 What wasn't abnormal in the detective kit?
One out of every three dirty stories started by party attendees had remained unfinished, because each had reminded someone else of another story. The recently developed liquors which affected the bloodstream three times faster had driven away twinges of conscience about untrimmed trees and midnight church services. "It's all in the spirit of good, clean fun!" cried Mr. Hawkins, the assistant general manager. Mr. Hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portrait to its place until new glass could be obtained. "We'd better put old H. H. away for safekeeping until after the holiday," he told a small, blonde salesclerk who was beneath his attention on any working day. Hawkins rolled the picture like a scroll and put it into a desk drawer, for later attention. He bent, reached painfully over his potbelly and picked up the order form. "Unless—" he said it loud enough for the employes to scent a great proposal and the room grew quiet—"unless we broke the rules just once and used the time warp on a big mission!" We were always told that it must be used only for complaints within three days." Mr. Hawkins downed the rest of his drink and pulled a batch of keys from his pocket. But the familiar RATTLE OK sticker was pasted onto the box, indicating to the delivery man that the contents would make a rattling sound and therefore hadn't been broken in shipment. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. The bottom of the carton contained the detective outfit that they had ordered for their son. Ann glanced at its glaringly lithographed cover and said: "Les, about Sally. A neon, demanding, screaming green that clashed horribly with the soft browns and reds in which Ann had furnished the room. As the door closed, he saw the entire interior of the dark closet brighten into a wet-lettuce green. The wedding band that Les had put there a dozen years ago was a brilliant green, shedding its soft glow over the finger up to the first knuckle. She opened her mouth to let it out, then put her hand in front of her mouth to keep it in, finally jerked the hand away to prevent the glowing ring from turning her front teeth green. She put her hands behind her back, pulled off her ring and slipped it into her apron pocket. She kept her eyes determinedly off the tinge of green that was showing through the apron pocket and didn't dare look back at her daughter's unsettling means of propulsion.
 the flashlight
 the white powder  the toy gun  the Detectolite  the flashlight