"Say, cut out the comedy, will you, Herb?" asked Joe impatiently.
"I want to hear about this great idea of Bob's."
"I didn't say it was great, did I?" demanded Bob modestly. "It's just an idea, that's all."
"Well, shoot," demanded Herb laconically.
Bob was silent for a moment, wondering just how he could best express the thought that had suddenly come to him; just a little afraid that the others might laugh at him. And where is the boy who does not dread being laughed at more than anything else in the world?
The day had been unusually warm for the time of the year, and the radio boys, turning their backs upon the town, had started out for a long hike into the woods. The heat, together with a visit to the doughnut jar just before meeting the boys, had wearied Jimmy, and he had been the first to suggest a rest. And so, having come across a talkative little brook, hidden deep in the heart of the woodland, the boys had been content to follow Jimmy's suggestion.
Sprawled on the mossy ground in various ungraceful, though comfortable positions, the boys lazily watched the hurrying little brook, throwing a pebble into it now and then and talking of the thing that almost always filled their minds these days—their radio outfits.
At last, urged on by the boys, Bob made public his idea.
"Why, I was just thinking—" he said slowly. "I was just thinking how awfully slow things must be for the poor shut-ins—"
"What?" demanded Herb curiously.
Bob frowned. It bothered him to be interrupted, especially when it was hard to express what he felt.