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The Radio Boys' First Wireless by Allen Chapman

Part 3 out of 3

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"'Happened' is right," murmured Jimmy, with a grin.

"Even if Joe does get his dad's car," Herb went on, unmoved, "it's
only a seven passenger, and there will be ten of us, counting the
lame ducks."

"Oh, that'll be all right," said Bob confidently. "We'll hire
a jitney of some sort down at the livery."

Thereupon they all plunged into a lively discussion of plans for
the concert, and so absorbed were they that they found themselves
walking down Main Street before they had any idea that they were
near the town.

As they neared the big stone church on the corner they espied a
familiar figure mounting the steps of the parsonage.

"Hooray!" shouted Bob, starting on a run down the street. "Just
in the nick of time, fellows. There's the doctor himself!"

CHAPTER XX

THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES

Doctor Dale heard their shout and waited with his genial smile till
the four boys came panting up to him.

"We've got a sort of idea, Doctor Dale," explained Bob, stammering in
his eagerness. "And--and we would like to speak to you about it if
you have time."

"I can always spare some for you boys," the doctor assured him
heartily. "Come on in, fellows, and let's hear about this idea.
Something connected with radio, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir," answered Bob, as Doctor Dale opened the parsonage door
and the boys crowded eagerly after him into the cozy study.

The doctor listened with interest while Bob outlined the plan to him,
assisted by frequent interruptions from the other boys.

And if the chums had expected enthusiasm from this good friend of
theirs, they were certainly not disappointed. The doctor was jubilant
over the idea and readily consented to giving his time unreservedly
for the purpose of making the affair a great success.

They set the date of the concert for the next day, which was
Saturday, and added the names of several others to the list of those
to be invited. A few minutes later the minister's callers departed
gleefully, a warmer feeling than ever in their hearts for Doctor
Amory Dale.

"You've got the right idea, boys," the latter called after them,
standing at the top of the steps to see them off. "Give happiness
to others and you will find true happiness for yourselves."

So far everything had gone swimmingly, and when the next morning
the boys arose to find the sun shining brightly they thought that
the fates had been almost too good to them.

"Something sure will happen before night," Jimmy muttered gloomily,
as he made his way down to the dining room, from which issued a
tempting aroma of bacon. "It's all too good to be true." But then,
Jimmy always did feel grumpy before breakfast.

The boys each found his own family as enthusiastic as Doctor Dale
had been about the great plan, and Bob's mother even hugged him
impulsively as she passed behind his chair. Bob was almost ashamed
of the happiness that welled in his heart. Of course a fellow of
fifteen was too big to be hugged as a general thing, but, somehow,
one's mother was different.

After breakfast he started down town to see about the jitney, met
Joe on the way, and the two boys went on together, talking excitedly
of their preparations.

"Dad says I can have the big car and the garage man will run it,"
Joe informed him gleefully. "Gee, I was never so surprised in my
life. All he said was 'take it, my son, and Heaven grant you never
want it for a worse purpose.' Great old sport, dad is."

"Gee, that's great," said Bob. "Now if we can only find some old bus
that looks as if it will stand up for a mile or two, everything will
be dandy."

After much kicking of tires and anxious examination, the boys did
actually manage to find a Ford machine that promised, with more or
less reservations, to do its duty, and, after engaging it with a
driver for one-thirty that afternoon, they walked importantly from
the shop, much to the amusement of the garage man.

"Fine set of kids," he muttered, shaking his head admiringly as he
returned to the machine that he was repairing. "Always full of pep
and ginger whenever you see 'em. They'll go a long way, those kids
will."

In spite of various gloomy predictions, at one-thirty that afternoon
there was still not a cloud in the sky and the breath of the sun
smote downward almost as hotly as it would in midsummer.

Gayly the four boys started off in the two cars, eager to pick up
the poor shut-ins of their acquaintance and give them the time of
their lives.

Their first stop was at the lonely little cottage of Joel Banks, Civil
War veteran. His housekeeper let them in, a quaint little woman with
pink cheeks and white hair and a spotless white apron tied around her
comfortable waist.

When the boys made known their errand to her she departed in a flutter
of pleased surprise to prepare "the colonel" for his treat. In a few
moments more the old gentleman appeared, leaning heavily upon the
housekeeper, a stout cane grasped stiffly in his knotted fingers.

He gazed at the boys for a moment with dim eyes, then suddenly a gleam
shot into them and he smiled.

"Reckoning on giving me a treat, are you, boys?" he asked. Something
must have caught in his throat, for he cleared it hastily. "Well,
that's mighty fine of you. Been a long time since anybody took that
much interest in old Joel Banks."

Joe introduced his friends in hurried, boy fashion, and a moment later
they were helping the old gentleman out of the house and into the
automobile, at the same time pouring into his interested ears such
tales of the marvels of radio telephony that it was a wonder they did
not talk the veteran deaf.

In the confusion Bob managed to whisper instructions to Joe.

"We'll put the kids in your car," he said hurriedly. "There will be
more room for them, and then they won't bother the old folks. And have
the man drive slowly," he added. "This old bus isn't long on springs,
and I don't want to jolt 'em up too much. Take it easy, Joe."

"All right," agreed the latter, and a moment later they were gliding
cautiously over the smooth roads on their way to the home of little
Dick Winters and his sister Rose.

The children were deliriously happy at the prospect of a little change
and excitement, and there were tears in their mother's eyes as she
helped the boys lift the children into the comfortable back seat of
the Atwood car.

"God bless those boys!" whispered the woman, as the two cars sped
away down the road.

Still further on the boys picked up several more crippled boys and
girls, and then turned off a hot and dusty side road to call for
Aunty Bixby.

Secretly the boys were a little afraid of this formidable old woman,
and they wondered rather nervously whether or not she would break up
the party.

When Jimmy, who was sitting beside Bob in the flivver, pointed out
the white, ivy-grown house where the old woman lived, Bob nudged him
nervously.

"Remember, you've got to take care of her," he said, noticing that
Jimmy himself looked rather worried. "You were the one who spoke
about her--"

"Gee, you don't need to rub it in, do you"' growled the fat boy as he
squeezed himself through the door and stepped gingerly onto the dusty
road. "Better let me go in alone. She might get scared if she saw the
whole bunch of us, and maybe she wouldn't come at all."

