A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's Page #3

"A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's" is a short story by Bret Harte that revolves around the themes of mentorship, honor, and the complexities of human relationships in the American West. The narrative centers on Jack Hamlin, a charismatic and enigmatic figure, who takes an interest in a young woman named Clara, navigating the challenges and societal expectations of their time. As the story unfolds, it explores the intricacies of their connection and the impact of Jack's protective influence on Clara's life, ultimately highlighting the nuances of loyalty and the moral dilemmas faced in a world shaped by harsh realities. Harte's storytelling captures the rugged spirit of the frontier and the depth of character that defines his work.

• Short story

								

out her hand and said:--

"God bless you for being so kind."

Jack shuddered and glanced quickly round. But luckily no one heard this
crushing sentimentalism, and the next moment the door closed upon her
and Mrs. Johnson.

It was past midnight, and the moon was riding high over the narrowing
yellow river, when Jack again stepped out on deck. He had just left the
captain's cabin, and a small social game with the officers, which
had served to some extent to vaguely relieve his irritation and
their pockets. He had presumably quite forgotten the incident of the
afternoon, as he looked about him, and complacently took in the quiet
beauty of the night.

The low banks on either side offered no break to the uninterrupted level
of the landscape, through which the river seemed to wind only as a race
track for the rushing boat. Every fibre of her vast but fragile bulk
quivered under the goad of her powerful engines. There was no other
movement but hers, no other sound but this monstrous beat and panting;
the whole tranquil landscape seemed to breathe and pulsate with her;
dwellers in the tules, miles away, heard and felt her as she passed, and
it seemed to Jack, leaning over the railing, as if the whole river swept
like a sluice through her paddle-boxes.

Jack had quite unconsciously lounged before that part of the railing
where the young girl had leaned a few hours ago. As he looked down upon
the streaming yellow mill-race below him, he noticed--what neither he
nor the girl had probably noticed before--that a space of the top bar of
the railing was hinged, and could be lifted by withdrawing a small
bolt, thus giving easy access to the guards. He was still looking at it,
whistling softly, when footsteps approached.

"Jack," said a lazy voice, "how's sister Mary?"

"It's a long time since you've seen her only child, Jack, ain't it?"
said a second voice; "and yet it sort o' seems to me somehow that I've
seen her before."

Jack recognized the voice of two of his late companions at the
card-table. His whistling ceased; so also dropped every trace of color
and expression from his handsome face. But he did not turn, and remained
quietly gazing at the water.

"Aunt Rachel, too, must be getting on in years, Jack," continued the
first speaker, halting behind Jack.

"And Mrs. Johnson does not look so much like Sophy's old nurse as
she used to," remarked the second, following his example. Still Jack
remained unmoved.

"You don't seem to be interested, Jack," continued the first speaker.
"What are you looking at?"

Without turning his head the gambler replied, "Looking at the boat;
she's booming along, just chawing up and spitting out the river, ain't
she? Look at that sweep of water going under her paddle-wheels," he
continued, unbolting the rail and lifting it to allow the two men to
peer curiously over the guards as he pointed to the murderous incline
beneath them; "a man wouldn't stand much show who got dropped into it.
How these paddles would just snatch him bald-headed, pick him up and
slosh him round and round, and then sling him out down there in such a
shape that his own father wouldn't know him."

"Yes," said the first speaker, with an ostentatious little laugh, "but
all that ain't telling us how sister Mary is."

"No," said the gambler slipping into the opening with a white and rigid
face in which nothing seemed living but the eyes, "no, but it's telling
you how two d----d fools who didn't know when to shut their mouths might
get them shut once and forever. It's telling you what might happen to
two men who tried to 'play' a man who didn't care to be 'played,'--a man
who didn't care much what he did, when he did it, or how he did it, but
would do what he'd set out to do--even if in doing it he went to hell
with the men he sent there."

He had stepped out on the guards, beside the two men, closing the rail
behind him. He had placed his hands on their shoulders; they had both
gripped his arms; yet, viewed from the deck above, they seemed at that
moment an amicable, even fraternal group, albeit the faces of the three
were dead white in the moonlight.

"I don't think I'm so very much interested in sister Mary," said the
first speaker quietly, after a pause.

"And I don't seem to think so much of aunt Rachel as I did," said his
companion.

"I thought you wouldn't," said Jack, coolly reopening the rail and
stepping back again. "It all depends upon the way you look at those
things. Good-night."

"Good-night."

The three men paused, shook each other's hands silently, and separated,
Jack sauntering slowly back to his stateroom.

II.

The educational establishment of Mrs. Mix and Madame Bance, situated
in the best quarter of Sacramento and patronized by the highest state
officials and members of the clergy, was a pretty if not an imposing
edifice. Although surrounded by a high white picket fence and entered
through a heavily boarded gate, its balconies festooned with jasmine
and roses, and its spotlessly draped windows as often graced with fresh,
flower-like faces, were still plainly and provokingly visible above the
ostentatious spikes of the pickets. Nevertheless, Mr. Jack Hamlin, who
had six months before placed his niece, Miss Sophonisba Brown, under
its protecting care, felt a degree of uneasiness, even bordering on
timidity, which was new to that usually self-confident man. Remembering
how his first appearance had fluttered this dovecote and awakened a
severe suspicion in the minds of the two principals, he had discarded
his usual fashionable attire and elegantly fitting garments for a rough,
homespun suit, supposed to represent a homely agriculturist, but which
had the effect of transforming him into an adorable Strephon, infinitely
more dangerous in his rustic shepherd-like simplicity. He had also
shaved off his silken mustache for the same prudential reasons, but had
only succeeded in uncovering the delicate lines of his handsome
mouth, and so absurdly reducing his apparent years that his avuncular
pretensions seemed more preposterous than ever; and when he had rung
the bell and was admitted by a severe Irish waiting-maid, his momentary
hesitation and half humorous diffidence had such an unexpected effect
upon her, that it seemed doubtful if he would be allowed to pass beyond
the vestibule. "Shure, miss," she said in a whisper to an under teacher,
"there's wan at the dhure who calls himself, 'Mister' Hamlin, but av it
is not a young lady maskeradin' in her brother's clothes Oim very much
mistaken; and av it's a boy, one of the pupil's brothers, shure ye might
put a dhress on him when you take the others out for a walk, and he'd
pass for the beauty of the whole school."

Meantime, the unconscious subject of this criticism was pacing somewhat
uneasily up and down the formal reception room into which he had been
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