Radio Boys Cronies Part 11

"Don't know a thing but what Ah does know an' dat's a plenty. What's happened here?"

"The plant has been damaged; that's all."

"Damage? When? Las' night, close on t' mawnin'? Well, suh, Ah 'low that there ghos' done it."

"Ghost? What--where was any ghost?"

"Right yer at de tool house. Come walkin' roun' de corner fo' Ah could grab up man stick an' Ah jes' lef' de place."

"What? Ran away and from your duty? You were put here to guard the plant; not to let any old--"

"Didn't 'low t' guard it 'gainst no ghos'es. Dey don' count in de contrac'. Folks is one thing an' ghos'es--"

"Ghosts! Bosh! There's no such thing as a ghost! If you had swung your club at the silly thing you'd have knocked over some dub of a man that we could pretty well describe right now, and saved us a heap of trouble and expense--and you'd have kept your job!" Bill was disgusted and angry.

"Lawsee! Ah ain't gwine lose mah job jes' fo' dodgin' a ghos', is I?"

"What did this fellow look like?" asked Gus.

"Ah nevah could tell 'bout it; didn't take no time for' t' look sharp.

Ah wuz on'y jes' leavin'."

"Now, see here, George," said Bill, his native gentleness dominating, "if you'll promise to say nothing about this, keep on the job and grab the next ghost, we'll let you stay on. And we'll make an awful good guess when we tell you that you'll find the ghost is Mr. Hooper's nephew. If you do grab him, George, and lock him in the tool house, we'll see that you're very nicely rewarded,--a matter of cold cash. Are you on?"

"Ah sh.o.r.e is, an' Ah'll git him, fo' Ah reckon he's gwine come again.

'Tain't no fun tacklin' whut looks lak a ghos', but Ah reckon Ah'll make that smahty think he's real flesh an' blood fo' Ah gits through with him!"

The boys were two days making repairs, which time encroached upon their plan to get their promised radio receiver into action. Having no shop nor proper tools for finer work, they would be handicapped, for they had decided, because of the pleasure and satisfaction in so doing, to make many of the necessary parts that generally are purchased outright. Bill made the suggestion, on account of this delay, that they abandon their original plan, but Gus, ever hopeful, believed that something might turn up to carry out their first ideas.

The afternoon that they had everything in normal condition again, Mr.

Hooper came down to see them; he knew nothing of the tampering with the work, but it became evident at once that his nephew had slyly and forcibly put it into his head that amateur radio construction was largely newspaper bunk, without any real foundation of fact. Thad may have had some new scheme, but at any rate the unlettered old man would swallow pretty nearly everything Thad said, even though he often repudiated Thad's acts. Again Mr. Hooper, Bill and Gus got on the subject of radio and the old gentleman repeated his convictions:

"I ain't sayin' you boys can't do wonders, an' I'm fer you all the time, but I'm not goin' t' b'lieve you kin do what's pretty nigh out o'

reason. Listen to me, now, fer a minute: If you fellers kin rig up a machine to fetch old man Eddy's son's talk right here about two hundred an' fifty mile, I'll hand out to each o' you a good hundred dollars; yes, b'jinks. I'll make it a couple a hun--"

"No, Mr. Hooper, we value your friendship altogether too much to take your money and that's too much like a wager, anyway." Bill was most earnest. "But you must take our word for it that it can be done."

"Fetch old man Eddy's son's voice--!"

"Just that exactly--similar things have been done a-plenty. People are talking into the radio broadcasters and their voices are heard distinctly thousands of miles. But, Mr. Hooper, you wouldn't know Mr.

Edison's voice if you heard it, would you?"

"N--no, can't say as how I would--but listen here. I do know a feller what works with him--they say he's close to the ol' man. Bill Medders.

Knowed Bill when he was a little cack, knee-high to a gra.s.shopper. They say he wrote a book about Eddy's son. I'd know Bill Medder's voice if I heard it in a b'iler factory."

Bill Brown could hardly repress a smile. "I guess you must mean William H. Meadowcroft. His 'Boys' Life of Edison' sure is a dandy book. I liked it best of all. Sometimes no one can see Mr. Edison for weeks at a time, when he's buried in one of his 'world-beaters.' But I reckon we can let you hear Mr. Meadowcroft's voice. He wrote me a pippin of a letter once about the Chief."

"All righty. I'll take Medders's. I know Bill, an' you can't fool me on that voice."

"Mr. Hooper, I'll tell you what," said the all-practical Bill eagerly.

"This demonstration will be almost as interesting to you as it is to us, and you can help us out. We can get what little power we need from any power plant. But we want a shop most of all--a loft or attic with room enough to work in. We're going to get all the tools we need--"

"No. I'll get 'em fer you an' you kin have all that there room over the garage." (The old gentleman p.r.o.nounced this word as though it rhymed with carriage.) "An' anything else you're a mind to have you kin have.

