“Some radio fiends, these two,” said Darry. And he told his friend to what use the girls had already put Jessie’s set for the benefit of the church bazaar.
“If you girls want to see how it’s done, to be sure I’ll introduce you to the man in charge. Wait till we drive around there.” Stratford was as good as his word. It was a time in the afternoon when the Electric Company’s matinee concert was being broadcasted. They went up in the passenger elevator in the main building of the plant to a sort of glassed-in roof garden. There were 137 several rooms, or compartments, with glass partitions, sound-proof, and hung with curtains to cut off any echo. The young people could stare through the windows and see the performers in front of the broadcasting sets. The girls looked at each other and clung tightly to each other’s hand.
“Oh, Amy!” sighed Jessie.
“If we could only get a chance to sing here!” whispered Amy in return.
It did not mean much to the boys. And Mark Stratford, of course, had been here time and time again. A gray-haired man with a bustling manner and wearing glasses came through the reception room and Mark stopped him.
“Oh, Mr. Blair!” the collegian said. “Here are some friends of mine who are regular radio bugs. Let me introduce you to Miss Jessie Norwood and Miss Amy Drew. Likewise,” he added, as the gentleman smilingly shook hands with the girls, “allow me to present their comrades in crime, Darry Drew and Burdwell Alling. These fellows help me kill time over at Yale, to which the governor has sentenced me for four years.”
“Mr. Blair?” repeated Jessie, looking sideways at her chum.
“Mr. Blair?” whispered Amy, who remembered the name as well as Jessie did. 138
“That is my name, young ladies,” replied the superintendent, smiling.
“You don’t know anything about a girl of our age named Blair, do you, Mr. Blair?” Jessie asked hesitatingly.