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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/350-0.txt b/350-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b6b253 --- /dev/null +++ b/350-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11092 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fanny Herself + +Author: Edna Ferber + +Release Date: July 3, 2008 [EBook #350] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + + + + +Produced by Mike Lough + + + + + +FANNY HERSELF + +By Edna Ferber + + +TO WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + + + + +PREFACE + +It has become the fashion among novelists to introduce their hero in +knee pants, their heroine in pinafore and pigtails. Time was when we +were rushed up to a stalwart young man of twenty-four, who was presented +as the pivot about whom the plot would revolve. Now we are led, +protesting, up to a grubby urchin of five and are invited to watch him +through twenty years of intimate minutiae. In extreme cases we have been +obliged to witness his evolution from swaddling clothes to dresses, from +dresses to shorts (he is so often English), from shorts to Etons. + +The thrill we get for our pains is when, at twenty-five, he jumps over +the traces and marries the young lady we met in her cradle on page two. +The process is known as a psychological study. A publisher's note on +page five hundred and seventy-three assures us that the author is now at +work on Volume Two, dealing with the hero's adult life. A third volume +will present his pleasing senility. The whole is known as a trilogy. +If the chief character is of the other sex we are dragged through her +dreamy girlhood, or hoydenish. We see her in her graduation white, in +her bridal finery. By the time she is twenty we know her better than her +mother ever will, and are infinitely more bored by her. + +Yet who would exchange one page in the life of the boy, David +Copperfield, for whole chapters dealing with Trotwood Copperfield, the +man? Who would relinquish the button-bursting Peggotty for the saintly +Agnes? And that other David--he of the slingshot; one could not love +him so well in his psalm-singing days had one not known him first as the +gallant, dauntless vanquisher of giants. As for Becky Sharp, with her +treachery, her cruelty, her vindicativeness, perhaps we could better +have understood and forgiven her had we known her lonely and neglected +childhood, with the drunken artist father and her mother, the French +opera girl. + +With which modest preamble you are asked to be patient with Miss Fanny +Brandeis, aged thirteen. Not only must you suffer Fanny, but Fanny's +mother as well, without whom there could be no understanding Fanny. For +that matter, we shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Brandeis were to turn out the +heroine in the end. She is that kind of person. + + + + +FANNY HERSELF + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +You could not have lived a week in Winnebago without being aware of Mrs. +Brandeis. In a town of ten thousand, where every one was a personality, +from Hen Cody, the drayman, in blue overalls (magically transformed +on Sunday mornings into a suave black-broadcloth usher at the +Congregational Church), to A. J. Dawes, who owned the waterworks before +the city bought it. Mrs. Brandeis was a super-personality. Winnebago +did not know it. Winnebago, buying its dolls, and china, and Battenberg +braid and tinware and toys of Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, +realized vaguely that here was some one different. + +When you entered the long, cool, narrow store on Elm Street, Mrs. +Brandeis herself came forward to serve you, unless she already was busy +with two customers. There were two clerks--three, if you count Aloysius, +the boy--but to Mrs. Brandeis belonged the privilege of docketing you +first. If you happened in during a moment of business lull, you were +likely to find her reading in the left-hand corner at the front of the +store, near the shelf where were ranged the dolls' heads, the pens, the +pencils, and school supplies. + +You saw a sturdy, well-set-up, alert woman, of the kind that looks +taller than she really is; a woman with a long, straight, clever nose +that indexed her character, as did everything about her, from her crisp, +vigorous, abundant hair to the way she came down hard on her heels in +walking. She was what might be called a very definite person. But first +you remarked her eyes. Will you concede that eyes can be piercing, yet +velvety? Their piercingness was a mental quality, I suppose, and the +velvety softness a physical one. One could only think, somehow, of wild +pansies--the brown