THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE U. S. SECRET SERVICE

BOOKS BY

LEWIS E. THEISS

IN CAMP AT FORT BRADY. A Camping Story. 304 pages.

HIS BIG BROTHER. A Story of the Struggles and Triumphs of a Little Son of Liberty. 320 pages.

LUMBERJACK BOB. A Tale of the Alleghanies. 320 pages.

THE WIRELESS PATROL AT CAMP BRADY. A Story of How the Boy Campers, Through Their Knowledge of Wireless, “Did Their Bit.” 320 pages.

THE SECRET WIRELESS. A Story of the Camp Brady Patrol. 320 pages.

THE HIDDEN AERIAL. The Spy Line on the Mountain. 332 pages.

THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AFLOAT. How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs in the Merchant Marine. 320 pages.

THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—AS A FIRE PATROL. The Story of a Young Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire Patrol. 352 pages.

THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR—WITH THE OYSTER FLEET. How Alec Cunningham Won His Way to the Top in the Oyster Business. 328 pages.

Cloth Bound—Illustrated by Colored

Plates and Photographs

The Young Wireless Operator—

With the U. S. Secret Service

WINNING HIS WAY IN THE

SECRET SERVICE

By

LEWIS E. THEISS

ILLUSTRATED BY

FRANK T. MERRILL

W. A. WILDE COMPANY

CHICAGO BOSTON

Copyrighted, 1923,

By W. A. Wilde Company

All rights reserved

The Young Wireless Operator—With the

U. S. Secret Service

Made in U. S. A.

To

FRANCES WARREN THEISS

whose youthful interest in this story, as

it grew, chapter by chapter, has been a

real inspiration to its maker ∷ ∷

Foreword

It may interest readers of The Young Wireless Operator series to know that most of the happenings in these books are based upon actual occurrences. Years ago, as a reporter, the author wrote for the New York Sun the stories of the auction of bled wool, the cotton-lined cabin, the mystery of the wheat sacks, and other accounts of the work of the United States Secret Service, that appear in this present volume. Although some of the characters in the book are of course fictitious, others, like Sheridan of the Secret Service, are real characters who actually did the things they are portrayed as doing. Of course names have been changed. The practice of keeping note-books and clippings that had to do with work the writer was engaged in, has made all this material available for present use, and brought it once more freshly to mind. The descriptions of parts of New York and her wonderful waterways are written from intimate, personal knowledge of the places described. In effect, therefore, The Young Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Secret Service is a true story.

To make all the tales in this series true has been the earnest desire of the writer. That does not mean that every incident described necessarily happened. It does mean that the incidents used are not only possible under the circumstances, but probable, and that the descriptions are exact and accurate. The picture of life portrayed is in each case as exact as careful observation and careful writing can make it.

Before the author prepared the preceding volume of this series, The Young Wireless Operator—With the Oyster Fleet, he first went to the Delaware Bay and made a cruise on an oyster boat, living aboard with the crew and sharing their life and labors. Furthermore, he had lived for twenty years in that country and had spent many weeks, in all, cruising about on oyster boats.

The writing of The Young Wireless Operator—Afloat, which deals with both New York City and ports on the Mexican Gulf was made possible by residence for some months on the Gulf, and through the coöperation of Southern newspaper men. Practically all the incidents related concerning the tidal wave that destroyed Corpus Christi are stories of actual occurrences, gathered by newspaper men on the spot. Most of the ships described in that story are real vessels and were actually afloat at the time and in the positions given to them by the author. The wireless stations and wireless calls are also real.

Before writing The Young Wireless Operator—As a Fire Patrol, the writer spent many days in the forest with a District Forester, studying the actual working of the Pennsylvania State Forestry system, though in earlier years he had spent weeks camping and tramping in those same mountain forests. Many of the incidents used in the book were contributed by forest rangers. The manuscript of the book was read and approved by both the District Forester and Gifford Pinchot, then Pennsylvania Commissioner of Forestry and now Governor of Pennsylvania, in order that there might be no mistakes in the text. Mr. Pinchot also showed his approval of the book by writing a foreword for it.

This present wireless series really had its inception, years ago, with the appearance of In Camp at Fort Brady. Readers of that book showed so much interest in some of the characters that, when it came to writing further volumes, the author naturally went on with the history of some of those boys. Thus Roy Mercer and Alec Cunningham and Charley Russell and Willie Brown, who have figured in The Young Wireless Operator series, are really old acquaintances, and made their first appearance in In Camp at Fort Brady, and their next in The Secret Wireless and in The Hidden Aerial. The later volumes have dealt with individual members of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol rather than with the Patrol as a whole. The author has become as much interested in this band of boys as he hopes any of his readers has. And it is his plan to go on with these individual histories until we know what became of each boy.

Lewis Edwin Theiss.

Otzinachson, Muncy, Pa.

January 29, 1923.

The Young Wireless Operator—

With the U.S. Secret Service

CHAPTER I
AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY

The coastwise steamer Lycoming was being warped into her berth along the Hudson River in New York City. A fussy, little tug was pushing against the Lycoming’s bow, while other puffing, bustling tugs butted the great ship astern, in an effort to swing the vessel at right angles to the stream and push her into her dock. On the Lycoming’s lower deck sailors stood ready to cast great hawsers ashore the moment the ship should be within reach of the pier. As motionless as though he were a part of the ship itself, the captain stood on the bridge, silent and watchful, giving occasional orders. The upper decks were alive with passengers, who swarmed to the rail, eagerly scanning the faces of the still distant crowd on the pier. Now some passenger identified the face of a friend ashore, and again some one waiting on the pier discovered a friend on board the steamer, and cheery greetings were called back and forth across the ever-narrowing strip of muddy water that separated the great ship from her pier.

As the vessel slid nearer, the excitement increased. More and more persons on shipboard and on the pier recognized friends and called to them. A very babel of voices arose. The scuffling and tramping of feet intensified the noise. Passengers descended to the lower decks and the people on the pier crowded forward toward the waiting gangplank. The tugs snorted and puffed, churning the water into yeasty foam. From the pier came the rumble and rattle of little hand trucks and the crash and bang of boxes and cases, which a gang of stevedores was piling in a corner for shipment. Outside arose the roar of the street traffic—the clatter of iron shod hoofs on hard paving-stones, the throbbing and churning of innumerable motors, the rattle of trucks and wagons, and the shrill cries of newsies, street venders, taxi drivers, and baggage porters.

The huge steamer was almost in her berth, and the sailors were in the very act of casting their lines ashore, when the door of the wireless cabin, a snug little structure perched on the very top deck of the Lycoming, swung open, and a trim young man, dressed in a well-fitting uniform of the Marconi Service, stepped to the side of the ship. He was the wireless operator, and in his hand he carried a pair of powerful binoculars. Steadying himself against the rail, he slowly swept his glance along the line of faces that fringed the pier. Presently his glasses came to rest. For a single moment they remained stationary. Then the wireless man slipped his binoculars into his pocket, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, and leaned over the rail, giving a long, peculiar whistle. It was the signal of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol. Apparently the signal was unheard. When the wireless man repeated it, a youthful face, almost hidden by the people on the pier, was upturned. A smile came on the waiting lad’s face. His arms shot up in silent greeting.

“Come to the gangway,” shouted the wireless man through his cupped hands.

