The stillness was intense; the fans ceased to beat; Mr.
Snoddy could be heard breathing dangerously. Mr. Swanter was considering
the advisability of drawing a pencil from his pocket and figuring on it
upon his cuff, when suddenly, with the energy of a whirlwind, the lecturer
threw out his arms to their fullest extent and roared: "It is a _fact_! It
is carven on stone in the gloomy caverns of TIME. It is writ in FIRE on
the imperishable walls of Fate!"
After the outburst, his voice sank with startling rapidity to a tone of
honeyed confidence, and he wagged an inviting forefinger at Mr. Snoddy,
who opened his mouth. "Shall we take an example? Not from the marvellous,
my friends; let us seek an illustration from the ordinary. Is that not
better? One familiar to the humblest of us. One we can all comprehend. One
from our every-day life. One which will interest even the young. Yes. The
common house-fly. On a window-sill we place a bit of fly-paper, and
contiguous to it, a flower upon which the happy insect likes to feed and
rest. The little fly approaches. See, he hovers between the two. One is a
fatal trap, an ambuscade, and the other a safe harbor and an innocuous
haven. But mystery allures him. He poises, undecided. That is the present.
That, my friends, is the Present! What will he do? WHAT will he do? What
will he DO? Memories of the past are whispering to him: 'Choose the
flower.
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