A Snapshot: A Story

A SNAPSHOT. BY J. A. GORDON. At the request of the management of the Bureau of Information, Tom and I had spent the day showing visitors through the Tabernacle and grounds. It had been a busy day. Hundreds of tourists had applied for admittance. The usual questions concerning the Temple, Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, Reed Smoot and polygamy had been asked and answered a thousand times or more. We were taking our rest near the Bureau building, when I felt impelled to express a thought that had been passing through my mind all day. *'Tom," I said, "how big the world is, and how insignificant the individuals are! Think of the hundreds of strangers who have come into our lives for a few moments today. Until they appeared, we knew nothing of their existence, and now they have passed out of our knowledge." I was conscious that I was saying nothing very bright, but the crowd of visitors had impressed me just so. Now it must be confessed that Tom was of a somewhat contrary, argumentative disposition. Therefore, after considering my remark for a few minutes, he replied, ' 'That's a stupid observation, Dick. The world is very small and is continually becoming smaller; the individual is big, and becoming bigger. Why," here he spoke with warmth, "with the railroads and steamships and telegraphs and 'phones and wireless communications, distance has been annihilated. In this age, man cannot hide in the crowd. Any one of the tourists who have been here today, can be trailed by setting in motion the proper machinery."

362 IMPROVEMENT ERA. My strength does not lie in argument, so I answered Tom very simply by saying, **I don't believe it." That started Tom oif into a half hour's argument to prove that every person is known to every other person on earth. When at last he was out of breath, I had my plan ready. I said, "Tom, let us test the matter. I will take the new kodak I bought last week, and put it in one of the Z. C. M. I. windows, pointing towards the sidewalk. Then we'll arrange it so that at a quarter past eleven tomorrow forenoon, the shutter will be opened for an instant. If you can trace within six months the identity of any of the individuals that may be caught by the kodak, I'll admit that you are right; if you can't, then you will admit that a person may hide in this tiny world." I was taking serious chances, for at a quarter past eleven in the morning, a great many city people pass before the Z. CM. I. windows, and it was very probable that some well known Salt Laker would be photographed by the kodak. Tom probably saw the advantage, for it did not take him long to decide. **Done!" he said. "Let us go and get the instrument ready." In less than an hour we had secured permission to place the kodak in the show window, and by the aid of a cheap alarm clock had arranged a contrivance that would open the kodak shutter for a fraction of a second on the following f prenoon at a quarter past eleven. :t! ^ it: * * We did not part company that night. Early the next morning, we went for a long walk over the hills. At noon we were back in the city, and a few minutes later we had the kodak and the exposed film in the developing room of the photograph gallery across the street. I confess that I was excited. What had the kodak seen at a quarter past eleven? Was it man or woman, child or crowd or beast? Would there be revealed only the formless light blotch; the unfinished image of the thoughts that dwell within the monstrous blackness of the camera? I half shuddered and wished that I had not made the proposal.

A SNAPSHOT. 363 Neither was Tom perfectly easy. "I feel as if I am afraid of the dark, " said he. ''Let us hurry and get done with the job." Slowly I passed the film through the developing bath. Slowly the white film darkened; then white spots began to appear. I strained my eyes to see what was coming. ''Move over," said Tom, "I can't see." Gradually the spots became more distinct, and assumed form. From the darkness of the film an image arose, rather long and narrow. "What is it?" I cried. "Hurry," said Tom. I kept the film in the bath a few seconds longer, then cautiously drew it out. "Fame and fortune!" I whispered to Tom, "there is only one figure on the film and it is of a woman. " Tom drew a deep breath. "She's a daisy, even in the negative." It did not take us long to finish the developing and to fix the figure. Sure enough, it had so happened that at a quarter past eleven only one person was passing the particular Z. C. M. I. window where the kodak was stationed, and that person was a lady. How young, handsome and beautiful she was, could be told after a print had been made. I had work to do that afternoon, so I left Tom in possession of the negative. He was to make two prints from it, one for himself and one for me. Then he was to begin his search for identification. I left my friend with the sincere hope that the unknown lady was a tourist from central Siberia, who had taken the noon train for her telegraphless, telephoneless, newsless home. I wanted to prove Tom wrong. ***** After supper that night as Tom did not call, I strolled over to his home. I admit that I was a trifle curious to see the lady who had looked at my camera that forenoon at a quarter past eleven. As I entered the room, Tom looked up at me with a new light in his eyes. His face was slightly flushed, and his demeanor

