warning? Does he heed it, ladies and gentlemen? Does he? Ah, no! He
springs into the air, decides between the two attractions, one of them, so
deadly to his interests and--_drops upon the fly-paper to perish
miserably_! The future is in his hands no longer. We must lie upon the bed
that we have made, nor can Providence change its unalterable decrees."

After the tragedy, the orator took a swallow of water, mopped his brow
with the figured handkerchief and announced that a new point herewith
presented itself for consideration. The audience sank back with a gasp of
release from the strain of attention. Minnie Briscoe, leaning back,
breathless like the others, became conscious that a tremor agitated her
visitor. Miss Sherwood had bent her head behind the shelter of the judge's
broad shoulders; was shaking slightly and had covered her face with her
hands.

"What is it, Helen?" whispered Miss Briscoe, anxiously. "What is it? Is
something the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing, dear." She dropped her hands from her face. Her cheeks
were deep crimson, and she bit her lip with determination.

"Oh, but there is! Why, you've tears in your eyes. Are you faint? What is
it?"

"It is only--only----" Miss Sherwood choked, then cast a swift glance at
the profile of the melancholy young man. The perfectly dismal decorum of
this gentleman seemed to inspire her to maintain her own gravity. "It is
only that it seemed such a pity about that fly," she explained. From where
they sat the journalistic silhouette was plainly visible, and both Fisbee
and Miss Sherwood looked toward it often, the former with the wistful,