The Radio Boys at the Sending Station Part 18

"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 finis.h.i.+ng 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. "n.o.body 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."