 |
"About five;" Joe figured for him. "That's enough, isn't it."
"Y-yes," said Bob doubtfully. "Only your friend, the old war veteran, might not like to be squeezed in with a lot of kids, that way."
"I can fix that easily," said Jimmy, importantly. "What's the matter with asking Aunty Bixby?"
"Who's she?" asked Bob, with interest.
"She's an old lady, a sort of spinster, I guess," Jimmy explained. "She lives all by herself, and I guess she gets kind of lonesome sometimes. She's kind of deaf, though," he added doubtfully.
"Deaf!" repeated Bob, with a frown. "How can she listen to radio then, if she's deaf?"
"Oh, she has a trumpet," Jimmy hastened to explain. "She sticks it in her ear like this," and he made a gesture with his hands at the same time distorting his face into such a comical imitation of a deaf person doing his best to listen that the other boys shouted with laughter. "Oh, she can hear, all right," Jimmy finished confidently.
"Well, then, that makes six," said Bob briskly. "Now we've got to make up our minds how we are going to get them to Doctor Dale's house."
"Maybe dad will let me take the big car," said Joe, his eyes shining with the sheer daring of the thought. "He is so crazy about radio himself these days that he will pretty nearly stand on his head to help anybody who takes an interest in it."
"I guess all our dads are bricks about radio," declared Jimmy stoutly. "Mine said the other night he was mighty glad to have a youngster that had sense enough to pick out something really good to waste his time on."
"Waste, is right," said Herb and then stared upward through the trees as Jimmy's indignant stare was fixed upon him.
"Stop scrapping, fellows," said Bob, jumping to his feet and shaking off some of the twigs and damp earth that stuck to him. "Let's get busy and find Doctor Dale. If he won't let us have his house then this thing is all off."
"Swell chance, his not letting us have his house," said Jimmy, getting painfully to his feet and shaking himself for all the world like a fat puppy dog. "He's the greatest sport going."
"He sure is," Bob agreed as they swung off at a great pace through the woods. "If it hadn't been for him we probably wouldn't have known anything about radio."
For a while they were quiet, their minds busy with plans for perfecting their own radio outfits, their imaginations athrill with anticipation of the wonders they were yet to perform.
Then Herb suddenly broke into their dreams with a very practical question.
"Boys, I just happened to think—"
"'Happened' is right," murmured Jimmy, with a grin.
"Even if Joe does get his dad's car," Herb went on, unmoved, "it's only a seven passenger, and there will be ten of us, counting the lame ducks."
"Oh, that'll be all right," said Bob confidently. "We'll hire a jitney of some sort down at the livery."
Thereupon they all plunged into a lively discussion of plans for the concert, and so absorbed were they that they found themselves walking down Main Street before they had any idea that they were near the town.
As they neared the big stone church on the corner they espied a familiar figure mounting the steps of the parsonage.
"Hooray!" shouted Bob, starting on a run down the street. "Just in the nick of time, fellows. There's the doctor himself!"
CHAPTER XX
THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES
Doctor Dale heard their shout and waited with his genial smile till the four boys came panting up to him.
"We've got a sort of idea, Doctor Dale," explained Bob, stammering in his eagerness. "And—and we would like to speak to you about it if you have time."
"I can always spare some for you boys," the doctor assured him heartily. "Come on in, fellows, and let's hear about this idea. Something connected with radio, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," answered Bob, as Doctor Dale opened the parsonage door and the boys crowded eagerly after him into the cozy study.
The doctor listened with interest while Bob outlined the plan to him, assisted by frequent interruptions from the other boys.
And if the chums had expected enthusiasm from this good friend of theirs, they were certainly not disappointed. The doctor was jubilant over the idea and readily consented to giving his time unreservedly for the purpose of making the affair a great success.
They set the date of the concert for the next day, which was Saturday, and added the names of several others to the list of those to be invited. A few minutes later the minister's callers departed gleefully, a warmer feeling than ever in their hearts for Doctor Amory Dale.
"You've got the right idea, boys," the latter called after them, standing at the top of the steps to see them off. "Give happiness to others and you will find true happiness for yourselves."
So far everything had gone swimmingly, and when the next morning the boys arose to find the sun shining brightly they thought that the fates had been almost too good to them.
"Something sure will happen before night," Jimmy muttered gloomily, as he made his way down to the dining room, from which issued a tempting aroma of bacon. "It's all too good to be true." But then, Jimmy always did feel grumpy before breakfast.
The boys each found his own family as enthusiastic as Doctor Dale had been about the great plan, and Bob's mother even hugged him impulsively as she passed behind his chair. Bob was almost ashamed of the happiness that welled in his heart. Of course a fellow of fifteen was too big to be hugged as a general thing, but, somehow, one's mother was different.
After breakfast he started down town to see about the jitney, met Joe on the way, and the two boys went on together, talking excitedly of their preparations.
"Dad says I can have the big car and the garage man will run it," Joe informed him gleefully. "Gee, I was never so surprised in my life. All he said was 'take it, my son, and Heaven grant you never want it for a worse purpose.' Great old sport, dad is."
"Gee, that's great," said Bob. "Now if we can only find some old bus that looks as if it will stand up for a mile or two, everything will be dandy."
After much kicking of tires and anxious examination, the boys did actually manage to find a Ford machine that promised, with more or less reservations, to do its duty, and, after engaging it with a driver for one-thirty that afternoon, they walked importantly from the shop, much to the amusement of the garage man.
"Fine set of kids," he muttered, shaking his head admiringly as he returned to the machine that he was repairing. "Always full of pep and ginger whenever you see 'em. They'll go a long way, those kids will."
In spite of various gloomy predictions, at one-thirty that afternoon there was still not a cloud in the sky and the breath of the sun smote downward almost as hotly as it would in midsummer.
Gayly the four boys started off in the two cars, eager to pick up the poor shut-ins of their acquaintance and give them the time of their lives.
Their first stop was at the lonely little cottage of Joel Banks, Civil War veteran. His housekeeper let them in, a quaint little woman with pink cheeks and white hair and a spotless white apron tied around her comfortable waist.
When the boys made known their errand to her she departed in a flutter of pleased surprise to prepare "the colonel" for his treat. In a few moments more the old gentleman appeared, leaning heavily upon the housekeeper, a stout cane grasped stiffly in his knotted fingers.
He gazed at the boys for a moment with dim eyes, then suddenly a gleam shot into them and he smiled.
