For a moment, taken completely by surprise, they did not know which way to turn nor what to do. But they were not of the type that hesitates long before taking action. Their hidden assailants probably thought that they would run, but this thought was furthest from their minds.

Bob noted from which direction the missiles were coming, and acted accordingly.

"Come on, fellows!" he yelled, and, followed by his friends, charged into the long dry stalks that fringed the path.

There was a sudden cessation in the volley of stones and a startled rustling deep in the rank growth of weeds.

In grim silence the radio boys charged straight in the direction of this sound, and such was the speed of their attack that their hidden adversaries had no chance to make their escape before the boys were upon them. It was now almost dark, but there was still enough light for the boys to recognize the ungainly form of Buck Looker, in company with his cronies. These three had been re-inforced by a boy of about Buck's age, and of very much the same ugly disposition, known as Bud Hayes, whose family had lately moved to Clintonia.

"Clean them up, fellows!" yelled Bob. "We'll teach them not to throw stones again in a hurry!"

Each of the radio boys singled out an adversary, and a brisk melee ensued. Seeing that they could not get away, the Looker crowd put up the best fight they could. But the radio boys were wrought up to a high pitch of anger by the cowardly attack on them, and they fought with a quiet and grim determination that quickly put their adversaries on the defensive.

At first the high grass and weeds hampered all the combatants, but these were soon trampled down as they fought savagely back and forth. Suddenly, by some unfortunate accident, Herb tripped over some object lying on the ground, and fell full length. With a cry of triumph, Bud Hayes, without giving Herb a chance to get to his feet again, threw himself down on top of him and started pommeling him for all he was worth. Stunned by his fall, Herb at first could offer little resistance, and it would have gone hard with him had not Bob observed his fall. He himself had engaged Buck in combat, but as he saw Herb go down, he dealt Buck a staggering blow on the point of the jaw and leaped to Herb's assistance.

Hot rage filled his heart and the wild thrill of combat tingled along every nerve. With the strength and ferocity of a panther he hurled himself at Bud Hayes, landing with such force that Bud was hurled several feet away from the prostrate Herb, gasping for breath.

Bob himself landed on the ground, but was on his feet again quick as lightning, glancing about him to see how it fared with his friends. Joe was forcing Carl Lutz back step by step, while Jimmy had already forced Terry Mooney to take to his heels. But even as Bob noted this in one quick glance, both Bud and Buck, who had recovered by this time, rushed at him from different directions. But before Buck could get too close quarters Herb, who was recovering from the effect of his fall, stretched out a foot, and Buck sprawled headlong, landing with such force that the breath was knocked from his body.

Lutz and Hayes, seeing their leader fall, decided that it was time for them to get away, and simultaneously they took to their heels. By this time it had grown so dark that it was impossible to follow them, so the boys were left in undisputed possession of the field.

Buck Looker, deserted by his cowardly friends, staggered to his feet, all the fight knocked out of him. He was entirely at the mercy of the radio boys, but they were not the kind to take advantage of this fact, although, undoubtedly, had their positions been reversed, Buck would have had no such scruples.

"Well, you've got me," growled Buck. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," said Bob, a note of contempt in his voice. "The less we see of you, Buck, the better we're satisfied. And your gang's no better than you are. Look at the way they ran off and left you to take care of yourself. You're dirty and they're dirty. We'll let you off this time with the licking you've had already, but if you ever try any more low-down tricks you won't get off so easily."

Buck muttered something to himself which he did not dare to voice aloud, and slunk off with the manner of a cur who has just received a beating that he knows he deserves. The radio boys groped their way back to the path, where they had left their bundles, and resumed their way home, keeping a wary eye out for any signs of a renewal of the attack by their enemies.



CHAPTER IX

LARRY REAPPEARS

"That was a regular battle," said Herb, as they walked along. "Bud Hayes has some reputation as a scrapper, and he certainly was all that I could handle, but if I hadn't tripped over that blamed can I could have taken care of him all right. But I've got a lump on my head as big as a hen's egg where I hit the ground."

"You'd have been out of luck if Bob hadn't helped you out the way he did," said Joe. "You certainly landed on him like a load of bricks, Bob."

"I was so mad that I think I would have dropped a ton of bricks on him if I'd had them handy," replied Bob, with a grim laugh. "That was one dirty trick—hitting Herb—when he was knocked out by that fall."

"I guess I owe you a vote of thanks for that, too," said Herb.

"I owe you one, for tripping up Buck in the neat way you did," returned Bob. "He and Hayes would have been on top of me both together if you hadn't."

"No thanks due; it was a pleasure," grinned Herb, although a swollen lip made this exercise painful. "I wish he'd broken his neck while he was about it."

"It wasn't your fault that he didn't," said Bob.

"I knew that bunch was mean," remarked Joe. "But I never thought they were mean enough to take up stone throwing from ambush. That's the most cowardly thing they've ever done."

"Yes, and the most dangerous," said Bob. "Any one of those stones might have killed one of us if it had landed just right."

"Or, worse still, it might have broken our vacuum tubes," added Jimmy, with a grin. "It's a wonder that the whole lot of them didn't get smashed. I'll be afraid to open the package when we do get it home," he went on more seriously.

His fears turned out to have been groundless, for when they arrived at the Layton home, without having seen or heard anything more of the bullies on the way, they found all their delicate apparatus unharmed. And other than Herb's swollen lip and a few slight bruises, they had received little damage themselves from the encounter. The bullies had not fared so well, for little was seen of them for several days, and when they did make an appearance in public they were decorated with strips of court plaster here and there. They offered many ingenious excuses in explanation, but they received little credence from the other boys of the town, who had been apprized of the cowardly attack on the radio boys and the result of the encounter.

The bullies soon found that nobody believed them, and wherever they went they were pointed out and were the subject of many jeers and jokes, although few dared to make them openly. Buck realized that he was losing prestige rapidly, and, although he was getting secretly to fear another encounter with the radio boys, he felt that he must soon get the better of them if he were to regain his former reputation as a fighter. He and his cronies spent many an hour in hatching plots against Bob and his friends, but for a long time could think of nothing that offered much prospect of success.

Meanwhile, the radio boys were going about the building of their big set with enthusiasm, spending all their spare time at the fascinating pursuit. Most of their work was done at Bob's house, as he had an ideal workroom in the cellar, and his position as leader, moreover, made it seem the natural place for them to meet.

"Say, fellows!" exclaimed Jimmy one evening, tumbling down the cellar stairs three steps at a time, "have you heard the news?"

"What news?" asked Herb, who had arrived only a few minutes before him. "Has there been a big fire? Or did some one die and leave you a million dollars?"

"No such luck as that," replied Jimmy. "But I know you'll be mighty glad to hear it, anyway. Chasson's vaudeville is going to be in Clintonia next week. That's the show Larry and Tim are with, you know."

"Good enough!" exclaimed the others. "Where did you hear about it, Jimmy?" asked Bob.

"There was a bill poster putting up the programme on a fence as I came along," answered Jimmy. "I saw the name 'Chasson,' and of course I stopped and looked to see if Larry and Tim were on the bill."

"Were they?" asked Herb.

"You bet they were! And in pretty big type, too," responded Jimmy. "Say! it will be great to see them on the stage, won't it?"

"I should say it will," said Joe. "If they're half as funny on the stage as they are off it, they'll surely make a hit."

"They certainly will," put in Bob. "We'll be there on the opening night to give them a hand. If they don't go big, it won't be our fault."

"They'll be popular, all right," predicted Joe, with conviction. "If the rest of the show is half as good as their part it will be worth more than the price of admission."

"It will be great to hear that canary whistling his little tunes again," said Herbert, laughing at the recollection of Larry's comical imitations.

"Not to mention Tim's dancing," said Bob. "That boy can sure shake a foot. I'll bet they'll both get into the big circuits before they're much older."

"They deserve to," said Jimmy. "They rehearse an awful lot. It makes me tired just to think of how hard I've seen them work sometimes."

"But then, you get tired very easily, Doughnuts, you know that," said Joe.

"If you worked half as hard in the afternoons as I do sometimes, you'd be tired in the evening, too," replied Jimmy, in an injured tone. "I'll bet I sawed through about a thousand feet of tough oak planking this afternoon for Dad, and I'll have to do the same thing to-morrow afternoon. He's got a big job on, and I have to pitch in and help him."

"Well, you ought to do something to pay for all the good grub you pack away," said Herb, utterly without sympathy for his friend's tale of woe.

"Maybe you'd pack away more if you did a little work once in a while," retorted Jimmy. "All you do is spend your time thinking up poor jokes instead of doing something useful."

"Oh, I'm glad you mentioned jokes," said Herb, calmly ignoring Jimmy's attack. "I thought of a swell one just as I was walking up here this evening. I know you will all be delighted to hear it."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Bob. "They don't usually delight anybody, do they?"

"Of course they do," replied Herb, indignantly.

"They always delight Herb Fennington, anyway," observed Joe.

"Yes, I like me," said Herb, refusing to get mad. "Also, I like my jokes. Now, take this one, for instance. Why——"

"I'd rather not take it, if it's all the same to you," said Joe, cruelly. "Why don't you keep it, and give it to somebody else, Herb?"

"Oh, forget it!" exclaimed Herb. "This is a good joke, I tell you, and you've got to listen, whether you want to or not."

