Tom did not take much notice of the strange conduct of the refugee. He
was intent on learning what further the receiver would immediately tap
out. Ben noted particularly the excitement of their new companion. His
attention, too, was instantly diverted through his eagerness to catch
the message coming all strange and jumbled by wireless.
"Just as Mr. Edson told us----" he began.
"Ah!" commented Tom.
The big distended eyes of Ben Dixon devoured the instrument with its
shining coils and connections. He stood now rooted like a statue.
Finally the message ended. A queer smile crossed Tom's face.
"Well," he observed, "Mr. Edson certainly described it perfectly."
"Yes."
"And two thousand dollars this time."
"What else was the fellow trying to send?"
"It was gibberish to me. Oh, we'll have to pass it up, Ben, just as Mr.
Edson said."
"Yes," assented Ben, "it's some novice or joker or crank experimenting,
or trying to be smart. What's the matter?" challenged Ben, turning now
upon the boy calling himself Harry Ashley, hoping for some explanation
of his queer startled actions of a few minutes previous.
But whatever the refugee had on his mind he evidently was not disposed
to impart it to his questioner.
Harry Ashley had somewhat recovered his composure. He still looked
disturbed, but he said with assumed carelessness:
"Oh, nothing. I get a pretty sharp twinge in my lame foot every once in
a while."
"I see," observed Ben, drily and unbelievingly.
The boys were soon on the ground and on their way towards the village.
Tom kept up a casual conversation. He did not ask the strange waif who
had drifted into their keeping any leading questions, however. Much as
he was interested in knowing more about Harry Ashley, there was
something in the lad's manner that repelled curiosity. Furthermore, Tom
did not wish to embarrass a comrade he had invited to become his guest.
Ben was quite silent. He stole many a furtive look at Harry as they
proceeded on their way. He was half satisfied with the lame explanation
of his actions the boy had made in the wireless tower. He forged ahead a
few yards with Tom as they came to the road leading south towards his
home.
"I say, Tom," he remarked in a low tone, "there's some mystery about
that fellow."
"Well, if that's true," returned Tom, "let the future work it out. He
strikes me as a poor unfortunate who needs some help, and I'm going to
give it to him."
"That's natural," retorted Ben, "you're always helping somebody."
Tom rejoined Harry. The latter became more chatty now. He did not say
much about himself, but from what he did impart Tom surmised that he was
practically a tramp, picking up a living at odd jobs.
"See here," said Harry, as Tom indicated the cheery lights of the old
Barnes homestead, "it won't put you in bad with your folks, will it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Lugging in a ragged stranger like me."
"My mother will answer that," replied Tom with a smile, leading the way
around the house.
His companion halted outside the kitchen door, as Tom sang out to a
portly bustling lady directing the operations of a hired girl.
"Mother, I've brought some company home to supper."
The kindly glance of the hospitable Mrs. Barnes swept the forlorn
refugee, clearly reviewed in the light streaming out across the
door-step.
"Come right in," she said, with a genial smile of welcome.
"It's Harry Ashley," explained Tom. "He may stay all night."
"You arrange where he shall sleep, then, Tom. Go into the dining room,
boys. Father seems to be delayed in town, and we needn't wait for him."
Tom did not regret the kindness he was showing to his new friend. When
he went to bed that night he felt that he had never passed a more
satisfactory evening. He had never seen a boy enjoy a meal as Harry
Ashley did that supper. It was enough to warm the heart of a stone, he
decided, to witness the happy comfort of Harry, as in the cozy sitting
room he showed the stranger his books, and some of the electrical toys
he had made for his young brother Ted.
Harry looked around the airy attic with a smile of pleasure as he noted
a mattress filled with clean straw in one corner, a white coverlid and a
pillow.
"Makes you think of home, doesn't it?" questioned Tom.
"No, it doesn't," sharply, almost rudely, snapped out Harry, and then, a
slight moisture visible in his eyes, he added apologetically, "you've
touched a sore spot, Barnes."
"I won't again," promised Tom gently.
"That's all right," replied Harry in his usual offhand way. "When you
know me better I'll explain some things. I'll dream like a prince in a
palace to-night."
Tom went to his own room. His head was pretty full with all the varied
and exciting events of the day. Of course wireless details predominated.
