Myrtle REED
At The Sign of The Jack O'Lantern
MP3 CD
(IDB Productions Jan. 1, 2019)
At The Sign of The Jack O'Lantern
I
The End of the Honeymoon
It was certainly a queer house. Even through the blinding storm they could
distinguish its eccentric outlines as they alighted from the stage.
Dorothy laughed happily, heedless of the fact that her husband's umbrella
was dripping down her neck. "It's a dear old place," she cried; "I love it
already!"
For an instant a flash of lightning turned the peculiar windows into
sheets of flame, then all was dark again. Harlan's answer was drowned by a
crash of thunder and the turning of the heavy wheels on the gravelled
road.
"Don't stop," shouted the driver; "I'll come up to-morrer for the money.
Good luck to you--an' the Jack-o'-Lantern!"
"What did he mean?" asked Dorothy, shaking out her wet skirts, when they
were safely inside the door. "Who's got a Jack-o'-Lantern?"
"You can search me," answered Harlan, concisely, fumbling for a match. "I
suppose we've got it. Anyhow, we'll have a look at this sepulchral mansion
presently."
His deep voice echoed and re-echoed through the empty rooms, and Dorothy
laughed; a little hysterically this time. Match after match sputtered and
failed. "Couldn't have got much wetter if I'd been in swimming," he
grumbled. "Here goes the last one."
By the uncertain light they found a candle and Harlan drew a long breath
of relief. "It would have been pleasant, wouldn't it?" he went on. "We
could have sat on the stairs until morning, or broken our admirable necks
in falling over strange furniture. The next thing is a fire. Wonder where
my distinguished relative kept his wood?"
I
The End of the Honeymoon
It was certainly a queer house. Even through the blinding storm they could
distinguish its eccentric outlines as they alighted from the stage.
Dorothy laughed happily, heedless of the fact that her husband's umbrella
was dripping down her neck. "It's a dear old place," she cried; "I love it
already!"
For an instant a flash of lightning turned the peculiar windows into
sheets of flame, then all was dark again. Harlan's answer was drowned by a
crash of thunder and the turning of the heavy wheels on the gravelled
road.
"Don't stop," shouted the driver; "I'll come up to-morrer for the money.
Good luck to you--an' the Jack-o'-Lantern!"
"What did he mean?" asked Dorothy, shaking out her wet skirts, when they
were safely inside the door. "Who's got a Jack-o'-Lantern?"
"You can search me," answered Harlan, concisely, fumbling for a match. "I
suppose we've got it. Anyhow, we'll have a look at this sepulchral mansion
presently."
His deep voice echoed and re-echoed through the empty rooms, and Dorothy
laughed; a little hysterically this time. Match after match sputtered and
failed. "Couldn't have got much wetter if I'd been in swimming," he
grumbled. "Here goes the last one."
By the uncertain light they found a candle and Harlan drew a long breath
of relief. "It would have been pleasant, wouldn't it?" he went on. "We
could have sat on the stairs until morning, or broken our admirable necks
in falling over strange furniture. The next thing is a fire. Wonder where
my distinguished relative kept his wood?"
- ISBN
- 1776819969 / 9781776819966
- Weight
- 3.5 oz.
- Dimensions
- 7.5 x 5.5 in.
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Myrtle Reed
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