Some old junk up there, I reckon," he went on. "You kin throw it out, er make use of it. An' now, let's see what you kin do!"

The boys were eager to acknowledge this liberal offer, and they expressed themselves in no measured terms. They would do better than make one receiver; they would make two and one would be installed in Mr.

Hooper's library,--but of this they said nothing at first. Get busy they did, with a zeal and energy that overmatched even that given the power plant. That afternoon they moved into the new shop and were delighted with its wide s.p.a.ce and abundant light. The next day they went to the city for tools and materials. Two days later a lathe, a grinder and a boring machine, driven by a small electric motor wired from the Hooper generator were fully installed, together with a workbench, vises, a complete tool box and a drawing board, with its instruments. No young laborers in the vineyard of electrical fruitage could ask for more.

"Isn't it dandy, Gus?" Bill exclaimed, surveying the place and the result of their labors in preparation. "If we can't do things here, it's only our fault. Now, then--"

"It is fine," said Gus, "and we're in luck, but somehow, I think we must be on our guard. I can't get my mind off ghosts and the damage over yonder. I'm going to take a sneak around there to-night again, along around midnight and a little after. I did last night; didn't tell you, for you had your mind all on this. George was on duty, challenged me, but I've got a hunch that he knows something he doesn't want to worry us about and thinks he can cope with."

CHAPTER XVIII

A BIT TRAGIC

"Hold up your hands, n.i.g.g.e.r!"

The voice was low and sepulchral, but either the ghostly apparition that uttered the command had slipped up on its vernacular, or it was the spirit of a bandit. Some demand of the kind was, however, urgently necessary, for George did not, as formerly, show a desire to flee; his belligerent att.i.tude suggested fight and he was a husky specimen with a handy club. Even though he might have suffered a qualm at again beholding the white apparition in the moonlight, his determination to dare the spectre was bolstered by the voice and the manner of the command.

"Ah knows who yo' is an' Ah's gwine hol' yo' up! Yo' ain't no ghos'. Dis club'll knock de sure 'nough breff out'n yo'; then we'll see."

To Gus, on the hillside above the power plant, it looked very much as though this threat were going to be carried out. He had been quietly observing, under the light of a half moon, the ghostly visitation and even the advent of this individual before the white raiment had been donned some distance behind the tool house and unknown to the watchful George. All this had not surprised Gus, but he had been puzzled by the appearance on the hillside of another figure that kept behind the scant bushes much as Gus was doing, except that it was screened against being seen from below and evidently did not know of Gus's presence. Now, however, all attention was given to the altercation before the tool house, around which the ghost had come, evidently to be disappointed at not seeing George take to his heels.

Suddenly there was a shot. The reverberation among the hills seemed ominous, but not more so than the staggering back and sinking down of poor George. Gus saw the white figure stand for a moment, as though peering down at the victim of this murderous act; then it turned and fled straight up the hill and directly toward the one up there crouching and--waiting? Were they in collusion? Gus had but a moment to guess.

Still crouching, unseen, though brave,--for Gus was courageous even sometimes to the point of being foolhardy in the rougher sports, or where danger threatened others,--he avoided now the almost certain fate of George, for the villain was still armed and desperate, no doubt. And Gus hoped that the arrest of the scamp would surely follow his meeting with the other observer.

But this safe and sane att.i.tude of the watching Gus suffered a sudden change when, as the ascending ruffian fairly stumbled upon the other figure crouching on the hillside, a scream, unmistakably that of a female in dire distress, came to the ears of the witness. He could dimly see the two struggling together, the dark figure with the white. The next instant, forgetting all danger to himself, Gus lessened the distance by leaps and scrambles along the declivity and flung himself upon the a.s.sailant.

There was a short, sharp tussle; a second shot, but this time the weapon discharged its leaden pellet harmlessly. Then the ghost, taking advantage of the hillside, flung Gus aside and before the boy had time to leap upon his foeman again, the white figure, his habiliments torn off, had backed away and threatened Gus with the pistol. There was no mistaking the voice that uttered the threat:

"Keep off, or you'll get punctured! You needn't think anybody's going to get me. I'm going to vanish. If you try to follow me now, I'll kill you!"

This sounded desperate enough and Gus had reason to believe the fellow meant it. But in spite of that and driven by righteous anger, he would again have tackled the enemy had not the voice of Grace Hooper checked him:

"Oh, let him go; let him go!" she begged. "He'll shoot, and you--you must not be killed! No; you shall not!"

And then, as the rascal turned and fled over the brow of the hill, Gus turned to the girl, sitting on the ground.

"How did you come here--what--?"

"I knew something was going to happen, and I thought I might prevent it some way. Then he fired, and I saw how desperate he was,--and he shot--"