Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/210

 “You’re really going out to that there haunted house to-night?” asked Eddie.

“Yes ” said Val. “Why?”

Eddie’s brow clouded. Perhaps he had been a little too swift with the moving picture stuff, anyway. Here was something that promised more fun than images on a canvas sheet, and he wasn’t going to be in it. It was exasperating.

“I might try to get off from this pitcher stuff,” he suggested, “if you’ll just wait a minute⸺”

“No, that’s all right, Eddie,” said his employer benevolently. “I want you to have a good time. Go right ahead and enjoy yourself.”

“I know,” muttered Eddie, “but I think I might—”

“No, give yourself no concern over that,” said his employer with magnanimity. “Take a little holiday for a couple of hours,” he suggested with a touch of unholy and malicious joy. He knew that the heart of Eddie was aching to come along to the haunted house—and now that he had decided on going without Eddie he intended to stick to it.

“All right, sir,” replied Eddie, turning towards his friend with resignation in his eye. “But if you get killed I don’t want you to lay the blame on me⸺”

“That’s all right,” said Val gravely. “If I get killed I’ll never say a word about the matter to you. Run along now, and enjoy yourself.”

“It looks like rain,” Eddie predicted gloomily, examining the sky judicially. “Perhaps⸺”

“Oh, beat it!” snapped Val. “I’m going in to dinner.”

There was no dressing for dinner, of course; primarily, because Val intended to hasten right back to Jessica’s place after dinner, and a dinner jacket was