy Johnny, whatâs up?â she asked. âWhy all the gloom?â âBurt Standish is going to pitch tomorrow.â âBurt! He canât! Heâs got heart trouble. Johnny, who told you?â âWhy, aââ Johnny stopped short. He couldnât tell Meggy that some little Chinaman had taken a picture of Barney Bradfordâs thoughts. That would sound sort of queer. âIâIââ he hesitated, âI just found out.â âAnd yet I believe it,â he thought to himself as he hurried past her. There was reason enough to believe, for next day as Johnny took his place on the bleachers there was Burt Standish, the pitcher who was supposed to have serious heart trouble, on the mound warming up. âHe knew,â Johnny told himself with sudden shock. âThat little Chinaman knew! And yet Centralia succeeded in keeping it a dead secret. Not a player on our team knew Burt was to pitch.â His respect for the little Chinamanâs mind reading, or whatever it might be, rose several notches. CHAPTER II A STRANGE PROPHECY COMES TRUE âOh!â someone exclaimed. âThere is Burt Standish! Heâs going to pitch against us!â Johnny knew that voice. It was Meggy Strawn. Johnny could not quite remember when he first played with Meggy. Many summers he had visited at Grandfather Thompsonâs old-fashioned house, and Meg was always there. She lived only three doors away. He remembered her in rompers, short dresses and knickers. Now she was sixteen. Her bright orange sweater and skirt of brilliant blue somehow matched her sharply turned-up nose and freckled cheeks. Meg was real. Johnny thought her the realest girl he had ever known. âNot soft,â was the way he had expressed it, âJust gloriously old-fashioned, no painted lips, nor cheeks either, and no cigaretsânothing like that; just all girl! And pep! Say, thereâs not a girl with half her get-up-and-go, not in the whole big city of Chicago, or anywhere else!â Yes, Johnny liked Meg. And now as he smiled at her he said, âBurt Standish will pitch, and weâll lose the game.â âLose! Johnnyââ Meg grabbed his arm. âWhy do you say that? I just heard we were to have a marvelous pitcher, a real star.â âYes,â Johnny agreed slowly. âGuess I know as much about that asâwell, as anyone, except Colonel Chamberlain. All the same, weâll lose. Youâll see!â âCrepe hanger!â Meg gave him a shake. âJust you watch our smoke!â Seizing a megaphone, she sprang out upon the turf to shout: âYea! Yea! Yea! Team! Team! Team!â Then, as her lithe young body swayed in rhythmic motion there came back from a hundred throats: âYea! Yea! Yea! Team! Team! Team!â All the same, as Meg dropped to a place beside him on the grass, Johnny repeated solemnly, âWe lose. Tao Sing knows.â âWhat?â Meggy gave him a sharp look. âWho is Tao Sing?â Johnny did not reply. A moment later, at a motion from Colonel Chamberlain, who had just come onto the field, Johnny walked away. âIâm sorry, Johnny.â The Colonelâs face was sober as Johnny reached his side. âItâs a tough break for the team, but J. canât be with us today.â âJay?â Johnny stared. âSuppose you are thinking J-a-y.â The Colonel smiled. âJust leave the last two letters off. Thatâs what our star pitcher prefers to be known byâjust the plain letter âJ.â And, as I was saying, I couldnât get him outânot today. Heâhe told me he didnât want to chance it.â âChance what?â Johnny was keenly disappointed. ââFraid his arm wouldnât hold out?â âNot that. Something else. I canât explain further.â The Colonelâs voice dropped. âJust tell the boys weâre sorry. Hope he can be with you next game.â It was a very sober Johnny who walked toward the spot where the Hillcrest team was gathered, waiting, expectant, hoping at any moment to see their new pitcher. This quiet, old-fashioned city had somehow gotten into Johnnyâs blood. It was the home of his ancestors. He loved it for that and for other reasons. The people who lived here stood for certain thingsâthat is, most of them did. They were honest, or at least as honest as they knew how to be. They were kind to the unfortunate. They believed in both work and rest. Saturday afternoon was their time for recreation. They loved their ball games. And there were very special reasons why, this year, these games _must_ be a grand success. Johnny knew this. That was one reason for his sober face. âSorry!