Tom stepped aside quickly as the chauffeur set the power, and the
machine made a sharp jump. As it flashed around a curve bound townwards
Mr. Morgan leaned over the back of the tonneau.
"I won't forget this, Barnes," he bawled loudly.
"Good for the wireless!" exclaimed Tom, with a genuine flush of delight.
He felt well satisfied with the exploit of the moment. He was flushed,
bedraggled and exhausted, but there was the thrill of a big action
accomplished and the utility of Station Z established.
Tom glanced longingly in the direction of Fernwood and then at his
soaked shoes, and shook his head dolefully.
"It won't do," he ruminated. "Grace is probably offended at me for
bolting away so unceremoniously, and I'll wait until I can make my
apologies in better trim."
Tom kept a patch of timber between himself and the Morgan place, and
reached the beach road on a detour. He was summarily halted as he passed
the flight of steps leading up to the terrace. A silvery but peremptory
voice called out:
"Stop there, Tom Barnes!"
Grace Morgan came tripping down the steps a minute later. There was a
pretty pout of pettishness on her winsome face, and her eyes did not
look altogether pleased.
"What do you mean by running away from me, sir?" she challenged, gaining
the side of Tom, and regarding him as if she was never going to forgive
him.
"Business is my only excuse," explained Tom meekly.
"You mean with my father?"
"Yes----"
"Did you overtake him?"
"I am glad to say I did," replied Tom, "and I think your father is,
too."
"What was it about?"
Tom laughed evasively,
"You must ask him that yourself."
Miss Morgan looked mild daggers at Tom.
"I never met such rude, unfriendly boys!" she declared.
"Oh, there are more offenders than my poor humble self?" interrogated
Tom archly.
"Yes, there are," declared the indignant miss. "Mart Walters has a
friend from Boston visiting him--Bert Aldrich. He made an engagement to
be here an hour ago with his gasoline launch. Gentlemen keep their
engagements!" concluded Grace with emphasis.
Unconsciously Grace had walked along with Tom, much to his personal
pleasure.
"Well, I'm glad," he observed.
"Glad of what?" demanded Miss Morgan suspiciously.
"Oh, everything," replied Tom bluntly, with a significance that caused
Grace to blush. "As to my own transgression," he went on, "as I told
you, I can't explain details, but I do not think your father would mind
my telling you that I brought him an important message from my
wireless."
"Your wireless?" exclaimed Grace in a sprightly tone. "Oh, Tom, I heard
about that. Is it really true that you know how to telegraph all over
the world, and rescue sinking steamers, and catch fleeing criminals,
and--and all that?"
Impetuous Miss Morgan had gone off in a rhapsody over the great
enthusiastic theme of Tom's mind, and he was truly delighted.
"Well, hardly," he said. "You see, I haven't reached that yet. It may
come--I hope it does. That's why I'm sticking to it."
"Can I come and see you do it?" implored Grace excitedly. "Can I come
into the tower and watch the messages come in, and see everything?"
"I shall feel honored if you do," replied Tom proudly. "Ah, there's
another of those shells."
Tom's foot had kicked up a pearly odd-shaped shell in the sand. He
stooped and secured it.
"Oh, how odd and beautiful!" cried Grace. "Oh, Tom, can I have it for my
collection? I haven't one like it."
"You certainly can," answered Tom gladly. "We call that the peach blow,
and it's pretty rare. I didn't know you were interested in shells."
"I dote on them," declared Grace. "Oh, Tom!"
From his pocket he had taken a handful of exquisite specimens of star
pebbles and shells he had gathered up within a week, and tendered them
for a choice to his pretty companion.
They strolled on for nearly half a mile. Tom explained that he must get
back to the wireless station, but he could not resist lingering when
Grace sat down to rest on an upturned boat on the beach. She occupied
the time between admiring the pretty shells he had given her and
inquiring into the details of his work at the wireless tower. Tom was in
the midst of a description of some of the methods employed in sending
wireless messages, when he paused and glanced seawards.
"There is your friend, Grace," said Tom.
A natty gasoline launch was approaching the pier up-shore. Tom made out
two passengers, both of whom he recognized. One was Mart Walters. The
other boatman was at the wheel. Tom had seen him twice on the street of
Rockley Cove and knew who he was--young Aldrich, the friend about whom
Mart was so continually boasting.
Grace Morgan glanced in the direction of the pier. Then, as if totally
uninterested in what was going on there, she turned her back upon it and
led an animated conversation with her companion. Tom kept facing the
pier. From the launch Aldrich finally leaped ashore, evidently made them
out, and leaving Mart in charge of the launch walked rapidly up the
beach.
"I think I had better be getting back to the tower," said Tom, as the
newcomer neared them,
"Don't be in a hurry, Tom," advised Grace, with a slightly malicious
twinkle in her eye. "Oh, you, Mr. Aldrich?" she added, arising with a
formal bow to the young man, who, arrayed in fancy yachting costume, was
quite a "swell" sight, indeed.
She introduced them, but Mr. Aldrich was not inclined to make any
friendly advances towards a boy in common working clothes. He
deliberately turned his back on Tom, and began a conversation with
Grace.
"Had we not better start out on our cruise?" he asked.
"Why, I had forgotten all about it, quite," declared the wilful miss,
with an encouraging smile at Tom, which quite nettled the newcomer.
"The water is very smooth," observed young Aldrich. "I am sure you will
enjoy it."
"I regret it very much," replied Grace, "but I was ready an hour ago. It
is my time for musical practice now, and you will have to excuse me.
Don't hasten, Tom," she added, crossing over to Tom.
"I think I had better be getting back on duty at the wireless station,"
said our hero.
"Wireless, eh?" young Aldrich condescended to observe at this juncture.
"In with that fad, eh?"
"I am trying to make something more than a fad out of it," replied Tom
pleasantly.
"Wire repairer or something of that sort?" intimated Bert Aldrich with a
supercilious stare at Tom's working clothes.
"Indeed, no," flashed out Grace resentfully. "Tom is quite an expert,
aren't you, Tom? He has been telling me the most delightful and
fascinating things about the wireless. Oh, there is papa!"
There was an abrupt lull in the conversation as the Morgan automobile
came down the beach road from the direction of Rockley Cove. Mr. Morgan
gave the chauffeur the signal to stop and leaped from the machine in an
excited way.
The politic young Aldrich advanced to meet the capitalist, all smiles
and ceremony. Mr. Morgan almost brushed him aside, not even noticing the
extended hand.
He went straight up to Tom, and his eyes glowed with friendly interest.
Mr. Morgan caught both of Tom's hands in his own and gave them a hearty
shake.
"Barnes," he said, "I stopped to say just a word to you. I must get to
the city at once, but when I return I want you to come down to Fernwood.
I have something important to say to you."
"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," bowed Tom courteously.
"You have saved me much of my fortune," declared the capitalist in a
tremulous, grateful tone. "How shall I ever repay you? Going up to the
house, Grace?" he inquired of his daughter.
"Yes, papa, it is my practice hour."
With a bewitching smile for Tom and a crisp little nod to Bert Aldrich
the miss sprang airily into the car.
"Oh, Tom," she called back to the young wireless operator, as she
mischievously noted the discomfited look on the face of young Aldrich,
"I won't be like some people--I'll be on time to-morrow to have you show
me all the wonders of that delightful wireless tower of yours."