"Go ahead and get the agony over with, then," said Bob, resignedly. "I suppose we'll be able to live through it, just as we have others before this."

"Well, I saw in this morning's newspaper that the Mercury Athletic Club in New York burned up last night. Now, you've got to help me out with this joke, Bob. When I say 'I see there was a big athletic event at the Mercury Athletic Club last night,' you say 'is that so? What happened?' Have you got that through your noddle?"

"Yes, I guess I can remember that," answered Bob. "Shoot!"

"All right, then, here goes," said Herb. "I see that there was a big athletic event at the Mercury Athletic Club last night, Bob."

"Is that so?" said Bob, taking his cue. "What happened, Herb?"

"The water was running and the flames were leaping," cried Herb, triumphantly. "How's that for a crackerjack joke?"

"Awful," said Joe, although he could not help laughing with the others. "I'll bet there's a nice cosy, padded cell waiting for you in the nearest bughouse, Herb."

"Well, it can wait, for all of me," said his friend. "I'm not very keen about it, myself."

"I think jail would be a better place for him," suggested Jimmy.

This met with the unqualified approval of everybody except Herb, and then the boys set to work on their new radio set. As this was Saturday evening, they had no lessons to prepare, and they worked steadily until ten o'clock. They wound transformers until Jimmy declared that it made him dizzy even to look at them, and when the time came to stop work they all felt that substantial progress had been made.

They agreed to meet at the theater the following Monday evening, to witness the opening performance of the show in which their friends Larry Bartlett and Tim Barcommon were performing, and then said good-night and started homeward to the accompaniment of a cheerful whistled marching tune.

There was much excitement among their classmates the following Monday, as they had all heard about the show and most of them intended to go. When they learned that the radio boys were acquainted with two of the performers, the four lads were deluged with questions as to how they came to know them.

"You fellows are getting pretty sporty, seems to me," said Lon Beardsley. "Maybe you'll give us an introduction to your friends in the show."

"Surest thing you know," assented Bob. "I got a letter from them this morning, and they promised to call me up around four o'clock this afternoon. They'll probably come to our house for dinner, and we'll all go down to the theater together."

And sure enough, Bob had hardly reached home that afternoon when the telephone bell rang, and Larry's familiar voice came over the wire.

"Hello, Bob!" he said. "How's the boy? Did you get my letter all right?"

"I sure did," answered Bob. "It's fine to hear your voice again. We're all tickled to death to know that you're showing in Clintonia this week. You and Tim have got to come here for supper to-night, you know."

"We'd be glad to, if it isn't imposing on your folks," said Larry. "We don't get many regular home dinners these days, you can bet, and it will be a treat for us."

"All right, then, we'll be looking for you," replied Bob. "Get here as early as you can."

This Larry promised to do, and after a little further conversation rang off. Bob then called up the other radio boys and told them to come to his house immediately after supper, so that they would have time for a few words with Larry and Tim, after which they could all go down to the theater together.



CHAPTER X

A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT

"Hello, Tim! Hello, Larry! How have you been?" The two actors had little reason to complain of the warmth of their reception, as the radio boys shook hands with them, pounded them on the back, and asked innumerable questions.

"You both look as though you were being treated all right," said Joe, after they had quieted down somewhat after the first riotous greetings. "How do you like being with a regular show?"

"Oh, we manage to get along," answered Larry. "But tell us a little of what you fellows have been doing since we saw you last. Are you still as interested in radio as ever?"

"You bet we are!" said Bob. "If you once get interested in that, I don't think you'd ever be willing to drop it. The more you learn about it, the more you want to learn."

"Well, that's fine," said Larry, heartily. "I only wish I had time enough to take it up. I'd like nothing better."

"When you make a lot of money in the vaudeville business and retire, you'll have plenty of time for it," said Tim, with a wink at the others.

"Yes, when I do," said Larry, scornfully. "It doesn't strain my back at present to carry around my roll, though. I feel lucky if I can keep a jump or two ahead of the wolf, as it is. But we may both have luck and land on a big circuit, and then we'll begin to get some real money."

While talking, the little party had been walking at a brisk pace and now found themselves close to the theater. Many of the townspeople were going in the same direction, and most of these recognized the radio boys and looked inquisitively at their two companions. Some of their schoolmates, who knew that Larry and Tim were actors, made bold to join the group and be introduced. By the time they reached the theater Larry and Tim had quite an escort of honor, all of whom were loath to leave them at the stage door. As they disappeared within they were followed by three rousing cheers, and then all the boys made their way to the main entrance.

The radio boys had secured their tickets in advance, and were soon comfortably seated, waiting expectantly for the curtain to rise on the first act.

This proved to be an acrobatic turn of mediocre quality, and the boys waited impatiently for it to finish, for Tim and Larry were billed to appear in the next act. With a moderate meed of applause, the acrobats retired. The orchestra struck up a catchy tune and the big curtain slowly rose. The scene disclosed was pretty and artistic, representing a glade in a forest, realistic trees surrounding a green clearing. Nothing was to be seen of Larry and Tim, however, and the radio boys were mystified, as both their friends had refused to tell them what the act was like. Suddenly the first piping notes of a canary bird's song were heard, rising so clear and lifelike that even the boys themselves were deluded at first into thinking that they were listening to an actual bird. The canary song ended with a sustained trill, and then, soft and melodious, came the limpid notes of the mocking bird's song. By this time the audience had comprehended that this was in reality a clever human imitation of bird notes, and they applauded heartily.

"Say!" whispered Jimmy, excitedly, "Larry has picked up a lot of new stuff since he was at Ocean Point. That was fine, wasn't it?"

"Keep still," whispered Joe, fiercely. "We want to hear every bit of this."

Jimmy subsided, and they all listened with keen delight as Larry imitated a host of feathered songsters, each one so true to life that the audience applauded again and again. At last Larry exhausted his repertoire, and for the first time appeared in the open, emerging from behind the trunk of a tree. He was heartily applauded, and as he bowed his way off the stage, the spotlight shifted, and Tim came onto the stage like a whirlwind, arms and legs flying as he did a complicated clog dance. At the most furious part Larry joined him, and they danced together, keeping such perfect time and going through such identical motions that it seemed as though they must be automatons actuated by the same string.

As a spectacular finale to the act, each one was supposed to make a dash for one of the property trees in the background, climb up it and disappear in the branches as the curtain fell. With a final wild gyration that brought spontaneous applause from the audience, each one made for his appointed tree, and started up.

Everything went as usual until Larry had almost reached the branches. Suddenly there came a cracking sound, the artificial tree swayed and tottered, and, amid horrified cries from the spectators, crashed to the stage, bringing down others on top of it as it fell. The radio boys had just time to see Larry lying, white and senseless, among the ruins when the curtain descended quickly, shutting off the scene of the accident from the audience.

So suddenly had the thing happened that at first the boys could hardly believe the evidence of their eyes. For a few moments they gazed at one another in horrified silence, and then, as though all were moved simultaneously by the same thought, they rushed down the aisle and, before the ushers could stop them, climbed onto the stage. It took them a few seconds, that seemed like hours, to find their way behind the scenes to the place where the accident had occurred.

Tim, aided by several stage hands, was frantically trying to release his partner from the heavy pieces of scenery that held him pinned down. Bob and his friends fell to the work of rescue with every ounce of energy and strength that they possessed, but, work as they did, it was a considerable time before they at last managed to free their unfortunate friend.

A doctor had been sent for, and by the time Larry was laid, still unconscious, on a cot, the physician had arrived. As he made his examination his face grew more and more serious, and he shook his head doubtfully.

"He's pretty badly hurt, I'm afraid," he said. "We must get him to a hospital as soon as possible. I have my car outside, and if some of you will carry him out, I'll take him there."

In sorrowful silence Tim and the radio boys carried their injured friend out to the doctor's automobile. Tim got in with him, and Larry was whirled away to the hospital, where he faced a grim fight for life.

The radio boys followed on foot, after first telephoning to their homes to explain why they would not be home until late.

Meantime, in the theater, the performance had gone on after an announcement by the management that "Mr. Bartlett is but slightly hurt,"—so spoke the manager—"and has been taken to a hospital where he can receive better care than in the hotel."

The radio boys followed the doctor's car to the hospital and spent an anxious hour in the waiting room while their friend was being thoroughly examined by the head physician, for of course the announcement at the theater had been made to quiet the audience, and no one yet knew just how serious Larry's injuries were.

"We'll have to get Doctor Ellis to take care of him," said Bob, while they were waiting. "I'm awfully sorry your father isn't in town, Joe. Next to him Dr. Ellis is the best doctor in Clintonia, I guess."

The others concurred in this view, and Bob promised to call up Dr. Ellis in the morning. After what seemed an endless wait the physician who had brought Larry to the hospital entered the waiting room.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to see your friend to-night," he said. "His left arm is broken, and I think his back is injured, although I can't tell yet how seriously. By this time to-morrow night I'll be able to tell you more. Has he any relatives that should be notified of the accident?"

"I know he has a mother, who is dependent on him," said Bob. "We've all heard him speak of her. I don't know where she lives, though, but probably Tim would have her address."

"Whose address?" asked Tim, entering the room at that moment.

"Larry's mother's," said Bob. "Do you know where she lives, Tim? As the doctor says, she ought to be notified about this."

