The Boys of the Wireless Part 8

"What's this?" demanded Mr. Morgan sharply, as the chauffeur perforce let the machine down to a dead stop.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Morgan--" began Tom.

"Young Barnes?" observed the capitalist, with a surprised stare at Tom.

"Yes, sir," hurried on Tom. "I have some important news for you."

"Important news for me?" repeated Mr. Morgan vaguely.

"Yes, sir."

"Who from?"

"Your partner, sir, or agent in New York City."

"What?" cried Mr. Morgan. "How does it come through you?"

"By wireless," reported Tom promptly.

"Oh, I've heard something about your dabbling in that."

"Can I speak before your chauffeur?" inquired Tom.

"If you have anything to say, go ahead."

"Well, sir," said Tom, "I caught a message sent to wireless station O-17, up at Deepdale. It seems that the sender expected to reach you there. His name appears to be Dunbar."

"Yes, yes," urged Mr. Morgan impatiently, "I sent word I would be at Deepdale until to-morrow, but changed my plans."

"It was fortunate that I knew you were back," said Tom. "The message seems important."

"Out with it," ordered Mr. Morgan.

"I think I can repeat it word for word."

"Do so, then."

"'Have a tip that U. Cal. cannot prove up on patents. News will be public before night. Order your subscription cancelled before afternoon session of Stock Exchange, or there will be a heavy loss.'"

"Thunder!"

Mr. Morgan jumped up fully a foot on the cus.h.i.+oned seat of the tonneau.

His face went white as chalk. He seemed about to spring from the automobile. Then he jerked out his watch, fell back, and, trembling all over, gasped out to the chauffeur:

"Drive for your life to the telegraph office at Rockley Cove. Don't lose a second!"

CHAPTER VII-GRACE MORGAN

Tom stepped aside quickly as the chauffeur set the power, and the machine made a sharp jump. As it flashed around a curve bound townwards Mr. Morgan leaned over the back of the tonneau.

"I won't forget this, Barnes," he bawled loudly.

"Good for the wireless!" exclaimed Tom, with a genuine flush of delight.

He felt well satisfied with the exploit of the moment. He was flushed, bedraggled and exhausted, but there was the thrill of a big action accomplished and the utility of Station Z established.

Tom glanced longingly in the direction of Fernwood and then at his soaked shoes, and shook his head dolefully.

"It won't do," he ruminated. "Grace is probably offended at me for bolting away so unceremoniously, and I'll wait until I can make my apologies in better trim."

Tom kept a patch of timber between himself and the Morgan place, and reached the beach road on a detour. He was summarily halted as he pa.s.sed the flight of steps leading up to the terrace. A silvery but peremptory voice called out:

"Stop there, Tom Barnes!"

Grace Morgan came tripping down the steps a minute later. There was a pretty pout of pettishness on her winsome face, and her eyes did not look altogether pleased.

"What do you mean by running away from me, sir?" she challenged, gaining the side of Tom, and regarding him as if she was never going to forgive him.

"Business is my only excuse," explained Tom meekly.

"You mean with my father?"

"Yes--"

"Did you overtake him?"

"I am glad to say I did," replied Tom, "and I think your father is, too."

"What was it about?"

Tom laughed evasively,

"You must ask him that yourself."

Miss Morgan looked mild daggers at Tom.

"I never met such rude, unfriendly boys!" she declared.

"Oh, there are more offenders than my poor humble self?" interrogated Tom archly.

"Yes, there are," declared the indignant miss. "Mart Walters has a friend from Boston visiting him-Bert Aldrich. He made an engagement to be here an hour ago with his gasoline launch. Gentlemen keep their engagements!" concluded Grace with emphasis.

Unconsciously Grace had walked along with Tom, much to his personal pleasure.

"Well, I'm glad," he observed.