Jack was amazed and keenly disappointed.
“Why, I had no idea we had been working so long. I’m afraid, then, we won’t be able to pick up the monastery tonight. La Prensa’s nightly concert will have been finished, and they’ll all be in bed. What tough luck!”
“Try, anyway, Jack,” urged Mr. Hampton, in an anxious tone. “Time is invaluable to us. Perhaps,” he added, hopefully, “Brother Gregorio will be pottering around and will catch your signal.”
Jack shook his head doubtfully.
“The good monks used to be in bed at nine o’clock before we put in the radio set for them. And they’ve still got sleepy habits. But we’ll see.”
He walked to where Bob and Frank were putting the finishing installation touches to the generator. Some six or eight inches in diameter, it was firmly planted on its legs, handles projecting on either side.
“All ready, Jack,” said Frank. “You take the instrument and Bob and I will get up steam.”
Interested spectators, the other principals, grouped themselves close, with the torch bearers forming a ring about them. Bob and Frank began pumping away at the handles.
“Reminds me of making ice cream in the old freezer,” said Bob.
Brother Gregorio had been placed in charge of the radio at the monastery, and it was for him Jack called repeatedly, after tuning to the monastery’s meter wave length, but no answer came back.