“That’s right,” said Bob thoughtfully. “Though I never thought of it in just that way before. But it’s a fact that radio travels at the rate of one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second.”
“Equal to about seven and a half times around the earth,” observed the principal, smiling. “In other words, the people who were actually sitting in the presence of the President were the very last to hear what he said.
“Put it in still another way. Suppose the President were speaking through a megaphone in addition to the radio and by the use of the megaphone the voice was carried to people in the audience a third of a mile away. By the time those persons heard it, the man in the moon could have heard it too—that is,” he added, with a laugh, “supposing there really were a man in the moon and that he had a radio receiving set.”
“It surely sounds like fairyland,” murmured Joe.
“Radio is the fairyland of science,” replied Mr. Preston, with enthusiasm, “in the sense that it is full of wonder and romance. But there the similarity ceases. Fairyland is a creation of the fancy or the imagination. Radio is based upon the solid rock of scientific truth. Its principles are as certain as those of mathematics. Its problems can be demonstrated as exactly as that two and two make four. But it’s full of what seem to be miracles until they are shown to be facts. And there’s scarcely a day that passes without a new one of these ‘miracles’ coming to light.”
He had reached his corner by this time, and with a pleasant wave of his hand he left them.
“He sure is a thirty-third degree radio fan,” mused Joe, as they watched his retreating figure.
“Just as most all bright men are becoming,” declared Bob. “The time is coming when a man who doesn’t know about radio or isn’t interested in it will be looked on as a man without intelligence.”
“Look here!” exclaimed Jimmy suddenly. “What’s become of my piece of ice?”
He opened his hand, which was red and wet and dripping.