II. The First Kink of the Problem Solved 187
XIX. Helpless in the Northeaster! 196
XX. "C.Q.D! C.Q.D.!--Help!" 207
XXI. The Spark Finds a Friend Through the Gale 219
XXII. Tom Halstead Springs the Climax 230
XXIII. Hank Becomes Really Terrible 244
XXIV. Conclusion 249

THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS

CHAPTER I

A SPARK PUTS THREE BOYS AND A BOAT ON THE JUMP

"Ho, ho, ho--hum!" grumbled Hank Butts, vainly trying to stifle a
prodigious yawn. "This may be what Mr. Seaton calls a vacation on full
pay, but I'd rather work."

"It _is_ fearfully dull, loafing around, in this fashion, on a lonely
island, yet in plain sight of the sea that we long to rove over,"
nodded Captain Tom Halstead of the motor yacht "Restless."

"Yet Hank just put us in mind of the fact that we're getting paid for
our time," laughed Joe Dawson, the least restless of the trio of young
Motor Boat Club boys.

"Oh it's all right on the pay end," agreed Hank, readily. "But just
think of a young fellow, full of life and hope, with a dozen
ambitions and a hustling nature, taking up with a job of this kind!"

"What kind of job?" inquired Captain Tom.

"The job of being bored," answered Butts, solemnly. "I could have had
that kind of job back on Long Island."

"Without the pay," amended Joe Dawson, with another quiet smile.

"But ten days of being bored _does_ grow rather wearisome, even with
the pay for a solace," agreed Tom Halstead.

Ting-ling-ling! The soft jangling of a bell from one of the rooms of
the seashore bungalow, on the porch of which the boys sat, broke in on
them.

"Hurrah, Joe! Hustle and get that message," begged Hank, almost
sitting up straight in the porch chair, with a comical pretense of
excitement. "It's sure to be from Mr. Seaton this time."

"Likely," grinned Joe, as he rose and crossed the porch in leisurely
fashion. The jangling of the bell continued. The bell was a rather
clumsy, yet sufficing device that young Dawson had attached to the
wireless telegraph apparatus.

For, though this bungalow on a little island southwest of Beaufort,
North Carolina, had an appearance of being wholly out of the world,
yet the absent owner, Mr. Powell Seaton, had contrived to put his
place very much "