"But we haven't had any thunderstorm," Nancy called above the hubbub.

"No, but somebody else's thunderstorm would bother us almost as much," Bob explained good-humoredly.

"Never mind the thunderstorms now," put in Mr. Crowninshield. "Aren't we going to hear anything but this whistling and groaning? Whee! There it goes again. It is for all the world like a chorus of cats."

"It is more like a siren horn tooting up and down," laughed Nancy.

A spluttering crackle blotted out the wail.

"You would think they were frying doughnuts," grinned Dick, "wouldn't you?"

"And you really believe a thunderstorm would cause a noise like this?" queried Mrs. Crowninshield incredulously.

"It might. We have no way of knowing exactly what is raising the trouble."

"Do you mean to say that a storm that wasn't round here at all could——" burst out Jerry, then stopped embarrassed.

"Indeed it could," replied Bob, answering the unfinished question. "You see thunderstorms cause powerful electrical waves that affect apparatus miles and miles distant. Of course such waves vary in length but nevertheless they act on all aerials to a greater or less degree. Then, too, the atmospheric conditions are never quite identical, changing with the hour of the day, the season of the year, and local weather disturbances. Fortunately, since the air is positively electrified and the earth negatively, certain of these differences are remedied by the aerial that connects the two, the current discharges partially seeping off through the ground. Sometimes, however, in spite of every device used, such currents are strong enough to cause a roar in the receiver. In addition there is the interference from other radio stations which are busy transmitting messages, and although there are rules that aim to reduce this annoyance, it is, to a certain extent, always to be reckoned with."

"I should think somebody ought to invent something to prevent such troubles," declared Nancy.

"Why don't you, Sis?" asked Dick wickedly.

"But it is terrible to have the air so full of noise," continued the girl, as she made a little face at her brother. "I've always thought of the air as being still."

"It is still in a general sense," smiled Bob. "It is only when the amplifier of the wireless magnifies the sounds that we realize how many of them our ears fail to hear."

"It's a downright mercy they do!" exclaimed Jerry.

"You're right there, Jerry!" agreed Mr. Crowninshield.

"But how do messages come through such a chaos?" Dick inquired.

"Sometimes they don't," laughed Bob. "But nine cases out of ten they do because there are ways of combating static interference. You can, for instance, tune your apparatus to a higher or lower pitch and thereby escape from the zone where the noise is. That whine you hear is produced by my turning the tuning knob and increasing our range of meters. Already with the higher vibration you will notice the hubbub has lessened."

"Yes, things are ever so much clearer," agreed a chorus of voices.

"That is one way, then, out of the difficulty. There are, in addition, other mechanical means that can be resorted to when you learn more about handling the outfit. Suffice it to say that in a general way whatever tends toward inertia, or a lack of electrical activity, decreases static interference."

There was a pause in which above the crackling and the wailing of the instrument a faint sound became audible.

"Gee! Did you hear that?" cried Walter.

"Hush!"

"But I heard a voice quite distinctly."

"Keep still, can't you?" Dick remarked unceremoniously.

Then plainly into the room came the words:

"Station (WGI) Amrad Medford Hillside, Mass. 360 meters. Stand by for Boston Police reports."

"That is the police news," whispered Dick to Nancy. "Among other things it gives the automobiles that are lost, their numbers, and a description of each."

"Want to hear it?" asked Bob of his audience.

"Not unless they can tell us they have found Lola," responded Mr. Crowninshield promptly.

"Oh, no," his wife hastened to add, "let's not listen to a long string of crimes. Goodness knows there are enough of them to read in the papers."

She shook her head warningly at Bob and motioned toward her husband.

"I'd rather hear some music," put in Nancy. "Can't we?"

There was an ascending wail from the tuner.

"Ain't that a band?" cried Jerry excitedly.

"It's an orchestra!" Nancy ejaculated in the same breath.

"It's gone!"

"We'll get it again," was Bob's confident answer as he twirled the knobs of both tuner and detector.

"There it is!" burst out Jerry. "It's a brass band, as I live!"

"Where do you suppose it is?" speculated Mrs. Crowninshield.

"Pittsburgh or Chicago; or perhaps Newark."

"Not Chicago—out West! You're fooling," observed Jerry with scorn.

"Indeed I'm not. Wait and you'll hear in a few moments exactly who it was."

"I'll not believe it unless I do," the old man announced, with a zest that provoked a general laugh.

"What time is it? Can any one tell?" asked Bob.

"What difference does that make," Walter inquired.

"It will give us a cue as to who it is," was the explanation. "All these broadcasting stations have certain hours for their programs."

"I've seen those lists published in the papers, but I never took any stock in them," growled Jerry.

"You'll have to now, Jerry," said Nancy mischievously.

She saw him scratch his head.

"Well, I dunno," was his laconic reply. "The whole thing beats me. If that band was in Chicago——"

"Hush!"

The crash of instruments had come to an end and over the wire in accents unmistakably distinct came the words:

"Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company KYW Chicago, Illinois. Stand by fifteen minutes for——" but the rest of the sentence was lost, for with a mighty slap of his knees Jerry roared:

"It was in Chicago—that band! Well, I'll be buttered!"

Overwhelmed the Cape Codder had risen to his feet.

"Chicago! Pittsburgh! Medford! My eye, but this will do me to talk about until the day of my death. It don't seem possible; I'm beat if it does."

Helplessly he dropped back into his chair again, silenced by very wonder.

In the meantime out of the wailing and whining and piping the sharp, clear-cut click of a telegraph instrument could be discerned.

"That's the Morse code," explained Bob. "Some commercial station is sending a message. It seems to be about a shipment of lumber and isn't particularly interesting."

"I suppose you can read it," said Dick enviously.

"Naturally. That is part of my job, you know."

"What is a commercial station?" inquired the still bewildered Jerry.

"A station that sends only messages for the general public. Probably this load of lumber started out of port without the captain of the ship having the least idea in the world where he was to market it. In the interval since it left, however, the company's shore agents have secured a customer for it, perhaps in New Bedford, Boston, Providence, or some other coast city and they are now notifying the ship where to deliver it. Such an arrangement is quite common nowadays. Were the captain obliged to hold his cargo in port until he had a purchaser, as was the usual rule in the past, he would be wasting much precious time. By this method he can set forth the moment the vessel is loaded and during his voyage let his managers search for buyers. In all probability by the time he nears New England harbors his wares will be sold and orders sent him where to deposit them."

"That's a neat little scheme!" observed Walter.

But poor Jerry was too much overcome by the marvels he had witnessed to comment on this added miracle. All he could do was to reiterate feebly: "It beats me—hanged if it don't!"



CHAPTER XVII

THE LAWS OF THE AIR

Morning found Mr. Crowninshield in no more tractable a mood. Even before Bob could reach his post at the wireless station and adjust his double head receiver to his ears his employer came briskly across the grass with his after-breakfast cigar between his lips.

"Well," began he, when he was within calling distance, "any news yet?"

"I'm afraid not yet, sir. It is still early."

The great man took out his watch.

"Isn't it almost time for O'Connel to signal?"

"It is nearing the time."

"I wonder if he will have any tidings for us?"

