The Desire of the Moth; and The Come On | Page 2

better than a wife just now.'"
And again:
"Schooldays are over now, Lost all our bliss; But love remembers yet
Quarrel and kiss. Still, as in days of yore----"
Then, after a long silence, with a thoughtful earnestness that Rainbow
would scarce have credited, he quoted a verse from what he was wont
to call Billy Beebe's Bible:
"One Moment in Annihilation's waste, One Moment of the Well of Life
to taste-- The Stars are setting, and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn
of----Nothing. Oh, make haste!"
After late dinner at the Gadsden Purchase, Pringle had tidings of the
Motion Picture Palace; and thither he bent his steps. He was late and
the palace was a very small palace indeed; it was with difficulty that he
spied in the semidarkness an empty seat in a side section. A fat lady
and a fatter man, in the seats nearest the aisle, obligingly moved over
rather than risk any attempt to squeeze by.
Beyond them, as he took the end seat, Pringle was dimly aware of a girl
who looked at him rather attentively.

He turned his mind to the screen, where a natty and noble young man,
with a chin, bit off his words distinctly and smote his extended palm
with folded gloves to emphasize the remarks he was making to a far
less natty man with black mustaches. John Wesley rightly concluded
that this second man, who gnashed his teeth so convincingly, and at
whom an incredibly beautiful young lady looked with haughty disdain,
was the villain, and foiled.
The blond and shaven hero, with a magnificent gesture, motioned the
villain to begone! That baffled person, after waiting long enough to
register despair, spread his fingers across his brow and be-went; the
hero turned, held out his arms; the scornful young beauty crept into
them. Click! On the screen appeared a scroll:
Keep Your Seats. Two Minutes to Change Reels.
The lights were turned on. Pringle looked at the crowd--girls, grandmas,
mothers with their families, many boys, and few men; Americans,
Mexicans, well-dressed folk and roughly dressed, all together. Many
were leaving; among them Pringle's fat and obliging neighbors rose
with a pleasant: "Excuse me, please!"
A stream of newcomers trickled in through the door. As Pringle sat
down the lights were dimmed again. Simultaneously the girl he had
noticed beyond the fat couple moved over to the seat next to his own.
Pringle did not look at her; and a little later he felt a hand on his sleeve.
"Tut, tut!" said Pringle in a tolerant undertone. "Why, chicken, you're
not trying to get gay with your old Uncle Dudley, are you?"
"John Wesley Pringle!" came the answer in a furious whisper, each
indignant word a missile. "How dare you! How dare you speak to me
like that?"
"What!" said Pringle, peering. "What! Stella Vorhis! I can hardly
believe it!"
"But it's oh-so-true!" said Stella, rising. "Let's go--we can't talk here."

"That was one awful break I made. I most sincerely and humbly beg
your pardon," Pringle said on the sidewalk.
Stella laughed.
"That's all right--I understand--forget it! You hadn't looked at me. But I
knew you when you first came in--only I wasn't sure till the lights were
turned on. Of course it would be great fun to tease you--pretend to be
shocked and dreadfully angry, and all that--but I haven't got time. And
oh, John Wesley, I'm so delighted to see you again! Let's go over to the
park. Not but what I was dreadfully angry, sure enough, until I had a
second to think. Why don't you say you're glad to see me--after five
years?"
"Stella! You know I am. Six years, please. But I thought you were still
in Prescott?"
"We came here three years ago. Here's a bench. Now tell it to me!"
But Pringle stood beside and looked down at her without speech, with a
smile unexpected from a face so lean, so brown, so year-bitten and
iron-hard--a smile which happily changed that face, and softened it.
The girl's eyes danced at him.
"I'm so glad you've come, John Wesley! Good old Wes!"
"So I am--both those little things. Six years!" he said slowly. "Dear
me--dear both of us! That will make you twenty-five. You don't look a
day over twenty-four! But you're still Stella Vorhis?"
She met his gaze gravely; then her lids drooped and a wave of red
flushed her face.
"I am Stella Vorhis--yet."
"Meaning--for a little while yet?"
"Meaning, for a little while yet. That will come later, John Wesley. Oh,

I'll tell you, but not just now. You tell about John Wesley, first--and
remember, anything you say may be used against you. Where have you
been? Were you dead? Why didn't you write? Has the world used you
well? Sit down,