Читать книгу The Young Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Secret Service - Lewis E. Theiss - Страница 5

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So elated was Willie at the prospect of taking a further part in the wool smuggling case that he forgot his tattered appearance until he reached the Lycoming’s pier and attempted to enter it. Then he was brought up sharp by the curt query of the watchman: “What do you want?”

At first Willie did not comprehend why he was halted so peremptorily. But when he remembered about his ragged coat and torn cap he understood readily enough. He laughed, and stripping off his coat and cap, said: “No wonder you didn’t know me. I’m the fellow from Pennsylvania that’s visiting Mr. Mercer. He introduced us when I went out and I telephoned you to tell Mr. Mercer I couldn’t get back to supper. Don’t you remember me?”

“Sure I know ye now,” said the watchman, “but whativer be ye doin’ in thim togs?”

“Oh! I gave a newsy some money to get himself a better coat with,” laughed Willie, “and he gave me the old one. I put it on to see how I’d look.”

“Well, it does not improve your appearance,” replied the watchman, “and if ye want to keep out of trouble ye’d better wear it on a clothes hook in your cupboard, so ye had. Whativer happened to your pants, lad?”

“I bumped into an ash can on the sidewalk,” said Willie.

The watchman chuckled. “Look out ye don’t buy no goold bricks,” he said.

“I’ll be careful,” laughed Willie, and he went on down the pier. “He takes me for a greeny,” he said to himself.

Willie boarded the Lycoming and hustled up to the wireless house. But before entering, he once more put on his newsy’s coat and cap. Then he opened the door and stepped in.

“Hello, Roy,” he called.

“Hello, yourself,” replied Roy. He was busy at his wireless and for a moment he did not look up. “Glad you got back. Whatever kept you?”

Willie closed the door and stood where the light shone full on him. He remained there grinning, until Roy glanced around at him.

“What in the mischief happened to your clothes, Willie?” exclaimed Roy, springing to his feet.

“Nothing,” said Willie gravely. “This is my favorite disguise. I’m Hawkshaw, the detective, you know. Been out trailing thieves.”

“What’s all this nonsense?” demanded Roy. “What happened to you? Get into a fight?”

Willie told him all about his adventure of the afternoon.

“Well, I’ll be switched,” said Roy. “First thing you know, you’ll be doing real Secret Service work.”

“To-morrow,” said Willie. “We’re going to close in on those fellows and pinch them to-morrow.”

“Get out!” said Roy. “You’re kidding me.”

“Fact!” replied Willie. And he told his friend about the plan to nab the wool smugglers on the following day.

“Sounds good,” said Roy. “But what I don’t understand is why they let you in on it.”

“That’s candy for good behavior,” said Willie. “You know they always give children sweetmeats when they’re good.” But there was a bitter tone to the joke.

“What do you mean, Willie?”

“It’s the same old story, Roy.” And now Willie’s voice was full of bitterness. “I helped Sheridan out, and I believe I did as well as most men would have done. But when I spoke to him about a job, I got the same old answer: You’re too small.”

“Did he really tell you that, Willie? I should think your size would almost be a help to you in Secret Service work. You can pass for a small boy so readily. And small boys can be mighty useful in detective work, because nobody pays much attention to them.”

“He didn’t exactly say that, Roy. He put it even worse. He said that after I had gotten into high school and finished a course there, and had grown up a bit, then there might be an opening for me in the Secret Service as an”—Willie hung his head—“as an office boy! What do you think of that, Roy? Isn’t it tough to be so small?”

Roy ignored the question. “I’ll say that’s bully!” he cried. “It doesn’t make a particle of difference where you find an entrance, Willie, so you get in. If you still want to be a Secret Service man, take the office boy job. They’ll find out soon enough that you’re more than an office boy. Take any chance you can find to get into the service, even if you have to start by sweeping floors and washing windows.”

“It’s all very well for you to say that, Roy. But you never did it yourself. You never had a bit of trouble to land a job, and you got a full-sized man’s job when you were only through high school. I’ve gone through high school, too, and I can hardly get a boy’s job.”

“You don’t look at it right, Willie. There are thousands of men in the country who can’t get any jobs at all. And they are known to be experienced. Nobody knows what you can do—except the fellows of the Wireless Patrol. We all know you’re a wiz, Willie. You take my advice and grab this office boy job. Then you can show them what you can do. And once they know, you’ll get your chance all right enough. Why, the world is crying out for fellows who can deliver the goods.”

“But I don’t have any assurance that I can get even an office boy’s job, Roy. Sheridan just told me that maybe, if I grew bigger, I might have a chance.”

“Now see here, Willie. You’ll go nutty if you keep harping on that old string. You’ve been out of high school two or three months, and because you haven’t been made president of the United States yet, you go around snuffling like a fellow with hay-fever. Cut it out. You’ll get your chance, and you’ll make good when you do. But don’t get everybody sore on you in the meantime. Now tell me what you are going to do about those wool smugglers to-morrow.”

