“I tried to. But I’ve only a piece of yellow silk and that don’t match very well,” sighed the child.
“I should say not!” gasped Jessie. “The taffeta is blue.”
“And I can’t sew small stitches,” confessed Henrietta. “I try, but I bungle, Mrs. Foley says.”
“Wouldn’t Mrs. Foley mend the dress for you?”
“She would if she could find the time. But you know how it is yourself—with six kids, and all of ’em boys, and a man that drinks.”
Jessie remembered to tell that to Amy the next morning when she ran over early to begin the radio repairs. Again the chums were in the overall suits that Mr. Stratford had joked about.
Men from Stratfordtown, with a big autotruck, had already arrived to remove the débris of the smashed plane. From under the débris Chapman and the gardener had rescued most of the radio antenna. But Jessie saw at once that the aerial would have to be entirely rearranged, and some new wire added.
“We will put it up differently this time, anyway,” she said to Amy, but the latter asked, complainingly:
“Wasn’t the other way good enough? I am sure we heard the concerts and other things from the broadcasting stations all right. Think how nicely it worked when the ladies of our church gave the bazaar here and you rigged the receiving set in the tent.”
“I don’t mean to change the rigging to aid in the distinctness of our receiving,” said her more enthusiastic friend. “But you know Momsy has always been a little afraid of lightning striking the house because of the tangle of wires outside.”