"Reckoning on giving me a treat, are you, boys?" he asked. Something must have caught in his throat, for he cleared it hastily. "Well, that's mighty fine of you. Been a long time since anybody took that much interest in old Joel Banks."
Joe introduced his friends in hurried, boy fashion, and a moment later they were helping the old gentleman out of the house and into the automobile, at the same time pouring into his interested ears such tales of the marvels of radio telephony that it was a wonder they did not talk the veteran deaf.
In the confusion Bob managed to whisper instructions to Joe.
"We'll put the kids in your car," he said hurriedly. "There will be more room for them, and then they won't bother the old folks. And have the man drive slowly," he added. "This old bus isn't long on springs, and I don't want to jolt 'em up too much. Take it easy, Joe."
"All right," agreed the latter, and a moment later they were gliding cautiously over the smooth roads on their way to the home of little Dick Winters and his sister Rose.
The children were deliriously happy at the prospect of a little change and excitement, and there were tears in their mother's eyes as she helped the boys lift the children into the comfortable back seat of the Atwood car.
"God bless those boys!" whispered the woman, as the two cars sped away down the road.
Still further on the boys picked up several more crippled boys and girls, and then turned off a hot and dusty side road to call for Aunty Bixby.
Secretly the boys were a little afraid of this formidable old woman, and they wondered rather nervously whether or not she would break up the party.
When Jimmy, who was sitting beside Bob in the flivver, pointed out the white, ivy-grown house where the old woman lived, Bob nudged him nervously.
"Remember, you've got to take care of her," he said, noticing that Jimmy himself looked rather worried. "You were the one who spoke about her—"
"Gee, you don't need to rub it in, do you"' growled the fat boy as he squeezed himself through the door and stepped gingerly onto the dusty road. "Better let me go in alone. She might get scared if she saw the whole bunch of us, and maybe she wouldn't come at all."
In his heart Bob thought that that might not be such a terrible thing, but he kept quiet. A fellow ought to be thankful for small blessings. Think how much worse it would be if he, and not Jimmy, were forced to break the news to Aunty Bixby.
The big car came to a stop beside the Ford, and all the boys watched with interest as Jimmy ascended the steps of the porch, rang the bell, and a moment later, disappeared into the house.
But as the time passed and he still failed to emerge they began to get a little uneasy about him. Finally Bob let himself out of the car and went to consult with Joe and Herb.
They had just about decided to make a raid upon the house and rescue poor Jimmy when the subject of discussion himself appeared, looking very red and flustered and out of sorts.
The boys were about to make a concerted rush upon him, but he waved them back violently.
"She's coming," he said in a hoarse tone somewhere between a whisper and a shout. "Get back there, you fellows."
They got back just in time to see Aunty Bixby herself emerge. Bob gave one look and his heart sank into his boots.
"Gee!" he muttered and there was anger in his eye. "Just wait till I get Doughnuts Plummer alone somewhere."
Meanwhile Aunty Bixby was limping down upon them with all sails set, her stiff silk dress billowing out about her and her little hat set securely on her determined head, while Jimmy puffed along behind her.
With rare presence of mind Bob jumped out, opened the door of the car and offered to assist the old woman. His reward was a cold stare that made him feel like a baby caught with the jelly jar.
"No, thank you, young man," said Aunty Bixby. "I am quite capable of climbing into this—er—horrible thing, unassisted."
Bob shot a wild glare at Jimmy, who hovered in the background, but at the look of utter misery on the latter's face, even Bob's hard heart was softened.
As the old woman rustled into the car Joel Banks moved over courteously, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eye that puzzled Bob. How could he know that the old gentleman was having the time of his life?
Bob nudged Jimmy, bidding him do his duty and introduce the two old people, and, to do poor Jimmy justice, he really did do his best. But Aunty Bixby could not get the name straight, even with the assistance of her ear trumpet.
"Not that it matters in the least," said the old woman irritably, settling back with a grim expression on her face. "Now if you will take my advice and get started, young man, I would be very much obliged to you."
As the chauffeur felt for the starter and threw in the clutch Bob was desperately conscious of the old woman's accusing gaze on the back of his head.
"Say," he growled at Jimmy, huddled miserably in the seat beside him, "you sure did play a bonehead trick this time. She'll just spoil the fun for all of us."
"Ah, cut it out," retorted Jimmy, wriggling uncomfortably. "She really isn't half bad once you get to know her."
"Neither is poison," snorted Bob, as the car chugged wearily once or twice, then settled down to business. "If we ever get out of this alive, we'll be lucky."
However, maybe it was the sunshine, or maybe it was Joel Banks' conversation that wrought the change in her. Be that as it may, Aunty Bixby unbent surprisingly in the next few minutes. Bob and Jimmy kept an interested eye on the back seat where Joel Banks patiently shouted dry jokes into the old woman's trumpet to the accompaniment of the latter's amused cackle.
"You see!" Jimmy said proudly. "I told you she wasn't half bad if you only got to know her."
And then, just when they were within half a mile of their destination the miserable thing happened. There was a sharp explosion and an ominous whistling of escaping air.
The driver stopped the car, got out and regarded the flat tire with a frown of despair.
"Now what's the matter?" demanded Aunty Bixby, irritably adding, with an air almost of triumph: "I always did say I hated the dratted things."
How the chauffeur managed to get that tire changed the boys never afterward knew. Somehow or other he accomplished it and finally the car reached Doctor Dale's house without any further mishaps.
They found the doctor awaiting them, and in his courteous way he welcomed the guests of the afternoon, welcoming each one in turn and helping the radio boys to see that each one was made as comfortable as possible.
Little Dick Winters and Rose and even the older crippled boys were a trifle awed by the dignity of the occasion and the strangeness of their surroundings, but beneath the boys' merry joking and the doctor's friendly manner they soon got rid of this feeling and prepared to enjoy themselves to the limit.
Mr. Joel Banks was intensely interested in the radio apparatus, asking intelligent questions, to which the boys eagerly replied. So interested were they in the mechanical end that Dr. Dale finally informed them that if they expected to listen in at any concert that afternoon they had better get to it without further delay.
Aunty Bixby, listening anxiously through her ear trumpet, nodded emphatically at this suggestion.
"Yes," she said in her high, chronically irritable voice, "let's get along with it. I want to see what that horn-shaped contraption can do. Looks to me like nothin' so much's an old fashioned phonygraph."
