But when her moment came, a cruel thing happened. Something was wrong
with the machine that was showing the picture. At just _that_ moment--of
all the moments!--the worn-out film seemed to be going to pieces before
her eyes. After the little dog came along, and just as Howie should come
out from the cigar-store, there was a flash--a blur--a jumble of
movements. It was like an earthquake--it looked like life ceasing to be
life. "_No!_" she gasped under her breath. "_No!_" The people around her
were saying things of a different sort. "Cut it!" "What you givin' us?"
"Whoa, boy!" They laughed. _They_ didn't care. It got a little better;
she could make out Howie bending down to fix the dog's muzzle--but it
was all dancing crazily--and people were laughing. And then--then the
miracle! It was on Howie's smile the picture steadied--that smile back
over his shoulder after he had turned to go. And, as if to bring to
rights what had been wrong, the smile was held, and it was as if Howie
lingered, as if in leaving life he looked back over his shoulder and
waited--waited for his smile to reach Laura. Out of the jumble and
blur--out of the wrong and meaningless--Howie's beautiful steady smile
_making it all right_.
She could not have told how it happened. As Howie passed, she turned to
the little girl beside her whose head was without support and, not
waking her, supported the child's head against her own arm.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329