“Some day, Koku,” the young inventor half promised as he stepped into his laboratory to start anew the test, this time under different circumstances, “I may take another airship trip to your country and let you have all the fash you want.” “By golly, Master, that be good time for me!” cried the giant with a happy laugh. As Tom walked over to the apparatus by which he hoped to produce such startling results, the telephone bell on the instrument that connected the laboratory with the broadcasting studio rang hard. “Hello! What’s the matter?” Tom asked, over the wire. “How long do you want us to keep at this thing?” asked the laughing voice of Ned Newton. “I—oh, dear—whew—I can’t stand this much longer, Tom!” and he went off into another fit of merriment. “Why, what’s the matter?” asked the wondering inventor. “Oh, it’s my partner in the red suit!” chuckled Ned. “He’s cutting up such funny antics that I can’t dance or sing for laughing. How is it coming through?” “I haven’t connected up yet,” Tom answered. “I will in a minute. I was talking to Koku. He’s hungry for fash.” “For fash!” exclaimed Ned wonderingly. “Yes. Don’t you remember those peculiar melons that had such a funny smell and taste? The giants were crazy about them.” “Oh, yes,” Ned answered. “I’d forgotten all about them. But get on with the show. I happen to have a date with Helen to-night.” “I’ll soon release you,” promised Tom. “So Mr. Damon is cutting loose, is he?” “You ought to see him!” chuckled the other performer, and even then Tom caught, over the telephone, snatches of comic songs Mr. Damon was practicing—recollections of his amateur minstrel days. “All right—get set!” advised the inventor. “I’m going to turn on the power now. Keep toward the middle of the stage, for I haven’t got a very wide screen and the focus is narrow. If you get too far to either side I may lose the image and can’t tell whether I’m getting you or not.” “Sure!” was the succinct answer of Ned. Then Tom made the adjustments, turned on the power, and waited. A moment later there came from his loud speaker the tones of Ned and Mr. Damon singing a selection from one of the latest comic operas. The musical accompaniment came from an electrical piano in the studio. “That’s the best and clearest broadcasting I’ve gotten yet!” said Tom, with satisfaction. “But that’s the easiest part of it. Now will the images of the performers come on the screen clearly? That’s the decisive test.” Anxiously, he turned the switch that controlled the projection of moving objects. There was a hissing sound, a slight humming, and then a soft glow illuminated the metallic glass screen in front of Tom Swift. It suffused to a milky whiteness and then, as upon the silver screen in a moving picture theater, but in miniature size, there was projected before Tom’s eyes the figures of Ned and Mr. Damon going through the movements of an eccentric dance as they sang.