“How’d you get the receiver?” asked Bill.
“Earned it,” said Fatty proudly. “Skinny, he went down and delivered groceries, and I went without cocoa every morning for breakfast for a month. Mamma paid me for doing it.”
“Gee, you have certainly got a lot of backbone!” said Eddie admiringly.
Fatty finished the cone. “I never drank so much as a taste for a month,” he said proudly. “Here comes Skinny now.” He gave a shrill yell, which was answered by what seemed to be the framework, the mere shadow of a boy, who came skimming along with a package under his arm. There was no lack of bagginess in his knicker-bockers. They fell in generous folds everywhere. His thin shirt was full and floppy; his hat came well down over his ears. He had a jolly grin that disclosed numbers of large white teeth. The boys often wondered how he could stand Fatty Bascom for a pal, but they decided that Skinny liked to look at anything so fat, for Skinny was certainly thin.
Skinny threw himself down on the grass while his chum remained standing, braced on his broad feet. It was difficult for Fatty to let himself down to earth, and certainly it was uncomfortable to sit or lie down for a fellow built that way. He stood and watched Skinny as he carefully unwrapped the fascinating wireless receiver. A couple of cards printed with the Morse code fell out, and the boys pounced on them. As they pored over them, Francis Wolfe strolled up. Bill’s brother was built on lines similar to his own. He was thin and very tall and—well, boys and dogs and small kittens all liked Frank Wolfe and old ladies always asked him the way. And that about tells the sort he is.
With him came a solemn looking fellow in the uniform of an airman. They formed a group and looked the wireless receiver over, Bill and Eddie growing momentarily more excited.
“It’s a great thing for you kids to fool with,” Frank said finally, picking up his racket. “I don’t see why you don’t go into it, Bill, and you too, Eddie. Keep you both out of mischief and teach you something on the side.”
“That’s right,” said the airman. “It’s a good thing to know. I knew a fellow once, before they made the rules so strict, who went up and got some trouble with his engine. He was right in a bunch of other planes, and they all had wireless outfits on. He had one too, but he didn’t know how to use it. One chap thought he saw him sort of wigwagging with a handkerchief, but of course he didn’t pay any attention specially, and presently his engine went all to the bad, I reckon. At all events down he came.”
“Hurt him?” asked Fatty, feeling in the bag of peanuts.
“Not a bit!” declared Mr. Beezley, gazing mournfully at Fatty. “Not a bit! You see he only fell about six hundred feet or so.”