Bret Harte

Bret Harte

Summary

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte Baby Sylvester (1874)

His body was a silky, dark, but exquisitely modulated grey, deepening to black in his paws and muzzle. His fur was excessively long, thick, and soft as eider down; the cushions of flesh beneath, perfectly infantine in their texture and contour. He was so very young that the palms of his half-human feet were still tender as a baby's. Except for the bright blue, steely hooks, half-sheathed in his little toes, there was not a single harsh outline or detail in his plump figure. He was as free from angles as one of Leda's offspring. Your caressing hand sank away in his fur with dreamy languor.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte Baby Sylvester (1874)

The straps were cut loose, and Baby—the remorseless, the terrible—quietly tumbled to the ground, and rolling to my side, rubbed his foolish head against me.
I think the astonishment of the two men was beyond any vocal expression. Without a word the drunken stranger got into the wagon and drove away.
And Baby? He had grown, it is true, a trifle larger; but he was thin, and bore the marks of evident ill-usage, His beautiful coat was matted and unkempt, and his claws—those bright steel hooks—had been ruthlessly pared to the quick.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte Baby Sylvester (1874)

I know you love the baby; do you think, dear boy,—now, really, do you think you could be father to it? Consider this well. You are young, thoughtless, well-meaning enough: but dare you take upon yourself the functions of guide, genius or guardian to one so young and guileless? Could you be the mentor to this Telemachus? Think of the temptations of [metropolis] . Look at the question well, and let me know speedily. I've got him as far as this place, and he's kicking up an awful row in the hotel-yard, and rattling his chain like a maniac. Let me know by telegraph at once. Sylvester.
Source: Wikisource

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