“Honest Injun, though,” went on Big Sandy, “lots of folks round here are scared plumb stiff over this electricity stuff. Old Poolak’s had one of his preaching fits. He’s been spreading the word that it warn’t fire from the chimney what burned Miz Bobb’s roof, but lightning fire what our telegraph conjured down out of the sky. According to his tell, it ain’t Scriptural to be taking electricity out of the air and hitching it on to man’s contrivances. Johnny allows it’s tampering with evil and’s goner bring down fire and brimstone on the whole Cove 'less’n folks take axes to our newfangled fixings—”
“Johnny Poolak better mind his own business and not be mixing in with our wires.” Lem’s chin went out belligerently. “I’m banking turrible strong on this new fixing of Lee’s. It’s so mysterious-like, it don’t seem anyways reasonable. Yet if it works, it’ll be the wonderfullest thing what ever happened down here in the Cove.”
“Well, I’m for it, strong.” Big Sandy flung open the gate to the Renaud yard and went in. Lem followed.
The “new fandangle” that Lee was working on now was an attempt at radio. Telegraphy was wonderful enough. But that took wires, thousands of dollars’ worth to reach any distance at all. With radio, one merely sat at a machine, turned a key and picked up sound that went hurtling through the air with only electrical power to bear it on. It seemed unbelievable—yet man was already doing this unbelievable thing. And Lee Renaud, stuck off in the backwoods, had the temerity to make a try at this same wonder.
Lee was subscribing to a magazine now, “The Radio World.” Hard study and the endless copying of hook-up designs from its pages was the way he was preparing ground for his next experiment. By degrees he had gathered together in his old workshop such materials as he could lay hands on. His collection was crude enough to have gotten a laugh out of a regular “radio ham,” but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
True enough, little rip-roaring Dr. Pendexter, out of the kindness of his heart, had wanted to buy Lee considerable experimental stuff. But somehow the boy’s pride had rebelled at being under too much obligation to anyone.
“I thank you, but no, sir,” he had stammered, “I can’t let you give me everything. It would be different if I could only earn money some way to pay for it—”
“There is a way!” snorted the Doctor. “Only I didn’t want you fooling away time at it when you could be going forward with electricity. Hell’s bells! You’ve got too much pride!”
The way of money-making that Dr. Pendexter pointed out to Lee was the gathering of wild plants for medicinal purposes. Now and again the boy sent in little packets of such things as bloodroot, wild ginseng, and bay leaves. Quite a lot of herbs brought in only a few dollars, but that money wisely expended brought back some very wonderful things through the mail. One time it was two pairs of ordinary telephone receivers; another time it was a piece of crystal; again it was a little can of shellac and some special wire. In addition, Lee had gathered together an assortment of his own—a piece of curtain pole, some old curtain rings, a piece of mica that had once acted as “back light” in an ancient buggy top, a length of stout oak board, sundry bits of wire and second-hand screws and nails.
Back in his home town of Shelton, Lee had once listened in at someone else’s radio—a sleek affair with all its interior workings neatly housed in a shining wooden case. In those days Lee had never dreamed of aspiring to own a radio, much less aspiring to make one by using an oak board, an old curtain pole and pieces of wire as parts.