“My dear Amy,” laughed Jessie, “has something bitten you?”
“Exactly,” agreed the excited Amy. “And it is an awful bite—believe me!”
“That sounds very much like slang to me, Amy,” laughed Jessie’s mother. “What do you mean? What is it that has bitten you?”
“An idea,” replied Amy energetically. “And the finest ever! Listen, folkses!”
“Do tell us, dear,” said her chum warmly.
“At the bazaar, you know,” Amy said earnestly, “Jess just connected up with whatever chanced to be coming through the ether. It was bits of program from all over. But why not have a regular program—a big one—broadcasted from one station for the special purpose of attracting attention to your drive for the hospital fund, Mrs. Norwood?”
“I don’t just see, Amy——”
“I do! I do!” cried Jessie delightedly. “Oh, Momsy, don’t you see? Get big singers like Madame Elva, and other musicians, and all those interested in your hospital. Then find some sending station where they will let you give the concert——”
“The Stratford Electric Company,” interrupted Amy.
“Good! Fine!” crowed Jessie.