â he said quietly, a moment later, to Doug Danby, the captain. âThe Colonel just told me our surprise pitcher wonât be here today.â âWonât be here?â Dougâs jaw dropped. âOh well!â he sighed a moment later. âJust have to make the best of it. Andââ his lips closed tight. âWeâll win anyway.â âOh no, you wonât.â These words were on Johnnyâs lips. They remained unsaid. âSee?â Johnny grinned at Meg as he returned to his place. âOur star pitcher will not be here! What does that mean? What did I tell you?â âYes, you and your mysterious Chinaman!â Meg scoffed. âWeâll win, youâll see!â Johnny did not truly hear this outburst. He was wondering, in a strange and sudden sort of way, whether there could be any connection between the mysterious little Chinaman and the failure of their star pitcher to appear. âOf course not,â he whispered to himself. All the same, he did not feel quite sure. If they lost that game it would not be Meggyâs fault. This became evident from the start. With her bright sweater thrown carelessly upon the ground, shapely brown arms waving, nimble feet dancing, she led the cheering as no cheer leader had done before. And it did seem from the start that old Hillcrest had more than an even chance. Fred Frame, their regular pitcher, whose arm had a mean way of going back on him just at the wrong moment, held his place in the box and pitched remarkably well. Hillcrest went into the lead in the first inning. They held that lead doggedly until the fifth. In the sixth they slipped. Three runs came in for the rival team, and Hillcrest stood one score behind. âItâs going to be too bad if we lose,â Johnny said soberly as Meg, seizing his arm to steady herself for a moment, whispered hoarsely, âEvery game counts. The fans want victory. They want the pennant, orââ She did not finish for at that moment Doug Danby, captain of the Hillcrest team, got a homer, tying the score. âRay! Ray! Ray! Doug! Doug! Doug!â Meggy was away like a flaming rocket. The first half of the eighth found Hillcrest ahead by two runs. âJohnny, weâre going to win!â Meggy was jumping up and down. âNo,â said Johnny soberly, âweâre going to lose.â âJohnny, why do you say that? Weâre two runs ahead!â âWait and see.â Johnnyâs face was solemn. âNow why _did_ I say that?â he thought to himself a moment later. âJust because that little Chinaman said it. And how could he know?â He was quite disgusted with himself. And yetâ âWeâll show them!â Meggy cried. Seizing a megaphone, once again she sprang to the grass before the grandstand. Johnny cheered loudest of all and hoped with all his heart that his dire prophecy might not come true. âWeâll win!â Meggy screamed. âOf course we will!â Hillcrest came up to bat. The dark eyes of the opposing pitcher gleamed as he sent the ball streaking across the plate. âStrike one!â âStrike two!â âStrike three!â The umpireâs voice boomed, and Hillcrestâs star batter went down. Two others followed in a row. A hush fell over the grandstand as the home players took their places on the diamond. It was now or never. The pitcher seemed nervous. The balls went wild. The short, stocky catcher waited the next in grim silence. âStrikeââ âStrikeâââ Even Johnny was hopeful. Vain hope! The next two were balls. âTake your base.â But now the pitcher got a grip on himself. One man went down swinging. The next sent a pop-up into the infield. âTwo down. We got âem!â Meggy screamed. Johnny was silent. Why did he believe in that little yellow man? He was plagued by the question. âYes! Yes! We got âem! There he goes! Down to second. Francois will get him!â For a space of seconds he was sure the game was over. Like the steady swing of a pendulum the catcherâs arm went up. The ball sped. It came exactly where Roger Kreiderâs mit should have been. But Roger muffed it. The hard-thrown ball rolled far into center field. The runner went on to third. Four more wild ones and a batter went to first. The next man up hit one squarely on the nose and boosted it over the fence for a home run. After that the Centralia rooters went mad. Had Hillcrest lost? The fans watched in grim silence as their team came to bat. It took but one score to tie, and two to win. But those scores never came. They went down swinging bravely, one, two, three. The game was over. Hillcrest had lost. âThere will be other games,â Johnny consoled the disconsolate Meggy. âMany more.