"Yes, I know where she can be reached," said Tim. "I'll write to her before I go to bed to-night. Poor Larry!" and Tim tried hard to wink the tears back, but with little success.

"You mustn't feel too bad," advised the kindly doctor. "I think that there is little doubt that he will live, but as to whether or not he'll fully recover, I can't say yet. But we'll hope for the best, and you can rest assured that everything possible will be done for him."

The boys thanked the doctor for the help he had given their unfortunate friend, and then, after taking a sorrowful leave of Tim, started homeward.

The next few days were anxious ones for the radio boys. Larry hovered between life and death, and almost a week had passed before the doctors in charge of his case would say positively that he was going to pull through. At the end of that period the boys were allowed to see him, for a few minutes, after promising not to let him talk or to say anything to him that might excite him.

Larry received them with his old cheerful grin, but the boys were shocked at his wan and wasted appearance, so different from his usual vigorous self. They did not let him see this, however, but talked and joked with him in the usual way, and when the doctor finally signaled for them to leave they had the satisfaction of knowing that they had cheered their friend up and left him looking happier than when they came.



CHAPTER XI

LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS

"It's going to be pretty hard for Larry when he does start to get around, I'm afraid," said Bob, after the boys had left the hospital. "Tim told me yesterday that Larry's mother is an invalid, and has to have a nurse all the time. Larry is her only support, and if he can't keep up his vaudeville career I don't see how either of them are going to get along."

"It's pretty tough, all right," replied Joe. "The doctor says now that he'll be as strong as ever eventually, but he admits that it will be a long time until he is. I wish we could think of some way to help Larry out until he gets on his feet again."

"Well, maybe we can," observed Bob, hopefully. "Although I must admit that I can't see much light on the subject just at present."

"We'll have to get busy on our new radio set in earnest pretty soon," said Joe, after a pause in which each had been busy with his own thoughts. "We've spent so much of our time at the hospital with Larry that we haven't got more than about ten cents' worth done since the night of the accident."

"We can plug right along with it now," said Bob. "And speaking of radio, who do you think called me up last night? I meant to tell you before, but I forgot all about it."

"Who was it?" asked Herb. "Somebody we all know?"

"You bet we all know him," said Bob, laughing. "It was Frank Brandon."

"Frank Brandon!" they all exclaimed. "Where's he been keeping himself lately?" asked Joe.

"He said that he had had to go to Florida on some government business connected with wireless, and he just got back to this part of the country yesterday," replied Bob. "He expected to be in Clintonia to-day, and said that if we were all going to be at my house to-night, he'd drop in and make us a visit."

"I hope you told him that we'd be there," said Jimmy.

"Of course I did," replied Bob. "You fellows had better get around bright and early this evening, because he said he'd be around right after supper. I know I've got plenty of questions I want to ask him, and I guess you have, too."

"You can bet I have!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I want to ask him where he got that package of milk chocolate he had with him the last time I saw him. He gave me a piece, and believe me, it was about the best I've ever tasted."

"There you go again," exclaimed Herb, with a laugh, "always thinking of that stomach of yours. Don't you ever think of anything serious?"

"Serious?" echoed Jimmy. "It's a serious enough thing for me, where to get that milk chocolate. I've been in pretty nearly every candy store in town, but none of them seems to have anything quite so good."

By this time the boys had reached Main Street, and they parted for the time being, promising to get to Bob's house as soon as they could after supper.

The Layton family had hardly finished their evening meal when there came a ring at the doorbell, and Bob jumped up to admit the expected guest.

"Hello, Mr. Brandon!" exclaimed Bob, as they both shook hands heartily. "It seems great to see you again."

"I can say the same thing about you," replied Frank Brandon. "You're tanned like a life guard at Coney Island. I'll bet you haven't been far from salt water all summer."

"You're right there," smiled Bob. "I was in the water so much that it's a wonder I didn't turn into a fish. The whole bunch of us had a wonderful time of it."

"Good enough!" Brandon exclaimed, heartily. "Where's all the rest of your crowd this evening?"

"They'll be around soon now. I'm expecting them any minute. There's Joe's whistle now! I thought he'd be along soon."

As he finished speaking Joe came bounding up the porch two steps at a time, and he had hardly got inside and shaken hands with Brandon when Jimmy and Herb appeared together. There was great excitement while they exchanged greetings, and then they went into the parlor and were made welcome by Mr. and Mrs. Layton.

"It seems good to get back in this town again," said Brandon, in a voice that carried conviction. "You folks have made me so welcome ever since we became acquainted that it seems almost like my own home town."

"That's the way we want everybody to feel," smiled Mr. Layton. "Clintonia is a neighborly town, and we always do our best to make visitors feel at home."

"I hear you've done a good deal of traveling since you were here last," said Mrs. Layton.

"Yes, I had a little commission to execute for the government down in Miami," said Brandon. "A radio inspector is apt to be sent anywhere on short notice, you know."

"How is your cousin, Mr. Harvey, getting along?" asked Bob. "Has he got entirely over his experience of last summer, when Dan Cassey knocked him out and stole his money?"

"Oh, yes, he's all right now," responded Brandon. "I saw him only day before yesterday, and he couldn't get through talking about the way you fellows took charge of the station while he was down and out, and then got the money back afterward. That was mighty fine work, and you can believe both he and I are grateful to you for what you did."

"Oh, that wasn't much," disclaimed Bob. "Besides, he'd done so much for us that we owed him something in return."

"He didn't say anything about that," observed Brandon.

"I suppose that's the last thing in the world he would mention," laughed Joe. "But he gave us all kinds of stuff on radio, and even loaned us a practice set to get the code with."

"Don't forget about the motor boat," said Herb. "He was as generous with that as with everything else. We sure had some fine cruises in the old Sea Bird."

"That sounds like him, all right," admitted Brandon. "There's hardly anything you could ask him for that he wouldn't cheerfully give you. He told me that you fellows were getting to be regular sharps at the radio game. Are you building any sets at present?"

"You bet we are!" cried Bob. "Come on down to my workroom, and we'll show you what we're doing. We're working on a regular set this time."

"I'm with you," said Brandon, heartily. "Come ahead and let's see what you've got. I suppose you'll be giving me pointers pretty soon."

"Not for a little time yet, anyway," grinned Bob. "The government hasn't been after us yet begging us to take jobs in the radio department."

"You never can tell," replied Brandon. "There's a big demand for radio men these days, and we're getting some pretty young chaps in our division."

"We don't feel as though we'd much more than scratched the surface of radiophony yet," said Joe. "There's such an immense amount to be learned, and then there are new discoveries being made every day. It would take almost all a fellow's time just to keep up with new developments, let alone learn all the fundamentals."

"That will all come in time," said the radio inspector. "You're on the right road now, anyway, and traveling pretty fast. Say!" he exclaimed, a moment later, as he was ushered into the workroom and caught sight of the new set, which was partially completed. "You're certainly going into it pretty heavily this time, aren't you? I didn't imagine you were working up anything so elaborate."

"We thought we might as well make something pretty good while we were about it," said Bob. "It won't be much more work to make this set than a smaller one, and we expect to get a whole lot better results. Don't you think so yourself?"

"There's no doubt about it," agreed Mr. Brandon. "When you get this set finished, you ought to be able to catch pretty near anything that happens to be flying around. Let's see how you intend to hook things up."

The boys explained their ideas and methods in detail, while the radio man nodded appreciatively from time to time. Sometimes he interrupted to ask a question or make a suggestion, which was duly taken note of by the enthusiastic boys.

"There doesn't seem to be a whole lot that I can tell you," remarked Frank Brandon, after they had gone over everything in detail. "You seem to have thought it out very thoroughly already, and outside of the few minor things I've already told you, I can't think of much to suggest. It looks to me as though you'd have a pretty good set there when you get through.

"There's one tip I want to give you though," he went on. "And that is to be careful about your tuning. You've noticed, no doubt, that sometimes you get first-class results, and then again the reception is so unsatisfactory that you are disgusted. Now in nine times out of ten the whole trouble is that you haven't tuned your receiver properly. You can't do the thing in a haphazard fashion and get the signals clearly. You know what Michelangelo said about 'trifles that make perfection.' Well, it's something like that in tuning your receiver.

"Now I see that in this receiver you have separate controls for the primary and secondary circuits. To tune in correctly you have to adjust both circuits to the wave length of the special signal that you are trying to get.

"First you start in with a tentative adjustment of the first primary. Fix it, let us say, for between a third and a half of its maximum value. I see that here the coupling between the primary and secondary is adjustable, so place it at maximum at the start. Of course you know that maximum means the position in which the windings are closest to each other.

"Then you fix up the secondary circuit for adjustment to the wave length, turning it slowly from minimum to maximum until you come to the point where the desired station is heard. When this is found, you again readjust the primary until you find the point of maximum loudness.

"Now you see the advantage of this double control. If an interfering station butts in, just decrease the coupling between primary and secondary and then tune again the two circuits. You can feel pretty sure of cutting out the interference and getting clearly just the station that you want."

"That's mighty good dope," said Bob. "I've had that trouble more than once and haven't been quite clear as to the best way of getting around it."

