As they entered they heard Frank speaking into the transmitter say:
“Here he is, Mr. Ransome. Just a minute.” Pulling the headpiece from his ears, Frank proffered it to Mr. Hampton, while getting to his feet.
“What’s going on? Who have you?” questioned Mr. Hampton, still bewildered. But at the same time he accepted the proffered instrument, while Jack thrust him into the camp chair vacated by Frank.
“It’s the English trader we met at Kisumu,” responded Frank. “He’s calling for you. Says he’s called every night for a week over the station at Entebbe where he is now located. But he’ll explain. Talk to him.”
Pulling the transmitter toward him, Mr. Hampton obediently called “Hello.”
Then Bob, unable longer to control his impatience, seized Frank and pulled him outside.
“Now tell me what’s going on,” he commanded. “I don’t want to speak in there for fear of disturbing Mr. Hampton. But what’s this all about?”
It had grown appreciably darker in the short interval since Bob had entered the tent, for once the sun goes down in equatorial Africa night comes on apace. But the light of the lantern fell through the opening upon Frank who stood holding back the flap and listening to what Mr. Hampton was saying inside, and this light showed his eyes ablaze with excitement.
He turned to Bob as if reluctant to discontinue trying to hear what the older man seated at the radio transmitter was saying. Then he grinned at big Bob’s exasperation.
“Listen, old thing,” he said. “We’re in luck.”
“Yes, of the biggest kind. The man on the other end of the line is none other than the Englishman we met at Kisumu.”
“Well, what of it? Why don’t you tell me what he said?” Big Bob’s exasperation at this teasing grew apace.
“He’s been calling every night for a week from Entebbe in the hope that we would pick him up. But as you know we haven’t been using the radio much, and so we haven’t happened to hear him.”
“All right,” said Bob, his patience thoroughly exhausted. “I heard that. Now will you talk turkey?” And reaching out a big arm, he pulled Frank against his chest and began to knuckle his head with his free hand in the familiar fashion known as administering the “Dutch rub.”
“Ouch. Leggo, you big bully,” gasped Frank. “Will you talk straight?”