Chapter 15

TIDINGS

Two days later O'Connel's first signal came.

Bob was at his early morning task of oiling and tightening up his apparatus and cleaning it, and both Dick and Walter were hovering near, watching him and learning all they could concerning the proper care of the equipment. Having made everything shipshape the young radio operator slipped the double head receiver over his forehead and prepared to listen in for his customary interval. Suddenly the boys saw him start excitedly and motion them to stop talking. With face alight he was leaning forward eagerly. Then came the sharp click of the Morse code and after an interval with radiant face the elder lad wriggled out of his trappings.

"What is it? What is it?" cried his two companions, hardly able to contain their curiosity.

"It was O'Connel."

"What did he say? Is the dog there? Where was the yacht?"

Breathlessly the questions tumbled one over the other.

"The _Siren_ is anchored off Gloucester and bound north, probably to Bar Harbor. A dog they call Trixie, but which O'Connel thinks is Lola, is aboard the boat. The description we gave him seems to fit her. He says she isn't very well--won't eat and seems either homesick or seasick. Mr. Daly is quite worried about her."

"For goodness' sake don't tell Dad or Mother that. They'll have a fit," Dick cried. "Should Lola die I believe my father would shoot Daly down."

"But I've got to give him the message."

"You needn't repeat all of it, need you?"

"Oh, I think you ought to tell them," Walter put in. "They would rather know, I'm sure."

"Dad will storm fit to raise the dead."

"We can't help it," answered His Highness.

"I am of the kid's opinion," Bob replied slowly. "I think we should tell your father and mother the whole truth just as O'Connel has sent it."

"Prepare for a nice, pleasant tornado, then," said Dick, "for you will get it all right."

"I wish I could have talked with O'Connel," declared Bob thoughtfully. "I did all I dared. You see, until our license comes I am not expected to transmit messages from this station. We have to get from the government both an operator's license and a permit for the station; and although I put in the application promptly there is so much red tape about it that it seems as if the inspector would never show up. If I had been caught sending a message this morning without these blooming papers there would have been the deuce of a row. However, I took a chance because I felt the emergency demanded it, and because being one of Uncle Sam's own men he couldn't very well put up the kick that I was not competent to handle a wireless outfit. Still, I shan't dare do it again."

"Isn't there anything we can do to hustle up the inspector?" inquired Dick.

"I'm afraid not, son. Government inspectors are not a hurrying race," was Bob's whimsical reply. "However, I telephoned our local man yesterday and something may happen to-day. He and I used to be on quite good terms when he occasionally dropped in at Seaver Bay. I told him that if I could not get a station license pretty soon our whole outfit would be no good to us this season. He promised he would take up the matter at once. With that I had to be satisfied. Whether he does anything or not remains to be seen."

"I suppose O'Connel understands this difficulty, doesn't he?" mused Dick.

"Oh, he knows, all right, why I can't answer him. I've assured him that his tidings have come through and that is all he wants to know," Bob answered. "He has dealt with the government himself and is familiar with its deliberate habits. Besides, there really isn't much we can say."

"Maybe you think that," grinned Dick, "but wait until you tell Dad that Lola is sick and hear him sputter. You will believe then that there is quite a bit that can be said. And if you get my mother to add her comments you will have plenty to relay over the wire."

The prophecy was indeed true, as Bob King proved after he had raced across the grass and overtaken Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield on a tour of inspection to the rose gardens.

"News, Bob?" questioned the capitalist, wheeling about to meet the flying figure. "What is it? Let us have it quickly."

Carefully the message was repeated.

"Off Gloucester, eh, and bound north? Humph! And they've re-christened the poor little pupsie Trixie! Hang them! O'Connel thinks she isn't well? Of course she isn't seasick. Lola has been out on our yacht a hundred times. The reason she won't eat is because she is lonesome--misses her home and family. The wretches! I wish I had Daly here! I'd wring his neck," blustered Mr. Crowninshield.

"Isn't there anything we can do, Archibald? We simply must get that dog back before she dies. Poor little Lola! She was such a dependent little creature. It is terrible, terrible!"

"There, there, my dear! Don't go all to pieces over it. Aren't we doing all we can? Do you want Daly to smell a rat and toss his stolen property into the sea? Dacie says to give him rope enough and in time he will hang himself, and I am inclined to think the advice wise. Still, that does not prevent me from wishing I could lay hands on Daly. I'd like nothing better than to thrash the life out of him."

"I suppose you will telephone the detective the news we've received," suggested Bob, in order to quell the rising storm and divert Mr. Crowninshield's attention.

"Yes, I'll get New York on the wire right away. It is as well Lyman and his pal should know Lola is sick and that they can't dally round forever."

"Shall you be back for the wireless lesson?" called Bob, uncertain whether to ask the question or not.

"Oh, sure! It won't help matters for us to sit around and wail the whole morning. We'll be on deck for your radio talk at the usual time."

