HIS HIGHNESS IN A NEW ROLE
Before a week had passed the strangeness of living at Surfside had to
a certain extent abated and Walter found himself not only content in
his new position but enjoying it. He rose early, feeding the dogs,
exercising them, and making fresh their quarters before he breakfasted
himself. Afterward, despite the score of odd duties with which the
morning was filled, he contrived to do many little kindnesses for
Jerry, Tim, Wheeler, and the other men. He was always willing to do a
favor and amid an atmosphere where generosity was rare the virtue of
aiding others rendered him immensely popular.
In the meantime he had made such headway in the affections of Achilles
that the big Belgian not only tagged at his heels everywhere he went,
but at night insisted upon extending his giant frame before the boy's
doorsill from which vantage ground neither threats nor persuasions
could stir him. In consequence the lonely hours the lad might have
experienced were put to rout by the companionship of this silent
comrade.
The Airedales, on the other hand, were less successfully won over to a
new allegiance. Although Richard, who owned them, took not the
smallest care of them and serenely passed them over to some one else
to be ministered unto, nevertheless they apparently sensed the
arrangement was one of convenience and returned scant gratitude for
what was done for them. They were polite, tolerant, but never
whole-heartedly cordial. Dick was their master and they would have no
other.
Fortunately Miss Nancy's Sealyham, Rags, was more responsive;
nevertheless, although she frolicked about Walter's feet and accepted
food from his hand it was more because she loved to play and was
hungry than because her affection for the boy went very deep.
As for the troupe of Pekingese, with aristocratic noses tilted high in
air, they submitted to being washed, brushed, and fed by Walter much
as they would have accepted the services of any other maid or valet.
They seemed to be conscious of their pedigree and claim attention as
their right. An occasional wag of the tail or the rare passage of a
rough little tongue across one's hand was all the gratitude His
Highness ever received from them.
With the Crowninshield family, however, the boy made better progress
and as he and Dick became acquainted many a pleasant hour did they
spend together. Not infrequently, when the eager yelps of the dogs
heralded the fact that they were off for their afternoon run, the New
York lad would join the party and while the animals raced this way and
that the two boys would discuss boats, fishing, and kindred
interests.
[Illustration: The two boys would discuss boats, fishing, and kindred
interests. _Page_ 76.]
"Do you happen to know anything about wireless?" inquired Richard one
day when, with Achilles prancing far ahead and Boy Blue, Jack Horner,
and Rags dashing to keep up with him, the group strode along the
beach.
"I ought to," was Walter's smiling response. "I've a brother who is an
operator at the Seaver Bay station."
"No! Really?" The exclamations voiced both surprise and admiration.
"How old is he?"
"Twenty-two or three."
"Gee! And he can really send and receive messages?"
"He sure can."
"How did he learn?"
"Oh, he first got interested in wireless through the papers and picked
up quite a lot of information that way. Later he and his chum Billy
Hicks bought a manual and with the help of the physics teacher at the
High School they rigged up a homemade receiving apparatus on Billy's
grandfather's barn. For a while it wouldn't work for a cent, although
they tinkered with it night and day. Then one evening they did
something to it and caught their first message. You should have seen
Bob! He was crazy and came rushing straight home to make Ma drop
everything she was doing and go down to Hicks's. Now Mother was
elbow-deep in bread and declared she couldn't spoil her biscuit for
any wireless on earth. Besides, she had never had any faith in the
thing. You see, Bob had teased her for wireless money and she had told
him time and time again it was dollars thrown into a hole. My father
used to joke her about not having a scientific mind and I guess she
hasn't one. At any rate, whenever Bob would read her the wonderful
things being done with wireless, all she would say was that it wasn't
likely folks could send speeches and music loose through the air.
Those who pretended to hear them were either fibbing or were genuinely
mistaken. So when Bob did get a broadcast you can imagine how wild he
was to convince her it wasn't all bluff."
"And did he?" asked Dick with interest.
"Well, after a fashion," replied Walter, smiling at some amusing
memory.
"Like enough I shouldn't have known much about it, either, if Bob had
not told me," continued Walter. "Bob, however, talked nothing else
morning, noon, and night. Often I would drop asleep while he was
chattering of induction coils, wave lengths, and antenna. It makes me
yawn now to think of it. My goodness, weren't Ma and I sick to death
of hearing nothing but radio! Bob would rush into the house at
mealtime, swallow his food whole, and tear off to Hicks's with a piece
of pie in his hand, leaving all the chores to me. I got pretty sore, I
can tell you." He gave a short laugh.
"Between Mother begrudging the poor chap every cent he spent for
batteries and wire, and me pitching into him for forgetting to chop
the kindlings, I'm afraid his early wireless career wasn't a very
pleasant one."