"Then too," went on the radio expert, "you must be careful in adjusting the tickler that gives the regenerative effect. Start in slowly by turning the control knob toward the maximum. You'll soon strike a point where the signal will be loud and clear. Now when you've got to that point, don't overdo it. If you get too much regeneration, the quality of the notes becomes distorted and before you know it you have only a jumble. Let well enough alone is a good rule in tuning, as in many other things. When your coffee's sweet enough, another spoonful of sugar will only spoil it. Keep to the middle of the road. It isn't the loudest noise you want but the sweetest music.

"Be careful, too," he urged, "not to have too brilliant a filament. It's wholly unnecessary to have it at a white heat, and you don't want to burn it out any more quickly than you have to. You can save money in reducing the filament brightness by increasing the regeneration, which will make up for the loss of brilliancy.

"Now by keeping these things in mind," he concluded, "you'll be able to operate your set to the best advantage and get the satisfaction you are looking for."

"We certainly hope to, anyway," said Bob. "We've put a lot of work and quite a little money into this outfit, and we'd be mightily disappointed if we didn't get good results."

"There's not much doubt about that, I think," remarked Frank Brandon. "You ought to see some of the sets I come across! They look to be regular nightmares, but they get passable results, anyway. Radio is certainly getting to be a country-wide craze. Only the other day I was at one of the big broadcasting stations, and the manager told me that they were actually having trouble to get performers, there is such a demand for them. They seem to be especially hard up for novelty acts—something out of the ordinary. People get tired of the same old programmes night after night."

"Say!" exclaimed Bob, struck by a sudden thought. "Why wouldn't that be just the thing for Larry when he gets a little better? He could do his bird imitations just as well as ever, and he could do it as well sitting in a chair, as far as that goes."

"Bob, you said something!" exclaimed Joe, slapping him on the back. "That's just the kind of thing that would appeal to people, too. I'll bet he'd be a hit from the beginning."

"Who is Larry?" asked Mr. Brandon, curiously.

The excited boys told him all about their acquaintance with Larry and Tim up to the time of the almost fatal accident in the theater. Brandon listened attentively, and when they had finished sat thinking for several minutes.

"Yes, I think it could be arranged all right," he said at last. "I know the manager of one big New Jersey broadcasting station personally, and I'm sure he'd be willing to give your friend a try-out. If he's as good as you say he is, they'd probably be glad to put him on the pay roll. From what you tell me, his act is certainly a novelty, and that's what they want."



CHAPTER XII

A GLAD ANNOUNCEMENT

"We'll go and see Larry as soon as we get out of school to-morrow, and see what he says about it," said Bob. "But I guess there's no doubt of what he'll want to do. I know he's mighty worried about the future. He told me he didn't have much money saved up, and what he did have must be about gone by this time."

"You do that," agreed Brandon. "And if he thinks favorably of the idea, I'll find time to go with him and you to the station I spoke of, and give him an introduction to the manager and see that he gets a try-out."

"That's mighty good of you, Mr. Brandon," said Joe. "Larry is such a fine fellow that when you get to know him you'll feel as interested in seeing him get along as we are."

"That's likely enough," said Brandon. "Anyway, if we didn't help each other out a little, this old world wouldn't be much of a place to live in."

After a little further conversation, Brandon rose to go. "I've got a pretty busy day ahead of me to-morrow, so I think I'd better turn in rather early to-night," he said. "Just give me a call at the hotel any time you want me, or, better yet, come and pay me a visit in person. You know you'll always be welcome."

"You bet we'll come," promised Jimmy.

"Jimmy's thinking of some special milk chocolate you gave him once, and is hoping you may have some more of it," laughed Joe.

"I wasn't thinking anything of the kind!" exclaimed Jimmy, indignantly. "What do you think I am, anyway?"

"We'd hate to tell you that," said Herb, with a wicked grin. "It would hurt your feelings too much, Doughnuts."

"I think I know what chocolate he refers to," said Brandon, laughing. "And I don't wonder that you remember it, Jimmy. It certainly was good, but I'm afraid you won't be able to find any more like it around here. It was sent to me from Vermont by a married sister of mine who lives there."

"Poor old Jimmy!" exclaimed Bob. "You're out of luck this time, old timer. If you had only known that, you wouldn't have had to make that heartbreaking search all over Clintonia."

"Oh, I didn't mind it so much," said his good-natured friend. "I had a lot of fun sampling all the different varieties, anyway."

"I'll say you did," said Herb. "I'll bet you were glad of an excuse."

"Don't need an excuse," retorted Jimmy. "I guess there's no law against eating chocolate, is there?"

"If there were, you'd be serving a life sentence now," said Joe, heartlessly.

"From the way you talk, I guess you don't like chocolate, so you won't want any of this," and Jimmy proceeded to unwrap a sizable bundle that he had brought with him, but had forgotten in the excitement of Brandon's visit.

"I didn't say that, did I?" asked Joe, in a tone of injured innocence.

"No such luck," said Jimmy. "Maybe if you didn't want any, the rest of us might get enough for once. But I suppose you'll want it all, as usual."

"Nothing of the kind," denied Joe. "I'm perfectly willing to go on a fifty-fifty basis. Half for me and half for the rest is all I ask. That's perfectly fair, isn't it?"

"It's fair enough for you, perhaps, but it doesn't make much of a hit with us," laughed Bob. "Don't take any notice of him, Jimmy. Just take your knife and break that chocolate up into lumps, and let's find out what it tastes like."

"You'd better wait a few minutes and sample this, Mr. Brandon," said Jimmy, doing as Bob directed. "I'll guarantee that it's the best to be gotten in Clintonia, anyway. I've shopped around this town looking for your brand of chocolate until I'm an expert in that line."

The chocolate disappeared as if by magic, and Frank Brandon rose once more to go.

"I'm really going this time," he laughed. "It won't make any difference if you bring out a dozen packages, Jimmy."

"I only wish I had 'em to bring out," sighed that individual.

"I wish you had, too," said Herb. "Why didn't you get some more while you were about it, Doughnuts?"

"You fellows are certainly hard to please," laughed Brandon. "But I must go now. I hope you'll all drop into the hotel when you get a chance, and we'll smooth out some more radio kinks. I have some good books in my trunk, too, that might be of some help."

"We'll be glad to come," said Bob, heartily. "We'll all drop in some evening around the first of the week, shan't we, fellows?"

Of course, they all agreed to this, and then Brandon took his leave, accompanied by Joe and Herb and Jimmy as far as their respective homes.

The next day the radio boys were eager to tell Larry about the conversation they had had with Frank Brandon concerning him, and the bright prospects the radio man had held out for his successful employment. They could hardly wait for three o'clock to come, and the bell had hardly rung when they were all out in the street ready to make a quick trip to the hospital.

"Come on, fellows," called Bob. "They say that bad news travels fast, but let's prove that good news can hit it up once in a while, too. I'll bet old Larry will be happier this evening than he has been for a long time."

"That speed stuff is all right for you fellows, but don't forget that I'm built more for comfort than speed," grumbled Jimmy. "Set your own pace, though, Bob, and I'll try to keep up, even if it kills me."

"It will be more apt to do you good," said Herb, as they all set off at a brisk dog trot. "There's no doubt that you need more exercise than you get, Doughnuts."

"I get more than I want already," said Jimmy, who was beginning to puff and pant. The others had no mercy on him, though, and when at last they reached the hospital poor Doughnuts was, as he himself said, "all in."

Larry was glad to see them. He was feeling rather blue for, in a roundabout way, a report had reached him that Buck Looker was still connecting himself and Tim with the loss of the watch and other things of value at the hotel dance. Buck had intimated that the two vaudeville performers might have passed the stolen things over to some confederate.

"It's certainly wonderful to have you fellows spend so much of your time with a poor old cripple like me," he said, with a smile in which there was a trace of tears. "I don't know what I'd ever do if you didn't. Tim's a good sort about writing, but I am lonesome and every hour seems to me like a day."

"What do you mean, 'old cripple'?" scoffed Bob. "Why, the doctor says he'll have you out of here and as good as ever in a little while."

"A 'little while' may mean almost anything," said Larry, with a sad smile. "But I'm not kicking, you understand," he added, quickly. "I know I'm mighty lucky to be alive."

"You're not only alive, but you're going to be mighty busy pretty soon, if you happen to feel like holding down a good job," said Bob.



CHAPTER XIII

FULL OF PROMISE

"What do you mean 'good job'?" asked Larry, incredulously, and yet with a note of hope in his voice. "You know I can't even get around easily yet."

"Yes, but you're getting stronger every day," argued Bob. "In a week or so you won't know yourself. Now, here's the proposition we've got for you," and Bob proceeded to outline the plan that they had worked out the previous evening. As he proceeded, a light came into the sick boy's eyes that had not been there since the accident, and a touch of color crept into his cheeks.

"Say!" he broke out, when Bob had finished, "you fellows are about the best friends that anybody ever had."

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Bob. "Why, you know well enough that you'd do anything in the world for one of us if our positions were reversed."

"Well, it will be simply wonderful for me," said Larry. "Of course, though, I may be counting the chickens before they are hatched. The manager of the station may not like my act, you know."

"It's more a question of whether the public will like it or not," said Joe. "Mr. Brandon seems to be sure that the manager will give you a try-out, and I guess they'll soon find out whether your act is popular or not. Judging from the applause you got in the theater that night, I should certainly say it was."

"I only wish I were strong enough to go right away," said Larry. "But I guess I won't be able to go this week, anyway."

