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