The Washington herald., 1921-04-24
An Q. Henry Story
THE SNOWMAN

illness Of william sydney Porter
(k1own through his literary work
as 20. Henry") this American mas
teri Of short-story writing had be-
gun for Hampton's Magazine the
stosy printed below. Illness crept
UPON him rapidly and he was COM
pered TO give up writing about
at fhe point where the girl enters
the story.
when he realized that he could
do no more Git was his lifelong
habit to write with a pencil. never
debating to a stenographer), o.
Henry told in detail the remainder
Of The Snow Man" to Harris Mer-
ton Lyon. whom he had often spoken
of as one of the most effective
short-story writer's OF the present
TIME. Mr. Porter had delineated all
of the characters. leaving only the
rounding out of the plot In the
nnal pages to Mr.. Lyon
r fOUSED and windowpaned from
III IL, the greatest wonder TO lit
tie children Is the snow. To
men. Il Is something like cruciole
in which their world melts into a
white star 10000, 900 miles away.
The man who can stand the test Is
q Snow Man: and this Is his read
in< by Fahrenheit, Reaumur, or Mo-
ses carven tables Of stone. g. q
Might had nuttered sable pinion
above the canon of Big Lost River.
and / urged my horse toward the
Bay Horse ranch because the snow
was deepening. The fakes were
as large as an hours circular tat
ting BY Miss wilkins ablest spin
ster. betokening a heavy snowfall
and less entertainment and more
adventure than the completion Of
the tatting could promise. I knew
Ross Curtis. OF the Bay Horse, and
that I would be welcome as a snow
bound pilgrim, both for hospitality's
sake and because Ross had few
chances to confide in living crea-
tures who did not neigh. below,
bleat. yelp or howl. during his dis
course-
The ranch house was Just within
the Jaws of the canon where fits
builder may have fatuousiy fancied
that the tirnbered and rocky walls
on both sides would have protected
II from the wintry Colorado winds: +:
but. feared the drift. Even now
through the endless. bottomless rift
In -fhe hills-ths speaking tube of
thsSfour vinds-came roaring the
votce Of the proprietor to the little
room on the top floor.
IA my hello" q ranch hand came
from an outer building and received
mythankful horse. In another min
ute, Ross and / sat by a stove in
the dining-room of the four-room
ranch house, while the big, simple
welcome of the household lay at my
disposal. Famed by the whizzing
- norther. the fne, dry snow was
sffted and bolted through the cracks
and knotholes Of the logs The cook
room, without a separating door,
appended.
In there I could see a short.
sturdy. leisurely and weather
beaten man moving with profess
sional sureness about his red-hot
stove. His face was stolid and un-
readable-something like that of a
great thinker, or of one who had
no thoughts to conceal. thought
his eye seemed unwarrantably su-
perior to the elements and to the
man, but quickly attributed that
to the characteristic self-import-
ancs Of q petty chef. Camp cook
w. Lho NAaI hAAh III
the Hall Of Types; and he fitted 1t as
an apple fits a dumpling.
Cold 1t was in spite Of the glow
ing stove; and Ross and I sat and
talked. shuddering frequently, half
from nerves and half from the
freezing draughts. So he brought
the bottle. and the cook brought
boiling water and we made prodig-
ious hot toddies against the attacks
ot Boreas. We clinked glasses
often They sounded like icicles
dropping from the caves, or like the
tinl<le of a thousand prisms on a
Louis XIV chandelier that 1 once
heard at q boarde.s' dance in the
rparlor of q ten-a-week boarding
hcuse in Gramercy Square. Sic
Sfansit-
Silence in the terrible beauty Of
The snow and of the Sphinx and of
the stars; but they who believe that
all things, from q without wine
t{ble d'hote to the crucihxion, may
be Interpreted through music, might
have found a nocturne or a SYM
phony to express the isolation OF
that blotted-out world The clink
RI glass and bottle, the aeolian
ceor6s of the wind in the house
cEannies, its deeper trombone
through the canon below, and the
wagnerian crash Of the cooks pots
and pans, united in a fit, discordant
nieIedy, thought. No less welcome
aheaccompaniment was the sizzling
ofbroiling ham and venison outlets,
indorsed by the solvent fumes OF
trpe Java bringing rich promises
of. comfort to our yearning souls
The cook brought the smoking
supper to tho table. He nodded to
me democratically as he cast the
heavy plates around as though he
were pitching quoits or hurling the
discus. I looked at him with some
appraisement and curiosity. and
much conciliation. There was no
prophet to tell US when that drift
ing evil outside might cease to fall
and II is well, when snowbound. to
stand somewhere within the radius
tion. But could read neither IA
vor nor disapproval in the face and
manner Of our pot-wrestler. D..
He was about feet 9 inches
and 200 pounds of commonplace
bull-necked, pink-faced. callous
calm. He wore brown duck trou-
sers too tight and too short, and
. blue flannel shirt with sleeves
rolled above his elbows. There was
q sort Of grim. steady scowl on his
4. features that looked to me as though
!. be had nxed IL there purposely as
"a protection against the weakness
rof an Inherent amiability that, he
fancied, were better concealed. And
Tthsn / let supper usurp his brief
occupancy of my thoughts, v
'B"Draw up, George" said Ross
Lets all eat while the grub's hot. >