“Oh, I can’t do that, yet,” declared Tom. “I haven’t a sending set. You have to get a license for that, but I’m going to get at it right away. It will be fine to be able to hear you. I’ll bet I can get your messages from Cuba and Nassau. Say, it will be almost like hearing you talk.”
“How shall I address them?” chuckled his father. “Tom Pauling, The Air?”
“Gee! I hadn’t thought of that,” ejaculated Tom. “I haven’t any call letters—only sending stations have them—I’ve got it! When you send a message, just address it as if it were a regular message and then I’ll know it’s for me. And send them the same time every time—then I’ll be sure to be here and waiting to get them.”
“Righto,” agreed his father. “I’ll be sending a good many official messages, I expect, and I can
get them all off together each day—say 7:45. How will that be?”
“That’ll be fine,” assented Tom. “I’ll be here at half-past seven every night listening. Say, Dad, do you suppose those smuggler fellows use radio?”
“Why, I don’t know; what made you ask?”
“Oh, I just happened to think of it,” replied Tom. “I guess your speaking of sending official messages and starting for Cuba and the Bahamas just put it in my head.”
“Well, if we don’t find how they’re getting liquor into the States by wholesale pretty quick, I’ll begin to think they’re sending the booze in by radio,” laughed Mr. Pauling. “It’s the most mysterious thing we’ve been up against yet. Can’t get a clue. Perhaps they are using radio to warn one another, or maybe they’re onto our codes. Suppose you keep track of any odd messages you hear, Tom. I don’t suppose there’s anything in it, but it will give you another interest and one never knows what may happen through chance or accident. Remember that coup I told you about that we made during the war—that meaningless message that
passed all the censors and that, by pure accident, led to the capture of the worst lot of German plotters in the country?”