sh mare to a high-wheeled yellow runabout; had
his clothes made at Proctor Brothers in Milwaukee; and talked about a
game called golf. It was he who advocated laying out a section of land
for what he called links, and erecting a clubhouse thereon.

"The section of the bluff overlooking the river," he explained, "is
full of natural hazards, besides having a really fine view."

Chippewa--or that comfortable, middle-class section of it which got its
exercise walking home to dinner from the store at noon, and cutting the
grass evenings after supper--laughed as it read this interview in the
Chippewa Eagle.

"A golf course," they repeated to one another, grinning. "Conklin's cow
pasture, up the river. It's full of natural--wait a minute--what
was?--oh, yeh, here it is--hazards. Full of natural hazards. Say,
couldn't you die!"

For H. Charnsworth Baldwin had been little Henry Baldwin before he went
East to college. Ten years later H. Charnsworth, in knickerbockers and
gay-topped stockings, was winning the cup in the men's tournament
played on the Chippewa golf-club course, overlooking the river. And
his name, in stout gold letters, blinked at you from the plate-glass
windows of the office at the corner of Elm and Winnebago:

NORTHERN LUMBER AND LAND COMPANY
H. Charnsworth Baldwin, Pres.

Two blocks farther down Elm Street was another sign, not so glittering,
which read:

Miss Sophy Decker
Millinery

Sophy's hatmaking, in the beginning, had been done at home. She had
always made her sisters' hats, and her own, of course, and an
occasional hat for a girl friend. After her sisters had married, Sophy
found herself in possession of a rather bewildering amount of spare
time. The hat trade grew so that sometimes there were six rather
botchy little bonnets all done up in yellow paper pyramids with a pin
at the top, awaiting their future wearers. After her mother's death
Sophy still stayed on in the old house. She took a course in millinery
in Milwaukee, came home, stuck up a homemade sign in the parlor window
(the untidy cucumber vines came down), and began her hatmaking in
earnest. In five years she had opened a shop on a side street near
Elm, had painted the old house, installed new plumbing, built a warty
stucco porch, and transformed the weedy, grass-tangled yard into an
orderly stretch of green lawn and bright flower beds. In ten years she
was in Elm Street, and the Chippewa Eagle ran a half