The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin

"The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin" by Bret Harte is a short story that explores themes of healing, redemption, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in the American West, it follows the character of Jack Hamlin, a former gambler recovering from illness. During his convalescence, he encounters various individuals who challenge his worldview and inspire him to confront his past. Harte's vivid storytelling combines humor and realism, showcasing his signature style while delving into the transformative power of friendship and self-reflection.

• Short story

								
The habitually quiet, ascetic face of Seth Rivers was somewhat disturbed
and his brows were knitted as he climbed the long ascent of Windy Hill
to its summit and his own rancho. Perhaps it was the effect of the
characteristic wind, which that afternoon seemed to assault him from all
points at once and did not cease its battery even at his front door, but
hustled him into the passage, blew him into the sitting room, and then
celebrated its own exit from the long, rambling house by the banging
of doors throughout the halls and the slamming of windows in the remote
distance.

Mrs. Rivers looked up from her work at this abrupt onset of her
husband, but without changing her own expression of slightly fatigued
self-righteousness. Accustomed to these elemental eruptions, she laid
her hands from force of habit upon the lifting tablecloth, and then rose
submissively to brush together the scattered embers and ashes from the
large hearthstone, as she had often done before.

"You're in early, Seth," she said.

"Yes. I stopped at the Cross Roads Post Office. Lucky I did, or you'd
hev had kempany on your hands afore you knowed it--this very night! I
found this letter from Dr. Duchesne," and he produced a letter from his
pocket.

Mrs. Rivers looked up with an expression of worldly interest. Dr.
Duchesne had brought her two children into the world with some
difficulty, and had skillfully attended her through a long illness
consequent upon the inefficient maternity of soulful but fragile
American women of her type. The doctor had more than a mere local
reputation as a surgeon, and Mrs. Rivers looked up to him as her sole
connecting link with a world of thought beyond Windy Hill.

"He's comin' up yer to-night, bringin' a friend of his--a patient that
he wants us to board and keep for three weeks until he's well agin,"
continued Mr. Rivers. "Ye know how the doctor used to rave about the
pure air on our hill."

Mrs. Rivers shivered slightly, and drew her shawl over her shoulders,
but nodded a patient assent.

"Well, he says it's just what that patient oughter have to cure him.
He's had lung fever and other things, and this yer air and gin'ral quiet
is bound to set him up. We're to board and keep him without any fuss or
feathers, and the doctor sez he'll pay liberal for it. This yer's what
he sez," concluded Mr. Rivers, reading from the letter: "'He is now
fully convalescent, though weak, and really requires no other medicine
than the--ozone'--yes, that's what the doctor calls it--'of Windy Hill,
and in fact as little attendance as possible. I will not let him keep
even his negro servant with him. He'll give you no trouble, if he can be
prevailed upon to stay the whole time of his cure.'"

"There's our spare room--it hasn't been used since Parson Greenwood was
here," said Mrs. Rivers reflectively. "Melinda could put it to rights in
an hour. At what time will he come?"

"He'd come about nine. They drive over from Hightown depot. But," he
added grimly, "here ye are orderin' rooms to be done up and ye don't
know who for."

"You said a friend of Dr. Duchesne," returned Mrs. Rivers simply.

"Dr. Duchesne has many friends that you and me mightn't cotton to,"
said her husband. "This man is Jack Hamlin." As his wife's remote and
introspective black eyes returned only vacancy, he added quickly. "The
noted gambler!"

"Gambler?" echoed his wife, still vaguely.

"Yes--reg'lar; it's his business."

"Goodness, Seth! He can't expect to do it here."

"No," said Seth quickly, with that sense of fairness to his fellow
man which most women find it so difficult to understand. "No--and he
probably won't mention the word 'card' while he's here."

"Well?" said Mrs. Rivers interrogatively.

"And," continued Seth, seeing that the objection was not pressed, "he's
one of them desprit men! A reg'lar fighter! Killed two or three men in
dools!"

Mrs. Rivers stared. "What could Dr. Duchesne have been thinking of? Why,
we wouldn't be safe in the house with him!"

Again Seth's sense of equity triumphed. "I never heard of his fightin'
anybody but his own kind, and when he was bullyragged. And ez to women
he's quite t'other way in fact, and that's why I think ye oughter know
it afore you let him come. He don't go round with decent women. In
fact"--But here Mr. Rivers, in the sanctity of conjugal confidences and
the fullness of Bible reading, used a few strong scriptural substantives
happily unnecessary to repeat here.

"Seth!" said Mrs. Rivers suddenly, "you seem to know this man."

The unexpectedness and irrelevancy of this for a moment startled Seth.
But that chaste and God-fearing man had no secrets. "Only by hearsay,
Jane," he returned quietly; "but if ye say the word I'll stop his comin'
now."

"It's too late," said Mrs. Rivers decidedly.

"I reckon not," returned her husband, "and that's why I came straight
here. I've only got to meet them at the depot and say this thing can't
be done--and that's the end of it. They'll go off quiet to the hotel."

"I don't like to disappoint the doctor, Seth," said Mrs. Rivers. "We
might," she added, with a troubled look of inquiry at her husband, "we
might take that Mr. Hamlin on trial. Like as not he won't stay, anyway,
when he sees what we're like, Seth. What do you think? It would be only
our Christian duty, too."

"I was thinkin' o' that as a professin' Christian, Jane," said her
husband. "But supposin' that other Christians don't look at it in that
light. Thar's Deacon Stubbs and his wife and the parson. Ye remember
what he said about 'no covenant with sin'?"

"The Stubbses have no right to dictate who I'll have in my house," said
Mrs. Rivers quickly, with a faint flush in her rather sallow cheeks.

"It's your say and nobody else's," assented her husband with grim
submissiveness. "You do what you like."

Mrs. Rivers mused. "There's only myself and Melinda here," she said with
sublime naivete; "and the children ain't old enough to be corrupted. I
am satisfied if you are, Seth," and she again looked at him inquiringly.

"Go ahead, then, and get ready for 'em," said Seth, hurrying away
with unaffected relief. "If you have everything fixed by nine o'clock,
that'll do."

Mrs. Rivers had everything "fixed" by that hour, including herself
presumably, for she had put on a gray dress which she usually wore
when shopping in the county town, adding a prim collar and cuffs. A
pearl-encircled brooch, the wedding gift of Seth, and a solitaire ring
next to her wedding ring, with a locket containing her children's hair,
accented her position as a proper wife and mother. At a quarter to nine
she had finished tidying the parlor, opening the harmonium so that
the light might play upon its polished keyboard, and bringing from
the forgotten seclusion of her closet two beautifully bound volumes of
Tupper's "Poems" and Pollok's "Course of Time," to impart a literary

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