â And at that instant he resolved that Colonel Chamberlainâs star pitcher should be in the box for the next game. âEven if I have to drag him by the heels!â he muttered grimly. But Meggy, staring at him in a strange way, whispered, âJohnny, how did you know?â âIâI didnât,â Johnny replied hoarsely, ânot really.â Then he ducked. He saw the little Chinaman approaching and did not want to be seen in his company. Ten minutes later the diminutive Tao Sing caught up with him. âYou see!â He was all smiles. âI tell you! I have picture of what you think. I have picture of what Barney Bradford think too. You are good friend of Wung Lu.â Once again his voice dropped. âMonday I show you picture of what you think. Four oâclock? Heh? Mebby all right. Heh? You come to Whong Leeâs place, yes? All right. Monday.â He was gone. Johnny stared after him. What was it all about? He had to know. He would be at Whong Leeâs place at four on Mondayâhe was sure of that. CHAPTER III THE THOUGHT CAMERA âI now proceed to take a picture of your mind.â The queer little Chinaman who called himself Tao Sing twisted his face into a smile and in doing so added a hundred wrinkles to the thousand that already made up his rather comical face. Four oâclock on the Monday following the ball game had found Johnny at the door of Whong Leeâs little shop asking for Tao Sing. Tao Sing had said he would show him a picture of his thoughts. Johnny did not believe he could do that. However, one of Johnnyâs rules for living was, âNever pass anything up.â So here he was. âTake a picture of my mind?â he laughed. âYou canât do that. I still have my head on. You canât take a picture through my skull.â âNo. This I cannot do,â the little man said soberly. âBut I can make a picture of what you think.â âWhat I think,â Johnny whispered to himself. âThatâs what he said the other night. Of course itâs nonsense. But he did tell me what I had thought about the pep meet. He did tell me what none of our team knew about the ball game. Iâm going to find out how he did that if I can.â âYou mean you can read my mind?â he said to the little Chinaman. âNo, I cannot read your mind. No! No! Not that.â The little manâs brow puckered in a comical manner. âI can make a picture of your thoughts. You shall see. âWait!â Tao Sing twisted a knob on some small instrument before him on a table. He punched a button that made a loud click. âWhatâs he up to?â Johnny asked himself. He had met this man only twice. Knew nothing of him really. Now in a stuffy little room in the back of Whong Leeâs shop where all manner of Oriental roots and seeds were sold, he was listening to strange talk. There was a druggy smell about the place that made him slightly dizzy. He wished in a vague sort of way that he was not there, but being there, decided to stay. âNow!â The little yellow man heaved a heavy sigh. âNow you think. Ah yes, to think is easy. We always think, except when we sleep. Then we dream. You do not believe? Then you try not to think at all. Ah! This you cannot do. âBut to remember what you thoughtââ the little man rattled on, âah, that is more difficult. But now you must remember. For very soon I shall show you what you have thought. It shall be all put down, right in here.â He tapped his instrument. âWhere I can see it, read it when I choose. Tomorrow? Yes, in ten years? Yes. In a hundred years? Yes, yes, always.â âWhy, youâyou couldnât do that!â Johnny stammered. âAh, you shall see!â The little manâs wrinkled smile appeared again. âNow! Get readyâthink! I record your thoughts.â A second button clicked, sounding loud in the silent, drug-scented room. âHe wonât record much,â the boy told himself stoutly. âBut of course itâs all nonsense.â He put his mind to the task of running over a song: âIâm riding to the last round-up, Iâll saddle Old Paint, and riâideââ What utter nonsense! This little man was a fake. He could not keep his mind on the words of that song. A fly caught in a spiderâs web buzzed loudly in one corner. He heard the rustle of rice paperâWhong Lee wrapping up some Ginsing roots perhaps. With a wrench he brought his mind back to the song: âThe last round-up, the laâast round-up.