“C. Q.” or, In the Wireless House
generating a current that is thrown off in waves whenever I close the circuit.”
The instrument was whirring like an aeroplane about to fly, and, when Micky pressed his key, crackled with a blue flame that made the girl jump.
“That’s nothing,” he grinned; “I ’m just sending out a few ‘CQ’s’—that ’s the call for ‘all stations,’ you know—to let the other fellows know I ’m alive. Hello! There ’s Morrissy already. He wants some ‘V’s’—letters so he can tune in.” Bz-bz—bz. “Now I ’m giving him ‘HS’—‘How are my signals?’—‘Signals good and strong,’ he says. You see, he’s tuned into my wave-length already by varying the capacity of his condenser and inductance. You have to send out the ‘V’s’ anyhow to test your spark.”
Micky was working his key rapidly, and now broke into a laugh.
“I asked him if he had forgotten about that shilling sixpence, and he said if I ’d run over he ’d give it to me.”
“How far off is he?” she asked wonderingly.
“Only about two hundred and fifty miles.”
335
