The Tomahawk., 1925-05-14
THE MAN
WITH THE
SMILE
BY 3. BRACE
% by Short Story Pub. Coz


up at his leisure. what can you do
around mill?' he jeered.
The stranger threw back his Shout
ders. "Ill do anything" he answered
quickly. "Pm an engineer by trade,
but II there's no chance at that, l can
make bolts, or fell trees, or haul logs,
I'll do anything"
The man at the saw looked him over
with the contempt of an animal for d
weaker one of its kind.
you're too much of a two-by-four
to be good at the heavy work." he
Knocked, with shameless smile at his
own pleasantly. And the boss don't
need any more men, nohOw."
The fever of hope burned out in the
questiOners face. 1t was thin, dark,
well-featured face, with a smile as its
unfOrgetable attribute-an anxious,
cynical smile that twisted one corner
of the sensitive mouth, and gave the
face curiOusly tortured expression.
AS he turned away he stumbled over
rope line, and great burst of laugh
ter from the mill men followed his
awkward attempt to regain his bal
ance.
But the man with the smile pulled
himself slowly over the narrow plank
walk without seeming to hear. OppO-
site the cOOkhOuse he stopped dizzily.
The hot, unsavory smell of food floated
out, and mingled evilly with the whole
some OdOr of the newly cut lumber.
The man put out hand and caught
at the air. Then uncertainty he
dragged himself to the cookhOuse door.
A fat man with an ill-natured, puffy
face and a cooks apron was rolling
out sand-colored pastry at the table.
He glanced up and waited for the in
truder to speak.
well. d-n We, what is it?' he burst
out at length.
A flush famed up under the dark
pallor of the face. The curious smile
became grimace.
"Will you-give me something to
eat?" he quavered out. II have no
money to pay you"
The cook trimmed the edges Of the
pie crust, and poured In a filling of
peaches from a huge tin can.
Have they taken you on at the
mill?" he grunted.
mo-" stammered the other. But"
The cook turned his back abruptly,
and rolled out the crust for second
pie and q third. When he looked up
at last to put the pastry into the oven
the man was gone. From the door the
cook watched him laundering up the
hill.
When he had turned the curve and
still went on jerkily, like machine
that runs badly but does not know
how to stop. Beneath his feet the
western Washington road ran beauti-
full and even, like white stripe
through ground-green cloth. Some
times 1t was lacy Openwork, for great
cedars and frs flanked the road. Here
and there belated lockwood blossoms
looked out, wax-like.
There were long, hot stretches Of
road, too, through half-miles of burned
stumps of blighted trees. Sometimes
in one of these sizzling half-miles the
man stood still in the road for min
utes, beneath the beating sun Of June.
At such times his smile quite distorted
his face.
The afternoon was profoundly still
except for the wOOd-vOices. Birds
crooned lazily in the tree tops. A
woodpecker tapped steadily away at
q fir-tree trunk Once little striped
squirrel teetered on cedar branch,
sitting there saucily unafraid, with
his bushy tail lifted like parasol
over him. The man crept up noise
lessly and bent over with a clutching
hand. But his shadow warned the
shrewd little son of the forest, and
he was gone with haunting little
flirt Of the tail. At last the man
went on.
The sun slid down the side of
Beaver mountain. Gradually the sky.
which had been so deeply and cloud
lessly blue, became more vague and
dim colored. The shadows grew longer.
1t was late afternoon when the man
came suddenly upon little shingle
mill, perched almost upon the road
It was a cheerful little place, with its
red roof against the green Of the
trees. Every atom Of it was in motion
like water that boils. Flying saws
buzzed through huge logs. The pack
ers' hands flashed back and forth with
regularity of shuttles. To the ear the
drone Of the mill was pleasantly me-
chanical.
For long, long time the man stood
quite still in the road, shading his
eyes with his hands and looked in
tently at the little mill. Once he
made a step from the road in its d.
rection. Then he shrugged his Shout
ders, smiled his joyless smile, and
dazed onward.
A half mile down the road he
stopped and seated himself upon a
great messy log. Beneath the log,
and on down the ravine a little brook