â He felt all sort of stuffed up. Even in the daytime this place was spooky enough. What if this little man _could_ read peopleâs minds? How terrible to have someone about, who could tell everything you thought! Youâd just have to stop thinking, and that was impossible. Again he was back at the song: âIâm riding to the last round-upââ âNow you may stop thinking,â the little man broke in. âOnlyââ he smiled again. âYou will never stop, not for one moment, except when you are asleep. âNow,â he said briskly, âwe take this out.â He held up a round metal box a little larger than a silver dollar. âWe fit it in here. We turn this handle, soâvery slowly, for two minutes.â Taking out his watch, he proceeded to time himself while the tiny handle went round and round noiselessly. âThis little Chinaman is a fake,â the boy thought to himself once more. âHe must be. How could anyone make a picture of your thoughts?â And yetâhe found himself trying to think what that would mean. If you were able to photograph the thoughts of your mother on the night before Christmas, or your teacher when you thought she had caught you in some prank, or the person who sits next to you in a street car, or the new girl next door, or a person suspected of some terrible crime. Johnnyâs head fairly whirled with the possibilities of the thing. In the end he thought, âHuh! It canât be done!â Beginning to feel that he had dwelt upon this long enough, he switched his thoughts to the Chinese Chamber of Commerce. Johnny could visit that fascinating place any time he pleased because he was a friend of the great Wung Lu, who spent much time there. At times Johnny had lived near great forests. These he had explored with interest. He had followed mysterious rivers and searched hidden places in wild mountain ranges. Here he explored Chinatown. And such a fascinating place this Chinatown wasâespecially the Chamber of Commerce to which, from all over the world, rich Chinamen came that they might trade silk and tea, quaint Chinese toys, teak wood boxes and a thousand other articles of trade, for wheat and typewriters, teaspoons and automobiles. There were strange and fascinating things in the great hall of the Chinese Chamber of Commerceâa lamp made of three thousand pieces of porcelain, banners old as the hills from which they came, and brass dragons that seemed much older. Johnny was deep in his contemplation of these things when the little man who called himself Tao Sing said, âNow then, you shall see!â He heaved a sigh. He snapped his old-fashioned watch shut. âNow we take it out of here. It is done. Your thoughts, how shall we sayâthey are pickled. They will keep a long, long time. âBut wait!â He held up a finger. âYou shall see these so wonderful thoughts. âSee.â He took a small instrument from a shelf on the wall. âI put it in here. I wind this so.â A clicking sound followed. âI press this so. Now. Now! You look.â His tone rose as he pointed to the top of the instrument resembling a high power microscope. âYou look! You see!â Johnny did look, and what he saw struck him dumb. There, passing slowly before his eyes were words, faintly illuminated words. Strangest of all, he realized as he read that these words represented his thoughts of a few moments before. The words passed slowly. There was ample time for reading every one. Yet, so astonished was he that for a time he did not read. When at last he got a grip on himself he realized that here recorded, apparently for all time, just as a moving picture is recorded, were his least and most trifling thoughts of a few moments before. The buzzing fly was there, and Whong Leeâs wrapping of a package. And, sadly jumbled with the rest, was his thinking through of that song. There came a click louder than the rest. The space beneath his eyes went blank. The show was over. âYou see!â cried the little man. âI have your thoughts. They are recorded. They will keep a long, long time.â To say that Johnny was astonished is to express his feelings not at all. He looked up at Tao Sing for all the world as if he had never seen him before. âSay! You are wonderful!â he exclaimed. âCan you do that again?â âYou want to see again?â The little man grinned. âYes. Oh yes.