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."