In his heart Bob thought that that might not be such a terrible thing,
but he kept quiet. A fellow ought to be thankful for small blessings.
Think how much worse it would be if he, and not Jimmy, were forced to
break the news to Aunty Bixby.

The big car came to a stop beside the Ford, and all the boys watched
with interest as Jimmy ascended the steps of the porch, rang the bell,
and a moment later, disappeared into the house.

But as the time passed and he still failed to emerge they began to get
a little uneasy about him. Finally Bob let himself out of the car and
went to consult with Joe and Herb.

They had just about decided to make a raid upon the house and rescue
poor Jimmy when the subject of discussion himself appeared, looking
very red and flustered and out of sorts.

The boys were about to make a concerted rush upon him, but he waved
them back violently.

"She's coming," he said in a hoarse tone somewhere between a whisper
and a shout. "Get back there, you fellows."

They got back just in time to see Aunty Bixby herself emerge. Bob
gave one look and his heart sank into his boots.

"Gee!" he muttered and there was anger in his eye. "Just wait till
I get Doughnuts Plummer alone somewhere."

Meanwhile Aunty Bixby was limping down upon them with all sails set,
her stiff silk dress billowing out about her and her little hat set
securely on her determined head, while Jimmy puffed along behind her.

With rare presence of mind Bob jumped out, opened the door of the car
and offered to assist the old woman. His reward was a cold stare that
made him feel like a baby caught with the jelly jar.

"No, thank you, young man," said Aunty Bixby. "I am quite capable
of climbing into this--er--horrible thing, unassisted."

Bob shot a wild glare at Jimmy, who hovered in the background, but
at the look of utter misery on the latter's face, even Bob's hard
heart was softened.

As the old woman rustled into the car Joel Banks moved over
courteously, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eye that
puzzled Bob. How could he know that the old gentleman was having
the time of his life?

Bob nudged Jimmy, bidding him do his duty and introduce the two old
people, and, to do poor Jimmy justice, he really did do his best. But
Aunty Bixby could not get the name straight, even with the assistance
of her ear trumpet.

"Not that it matters in the least," said the old woman irritably,
settling back with a grim expression on her face. "Now if you will
take my advice and get started, young man, I would be very much
obliged to you."

As the chauffeur felt for the starter and threw in the clutch Bob was
desperately conscious of the old woman's accusing gaze on the back
of his head.

"Say," he growled at Jimmy, huddled miserably in the seat beside him,
"you sure did play a bonehead trick this time. She'll just spoil the
fun for all of us."

"Ah, cut it out," retorted Jimmy, wriggling uncomfortably. "She really
isn't half bad once you get to know her."

"Neither is poison," snorted Bob, as the car chugged wearily once or
twice, then settled down to business. "If we ever get out of this
alive, we'll be lucky."

However, maybe it was the sunshine, or maybe it was Joel Banks'
conversation that wrought the change in her. Be that as it may, Aunty
Bixby unbent surprisingly in the next few minutes. Bob and Jimmy kept
an interested eye on the back seat where Joel Banks patiently shouted
dry jokes into the old woman's trumpet to the accompaniment of the
latter's amused cackle.

"You see!" Jimmy said proudly. "I told you she wasn't half bad if you
only got to know her."

And then, just when they were within half a mile of their destination
the miserable thing happened. There was a sharp explosion and an
ominous whistling of escaping air.

The driver stopped the car, got out and regarded the flat tire with
a frown of despair.

"Now what's the matter?" demanded Aunty Bixby, irritably adding,
with an air almost of triumph: "I always did say I hated the dratted
things."

How the chauffeur managed to get that tire changed the boys never
afterward knew. Somehow or other he accomplished it and finally the
car reached Doctor Dale's house without any further mishaps.

They found the doctor awaiting them, and in his courteous way he
welcomed the guests of the afternoon, welcoming each one in turn
and helping the radio boys to see that each one was made as
comfortable as possible.

Little Dick Winters and Rose and even the older crippled boys were
a trifle awed by the dignity of the occasion and the strangeness
of their surroundings, but beneath the boys' merry joking and the
doctor's friendly manner they soon got rid of this feeling and
prepared to enjoy themselves to the limit.

Mr. Joel Banks was intensely interested in the radio apparatus,
asking intelligent questions, to which the boys eagerly replied.
So interested were they in the mechanical end that Dr. Dale finally
informed them that if they expected to listen in at any concert that
afternoon they had better get to it without further delay.

Aunty Bixby, listening anxiously through her ear trumpet, nodded
emphatically at this suggestion.

"Yes," she said in her high, chronically irritable voice, "let's get
along with it. I want to see what that horn-shaped contraption can do.
Looks to me like nothin' so much's an old fashioned phonygraph."

"It's far more wonderful than any phonograph," the doctor told her
good-naturedly. Then turning to Bob, directed: "Let her go, Bob.
It's just time to catch that concert in Pittsburgh."

Bob obeyed, and then the fun began. For an hour that seemed only a
minute in length all listened to a concert of exquisite music both
vocal and instrumental, a concert given by some of the world's great
artists and plucked from the air for their benefit.

Once Aunty Bixby dropped her trumpet and was heard to murmur something
like "drat the thing!" But Jimmy gruntingly got down on his knees
and retrieved the instrument from its hiding place under a chair.
Then, finding she had missed part of a violin selection, the old
woman exclaimed irritably.

"There, I missed that. Have them play it over again!"

The boys looked at each other, then looked suddenly away, trying
their best to control the corners of their mouths.

However, when the concert was over and the last soprano solo, flowing
so truly through the horn-shaped amplifier, died away into silence
they saw that Aunty Bixby's bright old eyes were wet.

"Drat the thing!" she said, feeling blindly for a handkerchief.
"Never heard tell o' such foolishness, making a body cry about
nothing!"

Joel Banks sat with a knotted hand over his eyes, dreaming old dreams
of days long past, days when he was young and athrill with the joy
of living.

"How about a little dance music now?" asked Bob, glancing over at
Doctor Dale, who nodded his consent.

"Surely," he replied. "We have to have some dance music nowadays
to please the young folks."

The little cripples received this suggestion with enthusiasm and
fairly shouted with delight as the snappy tune of the latest fox trot
floated into the room.

"That's the stuff!" shouted Dick Winters, and the boys grinned
at him.

Later they had a minstrel show that sent them all into gales of
laughter. Joel Banks and Aunty Bixby were as sorry as the young
folks when it was over.