â âAll right. You see.â The little man fingered the microscope affair for a moment. âAll right.â He stepped back. âYou look see.â Johnny did âlook see,â and the thoughts that passed through his mind as he looked were strange indeed. âIt canât be true,â he told himself. âAnd yet it is. A wonderful new invention, like the telegraph, radio, television. Like all the wonderful things of our marvelous age.â The words that fell from Tao Singâs lips as the spot before Johnnyâs eyes once more went blank, left him staring. âYou want to try?â said Tao Sing. âTâtry?â Johnny stammered at last. âTry to take pictures of peopleâs thoughts?â âYes, yes.â Once again Johnny stared. âNothing,â he thought, âcould be more interesting. And yetâ âOh bother!â he whispered at last. Then to the Chinaman, âYes, I sure would!â âAll right.â The Chinamanâs eyes narrowed. âYou do for me, I do for you.â âDo what?â Johnny asked. âNot very much.â Tao Singâs eyes became mere slits of light. âYou know Wung Lu?â Johnny nodded. âWung Lu very rich, very wise.â The little manâs eyes opened suddenly very wide. âYou see Wung Lu sit and think long time, eyes half shut. Think long time. Very wise thoughts. You take picture of these thoughts. Tao Sing read thoughts. By and by Tao Sing very wise. You take picture Wung Luâs thoughts. You give âem to Tao Sing. What? You take âem pictures your friends. All right. You keep âem. What?â He looked at the boy very hard. Johnny stared. Here indeed was a strange offer. He was to sit in the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, as he had often sat before, admiring the ancient, green-eyed dragon, while Wung Lu, the rich and wise one, sat in his corner contemplating a large portly Buddha. He was to take pictures of the wise oneâs thoughts. âWung Lu thinks much.â Tao Sing spoke slowly. âHe talks little.â Johnny knew this to be true. Wung Lu smiled often. He seldom spoke. âNo great thought should be allowed to perish.â The little man was quoting some Chinese proverb. âIâll do it,â said Johnny quite suddenly. âAll right. Here, I will show you.â Soon Johnny was lost to the world in his study of the invention he believed to be the most marvelous in existence. A half hour later, as he marched home with a mysterious package under his arm, his mind was overflowing with the strangest, weirdest plans. How many things there were that he truly wished to know! Now he would get them from the minds of others without asking questions. There were secrets too that required no end of scheming to uncover. Now it would be no trouble at all. âAnd those stories I have been planning to write for the _Sentinel_!â (The _Sentinel_ was the little cityâs weekly newspaper.) He was fairly bubbling over with enthusiasm. âNever have to write them at all now; just prop that old thought-camera up against the books on my table, get all set to look right at it, start it going, think the story through. And there you have it. All thatâs left is to copy it down from the thought picture. How simple! How grand! Howââ He broke short off. Arrived at his own door, he had all but tumbled into Meggy Strawn who had been waiting for him there. âMeg!â he muttered. âIâI beg your pardon.â âYou better!â Meg exclaimed. âIâve been waiting half an hour. Doug Danby wants you to go over to the laboratories with him right away. Important business. Heâ âBut Johnny!â Her tone changed. âHow queer you look! You must have been seeing a ghost.â âPer-perhaps I have,â Johnny said slowly. âA ghost ofâwell, never mind of what.â âJohnny, tell me.â There was a teasing look in Megâs eyes. âNot now. Perhaps never.â Johnny was through the door and into the house like a flash. After hiding the newly acquired thought-camera in his closet, he tiptoed down the back stairs, then sped away through the garden and the back gate toward Doug Danbyâs house. âCanât face those teasing eyes,â he told himself. âNot just yet. I might tell, and that would be betraying a dark secret, Tao Singâs and mine.â CHAPTER IV A PLACE OF GREAT MAGIC âHello Johnny!â Doug Danby exclaimed, as Johnny came racing into the Danbyâs back yard. âWhere you been? Gee! You look queer! As if youâd been stealinâ chickens or something.â Doug laughed. âOh forget it!