The aeroplane rocked and pitched violently in the terrific uprush of air that followed. As the smoke cleared away the boys could see the surviving Mexicans rushing wildly in all directions, leaving several of their number where they had been thrown by the force of the explosion. Spent and well nigh exhausted, but victorious, the Radio Boys winged their way into the calm evening sky, and straightened out for the flight to camp.
As though nature repented of being too generous in the matter of sunshiny days, there came a depressing period of rain and fog during which the plane lay idle and the boys fumed in their restlessness. Had it not been for radio they might have done something desperate in their quest for excitement. As it was, there was the never-ending fascination of snatching messages, some trivial, some amusing or romantic, some weighted with affairs of international importance, from the overcrowded ether. One of the chief charms of radio was its unexpectedness. One never knew when clapping the ear phones to expectant ears what new surprise might be in store.
And then, of course, there was always the music—good music for pleasant days, jazz for rainy weather. No matter how much they might become accustomed to the modern miracle, the thrill was never absent from the fact that, by merely turning a knob, one might tune in upon any kind of amusement desired. Talk about the Arabian Nights—!
Steve was always tinkering with his receiving set and although his apparatus was remarkably efficient he never seemed quite satisfied with the results.
“I get just fine results from nearby stations,” he was complaining on one of these rainy afternoons when the boys, bent earnestly over his set, were examining it minutely to see if they could suggest any improvements. “But when it comes to distance, in spite of the most careful tuning, and I’ve spent hours over it, I can’t seem to catch a really clear message. And if a set isn’t good for distance then, I ask you, what good is it, at all?” he added, standing off and viewing his handiwork with a rueful mixture of affection and disgust.
“Say,” remarked Tom, glancing up at him with a grin, “I’d sure like to be in on the rumpus if any of us started to knock your apparatus.”