Once more the lad laughed, this time with comic ruefulness.
"Even when the apparatus actually did begin to work and Bob and Billy
were able to get a concert or lecture now and then, Ma insisted they
were bluffing her. She listened in but wasn't convinced, declaring
they had fastened a victrola to the receivers and that such sounds
never could come through the air. Finally they did succeed in getting
her to half believe they were telling her the truth and were not just
working her for money. But when they tried to explain the outfit to
her in detail, she put her hands over her ears, protesting that they
were wasting their breath to tell her of damped and undamped waves,
detectors, and generators. With that they gave up further attempts to
educate her."
Both boys chuckled.
"But she must be proud of your brother now," asserted Dick.
"Oh, she is--tremendously, although what she chiefly thinks about is
the danger Bob is in of getting struck by lightning or electrocuted."
Achilles, who had been pursuing some sandpipers along the rim of the
surf and sent them circling into the air, now raced back to his
friends with a sharp bark of salutation and Dick bent to pat the
shaggy head.
"So really," reflected he, "your brother taught himself wireless."
"Not wholly. He simply laid a foundation," the other boy explained.
"He could never have taken a job on what he had picked up because,
you see, he knew nothing of sending messages, was ignorant of all the
rules an operator has to have at his tongue's end, and had no very
thorough knowledge of electricity. It was not like a complete
training, by any means. The war gave him that. When it broke out he
enlisted in the navy, and because he was partially equipped in radio
they sent him off posthaste to a wireless school. At the time he was
crazy because his dream was to get across and be in the fighting. To
sit at home studying was the last thing he wanted to do. Later,
though, when he began to see what a big part wireless was playing in
the scrimmage, he commenced to be more resigned to his lot. Besides he
got his chance before long, for he worked into being a crackerjack at
speed and passed his exams so well that he had no trouble in winning
his first-class operator's certificate.
"There are grades of radio men, you know, just as there are grades of
everything else. There are the sharks, or first-class chaps, who are
able to pass every sort of test on the adjustment of apparatus and how
to use it; who can both send and receive messages at the rate of at
least twenty words a minute, and who can often go much faster; and who
have all the rules governing the exchange of radio messages stowed
away in their heads. They are the A1 men and every first-class ship is
obliged by law to have aboard it two of them. Then there are the
second-class certificate fellows who practically have as much radio
but cannot hit such a gait, and can only manage to send between
twelve and nineteen words a minute. They can go on first-class ships
provided more skilled operators are aboard. Sometimes, even, they
substitute for them under supervision. Their chief jobs, however, are
on ships that use wireless only for their personal benefit; that is,
to talk with their own crews. Often a fishing fleet, for instance,
will carry a man of this class to communicate with its other vessels.
They can talk, too, with shore stations when it is necessary. But the
law does not allow them to take positions where there is a great rush
of business and general responsibility. They must have the topnotchers
for such work."
"I had no idea there were so many rules about radio," mused Dick.
"There are--strict ones, too," replied his companion. "Moreover, the
government keeps tabs on all radio people to see they obey the rules.
Every wireless man is examined, classified, and given a license just
as an automobile driver is. He has to keep it handy, too, and be ready
to trot it out on request. You can't get by with bluffing. If an
operator is found to be unfamiliar with the rules, or is discovered
breaking any of them, his certificate can be withdrawn. No chap wants
to risk that, especially if he is trying to earn his living by
wireless. And if a ship, and not its radio operator, is found to be
breaking the rules, the coastal stations may be notified not to have
anything to do with her. In other words she is boycotted and the land
operators told neither to receive her messages nor answer them."
"That would be some boycott!"
"The shipboard radio stations, you see, come under the authority of
the commanding officer of the ship. It has to be so, because in case
of accident he would be the person responsible for sending out
distress calls and answering them. The radio man couldn't just grab
the power. There has to be one boss of every job."
"I can see that," nodded Dick. "But why such a network of other
rules?"
"There have to be. It all has to be charted in black and white or
there would be terrible mix-ups."
"And do foreign ships have to fall into line and do as our ships do
when they come here?"
"They are expected to, Bob said," answered Walter. "In case they do
not, however, they cannot be meddled with by underlings. Instead they
are immediately reported to the government and the two countries
involved settle their dispute by arbitration. It is too delicate a
matter for others to butt in on, for some blunderer might offend
another country and get us into war just through being stupid.
Conversely, when our ships are in foreign waters they must keep the
naval rules of the nation they are visiting."
"That's fair."
"It sure is," agreed Walter. "Besides that, all the shipboard radio
stations have to carry with them their license to prove that they are
authorized by their countries to operate a wireless outfit, and that
they fulfil the requirements of the government whose flag they fly.
