Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-07-21
{. Xd7pnture and Thrills in This Story
One of the Best Stories of the Past Year,
| Accmding to the O. HeuryNemorialA7oard
Selections. mr. Smith" Is q Yarn to
Lmger Deer. Another Prize Story Mil
T Appear in MISUNDERSTANDING.

1T was the second night out from New
~ York, and the Tortola was tossing In q
heavy sea-which is to be expected when
one Is In the latitude of Diamond
Shoals, steaming southwark in a small
West Indian liner. The smokeroom was de-
serted except for the steward, a big Barbadian
Negro, who was polishing glasses in the bar
and grooming softly to himself. He had brought
me whisky and soda, which stood in tall
glass at my elbow while wrote. AS the vessel
rose and fell the ice in the glass lurched gently.
Presently the windward door was tugged open,
blast of air charged in, and the door
slammed shut behind passenger who looked
about uncertainty, braced himself, and started
forward. He caught at my table to steady
himself as another roll tilted everything to
starboard. The woodwork creaked and eased
itself, and there came the rattle of the steering
gear He hadn't noticed my glass, which his
elbow struck and sent crashing to the floor.
He was distressed by the mishap and profusely
apologize. IA. II .l{tlt.tat. s.t.
you must let me order you another" he
insisted. ttsfi 3i55,lIi! !t;is4t: ~
won't YOU have one YOURSELF" invited.
He seemed to hesitate as he caught the
aroma of the spilled Scotch, and then reluc-
family yielded. Its Scotch, isn't it?" he APP
pealed to me before giving the order to the
steward, who had come forward to clear away
the glass fragments. Tim not much Of
whisky drinker," he confessed, as If the pros
pective drink was not exactly to his liking.
and vet on one occasion, several years ago,
had to drink very great deal Of 1t" He
seemed unhappy over the recollection. 4,
LIE seemed an odd type, with every wish to
be friendly, but inhibited by natural
timidity and punctiiiousness of manner which
was almost formal. A smaIl-town college pro-
fessor was my first guess. He was drab little
man. quite inconspicuous except for luxuriant
grayish-brown beard. He looked as II the
ffty-odd years of his life had been spent in
studious pursuits quite remote from all rude
and bracing contracts with the world. But.
as presently learned. he had adventured about
the world a good deal in his own queer fashion.
He was O bird collector for the Smithsonian
Institution and now on his way to British
Guiana.
my name is Smith," he informed me, and
added, with an effort to be jocose. Il dare say
you've heard it before"
Just then the steward set tray before us,
and Mr.. Smiths glance directed toward the
glasses became apprehensive. He lifted his
drink, tasted 1t without enthusiasm, and then
set 1t down.
1--WE never developed any liking for this sort
of thing" he confided still apologize. mot
that have any compunctions about it or that
1t disagrees with me. Once, as said, must
have drunk half a bottle Of Scotch whisky
at a short sitting. But don't recall experience
ing any particular effect from it,
When ventured to smile he leaned forward
very earnestly. mo. I'm quite serious. If
may judge from that single experience doubt
If liquor in quantity would upset me-"
will you smoker"
He frightened visibly at the sight Of the
cigars I drew from my pocket. Nov you're
tempting me. My one vice." AS he lighted
match, his eye fell to my sheets Of manuscript.
Tin afraid I'm interrupting you at your
writing"
Its nothing much. Just story. can
get on with it tomorrow"
"You write-stories?" he asked. He seemed
to evince an almost childish interest in the
fact. i've often wondered how you manage
to think up stories-you people who make q
business of writing"
WELL" began lamely, zone gets hold Of
an idea or an odd situation and tries to make
something out of it."
He nodded as II he understood, but I was
confident that he didn't. sensed in him that
type of mind to which all things literary re-
main an eternal bafhing mystery. But the
sight Of literature in the making-even litera-
ture of a sort-intrigued him. As he pulled
his cigar to glow his gaze fingered curiously
upon my manuscript.
I've often thought some writer could make
a good story out Of my name-Smith. There
are so many Smiths. You might have two
different men named Smith, and then have
one mistaken for the other"
In his naive way he meant this to be helpful
and could do no less than thank him for the
banal suggestion. Yes, there might be some