It was mid-afternoon of a cloudy day in early autumn. Sally Scott glided to the one wide window in her room and pulled down the shade. Then, with movements that somehow suggested deep secrecy, she took an oblong, black box, not unlike an overnight bag, from the closet. After placing this with some care on her study table, she pressed a button, and caught the broad side of the box, that, falling away, revealed a neat row of buttons and switches. Above these was an inch-wide opening where a number of spots shone dimly.
After a glance over her shoulder, Sally shook her head, tossing her reddish-brown hair about, fixed her eyes on this strange box and then with her long, slender, nervous fingers threw on a switch, another, and yet another in quick succession. Settling back in her chair, she watched the spots above the switches turn into tiny, gleaming, red lamps that gave off an eerie light.
“Red for blood, black for death,” someone had said to her. She shuddered at the thought.
From the box came a low, humming sound. She turned a switch. The hum increased. She turned it again and once more the hum rose in intensity. This time, however, it was different. Suddenly the hum was broken by a low, indistinct hut—hut—gr—gr—gr—hut—hut—hut.
“Oh!” The girl’s lips parted as a look of surprise and almost of triumph spread over her face.
And then, suddenly, she started to leap from her chair. A key had rattled in the door.
Before she could decide what she should do, the door swung open and someone snapped on a light.
And then a voice said, “Oh! I’m sorry! I’ve been in the bright sunlight. The room seemed completely dark.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” Sally spoke slowly, studying the other girl’s face as she did so. The girl was large and tall. Her hair was jet black. She had a round face and dark, friendly eyes. This much Sally learned at a glance. “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I suppose we are to be roommates.”
“It looks that way,” the other girl agreed. “I just arrived.” She set her bag on the floor.
“I see.” Sally was still thinking her way along. “Then I suppose you don’t know that we are not allowed to have radios in our rooms.”
“No—I—”
“But you see, I have one,” Sally went on. “I suppose I could be sent home for keeping it, but I’m going to chance it. I—I’ve just got to. It—it’s terribly important that I keep it. It—well, you can see it’s not like other radios. It’s got—”
“Red eyes,” the other girl said in a low voice.
“Yes, but that’s not all. You couldn’t listen to a program on it if you tried. It—it’s very different. There are only two others like it in all the world.”
“I see,” said the new girl.
“No, you don’t, see at all,” Sally declared. “You couldn’t possibly. The only question right now is: will you share my secret? Can I count on you?”
“Yes,” the black-haired girl replied simply. And she meant just that. Sally was sure of it.
“Thanks, heaps.” Her eyes shone. “You won’t be sorry. Whatever may happen you’ll not be dragged into it.
“And,” she added after a pause, “there’s nothing really wrong about it, I’m a loyal American citizen, too loyal perhaps, but you see, my father was in the World War, Grandfather at Manila Bay, and all that.”
“My father died in France,” the large, dark-eyed girl said simply. “I was too young to recall him.”
“That was really tough. I’ve had a lot of fun with my dad.
“But excuse me.” Once again Sally’s fingers gripped a knob and the mysterious radio set up a new sort of hum. With a headset clamped over her ears, she listened intently, then said in a low tone:
“Hello. Nancy! Are you there?”
Again she listened, then laughed low.
“I’m sorry, Nancy,” she apologized, speaking through a small mouthpiece. “Something terribly exciting happened. I got something on the shortest wave-length, where nothing’s supposed to be.
“Yes, I did!” she exclaimed. Then: “No! It can’t be! Fifteen minutes. Oh, boy! I’ll have to step on it. I—I’ll be right down. Meet you at the foot of the ladder.”
“What ladder?” the big girl asked in surprise.
“The one from first floor to second, of course. We don’t have stairways in this place, you know, only ladders.” Sally laughed low.
After turning off the switches, Sally snapped the black box shut, then hid it in a dark corner of the closet.
“But I just came up a stairway,” the new girl insisted.
“Oh, no you didn’t!” Sally laughed. “It was a ladder!”
“But—”
“You’re new here so you’ll have to work that one out. I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.” Sally was hastily putting on hat, coat, and gloves. “I’ve got to skip. Have my personal interview in fifteen minutes. That’s where they try to find out what we’re good for. What’s your specialty? Oh, yes, and what’s your name?”
“I’m Barbara Brown. And I’m scared to death for fear they’ll send me home. I haven’t done a thing but sew, and work in a laundry, and cook a little.”
“They’ll find a place for you. Just tell them your life story. Don’t be afraid. You’ll win.”
Sally was out of the room and down the “ladder” before Barbara could have counted ten.
At the foot of the “ladder” she met Nancy McBride, a girl she had known well in the half-forgotten days of high-school basketball.
“It’s perfectly terrible starting out in a new place with a deep secret,” Sally said in a low tone as they hurried away toward the “U.S.S. Mary Sacks” where interviews for all recent recruits were conducted.
“Yes, it is,” Nancy agreed soberly. “A trifle wacky if you’d ask me.”
