“Tom, we’ve got to do something!” cried Harry, greatly worked up by all that was happening.
Tom’s face showed the greatest anxiety and concern. The situation as revealed by the disconnected utterance of the injured man was serious and critical.
Tom pictured the storm-swept village in his mind’s eye—the lights out, telephone service disrupted, and a father despairingly endeavoring to get word to the nearest doctor, five miles distant.
“Wait here, watch him,” ordered Tom sharply, making up his mind what he would do.
“Can you do anything?” questioned Harry eagerly.
“I’ll try,” replied Tom, starting in the direction of the tower.
“The wireless!” cried Harry, his eyes snapping animatedly.
“Yes.”
Tom was up the ladder and through the trap door in a hurry. He had his plan, but its success depended on two circumstances: first, if Ben Dixon was in reach of the amateur wireless outfit at the home nest; and second, if the telephone circuit the Dixon home was on, which belonged to a different system to that at Rockley Cove, was in working order.
Tom speedily gave the call to the station at the Dixon place. He did not wait for any response. He repeated the call briskly. Then he flashed off the message he had in mind. Then he repeated the message twice. Then—Tom waited.