their own, would fight for life and movement, to the bitter end.
"I haven't picked up anything," answered the thoughtful-eyed man at the operating-table. "And I've been hugging this coherer for four hours."
"Can't you get that dam'ed Puerto Locombia operator?"
"I can keep calling."
"Well, keep at him till he answers. I want to know what they're doin' with that tin-horn republic o' theirs. And as soon as you get anything let me know."
He turned away, looked up at the night, swayed a little, slowly regained his equilibrium, and wandered forward to the darkness of the bridge.
McKinnon's hand went out obediently to the switch, his dynamo purred and hummed, and he caught up the lever-handle of his key. The great blue spark exploded from the coils and leaped and hissed from knob to knob across the spark-gap. "Pt-Ba," "Pt-Ba," he called, perfunctorily.
He looked up to see the restless captain back at his door again, stupidly watching his spark. The operator knew he was calling a dead station, but he played out his part.
"I might do something, if they'd give me a