"I certainly hope so." The wish was uttered with deep sincerity. A speculation was forming in the young operator's mind as to how he was going to pacify the irascible gentleman before him should no tidings come.

"Since I'm here I believe I'll drop down and wait until you get into touch with the Siren."

"It is liable to be quite a little while. Sometimes there is delay."

"No matter. I've nothing especial to do to-day."

With sinking heart Bob turned away and began to fuss with his oil can and a bit of cotton waste.

"As you will, sir," was all he said.

"You think, don't you, that we will hear something definite this morning?"

"There is no telling."

"No, of course not. Nevertheless O'Connel can at least let us know whether Lola is worse or better."

"Yes, we ought to ascertain that."

"He wouldn't be such an idiot as to stand by and see the dog die, would he?"

"One never can predict just what another person will do. However, I feel sure you can trust O'Connel. I never knew him to bungle anything yet."

With that comfort Mr. Crowninshield was obliged to content himself.

Notwithstanding it, however, he began to pace nervously back and forth, and every time there was a sound in the room he would whisk about with the quick remark:

"Didn't you hear something?"

But although he fretted and fumed, strolled out the door and in again, no amount of impatience appeared to hurry matters.

Even Bob began to lose his poise and fear no message was coming when suddenly the well-known signal came and the familiar clockwork began to be clicked off.

"Is it he?" demanded Mr. Crowninshield in a tense whisper.

Bob nodded.

On clicked the code. Then suddenly it stopped and the man who was watching saw the operator raise the discs of rubber from his ears and shake himself free of his metal trappings.

"Well?" inquired Mr. Crowninshield in quick staccato.

"It was O'Connel. All he said was: Wait developments."

"Not a word about Lola?"

"No, sir."

"Not a reference of any sort?"

"That was all."

"But that is no kind of a message," announced the exasperated owner of Surfside. "Why, it might mean almost anything."

"It sounds hopeful to me."

"I don't see any hope in it," was the despondent answer.

"It least it gives us to understand that something is brewing."

"But why couldn't he have told us more?"

"Perhaps he did not dare to. They may have begun to suspect he was sending private messages."

"Humph! I had not thought of that."

"Or possibly he may have been in a rush. He sent the letters at a tremendous pace—so fast that I had to race him. It seemed as if he was afraid he might not be able to get the message through."

"You didn't answer anything, I suppose."

"Only my signal to let him know I was listening."

"Then you think there is nothing more to be done at present but sit right here and see what happens?"

"I do not see how we can do anything else."

"It's frightfully annoying."

"Yes. Nevertheless it is our only course."

"You've no inkling whether the developments he mentioned are to be soon or not?"

"Not the ghost of an idea."

"Then there is nothing for it but to hold on right here a while longer, I'm afraid. And since we are all to be tied to the spot you may as well come up to the house later and give Dick his usual radio lesson."

"Very well, sir."

With a curt nod the financier went out the door and after seeing that everything was right Bob locked up the building and followed him.

He found the little group assembled in the lee of the awnings waiting for him. Mr. Crowninshield was there, too, gnawing fiercely at a fresh cigar.

"I hear you have had a message, Bob," Mrs. Crowninshield said as he approached.

"Yes; a rather hopeful one, I think."

"I'm so excited! We all are. What do you suppose is in the wind?"

"I've no idea. Something good, I hope."

"Is that Morse code hard to learn?" inquired Nancy.

"The Morse Continental? That depends on what you consider hard," smiled Bob. "If your memory is good and you are quick at catching sounds it ought not to be very awful. Numberless persons do learn it."

"Of course sending messages after you have the code learned cannot be so bad, for you can take your own time," Dick put in. "It is receiving them that would fuss me."

"We'll fix you up with a buzzer and let you and Walter practice later if you want a try."

"Could you?" asked Dick eagerly.

"Sure! Moreover, there are phonograph records made on purpose to be used by beginners. Perhaps your father will get you some of those. It is a fine way to learn, training your ear to the sounds and giving you lots of practice."

"What a bully scheme!"

"It is a good proof of how one science can help another, isn't it?" observed Mrs. Crowninshield.

"I suppose transmitting is a great deal harder than receiving anyhow, isn't it?" pursued Dick.

"Well, of course there is more to it. In the rough it is merely the reverse of receiving; but in reality to project a message through the air requires a more elaborate outfit."

"But you said our wireless would send as well as receive."

"Oh, it will. It was made with both ends of the service in view. Your apparatus would first have to be adjusted and tuned until it was at the same frequency as the station with which you were talking. That you have to do anyhow, whether you are sending or receiving. And I told you, you remember, how to regulate that. Your antenna is connected through an adjustable induction coil, and moreover you have a small condenser which together with it forms a closed circuit. It is simple enough when you understand the principle to adjust the vibratory motion in the antenna by moving the connection. The frequency of the closed circuit can be adjusted, too. Tuning is nothing more than putting these two circuits into accord with the waves you receive. Your detector does a good part of the work for you, for it responds to every oscillation set up in the receiver. When, however, you are transmitting a message, you must take care to cut out your receiver by turning on the switch. Never forget that. You won't be likely to, either, when you are told why. You see it requires power to send out transmission waves and therefore to do it you have to employ a high-pressure current. Receiving, on the other hand, demands delicately adjusted instruments which are equipped to catch every faint, incoming wave. Should you let the strong charge of electricity used for transmission pass through your fragile receiving apparatus you would ruin it in no time."

"I can see that," replied Dick.

"Grasp that notion and you have one big principle of the difference between sending messages and receiving them," said Bob. "Skill in learning to take messages either in code or cipher comes with practice. The more you work at it the faster you can go. You have a keyboard all installed and the only thing standing between you and an expert operator is patience. Speed comes sooner than you think, too, if you practice persistently every day. As for the Morse code you press the key lever down quickly and instantly release it to make a dot. A dash is equal to three dots; the space between the parts of the same letters is equal to a dot; that between two letters to three dots; and between two words to five dots. You must train your ear until the span of these intervals becomes unmistakable. When you get some skill and are ready to try out what you can do, you will find that there are several ways of getting wider practice. There are, for example, local clubs that broadcast in code and send messages limited in speed to an amateur's capacity. Such centers are considerate enough to transmit at the rate of not more than five or ten words to the minute. It is persistence and a willingness to go slowly and carefully that win out in the end. A moderately delivered message that is without errors is worth a dozen fast, inaccurate ones; for when you blunder and have to go back and repeat, you not only waste your time and that of the man at the other end of the line but you annoy and usually confuse him. You will never gain anything if you are content with being a sloppy operator since above everything else radio messages must be correct. That is their chief value. Therefore, if after trying with all your might you find you cannot qualify as a topnotch, high-speed man be content to drop into the class below and be an accurate, slower operator. There are always certain things we do better than others. Speed may not be one of your gifts. That is no sign you have not other talents, however. Face the fact and go into the class where you belong. You won't get so nervous and fussed up, and by and by you may surprise yourself by finding that with time and experience the desired speed will come."

"I am not aiming to be a crackerjack like you," grinned Dick. "If I can take down and send any messages at all I shall feel pretty cocky."

