It was three minutes past three postmeridian in the operating room ofthe new Wireless Station recently installed at the United States NavalObservatory at Georgetown. Bill Hood, the afternoon operator, wassitting in his shirt sleeves with his receivers at his ears, smoking acorncob pipe and awaiting a call from the flagship _Lincoln_ of theNorth Atlantic Patrol with which, somewhere just off Hatteras, he hadbeen in communication a few moments before. The air was quiet.
Hood was a fat man, and so of course good-natured; but he was seriousabout his work and hated all interfering amateurs. Of late thesewireless pests had become particularly obnoxious, as practicallyeverything was sent out in code and they had nothing with which tooccupy themselves. But it was a hot day and none of them seemed to be atwork. On one side of his desk a tall thermometer indicated that thetemperature of the room was 91 degrees Fahrenheit; on the other a bigclock, connected with some extraneous mechanism by a complicated systemof brass rods and wires, ticked off the minutes and seconds with apeculiar metallic self-consciousness, as if aware of its own importancein being the official timepiece, as far as there was an officialtimepiece, for the entire United States of America.
Hood from time to time tested his converters and detector, and thenresumed his non-official study of the adventures of a great detectivewho pursued the baffling criminal by the aid of all the latestscientific discoveries. Hood thought it was good stuff, although at thesame time he knew, of course, that it was rot. He was a practical man oflittle imagination, and, though the detective did not interest himparticularly, he liked the scientific part of the stories. He wasthrifty, of Scotch-Irish descent, and at two minutes past three hadnever had an adventure in his life. At three minutes past three he beganhis career as one of the celebrities of the world.
As the minute hand of the official clock dropped into its slot somebodycalled the Naval Observatory. The call was so faint as to be barelyaudible, in spite of the fact that Hood's instrument was tuned for athree-thousand-metre wave. Supposing quite naturally that the personcalling had a shorter wave, he gradually cut out the inductance of hisreceiver; but the sound faded out entirely, and he returned to hisoriginal inductance and shunted in his condenser, upon which the callimmediately increased in volume. Evidently the other chap was using abig wave, bigger than Georgetown.
Hood puckered his brows and looked about him. Lying on a shelf above hisinstrument was one of the new ballast coils that Henderson had used withthe long waves from lightning flashes, and he leaned over and connectedthe heavy spiral of closely wound wire, throwing it into his circuit.Instantly the telephones spoke so loud that he could hear the shrill cryof the spark even from where the receivers lay beside him on the table.Quickly fastening them to his ears he listened. The sound was clear,sharp, and metallic, and vastly higher in pitch than a ship's call. Itcouldn't be the _Lincoln_.
"By gum!" muttered Hood. "That fellow must have a twelve-thousand-metrewave length with fifty kilowatts behind it, sure! There ain't anotherstation in the world but this can pick him up!"
"NAA--NAA--NAA," came the call.
Throwing in his rheostat he sent an "O.K" in reply, and waitedexpectantly, pencil in hand. A moment more and he dropped his pencil indisgust.
"Just another bug!" he remarked aloud to the thermometer. "Ought to bepoisoned! What a whale of a wave length, though!"
For several minutes he listened intently, for the amateur was sendinginsistently, repeating everything twice as if he meant business.
"He's a jolly joker all right," muttered Hood, this time to the clock."Must be pretty hard up for something to do!"
Then he laughed out loud and took up the pencil again. This amateur,whoever he was, was almost as good as his detective story. The "bug"called the Naval Observatory once more and began repeating his entiremessage for the third time.
"To all mankind"--he addressed himself modestly--"To all mankind--To allmankind--I am the dictator--of human destiny--Through the earth'srotation--I control--day and night--summer and winter--I commandthe--cessation of hostilities and--the abolition of war upon theglobe--I appoint the--United States--as my agent for this purpose--Asevidence of my power I shall increase the length of the day--frommidnight to midnight--of Thursday, July 22d, by the period of fiveminutes.--PAX."
The jolly joker, having repeated thus his extraordinary message to allmankind, stopped sending.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" gasped Bill Hood. Then he wound up his magneticdetector and sent an answering challenge into the ether.
"Can--the--funny--stuff!" he snapped. "And tune out--or--we'llrevoke--your license!"
"What a gall!" he grunted, folding up the yellow sheet of pad paper uponwhich he had taken down the message to all mankind and thrusting it intohis book for a marker. "All the fools aren't dead yet!"
Then he picked up the _Lincoln_ and got down to real work. The "bug" andhis message passed from memory.