oing to build a
radio set of my own that will be a cuckoo."

"Hurrah for you!" exclaimed Bob. "That's a better way to spend your time,
and what a relief it will be for all of us."

"I suppose you think you're kidding me, but you're not," said Herbert.
"I'll make a set this winter that will make you amateurs turn green with
envy. You see if I don't!"

"It will be fine if you do," said Bob. "There's no reason why you
shouldn't if you really want to."

The time passed quickly, and before they realized it they heard the
conductor call the name of their own town.

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Agnes, "are we really there so soon? And I
haven't got any of my things together yet!"

There was great bustle and confusion for a few moments, and then the whole
party found themselves on the familiar platform of the Clintonia station.
Several taxicabs were requisitioned, and they were all whisked away to
their respective homes, after the radio boys had agreed to meet at Bob's
house that evening.

CHAPTER VI

RADIO'S LONG ARM

"Well, fellows," said Bob, when they were together that evening, according
to agreement, "this is the last evening we'll have without lessons for
some time to come, so we'd better make the most of it."

"Don't mention lessons, Bob," implored Jimmy. "Oh, my, how I hate 'em!"
and he groaned dismally.

"You'll soon be doing them, old timer, whether you like them or not," said
Joe. "It's going to be a tough term for me, too. I'll be taking up
geometry this term, and they say that's no cinch."

"Nothing's a cinch for me, worse luck," said Jimmy, dolefully. "Everything
I do seems to be hard work for me."

"That's tough luck, too," said Bob, gravely, "because you hate work so
much, Doughnuts."

"There isn't anybody in the world hates it more," confessed Jimmy,
shamelessly. "But that's all the good it ever does me. Why wasn't I born
rich instead of good looking?"

"Give it up," said Bob. "You'll have to ask me easier ones than that,
Jimmy, if you expect to get an answer. But as far as I can see, people
that are rich don't seem to be especially happy, anyway. Look at old
Abubus Boggs. He's probably the richest man in Clintonia, but nobody ever
accused him of being happy."

"I should say not!" exclaimed Joe. "He goes around looking as though he
had just bitten into an especially sour lemon. Everybody hates him, and I
don't suppose that makes any one happy."

"Maybe that does make old Abubus