There was a little commotion in the crowd on the pier, as the lad to whom the wireless man had called tried to force his way through the crowd toward the gangway. But he was so small, being scarcely larger than a boy, in fact, that he could hardly press forward through the crowd. The heavy suit case he carried made it all the more difficult for him. While the lad was still struggling toward the gangplank, the wireless man slipped down ladder and stairs with the grace and agility of a cat, and within a few seconds stood on the lower deck beside the sailors, who were waiting to make fast the gangplank.

“Just let that little fellow there come aboard,” said the wireless man, pointing to his friend who was still struggling to get through the crowd.

“Aye, aye, Mr. Mercer,” called back a husky hand on the dock, who stood ready to help shove the gangplank into place. Then, turning around, the huge fellow shouldered his way through the crowd, whisked the suit case out of the little lad’s hand, and opened a way for him through the press. In another moment the gangplank was run out and made fast; and before the little lad knew what was happening, he and his suit case were bundled up the gangplank and aboard ship. A second later the eager passengers were pouring down the gangway in a torrent.

Eagerly the visiting lad caught the outstretched hand of the wireless man, and they stepped to one side, out of the way. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Willie Brown,” said the wireless man, shaking his friend’s hand again and again. “Gee! But I sure am glad to see you.”

“You can’t be any more pleased to see me than I am to see you, Roy.” Then the little visitor drew back a pace and admired his friend. “Gee whiz!” he said. “Just look at your fine uniform. I guess it’s true that clothes make the man. Why, I heard that dock hand even call you Mister. Think of that! You don’t catch me calling you Mister, even if you are the wireless operator. You’re just plain Roy Mercer of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol to me.”

The wireless operator laughed gleefully. “You bet you won’t call me Mr. Mercer. I’d chuck you overboard if you did. But come on. Let’s get out of this. We’ll go to the wireless cabin where we can talk without interruption.”

He picked up his visitor’s suit case. Then he turned toward his friend with an expression of astonishment on his face. “Whatever have you got in that suit case, Willie Brown?” he asked. “It’s as heavy as a ton of bricks.”

“I’ve got my wireless set in it, Roy, and a bunch of fresh batteries.”

“Your wireless set! Well, of all the fool ideas! To bring your dinky home-made wireless outfit with you, when the Lycoming has one of the most up-to-date equipment money can buy! But I don’t care if you’ve got a crocodile in your suit case. It’s you I’m interested in, Willie. Gee whiz! It does seem good to see you. Tell me about the rest of the bunch. How are they?”

“Fine as silk,” said Willie.

By this time they had reached the wireless house. Willie’s eyes opened wide in astonishment as he saw the magnificent wireless outfit. “Whew!” he whistled. “That’s a dandy set. Won’t you show it to me?”

“Sure,” said Roy, “but first tell me about the fellows at home. How’s the Wireless Patrol coming on? And what are the fellows all doing? Tell me about them.”

“There is mighty little to tell you that you don’t already know, Roy. We’ve told you by wireless everything that’s worth telling. Charley Russell is still a forest ranger and doing well. He’s getting ahead fast. And Alec is making good in the oyster business. We had a letter from him telling us how you saved him and his friends when their ship became disabled in a storm in the Delaware Bay and drifted to sea. That was a wonderful rescue, Roy. Gee whiz! We fellows of the Wireless Patrol were proud of you.”

“Rats! I hadn’t anything to do with the rescue. Captain Lansford is the man who saved Alec and his friends. I merely caught his SOS.”

“We know all about how much you had to do with it. We know that Alec would never have been saved if you hadn’t been at your post, doing your duty. We know——”

“Forget it, Willie, and tell me about the bunch. I’m crazy to know all about them.”

“Well, I was just running through the list. Next comes Roy Mercer,” and Willie’s eyes twinkled. “He’s become famous as the wireless operator——”

Willie dodged just in time to miss a book that Roy shied at him. “Tell me something about yourself, Willie. It’s some time now since Commencement, and I suppose you have a fine job all salted away for autumn delivery. What are you going to do with yourself, Willie?”

All the joy went out of Willie’s face. His eyes sought the floor. “I—I—I—I haven’t anything in prospect, Roy,” he said gloomily.

“You’re too particular, Willie. A fellow can’t always get the job he wants just at the start.”

“I can’t get any job at all, Roy. That’s the hard part of it.”

“Get out! A boy with your ability and with a high school diploma and with your good record as a student! Of course you can get a job. You’re too particular, that’s all.”

“If only that was the case, Roy, I’d be the happiest fellow in the world. But it isn’t a matter of being particular. I can’t get any job at all.”

Poor Willie looked so sober that Roy laughed outright. Then, seeing the hurt look on Willie’s face, he said: “Forgive me, Willie. But you pulled such a funny face I just couldn’t help laughing. And anyway, I know you’re mistaken. Why, business men everywhere are constantly on the lookout for bright young fellows like you, Willie.”

For a long time Willie was silent. “Perhaps they are,” he admitted gloomily. “But they want them lar—lar”—he appeared almost to choke over the word—“they want them larger.”

“Well, I’ll be switched,” cried Roy, getting to his feet in indignation. “If that doesn’t beat the band. As though size had anything to do with a fellow’s ability. I just can’t believe it, Willie. Have you really tried to get a place?”

“Tried? Why, Roy, I’ve applied to every business man in Central City for a job. And they all tell me the same thing. They’re willing to hire me as an errand boy or to cut grass or weed onions, but not one of them wanted to give me a job worth anything.”

“Did they tell you so? Are you sure you didn’t imagine all this?”

“Absolutely. Why, old man Gulliver, who owns the big department store, told me flatly that he couldn’t afford to put me behind a counter because his customers would be offended by being waited upon by a boy. Nothing I could say would make him change his mind. He said the customers would judge by appearances.”

“Why, Willie, those men are crazy. There isn’t a keener boy in Central City than you. Great guns! Those fellows know how the Wireless Patrol captured the German dynamiters at the Elk City reservoir, and they know that you were one of the four boys that Captain Hardy picked from the entire patrol, to track those fellows to their lair. What do you suppose Captain Hardy did that for, anyway? Your size certainly was against you in that desperate business. And it was your brains alone that finally brought success to us. And everybody in Central City knows about our search here in New York during the war for the secret wireless. Great heavens! Does anybody suppose you would have been one of the four fellows selected for that job if you hadn’t had brains? Why, Willie, the Secret Service really owes it to you that they were able to find the secret wireless and nab the German spy who was operating it.”

At the words Secret Service, Willie looked up. “There’s what I’d like to do,” he said, “but I’ll never get a chance.”

“What? Secret Service work?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t think of anybody I ever knew who is better qualified for that sort of work, Willie. You had us all skinned a mile when it came to tracking and trailing and observing things. The rest of us were a bunch of blind men alongside of you. Nothing ever was missed by you; and you never forgot anything you saw. And you almost always knew what things meant, too. We would all see something and the rest of us would stand looking at it like a set of wooden men, and you would tell us what it meant. Honest, Willie, those Central City business men are so stupid they’re funny.”

“Maybe they are,” said Willie, ruefully, “but laughing at them won’t help me to get a job.”

“Did you ever try to do any detective work in Central City?”

“Of course I didn’t. You know how much chance there is to do that sort of thing in a little town like Central City. Why, people would have thought I was nutty for sure. They would have thought I had been reading dime novels.”