kind. If Winnebago had taken the trouble to glance +at the title of the book she laid face down on the pencil boxes as you +entered, it would have learned that the book was one of Balzac's, or, +perhaps, Zangwill's, or Zola's. She never could overcome that habit +of snatching a chapter here and there during dull moments. She was too +tired to read when night came. + +There were many times when the little Wisconsin town lay broiling in +the August sun, or locked in the January drifts, and the main business +street was as silent as that of a deserted village. But more often she +came forward to you from the rear of the store, with bits of excelsior +clinging to her black sateen apron. You knew that she had been helping +Aloysius as he unpacked a consignment of chamber sets or a hogshead of +china or glassware, chalking each piece with the price mark as it was +dug from its nest of straw and paper. + +“How do you do!” she would say. “What can I do for you?” And in that +moment she had you listed, indexed, and filed, were you a farmer woman +in a black shawl and rusty bonnet with a faded rose bobbing grotesquely +atop it, or one of the patronizing East End set who came to Brandeis' +Bazaar because Mrs. Brandeis' party favors, for one thing, were of a +variety that could be got nowhere else this side of Chicago. If, after +greeting you, Mrs. Brandeis called, “Sadie! Stockings!” (supposing +stockings were your quest), you might know that Mrs. Brandeis had +weighed you and found you wanting. + +There had always been a store--at least, ever since Fanny could +remember. She often thought how queer it would seem to have to buy pins, +or needles, or dishes, or soap, or thread. The store held all these +things, and many more. Just to glance at the bewildering display outside +gave you promise of the variety within. Winnebago was rather ashamed of +that display. It was before the day of repression in decoration, and +the two benches in front of the windows overflowed with lamps, and +water sets, and brooms, and boilers and tinware and hampers. Once the +Winnebago Courier had had a sarcastic editorial about what they called +the Oriental bazaar (that was after the editor, Lem Davis, had bumped +his shin against a toy cart that protruded unduly), but Mrs. Brandeis +changed nothing. She knew that the farmer women who stood outside with +their husbands on busy Saturdays would not have understood repression +in display, but they did understand the tickets that marked the wares in +plain figures--this berry set, $1.59; that lamp, $1.23. They talked it +over, outside, and drifted away, and came back, and entered, and bought. + +She knew when to be old-fashioned, did Mrs. Brandeis, and when to be +modern. She had worn the first short walking skirt in Winnebago. It +cleared the ground in a day before germs were discovered, when women's +skirts trailed and flounced behind them in a cloud of dust. One of her +scandalized neighbors (Mrs. Nathan Pereles, it was) had taken her aside +to tell her that no decent woman would dress that way. + +“Next year,” said Mrs. Brandeis, “when you are wearing one, I'll remind +you of that.” And she did, too. She had worn shirtwaists with a broad +“Gibson” shoulder tuck, when other Winnebago women were still encased +in linings and bodices. Do not get the impression that she stood for +emancipation, or feminism, or any of those advanced things. They had +scarcely been touched on in those days. She was just an extraordinarily +alert woman, mentally and physically, with a shrewd sense of values. +Molly Brandeis never could set a table without forgetting the spoons, or +the salt, or something, but she could add a double column of figures in +her head as fast as her eye could travel. + +There she goes, running off with the story, as we were afraid she would. +Not only that, she is using up whole pages of description when she +should be giving us dialogue. Prospective readers, running their +eyes over a printed page, object to the solid block formation of the +descriptive passage. And yet it is fascinating to weave words about her, +as it is fascinating to turn a fine diamond this way and that in the +sunlight, to catch its prismatic hues. Besides, you want to know--do you +not?