"If these boys like Monty Shannon and some of the girls stay at home when they grow up they surely will improve the looks of the village," Jessie had said. "For Monty and his kind are altogether too smart not to want to live as other people do."
"You've said it," agreed Amy, with enthusiasm. "He is smart. He has a better radio receiver than you have. Wait till you see."
"How do you know?" asked the surprised Jessie.
"He was telling me about it. You know how often some 'squeak box,' or other amateur operator, breaks in on our concerts."
"We-ell, not so often now," Jessie said. "I have learned more about tuning and wave-lengths. But, of course, I have only a single circuit crystal receiving set. I have been talking to Dad about getting a better one."
"Monty will show you," Amy said with confidence, as they knocked at the Shannon door.
The little cottage was small. Downstairs there were but two rooms. The door gave access to the kitchen, and beyond was the "sitting-room," of which Monty's mother was inordinately proud. She was a widow, and helped herself and her children by doing fine laundry work for the wealthy people of New Melford.
From the front room when the girls entered came sounds that they recognized—radio sounds which held their instant attention, although they were merely market reports at that hour in the forenoon.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Bertha Blair said, clasping her hands. "I never can get over the wonder of it."