ld Sparky ran off a generator； and unless that took a direct lightning…hit； the show would go on。 Harry was in the switch room that night； so he and Bill Dodge and Percy Wetmore acted as ushers； seeing folks into their seats and asking each one if he'd like a cold drink of water。 There were two women present： the sister of the girl Del had raped and murdered； and the mother of one of the fire victims。 The latter lady was large and pale and determined。 She told Harry Terwilliger that she hoped the man she'd e to see was good and scared； that he knew the fires in the furnace were stoked for him； and that Satan's imps； were waiting for him。 Then she burst into tears and buried her face in a lace hanky that was almost the size of a pillowslip。
Thunder； hardly muffled at all by the tin roof； banged harsh and loud。 People glanced up uneasily。 Men who looked unfortable wearing ties this late at night wiped at their florid cheeks。 It was hotter than blue blazes in the storage shed。 And； of course； they kept turning their eyes to Old Sparky。 They might have made jokes about this chore earlier in the week； but the jokes were gone by eleven…thirty or so that night。 I started all this by telling you that the humor went out of the situation in a hurry for the people who had to sit down in that oak chair； but the condemned prisoners weren't the only ones who lost the smiles off their faces when the time actually came。 It just seemed so bald； somehow； squatting up there on its platform； with the clamps on the legs sticking off to either side； looking like the things a person with polio would have to wear。 There wasn't much talk； and when the thunder boomed again； as sharp and personal as a splintering tree； the sister of Delacroix's victim gave a little scream。 The last per