--how this woman who reads Balzac should be waiting upon you in a +little general store in Winnebago, Wisconsin? + +In the first place, Ferdinand Brandeis had been a dreamer, and a +potential poet, which is bad equipment for success in the business of +general merchandise. Four times, since her marriage, Molly Brandeis had +packed her household goods, bade her friends good-by, and with her two +children, Fanny and Theodore, had followed her husband to pastures new. +A heart-breaking business, that, but broadening. She knew nothing of the +art of buying and selling at the time of her marriage, but as the +years went by she learned unconsciously the things one should not do +in business, from watching Ferdinand Brandeis do them all. She even +suggested this change and that, but to no avail. Ferdinand Brandeis +was a gentle and lovable man at home; a testy, quick-tempered one in +business. + +That was because he had been miscast from the first, and yet had played +one part too long, even though unsuccessfully, ever to learn another. He +did not make friends with the genial traveling salesmen who breezed in, +slapped him on the back, offered him a cigar, inquired after his health, +opened their sample cases and flirted with the girl clerks, all in a +breath. He was a man who talked little, listened little, learned little. +He had never got the trick of turning his money over quickly--that trick +so necessary to the success of the small-town business. + +So it was that, in the year preceding Ferdinand Brandeis' death, there +came often to the store a certain grim visitor. Herman Walthers, cashier +of the First National Bank of Winnebago, was a kindly-enough, shrewd, +small-town banker, but to Ferdinand Brandeis and his wife his visits, +growing more and more frequent, typified all that was frightful, +presaged misery and despair. He would drop in on a bright summer +morning, perhaps, with a cheerful greeting. He would stand for a moment +at the front of the store, balancing airily from toe to heel, and +glancing about from shelf to bin and back again in a large, speculative +way. Then he would begin to walk slowly and ruminatively about, his +shrewd little German eyes appraising the stock. He would hum a little +absent-minded tune as he walked, up one aisle and down the next (there +were only two), picking up a piece of china there, turning it over to +look at its stamp, holding it up to the light, tapping it a bit with his +knuckles, and putting it down carefully before going musically on down +the aisle to the water sets, the lamps, the stockings, the hardware, the +toys. And so, his hands behind his back, still humming, out the swinging +screen door and into the sunshine of Elm Street, leaving gloom and fear +behind him. + +One year after Molly Brandeis took hold, Herman Walthers' visits ceased, +and in two years he used to rise to greet her from his little cubbyhole +when she came into the bank. + +Which brings us to the plush photograph album. The plush photograph +album is a concrete example of what makes business failure and success. +More than that, its brief history presents a complete characterization +of Ferdinand and Molly Brandeis. + +Ten years before, Ferdinand Brandeis had bought a large bill of +Christmas fancy-goods--celluloid toilette sets, leather collar boxes, +velvet glove cases. Among the lot was a photograph album in the shape of +a huge acorn done in lightning-struck plush. It was a hideous thing, and +expensive. It stood on a brass stand, and its leaves were edged in gilt, +and its color was a nauseous green and blue, and it was altogether the +sort of thing to grace the chill and funereal best room in a Wisconsin +farmhouse. Ferdinand Brandeis marked it at six dollars and stood it +up for the Christmas trade. That had been ten years before. It was too +expensive; or too pretentious, or perhaps even too horrible for the +bucolic purse. At any rate, it had been taken out, brushed, dusted, and +placed on its stand every holiday season for ten years. On the day after +Christmas it was always there, its lightning-struck plush face staring +wildly out upon the ravaged fancy-goods counter. It would be packed +in its box again and consigned to its long summer's sleep. It had seen +three towns, and many changes. The four dollars that Ferdinand Brandeis +had invested in it still remained unturned. + +One snowy day in November (Ferdinand Brandeis died a fortnight later) +Mrs. Brandeis, entering the store, saw two women standing at the +fancy-goods counter, laughing in a stifled sort of way. One of them was +bowing elaborately to a person unseen. Mrs. Brandeis was puzzled. She +watched them for a moment, interested. One of the women was known to +her. She came up to them and put her question, bluntly, though her quick +wits had already given her a suspicion of the truth. + +“What are you bowing to?” + +The one who had done the bowing blushed a little, but giggled too, as +she said, “I'm greeting my old friend, the plush album. I've seen it +here every Christmas for five years.” + +Ferdinand Brandeis died suddenly a little more than a week later. It was +a terrible period, and one that might have