"It's far more wonderful than any phonograph," the doctor told her good-naturedly. Then turning to Bob, directed: "Let her go, Bob. It's just time to catch that concert in Pittsburgh."
Bob obeyed, and then the fun began. For an hour that seemed only a minute in length all listened to a concert of exquisite music both vocal and instrumental, a concert given by some of the world's great artists and plucked from the air for their benefit.
Once Aunty Bixby dropped her trumpet and was heard to murmur something like "drat the thing!" But Jimmy gruntingly got down on his knees and retrieved the instrument from its hiding place under a chair. Then, finding she had missed part of a violin selection, the old woman exclaimed irritably.
"There, I missed that. Have them play it over again!"
The boys looked at each other, then looked suddenly away, trying their best to control the corners of their mouths.
However, when the concert was over and the last soprano solo, flowing so truly through the horn-shaped amplifier, died away into silence they saw that Aunty Bixby's bright old eyes were wet.
"Drat the thing!" she said, feeling blindly for a handkerchief. "Never heard tell o' such foolishness, making a body cry about nothing!"
Joel Banks sat with a knotted hand over his eyes, dreaming old dreams of days long past, days when he was young and athrill with the joy of living.
"How about a little dance music now?" asked Bob, glancing over at Doctor Dale, who nodded his consent.
"Surely," he replied. "We have to have some dance music nowadays to please the young folks."
The little cripples received this suggestion with enthusiasm and fairly shouted with delight as the snappy tune of the latest fox trot floated into the room.
"That's the stuff!" shouted Dick Winters, and the boys grinned at him.
Later they had a minstrel show that sent them all into gales of laughter. Joel Banks and Aunty Bixby were as sorry as the young folks when it was over.
Then suddenly, without warning, the stirring strains of the Star Spangled Banner filled the room, played by a master band. Suddenly, as though by some common instinct, all eyes were turned upon Joel Banks. There was a light in the old veteran's eyes, a straightening of his whole sagging figure.
He tried to rise, faltered, felt two pairs of strong young arms lifting him, supporting him, as Bob and Joe sprang to his aid. He stood there, his hand at stiff salute, in his old eyes the fire of battle, until the last stirring note died away and the music was still. Then he sank into a chair, shaking his old head feebly.
"Those were the days!" he muttered under his breath. "Those were the good old days!"
And so the concert finally came to a close and the boys took their happily weary guests home through the mellow late afternoon, promising to do the whole thing over some day.
"They sure seemed to enjoy themselves," said Bob as the radio boys started toward home. "Aunty Bixby is a nice old lady, and as for Joel Banks—"
"Say, isn't he a dandy?" Joe demanded, and this time Herb and Jimmy chimed in:
"He sure is!"
CHAPTER XXI
THE VOICE THAT STUTTERED
The following Saturday evening the radio boys were once more assembled at Bob's house. They were in high spirits, having prepared all their lessons for the following Monday, and were out for an evening's fun with their radio outfit. It was too early for the regular concert to start, but they were experimenting with the set, shifting the sliders around on the tuning coil in an effort to catch some of the messages sent out by near-by amateurs. It was sometimes great fun to listen in on these conversations, and often they wished that they had a sending set so that they could answer some of the remarks passed out by the ambitious senders.
For some time they had picked up nothing of interest, and were wishing for the time to come when the concert was to start, when suddenly a voice they had never heard before came out of the air. The boys gazed at each other in astonishment for a few moments, and then broke into irrepressible laughter. For the voice belonged to a man who stuttered terribly, and the effect was ludicrous indeed. The strange voice rasped and stuttered its difficult way along, until some one who possessed a sending as well as a receiving set, interrupted.
"Hey there!" it said. "You're engine's missing, old timer. Let it cool off a bit and then try again."
This was evidently heard by the stutterer, for he became excited, and that did not help him much.
"S-s-shut up, y-y-you big b-b-boob," he finally managed to get out, in an infuriated tone.
"I may be a boob, but I can talk straight, anyway," replied the amateur.
This so infuriated the stuttering man that he was absolutely unable to say anything for a few moments, while the boys, with much merriment, waited expectantly for the forthcoming answer.
"S-s-s-shut up, w-w-will you?" exploded the unfortunate stutterer at last. "J-j-just you w-w-w-w—" but he was unable to finish the sentence until he stopped and gave vent to a long whistle, after which he was able to proceed.
At the sound of the whistle Bob suddenly stopped laughing and sat up straight in his chair.
"Say, fellows!" he exclaimed, "do you remember what Herb told us about the man named Dan Cassey?"
"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Joe, "I remember Herb said he stuttered and had to whistle to go on, and if that doesn't describe this bird I'll eat my hat!"
Jimmy and Herb himself caught the idea, at the same time, and they gazed speculatively at each other. There was more recrimination between the stutterer and his tormentor, and the boys listened attentively, hoping to get some clue to the whereabouts of the afflicted one's station. But they could get no hint of this, and finally the voice ceased, leaving them full of hope but with little that was definite to found their suspicions on.
"Of course, it may not mean anything at all," said Bob. "This Dan Cassey isn't the only man in the world who stutters."
"No, but there can't be many who are as bad as he is," said Joe, grinning at the recollection, even though his mind was occupied with more serious thoughts. "But it will certainly be worth our while to try to locate this person and find out what name he answers to."
The others were of the same opinion, and they listened for some repetition of the voice in the hope that its possessor might drop some clue to his identity, but although they missed most of the concert by trying to catch the talk of the object of their interest, they heard no further word of him that evening nor for many more to come.
The next morning but one when Bob joined his companions it was plain to see that he was bursting with news.
"Say, fellows," was his salutation, "did any of you read in the morning papers of the big Radio Show that is opening up in New York City?"
They had to confess that they were innocent of any such knowledge.
"It opens to-morrow," went on Bob. "They say it's going to be one of the biggest things that ever happened. A regular rip-roaring, honest-to-goodness show. They'll have all the latest improvements in radio sets and all kinds of inventions and lectures by men who know all about it, and automobiles that run by wireless without any drivers—"
"For the love of Pete," interrupted Joe, "go a little easy and let us take it in a little at a time. Any one would think you were the barker at a sideshow. Where is this wonderful thing to be?"
"On the roof of one of the big New York hotels," answered Bob. "I forget the name just now, but it's one of the biggest in the city. What do you say, fellows, to taking it in? We ought to get all sorts of ideas that will help us in making our sets."