"We didn't suppose you would," said Bob. "But Mr. Brandon is going to make his headquarters in Clintonia for several weeks, so you don't have to worry about that. As soon as the doctor says you can make the trip, we'll see if we can't borrow or beg an automobile somewhere, and make the trip to the sending station in style."

"Now that I've got something to look forward to, I'll get well in a hurry," Larry assured him.

"Let's see if you can still make the little birdies jealous by singing their songs better than they can," suggested Jimmy.

"You certainly flatter me, but I'll do the best I can," laughed Larry. "What shall it be first?"

"How about the mocking bird?" suggested Herb. "I think that's one of the prettiest ones, Larry. I never heard a southern mocking bird, but if it sounds like that, I'm going to take a trip to Dixieland some day just to hear one."

"I never heard one, either," confessed Larry, with a grin.

"You didn't!" they all exclaimed. "Where did you learn it, then?"

"A professional bird imitator taught me most of the notes," said Larry. "Of course, I didn't need any lessons to imitate the cute little canary bird, and the robin's notes and a few others I learned by listening to the birds themselves. I suppose it would be best to learn them all that way, if you could, but I never had the time or the money to go traveling all over the country."

"Well, we're still waiting for the mocking bird," Herb reminded him. "I'll sing 'Listen to the Mocking Bird,' and you come in at the proper places with the bird effects."

"Nobody asked you to sing, did they?" asked Jimmy.

"No, they didn't; but I'm going to sing, anyway," answered Herb, and he started the first bars of the well known song.

"We might as well all sing, then," said Bob. "We can't make it any worse than Herb's singing, anyway," so they all joined in the song. At the end of each line they paused, and Larry gave the proper bird notes and trills. The result was not half bad, and before they had finished other convalescent patients had come into the room and were listening appreciatively. The boys all had their backs to the door, and did not know they had an audience until they came to the end of the song and there was a round of applause for their effort.

They all whirled around in some surprise.

"I didn't know we were making anybody suffer but ourselves," laughed Bob. "It must be pretty hard on you folks."

"It sounded fine," said one. "We enjoyed it. Why don't you try something else?"

"Couldn't think of it," said Bob. "Besides, I guess that's about the only song we all know except the 'Star Spangled Banner,' and there aren't any bird songs in that. You give them some more imitations, though, Larry. You will be all the better for the practice, anyway."

"Anything to oblige," grinned Larry, and went through his whole repertoire, while the little audience applauded freely.

"There! that's all I know," said Larry at last, when he had imitated every kind of bird he could think of. "I'll have to get busy and learn some more, I guess."

"We didn't know we had such a talented young man in the place," said one elderly gentleman. "You'll have to entertain us every day while you're here, young man."

"Well, if you folks can stand it, I can," laughed Larry. "I'll always be glad to oblige, I'm sure."

His appreciative listeners thanked him, and gradually drifted out of the room.

"You made a hit, Larry," said Bob. "It's just as I tell you. Your art is a novelty, and people are tickled to death with it. You won't have to worry about making good when you get your try-out at the broadcasting station."

"I hope you're right," said Larry. "I can't wait until I'm strong enough, to take the trip. Anyway, I'll have something to look forward to now."

The time had passed so quickly that the boys could hardly believe it when Bob looked at his watch and told them it was nearly six o'clock.

"Good-night!" exclaimed Joe. "We'll all be late for supper now. Guess we'll have to say good-bye and beat it, Larry."

"I suppose so," said Larry, regretfully. "I want to thank you all again for what you've done for me, and believe me, I appreciate it."

They all shook hands with him, and then started for home at a brisk pace.

"Seems to me we're always in a hurry," complained Jimmy. "You pretty near run my legs off getting here, and now I've got to repeat the performance going home, or else get a cold supper when I get there. I wonder why I'm always out of luck that way."

"You'd better save your breath, instead of wasting it in kicking," Joe admonished him. "You'll need it all before you get home, I'll tell you. Let's hit it up a little faster, fellows. Jimmy wants to get home before his supper gets cold, so we'll have to see that he gets there."

"Come on, Doughnuts, step on the throttle," cried Herb. "Show us what you really can do."

"Nothing doing," panted Jimmy. "My throttle's wide open now. You fellows go ahead if you're in such a hurry."

"I guess there's no such rush as that," said Bob, slowing down to a pace more suited to Jimmy's limited speed. "Take it easy, old man. We're not going to a fire, after all."



CHAPTER XIV

AN IMPROMPTU FEAST

"Anybody would think we were, to look at us," puffed Jimmy. "Whew, I'm all in!" and he slowed down to a walk.

"Well, we're almost home, anyway," said Bob. "Take your time, Jimmy. We'd hate to have you die of apoplexy."

"You wouldn't hate it nearly as much as I would," said Jimmy, beginning to get his breath again. "Just think of what the world would lose if anything were to happen to me."

"It's too terrible to think about," said Bob, with mock gravity. "I suppose the old world would stop spinning if you should kick the bucket, Jimmy."

"Maybe not as bad as that," interposed Herb. "But a lot of doughnut manufacturers would have to go out of business, I know that."

"Aw, you know too much!" exclaimed Jimmy, scornfully. "At least, you think you do, which is worse. I don't see what you have to go to high school for, anyway. You know all there is to know, already."

"I don't know but what you're right," agreed Herb, complacently. "But the trouble is, I can't seem to get the teachers to believe it. Maybe you'll be nice enough to explain things to them to-morrow, Jimmy?"

"Explain nothing!" exclaimed Jimmy. "They'd soon think I was as foolish as you, and I'd hate to get a rep. like that."

"Harsh words," laughed Bob. "You fellows had better quit saying nice things about one another, or you'll be mixing it first thing you know."

"No chance," denied Herbert, with a grin. "I'm too hungry to think of scrapping, and I'll bet Jimmy is too. How about it, old pal?"

"I should say so!" agreed Jimmy. "Thank heaven we're almost home. If we had much further to go, I guess you'd have to carry me."

They were indeed almost home by this time, and branched off to their respective houses. Though they were all late, they managed to make up for lost time in the way of eating and their mothers had reason to be thankful that they were not late very often.

An interesting bit of information came about this time in the news conveyed by Mr. Rockwell to Mr. Layton, whom he had chanced to meet on a train, that the motor boat which had run down Larry and his companions had been found in a remote inlet some distance down the coast, where it had evidently been deserted by the men who had stolen it. From sundry papers that had been left on the boat, through an oversight of the rascals, it was gathered that they were members of a gang of hotel thieves who had been "working" the hotels at the summer resorts along the coast, where a long list of unsolved robberies had been perpetrated. The police were working on the case, but the thieves had not yet been apprehended.

"Well," said Bob, when he heard the news, "it's good to know that Mr. Wentworth got his motor boat back anyway. But I won't be satisfied till I hear that the police have landed the thieves."

"Same here," said Joe. "But it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. They may be out on the Pacific coast by this time."

The boys worked hard on their big set for the next few days, spending all the time on it that they could spare from their studies. They found time, however, to visit Mr. Brandon, as they had promised, and had a royal good time in his rooms at the hotel. They laughed and joked and talked radio to their hearts' content. Toward the end of the evening Mr. Brandon called on Jimmy for some expert advice.

"Jimmy," he said, "I've been thinking that a little—or rather, a lot—of ice cream and cake would go well. What is your honest opinion on the subject?"

"I don't think you could have a much better idea, no matter how hard you tried," said Jimmy, gravely.

"Probably not," agreed Brandon, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, as we're agreed as to that, can I call on you for advice and assistance?"

"You certainly can," said Jimmy, slightly mystified, but ready for anything, nevertheless.

"Well, then, to come to the point, will you go out with me and give me the benefit of your expert advice as to the best place in this neighborhood to buy the aforementioned ice cream and cake?"

"You bet I will," said Jimmy, with alacrity. "And without seeming to boast," he added, "you couldn't have picked out any one who knows more about that particular subject than yours truly."

"All right, I suppose I'll have to believe you," laughed Frank Brandon. "I have every confidence in you, Jimmy."

As the event proved, this confidence was not misplaced. Both the ice cream and cake were all that heart could wish, and moreover were served in generous quantities. At the end of the feast they all expressed themselves as perfectly satisfied with Jimmy's selections, and Bob moved that they give him and Mr. Brandon a vote of thanks.

"If Uncle Sam lets me stay in Clintonia long enough, we'll have to have another party like this," said Brandon. "And maybe by that time your sick friend will be well enough to come. I'd surely be glad to see him, if he can and would care to. By the way, when will he be well enough for us to take him to the broadcasting station?"

"We were out to see him yesterday," answered Bob; "and it's wonderful the improvement he's made since we told him about our plans for him. He looked a hundred per cent. better, and the doctor told him he could go Saturday afternoon, if he kept on making the same progress."

"Fine!" exclaimed the wireless man. "I usually have Saturday afternoons off, and if you boys want to take him then, it will be all right for me, unless something very important comes up that I can't sidetrack."

"That suits us," said Bob. "I spoke to Doctor Dale about Larry the other day, and he volunteered to drive us to the station in his car. That was some offer, wasn't it?"

"It's no more than I'd expect of him," said Brandon. "Right after we first talked about that plan I wrote to the manager of the station, Mr. Allard, and he said to bring your friend along by all means. He's on the lookout for talent, as I told you, and will be only too glad to give him a trial."

