The boy hesitated a moment. He had come for a bag, and was going out to the old junk heap in the gully. Right now something new was surging in his brain and there might be some metal on that old carriage frame that would help him.
The stuttering of the telegraph clicked on again.
“Just some of the gang wanting to gab,” Lee muttered, turning away.
Then the insistent note of the click caught his ear.
“That’s—that’s S.O.S.!”
Up the stairs he leaped, taking two at a time.
Sharp and loud came the tap-tap-tap, three short, three long, three short! S.O.S.! Save! Save! Save! Again three short, three long—a little crashing thump of the key—then blankness.
“What is it? What is it?” pleaded Lee’s clicking key.
No answer.
“Something’s happened! Can’t get any answer from Jimmy!” he shouted as he left the house on the run. “Send Pomp for help to Ray’s meadow—”