"Count me in," replied Joe promptly. "That is, if my folks will let me go, and I think they will."
"Don't leave out little Jimmy," remarked that individual.
"Me too," added Herb. "That is, if dad will see it the same way I do."
"I guess our folks won't kick," Bob conjectured confidently. "I notice that they're getting almost as much interested in the game as we are. Besides we won't have to stay in the city over night. The show's in the afternoon as well as the evening and we can be home before ten o'clock."
"We'll put it up to them anyway," replied Joe. They did "put it up" to their parents with such effect that their consent was readily obtained, though strict promises were exacted that they would spend only the afternoon in the city and take the early evening train for home.
It was a hilarious group that made their way to the city the next day, full of eager expectations of the wonders to be seen, expectations that were realized to the full.
From the moment the boys crowded into the jammed elevators and were shot to the enclosed roof in which the exhibition was held they enjoyed one continuous round of pleasure and excitement. The place was thronged, and, as a matter of fact, many late comers were turned away for lack of room. But the boys wound in and out like eels, and there were very few things worth seeing that eluded their eager eyes. Impressions crowded in upon them so thick and fast that it was not until later that they were fully able to appreciate the wonders that were being displayed for their benefit.
They listened to talks from men skilled in radio work, they wandered about to the many booths where information was given about everything connected with wireless, they studied various types of coils, transformers, vacuum tubes, switches, aerials, terminals, everything in fact that ambitious young amateurs could wish to know.
There was the identical apparatus with its marvelously sensitive receiver, which, while installed in Scotland, had correctly registered signals from an amateur radio station in America.
A little later they stood entranced in the Convention Hall before a new, beautifully modeled radio amplifier, so massive that the volume of music it poured forth actually seemed to cause vibration in the walls of the great room in which they stood.
One of the most interesting features was the radio-controlled automobile. The crowd before this almost incredible invention was so dense that the operator was handicapped in his demonstration.
The car was about seven feet in length, with a cylindrical mass of wire rising about six feet above its body. It was upon this that the swiftly moving car caught signals from antennae stretched across the hall. The boys watched, fascinated, as the inventor, opening and closing the switches in its mechanism by use of a radio wave of one hundred and thirty-five metres in length, caused the small car to back out of its garage and run about the hall without a driver, delivering papers and messages, afterward returning to the garage.
Then they saw the transmitters that could shoot radio messages into space, and hung entranced over the moving pictures of what happens in a vacuum tube. Nothing escaped them, and they "did" the show thoroughly, so thoroughly in fact that at the end they were, as Joe expressed it, "all in."
"Gee, I knew that show was going to be great," remarked Bob happily, as they were returning home on the train. "But I didn't have any idea that it was going to be such a whale."
"It was a pippin," agreed Joe, as he snuggled back still further in his seat.
Jimmy sighed gustily.
"What's the matter, Doughnuts?" asked Bob.
"I was just pitying," replied Jimmy, "the poor boobs who didn't see it."
"And that's no joke!" said Joe. "Seeing all those things is going to be a big help toward winning those prizes."
"Who said I was joking?" retorted Jimmy. "I wasn't. That show was the dandiest thing I ever saw."
CHAPTER XXII
THE STOLEN SET
Meanwhile, Bob, Joe and Jimmy were working like beavers on their prize sets, and were making great progress. Mr. Ferberton's offer had aroused great interest in the town, and several other boys were working for the coveted prizes. The knowledge of this only spurred the radio boys to greater efforts, and they began to acquire a deeper insight into the mysteries of radio work with every day that passed. They began to talk so learnedly of condensers and detectors that Herb wished more than once that he had started to make a set of his own, and he was at last driven in self defense to study up on the subject so as not to be left too far behind.
Almost two weeks had passed since they first started work on the prize sets when one evening Doughnuts came rushing into Bob's workroom with woe writ large on his round countenance.
"What do you think, Bob!" he burst out. "Some crook has stolen my set."
"Stolen your set!" echoed Bob. "What in the world do you mean?"
"Just that," went on poor Jimmy. "I had it in my father's shop back of the house. I was working on it last night, and when I went out this evening, it was gone."
"Was anything else stolen?" asked Bob.
"No. That's the funny thing about it," replied Jimmy. "Nothing was touched but my set."
"Then it looks to me as though Buck Looker or one of his crowd had taken it," said Bob, after thinking a few minutes. "You know they have it in for us, and they'd do anything to harm us."
"Yes, but if that's so, why should they steal my set instead of yours or Joe's?" argued Jimmy.
"Probably because it was easier to steal yours," said Bob. "We keep our sets in the house, while yours, being in a shed at the back, would be a lot easier to get away with."
"Jimminy crickets! I'll bet you're right," exclaimed Jimmy. "It would be just the kind of dirty trick they'd be likely to play, too."
"If it's Buck Looker and his crowd that's responsible for this, we'll have your set back or know the reason why," said Bob, throwing down his tools. "Let's go around and get the others, and we'll have a council of war."
A peculiar whistle outside their friends' houses brought them out at once, and when they were all together Jimmy told them about his misfortune. They were as indignant as Bob, and had little doubt that Buck Looker was the author of the outrage.
"It's dollars to doughnuts that gang's got it," said Bob. "Now, when a thing needs to be done, it's usually best to do it right away. We've got to get Jimmy's set back, and I've got an idea where we can find it."
"Where?" they all asked in chorus.
"Well, you know that crowd often hang out in that shack back of Terry Mooney's house—the place that his father built to keep an automobile in, and then could never get enough money to buy the automobile. They spend a lot of their time there. And if they've taken Jimmy's outfit, that's the place they'd naturally keep it. They wouldn't want to take it into any of their homes, because then their folks wound likely find out about it and make them give it up."
"Gee, I believe you're right!" exclaimed Joe. "Let's go there right away and accuse them of it."
"Better yet, let's go there and take it away from them," proposed Bob, with a grim set to his mouth. "Are you with me?"
For answer they all started off in the direction of Terry Mooney's house, and as they went, Bob outlined a plan of attack.
"We'll scout around first, and see if they're in the place," he said. "If they are, we may be able to get a look inside and see if there is any sign of Jimmy's outfit. If they've got it, we can decide the best way to take it away from them after we get there."