"That sounds promising," said Bob. "What do you say if we stop at the hospital to-morrow afternoon, fellows, and tell Larry about it and find out if he'll be strong enough to go?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to count me out," said Jimmy. "I've got some work I'll have to do for dad, if we're going to be away Saturday afternoon. But you fellows go anyway, and tell him I was sorry that I couldn't get there."

"We'll do that then, and count on you sure for Saturday afternoon," said Bob.

"Oh, sure thing! I'll be with you then," promised Jimmy. "I wouldn't miss that for a farm."

That matter being satisfactorily settled, the boys said good-night to their host, after assuring him that they had had a "bang-up" time. Their leave-taking must have wakened any light sleepers in the hotel, but they got out at last and headed for home, all of them enthusiastic in praise of their friend Frank Brandon.

"I only wish we could have had Larry here to-night," said Joe, regretfully. "I'll bet he'd have enjoyed it first rate. But I suppose there'll be plenty of other times."

"I wish Mr. Brandon were going to be stationed in Clintonia all the time," said Bob. "He's been such a good friend to us that I'll feel mighty bad if he has to go away again."

They all felt the same way, and said so.

"But there's no use crossing that bridge until we come to it," said Joe, philosophically. "As long as he's covering this territory, he'll make his headquarters in Clintonia, that's pretty certain."

The next day the boys met as they had planned, immediately after school was out, and headed directly for the hospital and their convalescent friend. What with jokes and laughter the distance seemed short enough. Needless to say, Larry was overjoyed to see them.

"I certainly look forward to having you fellows visit me," he said. "You're as welcome as letters from home. I get pretty blue sitting around here by my lonesome all day."

"How do you feel to-day?" asked Bob. "Do you feel well enough to go after a soft job next Saturday?"

"I never did feel so sick that I couldn't go after a job that was guaranteed to be soft," grinned Larry.

"All right, then," laughed Bob. "Be ready to go next Saturday afternoon. We'll call for you in Doctor Dale's automobile. He's promised to take the whole bunch of us to the broadcasting station."

"Pretty soft," said Larry. "How do you fellows come to rate an automobile?"

"Oh, we've got a big drag around this town," replied Bob. "I guess they'd give us the Town Hall if we asked for it."

"You hate yourselves, don't you?" asked Larry.

"That isn't as big a claim as it may seem," remarked Joe. "The Town Hall is so old that I think they'd be glad of an excuse to give it away. But they won't build a new one until the old one falls down."

"That's the way with all these bush league towns," remarked Larry, with a wicked grin.

"You're getting well all right," laughed Bob. "When you begin knocking again it's a sure sign that you're getting back to form."

"You bet I am," returned Larry. "I'll be as good as ever in a little while. Now that I can begin to see where the next square meal is coming from, it gives me some incentive to get well."

"Well, it's fine to hear you say so," declared Bob. "We'll call for you around one o'clock Saturday, and we'll be at the station about four. Then if you don't convince them that your imitation of bird songs is better than the little birdies themselves, we'll murder you."

"I wish I could get in as solid with every audience I play to as I am with you fellows," said Larry. "Life would be one grand, sweet song."

"You'll get in solid enough to be able to drag down good pay, don't worry about that," replied Joe.

"Well, we'll know more about it after Saturday afternoon," said Larry. "Until then, hope hard."

This seemed to sum up the situation fairly well, and after a little further conversation the radio boys said good-by to their friend and took their leave, delighted over his improved condition.

Improved not only in body but in mind. The pain of his physical hurts had been hard enough for Larry to bear, but this was little compared to the mental worry he had been undergoing ever since the accident had interfered with his money-earning power and threatened to make him a cripple for life.

During his brief engagement with the Chasson show he had loyally sent home to his mother every dollar he could save from his salary over and above his necessary expenses, which by rigid economy he kept as low as possible. But much of this his mother had been compelled to use to pay debts incurred during his previous period of idleness, and he knew that she had very little on hand. Her enfeebled condition had added to his anxiety, and he had had many hours of mental anguish as he looked toward the dark and lowering future.

Now, however, he saw light, and his heart went out in the warmest gratitude toward the good friends who had come to his help in his extremity and made it possible to see a rainbow in the skies that had been so full of clouds.

"Now, if I could only prove that Tim and I weren't guilty of that robbery at the hotel dance, I would be all right," Larry told himself. He felt sure that the evil-minded Buck Looker was still holding that happening against him.

The days intervening until Saturday sped quickly. Dr. Dale was true to the promise he had made Bob, and was ready with his car when the radio boys assembled at his house. Since Bob had told him about Larry's unfortunate condition, the doctor had interested himself in the case and had been to visit Larry once or twice at the hospital. He had conceived a liking for the injured boy, which had made him accede all the more readily to Bob's request for the automobile.



CHAPTER XV

GETTING A TRIAL

Doctor Dale met the boys at the door as they came up.

"I'll be ready in a few minutes," he told them, as he admitted them to the parlor. "Make yourselves comfortable while I get my hat and coat on, and we'll get started."

He left the room, only to reappear a few moments later in full motoring regalia.

"All ready," he announced. "Come on out to the garage and we'll get started. Mr. Brandon called me up this morning, and he'll be waiting for us at his hotel."

The boys piled into the big seven passenger touring car and were whisked down to Mr. Brandon's hotel. He was ready and waiting and jumped into the car almost before it had stopped. From there they sped quickly to the hospital, and Bob and Joe helped Larry into the car.

"This is certainly a wonderful day for me," said Larry. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you folks for all that you have done for me."

"Don't even try to," said Bob. "Don't worry about it, and we'll agree not to."

"Well, we'll let it go at that," said Larry. "But if I don't say any more, you'll know I'm grateful, anyway."

"You've got nothing to be grateful about yet," Joe reminded him. "They may throw you out, and that's nothing to be thankful for."

"Ouch!" exclaimed Larry. "Please don't mention it."

"Don't cross that bridge till we come to it," advised Jimmy. "I've got some chocolate almond bars that I'll guarantee will make you forget all your troubles while you're eating them."

"That's Jimmy's remedy for all troubles," said Herb. "Eat and forget them is his motto."

"Well, it isn't such a bad one," remarked Frank Brandon. "I've often known my troubles to look a lot less serious after a square meal."

"You bet," agreed Jimmy. "I know I always feel better myself after a square meal."

"I guess we all do," said Dr. Dale. "And that reminds me that I want you all to come to my house for supper to-night after we get back."

"I guess we'll be glad to go all right," said the radio expert. "But when you see what we do to the food, you'll probably be sorry you asked us."

"I'll take a chance on that," laughed Dr. Dale. "I generally have a pretty good appetite myself after a motoring trip, and you young fellows will have to step some to beat me."

"Well, we'll back Jimmy against any entry," grinned Bob. "We plan to enter him in a pie-eating contest some day, and when we do we'll bet a lot of money on him to win."

"I'll do my best to justify your confidence," retorted Jimmy. "I wouldn't mind backing myself with a small piece of change. Pies just seem to be my natural prey."

"Wait till I get well again," said Larry. "And you'll have some competition from me. It has always been my highest ambition to be around some day when a pie wagon gets hit by an automobile."

"Jerusalem!" said Jimmy. "That would be heaven on earth, wouldn't it?"

"That's probably your idea of it," said Joe. "I suppose you'd rather have streets paved with pie than with gold."

"Oh, well, what's the use of talking about it?" sighed Jimmy. "It's all too good to be true anyway."

"It's a wonder you fellows wouldn't cut out that talk and look at the landscape a little," said Bob. "You're missing some pretty fine scenery."

"It is beautiful," remarked Frank Brandon. "It's too bad we haven't got further to go, as long as Doctor Dale is buying the gasoline."

"Oh, it's cheap at any price," laughed Dr. Dale. "I don't know what I would ever do without this car."

The miles rolled rapidly behind them, and before they realized it they were on the outskirts of New York. The boys thoroughly enjoyed the ride through the city; probably more than did Dr. Dale, to whom the heavy traffic was anything but a pleasure. They finally reached the downtown ferries, however, and after a slight wait in line, got on a boat. The boys were absorbed by the busy scene presented by the river which was covered with craft of all descriptions. The big ferryboat edged its way across the river without mishap and bumped into its slip. The traffic on the New Jersey side was hardly less dense than that which they had encountered in New York, but Dr. Dale skillfully threaded his way through it and after a drive through narrow streets lined by foundries and factories, and across the broad meadows, and past more places of business, they at last drew up before the big broadcasting station.

"Well, here we are," said Dr. Dale, relaxing after the strain of traffic driving. "How do you feel, Larry? Strong for anything?"

"I'm a little shaky, but I guess I'll get through with it all right," replied Larry. "Just lead me to it."

The boys assisted him into the radio station, where Mr. Brandon introduced them all to the manager, Mr. Allard.

"You're just in time," said the latter. "We need somebody to substitute in our program to-night, as one of the regular performers is ill. Come up to the sending room and we'll give your young friend a trial."

"Go to it, old boy," encouraged Bob, in a whisper. "Show him what's what. Remember that we're all rooting for you."

Larry pressed his hand, but had no time to answer before they were ushered up to the sending room. One wall of this apartment was covered with complicated-looking electrical apparatus, a good deal of which the boys recognized but which appeared very mysterious to poor Larry.