"You think that now," returned Bob, ignoring the flattery contained in the observation. "But by and by you will find yourself discontented and as crazy to make time as you are in an automobile. There is a fascination about it."

"Doesn't the Morse Continental bother you a bit?" inquired Mr. Crowninshield.

"Not a particle. In fact, it has come to be almost as easy reading as straight English," answered Bob. "The thing that does fuss me sometimes though is to send and receive in cipher."

"Mercy! Do they do that too?" gasped Mrs. Crowninshield.

"Certainly. Often both in time of war and times of peace confidential messages which it is not desirable all the world should know have to be transmitted. Sometimes these are government communications; sometimes business or personal ones. At any rate, their senders wish them kept private and hence they are sent in cipher. Many of them are queer enough, too, when they come in."

"Can you understand them yourself?" asked Nancy.

"Certainly not. It is not intended that any one except the person for whom they are intended shall know what they mean."

"But I should think since they make no sense you would wonder whether you had them right," commented Dick.

"I do wonder sometimes," admitted Bob honestly. "When you get a sequence of queer words or combinations of letters you cannot help wondering. However, there is not much chance for a mistake, either in the transmission or in the delivery of such messages, for the operator is always obliged to send them slower than he does ordinary stuff, spacing the letters or groups of letters with unusual care. Furthermore, code words are always repeated once. This gives the man receiving them a chance to print the letters by hand rather than write them, a precaution that does much to prevent mistakes. The address and signature must also be very carefully transmitted. With such watchfulness at each end of the line it would be only a colossally stupid person who would blunder."

"But suppose the operator who is transmitting went faster than you could?" murmured Walter.

"He doesn't as a general rule. It isn't wireless ethics. And even should he be a more skillful radio man he knows he would gain nothing by hustling the chap at the other end for he would only lose time by having to go back and repeat."

"Is all the general transmission of messages given such care?" inquired Mr. Crowninshield.

"Of course cipher communications are fussier," Bob said. "Nevertheless the rules are pretty strict for all messages. And since accuracy is the keynote of radio and to get it your outfit must be in A1 condition, every care must be taken to have strong, clear, and effective sending and receiving power. That means you must constantly clean your apparatus and tighten it up; test out your detector by the buzzer intended for the purpose and make sure that it is in sensitive condition; and assure yourself that every part of your set is OK. Moreover, an operator who is on duty listening in is expected to wear the double head receiver all the time, so no sound, however faint, may get by him. He must also see that his detector is adjusted to its greatest degree of sensibility and his tuner to the proper wave length. If your station happens to be near another, or if you are one of a group of ships and other vessels near yours are sending, you must watch out and either weaken the coupling of your detector or open your switch and cut it out altogether when those around you are using powerful currents for transmission; else you will wreck this delicate part of your instrument."

"Gee, but there are things to remember!" ejaculated Dick.

"Not so many, really, if you use ordinary brains," Bob returned. "You just have to think, that is all. A few big principles hold throughout. The other don'ts are simply to make your own work and the other fellow's smoother; prevent mistakes; do away with as much interference as possible; and protect your outfit. For example, I found I could often lessen the interference by loosening the coupling of my receiving set after I had heard a call and reduce the sound to a point where it was just readable. You get your message all right but you do not get so much else with it. Then you can save wear and tear if you only run your generator while you are sending messages. That you cannot transmit at the hours reserved for naval radio stations to send out the time signals by which navigators set their chronometers, or when operators are broadcasting, goes without saying. Any dunce would know that."

"I had no idea there were hours for sending out the time," confessed Dick.

"Indeed there are. It is very important, too, that ships know the correct time to prevent disasters. There are shore stations whose sole duty it is to supply to ships the time and their location. Don't you recall my mentioning such coastal stations?"

"Oh, yes; I guess I do remember now," returned Dick, a trifle confused.

"What happens if you call a station and nobody answers?" interrogated Nancy. "I have been meaning to ask. Do you just keep on calling as you do at the telephone?"

"No, indeed," was the instant reply. "Should you do that you would cause no end of interference and make yourself a nuisance to everybody. The rule is that after you have called a station three times at two-minute intervals you must stop for a quarter of an hour before you call again. If you happened to be calling a fleet of ships it is desirable to alter your tune rather than keep repeating the summons in the same key. It saves time. Merchant ships and coast stations must, however, be called in the wave length definitely specified for their use."

"Shipboard stations seem to have more rules than the others," commented Dick.

"Not more rules but different ones," Bob said. "You see their nearness to other ships makes this imperative. Each ship has to take care not to knock out the apparatus of its neighbor by inconsiderate use of a high-power current; also it must not cause undue interference. In other words, a bevy of ships, like a group of persons, must be courteous to one another. If a ship within a ten-mile radius of another is receiving signals that are so faint that they are difficult to distinguish, a neighboring vessel should not complicate matters by trying to transmit a message until the other ship has received what was coming in. This rule makes for ordinary politeness, that is all."

"Couldn't the ship waiting to talk send a message in a different wave length?" inquired Dick.

"Oh, yes; that would be quite possible, if the tune varied enough to make it perfectly distinct."

"But what about high-power stations?" demanded Walter. "They handle important stuff and of course cannot keep stopping for other people to talk. Don't their powerful currents damage the receiving sets in stations near them? I should think they might even injure their own."

"High-power, or long-distance stations have still another problem to meet and they meet it in a different way," responded Bob. "In order that the currents they are obliged to use shall not destroy detectors and other delicate receiving apparatus they carry on what are known as duplex operations. That is, the receiving station is constructed at some distance from the sending station—often several miles away—and the two parts of the service are performed independently by different antennae. In this way sending and receiving can be carried on at the same time in slightly varying wave lengths."

"But how can they talk and act as one station if they are so far apart?" questioned His Highness much puzzled.

"It is not as impossible as it seems. The operator at the sending station has a small sending key connected by electricity with a relay at the receiving station. By means of a lever and certain complex paraphernalia this key can be used as the sending key for the main apparatus. Thus the station operated by distant control carries on a duplex system of transmission so that both sending and receiving stations are kept in touch with one another."

"That is clever!" interrupted Mr. Crowninshield.

"A high-power station has to be ingeniously equipped," responded Bob, "for it does a great deal of business, rapid business and business that is important. In some stations so fast do the messages come in and so long are they that an automatic tape not unlike that seen at the stock exchange is used to make perforated records of the dots and dashes. Later this punctured slip can be run through a Morse writer and the message taken down at leisure by the operator. Or sometimes photographic or phonographic records are resorted to and these like the others can be reproduced at a slower rate of speed and interpreted by the operator."

"I should like that and then I wouldn't have to hurry," murmured Nancy.

"It must be jolly to be an operator in a long-distance station," mused Dick, "where real things are going on."

"Perhaps it is," was Bob's nonchalant answer. "I fancy, though, that very vital government messages go in cipher. Uncle Sam isn't risking having his secrets published far and wide over the face of the whole earth. Although for that matter all radio messages are secret."

"But how can they be if any and everybody can listen in?"

