Brighton Boys in the Radio Service

  THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE RADIO SERVICE

  by

  LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL

  Illustrated

  "At Least Ten Thousand of Them," He Announced.]

  The John C. Winston CompanyPhiladelphia

  Copyright, 1918, byJohn C. Winston Company

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. "FOR UNCLE SAM" 9II. INTO THE SERVICE--A SPY 21III. UNEXPECTED ACTION 34IV. FAREWELL, UNITED STATES 43V. THE FIGHT IN THE WIRELESS ROOM 54VI. THE MYSTERY OF THE IRON CROSS 67VII. THE TIMELY RESCUE 77VIII. THE DEATH OF THE SPY 88IX. THE PERISCOPE AT DAWN 101X. FRANCE AT LAST 110XI. TAPPING THE ENEMY'S WIRE 118XII. THE S O S WITH PISTOL SHOTS 131XIII. THE CAVE OF DEATH 140XIV. DESPERATE MEASURES 153XV. THE SURPRISE ATTACK--PROMOTION 164XVI. A TIGHT PLACE 176XVII. THE LIEUTENANT'S INVENTION 191XVIII. SLIM GOODWIN A PRISONER 200XIX. TURNING THE TABLES 211XX. THE GREAT NEWS 221

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "At Least Ten Thousand of Them," He Announced Frontispiece

  PAGE

  There was an Instant of Terrible Whirlingabout the Room 66

  They had Accidentally Discovered an EnemyWire and had Tapped It 130

  Scores of Huge Armored Tanks Rolled Through 168

  The Brighton Boys in the Radio Service

  CHAPTER I

  "FOR UNCLE SAM"

  "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their----"

  It was that old practice sentence of typists, which is as old as aretypewriting machines, and Joe Harned, seated before the told-style,noisy, but still capable machine in Philip Burton's telegraph office,had rattled it off twenty-five times and was on his twenty-sixth whensuddenly, very suddenly, his mind began to work.

  Or rather it might be said that an idea, the _big idea_, dancedunceremoniously into his brain, and, beginning to take definite andconcrete form, chased a score of other smaller ideas through all thethought-channels of his handsome, boyish, well-rounded head.

  He came to a full stop and gazed steadily at the upturned paper in thetypewriter in front of him. Twenty-fives times he had written thatsentence, and twenty-five times with mechanical precision and trueadherence to time-honored custom he had finished it by tapping off theword "party."

  It was a formula of words which some genius had devised for thefingering practice it gave one on the keyboard, and Joe Harned hadwritten it hundreds of times before, just as thousands of others haddone, without giving a thought to its meaning, or the significance thatthe substitution of a single word would give it.

  He read it again, and as if it were the result of an uncontrollableimpulse, his fingers began the rapid tap-tap-tap. And this time hesubstituted the new word that the _big idea_ had suddenly thrust intohis mind.

  Joe gave the roller a twirl, the paper rolled out, dropped to the floor,and he grasped for it eagerly.

  Even Joe was surprised. He hadn't realized that in his enthusiastichaste he had pushed down the key marked "caps."

  In bold, outstanding letters near the bottom of the sheet was anhistoric sentence, and Joe Harned--Harned, of Brighton Academy--haddevised it.

  "NOW IS THE TIME FOR ALL GOOD MEN TO COME TO THE AID OF THEIR COUNTRY!"

  Joe gazed at it again for a moment, and then let his eyes travel acrossthe little office to where red-headed, freckle-faced, big-hearted andimpetuous Jerry Macklin was rapping away at another typewriter, and, twofeet away from Jerry, "Slim" Goodwin, "one-hundred-and-seventy pounds inhis stockinged feet, and five-feet-four in his gym suit," was workingthe telegraph key with a pudgy hand.

  "Jerry!" he called. "Oh, Slim! Come over here a moment, both of you. Iwant to show you something."

  Jerry immediately ceased typewriting, but Slim was reluctant to releasethe telegraph key. However, as Joe began folding the paper in such a waythat only the last sentence showed, their aroused curiosity brought bothof them to his side.

  "Read that," said Joe, trying to suppress the quiver in his voice, andholding the paper up before them. "Read it carefully."