Then suddenly, without warning, the stirring strains of the Star
Spangled Banner filled the room, played by a master band. Suddenly,
as though by some common instinct, all eyes were turned upon Joel
Banks. There was a light in the old veteran's eyes, a straightening
of his whole sagging figure.

He tried to rise, faltered, felt two pairs of strong young arms
lifting him, supporting him, as Bob and Joe sprang to his aid. He
stood there, his hand at stiff salute, in his old eyes the fire of
battle, until the last stirring note died away and the music was
still. Then he sank into a chair, shaking his old head feebly.

"Those were the days!" he muttered under his breath. "Those were
the good old days!"

And so the concert finally came to a close and the boys took their
happily weary guests home through the mellow late afternoon, promising
to do the whole thing over some day.

"They sure seemed to enjoy themselves," said Bob as the radio boys
started toward home. "Aunty Bixby is a nice old lady, and as for Joel
Banks--"

"Say, isn't he a dandy?" Joe demanded, and this time Herb and Jimmy
chimed in:

"He sure is!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE VOICE THAT STUTTERED

The following Saturday evening the radio boys were once more assembled
at Bob's house. They were in high spirits, having prepared all their
lessons for the following Monday, and were out for an evening's fun
with their radio outfit. It was too early for the regular concert to
start, but they were experimenting with the set, shifting the sliders
around on the tuning coil in an effort to catch some of the messages
sent out by near-by amateurs. It was sometimes great fun to listen in
on these conversations, and often they wished that they had a sending
set so that they could answer some of the remarks passed out by the
ambitious senders.

For some time they had picked up nothing of interest, and were wishing
for the time to come when the concert was to start, when suddenly a
voice they had never heard before came out of the air. The boys gazed
at each other in astonishment for a few moments, and then broke into
irrepressible laughter. For the voice belonged to a man who stuttered
terribly, and the effect was ludicrous indeed. The strange voice
rasped and stuttered its difficult way along, until some one who
possessed a sending as well as a receiving set, interrupted.

"Hey there!" it said. "You're engine's missing, old timer. Let it
cool off a bit and then try again."

This was evidently heard by the stutterer, for he became excited,
and that did not help him much.

"S-s-shut up, y-y-you big b-b-boob," he finally managed to get out,
in an infuriated tone.

"I may be a boob, but I can talk straight, anyway," replied the
amateur.

This so infuriated the stuttering man that he was absolutely unable
to say anything for a few moments, while the boys, with much
merriment, waited expectantly for the forthcoming answer.

"S-s-s-shut up, w-w-will you?" exploded the unfortunate stutterer
at last. "J-j-just you w-w-w-w--" but he was unable to finish the
sentence until he stopped and gave vent to a long whistle, after
which he was able to proceed.

At the sound of the whistle Bob suddenly stopped laughing and sat up
straight in his chair.

"Say, fellows!" he exclaimed, "do you remember what Herb told us
about the man named Dan Cassey?"

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Joe, "I remember Herb said he stuttered and
had to whistle to go on, and if that doesn't describe this bird I'll
eat my hat!"

Jimmy and Herb himself caught the idea, at the same time, and they
gazed speculatively at each other. There was more recrimination
between the stutterer and his tormentor, and the boys listened
attentively, hoping to get some clue to the whereabouts of the
afflicted one's station. But they could get no hint of this, and
finally the voice ceased, leaving them full of hope but with little
that was definite to found their suspicions on.

"Of course, it may not mean anything at all," said Bob. "This Dan
Cassey isn't the only man in the world who stutters."

"No, but there can't be many who are as bad as he is," said Joe,
grinning at the recollection, even though his mind was occupied with
more serious thoughts. "But it will certainly be worth our while to
try to locate this person and find out what name he answers to."

The others were of the same opinion, and they listened for some
repetition of the voice in the hope that its possessor might drop
some clue to his identity, but although they missed most of the
concert by trying to catch the talk of the object of their interest,
they heard no further word of him that evening nor for many more
to come.

The next morning but one when Bob joined his companions it was plain
to see that he was bursting with news.

"Say, fellows," was his salutation, "did any of you read in the
morning papers of the big Radio Show that is opening up in New York
City?"

They had to confess that they were innocent of any such knowledge.

"It opens to-morrow," went on Bob. "They say it's going to be one
of the biggest things that ever happened. A regular rip-roaring,
honest-to-goodness show. They'll have all the latest improvements
in radio sets and all kinds of inventions and lectures by men who
know all about it, and automobiles that run by wireless without any
drivers--"

"For the love of Pete," interrupted Joe, "go a little easy and let us
take it in a little at a time. Any one would think you were the barker
at a sideshow. Where is this wonderful thing to be?"

"On the roof of one of the big New York hotels," answered Bob. "I
forget the name just now, but it's one of the biggest in the city.
What do you say, fellows, to taking it in? We ought to get all sorts
of ideas that will help us in making our sets."

"Count me in," replied Joe promptly. "That is, if my folks will let
me go, and I think they will."

"Don't leave out little Jimmy," remarked that individual.

"Me too," added Herb. "That is, if dad will see it the same way
I do."

"I guess our folks won't kick," Bob conjectured confidently. "I notice
that they're getting almost as much interested in the game as we are.
Besides we won't have to stay in the city over night. The show's in
the afternoon as well as the evening and we can be home before ten
o'clock."

"We'll put it up to them anyway," replied Joe. They did "put it up"
to their parents with such effect that their consent was readily
obtained, though strict promises were exacted that they would spend
only the afternoon in the city and take the early evening train for
home.

It was a hilarious group that made their way to the city the next day,
full of eager expectations of the wonders to be seen, expectations
that were realized to the full.

From the moment the boys crowded into the jammed elevators and were
shot to the enclosed roof in which the exhibition was held they
enjoyed one continuous round of pleasure and excitement. The place was
thronged, and, as a matter of fact, many late comers were turned away
for lack of room. But the boys wound in and out like eels, and there
were very few things worth seeing that eluded their eager eyes.
Impressions crowded in upon them so thick and fast that it was not
until later that they were fully able to appreciate the wonders that
were being displayed for their benefit.

They listened to talks from men skilled in radio work, they wandered
about to the many booths where information was given about everything
connected with wireless, they studied various types of coils,
transformers, vacuum tubes, switches, aerials, terminals, everything
in fact that ambitious young amateurs could wish to know.

