Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1943-09-10
CHAPTER 1

story of Elsa Chatfield should be
written. Elsa, we thought, typifed
something eternal in the spirit of
American youth-something so fas-
cinating to us older individuals that
it should be set down as a part of
the permanent record of the Ameri-
can scene.
There was difference of opin-
ion, however, as to where the story
should begin. Dwight Nichols was
for emitting all mention of Aunt
Kitty and starting in boldly with
the baby.
Babies are always good to open
with. New life, you know. Every
thing before them. The world and
the devil. Of course, I'm not a
writer, Barry, as you are; I'm only
a sportsman"
Huntoon Rogers has since denied
that he foresaw even the smallest
part of the story which began that
night in the hills overlooking the
vast metropolitan area of Los An
geles and had its end far down the
West Coast of Mexico. And, of
course, Dwight Nichols and l were
merely talking in the air when we
agreed that the story of Elsa Chat
field should be written, for the story
then was only about to begin.
"You know, Barry" Dwight said,
looking off over the vast meadow of
twinkling lights below US, II
thought once that I understood
women. But that was when I was
younger. I could have done justice
to Elsa then"
Margaret Nichols at this moment
came out and joined US, sitting on
the top step with her cigarette
which she smoked lazily. 1t was
one of those rare nights in Cali
fornia when one could sit out of
doors comfortably, and her bare
arms and throat seemed to smolder
whitley in the half light which
shone from the living room WIN
doWs. There was a quality of ex-
quisiteness about Margaret that ex-
planned Dwight; he had a passion
for the exquisite, and Margaret
loved him devotedly. Margaret now
desired our company.
II don't like the piano and the
singing. Not now, anyhow" she
said. Nobody can sing these hor-
rible modern songs, if they really
can be called songs. Did l inter-
rupt you, darlings? Forgive me and
go right on talking"
"We were just talking, dear.
Specializing about woman" said
Dwight, lighting a fresh cigarette.
eve mentioned Elsa Chatfield and
then came to rest upon Aunt Kitty"
Lovely old cat" said Margaret.
"Did you know her, Hunt?"
mo, Margaret" replied Rogers.
"a plump, sleek tabby who sat
a lifetime on silk cushions over in
Pasadena, then at the end sank
her claws in Elsa and died. She
ought to have had a love affair
and a baby!"
Dwight blew a cloud of ghostly
smoke into the shadows and said
that Elsa's aunt had been in love
once. Margaret was incredulous.
"You didn't know Sam Chatfield
-Elsa's father-did you, Hunt?"
asked Margaret, turning to Rogers.
Huntoon Rogers said that he had
not. Il was right in thinking that
you came into ou3 "ircle after Sam
fled. He was a small, round, red
dish man who quite remarkably
had no egotism. Dwight, l think,
is a little taller than Sam. Any
way, he bounced like a rubber ball
when he walked, and he was some
thing in bank in Pasadena.
Sam Chatfield sat behind huge
mahogany desk all day and said
no. That's an awfully hard sort of
job, don't you think?" she said Sc
riously. For just imagine men
coming with ambition and hopes, or
in desperate straits about their
finances and needing money, and
having to say no to them. Any de-
cent person would feel it dread
fully. And, of course, Sam did, be-
cause he was a decent sort, you
knvs;. He simply clutched decency
to himself with all the passion of
fierce new love. Of course, to make
up for it, Sam had to say yes
when he was away from the bank,
and so he never said no to anything
that concerned Elsa or himself.
Aunt Kitty was beyond his yes and
no, because she was wealthy.
"Then one day he fled, and they
discovered that he'd said yes and
not no to himself too often. Aunt
Kitty quieted the loss at the bank
with her own money, because there
was family pride, you know. But
you can imagine what that meant
to Elsa. Her mother was dead.
Either Elsa didn't like Mexico, or
Sam thought it best for her to be
up here-she did visit him, though,
occasionally. Anyway, Elsa had to
move in with Aunt Kitty and 60 on
listening to Aunt Kitty talking, talk
ing, talking. Poor Elsa! She was
twelve then, and managed in a year !
or two to escape to school in the |
East. And after that-well, there
was the baby. She was seventeen
nv that fiy,,oD