"For testing purposes, our apparatus is so rigged up that we can hear, in this room, exactly what goes out over the wires," the manager explained. "If you gentlemen will sit at that table over there, and all put on headphones, you can hear your friend's performance exactly as it will sound to everybody else who is listening to this station."

"Did you get that?" whispered the irrepressible Herb. "He called us gentlemen."

"Shut up," whispered Bob. "He didn't mean you, anyway."

Following the manager's instructions, Larry took up his position at a short distance from an instrument called a microphone, and at a signal from Mr. Allard commenced his bird imitations.

The manager had donned earphones like all the rest, and the little company listened with varying emotions as Larry went through his repertoire. His friends were praying fervently for his success and were delighted as they realized that he was surpassing any of his previous efforts. The manager's attitude was critical, but as Larry went from one imitation to another the boys could see from the expression of his face that he was pleased. Larry rose to his opportunity nobly, and as he realized that he was making a good impression added trills and notes that he had never thought of before. By the time he had finished, all doubt had vanished from Mr. Allard's mind.

"I guess we can use you all right, young man," he said. "Do you think you can fill in this evening? I need somebody to round out the bedtime programme at seven o'clock, and I imagine your act ought to go well at that time."

"Anything you say, sir," answered Larry, "will suit me."

"I can put you up here for to-night," volunteered Mr. Allard. "And if you don't feel strong enough to work regularly for a week or so, you can go back to-morrow and report for your regular performance a week from to-day."

"I think that would be best," put in Frank Brandon. "I imagine Mr. Bartlett will need at least another week before he'll be able to work steadily."

Larry was but little older than the radio boys, and Herb was in an ecstasy of delight over Brandon's "Mr. Bartlett."

"But if you stay here to-night you'll miss having dinner at Doctor Dale's house!" cried Jimmy, impulsively.

"Guess it can't be helped," said Larry, with a laugh, in which the others joined. "Business before pleasure, you know, Jimmy."

"That's what dad always tells me, too," grumbled Jimmy. "But personally, I'd rather have the pleasure first, and let the business take its chance afterward."

"Don't you believe it," said Mr. Allard. "There are too many people doing that already. It's a system that will never help you to put money in the bank, my boy."

"He'll probably find that out for himself sooner or later," said Mr. Brandon. "I used to feel the same way, but I've got over it."

"We'll all be sorry that you can't be with us to-night, Larry," said Dr. Dale, kindly. "But we'll be home in time to listen to your first radio performance this evening, so you'll know that we're hearing you just the same as though we were in this room with you."

"I'll be sure of that, Doctor Dale," said Larry. "But I know I'll be missing a fine supper at your house, and you know how I'd like to be there. I'll be back in Clintonia to-morrow, anyway."

"But how are you going to travel back alone?" asked Bob. "You're not strong enough to go sailing around all by your lonesome yet."

"Don't let that worry you," replied Mr. Allard. "I'll see that somebody goes to the train with him, and I guess one of you fellows won't mind meeting him at the train at the other end."

"I rather guess not," said Bob, emphatically. "We'll be there with bells on, Larry; you can bet on that."

"It seems as though I'm making you all a lot of trouble," said Larry. "I guess I could get along all right."

"We'll be there, so there's no use of your saying any more about it," said Bob, in a voice of finality. "How about it, fellows?"

All the radio boys were of the same mind, so Larry was forced to give in.

"But if you're going to get back to Clintonia in time to hear my act at seven o'clock, you'll have to leave pretty soon," he said. "I'm not going to detain you here any longer."

"I'm afraid we will have to be going," said Dr. Dale, glancing at his watch. "The ferries are apt to be crowded at this hour, too. But we'll wish you all success at your new venture, Larry. If you always do as well as you did this afternoon, you'll soon be acquiring a big reputation."

They all shook hands with Larry and Mr. Allard, and went out to where Dr. Dale's automobile was waiting for them.

"I guess Larry was right when he said we'd have to make time going back," said Mr. Brandon. "It's three o'clock now, which doesn't leave us much of a margin."

"That's very true," conceded Dr. Dale. "But if we can have any luck in getting over the ferry and through New York traffic, we'll make it. Once out of the city, and I'll show you what my car can do in the way of eating up miles."



CHAPTER XVI

SPEED

Fortunately they met with very little delay in crossing the ferry, and Dr. Dale, in going through New York, avoided as far as possible the more congested thoroughfares. In a comparatively short time they had reached the outskirts, and Dr. Dale began to speed up a bit. As they reached the more open country, Dr. Dale opened the throttle wider, and the big car responded with a dash and power that delighted the boys. Mile after mile they reeled off, the wind whistling in their ears and making conversation difficult. The boys did not mind this, however, as they were enjoying the excitement of speed too much to have any desire to talk.

Slowing down for the towns, but speeding up again on the open road, the big car put mile after mile behind it, until the boys began to recognize the towns they passed through.

"Say!" yelled Joe, trying to make himself heard above the roar of the motor and the whistling of the wind, "aren't we making time, though? At this rate we'll get home with time to spare."

"You bet!" shouted Bob. "Isn't this a peach of a ride?"

"Only about six miles more to Clintonia," shouted Frank Brandon, from the front seat which he shared with Dr. Dale.

Most of that six miles consisted of new concrete state road as smooth and level as a billiard table. Up and up crept the speedometer needle, and the big car seemed to be fairly flying. Fences and trees flashed past them, and the smooth road seemed like a river flowing toward them. The boys were intoxicated with the wild thrill and exhilaration of speed, and laughed and shouted and pounded each other on the back. For several miles the speedometer needle never receded, and not until the roofs and church steeples of Clintonia were visible in the distance did Dr. Dale slacken pace and bring the big machine down to a sedate twenty-five miles an hour.

"Well, how did you like that?" he inquired, turning around for a moment to glance at the excited boys. "Was that fast enough to please you?"

"It was great!" declared Bob. "This car can certainly step along when you want it to."

"We'll be at my house in less than ten minutes. I hope you all feel as though you could eat a little something."

"Eat!" exclaimed Jimmy, in heartfelt tones. "Why, I'm so hungry I've been tempted to start in and eat the upholstery once or twice."

"Please don't," laughed Dr. Dale. "It's too expensive, besides being indigestible. Control yourself for a few minutes, and I'll promise you something much better than leather to eat."

"All right, then, I'll do the best I can," promised Jimmy, with a grin.

"We have to pass Antonio's shoe repairing store before we get to Doctor Dale's house, and if you like, I'll get out and buy you a nice big chunk of sole leather, Jimmy," suggested Joe. "If you really want something along that line, it seems a shame not to let you have it."

"Thanks all the same, but I wouldn't like to put you to all that trouble," said Jimmy, with elaborate politeness.

Joe was about to protest that he would not mind the trouble in the least, but before he had time to the car drew up in front of Dr. Dale's house.

Mrs. Dale was waiting for them on the front porch.

"I was beginning to get worried over you," she said. "But I suppose you found it quite a long trip, didn't you?"

"I can't say that it seemed very long to us," replied Mr. Brandon, smiling. "When you're in a car, you don't seem to think of the time much."

"Yes, I've noticed that myself," she admitted. "But you've arrived in time for supper, and that's the main thing. How did your young friend make out? Didn't you bring him back with you?"

"No, they intend to include him in the bedtime programme for kiddies this evening," explained Brandon. "It starts at seven o'clock, and Larry's performance should come in about half past seven. We'll just about have time to eat before we start listening for him."

In a very few minutes they were all seated about Dr. Dale's hospitable table, and it is hardly necessary to record the fact that they did full justice to their hostess' cooking. As they neared the end of the meal, Dr. Dale glanced at his watch.

"I know it is considered very impolite to hurry one's guests," he said; "but just the same, it is so near now to the time that Larry is scheduled that I propose that we postpone dessert until after we have heard him. Then we can take our time, and do both Larry and the dessert full justice."

They all acceded laughingly to this proposition, and a few minutes later filed into the room where the doctor kept his radio apparatus. His set was equipped with a loud talking device, so that individual headphones were not necessary.

With a few touches he adjusted his coils and condensers, and had no difficulty in picking up the broadcasting station. At the moment some one was telling a "bedtime story" for the little folks, and, as it happened, this was the last thing on the programme preceding Larry's act.

When the narrator had finished, there came a short pause, and then the familiar voice of the announcer.

"The next number on this programme will be a novelty, an imitation of various bird calls and songs, given by Mr. Larry Bartlett."

The sonorous voice of the announcer ceased, and the little group in Dr. Dale's house waited expectantly for the first notes of their friend's performance.

"Hooray!" shouted Jimmy, as the first notes of the mocking bird's song floated clear and true from the horn. "Hooray for Larry, the champion whistler of the universe!"

The others laughed at his enthusiasm, but they were almost as excited themselves. When at last their friend concluded his performance with a trill and a flourish, they all gave the three cheers that Jimmy had suggested, and wished they had a sending set so that they could congratulate Larry on the spot.

"That surely sounded well," said Dr. Dale, when their delight had somewhat subsided. "This may be the beginning of big things for Larry, because it will not take him long to become known when he has an audience of somewhere around a half a million people every evening."

"That's true enough," said Frank Brandon. "But it seems hard to realize that science has really made such a thing possible."