There was the identical apparatus with its marvelously sensitive
receiver, which, while installed in Scotland, had correctly registered
signals from an amateur radio station in America.

A little later they stood entranced in the Convention Hall before a
new, beautifully modeled radio amplifier, so massive that the volume
of music it poured forth actually seemed to cause vibration in the
walls of the great room in which they stood.

One of the most interesting features was the radio-controlled
automobile. The crowd before this almost incredible invention was
so dense that the operator was handicapped in his demonstration.

The car was about seven feet in length, with a cylindrical mass of
wire rising about six feet above its body. It was upon this that the
swiftly moving car caught signals from antennae stretched across the
hall. The boys watched, fascinated, as the inventor, opening and
closing the switches in its mechanism by use of a radio wave of one
hundred and thirty-five metres in length, caused the small car to
back out of its garage and run about the hall without a driver,
delivering papers and messages, afterward returning to the garage.

Then they saw the transmitters that could shoot radio messages into
space, and hung entranced over the moving pictures of what happens
in a vacuum tube. Nothing escaped them, and they "did" the show
thoroughly, so thoroughly in fact that at the end they were, as Joe
expressed it, "all in."

"Gee, I knew that show was going to be great," remarked Bob happily,
as they were returning home on the train. "But I didn't have any
idea that it was going to be such a whale."

"It was a pippin," agreed Joe, as he snuggled back still further
in his seat.

Jimmy sighed gustily.

"What's the matter, Doughnuts?" asked Bob.

"I was just pitying," replied Jimmy, "the poor boobs who didn't
see it."

"And that's no joke!" said Joe. "Seeing all those things is going
to be a big help toward winning those prizes."

"Who said I was joking?" retorted Jimmy. "I wasn't. That show was
the dandiest thing I ever saw."

CHAPTER XXII

THE STOLEN SET

Meanwhile, Bob, Joe and Jimmy were working like beavers on their
prize sets, and were making great progress. Mr. Ferberton's offer
had aroused great interest in the town, and several other boys were
working for the coveted prizes. The knowledge of this only spurred
the radio boys to greater efforts, and they began to acquire a deeper
insight into the mysteries of radio work with every day that passed.
They began to talk so learnedly of condensers and detectors that Herb
wished more than once that he had started to make a set of his own,
and he was at last driven in self defense to study up on the subject
so as not to be left too far behind.

Almost two weeks had passed since they first started work on the prize
sets when one evening Doughnuts came rushing into Bob's workroom with
woe writ large on his round countenance.

"What do you think, Bob!" he burst out. "Some crook has stolen
my set."

"Stolen your set!" echoed Bob. "What in the world do you mean?"

"Just that," went on poor Jimmy. "I had it in my father's shop back
of the house. I was working on it last night, and when I went out
this evening, it was gone."

"Was anything else stolen?" asked Bob.

"No. That's the funny thing about it," replied Jimmy. "Nothing was
touched but my set."

"Then it looks to me as though Buck Looker or one of his crowd had
taken it," said Bob, after thinking a few minutes. "You know they
have it in for us, and they'd do anything to harm us."

"Yes, but if that's so, why should they steal my set instead of yours
or Joe's?" argued Jimmy.

"Probably because it was easier to steal yours," said Bob. "We keep
our sets in the house, while yours, being in a shed at the back,
would be a lot easier to get away with."

"Jimminy crickets! I'll bet you're right," exclaimed Jimmy. "It would
be just the kind of dirty trick they'd be likely to play, too."

"If it's Buck Looker and his crowd that's responsible for this, we'll
have your set back or know the reason why," said Bob, throwing down
his tools. "Let's go around and get the others, and we'll have a
council of war."

A peculiar whistle outside their friends' houses brought them out
at once, and when they were all together Jimmy told them about his
misfortune. They were as indignant as Bob, and had little doubt that
Buck Looker was the author of the outrage.

"It's dollars to doughnuts that gang's got it," said Bob. "Now, when
a thing needs to be done, it's usually best to do it right away.
We've got to get Jimmy's set back, and I've got an idea where we
can find it."

"Where?" they all asked in chorus.

"Well, you know that crowd often hang out in that shack back of Terry
Mooney's house--the place that his father built to keep an automobile
in, and then could never get enough money to buy the automobile. They
spend a lot of their time there. And if they've taken Jimmy's outfit,
that's the place they'd naturally keep it. They wouldn't want to take
it into any of their homes, because then their folks wound likely find
out about it and make them give it up."

"Gee, I believe you're right!" exclaimed Joe. "Let's go there right
away and accuse them of it."

"Better yet, let's go there and take it away from them," proposed Bob,
with a grim set to his mouth. "Are you with me?"

For answer they all started off in the direction of Terry Mooney's
house, and as they went, Bob outlined a plan of attack.

"We'll scout around first, and see if they're in the place," he said.
"If they are, we may be able to get a look inside and see if there is
any sign of Jimmy's outfit. If they've got it, we can decide the best
way to take it away from them after we get there."

CHAPTER XXIII

BATTERING IN THE DOOR

Ten minutes of brisk walking brought the radio boys to their goal.
The Mooney family inhabited a large but dilapidated house, in the rear
of which was the small building that the head of the Mooney family
had erected in a moment when his enthusiasm had far outrun his bank
account. He had never been able to buy a car to put in the building,
and his son and his cronies had found it an ideal place to meet,
smoke cheap cigarettes, and plot mischief.

As they neared this shack, the radio boys kept in the shadows and
approached noiselessly, it being Bob's plan to take the gang by
surprise, if possible. Besides, he wanted to be absolutely sure that
Jimmy's stolen set was in the building before making any further move.

Noiselessly as shadows, the boys crept up to the shack until they
were close enough to hear voices inside. They could easily recognize
Buck Looker's arrogant voice, and at times the whining replies of
Terry and Carl.

There was only one small window in the building, and that was covered
by a square of cloth. At the end of the shack opposite the window were
two large doors, both closed. An electric light cord had been strung
from the house, supplying current to one or more lamps inside the
shack. The four radio boys prowled about the building, trying to find
some place from which they could get a view of the interior. At last
Joe found a place where a crack in a plank allowed them to see in.

All three of the gang were inside, seated on rickety chairs about
a rough pine table. And on this table, sure enough, was the missing
radio outfit!

Jimmy clenched his fists when he saw this, and was for an immediate
attack. But Bob had a more crafty scheme in his head.

