CHAPTER I

--TOM BARNES' WIRELESS

"What's that new-fangled thing on the blasted oak, Tom?"

"That, Ben, is a wireless."

"Oh, you don't say so!"

"Or, rather the start of one."

"Say, you aren't original or ambitious or anything like that, are you?"

The speaker, Ben Dixon, bestowed a look of admiration and interest on the chum he liked best of all in the world, Tom Barnes.

Tom was reckoned a genius in the little community in which he lived. He had the record of "always being up to something." In the present instance he had been up a tree, it seemed. From "the new-fangled thing" Ben had discovered in passing the familiar landmark, the blasted oak, wires and rods ran up to quite a height, showing that some one had done some climbing.

Ben became instantly absorbed in an inspection of the contrivance before him. He himself had some mechanical talent. His father had been an inventor in a small way, and anything in which Tom had a part always attracted him.

"Tell me about it. What's that thing up there?" asked Ben, pointing directly at some metal rods attached to the broken-off top of the tree.

"Those are antennae."

"Looks like an--twenty!" chuckled Ben over his own joke. "There's a whole network of them, isn't there?"

"They run down to a relay, Ben, catching the electric waves striking the decoherer, which taps the coherer and disarranges a lot of brass filings by mechanical vibration. That's the whole essence of the wireless--otherwise it is no different from common telegraphy--a group of parts each for individual service in transmitting or receiving the electric waves."

"Thank you!" observed Ben drily. "How delightfully plain that all is! You rattle those scientific terms off good and spry, though."

"So will you, as soon as you do what I've been doing," asserted Tom.

"And what's that?"

"Getting a glance at the real wireless outfit Mr. Edson is operating down at Sandy Point."

"I heard of that," nodded Ben.

"He's a fine man," said Tom enthusiastically. "He's taken all kinds of trouble to post me and explain things I wanted to know. This little side show of mine is just an experiment on a small scale. I don't expect any grand results. It will work out the principle, though, and when I get to taking messages----"

"What! you don't mean to say you can do that?"

"Just that, Ben," declared Tom confidently.

"From where?"

"Well, mostly from Mr. Edson's station at Sandy Point, and maybe some stray ones that may slip past him."

"Say!" cried Ben, on fire at once with emulation and optimism, "what's the matter with me starting a station, too, down at my house? Then we could have all kinds of fun over our line."

"It isn't much work nor expense," said Tom. "You can get an outfit cheap for a home-made apparatus--you need some coarse and fine wire for the main coil, a glass tube, a bell, sounder and a buzzer, some electromagnets----"

"I see," interrupted Ben with a mock groan, "just a few things picked up anywhere. Oh, yes!"

"You won't be discouraged once you get interested, Ben," assured Tom. "We'll talk about your starting a station later. Just now you can help me quite a bit if you want to."

"Sure!" returned the enterprising Ben with vim.

"All right; I want to string a coil of new wire I got yesterday," explained Tom, going around to the other side of the tree. "Why, it's gone!" he cried.

"What's gone?" queried Ben.

"The wire. Now, isn't that a shame!" cried Tom indignantly, fussing around among the grass and bushes. "That coil couldn't have walked away. Some one must have stolen it."

"Don't be too hasty, Tom. Some one passing by may have picked it up. You know the fellows are playing ball over in the meadow just beyond here. Some of them may have cut across and stumbled over your wire."

"Couldn't they see that I was putting up a station here?" demanded Tom with asperity.

"Station?" repeated Ben with a jolly laugh. "See here, old fellow, you forget that we scientific numbskulls wouldn't know your contrivance here from a clothes dryer."

"Well, come on, anyway. I've got to find that wire," said Tom with determination.

In the distance they could hear the shouts of boys at play, and passing through some brushwood they came to the edge of the open meadow lining the river.

Half a dozen boys were engaged in various pastimes. Two of them playing at catch greeted Tom with enthusiasm.

There was no boy at Rockley Cove more popular than Tom Barnes. His father had farmed it, as the saying goes, at the edge of the little village for over a quarter of a century. While Mr. Barnes was not exactly a wealthy man he made a good living, and Tom dressed pretty well, and was kept at school right along. Now it was vacation time, and outside of a few chores about the house morning and evening Tom's time was his own.

The result was that usually Tom had abundant leisure for sports. The welcome with which his advent was hailed therefore, was quite natural.

"I say, Tom," suddenly spoke Ben, seizing the arm of his companion in some excitement, "there's Mart Walters."

"Ah, he's here, is he?" exclaimed Tom, and started rapidly across the meadow to where a crowd of boys were grouped about a diving plank running out over the stream. "I'm bothered about that missing coil, but I guess I can take time to attend to Walters."

The boy he alluded to was talking to several companions as Tom and Ben came up. His back was to the newcomers and he did not see them approach. Mart Walters was a fop and a braggart. Tom noticed that he was arrayed in his best, and his first overheard words announced that he was bragging as usual.

Mart was explaining to a credulous audience some of the wonderful feats in diving and swimming he had engaged in during a recent stay in Boston. With a good deal of boastful pride he alluded to a friend, Bert Aldrich, whose father was a part owner of a big city natatorium. Tom interrupted his bombast unceremoniously by suddenly appearing directly in front of the boaster.

"Hello, Mart Walters," he hailed in a sort of aggressive way.

"Hello yourself," retorted Mart, with a slight uneasiness of manner.

"I've been looking for you," said Tom bluntly.

"Have?"

"Yes, ever since I heard some criticisms of yours yesterday on my bungling swimming."

"Oh, I didn't say much," declared Mart evasively.

"You said enough to make the crowd believe you could beat me all hollow at diving."

"Well," flustered Mart desperately, "I can."

"Want to prove that?" challenged Tom sharply.

"Some time."

"Why not now? We're all here and the water is fine. We'll make it a dash for the half-mile fence and return, under water test, somersaults and diving."

Mart had begun to retreat. He flushed and stammered. Finally he blurted out:

"I'm due now at Morgan's with a message from my folks."

"You haven't seemed in a hurry," suggested Ben.

"Well, I am now."

"Yes, might muss your collar if you got wet!" sneered a fellow in the crowd.

"All right," said Tom, "when will you be back?"

"Can't say," declared Mart. "You see, I don't know how long I may be."

He started off, flushed and sheep-faced under the critical gaze of the crowd. As he did so Tom noticed that he had something in his hand.

"Here!" he cried, "where did you get that?"

Tom had discovered his missing coil of wire. His hand seized it. Mart's did not let go. The latter gave a jerk, Tom a twist.

"That's mine," Tom said simply. "You took it from where I was stringing up my wireless."

"I found it," shouted Mart, thoroughly infuriated in being crossed in any of his plans. "It was kicking around loose. I'll have it too--take that!"

He came at Tom so suddenly that the latter, unprepared for the attack, went swinging to the ground under a dizzying blow.

It looked as if Mart was about to follow up the assault with a kick. Tom offset that peril with a dextrous maneuvre.

Seated flat, he spun about like a top. His feet met the ankles of the onrushing Mart.

Mart stumbled, tripped and slipped. He tried to catch himself, lost his balance, fell backward, and the next instant went headlong into the water with a resounding splash.

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