Jessie called the boys to help and in half an hour they got the wires untwisted and the insulators properly placed and Mrs. Ringold heard plainly through the earphones. It was in good season for the dance music program that would be broadcasted at four o’clock from one of the sending stations.
But, unfortunately, there were very few people to dance. The few busses that had arrived from town were not half filled. And almost nobody had come in private cars or boats. Just before four o’clock the thunder became louder and the lightning more threatening. The quartette of Roselawn young people made for the Water Thrush on the run.
In the cabin of the launch they could keep dry. The other pleasure-seekers had to crowd into the kitchen of the old house, or into the motor busses. The clouds shut down over the picnic ground and for an hour the rain poured torrentially.
Darry Drew got into oilskins and went out and started the motor. Before the storm held up they were at the Norwood landing. They had had a gay time after all.
“But,” said Amy, making a little face, “that Mrs. Ringold didn’t even thank you, Jess. Her being a thousand times obliged was a joke. And Belle will never forgive you!”
“What does that matter?” returned her chum cheerfully. “We did our duty, didn’t we?”
“Believe me,” groaned Amy Drew, “I never could get so much satisfaction out of doing my duty, and I don’t see how you can, Jess Norwood!”
As they walked up to the house Jessie suddenly saw something that brought a cry of dismay to her lips. Amy stared all around, demanding to be told the worst.
“What is it? Is the sky falling, Chicken Little?” she demanded.
“That aerial! See! Didn’t I tell you when we fixed it after Mark’s accident that I thought that hook we drove into the tower window frame was not safe?”