"All right, sir."

True to their agreement, at the appointed hour both Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield made their appearance on the piazza and joined the group of young people who awaited their coming. They had, as Bob expressed it, cooled off a bit and were no longer in such an agitated frame of mind; nevertheless anxiety had left its mark by keying the master's voice to a sharper note, and shadowing the lady's brow with a frown of annoyance.

"I suppose you let out on O'Connel, didn't you, after he got through talking this morning?" was the first remark of the owner of Surfside.

"I couldn't say more than a word. Our license hasn't come yet, you know."

"That's so, darn it! I never saw anything in all my born life with so many rules attached to it as this wireless business. It is one tangle of rules, rules, rules! You might as well be tied up in a net," fretted the man.

"There do seem to be a good many rules at first glance," returned Bob pleasantly. "However, when you examine them most of them are both necessary and wise. And after all when each radio operator knows in black and white what he can do and what he can't it is far simpler."

"I suppose so," grumbled Mr. Crowninshield.

"Besides, there are always slackers at every job," continued Bob. "Rules help to keep such persons up to the mark and prevent carelessness and accidents."

"Yes, I fancy that is so," came more graciously from the still irate gentleman.

"Then all stations are not alike. That compass station at Bell Reef, for example, that you were asking me about yesterday; the government lays out specific duties and makes special rules for such a station, as in fact it does for all radio stations. Some of these rules relate to the care of the place and the cleaning and general overhauling of apparatus at stated intervals. There are, you see, certain instruments which must be cleaned and readjusted every day; certain others every week, others every month, and some every six months. It simply means making sure that your outfit is in the pink of condition with every part functioning as it should. There are, of course, operators who would see that this was done anyway, rules or no rules; but like every other profession there might be men who, off on an isolated spot with no one to keep them up to the mark, would grow careless and slovenly. Too much depends on wireless stations to run the risk of errors through imperfections in the equipment."

"I can understand all that; but aren't there a score of other regulations?"

"You mean about what they shall and shall not do?"

"Yes."

"There certainly are. There have to be because we have several different types of land stations. Just as the shipboard stations have their special kinds of work so do those on shore. For example, there are two different classes of radio compass stations,--those that operate independently and are located with a view to giving good cross-bearings to vessels that are from fifty to a hundred miles out to sea; and those known as harbor stations which are governed by a central control station and designed to inform ships within thirty miles of the entrance to outer channels of their position. The function of each of these stations is, as you can see, quite different and therefore each of them is obliged to have its own set of rules."

"I never knew anything about radio compass stations before," announced Dick.

"That is because you never sailed the seas and had to call on one for aid," smiled Bob. "If you did you would be very thankful, I guess, that the government has so carefully provided some one to answer just the sort of question you wished answered. I try to remember this when I get hot under the collar because the license for our station does not arrive. Uncle Sam can't help it if his men are slow. The plan at the top is all right. There must be rules to govern wireless stations, be they governmental, commercial, or private; rules to regulate the wave lengths each may use; rules to make sure the operators who have charge of them know their job; and inspectors to make sure that every such rule is obeyed."

"Who has the big chore of following up all these people and making certain that they are conforming to the law?" questioned Mr. Crowninshield.

"The Department of Commerce issues the licenses for all private and commercial stations and sends its inspectors to keep an eye on whatever comes under their control. It is this department that will have jurisdiction over Surfside if the license is granted. Government radio stations on the other hand, not only the high-power class but the coastal stations and everything that pertains to their relations with commercial stations afloat or ashore, whether in the United States or in foreign lands are entirely under the control of the Director of Naval Communications of the Navy Department."

"I wish you'd tell us something more about compass stations," Dick said. "Were you ever stationed at one?"

"Yes, for a little while I was on an island off the coast," replied Bob. "But I did not like it very well and applied for a transfer."

"It must have been lonely as the dickens on an island; worse, even, than being at Seaver Bay. Why in goodness did they build the station there?"

"Why, you see, a compass station that operates independently as that one did is usually situated on a lightship or an island because that location is best suited to the sort of work it has to do."

"And that is?"

"To give ships their positions when they sing out to ask exactly where they are," replied Bob. "Since the station is fairly well out to sea itself, it is able to furnish excellent cross-bearings and set the vessel on her course in case she is off it. Ships have been known to miss their way, you know, especially in a fog; and if they have not missed it they are often very grateful to be assured they have not and that their own calculations were correct. So the rule is that an operator must always be listening in for at least three minutes at ten, twenty-five, forty, and fifty-five minutes past the hour and be ready to answer a Q T E when he hears it."

"What's a Q T E?" inquired both Dick and Walter simultaneously.

