A Ward of Colonel Starbottle's Page #8

"A Ward of Colonel Starbottle's" is a short story by Bret Harte that revolves around themes of love, social class, and the complexities of human relationships in the American West. The narrative follows Colonel Starbottle, a colorful and charismatic character, as he navigates the challenges of caring for his ward, a young woman named Miss Isabel from a respectable family. The story explores the interactions between the Colonel, his ward, and other characters in their small community, blending humor and poignant moments to highlight the contrasts between societal expectations and individual desires. Through engaging storytelling, Harte captures the spirit of frontier life while delving into the intricacies of personal connections.

• Short story

								

Mr. Hamlin's most subtle attractions for them.)

"Nevertheless, sir," stammered the colonel, "the prompt punishment of
the man who has dared"--

"Punishment!" interrupted Hamlin, "who's to punish the man who has
dared most? The one man who is responsible for the whole thing? Who's to
punish YOU?"

"Mr. Hamlin--sir!" gasped the colonel, falling back, as his hand
involuntarily rose to the level of his waistcoat pocket and his
derringer.

But Mr. Hamlin only put down the wine glass he had lifted from the table
and was delicately twirling between his fingers, and looked fixedly at
the colonel.

"Look here," he said slowly. "When the boys said that you accepted the
guardianship of that child NOT on account of Dick Stannard, but only as
a bluff against the joke they'd set up at you, I didn't believe them!
When these men and women to-night tumbled to that story of the child
being YOURS, I didn't believe that! When it was said by others that you
were serious about making her your ward, and giving her your property,
because you doted on her like a father, I didn't believe that."

"And--why not THAT?" said the colonel quickly, yet with an odd tremor in
his voice.

"Because," said Hamlin, becoming suddenly as grave as the colonel, "I
could not believe that any one who cared a picayune for the child could
undertake a trust that might bring her into contact with a life and
company as rotten as ours. I could not believe that even the most
God-forsaken, conceited fool would, for the sake of a little sentimental
parade and splurge among people outside his regular walk, allow the
prospects of that child to be blasted. I couldn't believe it, even if
he thought he was acting like a father. I didn't believe it--but I'm
beginning to believe it now!"

There was little to choose between the attitudes and expressions of the
two set stern faces now regarding each other, silently, a foot apart.
But the colonel was the first to speak:--

"Mr. Hamlin--sir! You said a moment ago that I
was--er--ahem--responsible for this evening's affair--but you
expressed a doubt as to who could--er--punish me for it. I accept the
responsibility you have indicated, sir, and offer you that chance. But
as this matter between us must have precedence over--my engagements with
that canaille, I shall expect you with your seconds at sunrise on Burnt
Ridge. Good-evening, sir."

With head erect the colonel left the room. Mr. Hamlin slightly shrugged
his shoulders, turned to the door of the room whither he had just
banished the ladies, and in a few minutes his voice was heard
melodiously among the gayest.

For all that he managed to get them away early. When he had bundled them
into a large carryall, and watched them drive away through the storm,
he returned for a minute to the waiting room for his overcoat. He was
surprised to hear the sound of the child's voice in the supper room, and
the door being ajar, he could see quite distinctly that she was seated
at the table, with a plate full of sweets before her, while Colonel
Starbottle, with his back to the door, was sitting opposite to her, his
shoulders slightly bowed as he eagerly watched her. It seemed to Mr.
Hamlin that it was the close of an emotional interview, for Pansy's
voice was broken, partly by sobs, and partly, I grieve to say, by the
hurried swallowing of the delicacies before her. Yet, above the beating
of the storm outside, he could hear her saying,--

"Yes! I promise to be good--(sob)--and to go with Mrs.
Pyecroft--(sob)--and to try to like another guardian--(sob)--and not to
cry any more--(sob)--and--oh, please, DON'T YOU DO IT EITHER!"

But here Mr. Hamlin slipped out of the room and out of the house, with
a rather grave face. An hour later, when the colonel drove up to the
Pyecrofts' door with Pansy, he found that Mr. Pyecroft was slightly
embarrassed, and a figure, which, in the darkness, seemed to resemble
Mr. Hamlin's, had just emerged from the door as he entered.

Yet the sun was not up on Burnt Ridge earlier than Mr. Hamlin. The storm
of the night before had blown itself out; a few shreds of mist hung
in the valleys from the Ridge, that lay above coldly reddening. Then a
breeze swept over it, and out of the dissipating mist fringe Mr. Hamlin
saw two black figures, closely buttoned up like himself, emerge, which
he recognized as Beeswinger and Wynyard, followed by their seconds.
But the colonel came not, Hamlin joined the others in an animated
confidential conversation, attended by a watchful outlook for the
missing adversary. Five, ten minutes elapsed, and yet the usually prompt
colonel was not there. Mr. Hamlin looked grave; Wynyard and Beeswinger
exchanged interrogatory glances. Then a buggy was seen driving furiously
up the grade, and from it leaped Colonel Starbottle, accompanied by Dick
MacKinstry, his second, carrying his pistol case. And then--strangely
enough for men who were waiting the coming of an antagonist who was a
dead shot--they drew a breath of relief!

MacKinstry slightly preceded his principal, and the others could see
that Starbottle, though erect, was walking slowly. They were surprised
also to observe that he was haggard and hollow eyed, and seemed, in the
few hours that had elapsed since they last saw him, to have aged ten
years. MacKinstry, a tall Kentuckian, saluted, and was the first one to
speak.

"Colonel Starbottle," he said formally, "desires to express his regrets
at this delay, which was unavoidable, as he was obliged to attend
his ward, who was leaving by the down coach for Sacramento with Mrs.
Pyecroft, this morning." Hamlin, Wynyard, and Beeswinger exchanged
glances. "Colonel Starbottle," continued MacKinstry, turning to his
principal, "desires to say a word to Mr. Hamlin."

As Mr. Hamlin would have advanced from the group, Colonel Starbottle
lifted his hand deprecatingly. "What I have to say must be said before
these gentlemen," he began slowly. "Mr. Hamlin--sir! when I solicited
the honor of this meeting I was under a grievous misapprehension of the
intent and purpose of your comments on my action last evening. I
think," he added, slightly inflating his buttoned-up figure, "that
the reputation I have always borne in--er--meetings of this kind
will prevent any--er--misunderstanding of my present action--which is
to--er--ask permission to withdraw my challenge--and to humbly beg your
pardon."

The astonishment produced by this unexpected apology, and Mr. Hamlin's
prompt grasp of the colonel's hand, had scarcely passed before the
colonel drew himself up again, and turning to his second said, "And now
I am at the service of Judge Beeswinger and Mr. Wynyard--whichever may
elect to honor me first."

But the two men thus addressed looked for a moment strangely foolish and
embarrassed. Yet the awkwardness was at last broken by Judge Beeswinger

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