“Guess you are right, Willie, and it’s a good thing you didn’t attempt it. Yet I’m sure you have the qualifications. I hadn’t thought about you in that connection before; but I can see how your ability fits you for the work. You remember the time we discovered some smuggling taking place aboard this very boat——”

“The time you discovered it,” corrected Willie.

“No interruptions now. I have the floor. You remember I wrote you about the smuggling. One of the Secret Service men that came to investigate the matter said that good detective work was nothing but close observation, correct thinking, and persistence. And I believe it. And I never knew anybody that could hold a candle to you for close observation.”

“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Willie.

“Well, it’s true, and sooner or later you’ll get a chance to use your powers of observation the way you want to. But in the meantime, don’t you worry about a job. We’ll make this trip to Galveston and back, and we’ll have a corking good time. And when we come back I’ll try to get you a job. You’re a mighty good wireless man for an amateur, and with a little help I can give you, you’d soon be competent to take a job.”

“Gee! If you could get me a job, Roy, I’d be grateful to you to my dying day. I don’t care what it is. I’d take anything, so it was a job. Later on I could perhaps find just the sort of job I want. And you needn’t be afraid to recommend me, Roy. I’d make good.”

“Of course you would. There isn’t any question about that. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to get a fellow a job if I thought he wouldn’t make good.”

Just then the door of the wireless house opened, and a grinning, white-headed, old darky thrust his head through the doorway. “De puhsuh’s compliments, Mr. Mercer, and he say could you help him a bit he’d be ’bliged to you.”

“Tell the purser I’ll be with him in a moment. And hold on, Sam. Just step in here. I want you to know my old friend, Mr. Brown. We went to school together and have been friends all our lives. Willie is going to make the next trip with us, Sam, and there isn’t anything on this boat too good for him. Do you understand?”

“’Deed I does, Mr. Mercer. ’Deed I does, suh. It’s a pleasure to do anything for a friend of yours, Mr. Mercer.” And the grinning darky advanced and shook Willie’s proffered hand with seeming pleasure.

“Thank you, Sam. Thank you. Please tell Mr. Robbins that I’ll be there in a moment.”

The colored steward withdrew. Roy turned to Willie. “I’m sorry, Willie,” he said, “but I shall have to leave you for a little while. I offered to help the purser with some manifests, as soon as I had my telegrams off. He doesn’t know you are here, of course, or he wouldn’t have sent Sam up.”

“I notice you are aces high on this ship, Roy,” said Willie. “And I understand it all right enough. It’s that old trick of yours of being nice to everybody. No wonder they all like you.”

“You understand about this matter, Willie, don’t you?” replied Roy, ignoring his friend’s remark. “I’m just as sorry as I can be that I have to leave you. It’ll take me an hour or two with the purser. Just make yourself at home. As soon as I get done, I’ll show you the wireless outfit, as you asked me to. Ought to have done it right off, anyway. You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Willie?”

“Beat it,” said Willie. “You don’t owe me any excuses. I’m a million times obliged to you merely for the opportunity to be here, let alone being entertained. I’ll take a stroll while you’re helping the purser. I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so.”

Roy accompanied his guest to the pier, made sure that the men on guard would know him so that Willie would have no difficulty in getting back aboard the ship, and hurried away to the purser’s office.

Once on land, Willie drew a little to one side, out of the way of the traffic, to take a good look about him. Wonderful was the scene that greeted his eye. Although Willie lived in central Pennsylvania, the scene was familiar enough to him. As Roy had said, Willie was one of the four members of the Wireless Patrol who had spent some time in New York during the war, running down the secret wireless of a German spy. During that visit he had become well acquainted with New York—he had to become well acquainted with it, in fact, as part of the preparation for the work to be done. So now he felt entirely at home.

Yet always he was thrilled by the sight of the teeming activities of this great, roaring city. Being from an inland town, he especially liked the water-front, and all its suggestive activities. The coming and going of huge, laden drays and trucks, with their mysterious bales and boxes, always fired his imagination. What was in these commonplace containers, and whence had it come or whither might it be going? To what strange lands might not some of these packages of merchandise eventually come, and in what curious ways might they not travel? Chinese sampans might eventually bear some of these goods up brawling Chinese rivers; camel trains might carry them over the burning desert; elephants might convey a portion of this merchandise through Indian jungles or long safaris of African porters struggle through the dark continent with some part of these products on their heads.

Always it fired Willie’s imagination to see this stirring life along the water-front. And a powerful imagination was one of Willie’s most precious gifts. It was this imagination that had given him the power Roy ascribed to him of being able to interpret things correctly, for Willie did possess that ability in an astonishing degree. Constantly his imagination was at play, working upon anything that caught his eye; just as now, in the things that most of those passing near him saw only as boxes or bundles, he was seeing camel trains crossing the desert, and other sights equally delightful.

No wonder Willie loved this wonderful waterfront, with its argosies from the seven seas; and no wonder that now, after gazing for a time at the flow of traffic before him, he darted across the street and turned south toward the Battery. Powerful memories drew him that way. He must see once more the Staten Island ferry, by which he had so often journeyed to Staten Island during that never-to-be-forgotten spy hunt. And the Aquarium, with its unbelievably odd and curious fish life; the fire-boat, lying ready to dash off to a blaze at a second’s notice; the harbor police-station, with its trim little police boat; and in the distance that grand old memorial of the thing he and all his fellow Americans had so desperately fought for—Liberty—all these things and a hundred others drew him along the water-front as irresistibly as a magnet draws a needle.

Slowly he made his way along, passing from pier to pier, reveling in everything he saw, yet always eager to go a bit farther and see a bit more. So he made his way along the Hudson, through old Battery Park, past the ferry landing and on to the East River front. How he delighted in the East River front! Here were assembled the old and the odd and the curious water-craft. In place of the majestic ocean liners, Willie here found public docks full of canal-boats. And here were sailing vessels, with their masts towering aloft. And, of course, there were innumerable steamships, too, though the East River was too cramped to accommodate the largest. But it was the sailing ships and the canal-boats that most attracted Willie.

Presently he came to an open pier that fairly gripped him. No moving-picture show, no storybook, no tale of mouth, ever was more fascinating than the scene on this pier. Canal-boats lay in the dock, dozens and dozens of them. And sailing ships were moored near by, to add picturesqueness to the view. River-craft of all sorts were plowing the East River. Up-stream a little way ferry-boats were shuttling back and forth to Brooklyn. Occasionally a big steamer passed by. Long strings of canal-boats, towed by tugs, forged slowly along. Innumerable lighters, convoyed by other puffing tugs, buffeted the waves. Floats, bearing laden freight-cars, went clumsily past. Occasional motor-boats scooted noisily by, and even a lone oarsman in a rowboat was visible, working his way against the current.

Out on the pier went Willie. Fascinated, he gazed about him. How the stirring life before him stimulated and thrilled him. Indeed, he hardly felt like the little country lad who had just come to New York to take a steamship voyage as the guest of an old chum. His spirit was like the eagle’s. He soared over vast distances, and saw strange lands. He was a globe-trotter, a world traveler. And in truth, Willie actually saw more of the world, standing on that East River pier than some folks do who circle it; for there be many who, having eyes, see not. Indeed, Willie not only saw, but also heard and even smelled and tasted; for the wind was bringing to him the delicious aroma from the near-by coffee-roasting establishments, and the ravishing odor of freshly made cocoa, and the scent of perfumes, and other odd and curious smells so tropical of this part of old New York. Willie had read of the perfumes of the Orient, but he doubted if they were any more pleasing than some of the odors that now assailed his nostrils.

