MIRACLES
Although throughout the day Mr. Crowninshield did not wander far from
the telephone no word came from the New York detectives and evening
saw him quite discouraged.
"I cannot imagine what those fellows are up to," fretted he. "Now that
they know where the yacht is and have had all day to do something
about it, it is beyond my comprehension why they haven't. Lola will be
dead before they get round to moving on Daly."
"I don't believe they are sitting idle," Bob declared in an effort to
cheer his patron. "Probably there will be news to-morrow."
"Maybe," sighed the financier. "But if something does not happen by
to-morrow, I shall start myself in my own yacht to chase up Daly."
"I doubt if that would do any good, sir," protested Bob. "It might
simply, as you said yourself, precipitate a crisis."
"Well, a crisis is better than having nothing done," fumed the man
irritably.
"You must not forget there is O'Connel."
"Much good he is doing. We have only heard from him once and as we
have no license you can't talk to him."
"Nevertheless, he is on the job at his end of the line," Bob answered.
"He has a lot of common sense, too. You can trust him to keep tabs on
how things are moving."
"Maybe I can. I hope so," was the dismal retort.
Evening, however, saw no improvement in Mr. Crowninshield's mood. "Not
a yip of any sort from those chaps in New York. One would think they
were dead," he growled. "Well, I'll give them one more day and then if
they haven't something to show I will send them to blazes and take up
the case myself. I almost wish I had done it in the first place. Here
I am paying a small fortune and getting no results."
Again Bob struggled to soothe the perturbed mind and raise the
capitalist's spirits.
"Oh, we'll hear something to-morrow, I guess," said he with an
optimism he did not altogether feel. "Maybe my license will come; or
the inspector may appear; or O'Connel may send tidings; or news may
come from New York. Something is sure to happen. Why don't we all go
over to the station and listen in on the broadcasting to-night. We are
sure to get something that will be interesting and now that the 'loud
speaker' is in position we shall be able to hear without using
individual receivers. You haven't any of you really heard what our
wireless can do."
"I know it," acknowledged the gentleman. "You see, just about every
night during broadcasting hours we have either had company or I have
been busy."
"But are you to be busy to-night?" inquired Bob.
"No, I fancy we're not. Mrs. Crowninshield said there was nothing on."
"Then why don't we light up the boathouse, and all of us listen to
what is going on in the world," Bob suggested. "I wish, too, Jerry
might come. He has not had a chance to see the outfit at all, much
less hear it. If it would not annoy you and the ladies just to let him
sit at the back of the room he could hear everything now that the horn
is on." Bob hesitated. "He has been so kind about helping us----"
"Sure! Ask him by all means," Mr. Crowninshield assented heartily. "Or
better yet, I will ask him myself. I am glad you reminded me of it.
Jerry is my right-hand man and I like to give him pleasure when I can.
What time will your show begin?"
"Oh, from seven o'clock on there is usually something doing, sir. But
the most interesting part of the program begins at eight."
"We'll be on hand, then."
This promise won Bob imparted the tidings to Dick and Walter and the
two assistants, as they dubbed themselves, hastened to prepare the new
radio building for the reception of guests. Comfortable chairs and gay
cushions were brought from the house and in his enthusiasm Dick even
went so far as to drape a flag over the entrance of the low room.
"We might have hung out bunting if we'd known sooner they were
coming," said he.
"I guess they won't care about the bunting once they are inside the
place," Walter asserted in a comforting tone.
"Don't you hope the outfit will show up well? I do," declared Dick.
"It would be just our luck to have something act up so we couldn't
hear anything. Then Dad, who is feeling pretty much on edge anyway,
would announce that a wireless was simply money thrown in a hole."
"We're not responsible for the conditions," laughed Bob. "If static is
bothersome it is not our fault."
"Nevertheless, Dad wouldn't understand that. He would just think we
did not know how to operate the thing."