364 IMPROVEMENT ERA. gave me the sense of suppressed feeling. Somehow my own spirits rose, as I caught the unspoken joy that pervaded the atmosphere. "Look at her," he murmured, as he handed me the little 4x5 kodak picture mounted neatly on cardboard. At a glance I saw that at a quarter past eleven that day the Z. C. M. I. window was not so clean as it might have been; that the air was a little smoky; and that the sun had been behind a cloud. All this had made the picture somewhat hazy, and devoid of relief. Yet from the monotonous print stood out very distinctly the picture of the lady. It was a full length photograph of a girl about eighteen or twenty years old. She had evidently turned to look at something hanging in the show-window as the kodak snapped. The quarter profile of the face showed a gentlytilted, delicate nose, partly opened, full lips, regular, curved eyebrows, a well turned chin, and in the eyes was a full glint of rich intelligence. The poise of the head, thrown back a little, was that of a queen. From under the small, plain hat, emerged a wealth of carefully combed hair. Over her shoulders was thrown a long, loosely fitting coat, gathered in around the waist. Superbly simple and delicate was the figure caught by the thieving camera. "She is a beauty!" I ejaculated. *Tm glad that the light was not better, for if more of her charms were revealed, I should fall in love with her." "You'd better not," said Tom soberly. I looked at him. There was something in his tone that spoke of impending trouble. I studied the picture a few minutes longer and put the uppermost question: "Who is she?" "Haven't an idea." "A Salt Lake girl, do you think?" Tom whistled his disgust. "Phew! did you ever see a Salt Lake girl with such style as that?" He held the picture at arm's length. "No, sir, Dick, that is no Salt Lake girl. The girl who stood for that picture is the result of many generations of high living and high thinking. I'm afraid that she belongs to some family of the European nobility."

A SNAPSHOT. 365 ' 'If she does, you'll find her so much more easily, " I volunteered, having in mind our compact that led to this stolen picture. "Hang that," was the answer. I looked at Tom again. I didn't like the tone of his voice. I looked at the picture a little longer. "She is dressed plainly." "People of her rank don't need to dress otherwise," Tom asserted. I didn't like Tom's mood, so I said, "I came over to get my copy; did you finish it?" "I made only one print, and that's all that shall be made," was the curt reply. By this time I felt my anger rising, and I told Tom what I thought of him, and then left him sullen and sulking, still staring at the shadow of a strange girl who happened past a certain Z. C. M. I. window at a quarter past eleven on the forenoon of that day. To forget Tom's behavior, I called on Katie, who at this writing is my bride. * * * * * A few evenings later, Tom called on me. "Dick," he said pleadingly, "keep my confidence and help me." "Go ahead," I nodded. The boy looked as if he hadn't slept enough for a week. "The girl in the picture," he sighed, "is the very embodiment of all that I have imagined in the ideal woman who should become my wife. I love her, whosoever she is. I must make her my wife, if my life is to be complete. But — " It was then that I became angry. "Tom," I yelled, "Tom! haven't you given your promise to one of the handsomest and best girls that ever drew breath? Why, Alice is every bit as handsome as the thing that stares out of that picture. You'll probably find your unknown princess nothing more than a disagreeable, stuck up chunk of gold. You can't mistreat so loyal and trusting a girl as Alice with my help!" I got up and swung about the room in my indignation.