Presently Willie became conscious of the fact that he was tired. He had been on his feet a long time, for he had stood on the pier for two or three hours before the Lycoming docked. The paving-stones and the wooden planks of the pier suddenly felt very hard to his feet. He sought for a place to rest. At one side of the pier some lumber was piled. Willie made his way to it. At the river end there was a sort of little recess in the pile, where some short lengths of board had been put in the centre of the lumber. A projecting plank or two made a comfortable seat. Willie sank down in this snug nook with a sigh of relief and comfort. His feet were really very tired. He found the wind was shut off by the lumber, too, and that was welcome, for the day was far along and it was growing cool. In perfect comfort Willie now sat in his little retreat, watching the river life before him. Without realizing it, Willie had chosen an observation post where he could hardly be observed himself, so well was he snuggled down among the projecting lengths of lumber.

As the afternoon waned, the activities on the pier almost ceased. In fact, the place was practically deserted. Out toward the end of the pier Willie had casually noticed an old fellow who was aimlessly walking about. He appeared to be a tramp. Willie would never have given him a second thought had the man not suddenly disappeared. Willie was not watching him, and in fact was not directly conscious of the man’s presence on the pier; yet suddenly Willie’s subconsciousness told him that something was missing from the picture before him. That startled Willie into conscious mental effort. What was that something and why had it disappeared?

Now Willie brought into play that mental gift he had used to such good effect in the hunt for the German dynamiters at Elk City. His comrades of the Wireless Patrol always said that Willie had a mental photograph in his head of anything he had ever looked at. He did, too. Perhaps everybody has. But Willie was able to visualize a scene as few people are able. He could see not only the broad outlines of a remembered picture, but also the minute details. And that ability, originally native, had been developed to a wonderful degree by practice. Lacking size, Willie had taken the only possible means of putting himself on a par with his fellows. He had developed his wits.

So now, startled through his subconsciousness, he sat bolt upright and began to concentrate on the problem before him. Something had suddenly disappeared from the picture. What was it? He drove his memory over the back track, and presently he saw the old tramp wandering about. And he was able to remember even the very spot where he had last seen the tramp. Willie gave a sigh of relief when he made this discovery, for he was troubled lest the old fellow might have tumbled overboard. He was certain he had last seen the man just beside a big pile of boxes near the centre of the pier.

For a moment Willie dismissed the matter from his mind. Then into his head popped the question: “Why did that tramp disappear so suddenly?”

Again Willie was afire with a problem. He turned the matter over in a hundred ways, and at length decided that the tramp had crawled into the pile of boxes, even as he, Willie, had snuggled down among the lumber, for rest. Likely the old fellow had found a snug berth to catch a little sleep. More than likely there were tarpaulins there, and the fellow had crawled into a bunch of them. They would both keep him warm and make a fairly soft place to rest. Yes, that was undoubtedly the reason. Willie was satisfied that he had solved the problem. He had no doubt that if he nosed about the pile of boxes, he would find the old fellow snug inside. But that was the last thing Willie thought of doing. Even a tramp had a right to sleep.

Presently men began to gather on the pier again. Some of them came up over the side of the pier, from canal-boats in the dock. Others came from shore. Willie guessed at once that they were barge captains. At least, such men are called captains. They live on the barges with their families and look after the craft for the owners. Usually they are a rough set, and these particular canal-boat captains now gathering on the pier were no exception. Willie looked at them closely and decided that he would not want to be at their mercy if they were angry at him. They looked like a desperate lot, and Willie could not help feeling that they must be as desperate as they looked. Certainly they led irresponsible lives, for they were here to-day and gone to-morrow, their homes being wherever fate and a cargo took their craft. How easy it would be for them to make away with an enemy. The water-front was dark and the rushing tide so near at hand. A silent blow, a quick push over the end of a pier, and there was the end of some one. And more than once, Willie knew, that had been the end of some one. He had read of such cases and heard of others.

The more Willie thought about these men, the more interested he became in them. It was his old habit asserting itself. He had given rein to his imagination. And he was picturing to himself the evil side of canal-boat life. And evil enough Willie knew it could be. More than once, when he was working to trace the secret wireless of that German spy, he had been told about the piratical river life led by some of these bargemen. Enormous amounts of property they carried in their barges, and not all of it, Willie knew, reached its rightful destination.

While Willie was wondering about these things, his eyes were focused on the growing group of river-men before him. Suddenly he became aware that they were gathering in a circle. They were drawing close together, right beside the pile of boxes where Willie believed the tramp was curled up. Willie had had no interest in the tramp previously, but now he suddenly felt the keenest sympathy for him. Closer together drew the bargemen, and Willie could see that they were discussing something. Probably, he thought, they were plotting a robbery of some float or lighter. And if they were, and if they discovered the tramp concealed so close at hand, they would instantly suspect him of being an eavesdropper. And what they would do to him Willie did not even like to imagine. He hoped the tramp would keep quiet and lie low.

Either the tramp was already asleep, or was possessed of discretion, for no sign of him was to be seen. Dusk was coming fast, and Willie should have returned to the Lycoming, but, like the tramp, he hated to move. Though he was at some distance from the gang of boatmen, they might nevertheless think he was spying on them. So he snuggled down closer than ever in the lumber pile and watched. Presently the group of bargemen broke up, and the various canal-boat captains and others started to go their separate ways.

“Don’t forget,” Willie heard the man who had done most of the talking say. “To-morrow night. And it will be rich pickings for somebody.”

The speaker slid over the side of the pier to a canal-boat. To other boats and toward the street the other members of the gang made their way. In a few moments the pier was vacant.

“Now for the Lycoming,” thought Willie. “Roy will think I’m lost.”

He started to rise, then sank back quickly in his seat. Something was moving in the pile of boxes. Willie looked intently. A head was thrust quickly up among the boxes. It was the tramp. He took a quick look around, saw that the pier was deserted, and leaped from his place of concealment. Willie did the same. There was no reason why he should delay a moment longer in getting back to the Lycoming. But before he had taken a dozen paces, the tramp was beside him. The tramp opened a wallet and took out a crisp dollar bill.

“If you will send a telephone message for me,” he said, “the change from this bill is yours.”

“Sure,” said Willie, too much astonished even to question the man.

“Run to the nearest ’phone. There’s one in that building over there. Call this number and say that Sheridan wants a man to help him at once in the neighborhood of South Street and Coenties Slip. If there’s any answer, try to find me. I’ll probably be in some of these sailors’ hangouts along the water-front. There’ll be another dollar in it if you get me.”

Into Willie’s hand the man thrust the crisp dollar bill and a piece of cardboard. Then he turned abruptly away and hurried up South Street. Willie shoved the bill into his pocket and took a look at the telephone number on the piece of pasteboard. Then he gave a sharp cry. The figures in his hand were the secret call of the United States Secret Service in New York. He knew that number because it had been given to him when he was engaged in the search for the secret wireless.

