TIDINGS
Two days later O'Connel's first signal came.
Bob was at his early morning task of oiling and tightening up his
apparatus and cleaning it, and both Dick and Walter were hovering
near, watching him and learning all they could concerning the proper
care of the equipment. Having made everything shipshape the young
radio operator slipped the double head receiver over his forehead and
prepared to listen in for his customary interval. Suddenly the boys
saw him start excitedly and motion them to stop talking. With face
alight he was leaning forward eagerly. Then came the sharp click of
the Morse code and after an interval with radiant face the elder lad
wriggled out of his trappings.
"What is it? What is it?" cried his two companions, hardly able to
contain their curiosity.
"It was O'Connel."
"What did he say? Is the dog there? Where was the yacht?"
Breathlessly the questions tumbled one over the other.
"The _Siren_ is anchored off Gloucester and bound north, probably to
Bar Harbor. A dog they call Trixie, but which O'Connel thinks is
Lola, is aboard the boat. The description we gave him seems to fit
her. He says she isn't very well--won't eat and seems either homesick
or seasick. Mr. Daly is quite worried about her."
"For goodness' sake don't tell Dad or Mother that. They'll have a
fit," Dick cried. "Should Lola die I believe my father would shoot
Daly down."
"But I've got to give him the message."
"You needn't repeat all of it, need you?"
"Oh, I think you ought to tell them," Walter put in. "They would
rather know, I'm sure."
"Dad will storm fit to raise the dead."
"We can't help it," answered His Highness.
"I am of the kid's opinion," Bob replied slowly. "I think we should
tell your father and mother the whole truth just as O'Connel has sent
it."
"Prepare for a nice, pleasant tornado, then," said Dick, "for you will
get it all right."
"I wish I could have talked with O'Connel," declared Bob thoughtfully.
"I did all I dared. You see, until our license comes I am not expected
to transmit messages from this station. We have to get from the
government both an operator's license and a permit for the station;
and although I put in the application promptly there is so much red
tape about it that it seems as if the inspector would never show up.
If I had been caught sending a message this morning without these
blooming papers there would have been the deuce of a row. However, I
took a chance because I felt the emergency demanded it, and because
being one of Uncle Sam's own men he couldn't very well put up the kick
that I was not competent to handle a wireless outfit. Still, I shan't
dare do it again."
"Isn't there anything we can do to hustle up the inspector?" inquired
Dick.
"I'm afraid not, son. Government inspectors are not a hurrying race,"
was Bob's whimsical reply. "However, I telephoned our local man
yesterday and something may happen to-day. He and I used to be on
quite good terms when he occasionally dropped in at Seaver Bay. I told
him that if I could not get a station license pretty soon our whole
outfit would be no good to us this season. He promised he would take
up the matter at once. With that I had to be satisfied. Whether he
does anything or not remains to be seen."
"I suppose O'Connel understands this difficulty, doesn't he?" mused
Dick.
"Oh, he knows, all right, why I can't answer him. I've assured him
that his tidings have come through and that is all he wants to know,"
Bob answered. "He has dealt with the government himself and is
familiar with its deliberate habits. Besides, there really isn't much
we can say."
"Maybe you think that," grinned Dick, "but wait until you tell Dad
that Lola is sick and hear him sputter. You will believe then that
there is quite a bit that can be said. And if you get my mother to add
her comments you will have plenty to relay over the wire."
The prophecy was indeed true, as Bob King proved after he had raced
across the grass and overtaken Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield on a tour of
inspection to the rose gardens.
"News, Bob?" questioned the capitalist, wheeling about to meet the
flying figure. "What is it? Let us have it quickly."
Carefully the message was repeated.
"Off Gloucester, eh, and bound north? Humph! And they've re-christened
the poor little pupsie Trixie! Hang them! O'Connel thinks she isn't
well? Of course she isn't seasick. Lola has been out on our yacht a
hundred times. The reason she won't eat is because she is
lonesome--misses her home and family. The wretches! I wish I had Daly
here! I'd wring his neck," blustered Mr. Crowninshield.
"Isn't there anything we can do, Archibald? We simply must get that
dog back before she dies. Poor little Lola! She was such a dependent
little creature. It is terrible, terrible!"
"There, there, my dear! Don't go all to pieces over it. Aren't we
doing all we can? Do you want Daly to smell a rat and toss his stolen
property into the sea? Dacie says to give him rope enough and in time
he will hang himself, and I am inclined to think the advice wise.
Still, that does not prevent me from wishing I could lay hands on
Daly. I'd like nothing better than to thrash the life out of him."
"I suppose you will telephone the detective the news we've received,"
suggested Bob, in order to quell the rising storm and divert Mr.
Crowninshield's attention.
"Yes, I'll get New York on the wire right away. It is as well Lyman
and his pal should know Lola is sick and that they can't dally round
forever."
"Shall you be back for the wireless lesson?" called Bob, uncertain
whether to ask the question or not.
"Oh, sure! It won't help matters for us to sit around and wail the
whole morning. We'll be on deck for your radio talk at the usual
time."