"I'm ready to believe that nothing is impossible these days," said Dr. Dale. "If I read in the paper some day that we had got into wireless communication with Mars, I should believe it easily enough. In fact, I'd hardly feel surprised."

"I'm sure I shouldn't," agreed the radio expert. "A person has to have a receptive mind to keep up with these quick-moving times."

"You're right," agreed Dr. Dale. "But now, as we've heard Larry and feel reasonably sure that his performance has been a success, I propose that we go back and have our dessert. Does that meet with your approval, Jimmy?"

"Does it!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I should say so. I never feel as though I'd really had anything much to eat unless I have dessert to top off with."

"After the dinner you ate, I don't really believe you could feel hungry, even if you didn't have dessert," said Herbert.

"That must be just one of your phony jokes," said Jimmy. "You know I was sitting beside you, Herb, and I felt pretty lucky to get anything to eat at all. Anybody within three places of you on each side doesn't have much of a show, you know."

"It's no use you're talking that way," said Herbert. "Everybody here knows you too well, Doughnuts. You've got a reputation as an eats hound that you'll never be able to live down."

"Oh, well, I don't care," said Jimmy, soothed by the sight of a big apple pie that was on the table. "That's better than having a reputation for making punk jokes like yours. If I eat too much, I'm the only one that gets a stomach ache from it, but your jokes give everybody a pain."



CHAPTER XVII

VAULTING AMBITION

"Bang!" exclaimed Bob, with a laugh. "That was saying something, Jimmy. You surely hit the bull's-eye plumb in the center that time. Guess that will hold you a while, Herb."

"It was a terrible slam," acknowledged Herb. "If I weren't so busy eating this pie, Jimmy, I'd be tempted to make you take back those cruel words."

"Nary take," said Jimmy, positively. "I said 'em, and I'll stick by 'em. Besides, it's so. Isn't it, Bob? I'll leave it to you."

"Well," said Bob, "in the interests of truth I'll have to admit that as a rule I'd rather have a stomach ache than listen to one of Herb's home-made jokes. But on the other hand, some of them aren't so awfully bad. If you took one and polished it up a bit here and there and changed it around a little, it might be good enough to raise a laugh in an insane asylum."

"It seems to me I remember once, a long time ago, when he made a joke that was so funny that we all laughed at it," said Joe. "It hardly seems possible, but I'm almost sure I remember it."

"Oh, you're all bugs, anyway, so that doesn't prove anything," said Herb, calmly finishing the last of his pie. "But some day, when I become a world-famous humorist, you'll realize how dumb you were not to appreciate my jokes. Now you get them free, but then it will cost you money to hear them."

"It will never cost me any money," said Bob, with conviction. "I wouldn't give a plugged nickel for a book full of them."

"Neither will anybody else," said Joe. "If you have any idea of ever making a living that way, Herb, you'd better forget it. You'd starve to death, sure."

"Well, it's a cinch I won't have to starve to death right now, anyway, so quit your croaking," retorted the much abused Herb. "Whoever told you fellows that you were judges of humor, anyway?"

"A person doesn't have to be an expert to judge your jokes," came back Joe. "If he knows anything at all, he can tell that they're rotten."

"All your friends seem to have very decided views on the question, Herbert," laughed Frank Brandon. "The popular vote seems to be heavily against you."

"Oh, their opinions aren't worth worrying about," said Herb, complacently. "As long as I know my jokes are good, I don't care what they say."

"That's the spirit," encouraged Brandon. "Remember, all great men have had to fight an uphill battle against criticism."

"That's true," said Herb, with a melancholy sigh. "And what's more, if you can judge by the amount of criticism, I must be going to be extra great. Still, that's likely enough, I suppose."

"Don't stop him, fellows," said Bob, with a mischievous grin. "Let him rave on. If he enjoys kidding himself that way, why should we wake him up?"

"Aw, you fellows who think you're so smart are probably kidding yourselves," said Herb. "Nobody could really be as smart as you Indians think you are and live to tell the story."

"That's one of the failings of human nature to rate ourselves too highly," interposed Dr. Dale, with a smile. "But now, how would you all like to go in and hear the rest of the concert? We've missed only the first part, and there's still quite a good deal to come."

They all acceded to this proposal with alacrity, and found that, as the doctor had said, they had not missed much of the programme. The wireless apparatus worked to perfection, and they could hear everything perfectly.

"The static isn't nearly as bad to-night as it was a month or two ago," said Dr. Dale. "At times last summer it interfered a good deal with my receiving."

"Yes, it's always a good deal worse in summer than in winter," remarked Frank Brandon. "I always advise beginners not to start at wireless in mid-summer, as they sometimes get such poor results with their small sets that they get discouraged and give up the game altogether. It's better to wait until fall, and then by the next summer they've had experience enough to know how to reduce the bad effects of static."

"It used to get pretty bad sometimes at Ocean Point last summer," observed Bob. "Once or twice our concerts were almost spoiled by it, while at other times we'd hardly notice it."

"With that set, you ought to be able to get any broadcasting station in the Eastern States," said Brandon. "And if you have luck, and conditions happened to be just right, you might even get something from the other side, although of course that isn't very likely."

"Oh, we've been talking about that, but we don't really expect to," said Joe. "We might be able to get the wireless telegraph signals from the other side, though, don't you think?"

"That's likely enough," answered Brandon. "The best time to get them is late at night, when the broadcasting and amateur stations are not sending. I've often sat and listened with Brandon Harvey to the big station at Nauen, Germany, or to the Eiffel Tower in Paris."

"Jimminy!" exclaimed Herb. "We'll have to bone down at our language courses at high school, fellows. I suppose that they send in whatever language the people speak where the sending station is located, don't they?"

"As a rule they do, but not always," replied Frank Brandon. "It depends to a great extent where the message is being sent to. If it is being sent to this country, it is often in English, while if it were being sent to France, it would be in French, naturally."

"Yes, I suppose it would have to be that way," said Bob, thoughtfully, "although I never thought about that side of it before. It won't make much difference what language they're sending in, though, so long as we know that we can get their signals. It will be a lot of fun, though, trying to make out what they're saying."

"It will be a good alibi, anyway," said Jimmy. "If we can't understand the dots and dashes, we can just say that they're sending in German or French or Italian. Nobody could expect us to know all those languages."

"If they did expect it, they'd be badly disappointed," said Herb. "I've been wrestling with French for three terms now, but I don't seem to know much more about it than when I started."

"I can believe that, all right," said Jimmy. "Only day before yesterday you flunked your recitation in French, and the professor told you that you were forgetting your French faster than you were learning it. He was right, wasn't he?"

"I'll say he was," said Herb, shamelessly. "At the rate I'm learning it, it would be strange if I weren't forgetting it faster. I'll have to do a lot of cramming to pass the mid-term exams."

"You fellows had better quit your talking and listen to the music," suggested Joe. "Here's a swell quartette that has just been announced. Can the chatter and do a little listening."

"That's easy," said Herb. "I'd rather hear a good quartette than almost anything else I know of."

For another hour or so they listened to the concert, which turned out to be an unusually fine one. Then, when the last selection had been given, Mr. Brandon rose to go.

"I've had a wonderful afternoon and evening," he said, "and I've enjoyed every minute of it. I hope the next time you give a party like this, Doctor Dale, that I'll be invited again."

"You surely will," replied the doctor, heartily. "The latch string always hangs outside the door for you, you know."

The radio boys also expressed their appreciation of the entertainment they had received, and Doctor Dale invited them cordially to come again.

"I'd like to be at the station to-morrow to meet Larry," he said. "But as to-morrow is Sunday, I shall be unable to get there. But don't forget to give him my congratulations on his success, will you?"

This the boys promised to do, and then they and Mr. Brandon said good-night and started homeward.

"My, but this has been a full day," said Bob. "We've certainly been moving some since this morning. And think of all we've accomplished. I'll bet Larry will get well so fast now that he'll surprise the whole lot of us."

"I'll bet Tim will be glad to hear about it,'" remarked Joe. "I wonder if he's got an engagement yet."

"He hadn't, up to a few days ago," said Bob. "Larry told me that in one of the letters he had received from him he said he had several prospects, but nothing definite. You know, of course, that Chasson wouldn't keep Tim after Larry's accident broke up the act."

"Yes, Larry told me about that," replied Joe. "I guess poor Tim has had pretty hard sledding lately, too. But he has his health, and I guess he'll land an engagement soon, if he hasn't already got one."

"He's too clever a dancer to be out of work very long, it seems to me," said Herb. "If I were manager of a show, you can bet I'd snap him up pretty quick."

"That's right," agreed Jimmy. "He's certainly a crackerjack dancer, but there is one thing about him that I never thought much of."

"What's that?" asked Bob, curiously.

"Why, haven't you ever noticed what a light appetite he has?" asked Jimmy. "I'd be ashamed of myself if I couldn't eat more than he does. He's always through a meal before I've fairly got started."

Frank Brandon laughed at this and interrupted.

"Guess I'll have to say good-night, fellows," he said. "Here's my hotel, and I, for one, feel tired enough to sleep. I'll try to be at the station to-morrow to meet Larry, but I won't promise. I'm expecting instructions from the government that may change my plans at any time."

"You don't expect to have to leave Clintonia soon, do you?" asked Bob, anxiously.

"No, I hardly think so. Not right away, anyway," answered the wireless man. "I may have to be away a few days, but I'll be back again soon."