The Boys of the Wireless Part 9

"Glad of what?" demanded Miss Morgan suspiciously.

"Oh, everything," replied Tom bluntly, with a significance that caused Grace to blush. "As to my own transgression," he went on, "as I told you, I can't explain details, but I do not think your father would mind my telling you that I brought him an important message from my wireless."

"Your wireless?" exclaimed Grace in a sprightly tone. "Oh, Tom, I heard about that. Is it really true that you know how to telegraph all over the world, and rescue sinking steamers, and catch fleeing criminals, and-and all that?"

Impetuous Miss Morgan had gone off in a rhapsody over the great enthusiastic theme of Tom's mind, and he was truly delighted.

"Well, hardly," he said. "You see, I haven't reached that yet. It may come-I hope it does. That's why I'm sticking to it."

"Can I come and see you do it?" implored Grace excitedly. "Can I come into the tower and watch the messages come in, and see everything?"

"I shall feel honored if you do," replied Tom proudly. "Ah, there's another of those sh.e.l.ls."

Tom's foot had kicked up a pearly odd-shaped sh.e.l.l in the sand. He stooped and secured it.

"Oh, how odd and beautiful!" cried Grace. "Oh, Tom, can I have it for my collection? I haven't one like it."

"You certainly can," answered Tom gladly. "We call that the peach blow, and it's pretty rare. I didn't know you were interested in sh.e.l.ls."

"I dote on them," declared Grace. "Oh, Tom!"

From his pocket he had taken a handful of exquisite specimens of star pebbles and sh.e.l.ls he had gathered up within a week, and tendered them for a choice to his pretty companion.

They strolled on for nearly half a mile. Tom explained that he must get back to the wireless station, but he could not resist lingering when Grace sat down to rest on an upturned boat on the beach. She occupied the time between admiring the pretty sh.e.l.ls he had given her and inquiring into the details of his work at the wireless tower. Tom was in the midst of a description of some of the methods employed in sending wireless messages, when he paused and glanced seawards.

"There is your friend, Grace," said Tom.

A natty gasoline launch was approaching the pier up-sh.o.r.e. Tom made out two pa.s.sengers, both of whom he recognized. One was Mart Walters. The other boatman was at the wheel. Tom had seen him twice on the street of Rockley Cove and knew who he was-young Aldrich, the friend about whom Mart was so continually boasting.

Grace Morgan glanced in the direction of the pier. Then, as if totally uninterested in what was going on there, she turned her back upon it and led an animated conversation with her companion. Tom kept facing the pier. From the launch Aldrich finally leaped ash.o.r.e, evidently made them out, and leaving Mart in charge of the launch walked rapidly up the beach.

"I think I had better be getting back to the tower," said Tom, as the newcomer neared them,

"Don't be in a hurry, Tom," advised Grace, with a slightly malicious twinkle in her eye. "Oh, you, Mr. Aldrich?" she added, arising with a formal bow to the young man, who, arrayed in fancy yachting costume, was quite a "swell" sight, indeed.

She introduced them, but Mr. Aldrich was not inclined to make any friendly advances towards a boy in common working clothes. He deliberately turned his back on Tom, and began a conversation with Grace.

"Had we not better start out on our cruise?" he asked.

"Why, I had forgotten all about it, quite," declared the wilful miss, with an encouraging smile at Tom, which quite nettled the newcomer.

"The water is very smooth," observed young Aldrich. "I am sure you will enjoy it."

"I regret it very much," replied Grace, "but I was ready an hour ago. It is my time for musical practice now, and you will have to excuse me.

Don't hasten, Tom," she added, crossing over to Tom.

"I think I had better be getting back on duty at the wireless station,"

said our hero.

"Wireless, eh?" young Aldrich condescended to observe at this juncture.

"In with that fad, eh?"

"I am trying to make something more than a fad out of it," replied Tom pleasantly.

"Wire repairer or something of that sort?" intimated Bert Aldrich with a supercilious stare at Tom's working clothes.

"Indeed, no," flashed out Grace resentfully. "Tom is quite an expert, aren't you, Tom? He has been telling me the most delightful and fascinating things about the wireless. Oh, there is papa!"

There was an abrupt lull in the conversation as the Morgan automobile came down the beach road from the direction of Rockley Cove. Mr. Morgan gave the chauffeur the signal to stop and leaped from the machine in an excited way.

The politic young Aldrich advanced to meet the capitalist, all smiles and ceremony. Mr. Morgan almost brushed him aside, not even noticing the extended hand.

He went straight up to Tom, and his eyes glowed with friendly interest.

Mr. Morgan caught both of Tom's hands in his own and gave them a hearty shake.

"Barnes," he said, "I stopped to say just a word to you. I must get to the city at once, but when I return I want you to come down to Fernwood.

I have something important to say to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," bowed Tom courteously.

"You have saved me much of my fortune," declared the capitalist in a tremulous, grateful tone. "How shall I ever repay you? Going up to the house, Grace?" he inquired of his daughter.

"Yes, papa, it is my practice hour."

With a bewitching smile for Tom and a crisp little nod to Bert Aldrich the miss sprang airily into the car.

"Oh, Tom," she called back to the young wireless operator, as she mischievously noted the discomfited look on the face of young Aldrich, "I won't be like some people-I'll be on time to-morrow to have you show me all the wonders of that delightful wireless tower of yours."

CHAPTER VIII-QUICK ACTION

"Whew!"

"Some storm, Tom!"

"I shouldn't fancy many gusts like that last one."

Station Z quivered like an eggsh.e.l.l in the hand of a giant. A loose piece of wood from the roof of the operating cabin struck a sash, demolishing two panes of gla.s.s, and the iron framework rocked to and fro in the heaviest wind storm that had struck Sandy Point in years.

Tom Barnes glanced anxiously at the delicate wireless apparatus which shared sensitively in the pervading disturbance. His companion, Harry Ashley, was looking around for something to fasten over the broken window to shut out the driving rain.

It was three days after the Morgan incident, and Tom was now fairly in the wireless harness. It had been lowering weather all day, and Tom had been glad that the rain had held off until Grace Morgan, who, with her music teacher, had spent a delightful hour going over the wonders of Station Z, had gotten home before the tempest broke.

Tom had obtained his mother's consent to his remaining all night at the tower. It was the current conviction among all coast wireless men that a stormy night usually brought urgent and important service. A storm generally meant distress of some kind at sea, and Tom wanted to be on hand in case of emergency, as he had promised Mr. Edson.