TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
[Illustration: IT WAS SURPRISING HOW MANY CAME TO LISTEN TO THE RADIO.
“The Radio Girls of Roselawn.” Page 112 ]
THE RADIO GIRLS
OF ROSELAWN
OR
A Strange Message From the Air
BY
MARGARET PENROSE
AUTHOR OF “THE RADIO GIRLS ON THE PROGRAM,” “THE
RADIO GIRLS ON STATION ISLAND,” “DOROTHY
DALE SERIES,” “MOTOR GIRLS SERIES,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By MARGARET PENROSE
_12mo. cloth. Illustrated._
RADIO GIRLS SERIES
THE RADIO GIRLS OF ROSELAWN
THE RADIO GIRLS ON THE PROGRAM
THE RADIO GIRLS ON STATION ISLAND
DOROTHY DALE SERIES
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET
DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS
DOROTHY DALE’S QUEER HOLIDAYS
DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING DAYS
DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS
DOROTHY DALE IN THE CITY
DOROTHY DALE’S PROMISE
DOROTHY DALE IN THE WEST
DOROTHY DALE’S STRANGE DISCOVERY
DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT
MOTOR GIRLS SERIES
THE MOTOR GIRLS
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH
THE MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW ENGLAND
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE COAST
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CRYSTAL BAY
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON WATERS BLUE
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT CAMP SURPRISE
THE MOTOR GIRLS IN THE MOUNTAINS
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
Copyright, 1922, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
_The Radio Girls of Roselawn_
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THEY HEAR A VOICE 1
II A ROAD MYSTERY 11
III INTEREST IN RADIO SPREADS 19
IV STRINGING THE AERIALS 29
V THE FRECKLE-FACED GIRL 39
VI SOMETHING COMING 49
VII THE CANOE TRIP 57
VIII CARTER’S GHOST 66
IX HENRIETTA IS VALIANT 75
X THE PRIZE IDEA 82
XI BELLE RINGOLD 89
XII THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 96
XIII THE BAZAAR 106
XIV JEALOUSY 113
XV CAN IT BE POSSIBLE? 120
XVI SPOTTED SNAKE, THE WITCH 127
XVII BROADCASTING 134
XVIII A MYSTERY OF THE ETHER 143
XIX A PUZZLING CIRCUMSTANCE 149
XX SOMETHING DOING AT THE STANLEYS’ 156
XXI A GREAT TO-DO 163
XXII SILK! 170
XXIII DARRY’S BIG IDEA 178
XXIV A RADIO TRICK 187
XXV JUST IN TIME 193
THE RADIO GIRLS OF ROSELAWN
CHAPTER I
THEY HEAR A VOICE
“Oh, it’s wonderful, Amy! Just wonderful!”
The blonde girl in the porch swing looked up with shining eyes and
flushed face from her magazine to look at the dark girl who swung
composedly in a rocking chair, her nimble fingers busy with the
knitting of a shoulder scarf. The dark girl bobbed her head in
agreement.
“So’s the Sphinx, but it’s awfully out of date, Jess.”
Jessie Norwood looked offended. “Did I ever bring to your attention,
Miss Drew——”
“Why don’t you say ‘drew’ to my attention?” murmured the other girl.
“Because I perfectly loathe puns,” declared Jessie, with energy.
“Good! Miss Seymour’s favorite pupil. Go on about the wonder beast,
Jess.”
“It is no beast, I’d have you understand. And it is right up to
date—the very newest thing.”
“My dear Jessie,” urged her chum, gayly, “you have tickled my
curiosity until it positively wriggles! What is the wonder?”
“Radio!”
“Oh! Wireless?”
“Wireless telephone. Everybody is having one.”
“Grandma used to prescribe sulphur and molasses for that.”
“Do be sensible for once, Amy Drew. You and Darry——”
“That reminds me. Darry knows all about it.”
“About what?”
“The radio telephone business. You know he was eighteen months on a
destroyer in the war, even if he was only a kid. You know,” and Amy
giggled, “he says that if women’s ages are always elastic, it was no
crime for him to stretch his age when he enlisted. Anyhow, he knows
all about the ‘listening boxes’ down in the hold. And that is all
this radio is.”
“Oh, but Amy!” cried Jessie, with a toss of her blond head, “that
is old stuff. The radio of to-day is very different—much improved.