  One lad on either side of him, they hung over Joe's shoulder andfollowed his bidding.

  "Right!" shouted Jerry, as he came to the last word. "Joe, you're awizard, and what you've written there is the truth."

  "Ain't it--I mean isn't it?" added the delicate Slim Goodwin, and,partly to hide his grammatical error, but mostly to express hisenthusiasm, he gave Joe a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound whack on theback that sent him sliding out of the chair and half way under thetypewriter table.

  "Say!" Joe remonstrated. But just then Philip Burton, telegraph operatorand genial good friend of all three of the lads, bustled into the room,a sheaf of yellow telegrams in his hand.

  "What's all the excitement?" he asked, striding toward the typewriterjust left by Jerry.

  "Why," explained Slim, "Joe's just done something that means something."

  "Impossible," said Mr. Burton, turning toward them with one of thoseirresistible smiles which long ago had made him the boys' confidant.

  "If you don't believe it, read this," commanded Jerry, thrusting thepaper before the telegrapher's eyes.

  Mr. Burton read it through and then turned to the three boys again."Well?" he asked.

  "It means what it says," explained Jerry. "Now is the time for all goodmen to come to the aid of their country."

  "And we're 'good men,' ain't--aren't we?" demanded Slim, drawing in hisstomach and throwing out his chest as he straightened up to his fullfive-feet-four-inches "in his gym suit."

  "None better anywhere," said Mr. Burton in a tone that showed he meantit. "But just how do you contemplate going to the aid of your country?"

  It was Joe's turn to say something, and he did. "By enlisting," heannounced, briefly but firmly.

  "Yes," agreed Slim, "that's it, by enlisting."

  "Uh-huh," said Jerry, nodding his head vigorously and watching Mr.Burton's face for evidence of the effect of their decision.

  "And when did you determine upon that?" the telegrapher asked, withincreasing interest.

  "Well," said Slim, his face now painfully red from his efforts to keepchest out and stomach in, "it was finally decided upon just now,although we have talked about the thing in a general way many times."

  "You really mean to enlist--all three of you?" Mr. Burton demanded.

  "Yes, sir," they chorused, "all three."

  "Good!" exclaimed the man who had been their friend and helper. "Fine!I'm proud of you," and he proceeded to shake hands heartily with each inturn.

  "Have you decided upon the branch of the service you intend to enter?"he then asked.

  Joe looked at Jerry, Jerry looked at Slim, and Slim cast a helplessglance back at Joe.

  "I see you haven't," said Mr. Burton hastily, "and I'm glad of it. Nowhow about the Signal Corps?"

  "What do men in the Signal Corps do?" asked Jerry.

 
; "Do they fight?" demanded Slim.

  "Yes," Mr. Burton replied, "they do some fighting on their own account,and often in tough places and against discouraging odds. But they doeven more than that. Without their assistance no general would dare layplans for a battle. The Signal Corps keeps the commanders posted, notonly as to the whereabouts and disposition of his own troops, but alsoof those of the enemy. The Signal Corps is the telephone, the telegraph,the wireless, and often the aviation section as well, of the Americanarmy, and often of the American navy, too."

  "Isn't that great?" exclaimed the breathless Slim, as Mr. Burton wentover to the ticker to answer the code call for his station.

  During the ten minutes that he was engaged in receiving and sendingmessages, the boys perfected plans for notifying their relatives oftheir intention. Had their attention not been so entirely taken by thesubject under discussion they would have seen Herbert Wallace--anotherand very unpopular student at Brighton--pass by the office window, stopfor a moment to stare at them, and then step away quickly in thedirection of the door, near which they were standing.

  "Well, what's the verdict?" asked Mr. Burton, having finished hisduties.

  "The Signal Corps is our choice," said Joe, speaking for all, "but howdo we go about getting into it?"

  "I think I can arrange that," Mr. Burton informed them. "You boys havebeen studying telegraphy under me for more than six months, and I'mwilling to certify that each of you can now handle an instrument. Inaddition to that, you are able to take down messages on the typewriteras they come over the wire. Yes, sir," Mr. Burton finished, "I thinkyour Uncle Sam will be mighty glad to get three such lads as you, and Iknow the recruiting agent to put the thing through."

