Dick Boyle's Business Card Page #4

"Dick Boyle's Business Card" is a short story by Bret Harte, an author known for his depictions of life in the American West. The narrative centers around a humorous and satirical exploration of social status and identity through the lens of a business card that represents the ambitions and pretensions of its titular character, Dick Boyle. Set against the backdrop of a mining town, the story highlights the clash between appearances and reality, showcasing Harte's trademark wit and keen observations of human nature. With its clever commentary on commerce and social interaction, the tale reflects the broader themes of aspiration and self-presentation in the rapidly changing landscape of 19th-century America.

• Short story

								

until he came abreast of her, she said impatiently: "I don't see why Mr.
Foster should think it necessary to send any one to look after me."

"He didn't," returned Boyle simply. "I got down to pick up something."

"To pick up something?" she returned incredulously.

"Yes. THAT." He held out the card. "It's the card of our firm."

Miss Cantire smiled ironically. "You are certainly devoted to your
business."

"Well, yes," returned Boyle good-humoredly. "You see I reckon it don't
pay to do anything halfway. And whatever I do, I mean to keep my eyes
about me." In spite of her prejudice, Miss Cantire could see that these
necessary organs, if rather flippant, were honest. "Yes, I suppose there
isn't much on that I don't take in. Why now, Miss Cantire, there's that
fancy dust cloak you're wearing--it isn't in our line of goods--nor in
anybody's line west of Chicago; it came from Boston or New York, and was
made for home consumption! But your hat--and mighty pretty it is too, as
YOU'VE fixed it up--is only regular Dunstable stock, which we could
put down at Pine Barrens for four and a half cents a piece, net. Yet I
suppose you paid nearly twenty-five cents for it at the Agency!"

Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did not incense the
young lady as it ought to have done. On the contrary, for some occult
feminine reason, it amused and interested her. It would be such a good
story to tell her friends of a "drummer's" idea of gallantry; and to
tease the flirtatious young West Pointer who had just joined. And the
appraisement was truthful--Major Cantire had only his pay--and Miss
Cantire had been obliged to select that hat from the government stores.

"Are you in the habit of giving this information to ladies you meet in
traveling?" she asked.

"Well, no!" answered Boyle--"for that's just where you have to keep your
eyes open. Most of 'em wouldn't like it, and it's no use aggravating a
possible customer. But you are not that kind."

Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that kind, but she
did not require his vulgar indorsement. She pushed on for some moments
alone, when suddenly he hailed her. She turned impatiently. He was
carefully examining the road on both sides.

"We have either lost our way," he said, rejoining her, "or the coach has
turned off somewhere. These tracks are not fresh, and as they are all
going the same way, they were made by the up coach last night. They're
not OUR tracks; I thought it strange we hadn't sighted the coach by this
time."

"And then"--said Miss Cantire impatiently.

"We must turn back until we find them again."

The young lady frowned. "Why not keep on until we get to the top?" she
said pettishly. "I'm sure I shall." She stopped suddenly as she caught
sight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes. "Why can't we go on as
we are?"

"Because we are expected to come back to the COACH--and not to the
summit merely. These are the 'orders,' and you know you are a soldier's
daughter!" He laughed as he spoke, but there was a certain quiet
deliberation in his manner that impressed her. When he added, after
a pause, "We must go back and find where the tracks turned off," she
obeyed without a word.

They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of the missing
vehicle. A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle's judgment
obliterated her previous annoyance, and made her more natural. She ran
ahead of him with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, following
a false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat with a
charming laugh. And it was she who, after retracing their steps for ten
minutes, found the diverging track with a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle,
who had followed her movements quite as interestedly as her discovery,
looked a little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by the
struggling horses. Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; ten
minutes before she would never have observed it. "I suppose we had
better follow the new track," she said inquiringly, as he seemed to
hesitate.

"Certainly," he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision. "That
is safest."

"What do you think has happened? The ground looks very much cut up," she
said in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previous observation
of him.

"A horse has probably stumbled and they've taken the old trail as less
difficult," said Boyle promptly. In his heart he did not believe it,
yet he knew that if anything serious had threatened them the coach would
have waited in the road. "It's an easier trail for us, though I suppose
it's a little longer," he added presently.

"You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle," she said after a
pause.

"It's the way to do business, Miss Cantire," he said. "A man in my line
has to cultivate it."

She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a little
archly: "But you haven't any business with the stage company nor with
ME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from your
firm at the wholesale prices."

Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened by
distance, floated down from the ridge above them. "There!" said Miss
Cantire eagerly. "Do you hear that?"

His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that she might
not question his eyes. She continued with animation: "That's from the
coach--to guide us--don't you see?"

"Yes," he returned, with a quick laugh, "and it says hurry up--mighty
quick--we're tired waiting--so we'd better push on."

"Why don't you answer back with your revolver?" she asked.

"Haven't got one," he said.

"Haven't got one?" she repeated in genuine surprise. "I thought
you gentlemen who are traveling always carried one. Perhaps it's
inconsistent with your gospel of good-humor."

"That's just it, Miss Cantire," he said with a laugh. "You've hit it."

"Why," she said hesitatingly, "even I have a derringer--a very little
one, you know, which I carry in my reticule. Captain Richards gave it to
me." She opened her reticule and showed a pretty ivory-handled pistol.
The look of joyful surprise which came into his face changed quickly as
she cocked it and lifted it into the air. He seized her arm quickly.

"No, please don't, you might want it--I mean the report won't carry far
enough. It's a very useful little thing, for all that, but it's only
effective at close quarters." He kept the pistol in his hand as they
walked on. But Miss Cantire noticed this, also his evident satisfaction
when she had at first produced it, and his concern when she was about to
discharge it uselessly. She was a clever girl, and a frank one to those
she was inclined to trust. And she began to trust this stranger. A smile
stole along her oval cheek.

"I really believe you're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle," she said,
without looking up. "What is it? You haven't got that Indian scare too?"

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