"Those particular letters mean: _What is my true bearing?_ It takes less time to send the letters than to spell out the entire sentence and therefore a simple code which means the same in all languages is used. When such a call is received the operator replies: Q T S (meaning: Your true bearing is) and then follows it with the number of degrees from his radio post stated in words, and also the name of the station responding to the message. It is a general rule, by-the-by, that all numerals used in any wireless communication must be spelled out to make sure of their being perfectly understood."

"What a bother!" ejaculated Walter.

"It prevents mistakes, brother; and if it does that it is certainly worth the trouble."

"I suppose so," answered His Highness a trifle crestfallen.

"Then what do you say next?" interrupted Dick, who was much interested in the subject in hand.

"Well, after you have given the true bearing the ship wires: Q T F."

"And that means?"

"_What is my position?_"

"And you have to repeat those words before giving it just as you did before?" asked Dick.

"Always," nodded Bob. "Every question asked is always repeated by the operator answering it to make sure that each party fully understands what is being talked about. You can't risk having a ship complain: 'Oh, I thought those figures you sent me were so-and-so.' No, indeed. Everything must be so explicit that there will be no room for blunders. So after you have repeated the question you send the latitude and longitude _in words_."

"I guess there is sense in the rules after all," smiled Mrs. Crowninshield. "Thus far we have not discovered any which, on being examined, were not both reasonable and wise."

"That's the way I feel," Bob rejoined. "After being in radio work and seeing the opportunities there are for mistakes I have decided operators cannot be too careful. You see it is not like talking with a person face to face. Those you are communicating with are usually miles and miles away. Such stations as I have been telling you about are on the lookout for any six-hundred-meter calls and they answer in this tune. After communication with a ship is established, however, the tune shifts to seven hundred and fifty-six meters if a Navy vessel should be talking; if not, the six-hundred-meter wave length assigned is used. This leaves the shorter range waves to commercial vessels and greatly simplifies matters."

"That is a good rule, too," chimed in Mr. Crowninshield.

"And now about the harbor stations," suggested Dick.

The young tutor smiled.

"I had not intended to give you all this stuff this morning," protested he, "but since you are interested in it we may as well go on with the subject. The task of the harbor stations, then, is to listen both on a six-hundred-meter range, and one of nine hundred and fifty-two--the first wave length for commercial and the latter for Navy ship's calls. Then in response to inquiry the operator directs the vessel how to enter that particular harbor, stating just where the entrance buoys are and where the channel lies. If the man at the wheel is new to the port this aid is invaluable."

"Not much like the navigation of the old days, is it?" mused Mr. Crowninshield. "I should think such stations would put pilots out of business."

"They do to some extent," was the reply. "There are, however, always ships that cannot make a landing under their own steam, ships that have to be towed. So the pilots still find something to do."

"And are these harbor stations on islands too?" questioned Nancy.

"Many of them are. A small proportion of them, though, are in lighthouses. It all depends on which place has the more favorable location."

"But do not the land stations that send messages sometimes interfere with these stations?" queried Mr. Crowninshield.

"There are rules to prevent _that_," laughed Bob. "Of course the difference in wave length to which the various types of stations are limited solves a part of this difficulty. As I told you commercial stations have their own particular wave length and must stick to it; and private stations such as this one here have their range of two hundred meters in which to operate and are confined to not more than one kilowatt for sending messages. You cannot use more than this without special permission from the Secretary of Labor. Should you do so you are liable to a fine of one hundred dollars if your offense is deliberate; if, however, it is proved that your apparatus was out of adjustment and overreached itself you may get off with a twenty-five-dollar fine. In that case you must see at once that your radio error is corrected and your outfit set right."

"But sometimes along the coast aren't there big government stations belonging to the army or navy? I should think these, with their press of business, would butt in on the smaller ones and raise havoc with them," ventured Mr. Crowninshield.

"Where there are such mix-ups and private or commercial stations interfere with important government outfits the smaller ones are not allowed to send messages during the first fifteen minutes of each hour, such time being reserved for government business. The government, on the other hand, must respect the rights of the littler chap and use this particular interval for transmitting. In fact, when licenses are issued this condition is made with private owners and the station is so listed. Of course, however, should an S O S call come, all rules go by the boards and the distress call has the right of way in every case."

Mrs. Crowninshield, smiling mischievously, rose from her chair.

"There is an S O S coming in right now for a lemonade," said she, fanning herself with her filmy handkerchief. "Who will join me?"

A chorus of "I!" "I!" greeted the question.

She touched a bell.

"Bring lemonade for six, Emelie," said she. "Put in some slices of orange, some strawberries, and plenty of cracked ice. What a warm day it is! I am glad I am not out on some hot, sun-baked island answering radio calls."

"You probably would not be hot if you were on an island out to sea, my dear," her husband returned playfully. "However, I'll agree that this veranda is good enough for me on a July day."

The tinkling of ice cut short the conversation. Far away through the house its distant cadence sounded.

"The first and tallest lemonade must be for Bob," Nancy announced. "He has certainly earned it."