The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin Page #5

"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

								

her firmly, a stroke or two brought him panting to the bank. Here
a gasp, a gurgle, and then a roar from Mary Emmeline, followed by a
sympathetic howl from John Wesley, satisfied him that the danger was
over. Rescuing the boy from the tree root, he laid them both on the
grass and contemplated them exercising their lungs with miserable
satisfaction. But here he found his own breathing impeded in addition to
a slight faintness, and was suddenly obliged to sit down beside them, at
which, by some sympathetic intuition, they both stopped crying.

Encouraged by this, Mr. Hamlin got them to laughing again, and then
proposed a race home in their wet clothes, which they accepted, Mr.
Hamlin, for respiratory reasons, lagging in their rear until he had the
satisfaction of seeing them captured by the horrified Melinda in front
of the kitchen, while he slipped past her and regained his own room.
Here he changed his saturated clothes, tried to rub away a certain
chilliness that was creeping over him, and lay down in his dressing
gown to miserable reflections. He had nearly drowned the children and
overexcited himself, in spite of his promise to the doctor! He would
never again be intrusted with the care of the former nor be believed by
the latter!

But events are not always logical in sequence. Mr. Hamlin went
comfortably to sleep and into a profuse perspiration. He was awakened by
a rapping at his door, and opening it, was surprised to find Mrs. Rivers
with anxious inquiries as to his condition. "Indeed," she said, with an
emotion which even her prim reserve could not conceal, "I did not know
until now how serious the accident was, and how but for you and Divine
Providence my little girl might have been drowned. It seems Melinda saw
it all."

Inwardly objurgating the spying Melinda, but relieved that his playmates
hadn't broken their promise of secrecy, Mr. Hamlin laughed.

"I'm afraid that your little girl wouldn't have got into the water at
all but for me--and you must give all the credit of getting her out
to the other fellow." He stopped at the severe change in Mrs. Rivers's
expression, and added quite boyishly and with a sudden drop from his
usual levity, "But please don't keep the children away from me for all
that, Mrs. Rivers."

Mrs. Rivers did not, and the next day Jack and his companions sought
fresh playing fields and some new story-telling pastures. Indeed, it was
a fine sight to see this pale, handsome, elegantly dressed young fellow
lounging along between a blue-checkered pinafored girl on one side and
a barefooted boy on the other. The ranchmen turned and looked after
him curiously. One, a rustic prodigal, reduced by dissipation to the
swine-husks of ranching, saw fit to accost him familiarly.

"The last time I saw you dealing poker in Sacramento, Mr. Hamlin, I did
not reckon to find you up here playing with a couple of kids."

"No!" responded Mr. Hamlin suavely, "and yet I remember I was playing
with some country idiots down there, and you were one of them. Well!
understand that up here I prefer the kids. Don't let me have to remind
you of it."

Nevertheless, Mr. Hamlin could not help noticing that for the next
two or three days there were many callers at the ranch and that he was
obliged in his walks to avoid the highroad on account of the impertinent
curiosity of wayfarers. Some of them were of that sex which he would not
have contented himself with simply calling "curious."

"To think," said Melinda confidently to her mistress, "that that thar
Mrs. Stubbs, who wouldn't go to the Hightown Hotel because there was a
play actress thar, has been snoopin' round here twice since that young
feller came."

Of this fact, however, Mr. Hamlin was blissfully unconscious.

Nevertheless, his temper was growing uncertain; the angle of his smart
straw hat was becoming aggressive to strangers; his politeness sardonic.
And now Sunday morning had come with an atmosphere of starched piety and
well-soaped respectability at the rancho, and the children were to be
taken with the rest of the family to the day-long service at Hightown.
As these Sabbath pilgrimages filled the main road, he was fain to take
himself and his loneliness to the trails and byways, and even to invade
the haunts of some other elegant outcasts like himself--to wit, a
crested hawk, a graceful wild cat beautifully marked, and an eloquently
reticent rattlesnake. Mr. Hamlin eyed them without fear, and certainly
without reproach. They were not out of their element.

Suddenly he heard his name called in a stentorian contralto. An
impatient ejaculation rose to his lips, but died upon them as he turned.
It was certainly Melinda, but in his present sensitive loneliness it
struck him for the first time that he had never actually seen her before
as she really was. Like most men in his profession he was a quick reader
of thoughts and faces when he was interested, and although this was the
same robust, long-limbed, sunburnt girl he had met, he now seemed to see
through her triple incrustation of human vanity, conventional piety,
and outrageous Sabbath finery an honest, sympathetic simplicity that
commanded his respect.

"You are back early from church," he said.

"Yes. One service is good enough for me when thar ain't no special
preacher," she returned, "so I jest sez to Silas, 'as I ain't here to
listen to the sisters cackle ye kin put to the buckboard and drive me
home ez soon ez you please.'"

"And so his name is Silas," suggested Mr. Hamlin cheerfully.

"Go 'long with you, Mr. Hamlin, and don't pester," she returned, with
heifer-like playfulness. "Well, Silas put to, and when we rose the hill
here I saw your straw hat passin' in the gulch, and sez to Silas, sez I,
'Ye kin pull up here, for over yar is our new boarder, Jack Hamlin, and
I'm goin' to talk with him.' 'All right,' sez he, 'I'd sooner trust
ye with that gay young gambolier every day of the week than with them
saints down thar on Sunday. He deals ez straight ez he shoots, and is
about as nigh onto a gentleman as they make 'em.'"

For one moment or two Miss Bird only saw Jack's long lashes. When his
eyes once more lifted they were shining. "And what did you say?" he
said, with a short laugh.

"I told him he needn't be Christopher Columbus to have discovered that."
She turned with a laugh toward Jack, to be met by the word "shake," and
an outstretched thin white hand which grasped her large red one with a
frank, fraternal pressure.

"I didn't come to tell ye that," remarked Miss Bird as she sat down on a
boulder, took off her yellow hat, and restacked her tawny mane under
it, "but this: I reckoned I went to Sunday meetin' as I ought ter. I
kalkilated to hear considerable about 'Faith' and 'Works,' and sich,
but I didn't reckon to hear all about you from the Lord's Prayer to the
Doxology. You were in the special prayers ez a warnin', in the sermon

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