The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin Page #7

"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

								

instrument satisfied with his experiment. Excusing himself as an invalid
from joining them in a light collation in the dining room, and begging
his hostess's permission to retire, he nevertheless lingered a few
moments by the door as the ladies filed out of the room, followed by
the gentlemen, until Deacon Turner, who was bringing up the rear, was
abreast of him. Here Mr. Hamlin became suddenly deeply interested in
a framed pencil drawing which hung on the wall. It was evidently a
schoolgirl's amateur portrait, done by Mrs. Rivers. Deacon Turner halted
quickly by his side as the others passed out--which was exactly what Mr.
Hamlin expected.

"Do you know the face?" said the deacon eagerly.

Thanks to the faithful Melinda, Mr. Hamlin did know it perfectly. It was
a pencil sketch of Mrs. Rivers's youthfully erring sister. But he only
said he thought he recognized a likeness to some one he had seen in
Sacramento.

The deacon's eye brightened. "Perhaps the same one--perhaps," he added
in a submissive and significant tone "a--er--painful story."

"Rather--to him," observed Hamlin quietly.

"How?--I--er--don't understand," said Deacon Turner.

"Well, the portrait looks like a lady I knew in Sacramento who had been
in some trouble when she was a silly girl, but had got over it quietly.
She was, however, troubled a good deal by some mean hound who was every
now and then raking up the story wherever she went. Well, one of her
friends--I might have been among them, I don't exactly remember just
now--challenged him, but although he had no conscientious convictions
about slandering a woman, he had some about being shot for it, and
declined. The consequence was he was cowhided once in the street, and
the second time tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town.
That, I suppose, was what you meant by your 'painful story.' But is this
the woman?"

"No, no," said the deacon hurriedly, with a white face, "you have quite
misunderstood."

"But whose is this portrait?" persisted Jack.

"I believe that--I don't know exactly--but I think it is a sister of
Mrs. Rivers's," stammered the deacon.

"Then, of course, it isn't the same woman," said Jack in simulated
indignation.

"Certainly--of course not," returned the deacon.

"Phew!" said Jack. "That was a mighty close call. Lucky we were alone,
wasn't it?"

"Yes," said the deacon, with a feeble smile.

"Seth," continued Jack, with a thoughtful air, "looks like a quiet man,
but I shouldn't like to have made that mistake about his sister-in-law
before him. These quiet men are apt to shoot straight. Better keep this
to ourselves."

Deacon Turner not only kept the revelation to himself but apparently his
own sacred person also, as he did not call again at Windy Hill
Rancho during Mr. Hamlin's stay. But he was exceedingly polite in his
references to Jack, and alluded patronizingly to a "little chat" they
had had together. And when the usual reaction took place in Mr. Hamlin's
favor and Jack was actually induced to perform on the organ at Hightown
Church next Sunday, the deacon's voice was loudest in his praise. Even
Parson Greenwood allowed himself to be non-committal as to the truth of
the rumor, largely circulated, that one of the most desperate gamblers
in the State had been converted through his exhortations.

So, with breezy walks and games with the children, occasional
confidences with Melinda and Silas, and the Sabbath "singing of
anthems," Mr. Hamlin's three weeks of convalescence drew to a close. He
had lately relaxed his habit of seclusion so far as to mingle with the
company gathered for more social purposes at the rancho, and once or
twice unbent so far as to satisfy their curiosity in regard to certain
details of his profession.

"I have no personal knowledge of games of cards," said Parson Greenwood
patronizingly, "and think I am right in saying that our brothers and
sisters are equally inexperienced. I am--ahem--far from believing,
however, that entire ignorance of evil is the best preparation for
combating it, and I should be glad if you'd explain to the company the
intricacies of various games. There is one that you mentioned, with
a--er--scriptural name."

"Faro," said Hamlin, with an unmoved face.

"Pharaoh," repeated the parson gravely; "and one which you call 'poker,'
which seems to require great self-control."

"I couldn't make you understand poker without your playing it," said
Jack decidedly.

"As long as we don't gamble--that is, play for money--I see no
objection," returned the parson.

"And," said Jack musingly, "you could use beans."

It was agreed finally that there would be no falling from grace in their
playing among themselves, in an inquiring Christian spirit, under Jack's
guidance, he having decided to abstain from card playing during his
convalescence, and Jack permitted himself to be persuaded to show them
the following evening.

It so chanced, however, that Dr. Duchesne, finding the end of Jack's
"cure" approaching, and not hearing from that interesting invalid,
resolved to visit him at about this time. Having no chance to apprise
Jack of his intention, on coming to Hightown at night he procured a
conveyance at the depot to carry him to Windy Hill Rancho. The wind blew
with its usual nocturnal rollicking persistency, and at the end of
his turbulent drive it seemed almost impossible to make himself heard
amongst the roaring of the pines and some astounding preoccupation of
the inmates. After vainly knocking, the doctor pushed open the front
door and entered. He rapped at the closed sitting room door, but
receiving no reply, pushed it open upon the most unexpected and
astounding scene he had ever witnessed. Around the centre table several
respectable members of the Hightown Church, including the parson, were
gathered with intense and eager faces playing poker, and behind the
parson, with his hands in his pockets, carelessly lounged the doctor's
patient, the picture of health and vigor. A disused pack of cards was
scattered on the floor, and before the gentle and precise Mrs. Rivers
was heaped a pile of beans that would have filled a quart measure.

When Dr. Duchesne had tactfully retreated before the hurried and
stammering apologies of his host and hostess, and was alone with Jack
in his rooms, he turned to him with a gravity that was more than half
affected and said, "How long, sir, did it take you to effect this
corruption?"

"Upon my honor," said Jack simply, "they played last night for the
first time. And they forced me to show them. But," added Jack after a
significant pause, "I thought it would make the game livelier and be
more of a moral lesson if I gave them nearly all good pat hands. So I
ran in a cold deck on them--the first time I ever did such a thing in
my life. I fixed up a pack of cards so that one had three tens, another
three jacks, and another three queens, and so on up to three aces. In a

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