  So it was arranged that the three lads should return to the dormitory,write the letters which were to procure them the desired permission toenlist, and then inform the headmaster of their intentions.

  Joe and Jerry, who had roomed together throughout their entire threeyears at Brighton, already were well on with their epistles ofexplanation when Slim, whose room was seven doors down the corridor,dragged himself in, looking more downcast than any boy in Brighton everhad seen him look before.

  "No use," he informed his two friends, a choke in his voice. "They won'thave me. I'm overweight."

  "Oh, now, Slim, what are you worrying about that for? I don't believeany such thing," counseled Joe.

  "It's true, though," affirmed Slim. "That's the worst part of it; I sawit in the book. I'm toting around about twenty pounds more than thegovernment wants, and I'd have to stand on tiptoe in high-heel shoes tomeet the requirement in height."

  Poor Slim! He showed his disappointment in every look and every action.

  "What kind of a book did you see it in?" asked Jerry, in a tone almostas sad as Slim's.

  "In the manual," Slim groaned. "Herb Wallace showed it to me."

  "That settles it," exclaimed Joe. "If Herb Wallace had a hand in itanywhere there's something wrong. I'll tell you what we'll do, fellows.We'll go and ask the headmaster."

  Now the headmaster of Brighton had once been a boy himself. He could bestern, even cruelly severe, when occasion demanded, but he was kind ofheart and broad of understanding.

  Before him the three lads laid their case, as before the final tribunal.

  "H'm," said he, when all the details had been related and theall-important information asked. "You say Herbert Wallace showed youthis in a manual?"

  Slim solemnly affirmed that that was the case.

  The headmaster pushed a button on the side of his desk and in a fewseconds his secretary, a big, bluff fellow, appeared.

  "Bring Herbert Wallace here at once," said the headmaster. And in fivemore minutes, while the headmaster was shrewdly questioning the threelads as to the seriousness of their determination to enlist, thesecretary returned, accompanied by young Wallace, flushed andshamefaced.

  "Well, Wallace," said the principal of Brighton, "I hear you've beenstudying up on military subjects. Intending to get into the fight?"

  Herbert Wallace hung his head and muttered an unintelligible reply.

  "Now look here, Wallace," spoke the headmaster sternly, "where did youget the military manual from which you gave Goodwin the information thathe could not pass the examination for the army?"

  "I--I got it from the library, sir."

  "Got it without permission, too, didn't you?" pursued the headmaster.

  "Yes, sir," said Wallace, in confusion.

  "And didn't know that it was out of date, and that the requirements werecompletely changed after the United States entered this war, eh?"

  "No, sir," answered Wallace, on the verge of a breakdown.

  "I'll decide upon your punishment later," announced the headmaster."See me here at four o'clock. Meanwhile, Wallace, be careful where youget information, and be careful how you dispense it."

  And Herbert Wallace, utterly humiliated, was glad to flee from the room.

  "I don't think," said the headmaster, "that any of you will havedifficulty passing the examinations. I dislike to see you go, but youspeak the truth when you say that your country does need you, and I paya great tribute of respect to you for the patriotism and courage withwhich you step forth to shoulder your obligations. Others already havegone from Brighton. Still others will go in the future. God bless all ofyou, and may you return safe and sound to reap the full benefits of thedemocracy for which you are going to fight."

  The suspicion of tears dimmed the kindly eyes of the headmaster, andeach boy choked up as he bade him good-by.

  But, after all, this was no time for sadness. Young gladiators weregoing forth to the fray. And so we will skip over the farewells thefollowing day, in which the parents of each lad, with many a heartachebut never a word of discouragement, bade the boys Godspeed in theservice of their country.

  The three lads, together with fifteen others, formed a detachment of therecently enlisted who were to go to the Philadelphia Navy Yard forfurther assignment. Just before the train pulled out a students' paradethat seemed to include every boy in Brighton marched to the station tosee them off.

  One of the lads carried a large transparency on which was printed:

  "THEY BRIGHTEN THE FAME OF BRIGHTON"

  And just as the train pulled out, and there was great cheering andwaving of hats and handkerchiefs, Joe, Jerry and Slim, leaning fromadjoining windows, sang out in chorus:

  "For Uncle Sam."