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Radio Boys Trailing a Voice; Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery

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<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> <h3>SPLINTERING GLASS</h3></div> “You fellows want to be sure to come round to my house to-night and listen in on the radio concert,” said Bob Layton to a group of his chums, as they were walking along the main street of Clintonia one day in the early spring. “I’ll be there with bells on,” replied Joe Atwood, as he kicked a piece of ice from his path. “Trust me not to overlook anything when it comes to radio. I’m getting to be more and more of a fan with every day that passes. Mother insists that I talk of it in my sleep, but I guess she’s only fooling.” “Count on yours truly too,” chimed in Herb Fennington. “I got stirred up about radio a little later than the rest of you fellows, but now I’m making up for lost time. Slow but sure is my motto.” 10 “Slow is right,” chaffed Jimmy Plummer. “But what on earth are you sure of?” “I’m sure,” replied Herb, as he deftly slipped a bit of ice down Jimmy’s back, “that in a minute you’ll be dancing about like a howling dervish.” His prophecy was correct, for Jimmy both howled and danced as he tried vainly to extricate the icy fragment that was sliding down his spine. His contortions were so ludicrous that the boys broke into roars of laughter. “Great joke, isn’t it?” snorted Jimmy, as he bent nearly double. “If you had a heart you’d lend a hand and get this out.” “Let’s stand him on his head,” suggested Joe. “That’s the only thing I can think of. Then it’ll slide out.” Hands were outstretched in ready compliance, but Jimmy concluded that the remedy was worse than the presence of the ice and managed to keep out of reach. “Never mind, Jimmy,” said Bob consolingly. “It’ll melt pretty soon, anyhow.” “Yes, and it’ll be a good thing for Jimmy to grin and bear it,” added Herb brightly. “It’s things like that that develop one’s character.” “‘It’s easy enough to be pleasant, when life moves along like a song, but the man that’s worth while, is the man who can smile when everything’s going dead wrong,’” quoted Joe. 11 Jimmy, not at all comforted by these noble maxims, glared at his tormentors, and at last Bob came to his relief, and, putting his hand inside his collar, reached down his back and brought up the piece of ice, now greatly reduced in size. “Let’s have it,” demanded Jimmy, as Bob was about to throw it away. “What do you want it for?” asked Bob. “I should think you’d seen enough of it.” “On the same principle that a man likes to look at his aching tooth after the dentist has pulled it out,” grinned Joe. “Don’t give it to him!” exclaimed Herb, edging away out of reach, justly fearing that he might feel the vengeance of the outraged Jimmy. “You gave it to him first, so it’s his,” decided Bob, with the wisdom of a Solomon, as he handed it over to the victim. Jimmy took it and started for Herb, but just then Mr. Preston, the principal of the high school, came along and Jimmy felt compelled to defer his revenge. “How are you, boys?” said Mr. Preston, with a smile. “You seem to be having a good time.” “Jimmy is,” returned Herb, and Jimmy covertly shook his fist at him. “We’re making the most of the snow and ice while it lasts.” “Well, I don’t think it will last much longer,” surmised Mr. Preston, as he walked along with 12 them. “As a matter of fact, winter is ‘lingering in the lap of spring’ a good deal longer than usual this year.” “I suppose you had a pleasant time in Washington?” remarked Joe inquiringly, referring to a trip from which the principal had returned only a few days before. “I did, indeed,” was the reply. “To my mind it’s the most interesting city in the country. I’ve been there a number of times, and yet I always leave there with regret. There’s the Capitol, the noblest building on this continent and to my mind the finest in the world. Then there’s the Congressional Library, only second to it in beauty, and the Washington Monument soaring into the air to a height of five hundred and fifty-five feet, and the superb Lincoln Memorial, and a host of other things scarcely less wonderful. “But the pleasantest recollection I have of the trip,” he went on, “was the speech I heard the President make just before I came away. It was simply magnificent.” “It sure was,” replied Bob enthusiastically. “Every word of it was worth remembering. He certainly knows how to put things.” “I suppose you read it in the newspaper the next day,” said Mr. Preston, glancing at him. “Better than that,” responded Bob, with a 13 smile. “We all heard it over the radio while he was making it.” “Indeed!” replied the principal. “Then you boys heard it even before I did.” “What do you mean?” asked Joe, in some bewilderment. “I understood that you were in the crowd that listened to him.” “So I was,” Mr. Preston answered, in evident enjoyment of their mystification. “I sat right before him while he was speaking, not more than a hundred feet away, saw the motion of his lips as the words fell from them and noted the changing expression of his features. And yet I say again that you boys heard him before I did.” “I don’t quite see,” said Herb, in great perplexity. “You were only a hundred feet away and we were hundreds of miles away.” “And if you had been thousands of miles away, what I said would still be true,” affirmed Mr. Preston. “No doubt there were farmers out on the Western plains who heard him before I did. “You see it’s like this,” the schoolmaster went on to explain. “Sound travels through the air to a distance of a little over a hundred feet in the tenth part of a second. But in that same tenth of a second that it took the President’s voice to reach me in the open air radio could have carried it eighteen thousand six hundred miles.” 14 “Whew!