366 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Tom took it quietly. He went on at great length to explain what he meant. He had found in his unknown princess a refinement of character, a spiritual companionship that he had never known before. He had thought it over. He loved the girl in the picture more than any other human being, and he felt himself obliged to tell his plighted wife the truth, and to ask her to release him. I boiled inwardly while he spoke. At last, out it came. ' 'Would I be so good as to help him present the matter to Alice? Someone should tell her the whole story — it was really so remarkable that it needed corroboration." By this time I was convinced that Tom had gone daft on the question of the princess, and felt it would be proper to let so sweet a girl as Alice know what a fool Tom really was. I therefore assented. "Let me take the picture to show her, that she may have the satisfaction of knowing what a downward tendency your taste has taken. I'll tell her the story of your insanity, then you can follow with your senseless gabble. " As he handed me the picture, he said: * 'Bring it back soon." * 'Brute," I said, "haven't you a message for Alice?" "Bring it back soon," was all I could get from him. » * * >K * It was a disagreeable errand, for Alice was as true-hearted, sweet- spirited a girl as ever walked on earth. Withal she was beautiful of face and form, and well-trained in all that makes a woman desirable. Since early girlhood she had loved with a steady devotion this boy Tom. How to tell her! It would break her heart! She showed me into the parlor and sat down near me. Poor girl! I looked at her fully five minutes before I could speak. "Well," she said sweetly at length, "are you nearly ready for an introduction?" "That crank of a Tom" — I began. Alice sat up rigidly erect, and lightning began to play in her eyes. I knew that I had started wrong as usual. Then I blurted out the message: "Alice, old friend and.

A SNAPSHOT. 367 playmate, Tom has sent me to tell you that he loves another girl better than you." Alice rose quickly from her seat. I shut my eyes. Just a moment she stood quietly; then the strength of having been bom and bred well came back to her, and she sat down slowly and said very softly, "Did Tom send me that message?" I told her the whole story of our wretched argument near the Information Bureau; the picture of the unknown princess; Tom's absolute capitulation to the girl he had never met, and again his final message to his long- cherished sweetheart. At last I showed her the picture. I must have told the story well, for the blood came slowly back into Alice's cheeks, her lips regained their rich redness, her eyes sparkled, and at last she laughed at the absurdity of Tom's mad love. The ways of women! Two mont".hs have I been married, as I write this, yet Katie is more of a mystery to me than she ever was before. That evening, on hearing my clumsy message, Alice had almost fainted; and the lifelight had gone out of her eyes when she thought of the loss of her lover. Yet a little more than fifteen minutes later, she was laughing gaily at the whole adventure, as if it were nothing that concerned her! I did not like it. A suspicion flashed through my head, and I asked her, "Do you really love Tom?" She nodded a few moments before answering. I had never seen her more queenly. "Love him!" she replied, "Do I really love him? Dick," she continued, "since my earliest childhood, he has been my knight, my lover, my king. He has all my love. " I took a book from the table and studied the title page for several minutes. Then I got up to go. The lamplight flashed and was reflected on the glorious hair and lustrous eyes and finely moulded face of the queen-girl beside me. "Did he say," she asked as we were parting, "that he no longer loved me, or that he loved his unknown princess more?" "Oh, it is simply a case of his loving the unknown more." I shrugged my shoulders.

