“Oh, yes, there must have been at least one,” said Amy, the irrepressible, and giggling again. “Her mother, Mrs. Ringold, is beloved for the same virtues that endears Belle to us girls. Or, do I say ‘we girls’?”
“You may say what you please—grammatically,” replied Jessie, smiling again. “It is vacation, and even Miss Seymour has gone away. However, I suppose we should not criticise Belle’s mother.”
“Dear me, honey,” groaned Amy. “You are so good you make me ache. If Belle had spoken as nastily to me as she did to you, I would positively hate her and all her relatives.”
“Look!” murmured Jessie Norwood suddenly. It was evident that she had not given much attention to her chum.
“Look! I thought from the way the radio sounded last evening that the aerial was twisted.”
They were now in sight of the Norwood place, which was one of the show places of Roselawn. At one side an opening in the trees gave a view of Lake Monenset. Across the broad boulevard from the automobile entrance to the Norwood grounds, set upon another terraced lawn, was the Drew house, where Amy lived with her parents and her brother, Darrington Drew, when he was at home. The girls were high school pupils, but Darrington had just finished his first year at Yale.
Amy, staring in the direction her chum pointed, between the Norwood house and a tower at one side, shook her head with mock sadness.
“I really do believe, Jess,” said she, “that there is something in the air besides static. There must be imps that twist those wires. You know it isn’t a week since we lowered the whole thing and took the twists out.”
“I don’t suppose we really have more trouble with our radio than other amateurs. Come on, Amy! Let’s get into our working togs and do a good job while we are about it.”
“All right,” agreed Amy. “Lucky I left my radio suit over here.”