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Eighteen thousand six hundred miles! Not feet, fellows, but miles!” “That’s right,” said Bob thoughtfully. “Though I never thought of it in just that way before. But it’s a fact that radio travels at the rate of one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second.” “Equal to about seven and a half times around the earth,” observed the principal, smiling. “In other words, the people who were actually sitting in the presence of the President were the very last to hear what he said. “Put it in still another way. Suppose the President were speaking through a megaphone in addition to the radio and by the use of the megaphone the voice was carried to people in the audience a third of a mile away. By the time those persons heard it, the man in the moon could have heard it too—that is,” he added, with a laugh, “supposing there really were a man in the moon and that he had a radio receiving set.” “It surely sounds like fairyland,” murmured Joe. “Radio is the fairyland of science,” replied Mr. Preston, with enthusiasm, “in the sense that it is full of wonder and romance. But there the similarity ceases. Fairyland is a creation of the 15 fancy or the imagination. Radio is based upon the solid rock of scientific truth. Its principles are as certain as those of mathematics. Its problems can be demonstrated as exactly as that two and two make four. But it’s full of what seem to be miracles until they are shown to be facts. And there’s scarcely a day that passes without a new one of these ‘miracles’ coming to light.” He had reached his corner by this time, and with a pleasant wave of his hand he left them. “He sure is a thirty-third degree radio fan,” mused Joe, as they watched his retreating figure. “Just as most all bright men are becoming,” declared Bob. “The time is coming when a man who doesn’t know about radio or isn’t interested in it will be looked on as a man without intelligence.” “Look here!” exclaimed Jimmy suddenly. “What’s become of my piece of ice?” He opened his hand, which was red and wet and dripping. “That’s one on you, Jimmy, old boy,” chuckled Joe. “It melted away while you were listening to the prof.” “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” said Herb complacently. “Jimmy meant to put that down my back.” “Oh, there are plenty of other pieces,” said 16 Jimmy, as he picked one up and started for Herb. Herb started to run, but slipped and fell on the icy sidewalk. “You know what the Good Book says,” chaffed Joe. “The wicked stand on slippery places.” “Yes, I see they do,” replied Herb, as quick as a flash, looking up at him. “But I can’t.” The laugh was on Joe, and Herb felt so good over the retort that he did not mind the fall, though it had jarred him considerably. He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his clothes, while Jimmy, feeling that his comrade had been punished enough, magnanimously threw away the piece of ice that was to have been the instrument of his vengeance. “The reason why I wanted you fellows to be sure to be on hand to-night,” resumed Bob, as they walked along, “was that I saw in the program of the Newark station in the newspaper this morning that Larry Bartlett was down for an entirely new stunt. You know what a hit he made with his imitations of birds.” “He sure did,” agreed Joe. “To my mind he had it all over the birds themselves. I never got tired listening to him.” “He certainly was a dabster at it,” chimed in Jimmy. “Now he’s going in to imitate animals,” explained 17 Bob. “I understand that he’s been haunting the Zoo for weeks in every minute of his spare time studying the bears and lions and tigers and elephants and snakes, and getting their roars and growls and trumpeting and hisses down to a fine point. I bet he’ll be a riot when he gives them to us over the radio.” “He sure will,” assented Herb. “He’s got the natural gift in the first place, and then he practices and practices until he’s got everything down to perfection.” “He’s a natural entertainer,” affirmed Bob. “I tell you, fellows, we never did a better day’s work than when we got Larry that job at the sending station. Not only was it a good thing for Larry himself when he was down and out, but think of the pleasure he’s been able to give to hundreds of thousands of people. I’ll bet there’s no feature on the program that is waited for more eagerly than his.” By this time the boys had reached the business portion of the town and the short spring day was drawing to a close. Already lights were beginning to twinkle in the stores that lined both sides of the street. “Getting near supper time,” remarked Bob. “Guess we’d better be getting along home. Don’t forget to come—Gee whiz!” 18 The ejaculation was wrung from him by a snowball that hit him squarely in the breast, staggering him for a moment. Bang! and another snowball found a target in Joe. It struck his shoulder and spattered all over his face and neck. “That felt as though it came from a gun!” he exclaimed. “It’s the hardest slam I ever got.” “Who did it?” demanded Bob, peering about him in the gathering darkness. Halfway up the block they saw a group of dark figures darting into an alleyway. “It’s Buck Looker and his crowd!” cried Jimmy. “I saw them when they ran under that arc light.” “Just like that crowd to take us unawares,” said Bob. “But if they’re looking for a tussle we can accommodate them. Get busy, fellows, and let them have something in return for these two sockdolagers.” They hastily gathered up several snowballs apiece, which were easily made because the snow was soft and packed readily, and ran toward the alleyway just in time to see Buck and his crowd emerging from their hiding place. There was a spirited battle for a few minutes, each side making and receiving some smashing hits. Buck’s gang had the advantage in that they had a large number of missiles already prepared, 19 and even in the excitement of the fight the radio boys noticed how unusually hard they were. “Must have been soaking them in water until they froze,” grunted Jimmy, as one of them caught him close to the neck and made him wince. As soon as their extra ammunition was exhausted and the contending forces in this respect were placed more on a footing of equality, Buck and his cronies began to give ground before the better aim and greater determination of Bob and his comrades. “Give it to them, fellows!” shouted Bob, as the retreat of their opponents was rapidly becoming a rout. At the moment he called out, the progress of the fight had brought the radio boys directly in front of the windows of one of the largest drygoods stores in the town. In the light that came from the windows Bob saw a snowball coming directly for his head. He dodged, and—— Crash! There was the sound of splintering glass, and the snowy missile whizzed through the plate glass window! <hr class='major' /> <div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> 20 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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