“Doesn’t thunder or lightning or something have some effect on food or something?” asked Agnes.
“You’re thinking of lightning turning milk sour, I guess,” answered Neale.
“Perhaps,” agreed Agnes.
After the meal they went into the sitting room and sat about talking, the late treasure-hunt, among other topics, being discussed. Ruth had just gone to the telephone again to tell Mrs. Pinkney that Sammy could remain all night if the storm did not cease when a series of queer happenings began.
The first was a sudden dimming of the electric lights. They had been glowing brightly when, all at once, they went from a white brightness to a dull red in their vacuum globes.
“Oh!” exclaimed Ruth. “I hope we aren’t going to be left in darkness. We took out most of the gas. I must see if Linda has any candles.”
“I can light my cigar-box lantern,” offered Sammy.
“Thank you—no!” protested Agnes. “I’d rather sit in darkness than be smothered.”
“It’s only the lightning,” said Neale. “The lights always go down when a big flash comes.”
As he spoke the lights went dim again, but they all noted that this happened when the storm was comparatively quiet. There was no thunder and no lightning.