"Well, on a high-power wave length probably ordinary persons would not be able to listen in. Their apparatus would not be equipped for it. Should a station be able to, however, during critical periods, such as times of war, the government takes no chances and orders all but certain specified stations dismantled. That puts an end to intruders unless a spy has a hidden wireless somewhere; and if he has he takes an almighty risk with his neck, that is all I can say," concluded Bob with a grin.

"But operators have tongues and can talk," Mrs. Crowninshield suggested. "Don't they sometimes?"

"Usually they do not know what the message passing through their hands means," Bob answered. "But even should they contrive to study it out they would not dare repeat it because of the penalty entailed."

"Penalty?"

The young operator nodded.

"You would not have to concern yourself much about blabbers if you heard what happens to them," piped Walter, who suddenly found himself on ground which previous instruction had rendered familiar. "It's off with their heads!"

"Not really!" gasped the horrified Nancy.

"Oh, he does not mean literally," the elder brother explained. "But it is away with their license which is almost as disastrous a fate to a man who has planned to make his living by wireless. Nor is the loss of the license all that happens. In addition one is liable to a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fine or three years' imprisonment."

"Jove! They do come down on you!" Dick averred.

"Ra-ther! You know, of course, that if you violate any clause of your radio agreement you may be fined one hundred dollars; and should an operator fake a distress call the fine is twenty-five hundred dollars, or five years in prison and perhaps both. Even the smallest fine one can get off with for such an offense is two years behind the bars. It makes you think twice before playing that little joke. The government is wise, too, to spread it on thick, for to fake an S O S which is given the right of way over every other signal would be a contemptible trick. Mild punishments like fines and imprisonments would be too good for the wretch who would so deliberately mislead people. Moreover a few such offenses would cause the importance of the call to be discredited so that in time nobody would be in a rush to pay attention to it."

"I didn't realize an S O S so invariably had the right of way," meditated Dick. "Of course I knew it was the distress signal at sea."

"S O S in the International Morse Code is the universal distress call adopted by the common consent of our civilized nations at the wireless convention held at Berlin in 1906. Every radio station ashore or afloat is obliged to give it first place and do everything possible to further its demands. When a distress call is heard all ships and stations everywhere that hear it are in honor bound to stop whatever they may be doing and listen; nor must they try to talk with the ship herself unless she asks them to. Instead, after she has sent out her call for attention, which is equivalent to our Hello of the telephone, she gives her name; the name of the station or ship she wishes to talk with; states what the matter is; and defines as nearly as she is able her position. This done she sends out a general call and if the station or ship she has asked aid from has not caught the signal and fails to answer her, any operator within hearing may do so. The instant he begins to talk with her, however, all the others listening in must remain silent. At last, when the message is delivered or the necessary conversation at an end, then the ship's radio man sends out a broadcast to let everybody know that he has finished so that all stations may resume their regular routine."

"Some system!" breathed Dick.

"I guess you would think there was some system if you were to see a book of radio rules," returned Bob. "I'll show you mine some day. All the various shore stations have their many regulations, as I have told you before; shipboard stations have theirs; and even the amateurs are protected so that every class may get fair play and not bother his neighbor. Wireless stations, you see, are not mere toys. They have work to do and must be able to do it unhampered."

"I'd like a glimpse of that manual," suggested Dick.

"I'll bring it round to-morrow," Bob answered, glancing at his watch and rising.

The others rose too.

"I suppose it would be no use to listen in for O'Connel again," remarked Mr. Crowninshield.

"I will if you like," Bob responded. "I doubt, though, if it would do any good."

"No, I guess it wouldn't. We shall just have to wait," sighed the man.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE NET TIGHTENS

When on the morrow no call of any kind came from O'Connel Mr. Crowninshield was, as his son expressed it, "fit to be tied."

"I can't see why we do not hear something to-day," fumed he. "He can't expect us to wait developments forever. Are you sure you did not miss the signal, Bob."

"I don't see how I could have missed it," replied the operator patiently.

"But he always does call, doesn't he?"

"He has for the last few days."

"Then why not to-day?"

"I cannot imagine. Perhaps he couldn't."

"You don't suppose anything has happened to Lola, do you?"

"Who can tell?"

"You are right; it was a foolish question," admitted the financier, accepting the rebuke gracefully. "Still, I cannot help being anxious and wondering."

"Of course not."

"If only that miserable inspector would turn up and you could get your license! It is absurd that you cannot send a message, a man of your experience!"

"I am as sorry about the delay as you are," Bob answered. "Perhaps I am more so. Nevertheless I am not going to break the rules. Besides, were we to call O'Connel, it might arouse suspicion and get him into trouble. It is far better to leave the calling to him."

"But he hasn't called."

"Then there is some good reason, I'll be bound. He knows what he is about when he says to await developments."

"Maybe he does," sighed the elder man. "However, I am not much used to waiting. When I want a thing done, I want it done."

Bob smiled at the characteristic remark.

"You cannot whisk everything off like that," observed he. "Sometimes it is necessary——"

"To wait? Yes, I suppose so," put in Mr. Crowninshield. "Well, I will hold my horses for one more day. But I warn you to-morrow I shall do something. I can't be hanging around like this—not knowing anything or hearing anything."

"It is hard," Bob returned sympathetically.

"It is hard for one born in New York and accustomed to seeing things hum," asserted the owner of Surfside with a wry smile. "Well, we must try to forget it, that's all. Come, get your books and let us go on with our radio lesson from the point where we left it yesterday. The rest of them are waiting and there seems to be nothing better that we can do."

Fortunately Bob was not sensitive enough to be hurt by the thrust.

"I'll be right along," agreed he, "as soon as I have locked up here."

On reaching the veranda he found his class assembled and the first comment to reach his ears was:

"No news from O'Connel, eh?"

"No, Dick."

"What in thunder do you suppose has become of him?"

Bob put his finger to his lips and taking the hint the boy abandoned the subject, inquiring instead:

"Isn't it a bore to have to listen in at just such a time every day whether it is convenient or not—I mean when you are in charge of a station."

"Sometimes it is," Bob responded. "Still, it is your job and you expect to put it first and fit your own affairs in around it. Besides, you get used to the regularity of the hours and soon do not notice the monotony of the rules. You can readily understand why, at all official radio stations, somebody must always be on the watch for S O S calls. On shipboard there are three classes of wireless stations: those having continual service with an operator who always has his ear to the receiver while the ship is in motion; those where the office is open only at stated hours and an operator listening merely for a limited time; and those whose operators have no fixed time beyond listening in the first ten minutes of each hour."

"The ship decides which kind of station it will have, I suppose," Nancy remarked.

"Indeed it doesn't," Bob contradicted, with a shake of his head. "The government saves the vessel that trouble. It defines exactly the sort of station when it issues the license. Uncle Sam also bestows on each of these stations a name or combination of letters by which it shall be known and under which it is officially listed. Each country has a prescribed number of such letters allotted for its use at the International Convention at Berne, and our nation is authorized to use groups beginning with N and W; also triple groups of KIA to KZZ. You will find all these call letters in a book that contains the wireless telegraph stations of the world, a volume issued by the international publication office at Berne."

"Can any one get one?" inquired Walter.

