“You’re just in time,” said the latter. “We need somebody to substitute in our program to-night, as one of the regular performers is ill. Come up to the sending room and we’ll give your young friend a trial.”
“Go to it, old boy,” encouraged Bob, in a whisper. “Show him what’s what. Remember that we’re all rooting for you.”
Larry pressed his hand, but had no time to answer before they were ushered up to the sending room. One wall of this apartment was covered with complicated-looking electrical apparatus, a good deal of which the boys recognized but which appeared very mysterious to poor Larry.
“For testing purposes, our apparatus is so rigged up that we can hear, in this room, exactly what goes out over the wires,” the manager explained. “If you gentlemen will sit at that table over there, and all put on headphones, you can hear your friend’s performance exactly as it will 140 sound to everybody else who is listening to this station.”
“Did you get that?” whispered the irrepressible Herb. “He called us gentlemen.”
“Shut up,” whispered Bob. “He didn’t mean you, anyway.”
Following the manager’s instructions, Larry took up his position at a short distance from an instrument called a microphone, and at a signal from Mr. Allard commenced his bird imitations.
The manager had donned earphones like all the rest, and the little company listened with varying emotions as Larry went through his repertoire. His friends were praying fervently for his success and were delighted as they realized that he was surpassing any of his previous efforts. The manager’s attitude was critical, but as Larry went from one imitation to another the boys could see from the expression of his face that he was pleased. Larry rose to his opportunity nobly, and as he realized that he was making a good impression added trills and notes that he had never thought of before. By the time he had finished, all doubt had vanished from Mr. Allard’s mind.
“I guess we can use you all right, young man,” he said. “Do you think you can fill in this evening? I need somebody to round out the bedtime 141 programme at seven o’clock, and I imagine your act ought to go well at that time.”
“Anything you say, sir,” answered Larry, “will suit me.”