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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation"


"Nuthin'. Afore I could get up, he got away."
"Are you sure it was him?" they asked. "You know you SAY you was
asleep."
"Am I sure?" repeated Jack scornfully. "Don't I know thet face and
beard? Didn't I feel it hangin' over me?"
"What are you going to do about it?" continued the crowd eagerly.
"Wait till he comes out--and you'll see," said Jack, with dignity.
This was enough for the crowd; they gathered excitedly at the door,
where Jack was already standing, looking towards the church. The moments
dragged slowly; it might be a long meeting. Suddenly the church door
opened and a figure appeared, looking up and down the street. Jack
colored--he recognized Polly--and stepped out into the road. The crowd
delicately, but somewhat disappointedly, drew back in the saloon. They
did not care to interfere in THAT sort of thing.
Polly saw him, and came hurriedly towards him. She was holding something
in her hand.
"I picked this up on the church floor," she said shyly, "so I reckoned
you HAD be'n there,--though the parson said you hadn't,--and I just
excused myself and ran out to give it ye.


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