ife that was going by while the detective of
their story waited for the men for whom he had laid a trap. The story
itself had little relation to real things--yet chance made it this
vehicle for keeping something of the reality that had been Howie--a
disclosing moment captured unawares.

She was thinking of the strangeness of all this when again the people
seated back of her said a thing that came right to her. They were saying
"scrap-heap." She knew--before she knew why--that this had something to
do with her. Then she found that they were talking about this film. It
was ready for the scrap-heap. It was on its last legs. They laughed and
said perhaps they were seeing its "last appearance."

She tried to understand what it meant. Then even this would cease to be
in the world. She had known she ought to stop following the picture
around, she had even told herself this would be the last time she would
come to see it--but to feel it wouldn't any longer be there to be
seen--that even this glimpse of Howie would go out--go out as life goes
out--scrap-heap! She sat up straight and cleared her throat. She would
have to leave. She must get air. But she looked to see where they were.
Not far now. She might miss Howie! With both hands she took hold of the
sides of the seat. She was _not_ going to fall forward! _Not_
suffocating. Not until after she had seen him.

_Now._ The detective has left the hotel--he is walking along the street.
He comes to the cigar-store door, and there steps in to watch. And there
comes the dog! Then it was not going to be cut out tonight! Along comes
the little dog--pawing at his muzzle. He stops in distress in front of
the cigar-store. People pass and pay no attention to the dog--there on
the sidewalk. And then--in the darkened theater her hands go out, for
the door has opened--and she sees her husband! _Howie._ _There._ Moving
as he always moved! She fights back the tears that would blur him. That
dear familiar way he moves! It is almost as if she could step up and
meet him, and they could walk away together.

He starts to go the other way. Then he sees the dog. He goes up to him;
he is speaking to him, wanting to know what is the matter. She can
fairly hear the warmth and kindness of his voice as he speaks to the
little dog. He feels of the muzzle--finds it too tight; he lets it out a
notch. _Dear_ Howie. Of _course_ he would do that. No one else had
cared, but he would care. Then he speaks to the