Don shook his head uneasily. The Foxes had been in the lead ever since the last contest. If they won again, they would be out so far in front that it would be almost impossible to catch them.
It was time for the Morse. Tim put his flag under his arm and went out to his station. Ritter went along to read the message to him, word for word, so that there would be no loss of time. Bobbie, at the receiving end, was to write the message as Don called him the letters.
Ritter tore open the envelope and took out the paper.
"How long?" Tim demanded.
"Eleven words." Tim reached out his hand and Ritter drew back. "Never mind reading it. Just send what I give you. You won't get twisted thinking about the next word, because you won't know what it is."
Tim did not argue. He could see Bobbie lying on the ground with pad and pencil, and Don crouched on one knee above him. Gee! when would the bugle blow?
"Don't go too fast," Ritter said huskily.
Tim scarcely heard. He and Don had made no mistakes the last time they practiced. How would it be now on the day of the real thing?
"T-a-a-a-a, ta, ta," sounded the bugle.
"Every—" cried Ritter.