The Radio Boys' First Wireless Or Winning the Pemberton Prize

"How about it, Joe?" asked Bob Layton of his chum, Joe Atwood, as they came out of school one afternoon, swinging their books by straps over their shoulders. "Going up to Dr. Dale's house to-night?"

"You bet I am," replied Joe enthusiastically. "I wouldn't miss it for a farm. I'm keen to know more about this wireless business, and I'm sure the doctor can tell us more about it than any one else."

"He sure does get a fellow interested," agreed Bob. "He isn't a bit preachy about it, either. Just talks to you in words you can understand. But all the time you know he's got a lot back of it and could tell you ten times as much about it if you asked him. Makes you feel safe when you listen to him. Not a bit of guesswork or anything like that."

"What are you fellows chinning about?" asked Jimmy Plummer, one of their schoolmates, who came up to them at that moment. "You seem all worked up about something."

"It's about that talk Dr. Dale is going to give us to-night on the wireless telephone," answered Bob, as he edged over a little to give Jimmy room to walk beside them. "You're going, aren't you? The doctor said he wanted all the boys to come who could."

"Do you suppose there'll be any eats?" asked Jimmy, who was round and fat, and who went by the nickname of "Doughnuts" among his mates because of his fondness for that special delicacy.

"Always thinking of that precious stomach of yours!" laughed Bob. "Jimmy, I'm ashamed of you. You're getting so fat now that pretty soon you won't have to walk to school. You can just roll there like a barrel."

"You string beans are only jealous because I get more fun out of eating than you do," declared Jimmy, with a grin. "But eats or no eats, I'm going to hear what the doctor has to say. I got a letter the other day from a cousin of mine out in Michigan, and he told me all about a set that he'd made and put up himself. Said he was just crazy about it. Wanted me to go into it so that he and I might talk together. Of course, though, I guess he was just kidding me about that. Michigan's a long way off, and it takes more than a day to get there on a train."

"Distance doesn't make much difference," declared Bob. "Already they've talked across the Atlantic Ocean."

"Not amateurs?" objected Joe incredulously.

"Yes, even amateurs," affirmed Bob. "My dad was reading in the papers the other night about a man in New Jersey who was talking to a friend near by and told him that he was going to play a phonograph record for him. A man over in Scotland, over three thousand miles away, heard every word he said and heard the music of the phonograph too. A ship two thousand miles out on the Atlantic heard the same record, and so did another ship in a harbor in Central America. Of course, the paper said, that was only a freak, and amateur sets couldn't do that once in a million times. But it did it that time, all right. I tell you, fellows, that wireless telephone is a wonder. Talk about the stories of the Arabian Nights! They aren't in it."

There was a loud guffaw behind the lads, accompanied by snickers, and the friends turned around to see three boys following them.

One of them, who was apparently the leader of the trio, was a big, unwieldy boy of sixteen, a year older and considerably larger than Bob and Joe. His eyes were close together, and he had a look of coarseness and arrogance that denoted the bully. Buck Looker, as he was called-his first name was Buckley-was generally unpopular among the boys, but as he was the son of one of the richest men of the town he usually had one or two cronies who hung about him for what they could get. One of these, Carl Lutz, an unwholesome looking boy, somewhat younger than Buck, was walking beside him, and on the side nearer the curb was Terry Mooney, the youngest of the three, a boy whose, furtive eyes carried in them a suggestion of treachery and sneakiness.

"What's the joke, Buck?" asked Bob coldly, as he looked from one to the other of the sniggering faces.

"You're the joke," answered Buck insolently; "that is, if you believe all that stuff I heard you pulling off just now. You must be easy if you fall for that."

"I wasn't talking to you," replied Bob, restraining himself with some difficulty. "But since you've butted in, perhaps you'll tell me just what it is that's so funny about the wireless telephone."

"The whole thing is bunk, if you ask me," replied Buck with the confidence that so often goes with ignorance. "Telephoning without wires! You might as well talk of walking without legs."

This argument seemed to him so overpowering that he swelled out his chest and looked triumphantly at his two companions, whose faces instantly took on the same expression.

"You made a ten strike that time, Buck," declared Lutz, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Hit the target right in the bull's-eye," chimed in Terry, with a smirk.