CHAPTER XXIII
BATTERING IN THE DOOR
Ten minutes of brisk walking brought the radio boys to their goal. The Mooney family inhabited a large but dilapidated house, in the rear of which was the small building that the head of the Mooney family had erected in a moment when his enthusiasm had far outrun his bank account. He had never been able to buy a car to put in the building, and his son and his cronies had found it an ideal place to meet, smoke cheap cigarettes, and plot mischief.
As they neared this shack, the radio boys kept in the shadows and approached noiselessly, it being Bob's plan to take the gang by surprise, if possible. Besides, he wanted to be absolutely sure that Jimmy's stolen set was in the building before making any further move.
Noiselessly as shadows, the boys crept up to the shack until they were close enough to hear voices inside. They could easily recognize Buck Looker's arrogant voice, and at times the whining replies of Terry and Carl.
There was only one small window in the building, and that was covered by a square of cloth. At the end of the shack opposite the window were two large doors, both closed. An electric light cord had been strung from the house, supplying current to one or more lamps inside the shack. The four radio boys prowled about the building, trying to find some place from which they could get a view of the interior. At last Joe found a place where a crack in a plank allowed them to see in.
All three of the gang were inside, seated on rickety chairs about a rough pine table. And on this table, sure enough, was the missing radio outfit!
Jimmy clenched his fists when he saw this, and was for an immediate attack. But Bob had a more crafty scheme in his head.
"Here's a better stunt," he said, drawing his friends off to a little distance so that they could talk without running the chance of being overheard.
"If we break in on them, they might make trouble for us later," said Bob. "But if we put their light out first, we'll be able to get hold of Jimmy's outfit without their really knowing who's doing it."
"Cut the electric light cord, you mean?" said Joe, getting the idea like a flash.
"That's the idea," said Bob. "Suppose you cut the cord, Jimmy, and the second you do, we'll all rush those front doors. They've probably got 'em locked but if we land heavily enough I don't think that will stop us. I'll make for the table and grab Jim's outfit, and when you hear me whistle twice you'll know I've got it, and we'll get out. They'll probably be fighting each other in the dark for a while before they even know we're gone."
"Bob, I take off my hat to you," said Joe admiringly. "We'll work it just as you say."
Doughnuts had a pair of wire cutters with him, which he had used when working on his set. Silent as ghosts, the four friends crept back to the shack, and Jimmy carefully separated the two wires of the cable and caught one of them between the jaws of his cutter.
"When the light goes out, we rush," whispered Bob. "Give us a few seconds to get set, Jimmy, and then cut!"
Bob, Joe, and Herb withdrew about ten feet from the big front doors and waited tensely for the light to go out.
A scarcely audible click, and the shack was plunged in darkness.
Like projectiles shot from a gun, the boys hurled themselves against the doors, landing with a crashing impact that shattered the lock into fragments and tore one of the doors bodily from its rusty hinges. Shouts of terror rose from the panic-stricken bullies inside, taken completely by surprise with no idea of what had come upon them. The radio boys scattered them head over heels as they made for the table, and the shack was a pandemonium of shouts, cries, and the crash of overturned chairs. It was the work of only a few seconds for Bob to reach Jimmy's radio set, and having secured this, he whistled twice to signify success, and made for the door.
Meanwhile, as he had foreseen, the bullies, tangled in a heap on the floor, were grappling with each other, pounding away at whatever came handiest to their fists. The radio boys, having got what they came after, left the gang struggling in the dark, and made their way back to Jimmy's house, doubled up with laughter at times, as they thought of the ludicrous discomfiture of their foes.
CHAPTER XXIV
ON THE TRAIL
"Gosh!" exclaimed Herb, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. "I'll never forget this night if I live to be a hundred. Oh, my, but that was rich!"
"Those fellows will learn after a while that it doesn't pay to get gay with this bunch," said Joe. "I think we let them off easy for stealing Doughnuts' outfit, as it is. We might have landed them a few swift ones while we were there."
"They saved us even that trouble," Bob pointed out. "They were punching each other hard enough to suit any one."
"That's right," said Joe, laughing. "I guess by this time they're sorry they stole that set."
"I'm mighty grateful to you fellows for helping me get this back," said Jimmy, looking lovingly at his set, which had escaped with hardly a scratch. "When I found it was gone, I pretty nearly gave it up for lost."
"'One for all and all for one,'" quoted Bob. "We'll teach Buck Looker and his set to let us alone, if it's possible to teach them anything. But I suppose we might as well run along now, because it's getting pretty late."
"I happen to know that there's a big pan of rice pudding in the ice box," said Jimmy. "It may be late, but it's never too late for that, is it?"
"Lead us to it!" the other three chanted in unison, and in a short time the rice pudding was only a memory. Then the boys said good-night and parted, each to his own home, well satisfied with the result of their adventure.
Bob and Joe were walking down Main Street the next day, when they met Buck Looker and Carl Lutz, both looking very much the worse for wear.
Joe stopped and gazed at them in apparent astonishment.
"Why, what have you fellows been doing, anyway?" he inquired. "You look as though you had had an argument with a steam roller."
"Yes, and the steam roller must have won," grinned Bob.
"You know well enough what happened to us," growled Buck Looker malignantly. "If ever you fellows come around our clubhouse again, we'll make you wish you hadn't."
"Clubhouse?" queried Joe innocently. "What does he mean, Bob? I didn't know he and Lutz had a clubhouse."
"I mean that garage back of the Mooney's place," said Buck irately. "That's our clubhouse, and you fellows had better not try any rough house there again, or there'll be trouble."
"Oh, I know the place he means," said Bob, after making a pretence of puzzled thinking. "He means that tumbled-down shack where Mr. Mooney keeps his garden tools. I'm sure we'd never want to go near a place like that, would we, Joe?"
"Of course not," said Joe. "I wouldn't ask a respectable dog to go near that place."
Looker and Lutz had been growing angrier all the time during this dialogue, but after their recent experiences with the radio boys they did not quite dare resort to open hostilities. But if looks could have killed, Bob and Joe would have dropped dead on the spot.
"If you've got anything to say, now's the time to say it," said Bob, gazing steadily at the bullies with a look in his eyes that made them shift uneasily.
"We're in a big hurry, or we'd tend to you right now," blustered Buck. "Come on, Carl. We'll fix them some other time."
"No time like the present, you know," said Joe.
But the two bullies had little inclination for a fair fight, as they had a pretty shrewd suspicion of how they would fare in that event. With ugly sidewise looks they passed on, leaving Bob and Joe in possession of the field.