"Certainly, if he has the price," smiled the older brother. "I guess you do not need one, though. A local call book would answer most purposes. It would hardly be necessary for you to call any foreign offices, and I even doubt if you would need to summon Sayville, Tuckerton, New Brunswick, Marion, or Annapolis."

"Those are our trans-Atlantic stations, aren't they?" asked Dick.

"Some of them," Bob said. "We have others, though, that can talk with Europe. There is one at San Diego; Pearl Harbor in Hawaii; and Cavite in the Philippines. There are also Marconi stations at Kahuka and Bolinas. In addition to these, the government has a number of high-power stations scattered throughout the country. Arlington, Virginia——"

"Sends out the time," put in Walter with disconcerting promptness.

"It sure does, sonny."

"How many foreign countries can talk with us?" inquired Nancy.

"A short time ago there were eight that could talk direct. One is at Funabashi, Japan; one at Carnarvon, Wales; two in France, one at Nantes and one at Lyons; Rome, Italy, has one; Germany has one at Nauen and one at Eilvese, Hanover; and Norway has one at Stavanger. Then in Canada there are two transatlantic stations."

"Glace Bay!" piped the incorrigible Walter.

Bob patted his head with a mock fatherly gesture.

"Very good, son," said he, at which everybody laughed.

"These stations," he went on, "are all equipped with very high power, varying in wave length anywhere from 17,600 to 6,000 meters. Most of our stations are pretty powerful, anyway. Pearl Harbor, for instance, has a 13,000 wave length; Cavite 12,000; Sayville, 11,600; Tuckerton, owned by a French company, about 8,700; New Brunswick, New Jersey, 13,600; Marion, Massachusetts, 14,400; and Annapolis, 17,600. Only a few foreign stations can match these in range. Carnarvon has two wave lengths: 14,000 and 11,500; Lyons, 15,500; Nantes, 10,000; Rome, 11,500; Nauen, 12,550; Eilvese (Hanover), 15,000 and 9,600; and Stavanger, Norway, 9,600. There are many, however, that vary from 7,000 to 4,000 and can transmit messages by relaying them."

"I wish my set could send farther," Dick murmured regretfully.

"It sends as far as the law allows. We must therefore abide by Uncle Sam's judgment and be content. The scale is very carefully planned and the classifications made most intelligently, I think. Amateurs are limited to about a 200-meter wave length; low-power stations come next and are grouped under 1,600 meters. Of these the 750 wave is reserved for government stations such as radio compass stations, etc.; 600 meters is the commercial tune for large merchant ships; 476 that of submarines, aircraft, and small war vessels; and 300 meters is the commercial tune for small vessels. After that we pass into the higher group, all of which come under the head of medium-power stations. These range from 4,000 to 1,800 meters and first on the list are the government ships which have continuous waves and a length of from 3,000 to 4,000 meters. Following them come the experimental and miscellaneous stations with a 3,000 to 2,000-meter range; and after them the 1,800-meter class which is the commercial tune for continuous waves."

"And the high-power stations are the last, I suppose," put in Dick.

"Yes, those designed for trans-oceanic service. These range from 20,000 to 6,000 meters. The distinctions are, you see, quite positively made and everybody must keep within his assigned pigeon-hole."

"I reckon I'll keep in mine," announced Dick.

"I should advise it if you want smooth sailing," retorted Bob. "You will hardly——" but the sentence was never finished for a maid approached Mr. Crowninshield at the moment and whispered:

"The telephone, sir; New York is speaking."

"New York, Dad!" exclaimed Dick excitedly. "It may be Lyman or Dacie."

"More likely it is the office," replied his mother.

"Some business matter, I fancy," said Mr. Crowninshield as he rose. "I'm sorry to interrupt the lesson."

"I was just about through, sir."

"I'll be back in a moment probably."

"Poor father always has telephone calls," lamented Nancy sympathetically. "If he ever starts out to play golf somebody is sure to want him. Sometimes I wish that New York office was in the bottom of the sea."

"I guess you'd have precious little bread and butter if it was," announced Dick with brotherly sarcasm.

"Certainly you wouldn't be able to provide me with any," Nancy flashed back with a teasing laugh.

"Children!" interposed Mrs. Crowninshield.

"Here's Dad! Well, Pater, what was it?" asked Dick. Then on observing his father was unwontedly excited he repeated, "What's up, Dad?"

"It was Lyman," Mr. Crowninshield answered. "The New York police have run down two men and Mr. Lyman wants Bob to come over and see if he can identify either of them as the one who kidnapped Lola."

"You could identify him, couldn't you, Bob?" Walter put in.

"Of course I could. Didn't the chap come into the station to get water for his machine?" was the instant reply. "I talked with him quite a bit while he was fixing up his engine. He seemed in a powerful rush to be off and wasn't overgracious."

"But could Bob leave now, Archibald?" questioned his wife. "Isn't there the possibility of news from Mr. O'Connel?"

"Jove! I had forgotten that."

"Maybe O'Connel won't call; he didn't to-day, you know," Nancy said.

"It seems to me Bob ought to go and land those chaps if there is a chance of doing it," Dick declared. "He would not need to be gone more than one night, would he?"

"No. Nevertheless, he would miss the morning wireless," returned Mr. Crowninshield. "Should there be important news we should not get it."

"It is a pity you boys can't take a message," Nancy remarked, turning toward her brother and Walter. "If you only had your Morse code learned you might be quite some good to us now."

"I wish I had whooped up on it faster," bewailed Dick, with engaging candor. "I'm an awful rotter—plain lazy, I guess."

"Well, I don't know but we'd better let Bob go, all things considered," observed Mr. Crowninshield, who had been quietly thinking the matter over.

"I say Bob goes, too," reiterated Dick. "It is worth something to put such fellows as those dog thieves behind the bars."

"You can connect with the Fall River boat or one passing through the Canal and be in New York in the morning, Bob," the elder man asserted. "Lyman will meet you, hustle things along, and send you home on the noon train. With Dick's racing car to pick you up somewhere along the line there is no reason why we should not have you back here before another morning. You've no time to spare, though, for lingering and discussing wireless and its wonders. Trot along and pack up your duds and get some luncheon. I'll call up Wheeler and have him ready to carry you to the train. Do not bother your head about connections; I will look up everything and tell you exactly what to do."

In a flurry of anticipation off hastened Bob.

"Gee! Isn't it the limit that we haven't brains enough to get O'Connel?" murmured Dick to Walter in a disgusted whisper. "I ought to have duffed in harder on the blamed code. But I thought there was no hurry. We seemed to have all summer to learn it."

"Maybe he won't call," His Highness suggested hopefully.

"I hope to blazes he doesn't," was the retort. "I'd feel cheap as dirt to have that ticker go clicking out a message and I not be able to get a word of it."



CHAPTER XIX

WALTER STEPS INTO THE BREACH

With Bob gone and radio lessons suspended the following morning seemed to both Dick and Walter an unwontedly quiet one. Moreover with a scorching sun high in the heaven, no breeze, and a dead low tide most of the activities to which the boys might have resorted were out of the question.

"Think of the sailing breeze we've seen blowing lots of mornings when we couldn't go out," grumbled Dick. "Isn't it infernal luck?"

