ng to them just as plainly as if he stood in the room.
"Frank. Bob. Bob. Frank," Jack was saying. "Can you hear me? Can you hear me?"
"Hurray, Jack, sure we can hear you," cried Frank, bending forward to speak into the transmitter on the stand before him.
Then as Jack's voice continued calling without paying him any attention, he straightened up and laughed.
"Gee. I forgot," he laughed. Laying down his headpiece, he ran across the room; opened a door into the power house adjoining where the mechanic was dozing over his pipe and called to him to throw on the generator.
Galloping back, as the man obeyed, Frank again snatched up his headpiece. Bob already was bending over a transmitter, calling to Jack in faraway New Mexico. Both boys listened with straining ears for the response. Presently Jack answered: "I can hear you, but only very faintly. Put that band piece on the talking machine. You know the one I like so much. I can't think of its name. I'll tune to it."
Frank hastily shuffled through
Very disappointing. I expected another rousing adventure yarn with Blake, Skipper, and \'Ham-Bone\', the Radio Boys.
What I got was a verbose, dour, Eugene O\'Neill-like psychological drama.
The Radio Boys live in a large boarding house near the shore in New Jersey. Each evening at supper all the borders discuss their personal woes and whine endlessly! One of the borders, from Mexico, tries to liven up the glum mood of the evening meal by playing the guitar and singing rousing tunes. Blake, Skipper and \'Ham-Bone\' sneak into his room and kill him by dropping one of their radios into his bath water.