Dick Boyle's Business Card Page #9

"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

								

Ashford. "Did you hear anything?"

"Only the wolves howling," said Miss Cantire. "Mr. Boyle was away
twice." She was strangely reticent--in complimentary imitation of her
missing hero.

"There's a dead Indian here who has been killed," began Ashford.

"Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Ashford," interrupted the young
lady, "but let us get away from this horrid place at once. Do get the
horses in. I can't stand it."

But the horses were already harnessed and mounted, postilion-wise, by
the troopers. The vehicle was ready to start when Miss Cantire called
"Stop!"

When Ashford presented himself at the door, the young lady was upon her
hands and knees, searching the bottom of the coach. "Oh, dear! I've lost
something. I must have dropped it on the road," she said breathlessly,
with pink cheeks. "You must positively wait and let me go back and find
it. I won't be long. You know there's 'no hurry.'"

Mr. Ashford stared as Miss Cantire skipped like a schoolgirl from the
coach and ran down the trail by which she and Boyle had approached the
coach the night before. She had not gone far before she came upon the
withered flowers he had thrown away at her command. "It must be about
here," she murmured. Suddenly she uttered a cry of delight, and picked
up the business card that Boyle had shown her. Then she looked furtively
around her, and, selecting a sprig of myrtle among the cast-off flowers,
concealed it in her mantle and ran back, glowing, to the coach. "Thank
you! All right, I've found it," she called to Ashford, with a dazzling
smile, and leaped inside.

The coach drove on, and Miss Cantire, alone in its recesses, drew the
myrtle from her mantle and folding it carefully in her handkerchief,
placed it in her reticule. Then she drew out the card, read its dryly
practical information over and over again, examined the soiled edges,
brushed them daintily, and held it for a moment, with eyes that saw not,
motionless in her hand. Then she raised it slowly to her lips, rolled it
into a spiral, and, loosening a hook and eye, thrust it gently into her
bosom.

And Dick Boyle, galloping away to the distant station, did not know
that the first step towards a realization of his foolish dream had been
taken!
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