"Here's a better stunt," he said, drawing his friends off to a little
distance so that they could talk without running the chance of being
overheard.

"If we break in on them, they might make trouble for us later," said
Bob. "But if we put their light out first, we'll be able to get hold
of Jimmy's outfit without their really knowing who's doing it."

"Cut the electric light cord, you mean?" said Joe, getting the idea
like a flash.

"That's the idea," said Bob. "Suppose you cut the cord, Jimmy, and the
second you do, we'll all rush those front doors. They've probably got
'em locked but if we land heavily enough I don't think that will stop
us. I'll make for the table and grab Jim's outfit, and when you hear
me whistle twice you'll know I've got it, and we'll get out. They'll
probably be fighting each other in the dark for a while before they
even know we're gone."

"Bob, I take off my hat to you," said Joe admiringly. "We'll work it
just as you say."

Doughnuts had a pair of wire cutters with him, which he had used when
working on his set. Silent as ghosts, the four friends crept back to
the shack, and Jimmy carefully separated the two wires of the cable
and caught one of them between the jaws of his cutter.

"When the light goes out, we rush," whispered Bob. "Give us a few
seconds to get set, Jimmy, and then cut!"

Bob, Joe, and Herb withdrew about ten feet from the big front doors
and waited tensely for the light to go out.

A scarcely audible click, and the shack was plunged in darkness.

Like projectiles shot from a gun, the boys hurled themselves against
the doors, landing with a crashing impact that shattered the lock
into fragments and tore one of the doors bodily from its rusty hinges.
Shouts of terror rose from the panic-stricken bullies inside, taken
completely by surprise with no idea of what had come upon them. The
radio boys scattered them head over heels as they made for the table,
and the shack was a pandemonium of shouts, cries, and the crash of
overturned chairs. It was the work of only a few seconds for Bob to
reach Jimmy's radio set, and having secured this, he whistled twice
to signify success, and made for the door.

Meanwhile, as he had foreseen, the bullies, tangled in a heap on the
floor, were grappling with each other, pounding away at whatever came
handiest to their fists. The radio boys, having got what they came
after, left the gang struggling in the dark, and made their way back
to Jimmy's house, doubled up with laughter at times, as they thought
of the ludicrous discomfiture of their foes.

CHAPTER XXIV

ON THE TRAIL

"Gosh!" exclaimed Herb, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. "I'll
never forget this night if I live to be a hundred. Oh, my, but that
was rich!"

"Those fellows will learn after a while that it doesn't pay to get gay
with this bunch," said Joe. "I think we let them off easy for stealing
Doughnuts' outfit, as it is. We might have landed them a few swift
ones while we were there."

"They saved us even that trouble," Bob pointed out. "They were
punching each other hard enough to suit any one."

"That's right," said Joe, laughing. "I guess by this time they're
sorry they stole that set."

"I'm mighty grateful to you fellows for helping me get this back,"
said Jimmy, looking lovingly at his set, which had escaped with hardly
a scratch. "When I found it was gone, I pretty nearly gave it up for
lost."

"'One for all and all for one,'" quoted Bob. "We'll teach Buck Looker
and his set to let us alone, if it's possible to teach them anything.
But I suppose we might as well run along now, because it's getting
pretty late."

"I happen to know that there's a big pan of rice pudding in the ice
box," said Jimmy. "It may be late, but it's never too late for that,
is it?"

"Lead us to it!" the other three chanted in unison, and in a short
time the rice pudding was only a memory. Then the boys said good-night
and parted, each to his own home, well satisfied with the result of
their adventure.

Bob and Joe were walking down Main Street the next day, when they met
Buck Looker and Carl Lutz, both looking very much the worse for wear.

Joe stopped and gazed at them in apparent astonishment.

"Why, what have you fellows been doing, anyway?" he inquired. "You
look as though you had had an argument with a steam roller."

"Yes, and the steam roller must have won," grinned Bob.

"You know well enough what happened to us," growled Buck Looker
malignantly. "If ever you fellows come around our clubhouse again,
we'll make you wish you hadn't."

"Clubhouse?" queried Joe innocently. "What does he mean, Bob?
I didn't know he and Lutz had a clubhouse."

"I mean that garage back of the Mooney's place," said Buck irately.
"That's our clubhouse, and you fellows had better not try any rough
house there again, or there'll be trouble."

"Oh, I know the place he means," said Bob, after making a pretence of
puzzled thinking. "He means that tumbled-down shack where Mr. Mooney
keeps his garden tools. I'm sure we'd never want to go near a place
like that, would we, Joe?"

"Of course not," said Joe. "I wouldn't ask a respectable dog to go
near that place."

Looker and Lutz had been growing angrier all the time during this
dialogue, but after their recent experiences with the radio boys
they did not quite dare resort to open hostilities. But if looks
could have killed, Bob and Joe would have dropped dead on the spot.

"If you've got anything to say, now's the time to say it," said Bob,
gazing steadily at the bullies with a look in his eyes that made
them shift uneasily.

"We're in a big hurry, or we'd tend to you right now," blustered
Buck. "Come on, Carl. We'll fix them some other time."

"No time like the present, you know," said Joe.

But the two bullies had little inclination for a fair fight, as they
had a pretty shrewd suspicion of how they would fare in that event.
With ugly sidewise looks they passed on, leaving Bob and Joe in
possession of the field.

"They're beginning to think we're bad medicine," said Joe. "A little
more training, Bob, and they'll even be afraid to talk back to us."

"Looks that way, doesn't it," said Bob, laughing.

The two radio boys went on to their destination, which was the
hardware store, where they both wanted to buy some wire and other
supplies. What was their surprise, when they went inside, to find
Frank Brandon, the radio inspector, talking to the proprietor.

As the boys entered, Brandon glanced at them, and then, as recognition
came into his eyes, he extended his hand.

"Hello, there!" he exclaimed. "How have you been since I saw you?
How's the wireless coming on?"

"It's O K," said Bob. "We're both trying for the Ferberton prize,
you know."

"That's fine," said Brandon heartily. "The prizes are to be given out
pretty soon, aren't they?"

"Yes. And we're both hoping that if one of us doesn't get it, the
other will," said Joe. "If neither one gets it, it won't be anything
against you," said Brandon. "I hear there are a lot of sets entered,
and some of the fellows who have made them have been at the game
a lot longer than you have."