Bob and Joe and Jimmy looked at each other, and, despite their resentment, had all they could do to keep from breaking into laughter.

Buck noticed their amused expression, and his coarse face grew red and mottled.

"Well," he demanded, "what have you got to say to that? Am I right or ain't I?"

"You're wrong," replied Joe promptly. "Dead wrong. You're so far from the truth that you couldn't see it with a telescope. You're talking like a ham sandwich."

"Look out what you're saying, Joe Atwood, or I'll make you sorry for it," threatened Buck, as he clinched his fist, an ugly look coming into his eyes.

"I apologize," said Joe. "That is, I apologize to the ham sandwich."

Bob laid a restraining hand on his friend's arm.

"Easy, Joe," he counseled. "Listen, Buck," he went on. "Did you ever hear of Marconi?"

"Sure, I did," replied Buck. "He's the fellow that had the fight with Julius Caesar. The one that Cleopatra was dippy about."

"No," said Bob patiently. "You're thinking of Mark Antony. He's been dead for more than eighteen hundred years. The man I mean is a very live one. He's the inventor of wireless telegraphy."

"Never heard of him," muttered Buck sullenly.

"Well, since you never heard of him, we'll mention some one else," continued Bob. "I was only going to say that he's a pretty brainy fellow, and he believes in the wireless telephone. Then there's Edison. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

"Of course I have," blurted Buck furiously. "Say, what are you trying to do? Make a fool of me?"

"Nature's done that already," Joe put in, but Bob checked him.

"I'm simply trying to show," Bob explained, "that if we're 'easy,' as you call it, in 'falling for that stuff,' there are a lot of able men in the United States who are in the same boat with us. In fact there isn't a man of brains and education in the country who doesn't believe in it."

"Do you mean to say that I haven't any brains?" cried Buck in a fury.

"Not exactly that," replied Bob. "But perhaps you don't use what brains you have. That happens sometimes, you know."

"I guess a fellow's got a right to his own opinions," blustered Carl

Lutz, coming to the rescue of his discomfited leader.

"Of course he has," retorted Joe. "But when it's that kind of opinion he ought to put on the soft pedal. Any one has a right to have a club foot or a hunched back or cross eyes, but he doesn't usually go round boasting of them."

"You're a wise bunch, I'll tell the world," sneered Buck in lieu of a more stinging retort.

"Not at all," replied Joe. "It's you that claim to be wiser than Edison and the rest of them. But you mustn't think because you have water on the brain that you're the whole ocean."

The air was full of electricity and matters were tense between the two groups when a diversion came in the form of a halloo from the other side of the street, and Herb Fennington, a special friend of Bob and Joe, came running over to greet them. They stopped for a moment, and Buck and his cronies passed on, favoring Bob, Joe and Jimmy with malignant scowls as they did so.

"Hello, Herb!" called Bob, as the latter came up to them, a little breathless from running.

"Hello, fellows!" returned Herb, as he looked after Buck and his companions. "What's up with Buck and his gang? Looked as if there was going to be a fight about something."

"Not so bad as that, I guess," replied Bob, with a laugh, "though

Buck did look as though he'd like to take a swing at us."

"I only wish he had," grunted Joe. "That fellow certainly gets me mad, and I wouldn't mind at all having some excuse for pitching into him."

"What was it all about?" asked Herb, with lively curiosity.

"He heard us talking about the wireless telephone and butted in," explained Bob. "Practically told us we were fools for believing that there is such a thing."

Herb laughed outright.

"Sounds like Buck," he commented. "What he doesn't know would fill a book."

"A whole library you mean," corrected Joe.

"A library then," agreed Herb, as the boys resumed their walk, which had now brought them close to the business part of the town. "But say, fellows, forget about Buck and listen to this. It's a good one that I heard yesterday. Why is-"

He was interrupted by a shout from Bob.

"Look," he cried, "look at that auto! It's running wild!"

Their startled eyes followed the direction of Bob's pointing finger.

An automobile was describing curious antics in the middle of the street. It made short dashes here and there, hesitated, zigzagged. Then it turned suddenly toward the curb, dashed on the sidewalk and amid a crash of broken glass plunged through the plate glass windows of a store.