“We can take turns,” Jessie said, eagerly. “What time is it, Darry?”
“It points to eight, Jess.”
“Then there is a concert about to start at that station not more than thirty miles away from here. We ought to hear that fine,” declared the hostess of the party.
“What is the wave length?” Amy asked.
“Three-sixty. We can easily get it,” and Jessie adjusted the buzzer a little, the phones at her ears.
Eagerly they settled down to listen in. At least, three of them listened. Darry said he felt like the fifth wheel of an automobile—the one lashed on behind.
“I shall have to get an amplifier—a horn,” Jessie murmured.
At first she heard only a funny scratchy sound; then a murmur, growing louder, as she tuned the instrument to the required wave length. The murmurous sound grew louder—more distinct. Amy squealed right out loud! For it seemed as though somebody had said in her ear:
“—and will be followed by the Sextette from Lucia. I thank you.”
“We’re just in time,” said Burd. “They are going to begin the concert.” 51