368 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Thank God for that!" She spoke solemnly. "Tell Tom, from me, that I have a treasure box in my room. In it are tops and marbles, and withered flowers, and handkerchiefs, and many things of greater worth, that he has given me during the days of our childhood and youth. Does he wish them returned now, or shall I keep them pending his quest? Then I have a ring" — There was a break in her voice — half a laugh, half a sob. I couldn't stand it any longer. "Good night, and good cheer to you, Alice," I cried, and hurried away. Tom went to see her the next day. What happened between them I don't know, but when he came back he looked like a dog that had been caught stealing. "Dick," he said, "Alice is a mighty close second to my unknown love." "Tom," I replied with long and eloquent emphasis, "you are an unqualified ninny." That shut him up for the evening. * ^ * * * After these events came the farcical part of the tragedy. Tom set in motion what he called the machinery for discovering the name, station and whereabouts of his unknown princess. First, he published half-tone reproductions of the misty, blurred snapshot, in the Salt Lake dailies. When the engraver and printer had done their usual best, the pictures looked like composites of all the milk and water women that had ever graced the earth. They were noseless, eyeless, earless blotches of printer's ink. Below the picture was printed a call for the original, who was in Salt Lake City on the forenoon of a certain day, to reveal herself. Important news was awaiting her! I was too disgusted to comment on the advertisement when I met Tom. However, replies came fast and thick. Five hundred ladies or more in and out of Salt Lake City were the originals of the picture. Most of them had lost something on that day, and wanted Tom to send the lost article back right away. One good lady had picked up two lace handkerchiefs by mistake from a dry goods counter on that day, and sent them back with her regrets.

A SNAPSHOT. 369 Tom, however, was a brick. He invited each of his correspondents to send on her photograph, that he might make proper comparisons with the original picture. In the course of time he acquired a marvelous collection of feminine beauties. They were fat and lean, thick and thin, tall and short, black and white; yet none possessed the queenly grace and bearing of the unknown princess. Tom did not falter in his pursuit. He tried next the Eastern information venders. The unknown's half-tone likeness was published in a score of America's largest newspapers. Tom's mail increased to about two hundred letters a day. He was simply swamped. Tom and I had been back from our missions only about six months, and we had little monev. Tom soon spent, in this mad passion, all he had and was earning. Of course,! had started the thing, unwittingly enough, and I felt bound to help my friend back to his peace of mind. But our joint endeavor could not keep up the pace of a daily mail of a quarter of a thousand letters. Still, Tom did his best, and never flinched. He must find his unknown princess. At last Tom decided that the unknown was not in America. He then sent to Europe for photographs of the young women belonging to the reigning families of the Old World. She was not among them. He read one day that the young daughter of a diamond king of South Africa was touring the world, and had been in Salt Lake City some months before. He spent a month's wages trying to locate this individual. After much trouble, her photograph arrived. Her lips were thick, her nose flat, her hair crinky and her complexion black as jet. I laughed until I was sick, but Tom said never a word. He was badly affected. The ridiculous things that happened in this vain quest, resulting from my foolish suggestion, would fill a volume. The six months had long since passed. I had proved to Tom that you can't find every person you want in this world, and that the earth is yet tolerably big. Tom didn't care; he wanted his love; his unknown princess. The poor fellow was sick. He could not work. He was surely losing his health and his life. The matter was no

370 IMPROVEMENT ERA. longer a jest. It was serious. But I determined I would not lose my dearest friend without a final effort in his behalf. * * * * 5lC ♦ Dr. Brown lived in our ward when Tom and I were born, and had known us ever since. He had helped us through the measles, mumps and the other things we had enjoyed in our early childhood. To him I told the whole story of the mad quest of the unknown princess. Not a detail did I omit. I even betrayed Tom's confidence to the extent of mentioning my interview with Alice. The doctor listened closely, but said nothing, though I thought I heard him grumble, as I left, that "Some children are old enough to be men." Two days later Tom was so ill that he could not leave his room. I was spending the day with him. The doctor had called the day before, heard the same old senseless story from Tom's lips, and had prescribed some of the bitterest medicine it has been my lot to taste. I nearly always taste the other fellow's medicine. I never need any. "It must be a mixture of wormwood and gall," said I. "It's worse," replied Tom. Along in the afternoon the doctor came. When he saw me, he hesitated a little, then said, *'I guess it doesn't matter, though two cranks are certainly worse than one." I didn't like the implied compliment, and was about to tell the doctor so, when he said to me, "Yes, that was meant for you." I subsided. "Now," said the doctor, "have you taken your medicine? Good! Take some more." And he made Tom swallow another large potion. Poor, pale, languid-eyed Tom! The bitter stuff seemed to take all life from him. The doctor turned to me. "Dick, wouldn't you like a little? It's good for your liver." It was so sudden that I had no time to collect my wits, so I smiled and said, "Thank you, doctor. If you think best." That was two months ago, but I can still taste that stuff.

