The story grew. With it mounted Phœbe’s interest and Sophie’s enthusiasm. And when Sophie was done, Phœbe in turn remembered a picture full of high adventure and love that put danger to scorn.
“The horse jumped off a fast train,” she related. “And the brave young cow-boy fell to the water below. But horses can swim. This horse made for shore, and the cow-boy swam along beside him. The waves were high—it must have been the ocean. Now you saw him, now you didn’t. But he got closer and closer to land. Pretty soon the horse touched bottom. You saw the cow-boy was safe. When there, on the beach, stood the villain—with a gun in his hands!”
“Phœbe.” Her father had entered. He was frowning at Sophie.
“Daddy!” Phœbe ran to him. “Oh, there are nine movie theatres in this town, Sophie says. Oh Daddy, I’d like to go to one this afternoon.”
“But, Uncle John, Phœbe,” said her father.
She did not understand. “Couldn’t Sophie take me?”
“Phœbe, your Uncle John is a clergyman,” explained her father, his voice grave. “If his niece goes to the movies, that looks as if he approves of them. And he doesn’t.”
Phœbe stared, aghast. “But Mother took me hundreds of times,” she reminded.
“Not in this town, dear.”
“But can’t I even see travel pictures?”