All were agreeable, and for perhaps half an hour they sat back and listened. They did not have to use earpieces, as Phil’s set was equipped with a loud speaker, and they heard the monologues and music as clearly as though the performers were in an adjoining room.
During an interval they were chatting together, when suddenly a voice was heard that brought Phil to his feet in an instant.
“By the great horn spoon!” he ejaculated. “If that isn’t Steve Elwood’s voice I’m a Chinaman.”
“Go way,” said Tom incredulously. “You’re spoofing us.”
“No kidding,” replied Phil earnestly. “I’ve heard it too often to be mistaken.”
They listened intently, but now all they could hear was a medley of screeches and wailing with only a few broken words that were intelligible.
“Sounds like the three witches in Macbeth,” remarked Dick. “Guess you were dreaming things, Phil.”
“Dreaming nothing,” Phil answered. “It’s static that’s kicking in and making all this racket.”
“It didn’t bother us much when we were listening to the concert,” objected Dick.
“That’s because the weather isn’t as hot up here as it is in Texas,” explained Phil. “It’s the heat that makes all kinds of trouble in radio. Just wait until I do a little tuning. I’ll get in consonance with Steve’s wave length in a jiffy.”