A SNAPSHOT. 371 * 'By the way," said the doctor, "I've found your unknown princess." Tom leaped out of his chair and almost shrieked at the doctor, "What!" ' 'Sit down, ' ' said the doctor, ' 'even such donkeys as you are in need to be cared for when you are sick." I felt that the doctor included me in the epithet. Tom sank back into his invalid's chair. "I have brought her with me," continued the doctor calmly, "and she is in the house now. Do you want an introduction at once?" Tom was silent. His eyes burned. I tried to find a hiding place by the book case. "Come right in," said the doctor, as he opened the door. Sure enough! It was the unknown princess! I recognized the fine nose, the regular eyebrows, the crowning glory of the lustrous hair, the intelligent, beaming eyes, the small hat, the long coat, the whole finished and perfected by the queenly poise. Surely she was a high-bred, high-born lady; and in the flesh, as I saw her, infinitely more beautiful than the shadow kept by the camera. I did not need a second glance to assure myself that in very, deed the unknown was found, and that she was none other than Alice, Tom's Alice, who lived around the corner! I wondered unconsciously if the house had a cellar. I did not look at Tom. He did not say a word. For just a moment, she stood there filling the room with her loveliness, then she trembled a little and tried to speak, but the doctor made her sit down. , "I'll tell them," he whispered. And he lost no time. "You silly children," he growled, "when you sat planning your insane experiment, Alice, who had come to meet Tom, was standing in the corner alcove of the Bureau building, and of course overheard every word. She concluded that it would be a wholesome joke if you found a few familiar faces on your anticipated snapshot. Moreover, knowing the native stupidity of the promoters

372 IMPROVEMENT ERA. of the whole scheme, she felt fairly sure that if she would put on her cousin's hat and coat, it would deceive them for a few hours at least." The doctor was nearly out of breath. He stopped and looked at me. I backed against the wall. "At a quarter past eleven on the day when you lost your common sense, Alice was on hand, posing for her photograph. Strange to say, no one else was there at the moment. The world evidently had not gathered to observe your ridiculous experiment. "Alice, of course, intended to have the laugh on you, but what could she do when this overgrown boy of a Dick brought her the message that Tom had broken his engagement. It silenced her. Should the revelation come from her, it would be equivalent to offering herself to this worthless fellow with a feverish imagination. Yet that's just what she has done to save Tom's life." The doctor puffed. He was angry. "And now, " he concluded, 'when next you are hunting for the finest thing in the world, I will advise you to begin by looking at the people who live around the corner of your own block. ' ' Every word reached my marrow. "Doctor," I said slowly and solemnly, "I don't want any unknown princess to come into my life. I am going to beg Katie to marry me next week." The doctor growled. I looked at Tom. The deep red of shame was creeping over him. Neck and face, and ears, and the thin spot in his hair, were crimson. Even his hands burned with shame. Thus he sat, with his eyes half closed. Not by a shade did the red fade from his face. We were all quiet. The ticking of the clock hammered upon my nerves. Then, at last, Tom stirred. Slowly he raised his head. His eyes, full of tears, looked piteously on Alice. "Alice," he pleaded, "what can you say?" The doctor turned a little and looked out of the window at a passing street car. I looked at Alice. Never before had I known how perfect a woman can be. Quietly, she arose and walked over to Tom's chair. She