"Well, we'll pray for moderate quiet," smiled Bob. "Of course I'd like
the apparatus to show off at its best. But like a child, it probably
won't. We shall have to take our luck; and if we do not get
satisfactory results to-night why the audience will have to come again
to-morrow or some other time."
"Maybe it won't--at least maybe Dad won't," Dick answered
incoherently. "If he starts off in the yacht to-morrow----"
"Oh, he won't set off to chase Daly to-morrow, don't you fret," put in
His Highness. "He was only sputtering. What good could he do? He
wouldn't have any right to search the _Siren_ even if he overtook her;
nor could he arrest the criminals aboard her. Daly would pitch Lola
over the side of the boat before he would stand by and let your father
board his yacht and he knows it."
"Maybe he does," admitted Dick. "Still, he was tremendously in earnest
this afternoon."
"He has calmed down some now," His Highness replied.
"I hope he'll stay calmed," Dick smiled. "Perhaps, unless our show
goes wrong and he gets irate at the radio company, he will."
In fact had the three young wireless operators been willing to admit
it they were far more perturbed when they heard the invited company
approaching than they would have been willing to confess. In the heart
of each of them was the same thought: the new radiophone must justify
itself and prove that it was worth all the money that had been
expended upon it.
"Well, here we are! And here's Jerry, too. He said he couldn't
possibly come--tried to make me believe he was too busy, the rascal.
But I labored with him and finally got him here," announced the master
triumphantly.
Very hot and very uncomfortable under the general banter Jerry
blushed.
"Now where do you wish to put us, Dick?" inquired the boy's mother.
"We are under your orders to-night--yours and Bob's."
"I think you will be able to hear in any of these chairs--that is, if
we hear at all," Dick responded nervously.
"What do you mean by _able to hear at all_?" put in his father
sharply.
"Why--eh--sometimes conditions vary," was the ambiguous answer. "One
does not always hear equally well." It seemed wiser to prepare his
father's mind for possible disappointment.
In the meantime Bob was tinkering with the plugs.
"Everybody ready?" he asked.
"All on deck!" came from Mr. Crowninshield whose depression, it was
plain to be seen, had momentarily vanished.
"Then here goes!" cried Bob.
Instantly the quiet of the room was transformed into a chaos of sound.
There was a shrill piping as of a singing wind, and a wail that echoed
hauntingly through the air as the tuner revolved.
"What in the name of goodness----?" began Mr. Crowninshield.
"Hush, Dad! It is always like that," explained Dick hastily.
"But it's horrible."
"Yes, I know. But wait."
"Isn't something out of order?"
"No." Dick smiled patronizingly.
"My soul and body," whispered Jerry from his corner, "did anybody ever
hear such a sound? Ain't it the wind outside. Seems as if a gale must
have come up--a hurricane, tornado, or something. If a storm's coming
I can't sit round here. I'll have to be seeing to the awnings or
they'll be ripped to pieces." He half rose from his chair.
"Don't worry, Jerry; everything's all right outside," interrupted
Walter reassuringly.
"You mean to say it's just in here?" murmured the bewildered Jerry.
Enjoying the old man's confusion, Walter nodded.
"What you hear is the rise of our pitch," explained Dick.
"I should think it was the rise of something," grumbled Mr.
Crowninshield.
"We are running up our meters in order to catch the higher tuned
waves," Bob added. "That is part of the bedlam."
"And the rest?"
"It is static interference."
"What's that?"
"Well, static is the big bugbear of radio," answered Bob, pausing a
moment in regulating his tuner and detector. "It is caused by stray
waves moving in various directions through the atmosphere, and by
electrical conditions. It is the defect all wireless people have to
fight. Sometimes it is worse than others and unfortunately to-night it
promises to be pretty bad. You see it has been a close, heavy day and
no doubt thunderstorms are in the air. A thunderstorm will kick up no
end of a rumpus with wireless."
"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!"