A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's Page #8

"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

								

to the subjects, and to undertake even large crayon copies, which had
resulted in her getting so many orders that she was no longer obliged
to sell her drawings, but restricted herself solely to profitable
portraiture. The studio became known; even its quaint surroundings added
to the popular interest, and the originality and independence of the
young painter helped her to a genuine success. All this she wrote to
Jack. Meantime Hannibal had assured him that he had carried out his
instructions by informing "Missy" of his old master's real occupation
and reputation, but that the young lady hadn't "took no notice."
Certainly there was no allusion to it in her letters, nor any indication
in her manner. Mr. Hamlin was greatly, and it seemed to him properly,
relieved. And he looked forward with considerable satisfaction to an
early visit to old Hannibal's laundry.

It must be confessed, also, that another matter, a simple affair of
gallantry, was giving him an equally unusual, unexpected, and absurd
annoyance, which he had never before permitted to such trivialities.
In a recent visit to a fashionable watering-place, he had attracted the
attention of what appeared to be a respectable, matter of fact woman,
the wife of a recently elected rural Senator. She was, however,
singularly beautiful, and as singularly cold. It was perhaps this
quality, and her evident annoyance at some unreasoning prepossession
which Jack's fascinations exercised upon her, that heightened that
reckless desire for risk and excitement which really made up the greater
part of his gallantry. Nevertheless, as was his habit, he had treated
her always with a charming unconsciousness of his own attentions, and a
frankness that seemed inconsistent with any insidious approach. In fact,
Mr. Hamlin seldom made love to anybody, but permitted it to be made to
him with good-humored deprecation and cheerful skepticism. He had once,
quite accidentally, while riding, come upon her when she had strayed
from her own riding party, and had behaved with such unexpected
circumspection and propriety, not to mention a certain thoughtful
abstraction,--it was the day he had received Sophy's letter,--that she
was constrained to make the first advances. This led to a later innocent
rendezvous, in which Mrs. Camperly was impelled to confide to Mr. Hamlin
the fact that her husband had really never understood her. Jack listened
with an understanding and sympathy quickened by long experience of such
confessions. If anything had ever kept him from marriage it was this
evident incompatibility of the conjugal relations with a just conception
of the feminine soul and its aspirations.

And so eventually this yearning for sympathy dragged Mrs. Camperly's
clean skirts and rustic purity after Jack's heels into various places
and various situations not so clean, rural, or innocent; made her
miserably unhappy in his absence, and still more miserably happy in his
presence; impelled her to lie, cheat, and bear false witness; forced her
to listen with mingled shame and admiration to narrow criticism of his
faults, from natures so palpably inferior to his own that her moral
sense was confused and shaken; gave her two distinct lives, but so
unreal and feverish that, with a recklessness equal to his own, she was
at last ready to merge them both into his. For the first time in his
life Mr. Hamlin found himself bored at the beginning of an affair,
actually hesitated, and suddenly disappeared from San Francisco.

He turned up a few days later at Aunt Chloe's door, with various
packages of presents and quite the air of a returning father of a
family, to the intense delight of that lady and to Sophy's proud
gratification. For he was lost in a profuse, boyish admiration of her
pretty studio, and in wholesome reverence for her art and her astounding
progress. They were also amused at his awe and evident alarm at the
portraits of two ladies, her latest sitters, that were still on
the easels, and, in consideration of his half-assumed, half-real
bashfulness, they turned their faces to the wall. Then his quick,
observant eye detected a photograph of himself on the mantel.

"What's that?" he asked suddenly.

Sophy and Aunt Chloe exchanged meaning glances. Sophy had, as a surprise
to Jack, just completed a handsome crayon portrait of himself from an
old photograph furnished by Hannibal, and the picture was at that moment
in the window of her former patron,--the photographer.

"Oh, dat! Miss Sophy jus' put it dar fo' de lady sitters to look at to
gib 'em a pleasant 'spresshion," said Aunt Chloe, chuckling.

Mr. Hamlin did not laugh, but quietly slipped the photograph into his
pocket. Yet, perhaps, it had not been recognized.

Then Sophy proposed to have luncheon in the studio; it was quite
"Bohemian" and fashionable, and many artists did it. But to her great
surprise Jack gravely objected, preferring the little parlor of Aunt
Chloe, the vine-fringed windows, and the heavy respectable furniture.
He thought it was profaning the studio, and then--anybody might come in.
This unusual circumspection amused them, and was believed to be part of
the boyish awe with which Jack regarded the models, the draperies, and
the studies on the walls. Certain it was that he was much more at his
ease in the parlor, and when he and Sophy were once more alone at their
meal, although he ate nothing, he had regained all his old naivete.
Presently he leaned forward and placed his hand fraternally on her arm.
Sophy looked up with an equally frank smile.

"You know I promised to let bygones be bygones, eh? Well, I intended it,
and more,--I intended to make 'em so. I told you I'd never speak to you
again of that man who tried to run you off, and I intended that no one
else should. Well, as he was the only one who could talk--that meant
him. But the cards are out of my hands; the game's been played without
me. For he's dead!"

The girl started. Mr. Hamlin's hand passed caressingly twice or thrice
along her sleeve with a peculiar gentleness that seemed to magnetize
her.

"Dead," he repeated slowly. "Shot in San Diego by another man, but not
by me. I had him tracked as far as that, and had my eyes on him, but it
wasn't my deal. But there," he added, giving her magnetized arm a gentle
and final tap as if to awaken it, "he's dead, and so is the whole story.
And now we'll drop it forever."

The girl's downcast eyes were fixed on the table. "But there's my
sister," she murmured.

"Did she know you went with him?" asked Jack.

"No; but she knows I ran away."

"Well, you ran away from home to study how to be an artist, don't
you see? Some day she'll find out you ARE ONE; that settles the whole
thing."

They were both quite cheerful again when Aunt Chloe returned to
clear the table, especially Jack, who was in the best spirits, with
preternaturally bright eyes and a somewhat rare color on his cheeks.
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