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Updated: June 28, 2025
Allard, the manager, recommended me to a good place near the station, and I guess they won't let me starve to death there." "Let us hope not," smiled Mrs. Layton. "Any time you are in Clintonia, we'd be very glad to have you visit us, you know. I suppose Bob has told you that, though." "I certainly did!" exclaimed her son.
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.
And sure enough, Bob had hardly reached home that afternoon when the telephone bell rang, and Larry's familiar voice came over the wire. "Hello, Bob!" he said. "How's the boy? Did you get my letter all right?" "I sure did," answered Bob. "It's fine to hear your voice again. We're all tickled to death to know that you're showing in Clintonia this week.
It was this quality that had made them enthusiastic regarding the wonders of the wireless telephone. Herbert Fennington was a year younger than the others and the son of one of the principal merchants of Clintonia. He was lively, full of fun and jokes and an all-around "good fellow." Jimmy Plummer was fourteen, round, fat, lazy, and good-natured, and a great lover of the good things of life.
Another very abundant plant in these woods was the Clintonia borealis. Uncle Nathan said it was called "bear's corn," though he did not know why. The only noticeable flower by the Maine roadsides at this season that is not common in other parts of the country is the harebell. Its bright blue, bell-shaped corolla shone out from amid the dry grass and weeds all along the route.
"But the worst of it is, we won't be there to see their faces at the time. I'd give the evening's profits to see them then." "It will be a scream, all right," agreed Larry, with a chuckle. "You two will have it all over all the other radio fans in Clintonia when you get back. They'll be green with envy." "I guess it will make them sit up and take notice," assented Bob.
Fences and trees flashed past them, and the smooth road seemed like a river flowing toward them. The boys were intoxicated with the wild thrill and exhilaration of speed, and laughed and shouted and pounded each other on the back. For several miles the speedometer needle never receded, and not until the roofs and church steeples of Clintonia were visible in the distance did Dr.
"How are you, boys?" asked a pleasant voice, and the lads looked up to see Dr. Amory Dale, the pastor of the "Old First Church" of Clintonia, standing beside them. Most of them responded cordially, for they liked and respected him. There was no stiffness or professionalism about him to make them feel that they were being held at a distance.
Contrary to the predictions of some of their neighbors in Clintonia, their enthusiasm for radio work had increased rather than diminished, and they were anxious to become the possessors of sets capable of hearing any station in the United States, and perhaps even the large foreign stations.
"You're out of luck this time, old timer. If you had only known that, you wouldn't have had to make that heartbreaking search all over Clintonia." "Oh, I didn't mind it so much," said his good-natured friend. "I had a lot of fun sampling all the different varieties, anyway." "I'll say you did," said Herb. "I'll bet you were glad of an excuse." "Don't need an excuse," retorted Jimmy.
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