He snapped the aerial switch into sending, began to “jiggle” the key alphabetically, and the spark leaped with successive spits across the gap.

“Cub’s got his goat back,” Hal remarked with a knowing look at Bud.

The latter grinned and nodded his concurrence.

CHAPTER VIII

Mathematics or Geography?

But the morning proved to be a poor time for communication by radio for two reasons.  First, the atmosphere was warm, a poor condition for the transmission of ether waves, and after all, night time is the ideal season for such doings.  Second, comparatively few amateurs were sitting in at this time of the day, although vacation had arrived and closed the schoolhouse doors.

Cub kept up his efforts for an hour, with virtually no success.  Although he succeeded in communicating with half a dozen “hams”, only one of them had listened-in to any of the messages that passed between the Catwhisker boys and the two Canadian radio contestants, and he was able to throw no light on the “mystery”.  At last he gave it up for the time being, and joined the other Catwhiskerites on deck for a period of sightseeing enjoyment.

They cruised about among the islands most of the day, stopping here and there to inspect some apparently unclaimed scene of enchantment, or visiting various places exploited for gain by private interests as centers of entertainment and recreation.  They circumnavigated Wellesly Island, making short stops at several points of interest and at about 4:30 p.m. tied up in a quiet shelter overhung by a low-limbed tamarack and cast their baited fishhooks into the water for a “brain-food” supper.  This was not more than half a mile from the tie-up where they passed their first night in the Thousand Islands.  The finny fellows bit greedily and in a short time they had enough black bass and pickerel to feed a party twice the size of theirs.

After supper all repaired to the cabin, and the boys donned phones, while Cub started a broadcasting campaign in search of information regarding the two Canadian wireless contestants, who seemed to have made a trio of monkeys out of the three radio motor-boat boys.

“I haven’t much idea what kind of questions to ask or what kind of answers to expect,” he said to his companions; “but here goes my best guess.”

He had selected an intermission period in the atmosphere when the big broadcasting stations were quiet, and then gave the general call and sent out the following: 

“I want help to identify and locate an amateur who figured in mysterious radio affair in last two days.  He said his name was Raymond Flood, that he lived in Kingston, that his call was V A X, and that he was marooned on island in St. Lawrence River.  Can anybody help me?  Call A V L.”

Immediately three amateurs, two in Canada and one in New York State, clamored for a hearing.  Cub wrote down their calls and then took on the one in Kingston first.