Читать книгу Pemrose Lorry, Radio Amateur онлайн

42 страница из 55

“I wish—if only they could pick up a little speech—music—for us,” murmured Una, half her faint-heart in the wood, “if—if ever so dimly—faintly!”

“Speech—music—before six o’clock in the morning! You don’t ask much!” scoffed Pemrose. “I don’t suppose we’ll even get a twitter of telephony—the twitter of an early bird.” She laughed excitedly. “Listen—listen to that early bird, up there, in the tallest pine,” pushing the ear-phones up, “do you know what he’s saying—that brown thrasher? A brown thrasher it is! He’s chanting advice to the farmers:

“‘Shuck it, shuck it, sow it, sow it,

Plow it, plow it, hoe it, hoe it.’

“And he doesn’t know that he’s away behind the times with his old song!” Pemrose’s black brows were lifted archly. “That the air is just full of advice ‘stuff’ about him to which he’s deaf: ships, far out at sea, signaling reports about the weather, local Weather Bureaus sending in radio reports to headquarters—perhaps, we may come in on some of that! Oh! was there ever—ever, before, a time when it was so much better to be a girl than a bird?”