“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” the editor answered, starting toward the parking lot. “I’m annoyed at myself. This is a graphic example of what we were talking about awhile ago—imagination!”
Decidedly crestfallen, Penny followed her father to the car. They finished their hamburgers, which had grown cold, and after the tray was removed, started home.
“I could do with a little sleep,” Mr. Parker yawned. “After a hard day at the office, your brand of night life is a bit too strenuous for me.”
Selecting a short-cut route to Riverview, Penny paid strict attention to the road, for the narrow pavement had been patched in many places. On either side of the highway stretched truck farms with row upon row of neatly staked tomatoes and other crops.
Rounding a bend, Penny was startled to see tongues of flame brightening the horizon. A large wooden barn, situated in plain view, on a slight knoll, had caught fire and was burning rapidly. As she slammed on the brake, Mr. Parker aroused from light slumber.
“Now what?” he mumbled drowsily.
“Dad, unless I’m imagining things again, that barn is on fire!”
“Let ’er burn,” he mumbled, and then fully aroused, swung open the car door.
There were no fire fighters on the scene, in fact the only person visible was a woman in dark flannel night robe, who stood silhouetted in the red glare. As Penny and Mr. Parker reached her side, she stared at them almost stupidly.
“We’ll lose everything,” she said tonelessly. “Our entire crop of melons is inside the barn, packed for shipment. And my husband’s new truck!”