â Johnny exploded. âHere! Give me your catcherâs mask. Iâll use it to hide my face.â âDonât need it,â Doug replied. âAll self-respecting secrets carefully guardedâthatâs our motto. âBut say!â Doug exploded. âThe Colonel wants to see us! Guess itâs about that pitcher of his. Bet heâll be with us next Saturday. And if he is,âsay! Boy! Weâll lick âem!â Doug was a fine boy. Johnny liked him a heap. Tall, slightly angular, like the boy Abe Lincoln, he was honest, hard-working and full of droll funâjust the sort of boy that should come from a little city like Hillcrest. Together the boys walked rapidly down the street. They soon caught up with a slow ambling figure that greeted them with a squawky but none the less hearty, âWhy, hello Doug! Hello Johnny!â This was Professor George, the little cityâs favorite old man. He was eighty years old, was Professor George. The younger men of the city could remember when he was a popular teacher in the high school. Now, for years, he had been Professor George, friend of every boy in town. The professor had a hooked nose and there were huge brown freckles all over his dry face, but his kindly smile was worth earning, and many a boy owed his success to Professor Georgeâs kindly, steadying hand. âSorry you lost the game Saturday,â he said as he tried hard to keep in step. âYouâll have better luck next time. Iâm sure of it.â Professor George had not missed a ball game in twenty years. âYes,â Doug exclaimed enthusiastically, âweâre going to have a grand pitcher, regular big league stuff! Weââ His words were broken in upon by a booming voice. It was Big Bill Tyson speaking. He had suddenly appeared from somewhere. âJust the fellows I want to see!â he roared. âThe very ones. Wanted to tell you about the ball grounds.â âYeâes. What about it?â The words caught in Dougâs throat. He had been dreading this for some time, in fact ever since Big Billâs father died. Billâs father had owned the ball park. He had owned a lot more of the town besides. Now it all belonged to Big Bill. Once the ball park had been the grounds of a canning factory. Billâs father had been rich and generous, a good citizen and a great friend of Professor George. So, when the antiquated canning factory failed to pay, he had allowed Professor George and his boys to tear it down and to use the lumber for a fence and bleachers of a ball park. But now the good old man was dead and Big Bill reigned, in his stead. Big Bill was a different sort. He cared little for boys, in fact he thought very little about the welfare of anyone but Big Bill. So now Doug, Johnny and Professor George stood, inwardly quaking, awaiting his next word. âItâs like thisââ he tried to be brisk and business-like, but succeeded only in appearing, in the boysâ eyes at least, as a big bully. âLike thisââ he began again. âFellow came into my office last week. Heâs interested in organizing a professional baseball league. Hired players and all that from out of town. Play the games on Sunday. Big thing for the city. Bring lots of folks here. Fill up the soft-drink places, pool halls anâ all that. Fine big thing!â Thrusting his fingers in his belt, he swelled out like a turkey gobbler. âBut the boys could play their games on Saturday just the same,â Professor George put in hopefully. âNo. No, they couldnât. Thatâs what I wanted to tell you.â Big Bill scowled. âBoys would be in the way. Professionals need practice and all that. Soâitâs out you go, just like that!â He snapped a pudgy finger. âUnlessââ âUnless what?â Doug breathed. âUnless you can get me a thousand dollars.â âRent?â Professor George gasped. âWeââ âRent nothing!â Big Bill roared. âFirst payment on a contract to purchase the grounds.â âForâfor how much?â Doug was staring. âTen thousand dollars on contract.â âTen thousand!â Johnny whistled through his teeth. âWeâll,â Professor George said slowly, âthatâs a fair price, William. But youâll have to give us time to think where we can get it.â âAll right.â Big Bill suddenly put on a business-like air. âTwo weeks. Time enough for anybody.â At that he strode away. âMight as well make it two years,â Doug grumbled gloomily, âfor all weâll ever make it!â âNow, now Doug!