A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's Page #7

"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

								

and expected nothing, and ENJOYING it without scorn of himself or his
companion, to use his own expression, "got him." Presently he rose and
sauntered to the table with shining eyes.

"Well, what do you think of Aunt Chloe's shebang?" he asked smilingly.

"Oh, it's so sweet and clean and homelike," said the girl quickly. At
any other time he would have winced at the last adjective. It struck him
now as exactly the word.

"Would you like to live here, if you could?"

Her face brightened. She put the teapot down and gazed fixedly at Jack.

"Because you can. Look here. I spoke to Hannibal about it. You can have
the two front rooms if you want to. One of 'em is big enough and light
enough for a studio to do your work in. You tell that n*gger what you
want to put in 'em, and he's got my orders to do it. I told him about
your painting; said you were the daughter of an old friend, you know.
Hold on, Sophy; d--n it all, I've got to do a little gilt-edged lying;
but I let you out of the niece business this time. Yes, from this moment
I'm no longer your uncle. I renounce the relationship. It's hard,"
continued the rascal, "after all these years and considering sister
Mary's feelings; but, as you seem to wish it, it must be done."

Sophy's steel-blue eyes softened. She slid her long brown hand across
the table and grasped Jack's. He returned the pressure quickly and
fraternally, even to that half-shamed, half-hurried evasion of emotion
peculiar to all brothers. This was also a new sensation; but he liked
it.

"You are too--too good, Mr. Hamlin," she said quietly.

"Yes," said Jack cheerfully, "that's what's the matter with me. It isn't
natural, and if I keep it up too long it brings on my cough."

Nevertheless, they were happy in a boy and girl fashion, eating
heartily, and, I fear, not always decorously; scrambling somewhat for
the strawberries, and smacking their lips over the Sally Lunn. Meantime,
it was arranged that Mr. Hamlin should inform Miss Mix that Sophy would
leave school at the end of the term, only a few days hence, and then
transfer herself to lodgings with some old family servants, where she
could more easily pursue her studies in her own profession. She need not
make her place of abode a secret, neither need she court publicity. She
would write to Jack regularly, informing him of her progress, and he
would visit her whenever he could. Jack assented gravely to the further
proposition that he was to keep a strict account of all the moneys he
advanced her, and that she was to repay him out of the proceeds of her
first pictures. He had promised also, with a slight mental reservation,
not to buy them all himself, but to trust to her success with the
public. They were never to talk of what had happened before; she was to
begin life anew. Of such were their confidences, spoken often together
at the same moment, and with their mouths full. Only one thing troubled
Jack; he had not yet told her frankly who he was and what was his
reputation; he had hitherto carelessly supposed she would learn it,
and in truth had cared little if she did; but it was evident from her
conversation that day that by some miracle she was still in ignorance.
Unable now to tell her himself, he had charged Hannibal to break it to
her casually after he was gone. "You can let me down easy if you like,
but you'd better make a square deal of it while you're about it. And,"
Jack had added cheerfully, "if she thinks after that she'd better drop
me entirely, you just say that if she wishes to STAY, you'll see that
I don't ever come here again. And you keep your word about it too, you
black n*gger, or I'll be the first to thrash you."

Nevertheless, when Hannibal and Aunt Chloe returned to clear away the
repast, they were a harmonious party; albeit, Mr. Hamlin seemed more
content to watch them silently from his chair by the window, a cigar
between his lips, and the pleasant distraction of the homely scents and
sounds of the garden in his senses. Allusion having been made again to
the morning performance of the organ, he was implored by Hannibal to
diversify his talent by exercising it on an old guitar which had passed
into that retainer's possession with certain clothes of his master's
when they separated. Mr. Hamlin accepted it dubiously; it had twanged
under his volatile fingers in more pretentious but less innocent halls.
But presently he raised his tenor voice and soft brown lashes to the
humble ceiling and sang.

     "Way down upon the Swanee River,"

Discoursed Jack plaintively,--

            "Far, far away,
     Thar's whar my heart is turning ever,
     Thar's whar the old folks stay."

The two dusky scions of an emotional race, that had been wont to sweeten
its toil and condone its wrongs with music, sat wrapt and silent,
swaying with Jack's voice until they could burst in upon the chorus.
The jasmine vines trilled softly with the afternoon breeze; a slender
yellow-hammer, perhaps emulous of Jack, swung himself from an outer
spray and peered curiously into the room; and a few neighbors, gathering
at their doors and windows, remarked that "after all, when it came to
real singing, no one could beat those d----d niggers."

The sun was slowly sinking in the rolling gold of the river when Jack
and Sophy started leisurely back through the broken shafts of light, and
across the far-stretching shadows of the cottonwoods. In the midst of
a lazy silence they were presently conscious of a distant monotonous
throb, the booming of the up boat on the river. The sound came
nearer--passed them, the boat itself hidden by the trees; but a trailing
cloud of smoke above cast a momentary shadow upon their path. The girl
looked up at Jack with a troubled face. Mr. Hamlin smiled reassuringly;
but in that instant he had made up his mind that it was his moral duty
to kill Mr. Edward Stratton.

IV.

For the next two months Mr. Hamlin was professionally engaged in San
Francisco and Marysville, and the transfer of Sophy from the school to
her new home was effected without his supervision. From letters received
by him during that interval, it seemed that the young girl had entered
energetically upon her new career, and that her artistic efforts were
crowned with success. There were a few Indian-ink sketches, studies made
at school and expanded in her own "studio," which were eagerly bought as
soon as exhibited in the photographer's window,--notably by a florid
and inartistic bookkeeper, an old negro woman, a slangy stable boy, a
gorgeously dressed and painted female, and the bearded second officer of
a river steamboat, without hesitation and without comment. This, as Mr.
Hamlin intelligently pointed out in a letter to Sophy, showed a general
and diversified appreciation on the part of the public. Indeed, it
emboldened her, in the retouching of photographs, to offer sittings
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