"They're beginning to think we're bad medicine," said Joe. "A little more training, Bob, and they'll even be afraid to talk back to us."
"Looks that way, doesn't it," said Bob, laughing.
The two radio boys went on to their destination, which was the hardware store, where they both wanted to buy some wire and other supplies. What was their surprise, when they went inside, to find Frank Brandon, the radio inspector, talking to the proprietor.
As the boys entered, Brandon glanced at them, and then, as recognition came into his eyes, he extended his hand.
"Hello, there!" he exclaimed. "How have you been since I saw you? How's the wireless coming on?"
"It's O K," said Bob. "We're both trying for the Ferberton prize, you know."
"That's fine," said Brandon heartily. "The prizes are to be given out pretty soon, aren't they?"
"Yes. And we're both hoping that if one of us doesn't get it, the other will," said Joe. "If neither one gets it, it won't be anything against you," said Brandon. "I hear there are a lot of sets entered, and some of the fellows who have made them have been at the game a lot longer than you have."
"We're doing a lot of hoping, anyway," said Bob. "Are they keeping you pretty busy these days?"
"I should say so," said the radio inspector. "There's one fellow in particular that I'm having a lot of trouble with. I've got his location approximately, but in the neighborhood where he should be I haven't been able to locate any antennae to indicate the presence of a radio station. Usually it's easy enough, but this fellow seems to be a sly fox."
"How in the world do you locate an unauthorized station, anyway?" queried Bob.
"In each district in which there is a radio inspector we have what we call directional finders. These consist of a combination of a loop aerial and a compass and a radio receiving set. We have complete maps of the district. When the man we're after is sending, we swing the loop aerial around until the signals reach their loudest tone. Then a reading is taken on the compass. This action is repeated several times, after which we turn the loop so as to tune out all sound. During the silent period a line is drawn on the map at right angles to the direction of the loop. This line indicates the direction from which the sounds are coming. This takes place at the same time at all three stations, and where the lines on the map intersect is the point where the offender can be found."
"But I suppose that location isn't very exact, is it?" asked Bob.
"No; but it's usually exact enough," said Brandon. "We go to the place indicated on the map, and look about in the neighborhood for aerials. Anybody owning them has to show his license, if he has one, and if he hasn't—well, that's the man we're after."
"Simple enough," commented Bob. "But when you don't know how it's done, it seems like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"Yes, and by all the rules it should be easier than usual to locate this offender," said the radio inspector, "because he has a peculiarity that marks him out."
"I'll bet I know what it is, too," said Bob quickly.
"You do?" said Brandon, surprised.
"He stutters badly, and then has to whistle before he can go on, doesn't he?" said Bob.
"That's the man, all right," said Brandon. "Do you know anything about him?"
"Well, if he's the man we think he is, we don't know much good about him," said Bob, and he proceeded to tell Brandon about Dan Cassey and the mean way he had tricked Nellie Berwick and stolen her money.
"So you see you're not the only one looking for the stuttering man," said Bob, in conclusion. "We'd like pretty well to find out where he is ourselves."
"But what makes you think this man I'm looking for is the same one you're after?" asked Brandon.
"In the first place, there aren't many people who stutter so badly," said Bob. "And in the second place, Miss Berwick told us that she saw some radio apparatus on his desk when she was in his office."
"That certainly goes a long way in hitching up the two," said the inspector thoughtfully. "Now," he continued, after studying a few minutes longer, "I have a proposition to make. I've checked up my calculations, and I'm going to have another try at locating this man to-morrow. As you're both interested in finding him, too, why not go with me and help me? Between the three of us we ought to find him."
"Nothing could suit me better!" exclaimed Bob. "How about you, Joe?"
"Fine," replied his chum. "To-morrow's Saturday, so we can go all right. But don't forget that we want to be back when the prize winners are announced," he said, struck by a sudden thought.
"Oh, it won't take us very long to get on the ground," said Brandon. "I figure this man we're after is somewhere in Lansdale, and you know that isn't more than a two hours' run by automobile. If we haven't found him by the time you should be leaving in order to get back here on time, you two can come back by train, and I'll stay there. But if we get an early start I think the three of us, working together, should locate our man pretty quickly. Lansdale isn't a very large place, you know."
"I can start as early as you like," said Bob. "How about you, Joe?"
"That goes for me, too," said Joe. "Set your own time, Mr. Brandon."
"Well, then, suppose you both meet me at Hall's garage at eight sharp to-morrow morning," proposed Frank Brandon. "I'll hire a good car and be all ready to start by that time."
"We'll be there on the dot," promised Bob, and they all shook hands on the bargain.
Bob and Joe made their purchases, said goodbye to the radio inspector, and left the store excitedly discussing their chances of locating the rascal Cassey and perhaps recovering Nellie Berwick's stolen money. When they parted to go home, each renewed his promise to be on time the following morning, and went his way filled with hope that at last the scoundrel would perhaps be brought to justice.
"But I wish we could be sure that that old rascal would be caught up with and be made to give back Miss Berwick's money," reflected Bob, as he turned in at his own home. "She's in Clintonia again. I saw her at a distance to-day."
CHAPTER XXV
THE PRIZE
But before going to bed that night, Bob had an idea which he proceeded at once to put into execution, with the result that there were some lively telephone exchanges and considerable excitement in various quarters.
The fruit of his work was seen the following morning, when, on reaching Hall's garage, Mr. Brandon, instead of finding only the two boys waiting for him, found also Miss Nellie Berwick and a Mr. Edgar Wilson, a keen, wide-awake lawyer of Clintonia, whom Miss Berwick had retained to look after her interests.
"I tried to get you also on the telephone last night, Mr. Brandon," Bob explained, after introductions had been made, "but I couldn't find you in. So I took the liberty of asking Miss Berwick and Mr. Wilson to go along with us on the chance that we might round up Dan Cassey."
"That's all right," responded Mr. Brandon warmly. "The boys have already told me, Miss Berwick, of the dastardly trick that fellow played on you, and I shall be only too happy to have you and your lawyer go along with us. It would give me the keenest satisfaction to see that fellow get his deserts."
Miss Berwick thanked him heartily and the party took their places in the automobile, which held five persons comfortably and was of a modern type. That it was speedy was soon proved by the way it sped along the road under the skillful guidance of Mr. Brandon. A rain two days before had laid the dust, and the roads were in perfect condition. In a surprisingly short time they had come in sight of Lansdale, a little village on the coast.
