The Campfire Girls on Station Island: or, The Wireless from the Steam Yacht

“You can make a little noise yourself,” Jessie told her. “What’s all the hammering for?”

“So things won’t sound too tame. How are we getting on with the new circuit?”

“Why, Amy Drew! you just helped me place this vario-coupler. Didn’t you know what you were doing?”

“Not a bit,” confessed Amy. “You are away out of my depth, Jess. And don’t try to tell me what it all means, that’s a dear. I never can remember scientific terms.”

“Put up the hammer,” said Nell, laughing. “You are a confirmed knocker, anyway, Amy. But I admit I do not understand this tangle of wires.”

They did not seek to disconnect the old regenerative set that day, for there was much of interest expected out of the ether before the day was over. One particular thing Jessie looked for, but she had said nothing about it to anybody save her very dearest chum, Amy, and the clergyman’s daughter, Nell.

Two days before she had done some telephoning over the long-distance wire. Of course there was a cable to the mainland from Station Island, and Jessie had called up and interviewed Mark Stratford at Stratfordtown.

Mark was a college friend of Darry and Burd, but he was likewise a very good friend of the Roselawn girls – and he had reason for being. As related in a previous volume, “The Radio Girls on the Program,” Jessie and Amy had found a watch Mark had lost, and as it was a valuable watch and had been given him by his grandmother, Mark was very grateful.

Through his influence – to a degree – Jessie and Amy had got on the program at the Stratfordtown broadcasting station. And now Jessie had talked with the young man and arranged for a surprise by radio that was to come off that very evening at “bedtime story hour.”

Henrietta and little Sally and Bob and Fred Stanley, as well as some of the other children of the bungalow colony, crowded into the house at that time to “listen in” on the Roselawn girls’ instrument.

The amplifier worked all right that evening, and Jessie was very glad. The little folks arranged themselves on the chairs and settees with some little confusion while Jessie tuned the set to the Stratfordtown length of wave. There was some static, but after a little that disappeared and they waited for the announcement from the faraway station.

By and by, as Henrietta whispered, the radio began to “buzz.” “Now we’ll get it!” cried the little Dogtown girl. “I hope it is about the little boy with the rabbit ears that he could wiggle.”

“S-sh!” commanded Jessie, making a gesture for silence.

And then out of the air came a deep voice:

“We have with us this evening, children, the Radio Man, who, just like Santa Claus, knows all our little shortcomings, as well as our virtues. Have you all been good boys and girls to-day? Don’t all say ‘Yes’ at once. Better stop and think about it before you speak.

“Before the bedtime story,” went on the voice out of the horn, “the Radio Man must tell some of you that you must take care, or you will get on the black list. Here is a little girl, for instance, who may be rich when she grows up. But she must have a care. People who grow up rich and own islands must be very nice.”

“Oh! Oh! That’s me!” gasped Henrietta. “How’d he know me?”

“So I have to warn Henrietta, the little girl I speak of, that there is a lot she must do if she wishes in time to enjoy the wealth which she expects.”

At that the other children began to exclaim. It was Henrietta. They almost drowned out the first of the bedtime story with their excited voices.

“Well,” exclaimed Henrietta, “I guess everybody knows about my owning this island, so that Ringold one needn’t talk! But Miss Jessie’s mother told me what I had got to do to deserve my island.”

“What have you got to do?” asked Amy, curiously. “The Radio Man says you must be good.”

“Miss Jessie’s mother says I’ve got to make folks love me or I won’t enjoy my island at all – so now. But,” she added confidentially, “I don’t believe I ever shall want that Ringold one and Sally Moon to love me. Do you s’pose that’s nec-sary?”

After the children had gone the older girls discussed a point that Amy brought up regarding the incident. Of course, Amy was in fun, for she said:

“Listen! Didn’t I read something about ‘radio control’ in one of our books, Jess? Well, there is an example of radio control – control of children. Henrietta is going to remember that she is on the Radio Man’s list. She’ll be good, all right!”

