ifier of the wireless magnifies the sounds that we realize how
many of them our ears fail to hear."

"It's a downright mercy they do!" exclaimed Jerry.

"You're right there, Jerry!" agreed Mr. Crowninshield.

"But how do messages come through such a chaos?" Dick inquired.

"Sometimes they don't," laughed Bob. "But nine cases out of ten they
do because there are ways of combating static interference. You can,
for instance, tune your apparatus to a higher or lower pitch and
thereby escape from the zone where the noise is. That whine you hear
is produced by my turning the tuning knob and increasing our range of
meters. Already with the higher vibration you will notice the hubbub
has lessened."

"Yes, things are ever so much clearer," agreed a chorus of voices.

"That is one way, then, out of the difficulty. There are, in addition,
other mechanical means that can be resorted to when you learn more
about handling the outfit. Suffice it to say that in a general way
whatever tends toward inertia, or a lack of electrical activity,
decreases static interference."

There was a pause in which above the crackling and the wailing of the
instrument a faint sound became audible.

"Gee! Did you hear that?" cried Walter.

"Hush!"

"But I heard a voice quite distinctly."

"Keep still, can't you?" Dick remarked unceremoniously.

Then plainly into the room came the words:

"Station (WGI) Amrad Medford Hillside, Mass. 360 meters. Stand by for
Boston Police reports."

"That is the police news," whispered Dick to Nancy. "Among other
things it gives the automobiles that are lost, their numbers, and a
description of each."

"Want to hear it?" asked Bob of his audience.

"Not unless they can tell us they have found Lola," responded Mr.
Crowninshield promptly.

"Oh, no," his wife hastened to add, "let's not listen to a long
string of crimes. Goodness knows there are enough of them to read in
the papers."

She shook her head warningly at Bob and motioned toward her husband.

"I'd rather hear some music," put in Nancy. "Can't we?"

There was an ascending wail from the tuner.

"Ain't that a band?" cried Jerry excitedly.

"It's an orchestra!" Nancy ejaculated in the same breath.

"It's gone!"

"We'll get it again," was Bob's confident answer as he twirled the
knobs of both tuner and detector.

"There it is!" burst out Jerry. "It's a brass band, as I live!"

"Where do you suppose it is?" speculated Mrs. Crowninshield.