The Reformation of James Reddy Page #3

"The Reformation of James Reddy" is a short story by Bret Harte that explores themes of redemption and transformation in a Western setting. The narrative follows the character of James Reddy, a man with a dubious reputation who undergoes a significant change in his behavior and perspective. Through a series of events and encounters with other characters, Reddy grapples with his past mistakes and seeks to redefine himself. Harte's storytelling combines humor and social commentary, highlighting the complexities of human nature and the possibility of change against a backdrop of frontier life.

• Short story

								

and shoulders, her heavy hair had brushed his cheek and left its
faint odor in his nostrils; the rounded outline of her figure had
been slightly drawn against his own. His mean resentment wavered; her
proposition, which at first seemed only insulting, now took a vague form
of satisfaction; his ironical suggestion seemed a natural expression.
"Well, I say 'yes' then," he said, with an affected laugh. "That is, if
you think I can manage to do the work; it is not exactly in my line, you
know." Yet he somehow felt that his laugh was feeble and unconvincing.

"Oh, it's easy enough," said the girl quietly. "You've only got to be
clean--and that's in your line, I should say."

"And if I thought it would please you," he added, with another attempt
at gallantry.

She did not reply, but moved steadily on, he fancied a little more
rapidly. They were nearing the house; he felt he was losing time and
opportunity. The uneven nature of the ground kept him from walking
immediately beside her, unless he held her hand or arm. Yet an odd
timidity was overtaking him. Surely this was the same girl whose
consciousness and susceptibility were so apparent a moment ago; yet her
speech had been inconsistent, unsympathetic, and coldly practical. "It's
very kind of you," he began again, scrambling up one side of the furrow
as she descended on the other, "to--to--take such an interest in--in a
stranger, and I wish you knew how" (she had mounted the ridge again, and
stood balancing herself as if waiting for him to finish his sentence)
"how--how deeply--I--I"--She dropped quickly down again with the same
movement of uneasy consciousness, and he left the sentence unfinished.
The house was now only a few yards away; he hurried forward, but she
reached the wooden platform and stoop upon it first. He, however, at the
same moment caught her hand.

"I want to thank you," he said, "and say good-night."

"Good-night." Her voice was indistinct again, and she was trembling.
Emboldened and reckless, he sprang upon the platform, and encircling her
with one arm, with his other hand he unloosed the woolen cloud around
her head and bared her faintly flushed cheek and half-open, hurriedly
breathing lips. But the next moment she threw her head back with a
single powerful movement, and, as it seemed to him, with scarcely an
effort cast him off with both hands, and sent him toppling from the
platform to the ground. He scrambled quickly to his feet again, flushed,
angry, and--frightened! Perhaps she would call her father; he would be
insulted, or worse,--laughed at! He had lost even this pitiful chance of
bettering his condition. But he was as relieved as he was surprised
to see that she was standing quietly on the edge of the platform,
apparently waiting for him to rise. Her face was still uncovered, still
slightly flushed, but bearing no trace of either insult or anger. When
he stood erect again, she looked at him gravely and drew the woolen
cloud over her head, as she said calmly, "Then I'll tell pa you'll take
the place, and I reckon you'll begin to-morrow morning."

II.

Angered, discomfited, and physically and morally beaten, James Reddy
stumbled and clambered back across the field. The beam of light that had
streamed out over the dark field as the door opened and shut on the
girl left him doubly confused and bewildered. In his dull anger and
mortification, there seemed only one course for him to pursue. He would
demand his wages in the morning, and cut the whole concern. He would go
back to San Francisco and work there, where he at least had friends who
respected his station. Yet, he ought to have refused the girl's offer
before she had repulsed him; his retreat now meant nothing, and might
even tempt her, in her vulgar pique, to reveal her rebuff of him. He
raised his eyes mechanically, and looked gloomily across the dark waste
and distant bay to the opposite shore. But the fog had already hidden
the glow of the city's lights, and, thickening around the horizon,
seemed to be slowly hemming him in with the dreary rancho. In his
present frame of mind there was a certain fatefulness in this that
precluded his once free agency, and to that extent relieved and absolved
HIM of any choice. He reached the dormitory and its turned-down lights
in a state of tired and dull uncertainty, for which sleep seemed to
offer the only relief. He rolled himself in his blankets with an animal
instinct of comfort and shut his eyes, but their sense appeared to
open upon Nelly Woodridge as she stood looking down upon him from the
platform. Even through the dull pain of his bruised susceptibilities he
was conscious of a strange satisfaction he had not felt before. He fell
asleep at last, to waken only to the sunlight streaming through the
curtainless windows on his face. To his surprise the long shed was empty
and deserted, except for a single Chinaman who was sweeping the floor at
the farther end. As Reddy started up, the man turned and approached him
with a characteristic, vague, and patient smile.

"All lity, John, you sleepee heap! Mistel Woodlidge he say you no go
wolkee field allee same Mellikan man. You stoppee inside housee allee
same ME. Shabbee? You come to glubbee [grub] now" (pointing to the
distant dining-shed), "and then you washee dish."

The full extent of his new degradation flashed upon Reddy with this
added insult of his brother menial's implicit equality. He understood
it all. He had been detached from the field-workers and was to come to
a later breakfast, perhaps the broken victuals of the first repast,
and wash the dishes. He remembered his new bargain. Very well! he
would refuse positively, take his dismissal, and leave that morning! He
hurriedly dressed himself, and followed the Chinaman into the open air.

The fog still hung upon the distant bay and hid the opposite point. But
the sun shone with dry Californian brilliancy over the league-long field
around him, revealing every detail of the rancho with sharp, matter of
fact directness, and without the least illusion of distance or romance.
The rough, unplaned, unpainted walls of the dinner-shed stood out
clearly before him; the half-filled buckets of water on the near
platform, and the immense tubs piled with dirty dishes. He scowled
darkly as he walked forward, conscious, nevertheless, of the
invigorating discipline of the morning air and the wholesome whip in the
sky above him. He entered sharply and aggressively. To his relief, the
room at first sight seemed, like the dormitory he had just left, to be
empty. But a voice, clear, dry, direct, and practical as the morning
itself, spoke in his ear: "Mornin', Reddy! My daughter says you're
willin' to take an indoor job, and I reckon, speakin' square, as man
to man, it's more in your line than what you've bin doin'. It mayn't
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