"Why don't you take your car and go for a spin," Nancy suggested.

"Wheeler has it, silly. He's meeting Bob."

"I couldn't go motoring anyway," put in Walter. "I've got the dogs to chase round."

"You're not going out with them now," objected Dick.

"Not quite yet. I had them out before breakfast."

"What do you say we go over and fool round with the radio a while?" Dick yawned. "We've nothing better to do."

"All right. We can at least listen in for a spell. We've got that far."

"You boys better not go getting that wireless all out of order while Bob is away," cautioned Nancy. "He'd be ripping mad to get home and find it out of commission. Father wouldn't like it, either."

"Oh, we're not going to hurt the precious radio," sniffed Dick. "Don't you think we know anything?"

"Not much," fluted Nancy as she flounced away.

"At least she does not flatter us," grinned His Highness, quite unruffled by the girl's frankness.

"Oh, sisters never think a fellow knows anything, especially when they're older," Dick grumbled, as he unlocked the door of the low building and met the blast of close, stifling air that came out. "Scott! The place is like an oven, isn't it? Open a window, can't you?" he continued.

"Sure! There is some heat, I'll say. Just as well we dropped round if only to air the place out," Walter replied.

Together they switched on the current, regulated amplifier, detector, and tuner, and each with a head receiver tight to his ears sat down.

"Whee, but it is thick, to-day!" shouted Dick. "Run the tune up, kid, and see if we get anything."

"It is always bad a day like this," called Walter. "Besides, everybody seems to be butting in in the morning. Infernal, isn't it?"

"Let her go up to O'Connel's pitch. It can't do any harm."

"It isn't time for him to call, is it?"

"Pretty near."

"But what good would it do even if we did get his signal?"

"We should at least know he had something to say to us."

"I should consider that a negative satisfaction," Walter replied. "It would just be an aggravation. However, here she goes! As you say, it can harm nobody to get the right meter."

"There's that old commercial station up the Cape," announced Dick, presently. "That fellow is always on the job at this hour."

"Probably he has to be, poor soul," Walter returned. "We'll get rid of him in a minute. What was that?"

"It is some one on our line. That's the Siren's call. It's O'Connel! Jove! What are you doing, man? What are you going to do?" asked Dick excitedly as he saw Walter's hand go out.

"Paper! Pencil! Hurry, can't you?" gasped Walter.

"Do you mean——"

"Let's both take it down in dots and dashes. Between us we may be able to make some sense out of it afterward. Quick!"

Clearly and evenly the message ticked itself off. Then there was silence.

"Get any of it?" Walter demanded, breathlessly tossing the receiver aside and shutting off the current.

"About two words. He went so fast——Did you get anything?"

"Oh, I've got something; but whether it will make any sense remains to be seen," said His Highness eagerly. "Where is the key! Toss it over."



"Here we go. Dot, dash,——"

"That's the letter A, you squarehead! I know what that first part is; it is always the same and we needn't fuss to translate it. Aboard yacht Siren. I don't care, either, where she is. What we want to get at is what she wants to say."

"But how can we tell where all that stuff leaves off?"

"I mean to tell," declared Walter with determination.

"But there is punctuation and other rubbish mixed in with the letters."

"No matter. Have a little patience, man!"

Nevertheless, in spite of all the patience and perseverance the boys could muster the magic message remained an enigma and at the end of an hour both were obliged to admit themselves beaten.

"It is worse than getting no message at all," lamented Walter.

"It certainly does not do us much good," assented Dick.

"Do you suppose your father knows anything about the Morse code?"

"Dad? Good heavens, no! Still we might take the thing up to the house and show it to him."

"I don't imagine it is right, do you?" speculated Walter. "No doubt we missed some of it or made mistakes. Still, what we contrived to write agrees fairly well, so some of it must be correct. Let's take it to your father. What do you say?"

"I feel like such a boob not to be able to make it out," Dick answered with evident reluctance at confessing himself floored.

"But we'll have to tell him O'Connel called. We've got to do that anyhow; so he may as well know the rest of it," Walter persisted.

"All right. We'll hunt him up. I warn you, though, that he will josh us most unmercifully. He'll pitch into me, too, and ask me why I haven't learned my Morse International before this. See if he doesn't."

"It is one thing to learn the code out of a book and quite another to be smart enough to read it or take it down," Walter maintained stoutly. "Nobody ought to expect you to be able to get a message the way Bob does. Why, he has been at the job years!"

"I know he has," Dick responded, slightly comforted. "Still, Dad will rag me, just the same. See if he doesn't!"

Locking the door and pausing to gain courage they set out over the lawn. Then suddenly, midway across the grass, His Highness came to a stop.

"Mr. Burns!" he cried, wheeling round. "Why didn't I think of him before?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Dick, astounded by his companion's strange conduct.

"Mr. Burns!" repeated Walter. "Come along. Can't one of the chauffeurs take us down there?"

"For mercy's sake who is Mr. Burns, and why do you want to go and see him hot off the bat?"

"Mr. Burns, the telegraph operator," Walter contrived to stammer. "He must know Morse International. He has to know both the Morse American which telegraph operators use on land, and the other code, I'm pretty sure."

"But maybe what we've got down doesn't make sense," objected Dick. "You've a husky nerve to go toting that scrawl of ours to a professional."

"I don't care," grinned Walter. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Burns. He's driven me out of the station too many times when I was a kid. I will own, however, that I have more respect for him since I've learned what it means to run a telegraph."

"He may drive you out of the station this time," Dick ventured with a grimace.

"I'll bet he won't," was the sanguine response. "We've made it up since then. I've even helped old Burnsie shovel his snow now and then. He'll do a good turn for me, I'll bet."

"Come on then, if you are so sure of it," Dick answered, striding toward the garage.

"You're sure your father won't mind our taking the car?"

"He doesn't want it this morning. He is going to hang round and see if Bob calls him from New York. Besides, he said it was too hot to motor. Will Burns be at the station now?"

"He will if a train is due," announced Walter. "If the office is locked we can chase him to his house."

"All right! This is your party, remember," Dick said a trifle wickedly. It was evident he had no faith in the expedition. Notwithstanding his skepticisms, however, he ordered out the car and he and Walter sped away on their errand.

"It is time for a train," announced Walter in an undertone, as they neared the station. "See, there are people waiting. It is the noon train from Boston."

"Burns will be too busy then to bother his head over fake messages, I guess," sniffed Dick.

"Maybe not. At least we can try him," was His Highness's optimistic assertion. "Hi, Mr. Burns!" The lad was out of the car and hastening along in the wake of a much sunburned station agent in blue denim overalls.

"Wal, if it ain't Walter King! What you after, young one? I hear you've become the proprietor of Surfside—bought out the whole darn place for yourself."

"I did buy it but I'm going to sell it again. It's too small. I can't get room enough to stretch up there," came impishly from the lad on the platform.

"Show! You don't say!" drawled Mr. Burns with obvious relish of the joke. "Well, it ain't wise to be cramped. Maybe you wouldn't get your growth if you were."

He cast a glance toward the short, thick-set figure behind him.

