The Campfire Girls of Roselawn: or, a Strange Message from the Air. Penrose Margaret
drive!”
Naturally Mrs. Brandon and Nell wished to know the particulars of the chums’ adventure. But none of them knew who the strange woman who drove the French car was.
“She is not at all nice, at any rate,” Jessie said emphatically. “I really wish there was some way of finding out about that girl they carried off, and what became of her.”
CHAPTER IV
STRINGING THE AERIALS
Parkville was reached within a short time. It was still early evening. The girls from Roselawn and their host and hostess found a number of neighbors already gathered in the drawing-room, to listen to the entertainments broadcasted from several radio stations.
They were too late for the bedtime story; but from the cabinet-grand, like an expensive talking machine, the slurring notes of a jazz orchestra greeted their ears as plainly as though it were coming from a neighboring room instead of a broadcasting station many miles away. Amy confessed that it made her feet itch. She loved to dance.
There was singing to follow, a really good quartette. Then a humorist told some of his own funny stories and an elocutionist recited a bit from Shakespeare effectively. The band played a popular air and the amused audience began singing the song. It was fine!
“I’m just as excited as I can be,” whispered Jessie to Nell and Amy. “Isn’t it better than our talking machine? Why! it is almost like hearing the real people right in the room. And an amplifier of this kind is not scratchy one bit.”
“There is no static to-night,” said Mr. Brandon, who overheard the enthusiastic girl. “But it is not always so clear.”
Jessie and Amy were too excited over this new amusement to heed anything that suggested “a fly in the ointment.” When they drove home they were so full of radio that they chattered like magpies.
“I would put up the aerials and get a set myself,” Nell declared, “only we don’t really need any more talking machines of any kind at our house. Dear me! I sometimes wonder how the Reverend can write his sermons, there is so much noise and talk all the time. I have tacked felt all around his study door to try to make it sound-proof. But when Bob comes in he bangs the outer door until you are reminded of the Black Tom explosion. And Fred never comes downstairs save on his stomach – and on the banisters – and lands on the doormat like a load of brick out of a dumpcart. Then Sally squeals so!” She sighed.
“Nell Stanley,” Amy said, “certainly has her own troubles.”
“I do not see how the doctor stands it,” commented Mrs. Brandon sympathetically.
“The Reverend is the greatest man in the world,” declared Nell, with conviction. “He is wonderful. He takes the most annoying things so composedly. Why, you remember when he went to Bridgeton a month ago to speak at the local Sunday School Union? Something awfully funny happened. It would have floored any man but the Reverend.”
“What happened?” asked Amy. “I bet it was a joke. Your father, Nell, always tells the most delightful stories.”
“This isn’t a story. It is so,” chuckled Nell. “But I suppose that was why they asked him to amuse and entertain the little folks at one session of the Union. Father talked for fifteen minutes, all about Jacob’s ladder, and those old stories. And not a kid of ’em went to sleep.
“He said he was proud to see them so wide awake, and when he was closing he thought he would find out if they really had been attentive. So he said:
“‘And now, is there any little boy or any little girl who would like to ask me a question?’
“And one boy called out: ‘Say, Mister, if the angels had wings why did they walk up and down Jacob’s ladder?’”
“Mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Brandon. “What could he say?”
“That is it. You can’t catch the Reverend,” laughed Nell, proudly. “And nothing ever confuses him or puts him out. He just said:
“‘Oh, ah, yes, I see. And now, is there any little boy or any little girl who would like to answer that question?’ And he bowed and slipped out.”
The laughter over this incident brought them into Roselawn, where Jessie and Amy got out, after thanking the kindly Brandons for the evening’s pleasure. Nell lived a little further along, and went on with Mr. and Mrs. Brandon.
“If I can find the time,” called Nell Stanley, as the car started again, “I am coming over to see how you rig your aerials, Jessie.”
“If I am allowed to,” commented Jessie, with a sudden fear that perhaps her father would find some objection to the new amusement.
But this small fear was immediately dissipated when she ran in after bidding Amy good-night. She found her father and mother both in the library. The package of radio books had been opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Norwood was each reading interestedly one of the pamphlets Jessie had chosen at the bookshop.
The three spent an hour discussing the new “plaything,” as Mr. Norwood insisted upon calling it. But he agreed to everything his daughter wanted to do, and even promised to buy Jessie a better receiving set than Brill, the hardware man, was carrying.
“As far as I can see, however, from what I read here,” said Mr. Norwood, “a better set will make no difference in your plans for stringing the aerials. You and Amy can go right ahead.”
“Oh, but, Robert,” said Mrs. Norwood, “do you think the two girls can do that work?”
“Why not? Of course Jessie and Amy can. If they need any help they can ask one of the men – the chauffeur or the gardener, or somebody.”
“We are going to do it all ourselves!” cried Jessie, eagerly. “This is going to be our very owniest own radio. You’ll see. We’ll put the set upstairs in my room.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have it downstairs – in the drawing-room, for instance?” asked her mother.
“I know you, Momsy. You’ll be showing it off to all your friends. And pretty soon it will be the family radio instead of mine.”
Mr. Norwood laughed. “I read here that the ordinary aerials will do very well for a small instrument or a large. It is suggested, too, that patents are pending that may make outside aerials unnecessary, anyway. Don’t you mind, Momsy. If we find we want a nice, big set for our drawing-room, we’ll have it in spite of Jessie. And we’ll use her aerials, too.”
The next day Brill sent up the things Jessie had purchased, but the girls could not begin the actual stringing of the copper wires until the morning following. Ample study of the directions for the work printed in the books Jessie had selected made the chums confident that they knew just what to do.
The windows of Jessie’s room on the second floor of the Norwood house were not much more than seventy-five feet from the corner of an ornamental tower that housed the private electric plant belonging to the place. It was a tank tower, and water and light had been furnished to the entire premises from this tower before the city plants had extended their service out Bonwit Boulevard and through Roselawn.
Jessie’s room had been the nursery when Jessie was little. It was now a lovely, comfortable apartment, decorated in pearl gray and pink, with willow furniture and cushions covered with lovely cretonne, an open fireplace in which real logs could be burned in the winter, and pictures of the girl’s own selection.
Her books were here. And all her personal possessions, including tennis rackets, riding whip and spurs, canoe paddle, and even a bag of golf sticks, were arranged in “Jessie’s room.” Out of it opened her bedroom and bath. It was a big room, too, and if the radio was successful they could entertain twenty guests here if they wanted to.
“But, of course, father is getting a set with phones, not with an amplifier like that one out at Parkville,” Jessie explained to her chum. “If we want to use a horn afterward, we may. Now, Amy, do you understand what there is to do?”
“Sure. We’ve got to get out our farmerette costumes. You