CHAPTER II
AN ADVENTURE WITH A SECRET SERVICE MAN

Willie was fairly paralyzed with astonishment. For a moment he stood staring dumbly at the card in his hand. Then he comprehended the situation. The man who had given him the cardboard was not a tramp, but a Secret Service agent; and his name was Sheridan. Something crooked was afoot among the bargemen, even as Willie had fancied might be the case. Sheridan was trailing the conspirators and needed help. At that thought, Willie’s indecision dropped from him like a cloak. He must act. Like a shot he started for the place Sheridan had pointed out, where there was a public telephone.

As he ran, he looked up South Street. The thoroughfare was full of vehicles and people. Still Willie could distinguish the bargemen from the remainder of the crowd, although they were now well up the street. Sheridan was not far away, and yet Willie had almost more difficulty in recognizing him than in distinguishing the bargemen farther up the street. Of course, there were several of the latter, and that made a difference. Sheridan was a single individual. But Willie quickly divined why there was this difference. Sheridan was keeping in close to the buildings, where he was much less conspicuous than persons in the middle of the walk.

Willie had no time to consider the matter, however, for he had reached the place where he was to telephone. He took a last, sharp look up the street, and saw the bargemen just entering a door. Willie tried to determine exactly which building they were entering. Then he turned and stepped through the door before him.

He found himself in a typical South Street ship-chandlery. About him were ropes, compasses, lanterns, rubber coats, chains, anchors, and other nautical equipment. A clerk stepped forward.

“Do you have a public telephone?” inquired Willie.

“In the booth over there,” said the clerk, pointing across the room.

The clerk paid no further attention to Willie, who stepped into the booth, closed the door, dropped a nickel into the slot, and called his number. Immediately came the reply.

“Sheridan wants a man to help him at once in the neighborhood of South Street and Coenties Slip,” said Willie.

“Is this Sheridan speaking?” came the query.

“No. This is a messenger for Sheridan.”

“Hold the wire a moment, please.” And a little later the voice added: “Tell Sheridan there isn’t a single operative here at present. We’ll send him help if anybody comes in.”

Willie hung up the receiver but remained in the booth, thinking. Sheridan might need help badly. Those bargemen looked like a desperate lot. Yet the office could send him no aid. Possibly he himself could give Sheridan some help. At that thought, Willie’s heart beat wildly. “I’ll try,” said Willie to himself, “and at any rate I must get the message to Sheridan.”

He left the ship-chandler’s and hurried up South Street. Diligently he studied the moving crowd ahead of him. Nowhere could he see any one that resembled either the bargemen or the Secret Service man. Willie felt certain that the latter would be not far from the former. He was equally confident of his own ability to recognize the place the bargemen had entered. He cast about in his mind for possible ways to help Sheridan. Presently he became so excited that he found himself running. At once he took a grip on himself.

“This won’t do,” he muttered. “Above all things you must not do anything to attract attention to yourself. If you are going to be of any use to Sheridan, you’ll have to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.” At once Willie dropped to a walk and became a cipher in the mass of people moving along the sidewalk. Before it seemed possible, he reached the building into which he was sure the bargemen had disappeared. He knew it by its wooden awning and peculiar dormer-windows.

Something about the place made it seem sinister and forbidding. The building was badly battered, as though it had had hard usage at the hands of hard men. Heavy curtains hung inside the lower sash of each window, as though to conceal something questionable within.

If Willie was right, the bargemen were within this building. Possibly Sheridan was also, though it was quite as likely he might merely be in the neighborhood, keeping watch until the bargemen should come out. So Willie began to scout around for Sheridan. He looked in every likely place he could think of—every accessible place from which a man could see the door of the suspected house and not be easily seen himself. But nowhere could Willie find a trace of Sheridan.

“He’s in that house,” said Willie to himself. “He wants to do more than merely follow those fellows. He wants to hear what they say. It’s up to me to go in and give him the message.”

But here was a difficulty. How should he go about it? He might much better not deliver the message than do anything that would draw attention to Sheridan or possibly put him in danger. Willie had no idea what sort of a place this building was. There was no sign outside to tell him, or rather the sign was so old and weather-beaten as to be actually undecipherable. It might be a private house, or a store, or a saloon, even though saloons were no longer supposed to exist. Or it might be a club or a shop or any one of a hundred things. Suppose he went in and did not see Sheridan? What was he to do? He mustn’t ask for him. That would give the whole thing away. And then there were his own clothes to be considered. If he went into a place like this tough looking house before him, dressed as he was now, with his shoes shined and his trousers creased, he would instantly attract attention. He must find some way out of the difficulty.

Willie was fairly at his wit’s end when somebody bumped into him. He wheeled about to see who had shoved him. It was a ragged newsy.

“Sun! Woild! Joinal!” shrieked the lad, paying no attention to Willie.

For a moment Willie stood looking at the ragamuffin. Then he sprang after him and touched him on the shoulder. “Give you a dollar for your coat and papers, and trade you caps,” said Willie, briefly.

The newsy looked at him in astonishment. “What’s your game, pardner?” he asked.

“Never mind,” said Willie with a smile. “I’ve got use for just such a cap and coat. If I can get them from you, it will save me a trip to Baxter Street.” And Willie held out the crisp dollar bill Sheridan had given him.

“I guess you’re a wise guy all right,” commented the newsy. “It’s a go.”

He gave Willie his few papers. Then he shoved the dollar bill into his trousers’ pocket, peeled off his coat, and handed it to Willie. An exchange of caps followed.

“Much obliged to you,” said Willie.

“Hope they help you,” said the newsy. “Wish I knowed what your game is anyway. Me for Sheeny Ike’s now. I kin get a new coat and my supper and a night’s lodgin’ out o’ this dollar. So long.”

Willie smiled good-bye. When the newsy turned away, he darted around the corner and bolted into the first vacant hallway he came to.

The lad that emerged from that hallway a moment later bore little resemblance to the boy who had entered it. The ragged old coat that Willie had obtained was many sizes too large for him, even as it had been for the newsy, and it effectually concealed Willie’s own coat. His neat, well-creased trousers looked strangely at variance with the coat, but Willie remedied that in a moment. Some ash cans stood by the curb. It took very little of the ashes to spoil the good appearance of both his trousers and his shoes. It came hard to Willie to soil his clothes this way, even though he knew the dust would brush out; for these were the best clothes he owned. A few smears of dirt on his face, and the old, torn cap completed the change so effectively that Willie would hardly have known himself could he have looked in a mirror. As for selling papers, that was nothing new at all for Willie. He had sold papers for years at home, when he was a bit younger.

Satisfied that his appearance was right for the business in hand, Willie promptly entered the house. It proved to be just what Willie suspected—a saloon; though it was run under the guise of a coffee-house. Willie was satisfied of that the moment he entered the door.

Before him he saw many small, round tables, with men seated about them. At a larger table in one corner were the bargemen. And Willie’s heart went pitapat when one of them looked at him and scowled savagely. But Willie felt reassured when the man began to quarrel with one of his fellows. The scowl was evidently not meant for Willie. Nowhere could Willie discover Sheridan. He was not able to see every one in the place, however, for some partitions extended out a little way from the street wall where a partition wall had evidently been partly removed to enlarge the dining-room. He must get a look at the space shut off by these partitions.

Quietly Willie began to move about among the tables, offering his papers for sale. All went well until a waiter, coming from the kitchen with a tray of food, espied him.