"I say, Mr. Burns," burst out Walter, "are you terribly busy? I've got something I want to show you."

"What is it?" demanded the man, halting and holding suspended in his hand a cerulean blue egg case.

"I don't know what it is—that's just the trouble," answered Walter mysteriously.

"What you up to anyhow?" demanded Mr. Burns suspiciously.

Walter thrust forth the sheet of paper he had drawn from his pocket.

In his rough, grimy hand the telegraph operator took it.

"Where did you get this?" demanded he, glancing sharply over the top of his spectacles.

"Why, we have a wireless up at Surfside and this thing—or something like it that we didn't know enough to write down, came this morning."

"But I heard your brother Bob was up there."

"He had to go to New York yesterday."

"And left you to tend the tape, did he?" grinned the old man.

"Not much. He knows I'd be a duffer at the job," affirmed Walter.

"Mebbe you ain't as much of a duffer as you think. You managed to get this down on paper."

"We managed to together—Dick and I," explained Walter. "I don't suppose, though, we got it anywhere near straight. Does it make any sense at all?"

"Sure it makes sense!" announced Mr. Burns with a vim that quite took Walter's breath away. "There's queer spots in it here and there—a few letters that ain't needed, perhaps. Still, you can omit 'em since they serve no particular purpose."

"But what is the message? What does it say?" clamored Walter all impatience.

"Well, it ain't so thrillin' you need to go into a thousand pieces over it," commented the Cape Codder dryly. "Some friend of Mr. Crowninshield's 'pears to be comin' down here on the afternoon train bringin' with him his wife—either his wife or daughter."

"What!" Walter ejaculated weakly.

"That's what he says," continued Mr. Burns, calmly rereading the document he held. "Evidently some relation—or at least a person who feels he has the right to boss, for he says he wants to be met at the train."

"Did I get the name?"

"Yes, that's here. I may's well read you the whole thing with the exception of the extra touches you've added."

"I wish to goodness you would."

"'Tain't nothin' interestin', as I said before," insisted Mr. Burns, readjusting his spectacles. "'Coming on afternoon train and bringing Lola. Meet me, O'Con——' Where in thunder you goin?" The operator gazed in amazement as a pair of chubby legs vanished up the platform.

"That's all right, Mr. Burns! I don't want the paper back. You can keep it to remember me by. Thanks!" Then to Dick he shouted as he sprang into the car:

"We're off for home fast as we can make it, old man! Such news! Your father will be crazy! Whee! Hurrah!"

"If it is all the same to you," observed Dick with scorching sarcasm, "it would be pleasant to know the import of the message I took down."

"You took down—well I like that! You took down! Why, man, you could not even read it yourself! It is the message I took down, my son."

"We took down," corrected Dick.

They both laughed.

"O'Connel's coming this afternoon! What do you say to that?"

"Great Scott! But what——"

"He's bringing his wife or daughter," continued Walter with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

"What?" exclaimed his bewildered listener.

"Oh, this is rich! Rich!" continued His Highness with a paroxysm of laughter. "Wait until we tell your father! My soul and body! I'm sick laughing!"

"You might tell me the joke."

"I can't—I can't!" roared the boy. "It is too good!"

"And—and what about Lola?" stammered Dick.

"Why, you see Burns thought—my, but it's rich! Ha, ha! Burns understood that—oh, it's a scream!" and with that Dick was forced to be content.



CHAPTER XX

THE RETURN OF THE WANDERERS

When Walter and Dick returned to Surfside with their tidings Mr. Crowninshield's satisfaction and delight could hardly be expressed. How he laughed at Burns's interpretation of O'Connel's message! And how Dick laughed when at last the joke was imparted to him!

"Well, you two boys have been almighty clever between you," commented the elder man. "I would not have credited either of you with so many brains. To think of your getting that radio call! It is marvelous. And then to take it to Burns! That was a master stroke. The idea would never have entered my head. But what puzzles me is the message itself. Do you suppose O'Connel has kidnapped Lola; or how has he got possession of her? And how has he contrived to escape from the yacht without being held up? I don't understand it at all. It isn't likely Daly has let him walk off unmolested with the dog. The thing is more than I can fathom."

"Perhaps Mr. Daly has relented and is sending Lola back," suggested Walter.

"Not on your life, youngster! You don't know Daly," was the instant reply. "He would never admit himself beaten and give up that pup. Moreover the affair has cost him too much money, risk and trouble for him to abandon his scheme. If he wanted Lola bad enough to hire somebody to steal her he still wants her, mark my word! No, there is something behind all this that we haven't reached. O'Connel has made off with the dog somehow. Just how I am at a loss to tell. We shall have to wait until he himself comes and enlightens us."

"Anything heard from Bob?" questioned Walter.

"Yes, I've had a wire. They've got the men they were after all right and he will be back to-night."

"What did he say about it?" asked Dick eagerly.

"Nothing. You cannot tell an entire story in a telegram, you know. But he has accomplished what he went for. I fancy he always does," added the master of the estate with a smile.

"Generally, sir," nodded Walter proudly.

Mr. Crowninshield took a turn or two across the room.

"I mean to keep Bob with us this winter if I can prevail upon him to stay," remarked the financier presently. "He is too able a chap to lose sight of. I can find a big paying berth for him in New York and if he will take it, your mother won't have to worry any further about money affairs. And if you, sonny, make good and do as well as your brother"—he patted Walter's shoulder, "I'll do the same for you some day. You have done well this summer. Finish up your school work and then we'll see."

"You are very kind, Mr. Crowninshield," the boy stammered.

"Not a bit. We all ought to give the chap who is willing to climb a hand up the ladder. What are we in the world for?"

"I know my mother will be——"

"There, there!" interrupted the great man. "Your mother has two fine sons that she may well be proud of. She has had a little hard sledding to get them on their feet, that's all. Now it is their turn to lift the burden and repay her. I am simply going to see that they get the chance to do it. The rest I feel certain I can leave to them."

"We do want to help mother," Walter replied with sincerity.

"I know you do; both of you have proved it this summer. From now on I intend your mother shall have no anxiety about her finances. We'll put her where she will be perfectly independent of those uncles of yours, and of summer boarders as well."

The lip of His Highness trembled and he could not speak.

"Some day I expect Dick and Nancy will be looking out for their mother and me just this way," continued Mr. Crowninshield half humorously. "There will be Lola to support, too."

Dick burst into a peal of laughter.

"You will have to cut out indulging in so many detectives if I'm to pay the bills, Dad," answered he.

"Oh, you must not deprive me of my little luxuries," returned his father. "One must have some amusement, remember."

"I'm afraid you will have to choose a cheaper one then."

"I'll think it over. If, however, I discover you cannot maintain me and my trifling pleasures I may abandon you and turn to Walter to support me in my old age."

Lighting a cigar he strolled away.

The boys ambled toward the boathouse. There was still three hours before the Boston train, bringing O'Connel, would arrive. In the meantime they indulged in a swim; took the dogs for a run; had luncheon; paddled round the bay in Dick's canoe; and did everything they could think of to hurry the moments along.

And when the car bearing Mr. Crowninshield and O'Connel did actually roll into the drive what a state of excitement they were in!

