CHAPTER XI
A MYSTERIOUS CALL
The winter following the Sargon Valley flood was a busy one for LeeRenaud. The spectacular success of his little "pencil line" radio outfitbrought him considerable newspaper notice. He even had offers from oneor two radio concerns for the outright purchase of his portable model.
But both his staunch friends, Dr. Pendexter and Captain Bartlot, advisedagainst the sale of his rights in the little mechanism he had invented.It was in a crude state now but, developed and improved, it might havethe makings of a fortune in it, especially if it could be advertised ina big way.
So Lee sent in an application to Washington to have his model patented,and then dropped back once more into the oblivion of King's Cove, andhard work.
The mysterious pencil line that had acted in the place of a wireconnection, and so had saved his and Bartlot's lives, had proved to LeeRenaud that there were many hitherto undreamed-of agencies for radioimprovement. The boy longed to experiment in a big way with thosecrystal detectors that act as the electric ear of radio--such aszincite, and bornite, and silicon-antimony. But working with whatmaterials he had, Lee improved his little machine until instead of amere ten-or twenty-mile reach, he stretched its sending power to ahundred, then to two hundred miles.
Lee's vision grew. He dreamed of radio encircling the earth. Since hisown little mechanism had stretched its call to reach on from twenty totwo hundred miles, why couldn't it be improved to reach across frozenwastes of the far north, across jungles, across oceans? Oh, for a chanceto study modern radio! A chance to live with one of those splendid,modern sending machines that concerns backed by huge wealth wereproducing! He had been going it so alone.
It was a blow to young Renaud when he found that Captain Bartlot wasleaving the Gulf Coast, going north for an indefinite stay. Lee had cometo depend greatly on the encouragement and advice of this tall, bronzedman who, for all of his quiet look, had lived through more hairbreadthadventures than most folk even dream could happen.
It was to place his museum collection, which he had spent the betterpart of his life in gathering, that Captain Bartlot was going to NewYork. Before he sailed, though, as a parting gift to Lee Renaud, he laidin the young fellow's hand a bit of odd-looking stone in a tiny box.
"That doesn't look like much of a gift to a fellow who has stood by youon the 'burning deck,' or rather on the sinking housetop," he said witha laugh. "But if you happen to want to turn it into a bit of money foryour experimenting, the Brant-Golden Jewelry Company over in Tiltonwould likely be interested in it."
Some weeks later, when a tall, dark-haired youngster, who had made thetwenty-mile trip to Tilton on horseback, slid the tiny box with the bitof stone in it across the jeweler's counter, the Mr. Brant, ofBrant-Golden, undid the wrappings rather diffidently, emptied thecontents into his hand with a careless flip--then indulged in a shoutand a sort of Indian-dance leap that jounced his pince-nez clear off hisdignified nose.
"Why--er--ah! An ancient Egyptian balas-ruby, cut octahedronal!" Hebalanced it on his palm, turned it so that the facets caught the light,now pale rose, now deepening to orange. "Don't see one in a hundredyears over here. Must be the stone Jan Bartlot was telling me about.Say, young man, I'll give you five hundred dollars for it!"
Lee Renaud opened his mouth--shut it. He was too surprised to sayanything.
"Eight hundred, then, if it's real!" Mr. Brant mistook Lee's silence ofpure surprise as negation of his first offer. Then, as if afraid thestrange ruby might melt in his hand, the jeweler dashed into his testingroom.
The balas-ruby was real, a semi-precious stone. It was the peculiarancient Egyptian glyph, or inscription sign, cut into its back that gavethe stone its triple value.
His head still reeling with amazement, Lee rode back to the Cove with acheck in his pocket--the first eight hundred dollar check he had everseen in his life.
He had not dreamed that Captain Bartlot was making him such a gift. Themoney was a wonderful boon. Not all of it went into radioexperimentation, however. A part of the sum re-roofed Great-uncle Gem'sleaking old mansion. Another part went to Lee's mother back in the NorthAlabama city of Shelton. And there were still some funds left to investin the costly experimental material young Renaud had longed for. Hepushed on continually with his work of trying for distance, trying toamplify the weak sounds that traveled from far places on the mighty pushof electrically generated waves that needed to be magnified andregenerated before the human ear could hear them.
Great-uncle Gem was wrapped up in Lee's work. Every experiment held hiskeenest interest.
"Gadzooks!" snorted the old gentleman. "This radio business has addedten years to my life. I was just drying up and aging for the lack ofinterest in something."
Night after night, old Gem sat before the radio Lee had built for him,keeping in touch with the world without moving out of his armchair.
"Eh, what's that now?" Gem Renaud waved his cane at a queer-lookingmetal tube Lee was bringing in from his workshop. This was a brasscylinder some ten inches long by two inches thick. Caps of a silverymetal closed the ends, and a roll of fine wire was attached to each cap.In his other hand, Lee carried a compact wooden case.
"Just a new type storage cell and some selenium plates for aerial wavecatchers that I want to try out on your radio."
Lee dropped down beside the mechanism and set to work. For an hour andmore, he tapped and screwed and soldered.
"There, that's sort of like it!" He cut on the switch and leanedforward, tense, listening.
Clear as a bell, purer and with less static interference than everbefore, music from a distant station rolled through the room.
"It's those selenium plates," jubilated young Renaud. "They catch thewaves better than any other aerial going!"
Far into the night, he and old Gem sat tinkering, trying this stationand that, enjoying themselves hugely. It was along toward midnight thatthey picked up a strange message out of the air.
"Renaud of the Radio, do you want to go to the Arctic?"
Just that; nothing more.