The Brighton Boys in the Radio Service | Page 2

what you've written there is the truth."
"Ain't it--I mean isn't it?" added the delicate Slim Goodwin, and, partly to hide his grammatical error, but mostly to express his enthusiasm, he gave Joe a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound whack on the back that sent him sliding out of the chair and half way under the typewriter table.
"Say!" Joe remonstrated. But just then Philip Burton, telegraph operator and genial good friend of all three of the lads, bustled into the room, a sheaf of yellow telegrams in his hand.
"What's all the excitement?" he asked, striding toward the typewriter just left by Jerry.
"Why," explained Slim, "Joe's just done something that means something."
"Impossible," said Mr. Burton, turning toward them with one of those irresistible smiles which long ago had made him the boys' confidant.
"If you don't believe it, read this," commanded Jerry, thrusting the paper before the telegrapher's eyes.
Mr. Burton read it through and then turned to the three boys again. "Well?" he asked.
"It means what it says," explained Jerry. "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country."
"And we're 'good men,' ain't--aren't we?" demanded Slim, drawing in his stomach and throwing out his chest as he straightened up to his full five-feet-four-inches "in his gym suit."
"None better anywhere," said Mr. Burton in a tone that showed he meant it. "But just how do you contemplate going to the aid of your country?"
It was Joe's turn to say something, and he did. "By enlisting," he announced, briefly but firmly.
"Yes," agreed Slim, "that's it, by enlisting."
"Uh-huh," said Jerry, nodding his head vigorously and watching Mr. Burton's face for evidence of the effect of their decision.
"And when did you determine upon that?" the telegrapher asked, with increasing interest.
"Well," said Slim, his face now painfully red from his efforts to keep chest out and stomach in, "it was finally decided upon just now, although we have talked about the thing in a general way many times."
"You really mean to enlist--all three of you?" Mr. Burton demanded.
"Yes, sir," they chorused, "all three."
"Good!" exclaimed the man who had been their friend and helper. "Fine! I'm proud of you," and he proceeded to shake hands heartily with each in turn.
"Have you decided upon the branch of the service you intend to enter?" he then asked.
Joe looked at Jerry, Jerry looked at Slim, and Slim cast a helpless glance back at Joe.
"I see you haven't," said Mr. Burton hastily, "and I'm glad of it. Now how about the Signal Corps?"
"What do men in the Signal Corps do?" asked Jerry.
"Do they fight?" demanded Slim.
"Yes," Mr. Burton replied, "they do some fighting on their own account, and often in tough places and against discouraging odds. But they do even more than that. Without their assistance no general would dare lay plans for a battle. The Signal Corps keeps the commanders posted, not only as to the whereabouts and disposition of his own troops, but also of those of the enemy. The Signal Corps is the telephone, the telegraph, the wireless, and often the aviation section as well, of the American army, and often of the American navy, too."
"Isn't that great?" exclaimed the breathless Slim, as Mr. Burton went over to the ticker to answer the code call for his station.
During the ten minutes that he was engaged in receiving and sending messages, the boys perfected plans for notifying their relatives of their intention. Had their attention not been so entirely taken by the subject under discussion they would have seen Herbert Wallace--another and very unpopular student at Brighton--pass by the office window, stop for a moment to stare at them, and then step away quickly in the direction of the door, near which they were standing.
"Well, what's the verdict?" asked Mr. Burton, having finished his duties.
"The Signal Corps is our choice," said Joe, speaking for all, "but how do we go about getting into it?"
"I think I can arrange that," Mr. Burton informed them. "You boys have been studying telegraphy under me for more than six months, and I'm willing to certify that each of you can now handle an instrument. In addition to that, you are able to take down messages on the typewriter as they come over the wire. Yes, sir," Mr. Burton finished, "I think your Uncle Sam will be mighty glad to get three such lads as you, and I know the recruiting agent to put the thing through."
So it was arranged that the three lads should return to the dormitory, write the letters which were to procure them the desired permission to enlist, and then inform the headmaster of their intentions.
Joe and Jerry, who had roomed together throughout their entire three years at Brighton, already were well on with their epistles of explanation when Slim, whose room was seven doors down the corridor, dragged