"Distance doesn't make much difference," declared Bob. "Already
they've talked across the Atlantic Ocean."

"Not amateurs?" objected Joe incredulously.

"Yes, even amateurs," affirmed Bob. "My dad was reading in the papers
the other night about a man in New Jersey who was talking to a friend
near by and told him that he was going to play a phonograph record
for him. A man over in Scotland, over three thousand miles away, heard
every word he said and heard the music of the phonograph too. A ship
two thousand miles out on the Atlantic heard the same record, and so
did another ship in a harbor in Central America. Of course, the paper
said, that was only a freak, and amateur sets couldn't do that once
in a million times. But it did it that time, all right. I tell you,
fellows, that wireless telephone is a wonder. Talk about the stories
of the Arabian Nights! They aren't in it."

There was a loud guffaw behind the lads, accompanied by snickers,
and the friends turned around to see three boys following them.

One of them, who was apparently the leader of the trio, was a big,
unwieldy boy of sixteen, a year older and considerably larger than
Bob and Joe. His eyes were close together, and he had a look of
coarseness and arrogance that denoted the bully. Buck Looker, as
he was called--his first name was Buckley--was generally unpopular
among the boys, but as he was the son of one of the richest men of
the town he usually had one or two cronies who hung about him for what
they could get. One of these, Carl Lutz, an unwholesome looking boy,
somewhat younger than Buck, was walking beside him, and on the side
nearer the curb was Terry Mooney, the youngest of the three, a boy