“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.”
String music, reaching their ears so wonderfully, hushed their speech. But Darry got close to his sister, stretching his ear, too, to distinguish the sounds. The introduction to the famous composition was played brilliantly, then the voices of the singers traveled to the little group in Jessie Norwood’s room from the broadcasting station thirty miles away.
“Isn’t it wonderful! Wonderful!” murmured Amy.
“Sh!” admonished her chum.
When the number was ended, Burd Alling removed his head harness and gravely shook hands with Jessie.
“Some calico, you are,” he declared. “Don’t ever go to college, Jess. It will spoil your initiative.”
“You needn’t call me by your slang terms. ‘Calico,’ indeed!” exclaimed Jessie. “Calico hasn’t been worn since long before the war.”