“Get out of here,” he thundered. But, having his hands full, he could not chase the newsy out.

“Can’t a fellow get a bite to eat here?” demanded Willie.

The waiter gave him a surly look. “Be quick about it,” he said. “This ain’t a kindergarten.”

Willie walked rapidly past the jutting partitions, apparently looking for a vacant table. Every table was in use. But just behind one of the partitions was a table at which only one diner was seated. Willie hardly wanted to sit down at the same table, for the man was obviously drunk. He was slouched down in his chair, and his cap had slid far down over his face. Before him were some steaming platters of food. But when Willie stepped a little closer his reluctance suddenly disappeared. He recognized the battered old clothes the drunken man was wearing. It was the same suit of clothes Willie had seen on the tramp that crawled out of the box pile on the pier. Willie comprehended the situation in a second. The bargemen were at the table immediately on one side of the partition, and the tramp at the table on the other side. He had picked out a spot where he could hear the bargemen, but could not be seen by them.

The tramp looked up sharply enough as Willie took the vacant seat opposite him. In a moment he apparently roused himself and began eating his supper. Willie saw plainly enough that Sheridan recognized him. But at first Willie made no effort to speak to him. Presently everybody seemed to be talking loudly at the same time, and the bargemen were quarreling noisily among themselves. There was a perfect babel of voices.

“There was nobody to send,” whispered Willie across the table. “They will send help if anybody comes in.”

The Secret Service man nodded comprehension. “Eat your supper and go out. Watch for somebody from the office. Wait for me,” whispered Sheridan. Then he went to eating noisily and paid no attention whatever to Willie.

The latter ordered some coffee and doughnuts, ate them, paid the waiter, and went out. Nobody paid the least attention to him.

Once outside, Willie breathed freely again. Though nothing alarming had happened to him in the restaurant, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement all the time he was inside the place. Now he felt as though he could not keep quiet another instant. He wanted to run or shout or do something violent to give vent to his feelings. Yet he didn’t want to do anything that would draw undesirable attention to himself. Just then he thought of his papers.

“Sun! Woild! Joinal!” he cried, imitating as nearly as he could the gutter English of the newsies. He ran about among the crowd, now here, now there, crying his papers, but making few sales.

Presently he worked off his excitement and suddenly he thought of Roy. “Gee whiz!” he muttered to himself. “I forgot all about Roy. He’ll be bothered to death about me. He probably will think I’ve gotten into trouble. I must telephone him at once.”

He looked closely up and down the street, to see if any one in sight looked like a Secret Service man, then scurried along the street, looking for a telephone-booth. Soon he saw one in a shop, and in another moment he was speaking to the watchman at the Lycoming’s pier. The watchman said he would tell Mr. Mercer that his friend was unavoidably delayed, but was all right, and would be home during the evening, and that Mr. Mercer should eat his supper without his friend.

With his mind relieved about Roy, Willie returned to his vigil outside the evil-looking coffee-house. The street became deserted. Darkness had long since come and the street lamps had been lighted. It made Willie’s job both harder and easier. The deep shadows rendered concealment easy. On the other hand, the stirring life of the city had disappeared. There was little of interest to arrest the attention, and Willie’s vigil grew tiresome enough. He kept his eyes open for passers-by who might prove to be possible helpers for Sheridan, but every one went briskly past, as though he had a definite destination and was in a hurry to reach it.

To Willie it seemed as though it must be nearly midnight, though it was really scarcely eight o’clock, when a group of men came noisily out of the coffee-house and headed down South Street. Willie knew them instantly, though in the dim light he could not distinguish faces. They were the bargemen. He was almost minded to follow them. Then he thought better of it. Sheridan would trail them, if it were necessary. So Willie stood still in the shadowy hallway where he was watching, and waited. In a few moments the tramp came out, and Willie was afraid the man really was intoxicated, so uncertainly did he start out. But when Willie ran up to him, crying, “Paper! Sun! Woild! Joinal!” the Secret Service man got control of his faculties quickly enough.

“Go round the corner,” he muttered, “and meet me under the elevated.”

Willie went on down the street, turned the corner, and walked to Pearl Street. There he waited in the shadow beside a pillar of the elevated railway. Presently Sheridan came round the other corner of the block and joined him.

Willie was all afire with curiosity. He wanted to ask his companion a thousand questions, but had discretion enough to keep quiet.

“See here, kid,” said the Secret Service man. “What’s your name?”

“Willie Brown.”

“What part of town do you live in?”

“I live in Central City, Pennsylvania. I’m just visiting in New York. Got here this afternoon.”

The Secret Service man stopped and looked at his companion searchingly.

“Well, you’re the cleverest country kid I ever saw. What made you try to disguise yourself and slip your message to me so quietly, just as though I was doing detective work?”

“Why, you are doing detective work,” said Willie. “You’re a United States Secret Service man.”

The man laughed. “Whatever gave you such an idea?” he said.

“The telephone number you gave me was the secret call of the Secret Service,” said Willie.

Willie could feel his companion’s eyes fairly boring through him. “Look here,” the man said. “Where do you get all these funny ideas?”

“You needn’t try to deceive me,” said Willie. “I know you are a Secret Service man and I know you are watching those bargemen.”

“If you know so much,” said the man, “tell me how you know it.”

“That’s easy,” said Willie. “I worked with the Secret Service myself during the war and I know their secret number. The minute you gave me that number I guessed what you were and what you were up to.”

“What did you ever do for the Secret Service?” demanded Willie’s companion, plainly astonished.

“Do you remember the search for that German spy with the secret wireless? And do you remember that little bunch of boys from the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol that came here to help the Secret Service when you were so hard pressed?”

“I sure do. Were you one of those fellows?”

“Surest thing you know,” said Willie.

“Well, shake hands. It’s no use to try to fool you any longer. I am a Secret Service man as you know. And I’m after that gang of canal boat men. I’m mightily obliged to you for your help to-night.”

“It was mighty little help I gave you,” said Willie, “though I’d have been glad to help you if I could.”

“You were a good deal of help. A fellow always likes to know he has somebody near that he can rely on. Nothing turned up, to be sure, but if those fellows had tumbled to who I was, I’d have needed you all right enough—and a whole platoon of cops beside.” And the Secret Service man chuckled.

“What—what are those bargemen up to?” asked Willie, with some hesitation.

“Wool smuggling. The case doesn’t amount to much itself, but it may help us to solve some matters that do amount to a great deal. But you haven’t told me yet how you got those old rags you have on and how you found me.”

“That’s easy,” laughed Willie. “I watched the bargemen go up the street until they turned in at the coffee-house. So I felt sure I knew where you would be. And after I had telephoned to the office and gotten an answer for you, I came across a ragged newsy. I knew my own clothes might attract attention in a place like that coffee-house, and I gave the newsy your dollar bill for his outfit. That’s how I became a newsy myself.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot of sense, kid. You’d make a good Secret Service man yourself.”

“Do you really think so?” cried Willie, his heart beginning to beat fast.

“Haven’t any doubt of it.”

“Do you think I could get a job with the Secret Service?”

“See here. Have you been reading dime novels?”

“No, indeed. But I would like to be a Secret Service man more than anything else I know of.”

