A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's Page #4

"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

								

finally ushered. Its farther end was filled by an enormous parlor organ,
a number of music books, and a cheerfully variegated globe. A large
presentation Bible, an equally massive illustrated volume on the Holy
Land, a few landscapes in cold, bluish milk and water colors, and rigid
heads in crayons--the work of pupils--were presumably ornamental. An
imposing mahogany sofa and what seemed to be a disproportionate excess
of chairs somewhat coldly furnished the room. Jack had reluctantly
made up his mind that, if Sophy was accompanied by any one, he would be
obliged to kiss her to keep up his assumed relationship. As she entered
the room with Miss Mix, Jack advanced and soberly saluted her on the
cheek. But so positive and apparent was the gallantry of his presence,
and perhaps so suggestive of some pastoral flirtation, that Miss Mix, to
Jack's surprise, winced perceptibly and became stony. But he was still
more surprised that the young lady herself shrank half uneasily from his
lips, and uttered a slight exclamation. It was a new experience to Mr.
Hamlin.

But this somewhat mollified Miss Mix, and she slightly relaxed her
austerity. She was glad to be able to give the best accounts of Miss
Brown, not only as regarded her studies, but as to her conduct and
deportment. Really, with the present freedom of manners and laxity of
home discipline in California, it was gratifying to meet a young lady
who seemed to value the importance of a proper decorum and behavior,
especially towards the opposite sex. Mr. Hamlin, although her guardian,
was perhaps too young to understand and appreciate this. To this
inexperience she must also attribute the indiscretion of his calling
during school hours and without preliminary warning. She trusted,
however, that this informality could be overlooked after consultation
with Madame Bance, but in the mean time, perhaps for half an hour, she
must withdraw Miss Brown and return with her to the class. Mr. Hamlin
could wait in this public room, reserved especially for visitors, until
they returned. Or, if he cared to accompany one of the teachers in a
formal inspection of the school, she added, doubtfully, with a glance
at Jack's distracting attractions, she would submit this also to Madame
Bance.

"Thank you, thank you," returned Jack hurriedly, as a depressing vision
of the fifty or sixty scholars rose before his eyes, "but I'd rather
not. I mean, you know, I'd just as lief stay here ALONE. I wouldn't have
called anyway, don't you see, only I had a day off,--and--and--I wanted
to talk with my niece on family matters." He did not say that he had
received a somewhat distressful letter from her asking him to come; a
new instinct made him cautious.

Considerably relieved by Jack's unexpected abstention, which seemed to
spare her pupils the distraction of his graces, Miss Mix smiled more
amicably and retired with her charge. In the single glance he had
exchanged with Sophy he saw that, although resigned and apparently
self-controlled, she still appeared thoughtful and melancholy. She had
improved in appearance and seemed more refined and less rustic in her
school dress, but he was conscious of the same distinct separation of
her personality (which was uninteresting to him) from the sentiment that
had impelled him to visit her. She was possibly still hankering after
that fellow Stratton, in spite of her protestations to the contrary;
perhaps she wanted to go back to her sister, although she had declared
she would die first, and had always refused to disclose her real name
or give any clue by which he could have traced her relations. She would
cry, of course; he almost hoped that she would not return alone; he half
regretted he had come. She still held him only by a single quality
of her nature,--the desperation she had shown on the boat; that was
something he understood and respected.

He walked discontentedly to the window and looked out; he walked
discontentedly to the end of the room and stopped before the organ.
It was a fine instrument; he could see that with an admiring and
experienced eye. He was alone in the room; in fact, quite alone in that
part of the house which was separated from the class-rooms. He would
disturb no one by trying it. And if he did, what then? He smiled a
little recklessly, slowly pulled off his gloves, and sat down before it.

He played cautiously at first, with the soft pedal down. The instrument
had never known a strong masculine hand before, having been fumbled and
friveled over by softly incompetent, feminine fingers. But presently it
began to thrill under the passionate hand of its lover, and carried away
by his one innocent weakness, Jack was launched upon a sea of musical
reminiscences. Scraps of church music, Puritan psalms of his boyhood;
dying strains from sad, forgotten operas, fragments of oratorios and
symphonies, but chiefly phases from old masses heard at the missions
of San Pedro and Santa Isabel, swelled up from his loving and masterful
fingers. He had finished an Agnus Dei; the formal room was pulsating
with divine aspiration; the rascal's hands were resting listlessly on
the keys, his brown lashes lifted, in an effort of memory, tenderly
towards the ceiling.

Suddenly, a subdued murmur of applause and a slight rustle behind him
recalled him to himself again. He wheeled his chair quickly round. The
two principals of the school and half a dozen teachers were standing
gravely behind him, and at the open door a dozen curled and frizzled
youthful heads peered in eagerly, but half restrained by their teachers.
The relaxed features and apologetic attitude of Madame Bance and Miss
Mix showed that Mr. Hamlin had unconsciously achieved a triumph.

He might not have been as pleased to know that his extraordinary
performance had solved a difficulty, effaced his other graces, and
enabled them to place him on the moral pedestal of a mere musician, to
whom these eccentricities were allowable and privileged. He shared the
admiration extended by the young ladies to their music teacher, which
was always understood to be a sexless enthusiasm and a contagious
juvenile disorder. It was also a fine advertisement for the organ.
Madame Bance smiled blandly, improved the occasion by thanking Mr.
Hamlin for having given the scholars a gratuitous lesson on the
capabilities of the instrument, and was glad to be able to give Miss
Brown a half-holiday to spend with her accomplished relative. Miss Brown
was even now upstairs, putting on her hat and mantle. Jack was relieved.
Sophy would not attempt to cry on the street.

Nevertheless, when they reached it and the gate closed behind them, he
again became uneasy. The girl's clouded face and melancholy manner were
not promising. It also occurred to him that he might meet some one who
knew him and thus compromise her. This was to be avoided at all hazards.
He began with forced gayety:--

"Well, now, where shall we go?"
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