“Gee! I wish I knew. I don’t know a thing about it except what I have already told you. I don’t know how or where they smuggled in the wool, or how Sheridan intends to nab them. All I know is that he said I could go along.”

“Maybe it will be your chance, Willie.”

“If it is, I’ll be ready for it. Now won’t you show me your wireless?”

They turned to the shining instruments on Roy’s operating table. Eagerly Willie examined each instrument from key to aerial. “They’re fine!” he cried. “Gee! It must be bully to work with such a set.”

“Try it,” smiled Roy. “Maybe you can pick up something interesting.”

Eagerly Willie plumped himself down in the operator’s chair, adjusted the receivers to his ears, threw over the switch and began to tune in. And as suddenly he snatched off the headpiece and jumped from the chair.

“I’ll couple up my own receivers, Roy,” he said, “and then we can both listen in.”

Willie dragged his heavy suit case out, threw open the cover, and quickly uncoupled the receivers from the wireless outfit in the case. In a moment he and Roy had coupled this additional headpiece to the Lycoming’s outfit. Roy drew up another chair, and the two sat down at the table and adjusted their headpieces. Roy considerately let Willie work the instruments, giving him, from time to time, such directions as seemed necessary.

When first Willie threw over the switch and began to tune in, the air seemed like a very bedlam. The headpieces screeched and wailed. Innumerable buzzings sounded. Spoken words could distinctly be heard. Yet the whole was an undecipherable jargon. But once Willie had gauged his instruments correctly, he soon made harmony out of discord. He was really a very good operator for an amateur, and he quickly began to pick up individual messages and shut out waves of conflicting length. Delighted, he listened to operator after operator, tuning in, now to messages in one wave-length, now to those in another.

“That’s the Brooklyn Navy Yard,” said Roy, as a powerful, whining note suddenly shrieked through the air. “They’re calling for the coast guard cutter Modoc. And that’s Cape May calling. I’d know both those calls in my sleep. I get so close to both those stations that the operators almost seem to be in the cabin here with me.”

“You called Cape May the time you rescued Alec, didn’t you? He wrote us about it.”

“Yes; we had to get a tug to tow his boat into Cape May Harbor after we had picked it up.”

After they had listened in silence for a few moments Roy said, “That’s the New York Marconi Station,” as another powerful wireless voice spoke out. “Isn’t that operator a peach? He can send like a streak. Just listen to him.”

Now they heard ships at sea, first one and then another. The Mallory liner Lampasas, somewhere off the Atlantic Coast, was sending out messages for passengers. Nearer at hand, another coastwise steamer, the Cherokee, of the Clyde Line, was calling her New York office. From far out on the ocean came other voices. The White Star liner Majestic, largest vessel afloat, was relaying commercial messages received from ships far behind her on the highway from Europe to America. The Cunarder Berengaria was informing its New York office about some repairs made to its bow plates after a slight collision off the English coast. The Kroonland was shrieking out a call for the City of Paris, but getting no reply. Very, very faintly sounded in their receivers a whispering message from the Atlantic Transport steamer Minnetonka.

“She must be far out on the ocean,” said Roy, after he had told Willie what ship was calling. “We can barely hear her.”

For a long time they sat silent before the wireless table, listening to the myriad voices in the air. Then a step was heard, and the door of the wireless house opened. The purser appeared at the door.

“Come in,” cried Roy, and he was about to snatch the receivers from his head and jump up to welcome his visitor, when a message that was sounding in his ear held him motionless. “Watch for J. Simonski. Diamonds,” said the message.

“Did you hear that, Willie?” called Roy. “That’s a message from the White Star liner Majestic. It’s from a treasury agent aboard, and he’s tipping off the Secret Service here to watch for a smuggler named Simonski. They’ll nab that gentleman at the pier, when he tries to bring his diamonds ashore.”

“Is that how they do it?” cried Willie. “Why, that’s as easy as rolling off a log.”

“Yes—after you know how,” said Roy. “The agent on the ship has somehow got to find out that Simonski has the diamonds, before he can inform on him.”

“And that,” said Willie, “is a gray horse of another color. Gee! I wonder how he did it.”

Roy threw down his receivers, and rose to welcome the purser. Willie switched off his instrument and followed Roy’s example. He was introduced to the purser. Presently Roy turned another switch, juggled some buttons on a black box, and music began to sound. At one end of his table, partly concealed by a screen-like partition, was a radio outfit. The purser had come up to listen to the evening’s radio entertainment and Roy had tuned in to WJZ, the broadcasting station at Newark. Presently Sam brought some cakes and hot coffee, and the three friends sat for a long time listening to the music. Then the purser went down to his quarters, and Willie and Roy crowded into Roy’s bunk. But it was a long time before Willie could get to sleep. He was thinking of the morrow, and what it might possibly mean to him.