Anybody can have a receiving set and hear the most wonderful things
out of the air. It has been brought to every home.”
“‘Have you a little radio in your home?’” chuckled Amy, her fingers
still flying.
“Dear me, Amy, you are so difficult,” sighed her chum.
“Not at all, not at all,” replied the other girl. “You can understand
me, just as e-e-easy! But you know, Jess, I have to act as a brake
for your exuberance.”
“Don’t care,” declared Jessie. “I’m going to have one.”
“If cook isn’t looking, bring one for me, too,” suggested the
irrepressible joker.
“I mean to have a radio set,” repeated Jessie quite seriously. “It
says in this magazine article that one can erect the aerials and all,
oneself. And place the instrument. I am going to do it.”
“Sure you can,” declared Amy, with confidence. “If you said you could
rebuild the Alps—and improve on them—I’d root for you, honey.”
“I don’t want any of your joking,” declared Jessie, with emphasis. “I
am in earnest.”
“So am I. About the Alps. Aunt Susan, who went over this year, says
the traveling there is just as rough as it was before the war. She
doesn’t see that the war did any good. If I were you, Jess, and
thought of making over the Alps——”
“Now, Amy Drew! Who said anything about the Alps?”
“I did,” confessed her chum. “And I was about to suggest that, if you
tackle the job of rebuilding them, you flatten ’em out a good bit so
Aunt Susan can get across them easier.”
“Amy Drew! Will you ever have sense?”
“What is it, a conundrum? Something about ‘Take care of the dollars
and the cents will take care of themselves?’”
“I am talking about installing a radio set in our house. And if you
don’t stop funning and help me do it, I won’t let you listen in, so
there!”
“I’ll be good,” proclaimed Amy at once. “I enjoy gossip just as much
as the next one. And if you can get it out of the air——”
“It has to be sent from a broadcasting station,” announced Jessie.
“There’s one right in this town,” declared Amy, with vigor.
“No!”
“Yes, I tell you. She lives in the second house from the corner of
Breen Street, the yellow house with green blinds——”
“Now, Amy! Listen here! Never mind local gossips. They only broadcast
neighborhood news. But we can get concerts and weather reports and
lectures——”
Amy painfully writhed in her chair at this point. “Say not so, Jess!”
she begged. “Get lectures enough at school—and from dad, once in a
while, when the dear thinks I go too far.”
“I think you go too far most of the time,” declared her chum primly.
“Nobody else would have the patience with you that I have.”
“Except Burd Alling,” announced Amy composedly. “He thinks I am all
right.”
“Pooh! Whoever said Burd Alling had good sense?” demanded Jessie.
“Now listen!” She read a long paragraph from the magazine article.
“You see, it is the very latest thing to do. Everybody is doing it.
And it is the most wonderful thing!”
Amy had listened with more seriousness. She could be attentive
and appreciative if she wished. The paragraph her chum read was
interesting.
“Go ahead. Read some more,” she said. “Is that all sure enough so,
Jess?”
“Of course it is so. Don’t you see it is printed here?”
“You mustn’t believe everything you see in print, Jess. My
grandfather was reported killed in the Civil War, and he came home
and pointed out several things they had got wrong in the newspaper
obituary—especially the date of his demise. Now this——”
“I am going to get a book about it, and that will tell us just what
to do in getting a radio set established.”
“I’ll tell you the first thing to do,” scoffed Amy. “Dig down into
your pocketbook.”
“It won’t cost much. But I mean to have a good one.”
“All right, dear. I am with you. Never let it be said I deserted
Poll. What is the first move?”
“Now, let me see,” murmured Jessie, staring off across the sunflecked
lawn.
The Norwood estate was a grand place. The house, with its surrounding
porches, stood in Roselawn upon a knoll with several acres of sloping
sod surrounding it and a lovely little lake at the side. There was a
long rose garden on either side of the house, and groups of summer
roses in front. Roses, roses, roses, everywhere about the place! The
Norwoods all loved them.
But there were more roses in this section of the pretty town of New
Melford, and on that account many inhabitants of the place had gotten
into the habit of calling the estates bordering the boulevard by the
name of Roselawn. It was the Roselawn district, for every lawn was
dotted with roses, red, pink, white, and yellow.