He went to sleep building in fancy the station for his friend, Ben, down
at his home. He woke up to the lively sound of whistling outside of the
house. Tom went to the window and looked out.
Bright as a cricket, cheery and clean faced, Harry was surveying what
had been a jumbled-up mass of kindling the night before. He had piled it
up symmetrically and had swept up the last stray sliver of wood on the
ground. Over towards the vegetable beds was a five-foot heap of weeds
which his industry had collected.
Suddenly the happy whistle ceased. Tom saw his father come out of the
house, stare at the strange boy, then at the evidence of his enterprise,
and smile grimly. Mr. Barnes hailed the boy.
"You're the lad my wife told me about, I reckon," observed the farmer.
"If you mean the boy she was so kind to, yes sir," promptly responded
Harry.
"Who hired you?" demanded Mr. Barnes.
"Who hired me?" repeated Harry in a puzzled way.
"Yes, to do that," and Mr. Barnes' hand swept the woodpile and the weed
heap suggestively.
"Oh, that's to pay for supper and lodging," explained Harry brightly.
"Well, we'll count breakfast into the bargain," stipulated Mr. Barnes,
"and if you get tired doing nothing there's five hundred weight of grain
in the barn I'll pay you to grind."
"You will?" cried Harry, his eyes sparkling. "Show it to me, will you,
please?"
"Good for him," commented Tom. "He's the real sort, and he's got father
on his side all right."
Kindness, attention and the prospect of work seemed to have wrought a
marvellous change in Harry. He little suggested the homeless forlorn
refuge of the previous night as he sat at the breakfast table. He was
lively and chatty, acting the pleasant chum with Tom, the grateful guest
to motherly Mrs. Barnes, and narrating comical experiences with amateur
farmers he had worked for to Mr. Barnes, keeping the latter in rare good
humor throughout the meal.
About an hour later Ben arrived on the scene.
"Say, Tom," was his first sprightly hail, "Father says I've been hopping
about like a chicken with her head cut off ever since I got up--and that
was five o'clock."
"What's the trouble, Ben?" inquired Tom with a smile, guessing.
"Fever--the wireless kind," chuckled Ben. "I've got five fellows down at
the old oak ready to give all day to helping me get the outfit in down
at my house. Say, Tom, give me the key to the tower and let me get that
box of trimmings Mr. Edson gave us, will you?"
"I shall have to go on duty at the station soon, Ben," explained Tom,
"but here's the key. Get down to the oak right away, and I'll instruct
you how to dismantle my unfinished plant and start you in at your house.
Then at noon I'll give you another hour."
"You'd better come right up to our house for supper, Tom," suggested
Ben, "and we can have two full working hours by daylight after you quit
work."
"Very well," agreed Tom gladly.
Never did a boy spend a more entrancing day than Ben Dixon. His helpers
at the blasted oak were delighted to climb like monkeys to remove the
spirals and wires from the old tree, and handle the queer contrivances
contained in the box Mr. Edson had donated.
Harry Ashley spent the day between working about the farm, visiting the
scene of activity at the Dixon place, and limping up to the tower.
Only some exchange test calls came to Station Z that day. Tom was
encouraged to find how quickly he could read them, and send the
necessary replies.
Nearly every lad in the neighborhood was on hand that evening, when Tom
arrived at the Dixon place, and began to connect the various devices of
the wireless outfit. It took into the next day fully to adjust the
various parts.
Ben was in a rare fever of excitement and expectancy the second evening
about seven o'clock, when Tom announced to him that the finishing
touches of the experiment were in process.
"She's all there, Ben," he said triumphantly, as he drew smooth the
tinfoil tongues of the setts of the coherer. "I'll run down to Station Z
and give you a call to see if she works all right."
Ben Dixon stood staring fixedly at the apparatus rigged up in a shed
running up to the spirals strung to tree tops near the old barn. Six
ardent watchers sat astride a bench, mouths agape and eyes bolting from
their heads, resembling lads awaiting the touching of a match to a
powder mine.
Finally a thrill ran instantaneously from the metallic poles through the
vibrating parts of the apparatus. As one after another the boys listened
at the telephone-like receiver, they heard the tell-tale dots and
dashes.
"Hurrah!" shouted Ben Dixon in a frenzy of wild delight.