"Guess we'd better squeeze out of here and go break the glad news," said
Bruce, "He's up there fairly eating his heart out."

"The race is on," muttered Barney, as they hurried up the bank.

"The race is on," echoed the Major, a few minutes later, as he walked the
floor in high glee.

"Yes, sir, it is," said Barney, "and a good clean race it will be if Dave
Tower is skipper of that submarine. I never knew a squarer fellow."

The Major, limbering up his wireless instruments, sent a message
snap-snapping across the frozen expanse.

"What you doing?" asked Barney.

"Just letting that foxy old rival of mine know I got his message and that
I'm on the job," chuckled the Major. "I'll get off other messages every
three hours for a time."

"Would you mind mentioning my name in the message?" asked Barney. "You
see, I've got a date for a little jazz with Dave up at the Pole, and I'd
like him to know I'm planning to keep the appointment."

The Major chuckled again, and included this in his message:

"Barney Menter, pilot."

The party at the Aleutian station caught the Major's second sending of