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Salinger may well have forgotten about both stories until Burnett’s appeal. By mentioning “Elaine” and “Lois Taggett,” two of the few pieces that Story had actually published, Burnett hoped to remind Salinger of past favors he had performed. Salinger was in no way inclined to allow Story to publish the other pieces. The most superficial reading of “Seymour—an Introduction” should have warned Burnett of Salinger’s aversion to the release of old stories, especially a pair that directly pointed to his wartime experiences and his failed romance with Oona O’Neill, stories his critics and fans would sift through relentlessly.

As if to intensify the futility of the request, Burnett ended his letter by rehashing the 1946 Young Folks anthology debacle that had ended their friendship and insisting that he had not been responsible for the outcome. “It has always been one of our deepest regrets,” he lamented.

Salinger was unmoved. He not only instructed Dorothy Olding to deny Burnett’s request to publish the stories but also demanded that Burnett give them back. Three days later, Olding broke the news to Burnett. It was an awkward chore for Salinger’s agent, who had known Burnett almost as long as she had known Salinger. Furthermore, and unknown to Salinger, Olding had already accepted payment for the stories and was forced to return the checks that Burnett had sent.4

On December 15, Burnett again wrote to his former pupil, asking Salinger to reconsider, especially when it came to “A Young Man in a Stuffed Shirt.” But the tone of this letter is one of bitterness, and it appears that he had resigned himself to the conclusiveness of Salinger’s position:

At what I understand is your request, I’m returning the two stories—“A Young Man in a Stuffed Shirt” and “The Daughter of the Late Great Man”—which you sent us in 1945 or 1946. I’m sorry not to have had a little note from you personally but I understand that you do not write notes any more.

Salinger was not only closing the doors on past friendships; he was locking them behind him.

• • •

At 3:13 on the morning of February 13, 1960, J. D. Salinger again became a father. At the age of twenty-six, Claire gave birth to a son, Matthew Robert Salinger, at nearby Windsor Hospital, a tiny wooden structure built as a private home in 1836.5 From the beginning of Matthew’s life, Salinger saw his own strengths and shortcomings reflected in his son. He commented that the newborn possessed an intelligence and cheer that radiated through his eyes but worried that Matthew also appeared more delicate and sensitive than his sister, Peggy. Advancing the years to Matthew’s adolescence, Salinger envisioned him becoming a scholar, “thin, shy, very shaggy, and loaded down with books,” a near mirror image of himself as a youth.6

Salinger’s joy over Matthew’s birth was tempered in April 1960, when he received a professional and personal shock. Aside from William Shawn, who had become his greatest champion, Salinger’s most trusted professional friend was his British editor, Jamie Hamilton. Salinger felt forced to scrutinize every action of Little, Brown and Company and its surrogate, Signet Books, in order to protect the integrity of his work. In contrast, Hamilton had always proved himself respectful of Salinger’s wishes and had earned the author’s confidence with renditions of Salinger’s work that were faithful to their spirit. Consequently, Salinger allowed Hamilton almost carte blanche when making decisions.

Back in February 1958, Salinger had mentioned to Roger Machell that he had received a contract from an English paperback publisher for the British version of Nine Stories, called For Esmé—with Love and Squalor. Although derisive of paperbacks in general, Salinger had reluctantly signed the document because Hamish Hamilton had made all the arrangements. He appears to have given the incident no further thought, but when Machell reported Salinger’s comments back to London, Jamie Hamilton was horrified. Hamilton had