"We're doing a lot of hoping, anyway," said Bob. "Are they keeping
you pretty busy these days?"

"I should say so," said the radio inspector. "There's one fellow
in particular that I'm having a lot of trouble with. I've got his
location approximately, but in the neighborhood where he should be
I haven't been able to locate any antennae to indicate the presence
of a radio station. Usually it's easy enough, but this fellow seems
to be a sly fox."

"How in the world do you locate an unauthorized station, anyway?"
queried Bob.

"In each district in which there is a radio inspector we have what
we call directional finders. These consist of a combination of a loop
aerial and a compass and a radio receiving set. We have complete maps
of the district. When the man we're after is sending, we swing the
loop aerial around until the signals reach their loudest tone. Then
a reading is taken on the compass. This action is repeated several
times, after which we turn the loop so as to tune out all sound.
During the silent period a line is drawn on the map at right angles
to the direction of the loop. This line indicates the direction from
which the sounds are coming. This takes place at the same time at all
three stations, and where the lines on the map intersect is the point
where the offender can be found."

"But I suppose that location isn't very exact, is it?" asked Bob.

"No; but it's usually exact enough," said Brandon. "We go to the place
indicated on the map, and look about in the neighborhood for aerials.
Anybody owning them has to show his license, if he has one, and if he
hasn't--well, that's the man we're after."

"Simple enough," commented Bob. "But when you don't know how it's
done, it seems like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Yes, and by all the rules it should be easier than usual to locate
this offender," said the radio inspector, "because he has a
peculiarity that marks him out."

"I'll bet I know what it is, too," said Bob quickly.

"You do?" said Brandon, surprised.

"He stutters badly, and then has to whistle before he can go on,
doesn't he?" said Bob.

"That's the man, all right," said Brandon. "Do you know anything
about him?"

"Well, if he's the man we think he is, we don't know much good about
him," said Bob, and he proceeded to tell Brandon about Dan Cassey
and the mean way he had tricked Nellie Berwick and stolen her money.

"So you see you're not the only one looking for the stuttering man,"
said Bob, in conclusion. "We'd like pretty well to find out where
he is ourselves."

"But what makes you think this man I'm looking for is the same one
you're after?" asked Brandon.

"In the first place, there aren't many people who stutter so badly,"
said Bob. "And in the second place, Miss Berwick told us that she
saw some radio apparatus on his desk when she was in his office."

"That certainly goes a long way in hitching up the two," said the
inspector thoughtfully. "Now," he continued, after studying a few
minutes longer, "I have a proposition to make. I've checked up my
calculations, and I'm going to have another try at locating this man
to-morrow. As you're both interested in finding him, too, why not go
with me and help me? Between the three of us we ought to find him."

"Nothing could suit me better!" exclaimed Bob. "How about you, Joe?"

"Fine," replied his chum. "To-morrow's Saturday, so we can go all
right. But don't forget that we want to be back when the prize
winners are announced," he said, struck by a sudden thought.

"Oh, it won't take us very long to get on the ground," said Brandon.
"I figure this man we're after is somewhere in Lansdale, and you know
that isn't more than a two hours' run by automobile. If we haven't
found him by the time you should be leaving in order to get back here
on time, you two can come back by train, and I'll stay there. But
if we get an early start I think the three of us, working together,
should locate our man pretty quickly. Lansdale isn't a very large
place, you know."

"I can start as early as you like," said Bob. "How about you, Joe?"

"That goes for me, too," said Joe. "Set your own time, Mr. Brandon."

"Well, then, suppose you both meet me at Hall's garage at eight sharp
to-morrow morning," proposed Frank Brandon. "I'll hire a good car and
be all ready to start by that time."

"We'll be there on the dot," promised Bob, and they all shook hands
on the bargain.

Bob and Joe made their purchases, said goodbye to the radio inspector,
and left the store excitedly discussing their chances of locating the
rascal Cassey and perhaps recovering Nellie Berwick's stolen money.
When they parted to go home, each renewed his promise to be on time
the following morning, and went his way filled with hope that at last
the scoundrel would perhaps be brought to justice.

"But I wish we could be sure that that old rascal would be caught up
with and be made to give back Miss Berwick's money," reflected Bob,
as he turned in at his own home. "She's in Clintonia again. I saw her
at a distance to-day."

CHAPTER XXV

THE PRIZE

But before going to bed that night, Bob had an idea which he proceeded
at once to put into execution, with the result that there were some
lively telephone exchanges and considerable excitement in various
quarters.

The fruit of his work was seen the following morning, when, on
reaching Hall's garage, Mr. Brandon, instead of finding only the two
boys waiting for him, found also Miss Nellie Berwick and a Mr. Edgar
Wilson, a keen, wide-awake lawyer of Clintonia, whom Miss Berwick
had retained to look after her interests.

"I tried to get you also on the telephone last night, Mr. Brandon,"
Bob explained, after introductions had been made, "but I couldn't find
you in. So I took the liberty of asking Miss Berwick and Mr. Wilson to
go along with us on the chance that we might round up Dan Cassey."

"That's all right," responded Mr. Brandon warmly. "The boys have
already told me, Miss Berwick, of the dastardly trick that fellow
played on you, and I shall be only too happy to have you and your
lawyer go along with us. It would give me the keenest satisfaction
to see that fellow get his deserts."

Miss Berwick thanked him heartily and the party took their places
in the automobile, which held five persons comfortably and was of
a modern type. That it was speedy was soon proved by the way it sped
along the road under the skillful guidance of Mr. Brandon. A rain
two days before had laid the dust, and the roads were in perfect
condition. In a surprisingly short time they had come in sight of
Lansdale, a little village on the coast.

They stopped at the post-office and Brandon climbed out of the car
and went in. The postmaster eyed him warily, and was at first somewhat
disinclined to give any information, but the sight of the badge that
proclaimed Mr. Brandon a government official unloosed his tongue and
he talked freely.

"Know anybody about here by the name of Cassey?" asked Mr. Brandon.

"Cassey? Cassey?" repeated the postmaster ruminatively. "No, there's
nobody of that name around here. Or if there is, he's never been to
this office to get his mail."

"The man I'm speaking of stutters--stutters badly," said the
inspector. "Is there any one like that in town?"

"Just one," replied the postmaster. "And he stutters enough for a
dozen. Worst case I ever knew. Gets all tangled up and has to whistle
to go on. But his name's Reddy."

