e been the deuce of a row. However, I
took a chance because I felt the emergency demanded it, and because
being one of Uncle Sam's own men he couldn't very well put up the kick
that I was not competent to handle a wireless outfit. Still, I shan't
dare do it again."

"Isn't there anything we can do to hustle up the inspector?" inquired
Dick.

"I'm afraid not, son. Government inspectors are not a hurrying race,"
was Bob's whimsical reply. "However, I telephoned our local man
yesterday and something may happen to-day. He and I used to be on
quite good terms when he occasionally dropped in at Seaver Bay. I told
him that if I could not get a station license pretty soon our whole
outfit would be no good to us this season. He promised he would take
up the matter at once. With that I had to be satisfied. Whether he
does anything or not remains to be seen."

"I suppose O'Connel understands this difficulty, doesn't he?" mused
Dick.

"Oh, he knows, all right, why I can't answer him. I've assured him
that his tidings have come through and that is all he wants to know,"
Bob answered. "He has dealt with the government himself and is
familiar with its deliberate habits. Besides, there really isn't much
we can say."

"Maybe you think that," grinned Dick, "but wait until you tell Dad
that Lola is sick and hear him sputter. You will believe then that
there is quite a bit that can be said. And if you get my mother to add
her comments you will have plenty to relay over the wire."

The prophecy was indeed true, as Bob King proved after he had raced
across the grass and overtaken Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield on a tour of
inspection to the rose gardens.

"News, Bob?" questioned the capitalist, wheeling about to meet the
flying figure. "What is it? Let us have it quickly."

Carefully the message was repeated.

"Off Gloucester, eh, and bound north? Humph! And they've re-christened
the poor little pupsie Trixie! Hang them! O'Connel thinks she isn't
well? Of course she isn't seasick. Lola has been out on our yacht a
hundred times. The reason she won't eat is because she is
lonesome--misses her home and family. The wretches! I wish I had Daly
here! I'd wring his neck," blustered Mr. Crowninshield.

"Isn't there anything we can do, Archibald? We simply must get that
dog back before she dies. Poor little Lola! She was such a dependent
little creature. It is terrible, terrible!"

"There, there, my dear! Don't go all to pieces over it. Ar