â Professor George admonished. âItâs a worthy cause, a very worthy cause. Nothing better for the boys than good, clean baseball. God loves boys, Iâm positive of that. So, just like as not Heâll show us the way.â Professor George was religious but he was not what you call pious. His religion, like the blood that coursed through his veins, was a real part of him. Every boy who came to know him respected him the more because of his religion. âWell, boys,â the good old professor said as he left them at his own door, âdonât let William trouble you too much. Weâll get round him somehow. Used to trouble us in school, William did, but we always got round him, somehow.â He gave forth a cackling laugh. âAlways got round him somehow.â âBill went to school when Professor George taught,â Doug explained as he and Johnny went on down the street. âDad says Bill cheated something terrible, but Professor George always caught on to him. Thatâs why he donât like Professor George, even now. âHeâs been cheating ever since,â he added gloomily. âHeâll cheat us out of our ball park if we donât watch out. âA thousand dollars,â he murmured thoughtfully. âWeâve got half that much in the bankâbeen saving it for new bleachers. Took two years to save it. Fine chance to gather up that much more in two weeks!â âGot to advertise,â said Johnny. âThis mysterious new pitcher now. He ought to draw a crowd if we only had him advertised.â Like a flash a bright idea occurred to Johnny. âIâll think up some good publicity,â he told himself. âThink it up just right. Then Iâll shoot that thought-camera at myself and turn out some swell copy. Old C. K. Lovell will put it in the _Sentinel_, I know he will.â But of this he said never a word to Doug. The thought-camera was a deep, dark secret. âHe is mysterious!â Doug exclaimed quite suddenly. âHuh! What? Whoâs mysterious?â Johnny dragged himself back to earth with a start. âOh! Yes! That pitcher. Sure he is. Terribly mysterious.â âThe Colonel says heâs been working in the laboratories for three months,â Doug broke in. âThree months! Iâve been round the lab nearly every day, and I never once saw him, except that evening when he pitched a few over for us.â As the boys approached the long, low building known as the laboratories, Johnny felt a thrill course up his spine. He was to see that strange pitcher. With his olive skin and bright gleaming blue eyes, this pitcherâs very movements seemed to say, âHere I am. A mystery. Solve me.â The laboratories too held a special charm for Johnny. Here all manner of strange chemical secrets were sought out and often found. Already these laboratories were famous. Here a new drug had been discovered that had proved a great boon to those suffering from asthma. With characteristic generosity, the Colonel had given this discovery to the world, asking no profit to himself. It was rumored that here a poison had been discovered, so powerful that it would make war impossible. One drop of it on any part of the body would mean instant death. This was only a rumor. Better founded was the statement that âheavy waterââa water in which no animal life, however small, could liveâhad been produced. However these things might be, both Johnny and Doug approached the place with a feeling akin to awe, for this to their growing minds was a place of great magic. In the office of the laboratories they found awaiting them not only the Colonel, but a short, round-shouldered boy who wore heavy horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. âHello, Goggles!â Doug greeted the bespectacled boy with a hearty grin. âWhat you doing here? Been discovering some new element or something?â âJohnnyââ he turned to his friend. âMeet Goggles Short, the boy wizard, both chemical and electrical, of our fair city.â âAw now!â Goggles was embarrassed. âFame,â said the Colonel with a cordial smile, âis a terribly embarrassing thing, Goggles. However, since you have attained it, youâll have to bear up under it.â âI suppose you thinkââ the Colonelâs tone changed as he wheeled about to face the other boys, âI suppose you think that I sent for you to talk about our new pitcher. I did not. He is not here.â âNot here!â Dougâs face dropped. âGone forââ âNo, not for good,â the Colonel broke in. âJust for a day or two. Heâll be back for Saturdayâs game. Iâm ready to guarantee that. And you boys are going to need himâforââ his voice dropped, âfor more reasons than one.