"All right, sir."
True to their agreement, at the appointed hour both Mr. and Mrs.
Crowninshield made their appearance on the piazza and joined the group
of young people who awaited their coming. They had, as Bob expressed
it, cooled off a bit and were no longer in such an agitated frame of
mind; nevertheless anxiety had left its mark by keying the master's
voice to a sharper note, and shadowing the lady's brow with a frown of
annoyance.
"I suppose you let out on O'Connel, didn't you, after he got through
talking this morning?" was the first remark of the owner of Surfside.
"I couldn't say more than a word. Our license hasn't come yet, you
know."
"That's so, darn it! I never saw anything in all my born life with so
many rules attached to it as this wireless business. It is one tangle
of rules, rules, rules! You might as well be tied up in a net,"
fretted the man.
"There do seem to be a good many rules at first glance," returned Bob
pleasantly. "However, when you examine them most of them are both
necessary and wise. And after all when each radio operator knows in
black and white what he can do and what he can't it is far simpler."
"I suppose so," grumbled Mr. Crowninshield.
"Besides, there are always slackers at every job," continued Bob.
"Rules help to keep such persons up to the mark and prevent
carelessness and accidents."
"Yes, I fancy that is so," came more graciously from the still irate
gentleman.
"Then all stations are not alike. That compass station at Bell Reef,
for example, that you were asking me about yesterday; the government
lays out specific duties and makes special rules for such a station,
as in fact it does for all radio stations. Some of these rules relate
to the care of the place and the cleaning and general overhauling of
apparatus at stated intervals. There are, you see, certain instruments
which must be cleaned and readjusted every day; certain others every
week, others every month, and some every six months. It simply means
making sure that your outfit is in the pink of condition with every
part functioning as it should. There are, of course, operators who
would see that this was done anyway, rules or no rules; but like every
other profession there might be men who, off on an isolated spot with
no one to keep them up to the mark, would grow careless and slovenly.
Too much depends on wireless stations to run the risk of errors
through imperfections in the equipment."
"I can understand all that; but aren't there a score of other
regulations?"
"You mean about what they shall and shall not do?"
"Yes."
"There certainly are. There have to be because we have several
different types of land stations. Just as the shipboard stations have
their special kinds of work so do those on shore. For example, there
are two different classes of radio compass stations,--those that
operate independently and are located with a view to giving good
cross-bearings to vessels that are from fifty to a hundred miles out
to sea; and those known as harbor stations which are governed by a
central control station and designed to inform ships within thirty
miles of the entrance to outer channels of their position. The
function of each of these stations is, as you can see, quite different
and therefore each of them is obliged to have its own set of rules."
"I never knew anything about radio compass stations before," announced
Dick.
"That is because you never sailed the seas and had to call on one for
aid," smiled Bob. "If you did you would be very thankful, I guess,
that the government has so carefully provided some one to answer just
the sort of question you wished answered. I try to remember this when
I get hot under the collar because the license for our station does
not arrive. Uncle Sam can't help it if his men are slow. The plan at
the top is all right. There must be rules to govern wireless stations,
be they governmental, commercial, or private; rules to regulate the
wave lengths each may use; rules to make sure the operators who have
charge of them know their job; and inspectors to make sure that every
such rule is obeyed."
"Who has the big chore of following up all these people and making
certain that they are conforming to the law?" questioned Mr.
Crowninshield.
"The Department of Commerce issues the licenses for all private and
commercial stations and sends its inspectors to keep an eye on
whatever comes under their control. It is this department that will
have jurisdiction over Surfside if the license is granted. Government
radio stations on the other hand, not only the high-power class but
the coastal stations and everything that pertains to their relations
with commercial stations afloat or ashore, whether in the United
States or in foreign lands are entirely under the control of the
Director of Naval Communications of the Navy Department."
"I wish you'd tell us something more about compass stations," Dick
said. "Were you ever stationed at one?"
"Yes, for a little while I was on an island off the coast," replied
Bob. "But I did not like it very well and applied for a transfer."
"It must have been lonely as the dickens on an island; worse, even,
than being at Seaver Bay. Why in goodness did they build the station
there?"
"Why, you see, a compass station that operates independently as that
one did is usually situated on a lightship or an island because that
location is best suited to the sort of work it has to do."
"And that is?"
"To give ships their positions when they sing out to ask exactly where
they are," replied Bob. "Since the station is fairly well out to sea
itself, it is able to furnish excellent cross-bearings and set the
vessel on her course in case she is off it. Ships have been known to
miss their way, you know, especially in a fog; and if they have not
missed it they are often very grateful to be assured they have not and
that their own calculations were correct. So the rule is that an
operator must always be listening in for at least three minutes at
ten, twenty-five, forty, and fifty-five minutes past the hour and be
ready to answer a Q T E when he hears it."
"What's a Q T E?" inquired both Dick and Walter simultaneously.
