SOLANDER'S
RADIO TOMB
By ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
"Pigs Is Pigs" Butler quite surpasses himselfin this story. The intricacies in radio are sogreat, and the changes occur so quickly thatno one can afford to make a will wherein aradio provision figures. Once we thought of havinga radio loud speaker installed in our coffinto keep us company and make it less lonesome.After reading this story we quickly changedour mind. The possibilities are too various.
I first met Mr. RemingtonSolander shortly after I installedmy first radio set. I wasgoing in to New York on the8:15 A.M. train and was sittingwith my friend Murchison and,as a matter of course, we weretalking radio. I had just told Murchisonthat he was a lunkheadednoodle and that for two centsI would poke him in the jaw,and that even a pin-headed idiotought to know that a tube setwas better than a crystal set.To this Murchison had repliedthat that settled it. He said hehad always known I was a moron,and now he was sure of it.
"If you had enough brains tofill a hazelnut shell," he said,"you wouldn't talk that way.Anybody but a half-baked lunaticwould know that what a manwants in radio is clear, sharp receptionand that's what a crystalgives you. You're one of thesehalf-wits that think they'reclassy if they can hear some two-centstation five hundred milesaway utter a few faint squeaks.Shut up! I don't want to talk toyou. I don't want to listen toyou. Go and sit somewhere else."
Of course, this was what wasto be expected of Murchison.And if I did let out a few lapsof anger, I feel I was entirelyjustified. Radio fans are alwaysdisputing over the relative meritsof crystal and tube sets, butI knew I was right. I was justtrying to decide whether tochoke Murchison with my barehand and throw his lifeless bodyout of the car window, or tellhim a few things I had beenwanting to say ever since he beganknocking my tube set, whenthis Remington Solander, whowas sitting behind us, leanedforward and tapped me on theshoulder. I turned quickly andsaw his long sheeplike face closeto mine. He was chewing cardamonseed and breathing theodor into my face.
Outraged citizens were removing their dead."My friend," he said, "comeback and sit with me; I want toask you a few questions aboutradio."
Well, I couldn't resist that,could I? No radio fan could. I didnot care much for the looks ofthis Remington Solander man,but for a few weeks my friendshad seemed to be steering awayfrom me when I drew near, althoughI am sure I never saidanything to bore them. All Iever talked about was my radioset and some new hook-ups I wastrying, but I had noticed thatmen who formerly had seemed tobe fond of my company now gavestartled looks when I nearedthem. Some even climbed overthe nearest fence and ran madlyacross vacant lots, looking overtheir shoulders with frightenedglances as they ran. For a weekI had not been able to get anyman of my acquaintance to listento one word from me, exceptMurchison, and he is an utteridiot, as I think I have madeclear. So I left Murchison andsat with Remington Solander.
In one way I was proud to beinvited to sit with RemingtonSolander, because he was farand away the richest man in ourtown. When he died, his estateproved to amount to three milliondollars. I had seen him often,and I knew who he was, buthe was a stand-offish old fellowand did not mix, so I had nevermet him. He was a tall man andthin, somewhat flabby and he