The uranium plate worked. Two minutes later, as I tied in the positive cable, dancing light began to play over the tubes, the galvanometer skipped gaily, and current began to hum once again. I yelled, "Biggs, you're terrific!" and reached for the vernier. But Biggs' hand stayed mine.
"Not there, Sparks! Higher. The ultra-short wave, I believe. About one over fifty thousand on the Ang vernier."
Cap Hanson rasped, "Sparks knows how to operate a radio, Mister Biggs, without your help!"
"Not this radio," shrugged the lanky lieutenant. "This plate is considerably different from the old type. Considerably different!"
I thought I detected a faint note of amusement in his voice, but the thought vanished as swiftly as it came—for at that instant my fingers found the proper spot. There was a moment of whining super-het; then—
"—a great day and a great crowd, folks!" came an excited voice. "And here comes the next play. The Wranglers have the ball on their own eighteen yard line, second and ten to go—"
"That's it!" roared Cap Hanson exuberantly. "By golly, that's it! Biggs, maybe you're not the dope I think you are!"
But the shocks weren't over yet. You remember I told you the Wranglers were strongly favored to take the Rocketeers down the ramps? Well—this was evidently just another example that in a traditional battle anything can happen—and usually does!
We had had the radio on barely five minutes when the Rocketeers blocked a Wrangler kick, fell on it, and took possession on the Wrangler nine yard line. In two power plays the eleven from Cap Hanson's academy had plunged over for a touchdown. One minute later they made the conversion and the score was 7-0 for the supposed underdogs.