"Has he been here long?" pursued the inspector.

"Oh, a matter of a month or two," was the reply. "Never saw him
before this year. Thought perhaps he was one of the early birds
of the summer visitors that was rushing the season."

"Where does he live?" asked Mr. Brandon.

"Just a little way up the street," replied the postmaster. "Come
to the window here and I'll show you the house."

He pointed out a little cottage of rather dilapidated aspect, above
which the keen eye of Mr. Brandon saw the end of an aerial.

He thanked the postmaster and went out to his party.

"I think we have our game bagged all right," he remarked, and
rejoiced to see the light that came into Miss Berwick's eyes,
"but of course I'm not sure as yet."

He told them the result of his inquiries, and they were delighted.

"I tell you what I think we had better do," he suggested. "I propose
that we leave the automobile here and go up to the house on foot.
Three of us will go in, while Miss Berwick and Mr. Wilson will stay
out of sight at the side of the house until they get the sign to
enter. The surprise may lead to confession and restitution if properly
managed."

The others signified their consent to this and proceeded toward the
house. Miss Berwick and her lawyer stood at the side, where they could
not be seen from the door, and the inspector, followed by the boys,
mounted the steps and rang the bell.

There was a moment's delay and then the door opened. A short thick-set
man stood there with his hand on the knob. He wore large horn glasses,
which may have been because of defective sight or possibly as a
disguise. The eyes behind the glasses were furtive and shifty, and
the mouth was mean and avaricious.

"Is this Mr. Reddy?" asked the inspector politely.

"Th-th-that's my name," answered the man. "W-what can I do
f-f-for you?"

"That depends," replied Mr. Brandon. "I called to see you on a matter
of business. May I come in?"

The man eyed his visitors with a look of apprehension and annoyance,
but finally assented with a nod of his head and led the way into a
small and meagerly furnished living room.

"I see that you have a radio set here," remarked Mr. Brandon, seating
himself and looking around the room.

"Y-y-y-yes," stuttered the man. "W-what about it?"

The inspector threw back his coat and showed his badge. At the sight
of this symbol of authority the man gave a violent start.

"I happen to be a radio telephone inspector," explained Mr. Brandon.

"O-oh," said the man, visibly relieved that it was no worse. "W-why
do you want to see me?"

"Because you've been violating the government regulations," replied
the inspector sternly. "There have been a number of complaints
against you, and you've got yourself into serious trouble."

As he spoke he crossed his legs, which was the sign agreed on, and
unseen by the man who during this conversation had had his back toward
the boys, Bob tiptoed out to the street and beckoned to Miss Berwick
and her lawyer, who followed him promptly and softly into the room.

"I'm s-s-sorry," the man was saying at the moment. "I d-d-d-didn't
mean--"

Just then Bob slammed the door shut with a bang. The man jumped,
and as he turned about came face to face with Miss Berwick, who
stood regarding him with a look of scorn.

So startled was the man that his glasses dropped from his nose and
he had to grasp a chair to hold himself steady. His face turned a
greenish hue and rank fright came into his narrow eyes.

"How do you do, Mr. Cassey?" asked Miss Berwick. "Do you happen to
have my mortgage with you?"

"Mr. Cassey?" repeated Mr. Brandon with affected surprise. "He told
me his name was Reddy. How about it?" he asked, and his voice had the
ring of steel. "Have you been trying to deceive a government officer?"

The detected rascal dropped weakly into the chair whose back he had
been holding. He seemed near total collapse.

"Come now," said Mr. Wilson, stepping forward and tapping him on the
shoulder, "the game's up, Cassey. We've got you at last. The money
or the mortgage, Cassey. Come across with one or the other and come
across quick. It's that or jail. Take your choice."

Dan Cassey, shaking in every limb, tried to temporize, and stuttered
until he got red in the face and seemed on the point of apoplexy.
But the lawyer was inflexible, and at last Cassey took a key from
his pocket and opened a drawer from which he took a paper and handed
it over to Mr. Wilson. The latter ran his eyes over it and his face
lighted up with satisfaction.

"It's the mortgage, all right," he said, as he handed it over to
his client. "That settles his account with you, Miss Berwick, and
I congratulate you. But it doesn't settle his account with the law.
You contemptible scoundrel," he said, addressing Cassey, "you ought
to serve a good long term for this."

Cassey, utterly broken, fell on his knees at this and fairly begged
for mercy. He stuttered so horribly that the boys would have had to
laugh if it had not been for the tragedy of the wretched creature
groveling in such abasement.

Miss Berwick intervened and held a conference with her lawyer in
a low voice.

"Well," said the latter finally, "of course, if you refuse to make
a charge against him, there's nothing to do but to let him go,
though he ought to be sent to jail as a warning to others. Get up,
you worm," he continued, addressing Cassey, "and thank your stars
that Miss Berwick's generosity keeps you from getting the punishment
you so richly deserve."

They left him there in his shame and disgrace, and went back to their
car, after Mr. Brandon had warned the rascal that any repetition of
his minor offense would bring down swift penalty, from the government.

It was a happy party that rode back to Clintonia. There were tears
in Miss Berwick's eyes as she thanked again and again the boys who
for the second time had done her such a signal service. And Bob and
Joe had a Sense of satisfaction and exhilaration that was beyond
all words to express.

On their way they passed through Ocean Point, a summer colony where
many of the residents of Clintonia had cottages. It was on the
seashore and every foot of it was familiar to the boys, whose own
parents spent a part of the summer there every year.

"It won't be long now before we'll be on this old stamping ground of
ours," remarked Joe, as he looked at the surf breaking on the shore.
"It will be good to be here again."

"Right you are," replied Bob. "And we'll bring our radio sets along.
This summer will be more interesting than any we've known before."

How fully that prophecy was carried out, and how exciting were the
adventures that awaited the boys will be told in the second book of
this series, to be entitled: "The Radio Boys at Ocean Point; Or,
The Message That Saved the Ship."

Herb and Jimmy were as delighted as their chums when they heard of
the way that Cassey had been trapped and forced to make restitution.
But many of the details had to be postponed until another time, for
just now their thoughts were full of the Ferberton prize which was
to be awarded that night, and for which they were busy in making
their final preparations.

The town hall that night was crowded, and many had to be content
with standing room. Upon the platform were numerous wireless
telephone sets that had been received for the competition.

