“Oh, pshaw!” interrupted Pearl. “It’s all right, I fancy.”
Neither girl had recourse to “applied physics.” Had she done so she could easily have discovered just why it was unwise to use a lamp with a short chimney inside such a shaped globe as that hanging in chains in the front hall of the bungalow.
Ruth forgot the matter. It was Pearl herself who lit the hall lamp that evening. As before, they sat on the porch and played games and sang or told stories, all the long, bright evening.
Tess and Dot had gone to bed at half after eight. It was an hour later that Lucy suddenly said:
“I smell smoke.”
“It isn’t Mr. Harrod,” said Ann. “He’s gone down to the Casino.”
“It isn’t tobacco smoke I smell,” declared Lucy, springing up.
“Oh, Lute!” shrieked Agnes. “Look at the door!”
A cloud of black, thick smoke was belching out of the front hall upon the veranda. One of the other girls shrieked “Fire!”
Those next few minutes were terribly exciting for all hands at the Spoondrift bungalow. A single glance into the hall showed Ruth Kenway that the hanging lamp had burst, and the place was all ablaze.