“It’s an island ten miles off shore. Grandfather calls it his retreat. He’s a writer on technical subjects, and an inventor.”
“He has plenty of money,” put in Bess, “so he just writes and invents.”
“And by and by someone gives him money for an invention so he can invent some more,” Beth finished.
“Sounds wonderful!” said Norma. “But what about this thing?” She pointed to the square of light where that expressive hand was opening and closing, pointing and writhing again.
Beth was writing down letters rapidly, so it was Bess who replied in a whisper:
“It’s a great secret. Only Beth, grandfather, and I know about it. Shall I tell her?” She turned to her sister. Beth nodded.
“Cross your heart and hope to die,” Bess whispered impressively. “You won’t tell a soul?”
“Not a soul—cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Well then—it’s television,” Bess confided. “Only there’s no sound. Words without sound. It’s a perfectly secret way of communication, as long as no one knows about it.”
“But I don’t see—” The hand was still going through its weird motions.