Mr. Norwood laughed. “How do we know what great developments may come within the next few years in the line of radio control? Already the control of an aeroplane has been tried, and proved successful. A submarine may be governed from the shore. The drive of a torpedo has already been successfully handled by wireless.

“In time, perhaps a farmer may sit before a keyboard in his office and manage tractors plowing and cultivating his fields. Ships of all descriptions will be managed by compass control. And automobiles – ”

“I hope Bill Brewster learns to handle his red car by wireless,” chuckled Amy. “It will then be less dangerous to himself and to his friends, if not to pedestrians,” and this quaint idea amused all the Roselawn girls.

CHAPTER XVII – THE TEMPEST

Jessie, Amy, and Nell had spied, on their hike and picnic, an inlet in the shore of the island facing the mainland, on the sands of which were several fish houses and several rowboats and small sailboats that the girls were sure might be had for hire.

“We might have shipped our new canoe down here and had some fun,” Amy said. “That bay is a wonderful place to sail in. Why, you can scarcely see the port on the other side of it. And the island defends it from the sea. It is as smooth as can be.”

Nell was very fond of rowing, and she expressed a wish that they might go out in one of the open boats. She would row. So the three chums escaped the younger children the next afternoon and slipped over to the other side of the island, across the sand dunes.

They found an old fisherman who was perfectly willing to hire them a boat, and, really, it was not a bad boat, either. At least, it had been washed out and the seats were clean. The oars were rather heavier than Nell Stanley was used to.

“You need heavy oars on this bay, young lady,” declared the boat-owner. “Nothing fancy does here. When a squall comes up – ”

“Oh, but you don’t think it looks like a squall this afternoon, do you?” Jessie interrupted.

“Dunno. Can’t tell. Ain’t nothing sartain about it,” said the pessimistic old fellow. “Sometimes you get what you don’t most expect on this bay. I been here, man and boy, all my life, and I give you my word I don’t know nothing about the weather.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Amy, under her breath. “What a Job’s comforter he is! Who ever heard of a fisherman before who didn’t know all about the weather?”

“Maybe we had better not go far,” Jessie, who was easily troubled, said hesitatingly.

“Come on,” said Nell. “He just wants to keep us from going out far. He is afraid for his old tub of a boat.”

She said this rather savagely, and Jessie thought it better to say nothing more of a doubtful nature, having two against her. Besides, the sky seemed quite clear and the bay was scarcely ruffled by the wind.

The old man sat and smoked and watched them push off from the landing without offering to help. He did not even offer to ship the rudder for them, although that was a clumsy operation. When Jessie and Amy had managed to secure it in place, while Nell settled herself at the oars, the old man shouted:

“That other thing in the bow is a anchor. You don’t use that unless you want to stay hitched somewhere. Understand?”

“He must think we are very poor sailors,” said Jessie.

“I feel like making a face at him – as Henrietta does,” declared Amy. “I never saw such a cantankerous old man.”

Nell braced her feet and set to work. She was an athletic girl and she loved exercise of all kind. But rowing, she admitted, was more to her taste than sweeping and scrubbing.

Amy steered. At least, she lounged in the stern with the lines across her lap. Jessie had taken her place in the bow, to balance the boat. They moved out from shore at a fine pace, and even Amy soon forgot the grouchy old fisherman.

There were not many boats on the bay that afternoon – not small boats, at least. The steamer that plied between the port and the hotel landing at the north of the island at regular hours passed in the distance. A catboat swooped near the girls after a time, and a flaxen-haired boy in it – a boy of about Darry Drew’s age – shouted something to them.

“I suppose it is something saucy,” declared Amy. “But I didn’t hear what he said and sha’n’t reply. I don’t feel just like fighting with strange boys to-day.”

Jessie was the first to see the voluminous clouds rising from the horizon; but she thought little of them. The descending sun began to wallow in them, and first the girls were in a patch of shadow, and then in the sunlight.

“Don’t you want me to row some, Nell?” Jessie asked.

“I’m doing fine,” declared the clergyman’s daughter. “But – but I guess I am getting a blister. These old oars are heavy.”