Mr. Ferberton himself presided at the gathering. He made a most
interesting address, in which he dealt with the wonders of wireless
and gave a review of its latest developments. His own set, which was
one of the largest and most powerful the radio boys had ever seen,
had been installed on the platform with a large horn attached, and
for an hour and a half, while waiting for the prizes to be awarded,
the auditors were regaled with a delightful concert.

In the meantime, a committee of three radio experts had been examining
the sets submitted in competition. They subjected them to various
tests, taking into account the care displayed in workmanship, the
ingenuity shown in the choice of materials, and the clearness of tone
discerned when each in turn was connected with the aerial and put to
a practical test. The choice was difficult, for many of them showed
surprising excellence for amateurs.

At last, however, the awards were decided on, and Mr. Ferberton,
holding the list in his hand, advanced to the edge of the platform.
The silence became so intense that one could almost have heard
a pin drop.

"The first prize," he said after a few words of introduction,
"is awarded to Robert Layton."

There was a roar of applause, for no one in town was more popular
than Bob.

"The second prize goes to Joseph Atwood," continued Mr. Ferberton,
and again the hall rocked with applause.

"If there had been a third prize," the speaker concluded, "it would
have been awarded to James Plummer. As it is, he receives honorable
mention." And Jimmy too had his share of the cheering and hand
clapping.

Long after the lights were out and the audience dispersed, the chums
sat on Bob's porch, elated and hilarious.

"I'm the only rank outsider," grinned Herb. "I take off my hat to
the rest of the bunch. You're the fellows!"

"You needn't take it off to me," laughed Jimmy. "I got only honorable
mention, and there isn't much nourishment in that. Not half as much
as there is in a doughnut. I could have used that money, too."

"What are you two bloated plutocrats thinking of?" asked Herb of Bob
and Joe, who had let the others do most of the talking.

"Radio," replied Joe.

"The most wonderful thing in the world," declared Bob.

THE END

* * * * *

THE RADIO BOYS SERIES

(Trademark Registered)

By ALLEN CHAPMAN

Author of the "Railroad Series," Etc.

ILLUSTRATED. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS FOR EACH STORY.

A new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in
sending and receiving--telling how small and large amateur sets
can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and
adventure out of what they did. Each volume from first to last is
so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate,
we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight.

Each volume has a Foreword by Jack Binns, the well-known radio
expert of the New York Tribune.

THE RADIO BOYS' FIRST WIRELESS;
Or, Winning the Ferberton Prize.

THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT;
Or, The Message That Saved the Ship.

THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION;
Or, Making Good in the Wireless Room.

THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS;
Or, The Midnight Call for Assistance.

THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE;
Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery.

THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS;
Or, The Great Fire on Spruce Mountain.

GROSSET & DUNLAP. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

These spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful
advances inland and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed
upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON
TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP
TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL
TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES

BY VICTOR APPLETON

UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this
line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films
are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures
to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life
in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues
along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among
savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a
land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be
found interesting from first chapter to last.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON FRENCH BATTLEFIELDS
MOVING PICTURE BOYS' FIRST SHOWHOUSE
MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT SEASIDE PARK
MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON BROADWAY
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' OUTDOOR EXHIBITION
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS' NEW IDEA

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES

BY CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN

The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of
a small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are
greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have
motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations
go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories
give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild
animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe,
how to swim, etc. Full of the spirit of outdoor life.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS
Or The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE
Or Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
Or Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF
Or Rescuing the Lost Balloonists.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME
Or Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON A HOUSEBOAT
Or The Rivals of the Mississippi.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE BIG WOODS
Or The Rival Hunters at Lumber Run.

THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AT CABIN POINT
Or The Golden Cup Mystery.

12mo. Averaging 240 pages. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in Cloth.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES

By GRAHAM B. FORBES

Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen,
the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better
crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School
All boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry
between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and
counterplots to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat
racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number.
Any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others.

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
Or The All Around Rivals of the School

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
Or Winning Out by Pluck

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE
Or Out for the Hockey Championship

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN TRACK ATHLETICS
Or A Long Run that Won

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN WINTER SPORTS
Or Stirring Doings on Skates and Iceboats

12mo. Illustrated. Handsomely broad in cloth, with cover
design and wrappers in colors.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE FAMOUS ROVER BOYS SERIES

BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
(Edward Stratemeyer)

American Stories of American Boys and Girls

NEARLY THREE MILLION COPIES SOLD OF THIS SERIES

12mo. CLOTH. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. COLORED WRAPPERS.

THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS
THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA
THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS
THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATER
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM
THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE
THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR
THE ROVER BOYS IN NEW YORK
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
THE ROVER BOYS IN BUSINESS
THE ROVER BOYS ON A TOUR
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLBY HALL
THE ROVER BOYS ON SNOWSHOE ISLAND
THE ROVER BOYS UNDER CANVAS
THE ROVER BOYS ON A HUNT
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE LAND OF LUCK
THE ROVER BOYS AT BIG HORN RANCH

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE PUTNAM HALL STORIES

Companion Stories to the Famous Rover Boys Series

By ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
(Edward Stratemeyer)

UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

Being the adventures of lively young fellows at a Military Academy.
Open air sports have always been popular with boys and these stories
that mingle adventure with fact will appeal to every manly boy.

THE MYSTERY OF PUTNAM HALL
Or The School Chums' Strange Discovery

The particulars of the mystery and the solution of it are very
interesting reading.

CAMPING OUT DAYS AT PUTNAM HALL
Or The Secret of the Old Mill

A story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during
the summer encampment, including a visit to a mysterious old mill,
said to be haunted. The book has a wealth of fun in it.

THE REBELLION AT PUTNAM HALL
Or The Rival Runaways

The boys had good reasons for running away during Captain Putnam's
absence. They had plenty of fun and several queer adventures.

THE CHAMPIONS OF PUTNAM HALL
Or Bound to Win Out

In this volume the Cadets of Putnam Hall show what they can do in
various teen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. There
is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery.

THE CADETS OF PUTNAM HALL
Or Good Times in School and Out

The Cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends
from the start. There are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and
something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing with an
unexpected ending.

THE RIVALS OF PUTNAM HALL
Or Fun and Sport Afloat and Ashore

It is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country,
written by one who knows all about its pleasures and its perplexities,
its glorious excitements, and its chilling disappointments.

GROSSET and DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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