They were too late for the bedtime story; but from the cabinet-grand, like an expensive talking machine, the slurring notes of a jazz orchestra greeted their ears as plainly as though it were coming from a neighboring room instead of a broadcasting station many miles away. Amy confessed that it made her feet itch. She loved to dance.
There was singing to follow, a really good quartette. Then a humorist told some of his own funny stories and an elocutionist recited a bit from Shakespeare effectively. The band played a popular air and the amused audience began singing the song. It was fine!
“I’m just as excited as I can be,” whispered Jessie to Nell and Amy. “Isn’t it better than our talking machine? Why! it is almost like hearing 30 the real people right in the room. And an amplifier of this kind is not scratchy one bit.”
“There is no static to-night,” said Mr. Brandon, who overheard the enthusiastic girl. “But it is not always so clear.”
Jessie and Amy were too excited over this new amusement to heed anything that suggested “a fly in the ointment.” When they drove home they were so full of radio that they chattered like magpies.
“I would put up the aerials and get a set myself,” Nell declared, “only we don’t really need any more talking machines of any kind at our house. Dear me! I sometimes wonder how the Reverend can write his sermons, there is so much noise and talk all the time. I have tacked felt all around his study door to try to make it sound-proof. But when Bob comes in he bangs the outer door until you are reminded of the Black Tom explosion. And Fred never comes downstairs save on his stomach—and on the banisters—and lands on the doormat like a load of brick out of a dumpcart. Then Sally squeals so!” She sighed.
“Nell Stanley,” Amy said, “certainly has her own troubles.”
“I do not see how the doctor stands it,” commented Mrs. Brandon sympathetically.
“The Reverend is the greatest man in the world,” declared Nell, with conviction. “He is 31 wonderful. He takes the most annoying things so composedly. Why, you remember when he went to Bridgeton a month ago to speak at the local Sunday School Union? Something awfully funny happened. It would have floored any man but the Reverend.”
“What happened?” asked Amy. “I bet it was a joke. Your father, Nell, always tells the most delightful stories.”