1. Of what "plague" is the author speaking in this story?
2. Why was Irene Crane so popular as a child?
3. Why was Irene's sister Caroline always referred to, outside of her home, simply as Irene's sister?
4. Was Irene's sister jealous of Irene's popularity or was she content to be only a "pale reflection" of her more popular sister?
5. Why did the grown-ups look with some doubts upon the party at Ginny Smith's house?
6. Why hadn't Irene's sister been invited to this party?
7. Just as the girls were leaving the party, what sad message did Mrs. Smith receive by phone?
8. Why did the author write to her father asking him to take her away from this town?
9. When, finally, did she return to this town?
10. What changes had occurred in the Crane girls in the meantime?
Vocabulary and Idiom Review
A. Match the word in the left-hand column with its OPPOSITE in the right-hand column:
1. popular ___________ early
2. happy ___________ ambitious
3. late ___________ downstairs
4. strong ___________ soft
5. upstairs ___________ sad
6. true ___________ weak
7. lower ___________ false
8. hard ___________ clean
9. lost ___________ unpopular
10. dirty ___________ found
___________ higher
Use the following expressions in sentences of your own:
1. be known as 5. in the past 9. be ashamed of
2. for the good of 6. hang up 10. after all
3. play jokes on 7. not to matter 11. on time
4. for a while 8. at night 12. all day
C. Nouns can be formed from some verbs by adding the ending - ment.
For example: They met together to decide how the country should be governed; the government they established has lasted almost two hundred years.
Change the following verbs to nouns by adding - ment. Then use each of the resulting words in a sentence of your own:
1. develop ________________ _____________________________________________________________
2. refresh ________________ _____________________________________________________________
3. establish ________________ _____________________________________________________________
4. improve ________________ _____________________________________________________________
5. manage ________________ _____________________________________________________________
6. employ ________________ _____________________________________________________________
7. retire ________________ _____________________________________________________________
8. arrange ________________ _____________________________________________________________
9. fulfill ________________ _____________________________________________________________
10. excite ________________ _____________________________________________________________
The Wrong House
By James N. Young
The night was dark. And the house was dark. Dark—and silent. The two men ran toward it quietly. They slipped quickly through the dark bushes which surrounded the license. They reached the porch, ran quickly up the steps, kneeled down, breathing heavily, in the dark shadows. They waited — listening.
Silence. Perfect silence. Then—out of the blackness—a whisper: "We can't stay out here.... Take this suitcase.... Let me try those keys. We've got to get in!"
Ten — twenty — thirty seconds. With one of the keys the one man opened the door. Silently, the two men have entered the house, closed the door behind them, locked it.
Whispering, they discussed the situation. They wondered if they had awakened anyone in the house.
"Let's have a look at this place." "Careful, Hasty!" "Oh, there isn't anybody awake!" And the soft rays of a flashlight swept the room.
It was a large room. A living room. Rugs, carefully rolled, lay piled on one side. The furniture — chairs, tables, couches — was covered by sheets. Dust lay like a light snow over everything.
The man who held the flashlight spoke first. "Well, Blackie," he said, "we're in luck. Looks as if the family's away."
"Yeah, Gone for the summer, I guess. We better make sure, though. Huh."
Together they searched the house. They went on tiptoe through every room. There could be no doubt about it. The family was away. Had been away for weeks.
Yes, Hasty Hogan and Blackie Burns were in luck. Only once in the past ten days had their luck failed them. It had been with them when they made their big robbery — their truly magnificent robbery — on the Coast. It had been with them during their thousand-mile trip eastward, by automobile. It had been with them every moment — but one.
That moment had come just one hour before. It came when Blackie, driving the car, ran over a policeman. And Blackie, thinking of the suitcase at Hasty's feet, had driven away. Swiftly.
There had been a chase, of course. A wild, crazy chase. And when a bullet had punctured the gasoline tank they had had to abandon the car. But luck or no luck, here they were. Alone, and without a car, in a completely strange town. But safe and sound — with the suitcase.
The suitcase lay in the center of the table, in the center of the room. In the suitcase, neat little package on neat little package, lay nearly three hundred thousand dollars!