They stopped at the post-office and Brandon climbed out of the car and went in. The postmaster eyed him warily, and was at first somewhat disinclined to give any information, but the sight of the badge that proclaimed Mr. Brandon a government official unloosed his tongue and he talked freely.
"Know anybody about here by the name of Cassey?" asked Mr. Brandon.
"Cassey? Cassey?" repeated the postmaster ruminatively. "No, there's nobody of that name around here. Or if there is, he's never been to this office to get his mail."
"The man I'm speaking of stutters—stutters badly," said the inspector. "Is there any one like that in town?"
"Just one," replied the postmaster. "And he stutters enough for a dozen. Worst case I ever knew. Gets all tangled up and has to whistle to go on. But his name's Reddy."
"Has he been here long?" pursued the inspector.
"Oh, a matter of a month or two," was the reply. "Never saw him before this year. Thought perhaps he was one of the early birds of the summer visitors that was rushing the season."
"Where does he live?" asked Mr. Brandon.
"Just a little way up the street," replied the postmaster. "Come to the window here and I'll show you the house."
He pointed out a little cottage of rather dilapidated aspect, above which the keen eye of Mr. Brandon saw the end of an aerial.
He thanked the postmaster and went out to his party.
"I think we have our game bagged all right," he remarked, and rejoiced to see the light that came into Miss Berwick's eyes, "but of course I'm not sure as yet."
He told them the result of his inquiries, and they were delighted.
"I tell you what I think we had better do," he suggested. "I propose that we leave the automobile here and go up to the house on foot. Three of us will go in, while Miss Berwick and Mr. Wilson will stay out of sight at the side of the house until they get the sign to enter. The surprise may lead to confession and restitution if properly managed."
The others signified their consent to this and proceeded toward the house. Miss Berwick and her lawyer stood at the side, where they could not be seen from the door, and the inspector, followed by the boys, mounted the steps and rang the bell.
There was a moment's delay and then the door opened. A short thick-set man stood there with his hand on the knob. He wore large horn glasses, which may have been because of defective sight or possibly as a disguise. The eyes behind the glasses were furtive and shifty, and the mouth was mean and avaricious.
"Is this Mr. Reddy?" asked the inspector politely.
"Th-th-that's my name," answered the man. "W-what can I do f-f-for you?"
"That depends," replied Mr. Brandon. "I called to see you on a matter of business. May I come in?"
The man eyed his visitors with a look of apprehension and annoyance, but finally assented with a nod of his head and led the way into a small and meagerly furnished living room.
"I see that you have a radio set here," remarked Mr. Brandon, seating himself and looking around the room.
"Y-y-y-yes," stuttered the man. "W-what about it?"
The inspector threw back his coat and showed his badge. At the sight of this symbol of authority the man gave a violent start.
"I happen to be a radio telephone inspector," explained Mr. Brandon.
"O-oh," said the man, visibly relieved that it was no worse. "W-why do you want to see me?"
"Because you've been violating the government regulations," replied the inspector sternly. "There have been a number of complaints against you, and you've got yourself into serious trouble."
As he spoke he crossed his legs, which was the sign agreed on, and unseen by the man who during this conversation had had his back toward the boys, Bob tiptoed out to the street and beckoned to Miss Berwick and her lawyer, who followed him promptly and softly into the room.
"I'm s-s-sorry," the man was saying at the moment. "I d-d-d-didn't mean—"
Just then Bob slammed the door shut with a bang. The man jumped, and as he turned about came face to face with Miss Berwick, who stood regarding him with a look of scorn.
So startled was the man that his glasses dropped from his nose and he had to grasp a chair to hold himself steady. His face turned a greenish hue and rank fright came into his narrow eyes.
"How do you do, Mr. Cassey?" asked Miss Berwick. "Do you happen to have my mortgage with you?"
"Mr. Cassey?" repeated Mr. Brandon with affected surprise. "He told me his name was Reddy. How about it?" he asked, and his voice had the ring of steel. "Have you been trying to deceive a government officer?"
The detected rascal dropped weakly into the chair whose back he had been holding. He seemed near total collapse.
"Come now," said Mr. Wilson, stepping forward and tapping him on the shoulder, "the game's up, Cassey. We've got you at last. The money or the mortgage, Cassey. Come across with one or the other and come across quick. It's that or jail. Take your choice."
Dan Cassey, shaking in every limb, tried to temporize, and stuttered until he got red in the face and seemed on the point of apoplexy. But the lawyer was inflexible, and at last Cassey took a key from his pocket and opened a drawer from which he took a paper and handed it over to Mr. Wilson. The latter ran his eyes over it and his face lighted up with satisfaction.
"It's the mortgage, all right," he said, as he handed it over to his client. "That settles his account with you, Miss Berwick, and I congratulate you. But it doesn't settle his account with the law. You contemptible scoundrel," he said, addressing Cassey, "you ought to serve a good long term for this."
Cassey, utterly broken, fell on his knees at this and fairly begged for mercy. He stuttered so horribly that the boys would have had to laugh if it had not been for the tragedy of the wretched creature groveling in such abasement.
Miss Berwick intervened and held a conference with her lawyer in a low voice.
"Well," said the latter finally, "of course, if you refuse to make a charge against him, there's nothing to do but to let him go, though he ought to be sent to jail as a warning to others. Get up, you worm," he continued, addressing Cassey, "and thank your stars that Miss Berwick's generosity keeps you from getting the punishment you so richly deserve."
They left him there in his shame and disgrace, and went back to their car, after Mr. Brandon had warned the rascal that any repetition of his minor offense would bring down swift penalty, from the government.
It was a happy party that rode back to Clintonia. There were tears in Miss Berwick's eyes as she thanked again and again the boys who for the second time had done her such a signal service. And Bob and Joe had a Sense of satisfaction and exhilaration that was beyond all words to express.
On their way they passed through Ocean Point, a summer colony where many of the residents of Clintonia had cottages. It was on the seashore and every foot of it was familiar to the boys, whose own parents spent a part of the summer there every year.
"It won't be long now before we'll be on this old stamping ground of ours," remarked Joe, as he looked at the surf breaking on the shore. "It will be good to be here again."
"Right you are," replied Bob. "And we'll bring our radio sets along. This summer will be more interesting than any we've known before."
How fully that prophecy was carried out, and how exciting were the adventures that awaited the boys will be told in the second book of this series, to be entitled: "The Radio Boys at Ocean Point; Or, The Message That Saved the Ship."
