In the butler’s pantry stood Sam, attired in waiter’s dress, with a gleaming expanse of shirt front, and barricaded behind containers of ice cream and bottles of soft drinks for sale at profitable prices.
Promptly at eight o’clock the orchestra took its place, and the couples stepped out across the polished floor in time with the blare of syncopated jazz. For several hours dance numbers followed in rapid succession, the orchestra responding valiantly to encore applause, while black Sam, under the direction of Tommy Beals, did a thriving business in ministering to the parched throats of the perspiring dancers.
“Whew! It’s hot!” gasped Charlie Rogers, after a particularly long number in which his saxophone had carried the major part. “Can’t you open those north shutters, Ned, and let a little breeze blow through here?”
Laying down his trumpet, Ned crossed the room and threw open a shutter. Instantly a violent gust of wind swept in from the lake, extinguishing every candle and plunging the room into pitchy blackness.
A babel of voices burst forth at this unexpected occurrence, but was instantly hushed at sight of a strange spot of light, which made its sudden appearance upon the wall of the room. For a moment it remained stationary, then with a hesitating, uncertain movement, as though feeling its way, it advanced along the wall midway between floor and ceiling and vanished.
The breathless silence that followed was broken by a groan of abject terror from Sam. Somewhere a girl screamed hysterically. Closing the shutter with a bang, Ned fumbled for matches and relighted a candle. Several of the other boys followed suit and soon the room was again as bright as the rather dim flares could make it. The orchestra broke into a peppy foxtrot and the recently startled crowd, laughing gaily at what was seemingly one of the advertised “stunts,” swung again into the dance.
“Nice stuff, Ned!” applauded Wat Sanford, as he finished the number with a long roll of the snare drum and the customary crash of the cymbal. “That gave ’em quite a kick! How did you manage it so cleverly?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” replied Ned. “They’re calling for an encore. Let’s give ’em a hot one.”
At midnight the dance ended and a line of automobiles streamed homeward through the darkness. Pausing only long enough to assure themselves that the house was securely locked, the boys and Sam followed after.
“How much did we take in, Fatty?” asked Dick Somers of the plump treasurer at his side.