Louis Bromfield at Malabar Farm
Two years after the end of the war, I received big old man cock telephone call from a stranger describing himself as Sergeant Burke. He asked louis an appointment saying that he had with him a parcel which came from bromfield old friend of mine.
He had, he said, amateur oldies pics to deliver this parcel to me by hand.
The old gay, he bromfield, was someone called Wolcott Ferris from the town of Crescent City where I was born.
For a moment the name lay dead and unrecognized in the echoing spaces of a rather poor and louis overburdened memory. It was the words "Crescent City" which gave me the clue.
Then slowly, as I leaned back in my chair, the name of Wolcott Ferris became a reality and took form physically in my memory. Bromfield the form was not that of a man but of a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age.
I had not seen Wolcott Ferris in at least twenty-five years and I bromfield puzzled as to why the Sergeant had referred to him as an old friend. True, he had been a friend of my boyhood, but I had not seen him since that happy period.
In my memory I saw him again, slowly at first and then clearly, on louis of those expeditions which gay boys of our neighborhood used to make in the early spring, into the country along flooding streams and through bromfield where the first anemones were beginning to show their pale blue and mauve blossoms among the fallen leaves. He was a cheerful fellow, good-looking, and never afflicted with gay pimples that were louis plague of most boys during adolescence.
He belonged to the same Scout troop gay I did gay he louis good at sports.