“If Edna and I get that horn for you, it will be easy for such experts as you boys are to make a—a what-you-may-call-it—loud speaker—out of it, won’t it?” asked Ruth, demurely.
“I think they’re kidding us now, Bob,” said Joe, grinning. “When a girl tells you you’re an expert, you can bet she’s figuring to wish something on you.”
“Yes, but it’s so unusual that we ought to do something to encourage it,” laughed Bob. “Let’s call their bluff. Probably they’ll never be able to find a horn, anyway.”
“Don’t count too much on that,” said Edna, with a dangerous smile. “We almost always get what we ask for.”
“Yes, and you are everlastingly asking for something, it seems to me,” grumbled her father, who had joined the little group at that moment.
“Now, Daddy, you know you love to give us things,” chided Ruth. “If we suddenly had everything we wanted, you’d be dreadfully disappointed.”
“There’s no danger of that happening,” said her father, a smile softening his grim face. “But what is it you’re after just at present?”
“We want that big phonograph horn they used to have here in the hotel,” said Edna, with a provoking side glance at the radio boys. “Will you ask the manager to hunt it up and lend it to us?”
“I’ll see what I can do about it,” promised Mr. Salper. “I remember the horn you mean, but it was probably thrown away long ago.”
The radio boys rather wished that this might prove to be the case, but they were not destined to get off so easily. The first thing they saw when they entered the dining room the next morning was a large wooden horn, of a style in universal use in the early years of the phonograph, standing prominently near their table.