"Listen," said Mr. Hogan. "We have to get a car. Quick, too. And we can't steal one — and use it. It's too dangerous. We have to buy one. That means that we have to wait until the stores open. That will be about eight o'clock in this town."
"But what are we going to do with that?" And Mr. Burns pointed to the suitcase.
"Hide it right here. Sure! Why not? It's much safer here than with us — until we get a car."
And so they hid the suitcase. They carried it down to the cellar. Buried it deep in some coal which lay in a corner of the cellar. After this, just before dawn, they slipped out.
"Say, Blackie," Mr. Hogan remarked as they walked down the street, "the name of the gentleman we're visiting is Mr. Samuel W. Rogers."
"How do you know?"
"Saw it on some of them books. He's surely got a wonderful library, hasn't he?"
The automobile salesrooms opened at eight o'clock, as Mr. Hogan had supposed. Shortly before nine, Mr. Hogan and Mr. Burns had a car. A very nice little car. Very quiet. Very inconspicuous. And very speedy. The dealer lent them his license plates and away they rode.
Three blocks from the house, they stopped. Mr. Hogan got out. Walked toward the house. He'd just go around to the rear, he thought, and slip in.
Fifty yards from the house he stopped. Stared, swore softly. The front door was open. The window shades were up. The family had returned!
Well, what bad luck. And what could they do? Break into the cellar that night, and pick up the suitcase? No — too dangerous. Mr. Hogan would have to think of something.
"Leave it to me, kid," he told Mr. Burns. "You drive the car. I'll do the special brain work. Let's find a telephone. Quick!"
Ten minutes later, Mr. Hogan was consulting a telephone directory. Yes, there it was — Samuel W. Rogers, Plainview 6329. A moment later he was talking to the surprised Mr. Rogers.
"Hello," he began, "is this Mr. Rogers — Mr. Samuel Rogers?"
"Yes, this is Mr. Rogers."
Mr. Hogan cleared his throat. "Mr. Rogers," he said — and his tone was sharp, official, impressive — "this is Headquarters, Police Headquarters, talking. I am Simpson. Sergeant Simpson, of the detective division —"
"Yes, yes!" came over the wire.
"The Chief —the Chief of Police, you know,"— here Mr. Hogan lowered his voice a little —"has ordered me to get in touch with you. He's sending me out with one of our men to see you."
"Am I in trouble of some kind?" asked Mr. Rogers.
"No, no, no. Nothing like that. But I have something of great importance to talk to you about."
"Very well," came the voice of Mr. Rogers. "I'll wait for you."
"And, Mr. Rogers," Mr. Hogan cautioned, "please keep quiet about this. Don't say anything to anybody. You'll understand why when I see you."
On the way back to the house Mr. Hogan explained his idea to Mr. Burns.
Within ten minutes "Sergeant Simpson" and "Detective Johnson" were conversing with the surprised Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers was a small man. Rather insignificant. He had pale blue eyes. Not much of a chin. A funny little face. He was nervous — a badly frightened man.
Mr. Hogan told the whole story. Somewhat changed. Very much changed. And Mr. Rogers was surprised, but delighted.
He accompanied Mr. Hogan to the cellar. And together they dug up the suitcase. Took it to the living room, opened it, saw that it had not been touched — that it really did hold a small fortune. Bills, bills, bills!
Mr. Hogan closed the suitcase.
"And now, Mr. Rogers," he announced, in his best official manner, "Johnson and I must run along. The chief wants a report — quick. We have to catch the rest of the robbers. I'll keep in touch with you."
He picked up the suitcase and rose. Mr. Burns also rose. Mr. Rogers also rose. The trio walked to the door. Mr. Rogers opened it. "Come on in, boys," he said pleasantly — and in walked three men. Large men. Strong men. Men in police uniform who, without fear, stared at Mr. Hasty Hogan and Mr. Blackie Burns.
"What does this mean, Mr. Rogers?" asked Mr. Hogan.
"It's quite simple," said Mr. Rogers. "It just happens that I am the Chief of Police!"