“I don’t believe you’d have much chance. You know the government wants only experienced, trustworthy operatives for the Secret Service. And besides, you’re too young. When you grow up, you might work into something of that sort.”

Willie’s hopes fell with a crash. There was the same old difficulty again. He was too small. He could hardly keep the tears back, as he replied, “But why should a fellow’s size make any difference?”

“Who said it did?” replied the Secret Service man. “I said you were too young, not too small. Now, after you get into high school and finish your course there, you might have a show to become an office boy.”

“Get into high school!” cried Willie. “Why, I was graduated from high school last June. You think I’m just a kid because I’m so—so little.”

“The deuce you say! A high school graduate. Well, you don’t look it.”

“Yes,” said Willie, seeing that he must strike now, while the iron was hot. “And I was graduated with honors. I’ve had pretty good experience with wireless and I can send and receive almost as fast as a professional. You know about our work here in finding the secret wireless. Before we helped in that spy hunt, we ran down some German dynamiters up in Pennsylvania, we fellows of the Wireless Patrol, and I had a hand in that. You see, I’ve had some experience already, and I’m sure I can learn fast. Isn’t there any job I could get with the Secret Service?”

“They might take you on as an office boy,” suggested Sheridan.

Office boy! There it was again. The same difficulty Willie had been bumping into ever since his graduation. Everybody thought he was fit only to be an office boy. His face grew very dark.

“What’s the use of going to school and studying hard,” he cried, “if all the benefit you get from it is to qualify as an office boy. Why, I could have had a job as an office boy years ago.”

The detective’s face hardened a bit. “I began at the bottom myself,” he said, “and so far as I know, so did every other operative in the service.”

“You don’t understand,” cried Willie. “I don’t mean that I am unwilling to begin at the bottom. But being an office boy is another thing.”

“Not necessarily,” said the detective. “They can’t take anybody into the government Secret Service as an operative until they are sure of his ability and honesty. If you can get a job in the office, you’ll get a chance to show what’s in you. And if you are cut out to be a detective, I don’t know of any better way to get into the United States Secret Service.”

Willie still looked rueful. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said bitterly, “if I couldn’t even get a job as an office boy.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to be a Secret Service man after all, if you knew a little better what is involved in the work. It isn’t all fun and it isn’t all as easy as this little trick of to-day. It’s always dangerous, and sometimes it’s hard and disagreeable.”

“But how am I ever to know what it is like, if I can’t get a chance to try my hand at it?”

Detective Sheridan looked at Willie long and searchingly. “I believe you’re a good lad,” he said, “and I believe you would make good. You showed me to-day that you have some stuff in you. I didn’t need your help, but if I had needed it, I believe you would have stuck to me.”

“Of course I would!” cried Willie.

“So I am indebted to you, anyway, for it’s quite evident that you didn’t try to serve me just for the money I offered you. In fact, you spent what I gave you, and I haven’t yet given you the other dollar I promised you.” And Detective Sheridan reached for his pocket.

“Keep your money,” said Willie. “I won’t take it. I didn’t take the first dollar because I wanted it, but because I was so astonished when you gave me that telephone number that I forgot about everything else.”

“It’s evident that you don’t belong in New York,” said the detective with a smile, as he thrust his wallet back into his coat pocket. “If you won’t take money, perhaps I can repay you in a way you will like even better. We’re going to grab this wool-smuggling barge captain to-morrow. How’d you like to have a hand in that?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Sure. You’ve had a hand in the case, and you might as well be in at the finish.”

“That will be bully!” cried Willie. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go home and keep your mouth shut. And by the way, where are you staying?”

“I’m a guest on board the Confederated liner Lycoming.”

“The deuce you are! That’s Captain Lansford’s boat. We had a case over there some time back. Some Mexicans tried to smuggle in some stuff. The police got them red-handed, but we went over to make a further investigation. They’ve got a slick young wireless man on that ship. I believe he discovered the smugglers at work.”

“That’s Roy Mercer!” cried Willie, with pride. “I’m his guest. We’re both members of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol, and he was one of the fellows who helped run down the secret wireless here in New York.”

“I understand he’s a good one. The purser was telling me how he saved the Lycoming by wireless from colliding with another steamer in a fog.”

“You bet he’s a good one,” said Willie, loyally.

“Well,” said the detective, “I’ll see you to-morrow in time for our little party. Good-bye.”

“Where shall I meet you?”

“Oh! I have some business in your neighborhood and I’ll stop for you some time in the late afternoon. Good luck to you. Take care of yourself. And remember not to give the thing away. We want to get these wool smugglers right.”

CHAPTER III
A TIP BY WIRELESS

So elated was Willie at the prospect of taking a further part in the wool smuggling case that he forgot his tattered appearance until he reached the Lycoming’s pier and attempted to enter it. Then he was brought up sharp by the curt query of the watchman: “What do you want?”

At first Willie did not comprehend why he was halted so peremptorily. But when he remembered about his ragged coat and torn cap he understood readily enough. He laughed, and stripping off his coat and cap, said: “No wonder you didn’t know me. I’m the fellow from Pennsylvania that’s visiting Mr. Mercer. He introduced us when I went out and I telephoned you to tell Mr. Mercer I couldn’t get back to supper. Don’t you remember me?”

“Sure I know ye now,” said the watchman, “but whativer be ye doin’ in thim togs?”

“Oh! I gave a newsy some money to get himself a better coat with,” laughed Willie, “and he gave me the old one. I put it on to see how I’d look.”

“Well, it does not improve your appearance,” replied the watchman, “and if ye want to keep out of trouble ye’d better wear it on a clothes hook in your cupboard, so ye had. Whativer happened to your pants, lad?”

“I bumped into an ash can on the sidewalk,” said Willie.

The watchman chuckled. “Look out ye don’t buy no goold bricks,” he said.

“I’ll be careful,” laughed Willie, and he went on down the pier. “He takes me for a greeny,” he said to himself.

Willie boarded the Lycoming and hustled up to the wireless house. But before entering, he once more put on his newsy’s coat and cap. Then he opened the door and stepped in.

“Hello, Roy,” he called.

“Hello, yourself,” replied Roy. He was busy at his wireless and for a moment he did not look up. “Glad you got back. Whatever kept you?”

Willie closed the door and stood where the light shone full on him. He remained there grinning, until Roy glanced around at him.

“What in the mischief happened to your clothes, Willie?” exclaimed Roy, springing to his feet.

“Nothing,” said Willie gravely. “This is my favorite disguise. I’m Hawkshaw, the detective, you know. Been out trailing thieves.”

“What’s all this nonsense?” demanded Roy. “What happened to you? Get into a fight?”

Willie told him all about his adventure of the afternoon.

“Well, I’ll be switched,” said Roy. “First thing you know, you’ll be doing real Secret Service work.”

“To-morrow,” said Willie. “We’re going to close in on those fellows and pinch them to-morrow.”

“Get out!” said Roy. “You’re kidding me.”

“Fact!” replied Willie. And he told his friend about the plan to nab the wool smugglers on the following day.

“Sounds good,” said Roy. “But what I don’t understand is why they let you in on it.”

“That’s candy for good behavior,” said Willie. “You know they always give children sweetmeats when they’re good.” But there was a bitter tone to the joke.

“What do you mean, Willie?”

“It’s the same old story, Roy.” And now Willie’s voice was full of bitterness. “I helped Sheridan out, and I believe I did as well as most men would have done. But when I spoke to him about a job, I got the same old answer: You’re too small.”

