Oakhurst Collegiate School - Acorn Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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THE SMILING FACE NE evening, I was loitering in an Egyptian dancing hall with a friend whom I had met along the upper Nile. llCome now, old fellow, he said, and tell me why you have been chasing over the continent for more than a year. liIndeed, said I, it is a ridiculous story and one which shames me very much? He laughed, Proceed? We both had become a little bored with the dark dancer in green and gold, so I began my story: IlWhile in Florence, one soft Italian evening, I happened to wander into one of those numerous and delightful cafes along the Via Allori. I was seated at a small iron table, endeavoring to eat a rather tasteless raspberry sherbet, when a woman entered-the strang- est and loveliest woman I have ever seen. She was, indeed, an extraordinary phenomenon. She possessed yellow, flaming red hair, which was strangely accom- panied by heavy, black eyebrows and lashes; her eyes themselves were a clear, grey green. I stared at her in amazement; suddenly she smiled. The bar of crimson set in her colorless face was broken by a Ilash of beautiful teeth. Never was there such a mouthil jumped in amazement, dazzled by the strangest smile I have ever known. Oh, that divine Italian night;the flickering lights, the colors, the odor of flowers and, floating through them all, her wonderful, smiling face. 27 HNow, my friend, I will idry up'n-lcanl my poetic feelings, if you like, and tell you why I chased all over Europe. For four months, I followed that womanls smile. Never was I near enough to speak to her Ishe was escorted by two menl, always near enough to see her smile. HOne day, in Paris, I was attracted by a gorgeous creation in a hat shop and, approaching, like all men, With a certain amount of caution, to my surprise I saw, through the large, plate-glass window, the object of my travel. I entered quickly. At last, my chance had come. Behind her stood a large, bony woman, evidently her maid. III heard the shop door close softly. I was casting about wildly for some expedient by which I might make myself known to her. llWhat could I pretend to be? An artistian inspired anarchist-a poet about to write an ode-a special messenger from the Hotel diAngelique? 'Would monsieur desire ma shaman? one of those frightful little Parisiennes had addressed me. ll lYes-a thousand! No, I beg your pardon, just oneaaia big one, withiwith feathersigreen feathers -and-and a coral pomponl' I managed to stammer heroically. ll tOui, monsieur, she noddedaevidently she had something which might faintly answer my graphic

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into a sea of gold, which, deepening into purple, hid the golden edged clouds from View. What a wonderful sunset, said the man, as though noticing it for the first time. Is it? said the boy quietly. The man looked at the boy sharply, a sudden blind- ing thought came into his mind. You know, said the boy, a slight break in his voice, Iive never seen a sunset. It must he very beautifulemore beautiful than the song of a birdf' he hurried on gayly, feeling the mants sudden con- vulsive clasp on his arm. Just hear that robin now, he must be glad Spring is here, and so am lidontt you love the grass and trees and flowers? The man tried to speak, but could not. Figures were reeling drunkenly before him, figures of young men lying prone on a battlefieldnno, rising, groping their way blindly aboutifigures everywhere groping, groping, always in the terrible darkness, never to see the light. The boy spoke again. I say, it was awfully nice of you; Pm going right here in the corner apartment. Thanks, The man hardly knew the boy was gone. For a long time, he stood motionless; then, as he slowly looked down at the envelope clasped in his hand, a look of infinite loathing came over him. Holding the paper as though it were a poisoned weed, he tore it into bits. Across the square came the long, sweet note of a robin. The man raised his head and smiled-it seemed to him the first time he had smiled in years. S. K. M., 16. 26

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description. If she found anything resembling it I do not know, for just then my goddess spoke. ItOh, my friend, her face, her haunting smile! She opened her lovely mouth to speakhah, my dream of heaven, her mouthi IWell, I guess I wonIt take it,' she said. tIt,s no different from what I can get any day at Marshall Field,s and, anyway, it's too dear! She smiled upon the head of the establishment, and I heard no more of the altercation, but I had heard her voice and, like one who sees all monuments broken and shattered at his feet, I staggered out upon the crowded avenue. Her voice, I shall never forget it to my dying day hl have been fleeing from its sound for months-it was more haunting than the smilefthe voice of an auto horn, a rusty hingehah, nohthe voice of a screeching hen! A. 3., I17.