BY R. M. FULLER.
The Whitonville Camera Club was to meet at Will Vaughan's house Wednesday evening. Whitonville is a town of some size in the western part of New York. Mr. Vaughan, Will's father, one of its earliest residents, lives in a large old-fashioned house on the main street, opposite the Whitonville Bank, of which he is president. All day the overcast sky had given promise of a downpour, and the sultry atmosphere, charged with electricity, presaged plenty of thunder and lightning before midnight.
"It's too bad!" exclaimed Will Vaughan to his friend and visitor Tom Wetherby, as they stood on the front porch looking at the angry sky. "If the storm breaks before the fellows get here the meeting falls through; but here comes Frank Wentworth."
The young men exchanged cordial greetings, and followed Will to the library, where the meeting was to be held. One after another the members arrived, until the whole club was seated around the table. Tom Wetherby belonged to a large club in the city, and was recognized as an authority by the members of this small country organization. He was a bright young fellow of nineteen, always on the lookout for some novel subject for his camera, which accompanied him on all his wanderings. He listened to the debate, offering a word now and then as his opinion was requested, until his ear caught the swish of rain hurled violently against the window-panes by the wind. Presently this was followed by heavy peals of thunder, and flash after flash of lightning.
"If you don't mind, Will, I will try to catch a flash or two of the lightning; I have been waiting for a chance like this for a long time," said Tom.
"All right, old fellow; we'll excuse you. Look out your camera isn't blown away."
Tom was soon busy setting up his camera on the front porch, with the lens pointed at the sky at an angle which just cleared the tops of the opposite houses. The rain poured down, while crash upon crash of thunder followed each successive flash of lightning. Nearer and nearer came the force and violence of the storm, until the centre of electrical activity was directly over the village. Tom exposed several plates, and had put the last plate-holder in position when his foot struck one leg of the tripod, almost capsizing the camera. A quick grab at the instrument prevented the catastrophe; but before he could get the camera in position, again, a blinding flash came, followed simultaneously by a crash which shook the building to its very foundation. For a moment Tom was dazed with the vivid light. Every object was illuminated with a brightness exceeding daylight, and then all became intensely dark. Tom capped his lens, seized his camera, and re-entered the house, where he found the club still discussing the topic of the evening.
"Well, what luck?" they exclaimed.
Tom shook the water from his clothes, wiped the moisture carefully from the camera, and replied: "Oh, so so! the last plate must be a dead failure, though. I knocked the camera half over just before that terrible crash."
The following morning the Vaughans were at breakfast when a quick ring at the door-bell was heard, and Mr. Vaughan recognized the voice of one of his clerks, saying, "I must see Mr. Vaughan without delay, if you please."