"Same here," Amy declared. "When Jess and I listened to you singing the 'Will o' the Wisp' last night it seemed almost shivery that we should recognize the very tones of your voice out of the air."
"Huh!" exclaimed Montmorency, grinning. "I got so I know the announcers, too. When that Mr. Blair speaks I know him. Of course, I know Mr. Mark Stratford's voice, for I've talked with him. I wouldn't have such a fine machine here, only he advised me."
"Tell me," Jessie said, "what is the difference between my receiving set and yours, Monty?"
"If you want to hear clearly and keep outside radio out of your machine, use a regenerative radio set with an audion detector. The whole business, Miss Jessie, is in the detector, after all. A regenerative set of this kind is selective enough—that's the expression Mr. Mark used—to enable any one to tune out all but a few commercial stations. And they don't often butt in to annoy you. For sure, you'll kill all the amateur squeak-boxes and other transmission stations of that class.
"Now, I'm going to tune in for Stratfordtown. They are sending the Government weather reports and mother wants to know should she water her tomatoes or depend on a thunderstorm," and he grinned at Mrs. Shannon, who stood, an awkward but smiling figure, in the doorway between the two rooms.
"'Tis too wonderful a thing for me to understand, at all, at all," admitted the widow. "However can they tell you out of that machine there is a thunderstorm coming?"
"Listen!" exclaimed the boy eagerly. There was a horn on the set and no need for earphones. He had tuned the market reports out. From the horn came a different voice. But the words the visitors heard had nothing to do with the report on the weather. "What's the matter?" demanded Monty Shannon. "Listen to this, will you?"
"... she will come home at once. This is serious—a serious call for Bertha Blair."
"Do you hear that?" almost shrieked Amy Drew. "Why, it must mean you, Bertha!"