“Watch your step now, ma’am.”
From her purse Bertha took a small flashlight which cast its beam through a deep purple lens. “I’m all right. Be sure to wait for me,” she said, switching on the flashlight. She walked down the block, peering at numbers, and found 1672 to be a typical bungalow, set well back from the road.
The walk which led to the bungalow was of cement with a little iron guide rail on the right-hand side, and the inside of this rail was worn to a polish from being rubbed with the blind man’s cane as he journeyed back and forth to his little house.
Bertha climbed the two wooden steps to the front porch and pressed the bell button. She heard the sharp clatter as the bell jangled on the inside of the house. The sound was unexpectedly loud.
It was then Bertha noticed, for the first time, that the door was blocked partially open by rubber wedges which held it in. such a position there was a crack eight or ten inches wide. It was, she realized, because this door was partially open that the bell in the interior of the house had sounded so loud.
Bertha stepped to the doorway, called, “Hello. Is anyone at home?” There was no answer.
Bertha kicked out one of the door stops, groped inside for a light switch, found it, and clicked the switch on.
Nothing happened. The room remained in absolute, utter darkness.
Bertha Cool turned the dim, purple light from her flashlight toward the ceiling of the room. It showed a chandelier hanging down from the ceiling with a cluster of sockets for light globes. But there wasn’t so much as a single light globe in the place.
Puzzled, Bertha swung the beam of her flashlight, and then suddenly the solution dawned upon her. A blind man had no need for electric lights.