The Norwoods were three. Jessie, we put first because to us she is of
the most importance, and her father and mother would agree. Being the
only child, it is true they made much of her. But Jessie Norwood was
too sweet to be easily spoiled.
Her father was a lawyer in New York, which was twenty miles from
New Melford. The Norwoods had some wealth, which was good. They
had culture, which was better. And they were a very loving and
companionable trio, which was best.
Across the broad, shaded boulevard was a great, rambling, old
house, with several broad chimneys. It had once been a better class
farmstead. Mr. Wilbur Drew, who was likewise a lawyer, had rebuilt
and added to and improved and otherwise transformed the farmhouse
until it was an attractive and important-looking dwelling.
In it lived the lawyer and his wife, his daughter, Amy, and
Darrington Drew, when he was home from college. This was another
happy family—in a way. Yet they were just a little different from the
Norwoods. But truly “nice people.”
When Amy Drew once gave her mind to a thing she could be earnest
enough. The little her chum had read her from the magazine article
began to interest her. Besides, whatever Jessie was engaged in must
of necessity hold the attention of Amy.
She laid aside the knitting and went to sit beside Jessie in the
swing. They turned back to the beginning of the article and read it
through together, their arms wound about each other in immemorial
schoolgirl fashion.
Of course, as Amy pointed out, they were not exactly schoolgirls
now. They were out of school—since two days before. The long summer
vacation was ahead of them. Time might hang idly on their hands. So
it behooved them to find something absorbing to keep their attention
keyed up to the proper pitch.
“Tell you what,” Amy suggested. “Let’s go down town to the bookstore
and see if they have laid in a stock of this radio stuff. We want
one or two of the books mentioned here, Jess. We are two awfully
smart girls, I know; we will both admit it. But some things we have
positively got to learn.”
“Silly,” crooned Jessie, patting her chum on the cheek. “Let’s go.
We’ll walk. Wait till I run and see if Momsy doesn’t want something
from down town.”
“We won’t ask Mrs. Drew that question, for she will be pretty sure
to want a dozen things, and I refuse—positively—to be a dray horse.
I ‘have drew’ more than my share from the stores already. Cyprian in
the car can run the dear, forgetful lady’s errands.”
Jessie scarcely listened to this. She ran in and ran out again. She
was smiling.
“Momsy says all she wants is two George Washington sundaes, to be
brought home in two separate parcels, one blonde and one brunette,”
and she held up half a dollar before Amy’s eyes.
“Your mother, as I have always said, Jess, is of the salt of the
earth. And she is well sugared, too. Let me carry the half dollar,
honey. You’ll swallow it, or lose it, or something. Aren’t to be
trusted yet with money,” and Amy marched down the steps in the lead.
She always took the lead, and usually acted as though she were the
moving spirit of the pair. But, really, Jessie Norwood was the more
practical, and it was usually her initiative that started the chums
on a new thing and always her “sticktoitiveness” that carried them
through to the end.
Bonwit Boulevard, beautifully laid out, shaded with elms, with a
grass path in the middle, two oiled drives, and with a bridle path on
one side, was one of the finest highways in the state. At this hour
of the afternoon, before the return rush of the auto-commuters from
the city, the road was almost empty.
The chums chatted of many things as they went along. But Jessie came
back each time to radio. She had been very much interested in the
wonder of it and in the possibility of rigging the necessary aerials
and setting up a receiving set at her own house.
“We can get the books to tell us how to do it, and we can buy the
wire for the antenna to-day,” she said.
“‘Antenna’! Is it an insect?” demanded Amy. “Sounds crawly.”
“Those are the aerials——”
“Listen!” interrupted Amy Drew.
A sound—a shrill and compelling voice—reached their ears. Amy’s hand
clutched at Jessie’s arm and held her back. There was nobody in
sight, and the nearest house was some way back from the road.
“What is it?” murmured Jessie.
“Help! He-e-elp!” repeated the voice, shrilly.
“Radio!” muttered Amy, sepulchrally. “It is a voice out of the air.”
There positively was nobody in sight. But Jessie Norwood was
practical. She knew there was a street branching off the boulevard
just a little way ahead. Besides, she heard the throbbing of an
automobile engine.
“Help!” shrieked the unknown once more.
“It is a girl,” declared Jessie, beginning to run and half dragging
Amy Drew with her. “She is in trouble! We must help her!”