â âYou know Big Billâs plans.â Dougâs face took on a hopeful look. âYouâll help us.â âYes.â The Colonel spoke slowly. âOnly moral and mental support, however. Cash is all tied up. âBut youâll lick Big Bill, Iâm sure of it!â the Colonelâs tone carried conviction. âGoggles here has an idea. Sit down.â He motioned them to chairs. âGoggles, tell them about it.â âWell Iâyou knowââ Goggles pulled at his sleeve nervously. âItâs sort of like this. Maybe it wonât help a bit. But this is it. Dave Saunders over at the electric shop has been experimenting with a thing. Iâve been helping him. Thingâs got eyes, betterân human eyes because theyâre quicker.â âElectric eyes,â Johnny put in. âSure! Howâd you know?â Gogglesâ eyes bulged behind his thick lenses. âKnow a lot about them,â Johnny chuckled. âSometime Iâll tell you about how a fellow talked to me down a beam of light. Electric eyes helped him to do that, and a lot of exciting things happened. But go on. What you using electric eyes for?â âUmpire,â Goggles said with a broad grin. âBaseball umpire. Got forty eyes. Some see up and down and some sideways. Weâve tried it out. Works swell. Calls balls and strikes perfectly. Never a miss. âThing isââ Goggles hurried on. âA week from Wednesday we play Fairfield. That teamâs always beefing about the umpire. Holler their heads off. So I thoughtââ he took a long breath, âthought you might like to try our old electric umpire. Heâll umpire fairly. Never a mistake.â âThatââ Doug sprang to his feet, âthat would be swell! And man! Oh, man! Weâll draw a crowd! Think of it! Something absolutely new. Electric umpire! What do you think of it, Johnny?â âWhaâthink of what?â Johnny started. âElectric eye. Oh! Yes, itâs interesting.â âNo! More than that!â Doug exploded. âElectric umpire!â Truth was, strange as it may seem, Johnnyâs mind had gone off the track. It had suddenly been deflected by the thought-camera, the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. âI dreamed it,â he had been telling himself. âThing never happened. That Chinaman never recorded my thoughts. But if he did, if the thingâs in my closet when I get home, Iâll try itâlike to try it now.â This was what he had been thinking when Doug Danby brought him back to his present surroundings. âSwell idea!â he enthused, once the electric umpire had been explained to him. âWork all right, Iâm sure of it.â âAnd draw a crowd,â put in Doug. âThatâs what I was thinking,â Colonel Chamberlain agreed. âPaying crowds are what you need right now. Youâll get that extra five hundred dollars in plenty of time. All you need is advertising.â âLeave that to me.â Johnny was on his feet, ready for a dash home. With the aid of the thought-camera, he would dish up plenty of fancy advertising. âAll right,â Doug agreed, âyou look after that. Iâll get in touch with the Fairfield bunch. See if theyâll stand for this electric umpire.â âTheyâll stand for it right enough,â the Colonel said with a smile. âThey get a percentage of the gate receipts. Just talk publicity to them and theyâll agree readily enough. âWellââ his tone became brisk. âCouncil of war is over. Iâll have my pitcher on hand for Saturdayâs major attraction. And you, Goggles, youâll take care of Wednesday. Meetingâs adjourned.â With a âThank you, thank you a lot!â the three boys filed out of the office. âWell,â Doug sighed, âwe didnât see him after all.â âSee who?â Johnny was once more lost in his contemplation of the immediate future. âThe pitcher, of course,â Doug grumbled. âFellowâd think he was just an ordinary person.â âWell, perhaps he is,â Johnny chuckled. âAnd perhaps he is not,â Doug replied as they lost themselves in the gathering darkness. CHAPTER V JOHNNYâS THINK-O-GRAPHS âYes,â Johnny whispered to himself as he thrust his hand deep into a dark corner of his closet. âItâs still there. The thought-camera is no dream. But will it record thoughts for me? Thatâs the question.â He found himself all aquiver with excitement. He was like a very small boy with his very first camera. âLike to try it on
{'title': 'Mystery Wings by Roy J. Snell', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}