Should any trouble arise when they are in a foreign port they can be
asked to produce this license; and if the foreign authorities whom
they are visiting have reason to suspect they are not meeting the
standards the license demands they can complain to the government that
is responsible for the ship."
"But suppose the government didn't know anything about such a ship?"
"Great Scott! But it does, man," ejaculated Walter. "There are lists
that contain not only the name and nationality of all ships but even
the names and addresses of its radio operators. There is no getting by
that."
"So the ships themselves are not allowed to take up their own quarrel
if they are challenged?" commented Dick.
"No. They simply have to stay perfectly polite and keep their mouths
shut, no matter how mad they are," grinned His Highness. "Otherwise
there would be squabbles all the time, for there are always
misunderstandings and grudges, and people who enjoy picking on one
another. All the ships would be fighting and the countries that owned
them, too, if everybody rolled up his sleeves and pitched into the
other fellow when things went wrong. Governments are supposed to be
more slow-moving, fair, and impartial. And anyhow, it is their job to
look out for their own citizens and see they are squarely treated. Bob
says it is a more dignified way than for individuals to fight out
their own quarrels. It certainly carries more weight. Nobody is going
to bully a ship and make trouble for its crew if a big nation stands
behind it. It serves as a check on the men, too, Bob told me, for when
they are in other countries and have shore leave they have to remember
that they must behave themselves and not disgrace their governments."
"You can't sail out of reach of Uncle Sam, eh? Apparently he knows in
a general way just how you are conducting yourself all the time,"
smiled Dick.
"That's about it," acquiesced Walter.
Whistling to the dogs, they turned about.
"What a pile you know about all this," Dick presently observed.
"Shucks! No, I don't," blushed His Highness. "I am only repeating what
Bob spieled off to me. He likes to talk when he's home and I like to
listen. It's interesting--at least I think so. Besides, I'm proud of
Bob knowing such a lot. I wish I did."
The lad dug his heel into the moist sand and watched the hole fill
with water.
"Somehow I'm an awful boob at books," he suddenly confessed. "I hate
so to study that Ma fairly has to haul me along by the hair or I'd
never go to school. I barely skinned through this year. Up to the very
last minute we all had cold chills for fear I wouldn't."
Dick shot the offender a sympathetic glance.
"I don't like reading about things myself so well as doing them," he
confided. "I'm crazy about machinery. It's fun to tinker with
it--take it to pieces and put it together again. I like nothing better
than to overhaul an engine."
He held up two grease-stained hands.
"It horrifies my mother," he continued, "but my father doesn't seem to
mind if I am all black with oil from my car or the motor boats. What I
want now is a wireless outfit. I'm going to strike Dad for one my
birthday. It comes the last of this month and he might as well give me
that as anything else. Do you suppose if he got it we could rig it up
together?"
Walter's eyes opened at the casualness of the observation.
In his family a birthday was an occasion for a chocolate cake, some
neckties, and perhaps a pair of rubber boots or a similar useful gift.
Or it sometimes brought with it a book and a box of candy. Never by
any chance did its felicitations expand into a gift so colossal as a
wireless apparatus. The breach between the two lads, which during the
exchange of confidences had narrowed into nothingness, widened
abruptly.
"A good set would be some present," he commented, thinking, perhaps,
the other boy might be ignorant of its value.
"Oh, I guess it would not break Dad," smiled Dick serenely. "He gave
me my car last year, and the year before--let me think--oh, the pups!"
He pointed to the Airedales, a streak of buff against the green of the
distant marsh. "Wireless couldn't cost much more."
"N--o, I don't believe it would," His Highness admitted slowly, the
contrast in their financial standards seeping in on him.
"Oh, I imagine I could have a set all right if I said the word,"
continued Dick, with the indifference of one to whom such presents
brought no agitation. "The question is, could we set it up if we had
it?"
"I couldn't," came promptly from Walter. "I think, though, that if Bob
was home on leave he might help us."
"Your brother? I had forgotten him. So he is at home sometimes?"
"Oh, yes. He gets off for a day now and then."
"It must be a whole lot of a bore to be tied down in a wireless
station listening for messages all the time," observed Dick
carelessly.
"Operators do not have to sit with their ears glued to the receivers
every second, man," declared the village lad. "The men are relieved at
regular hours. Besides, all stations both on shore and on shipboard
are divided into classes and have their hours carefully mapped out for
them. There are three different varieties of shipboard stations, for
example. Some have constant service; that is, operators are always
listening while the ship is underway. Then there is a second sort
where the operator listens in only during specified hours when the
office is open for business. A third class has no fixed hours at all,
the radio man just listening the first ten minutes of each hour."