“Did he really tell you that, Willie? I should think your size would almost be a help to you in Secret Service work. You can pass for a small boy so readily. And small boys can be mighty useful in detective work, because nobody pays much attention to them.”

“He didn’t exactly say that, Roy. He put it even worse. He said that after I had gotten into high school and finished a course there, and had grown up a bit, then there might be an opening for me in the Secret Service as an”—Willie hung his head—“as an office boy! What do you think of that, Roy? Isn’t it tough to be so small?”

Roy ignored the question. “I’ll say that’s bully!” he cried. “It doesn’t make a particle of difference where you find an entrance, Willie, so you get in. If you still want to be a Secret Service man, take the office boy job. They’ll find out soon enough that you’re more than an office boy. Take any chance you can find to get into the service, even if you have to start by sweeping floors and washing windows.”

“It’s all very well for you to say that, Roy. But you never did it yourself. You never had a bit of trouble to land a job, and you got a full-sized man’s job when you were only through high school. I’ve gone through high school, too, and I can hardly get a boy’s job.”

“You don’t look at it right, Willie. There are thousands of men in the country who can’t get any jobs at all. And they are known to be experienced. Nobody knows what you can do—except the fellows of the Wireless Patrol. We all know you’re a wiz, Willie. You take my advice and grab this office boy job. Then you can show them what you can do. And once they know, you’ll get your chance all right enough. Why, the world is crying out for fellows who can deliver the goods.”

“But I don’t have any assurance that I can get even an office boy’s job, Roy. Sheridan just told me that maybe, if I grew bigger, I might have a chance.”

“Now see here, Willie. You’ll go nutty if you keep harping on that old string. You’ve been out of high school two or three months, and because you haven’t been made president of the United States yet, you go around snuffling like a fellow with hay-fever. Cut it out. You’ll get your chance, and you’ll make good when you do. But don’t get everybody sore on you in the meantime. Now tell me what you are going to do about those wool smugglers to-morrow.”

“Gee! I wish I knew. I don’t know a thing about it except what I have already told you. I don’t know how or where they smuggled in the wool, or how Sheridan intends to nab them. All I know is that he said I could go along.”

“Maybe it will be your chance, Willie.”

“If it is, I’ll be ready for it. Now won’t you show me your wireless?”

They turned to the shining instruments on Roy’s operating table. Eagerly Willie examined each instrument from key to aerial. “They’re fine!” he cried. “Gee! It must be bully to work with such a set.”

“Try it,” smiled Roy. “Maybe you can pick up something interesting.”

Eagerly Willie plumped himself down in the operator’s chair, adjusted the receivers to his ears, threw over the switch and began to tune in. And as suddenly he snatched off the headpiece and jumped from the chair.

“I’ll couple up my own receivers, Roy,” he said, “and then we can both listen in.”

Willie dragged his heavy suit case out, threw open the cover, and quickly uncoupled the receivers from the wireless outfit in the case. In a moment he and Roy had coupled this additional headpiece to the Lycoming’s outfit. Roy drew up another chair, and the two sat down at the table and adjusted their headpieces. Roy considerately let Willie work the instruments, giving him, from time to time, such directions as seemed necessary.

When first Willie threw over the switch and began to tune in, the air seemed like a very bedlam. The headpieces screeched and wailed. Innumerable buzzings sounded. Spoken words could distinctly be heard. Yet the whole was an undecipherable jargon. But once Willie had gauged his instruments correctly, he soon made harmony out of discord. He was really a very good operator for an amateur, and he quickly began to pick up individual messages and shut out waves of conflicting length. Delighted, he listened to operator after operator, tuning in, now to messages in one wave-length, now to those in another.

“That’s the Brooklyn Navy Yard,” said Roy, as a powerful, whining note suddenly shrieked through the air. “They’re calling for the coast guard cutter Modoc. And that’s Cape May calling. I’d know both those calls in my sleep. I get so close to both those stations that the operators almost seem to be in the cabin here with me.”

“You called Cape May the time you rescued Alec, didn’t you? He wrote us about it.”

“Yes; we had to get a tug to tow his boat into Cape May Harbor after we had picked it up.”

After they had listened in silence for a few moments Roy said, “That’s the New York Marconi Station,” as another powerful wireless voice spoke out. “Isn’t that operator a peach? He can send like a streak. Just listen to him.”

Now they heard ships at sea, first one and then another. The Mallory liner Lampasas, somewhere off the Atlantic Coast, was sending out messages for passengers. Nearer at hand, another coastwise steamer, the Cherokee, of the Clyde Line, was calling her New York office. From far out on the ocean came other voices. The White Star liner Majestic, largest vessel afloat, was relaying commercial messages received from ships far behind her on the highway from Europe to America. The Cunarder Berengaria was informing its New York office about some repairs made to its bow plates after a slight collision off the English coast. The Kroonland was shrieking out a call for the City of Paris, but getting no reply. Very, very faintly sounded in their receivers a whispering message from the Atlantic Transport steamer Minnetonka.

“She must be far out on the ocean,” said Roy, after he had told Willie what ship was calling. “We can barely hear her.”

For a long time they sat silent before the wireless table, listening to the myriad voices in the air. Then a step was heard, and the door of the wireless house opened. The purser appeared at the door.

“Come in,” cried Roy, and he was about to snatch the receivers from his head and jump up to welcome his visitor, when a message that was sounding in his ear held him motionless. “Watch for J. Simonski. Diamonds,” said the message.

“Did you hear that, Willie?” called Roy. “That’s a message from the White Star liner Majestic. It’s from a treasury agent aboard, and he’s tipping off the Secret Service here to watch for a smuggler named Simonski. They’ll nab that gentleman at the pier, when he tries to bring his diamonds ashore.”

“Is that how they do it?” cried Willie. “Why, that’s as easy as rolling off a log.”

“Yes—after you know how,” said Roy. “The agent on the ship has somehow got to find out that Simonski has the diamonds, before he can inform on him.”

“And that,” said Willie, “is a gray horse of another color. Gee! I wonder how he did it.”

Roy threw down his receivers, and rose to welcome the purser. Willie switched off his instrument and followed Roy’s example. He was introduced to the purser. Presently Roy turned another switch, juggled some buttons on a black box, and music began to sound. At one end of his table, partly concealed by a screen-like partition, was a radio outfit. The purser had come up to listen to the evening’s radio entertainment and Roy had tuned in to WJZ, the broadcasting station at Newark. Presently Sam brought some cakes and hot coffee, and the three friends sat for a long time listening to the music. Then the purser went down to his quarters, and Willie and Roy crowded into Roy’s bunk. But it was a long time before Willie could get to sleep. He was thinking of the morrow, and what it might possibly mean to him.

CHAPTER IV
THE CAPTURE OF THE WOOL SMUGGLERS

Except for the watchman, not a soul was astir about the Lycoming when Willie awoke the next morning. Eagerly he rose and dressed. Even with a multitude of interesting things about him to occupy the hours, he could hardly wait to resume the pursuit of the wool smugglers. But somehow he managed to pass the day, though as the afternoon waned his impatience increased visibly. When supper-time came and Sheridan had not yet appeared, Willie was almost in despair. He felt certain the Secret Service man had decided not to take him on the adventure.