"Can you follow us to the camp fire yonder?" asked Diane
compassionately.
Philip, though evidently very dizzy, thought likely he could, and he
did. That his shoulder was wet and very painful, he was well aware,
though somehow he had forgotten why. Moreover, his head throbbed
queerly.
There came a tent and a bed and a blur of incidents.
Mr. Poynter dazedly resigned himself to a general atmosphere of
unreality.
CHAPTER X
ON THE RIDGE ROAD
At the Westfall farm as the electric vanguard of the storm flashed
brightly over the valley, the telephone had tinkled. In considerable
distress of mind Aunt Agatha answered it.
"I--I'm sure I don't know when he will be home," she said helplessly
after a while. . . . "He went barely a minute ago and very foolish
too, I said, with the storm coming. . . . At dinner he spoke some of
going to the camp--Miss Westfall's camp. . . . I--I really don't know.
. . . I wish I did but I don't."
The lightning blazed at the window and left it black. Beyond in the
lane, a car with glaring headlights was rolling rapidly toward the
gateway. Aunt Agatha hung up with an aggrieved sniff.
Catching the reflection of the headlights she hurried to the window.
"Carl! Carl!" she called through the noise of wind and thunder.
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