Herb and Jimmy were as delighted as their chums when they heard of the way that Cassey had been trapped and forced to make restitution. But many of the details had to be postponed until another time, for just now their thoughts were full of the Ferberton prize which was to be awarded that night, and for which they were busy in making their final preparations.
The town hall that night was crowded, and many had to be content with standing room. Upon the platform were numerous wireless telephone sets that had been received for the competition.
Mr. Ferberton himself presided at the gathering. He made a most interesting address, in which he dealt with the wonders of wireless and gave a review of its latest developments. His own set, which was one of the largest and most powerful the radio boys had ever seen, had been installed on the platform with a large horn attached, and for an hour and a half, while waiting for the prizes to be awarded, the auditors were regaled with a delightful concert.
In the meantime, a committee of three radio experts had been examining the sets submitted in competition. They subjected them to various tests, taking into account the care displayed in workmanship, the ingenuity shown in the choice of materials, and the clearness of tone discerned when each in turn was connected with the aerial and put to a practical test. The choice was difficult, for many of them showed surprising excellence for amateurs.
At last, however, the awards were decided on, and Mr. Ferberton, holding the list in his hand, advanced to the edge of the platform. The silence became so intense that one could almost have heard a pin drop.
"The first prize," he said after a few words of introduction, "is awarded to Robert Layton."
There was a roar of applause, for no one in town was more popular than Bob.
"The second prize goes to Joseph Atwood," continued Mr. Ferberton, and again the hall rocked with applause.
"If there had been a third prize," the speaker concluded, "it would have been awarded to James Plummer. As it is, he receives honorable mention." And Jimmy too had his share of the cheering and hand clapping.
Long after the lights were out and the audience dispersed, the chums sat on Bob's porch, elated and hilarious.
"I'm the only rank outsider," grinned Herb. "I take off my hat to the rest of the bunch. You're the fellows!"
"You needn't take it off to me," laughed Jimmy. "I got only honorable mention, and there isn't much nourishment in that. Not half as much as there is in a doughnut. I could have used that money, too."
"What are you two bloated plutocrats thinking of?" asked Herb of Bob and Joe, who had let the others do most of the talking.
"Radio," replied Joe.
"The most wonderful thing in the world," declared Bob.
THE END
* * * * *
THE RADIO BOYS SERIES
(Trademark Registered)
By ALLEN CHAPMAN
Author of the "Railroad Series," Etc.
ILLUSTRATED. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS FOR EACH STORY.
A new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving—telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. Each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight.
Each volume has a Foreword by Jack Binns, the well-known radio expert of the New York Tribune.
THE RADIO BOYS' FIRST WIRELESS; Or, Winning the Ferberton Prize.
THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT; Or, The Message That Saved the Ship.
THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION; Or, Making Good in the Wireless Room.
THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS; Or, The Midnight Call for Assistance.
THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE; Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery.
THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS; Or, The Great Fire on Spruce Mountain.
GROSSET & DUNLAP. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE TOM SWIFT SERIES
By VICTOR APPLETON
UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.
These spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances inland and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES
BY VICTOR APPLETON
UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.
Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made—the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last.
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON FRENCH BATTLEFIELDS MOVING PICTURE BOYS' FIRST SHOWHOUSE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT SEASIDE PARK MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON BROADWAY THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' OUTDOOR EXHIBITION THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' NEW IDEA
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES
BY CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN
The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim, etc. Full of the spirit of outdoor life.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS Or The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE Or Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST Or Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF Or Rescuing the Lost Balloonists.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME Or Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON A HOUSEBOAT Or The Rivals of the Mississippi.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE BIG WOODS Or The Rival Hunters at Lumber Run.
THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AT CABIN POINT Or The Golden Cup Mystery.
12mo. Averaging 240 pages. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in Cloth.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES
By GRAHAM B. FORBES
Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School All boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. Any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others.
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH Or The All Around Rivals of the School
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND Or Winning Out by Pluck
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE Or Out for the Hockey Championship
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN TRACK ATHLETICS Or A Long Run that Won
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN WINTER SPORTS Or Stirring Doings on Skates and Iceboats
12mo. Illustrated. Handsomely broad in cloth, with cover design and wrappers in colors.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE FAMOUS ROVER BOYS SERIES
BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD (Edward Stratemeyer)
American Stories of American Boys and Girls
NEARLY THREE MILLION COPIES SOLD OF THIS SERIES
12mo. CLOTH. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. COLORED WRAPPERS.
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATER THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR THE ROVER BOYS IN NEW YORK THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA THE ROVER BOYS IN BUSINESS THE ROVER BOYS ON A TOUR THE ROVER BOYS AT COLBY HALL THE ROVER BOYS ON SNOWSHOE ISLAND THE ROVER BOYS UNDER CANVAS THE ROVER BOYS ON A HUNT THE ROVER BOYS IN THE LAND OF LUCK THE ROVER BOYS AT BIG HORN RANCH
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
THE PUTNAM HALL STORIES
Companion Stories to the Famous Rover Boys Series
By ARTHUR M. WINFIELD (Edward Stratemeyer)
UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.
Being the adventures of lively young fellows at a Military Academy. Open air sports have always been popular with boys and these stories that mingle adventure with fact will appeal to every manly boy.
THE MYSTERY OF PUTNAM HALL Or The School Chums' Strange Discovery
The particulars of the mystery and the solution of it are very interesting reading.
CAMPING OUT DAYS AT PUTNAM HALL Or The Secret of the Old Mill
A story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during the summer encampment, including a visit to a mysterious old mill, said to be haunted. The book has a wealth of fun in it.
THE REBELLION AT PUTNAM HALL Or The Rival Runaways
The boys had good reasons for running away during Captain Putnam's absence. They had plenty of fun and several queer adventures.
THE CHAMPIONS OF PUTNAM HALL Or Bound to Win Out
In this volume the Cadets of Putnam Hall show what they can do in various teen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. There is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery.
THE CADETS OF PUTNAM HALL Or Good Times in School and Out
The Cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends from the start. There are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing with an unexpected ending.
THE RIVALS OF PUTNAM HALL Or Fun and Sport Afloat and Ashore
It is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country, written by one who knows all about its pleasures and its perplexities, its glorious excitements, and its chilling disappointments.
GROSSET and DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
THE END |
|
