THE POCKET RADIO SAVES BOB’S LIFE.
Bob fully realized that he was in a bad fix but it was not until darkness came that the thought occurred to him that he might not get out of the scrape alive. He had been in tight places before but never had he felt so entirely helpless and alone. To make matters worse a swarm of mosquitoes began to besiege him and he was kept busy slapping first one place and then another.
His ankle no longer pained him but instead felt numb as though it had gone to sleep. He uttered a short but fervent prayer that God would send him help before it was too late and then feeling more calm he tried to sleep. But it was of no use. The mosquitoes tormented him so that sleep was out of the question. How dark it was. There was no moon and he was unable to see his hand held before his eyes.
“They say that everything has some use,” he thought. “But blest if I can see why mosquitoes were ever made.”
He had a few matches in his pocket and from time to time he lit one to see if his leg was still bleeding. It grew no worse in this respect and after a time he believed that it had stopped altogether.
“If only I could build a fire,” he thought, “the smoke would drive these mosquitoes away.”
But there was nothing within his reach to serve the purpose and he had to abandon the idea. He thought it must be nearly twelve o’clock when a glance at the luminous face of his watch told him that it was only a few minutes past nine.
“Morning will never come at this rate,” he thought. “Oh, if these mosquitoes would only let me alone. Then I could sleep.”
Another hour passed and to the boy it seemed almost endless. He was so drowsy that he could hardly keep his eyes open when he tried to but yet he could not sleep. Once he fancied that he did drop off but a glance at his watch told him that only two minutes had passed since he had looked at it before.
“It’ll be a wonder if my hair isn’t white before morning,” he thought.