"All right!" he called. "Thanks, every one! Excuse me a minute."
He ran to the office.
"An ounce of gasolene, quick!" he ordered. "A cigar box, a cork, and the
glue bottle."
He poured some glue into the bottom of the box, set the cork in it
firmly, dashed the gasolene over the moth repeatedly, pinned it to the
cork, poured the remainder of the liquid over it, closed the box, and
fastened it. Then he laid a bill on the counter.
"Pack that box with cork around it, in one twice its size, tie securely
and express to this address at once."
He scribbled on a sheet of paper and shoved it over.
"On your honour, will you do that faithfully as I say?" he asked the
clerk.
"Certainly," was the reply.
"Then keep the change," called Philip as he ran back to the pavilion.
Edith Carr stood where he left her, thinking rapidly. She heard the
murmur that arose when Philip started to capture the exquisite golden
creature she was impersonating. She saw the flash of surprise that went
over unrestrained faces when he ran from the room, without even showing
it to her. "The last one Elnora needs," rang in her ears. He had told
her that he helped collect moths the previous summer, but she had
understood that the Bird Woman, with whose work Miss Carr was familiar,
wanted them to put in a book.
He had spoken of a country girl he had met who played the violin
wonderfully, and at times, he had shown a disposition to exalt her as a
standard of womanhood.
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