"So the men just suit themselves, eh?"
"Suit themselves! You bet they don't," laughed Walter. "The government
defines their hours when their license is issued. The class they are
put in decides it."
"That's news to me," said Dick. "And the shore stations?"
"The shore stations are a chapter in themselves," Walter replied.
"There are several different kinds and each kind has its own rules."
"You don't propose to tell me about them, then," retorted the New
Yorker mischievously.
"It's too long a yarn," answered the other. "Besides, I might not get
it straight. Sometime, though, if you want me to, I'll pass on what I
know. But to-day I guess we ought to be hiking back. It is close onto
the time the pack is fed and I may have them yelping at my throat if I
don't hurry."
Quickening their pace the boys whistled to the dogs who came dashing
through the clumps of bayberry that dotted the field. They were
panting with thirst and only too ready to turn homeward. Across the
sandy hillocks, through pine-shaded stretches of woods, along the road
walled in with June roses they raced and chased, stopping now and
again to look back and make certain that their masters were following.
When the spit of sand narrowed to a ribbon and the entrance to
Surfside was reached they halted, lying down to cool off in the fresh
sea breeze until they should be overtaken. At the gate Dick and Walter
parted.
It was amusing to see the Airedales waver, then lured by hunger,
desert their owner and pursue Walter and Achilles.
They came up with lolling tongues at the kennels just as His Highness
was unlocking the door.
While he fumbled with the latch he noticed they sniffed excitedly
about and that Achilles barked.
"You're starved, poor old chaps!" remarked he aloud. "Well, no matter.
You shall have your dinner right off now."
Coaxing them in he banged the wicket behind him and passed through
into the pen where the Pekingese, clamoring for their food, came
yelping to meet him.
Instinctively he scanned the fluffy-coated group. Lola was not there.
The discovery, however, caused him no concern for often Mrs.
Crowninshield carried the prize-winner up to the big house or took her
for a ride in the car. Therefore, although her bright eyes were
missing he did not worry, but fed the other dogs and gave them fresh
water.
The task completed, he sauntered toward the garage.
How still it was everywhere. With the exception of Dick's racer every
car was gone and all the chauffeurs with them. Even Jerry was nowhere
about; and the gardeners were far down on the south slope where he
could just detect the clip of their shears as they trimmed the privet
hedge.
The grounds were as deserted as if the earth had swallowed up every
inhabitant. Surfside, deprived of its accustomed hum and bustle, was
actually lonely. With uncertain step the boy loitered in the sun,
glancing at the expanse of sea and at a knockabout that heeled
dangerously in the rising wind. Thinking he might find Jerry and thus
banish solitude he meandered up the avenue toward the house.
Jerry, however, was nowhere to be seen but the silence was broken by
the siren horns of approaching motors and the Crowninshield cars came
rolling in through the broad entrance.
Since he chanced to be on the spot he may as well go up to the
veranda, meet the family, and bring Lola back with him to be fed and
tucked up for the night.
Accordingly he hurried along and was at the steps almost as soon as
the automobiles came to a stop.
Together with a company of laughing guests, Nancy and Mr. and Mrs.
Crowninshield alighted.
"Such a beautiful ride as we've had, Dick!" called Mrs. Crowninshield
to her son. "We've been over to Harwich and picked up the Davenports,
you see, and brought them home for the evening. I think, Mrs.
Davenport, you remember my son, Richard. Nancy, take Janet and Marie
in with you so they can leave their wraps. You young people will have
just about time for a set of tennis before dinner."
The cars had shot away and she was about to go indoors when the
mistress of the house espied Walter.
"Did you wish to see me?" she called.
"I thought I'd take Lola down to the kennels."
"Lola! Is she here?"
"I thought you had her."
"No, indeed."
"But she must be here at the house."
"No, she isn't. I never leave her with the maids. She is at the
kennels."
"I've just come from there."
"And she wasn't there?"
"No, ma'am."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive!"
"But my dear boy, didn't you leave her there?"
"Yes. But I thought you took her when you went to drive. You have a
key."
"I didn't."
"And you did not give the key to any of the maids?"
"Of course not."
"Well, she isn't there," announced Walter, a tremor of trepidation
passing over him.
"Nonsense! She must be. Where else could she be?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, you haven't half looked," smiled Mrs. Crowninshield reassuringly.
"Lola is such a tiny dog she often gets hidden away out of sight. I'll
come and find her for you."
Excusing herself to her guests she followed Walter across the grass
and in silence they unfastened the wire gate that led into the
enclosure where the Pekingese were kept. But search as they would they
failed to discover the missing dog. Lola was gone! _Gone!_