"Those particular letters mean: _What is my true bearing?_ It takes
less time to send the letters than to spell out the entire sentence
and therefore a simple code which means the same in all languages is
used. When such a call is received the operator replies: Q T S
(meaning: Your true bearing is) and then follows it with the number of
degrees from his radio post stated in words, and also the name of the
station responding to the message. It is a general rule, by-the-by,
that all numerals used in any wireless communication must be spelled
out to make sure of their being perfectly understood."
"What a bother!" ejaculated Walter.
"It prevents mistakes, brother; and if it does that it is certainly
worth the trouble."
"I suppose so," answered His Highness a trifle crestfallen.
"Then what do you say next?" interrupted Dick, who was much interested
in the subject in hand.
"Well, after you have given the true bearing the ship wires: Q T F."
"And that means?"
"_What is my position?_"
"And you have to repeat those words before giving it just as you did
before?" asked Dick.
"Always," nodded Bob. "Every question asked is always repeated by the
operator answering it to make sure that each party fully understands
what is being talked about. You can't risk having a ship complain:
'Oh, I thought those figures you sent me were so-and-so.' No, indeed.
Everything must be so explicit that there will be no room for
blunders. So after you have repeated the question you send the
latitude and longitude _in words_."
"I guess there is sense in the rules after all," smiled Mrs.
Crowninshield. "Thus far we have not discovered any which, on being
examined, were not both reasonable and wise."
"That's the way I feel," Bob rejoined. "After being in radio work and
seeing the opportunities there are for mistakes I have decided
operators cannot be too careful. You see it is not like talking with
a person face to face. Those you are communicating with are usually
miles and miles away. Such stations as I have been telling you about
are on the lookout for any six-hundred-meter calls and they answer in
this tune. After communication with a ship is established, however,
the tune shifts to seven hundred and fifty-six meters if a Navy vessel
should be talking; if not, the six-hundred-meter wave length assigned
is used. This leaves the shorter range waves to commercial vessels and
greatly simplifies matters."
"That is a good rule, too," chimed in Mr. Crowninshield.
"And now about the harbor stations," suggested Dick.
The young tutor smiled.
"I had not intended to give you all this stuff this morning,"
protested he, "but since you are interested in it we may as well go on
with the subject. The task of the harbor stations, then, is to listen
both on a six-hundred-meter range, and one of nine hundred and
fifty-two--the first wave length for commercial and the latter for
Navy ship's calls. Then in response to inquiry the operator directs
the vessel how to enter that particular harbor, stating just where the
entrance buoys are and where the channel lies. If the man at the wheel
is new to the port this aid is invaluable."
"Not much like the navigation of the old days, is it?" mused Mr.
Crowninshield. "I should think such stations would put pilots out of
business."
"They do to some extent," was the reply. "There are, however, always
ships that cannot make a landing under their own steam, ships that
have to be towed. So the pilots still find something to do."
"And are these harbor stations on islands too?" questioned Nancy.
"Many of them are. A small proportion of them, though, are in
lighthouses. It all depends on which place has the more favorable
location."
"But do not the land stations that send messages sometimes interfere
with these stations?" queried Mr. Crowninshield.
"There are rules to prevent _that_," laughed Bob. "Of course the
difference in wave length to which the various types of stations are
limited solves a part of this difficulty. As I told you commercial
stations have their own particular wave length and must stick to it;
and private stations such as this one here have their range of two
hundred meters in which to operate and are confined to not more than
one kilowatt for sending messages. You cannot use more than this
without special permission from the Secretary of Labor. Should you do
so you are liable to a fine of one hundred dollars if your offense is
deliberate; if, however, it is proved that your apparatus was out of
adjustment and overreached itself you may get off with a
twenty-five-dollar fine. In that case you must see at once that your
radio error is corrected and your outfit set right."
"But sometimes along the coast aren't there big government stations
belonging to the army or navy? I should think these, with their press
of business, would butt in on the smaller ones and raise havoc with
them," ventured Mr. Crowninshield.
"Where there are such mix-ups and private or commercial stations
interfere with important government outfits the smaller ones are not
allowed to send messages during the first fifteen minutes of each
hour, such time being reserved for government business. The
government, on the other hand, must respect the rights of the littler
chap and use this particular interval for transmitting. In fact, when
licenses are issued this condition is made with private owners and the
station is so listed. Of course, however, should an S O S call come,
all rules go by the boards and the distress call has the right of way
in every case."
Mrs. Crowninshield, smiling mischievously, rose from her chair.
"There is an S O S coming in right now for a lemonade," said she,
fanning herself with her filmy handkerchief. "Who will join me?"
A chorus of "I!" "I!" greeted the question.
She touched a bell.
"Bring lemonade for six, Emelie," said she. "Put in some slices of
orange, some strawberries, and plenty of cracked ice. What a warm day
it is! I am glad I am not out on some hot, sun-baked island answering
radio calls."
"You probably would not be hot if you were on an island out to sea, my
dear," her husband returned playfully. "However, I'll agree that this
veranda is good enough for me on a July day."
The tinkling of ice cut short the conversation. Far away through the
house its distant cadence sounded.
"The first and tallest lemonade must be for Bob," Nancy announced. "He
has certainly earned it."