in the world" by installing wireless telegraphy at
the bungalow. On the premises was operated a complete electrical plant
that furnished energy enough to send messages for hundreds of miles
along the coast.

For Joe, the mechanical genius of the Motor Boat Club, had always had
a passion for telegraphy. Of late he had gone in in earnest for the
wireless kind, and had rapidly mastered its most essential details.

The bell told when electrical waves were rushing through the air at
marvelous speed, though it did not distinguish between any general
wave and the special call for this bungalow station, which was by the
letters "CBA."

When Joe Dawson went into the room under the tall aerials that hung
from the mast, he expected to listen only to some message not in the
least intended for this station.

Seating himself by the relay, with its Morse register close at hand,
Joe Dawson picked up and adjusted the head-band with its pair of
watch-case receivers. He then hastily picked up a pencil, shoved a pad
of paper close under his hand and listened.

All this he did with a dull, listless air. He had not the slightest
forewarning of the great jolt that was soon to come to himself and
his comrades out of the atmosphere.

The call, whatever it was, had ended. Yet, after a pause of a few
seconds, it began to sound again. Joe's listless air vanished as the
new set of dots and dashes came in, clamoring in clicking haste
against his ear drums.

"To Every Wireless Station--Urgent!" ran the first few words. Joe's
nimble fingers pushed his pencil, recording letter after letter until
these words were down. Then, dropping his pencil for the sending key,
young Dawson transmitted a crashing electric impulse into the air,
flashing through space over hundreds of miles the station signal,
"CBA."

"Have you a fast, seaworthy boat within immediate call?" came back out
of the invisible distance over the ocean.

"A twenty-six-mile sea-going motor boat right at the pier here," Joe
flashed back, again adding his signature, "CBA."

"Good!" came back the answer. "Then listen hard--act quick--life at
stake!"

Joe Dawson not only listened. His thoughts flew with the dots and
dashes of the wireless message; his right hand rushed the pencil in
recording all of that wonderful message as it came to him. It was
tragedy that Dawson wrote down at the dictation of this impatient
operator far out on the Atlantic highways. Almost in the midst of it
c