“Then call me Ashley, Harry Ashley. If anybody asks what I am, just tell them a poor lonely fellow in hard luck, but mending as fast as he can, and not afraid to tackle any job that means pay for work.”
“That rings true,” said Ben.
Tom got busy shoving the box he had brought from the village under the table. He had lighted a lamp. About to extinguish it, he glanced around the room to see that everything was in shape for the night.
“Come on, Ben, you too,” directed Tom. “Blow out your candle, and we’ll make a start.”
The boy calling himself Harry Ashley limped over towards the chair holding the candle. At that moment there was an interruption. With a sharp tang the receiver began to pop out dots, dashes and echoing clicks.
“Some one on the line!” pronounced Ben quickly.
“Yes,” nodded Tom, hastening over to the instrument. “Hello!”
Tom gave a vivid start. For over a month he had been acquiring the Morse code alphabet. Novice as he was, he was able to translate the rapid furious dots and dashes that sounded in the earpiece of the apparatus.
“The spooks!” Ben gasped.
“Yes,” assented Tom quite stirred up himself—“‘Donner!’”