Yes, there was Lola—there was no contesting that! She was a weak, wretched little dog but it was she.

"However did you manage it, Mr. O'Connel?" cried Mrs. Crowninshield who had come racing down the steps and gathered her favorite into her arms.

Breathlessly the group clustered about the wee puppy.

"Well, the first thing I did was to convince myself the dog aboard the yacht was really the one we were after. One day when the party went ashore I hunted up the supposed Trixie and called her by her real name. You should have seen her prick up her ears, poor little mite! I had her licking my hand inside a minute. From that instant I began to scheme. I found I couldn't send you many radio calls because they watched me too closely. I think the mate suspected something—just what, I could not make out, for I don't think he was in the secret of the dog's capture. Anyway, I decided to steer clear of the wireless and trust to luck. At last my chance came. Some equipment was needed and it was decided I was to be put ashore and get it. By this time Lola, who for the last few days had refused to eat, had begun to show decidedly alarming symptoms. I diagnosed the case as plain homesickness and privately resolved to get her off the yacht if it was a possible thing; but Mr. Daly thought she had distemper or something and was mightily cut up. He didn't want the animal to die on his hands after all he had gone through to get her. Altogether he began to be pretty uneasy and you may be sure I did my part to make him so. Every chance I got I would remark how sick his dog seemed. Of course I wasn't supposed to know it wasn't one he had had for years. I kept harping on the puppie's health until I had him fussed to death. At last he said: 'I don't know but what you are right about Trixie, O'Connel. If they are going to put you ashore at Boston to buy supplies, why wouldn't it be a good plan for you to take the dog to the animal hospital there? You could leave her and later we could go back and get her. She does seem ailing, and I haven't the ghost of an idea what to do with a sick dog. Besides, she is a nuisance on the yacht if she must be catered to all the time.' Well, as you can imagine, I jumped at the chance although I took every pains not to let him suspect I did. I told him that of course if he wanted me to take the dog I should be glad to do it. I liked animals and also I wished to accommodate him. There was no denying, however, that to carry Lola with me would delay me in town. Still, if he desired it I would do my best to see that she was taken where she would get well."

The big fellow paused and laughed heartily.

"I've kept that promise, too," grinned he. "I have sent a note back to the Siren recalling the phrase to Mr. Daly, and telling him that having decided Lola would recover more completely if placed under the protection of her rightful owners I was taking her back there."

"I'd like to see his face when he gets that letter!" said Mr. Crowninshield, rubbing his hands.

"So should I," roared O'Connel, his broad shoulders shaking.

"But won't he——" Mrs. Crowninshield looked anxious.

"Won't he what, my dear?" inquired her husband.

"Aren't you afraid he will be angry and——" she held the wee dog closer in her arms.

"He will be angry all right," agreed O'Connel. "But you need have no fears that he will do anything more, ma'am. He is on too dangerous ground. In the first place he cannot accuse me of appropriating his dog for I can answer him that it was stolen in the first place. And he cannot say I deserted his ship for all is fair in love and war, you know. No, Daly is a good sport and he will instantly understand that he has been beaten. We have been one too many for him, that is all. Moreover, he won't be feeling any too comfortable for he is still uncertain as to what Mr. Crowninshield may be planning to do with him. Oh, Daly won't stir up trouble. You can trust him for that. On the contrary he probably will clear out of reach of any possible storm. It is his only course and he will be canny enough to take it."

"But you are not going to let him go scott free, are you Dad?" demanded Dick.

"Oh, I don't know. What's the use of fighting a skunk like that? We have our dog back and Daly must acknowledge that he has been beaten. That is about all I want. He won't try anything more for I have a whiplash over him as he is well aware. Any time I can prosecute him for receiving stolen goods and being an accomplice in a robbery. With the evidence I have such a case would go overwhelmingly against him should it reach the courts. He is not for bringing that issue to a head, you may rest assured of that."

"But you do mean to jail the men who actually took Lola, Father," put in Nancy. "If you do that, won't the whole affair have to be aired and Mr. Daly dragged into the trial?"

Her father did not answer immediately and before he had framed his reply wheels were heard and Wheeler, driving Dick's racing car, drew up at the steps.

"It's Bob, as I live!" shouted Walter. "Hello, Bobbie! Hello, old chap!"

"Welcome home, Bob!" called Mr. Crowninshield going forward to meet the lad.

"We have a surprise for you, Bob!" called Nancy. "Guess who's here?"

"I can't," smiled the wireless man coming up to the piazza and shaking hands all round. Then his eye lighted on O'Connel.

"My word! How did you get here, old top? Fired from your job?"

For answer Mrs. Crowninshield held up Lola.

"The pup herself! Well, well! What's been happening in my absence, anyhow?"

"I don't wonder you want to know," cried Nancy above the general clamor.

"Hush! Do stop everybody. You are making a far worse noise than ever came through that radiophone."

"First let's have Bob's story. We haven't heard that yet," Mr. Crowninshield said. "Tell us what happened to you in New York, my boy."

Bob dropped into a chair.

"Well, as I wired you, Dacie and Lyman have landed your men. I recognized the fellow who came to Seaver Bay for water the instant I set eyes on him. He recognized me, too, and knew the game was up. It seems, though, that he and his pal are wanted in California on a prior charge. A big burglary, I think it is. Anyway, they have got to be taken out there and tried first. In the meantime our complaint can be lodged against them and——"

"Aren't we to have the fun of jailing them after all?" asked Dick in dismay.

"They will be jailed, never fear," returned Bob. "They will get a stiff sentence, too, I imagine."

Mr. Crowninshield was silent and his wife now glanced toward him.

"Are you disappointed, Archibald?" inquired she.

"I guess," responded he slowly, "that is a good way out of our dilemma. The villains will be carried far away from this vicinity and will without doubt get all that's coming to them. What more can we ask? We've won the game—taken every trick and made a clean sweep of the whole business. Now that I've got Lola home I don't much care about the rest of it. What do you say we let well enough alone and drop it?"

"I should say that with every day of your life you were growing wiser, my dear," answered his wife softly.

FINIS.



The first volume in "The Invention Series"

PAUL AND THE PRINTING PRESS

By SARA WARE BASSETT

With illustrations by A. O. Scott

12mo. Cloth. 218 pages.

Paul Cameron, president of the class of 1920 in the Burmingham High School, conceives the idea of establishing a school paper, to the honor and glory of his class. So The March Hare comes into existence, and Paul and his schoolfellows bend all their energies to making it a success. They have their difficulties and Paul in particular bears the brunt of their troubles, but The March Hare lives up to its reputation for life and liveliness and becomes not only a class success, but a town institution. This is the first volume in "The Invention Series."

"It is the sort of story that boys of fourteen years and upward will enjoy and ought to enjoy, a combination that is rarely achieved."—Boston Post.

"A welcome volume which will appeal to boys who want a good story that will give some information as well."—New York Evening Post.

"'Paul and the Printing Press' not only has a keen story interest, but has the advantage of carrying much valuable information for all young folks for whom the mysterious and all-powerful printing press has an attraction."—Boston Herald.

LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS

34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON

THE END