"Jiminy, but this is hot work!" exclaimed Bob Layton, as he laid down the hammer he was using and wiped his perspiring forehead. "Hot is right," agreed his friend, Joe Atwood, as he also took a moment's breathing space. "You might almost think it was August instead of early June. Old Sol must have got mixed up in his calendar." "I'd call it a day and knock off right now if we were doing anything else," remarked Bob. "But, somehow, when I get going on this radio business I can't seem to quit. There's something about this wireless that grips a fellow. Work seems like play." "Same here," said Joe. "I guess we're thirty-third degree radio fans all right. I find myself talking radio, thinking radio, dreaming radio. If there was any such thing as radio breakfast food I'd be eating it." "I'm afraid we'll get thin if we wait for that," laughed Bob, picking up his hammer and resuming work on the aerial that they were stringing on the top of his father's barn. "But come along now, old scout, and get a hustle on. We're going to finish this job to-day if it takes a leg." Joe stretched himself lazily.