prostrated a less resolute +and balanced woman. There were long-standing debts, not to speak of the +entire stock of holiday goods to be paid for. The day after the funeral +Winnebago got a shock. The Brandeis house was besieged by condoling +callers. Every member of the little Jewish congregation of Winnebago +came, of course, as they had come before the funeral. Those who had not +brought cakes, and salads, and meats, and pies, brought them now, as was +the invariable custom in time of mourning. + +Others of the townspeople called, too; men and women who had known and +respected Ferdinand Brandeis. And the shock they got was this: Mrs. +Brandeis was out. Any one could have told you that she should have been +sitting at home in a darkened room, wearing a black gown, clasping +Fanny and Theodore to her, and holding a black-bordered handkerchief at +intervals to her reddened eyes. And that is what she really wanted to +do, for she had loved her husband, and she respected the conventions. +What she did was to put on a white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven +o'clock the morning after the funeral. + +The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at seven +forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping out with wet sawdust and a languid +broom. The extra force of holiday clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at +eight or after, expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At +eight-ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph +album, whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck in its place +a neatly printed card bearing these figures: “To-day--79 cents!” The plush +album went home in a farmer's wagon that afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Right here there should be something said about Fanny Brandeis. And yet, +each time I turn to her I find her mother plucking at my sleeve. There +comes to my mind the picture of Mrs. Brandeis turning down Norris Street +at quarter to eight every morning, her walk almost a march, so firm and +measured it was, her head high, her chin thrust forward a little, as a +fighter walks, but not pugnaciously; her short gray skirt clearing the +ground, her shoulders almost consciously squared. Other Winnebago women +were just tying up their daughters' pigtails for school, or sweeping the +front porch, or watering the hanging baskets. Norris Street residents +got into the habit of timing themselves by Mrs. Brandeis. When she +marched by at seven forty-five they hurried a little with the tying of +the hair bow, as they glanced out of the window. When she came by again, +a little before twelve, for her hasty dinner, they turned up the fire +under the potatoes and stirred the flour thickening for the gravy. + +Mrs. Brandeis had soon learned that Fanny and Theodore could manage +their own school toilettes, with, perhaps, some speeding up on the part +of Mattie, the servant girl. But it needed her keen brown eye to detect +corners that Aloysius had neglected to sweep out with wet sawdust, and +her presence to make sure that the counter covers were taken off and +folded, the outside show dusted and arranged, the windows washed, the +whole store shining and ready for business by eight o'clock. So Fanny +had even learned to do her own tight, shiny, black, shoulder-length +curls, which she tied back with a black bow. They were wet, meek, and +tractable curls at eight in the morning. By the time school was out +at four they were as wildly unruly as if charged with electric +currents--which they really were, when you consider the little dynamo +that wore them. + +Mrs. Brandeis took a scant half hour to walk the six blocks between +the store and the house, to snatch a hurried dinner, and traverse the +distance to the store again. It was a program that would have killed a +woman less magnificently healthy and determined. She seemed to thrive on +it, and she kept her figure and her wit when other women of her age grew +dull, and heavy, and ineffectual. On summer days the little town often +lay shimmering in the heat, the yellow road glaring in it, the red +bricks of the high school reflecting it in waves, the very pine knots +in the sidewalks gummy and resinous with heat, and sending up a pungent +smell that was of the woods, and yet stifling. She must have felt an +almost irresistible temptation to sit for a moment on the cool, shady +front porch, with its green-painted flower boxes, its hanging fern +baskets and the catalpa tree looking boskily down upon it. + +But she never did. She had an almost savage energy and determination. +The unpaid debts were ever ahead of her; there were the children to be +dressed and sent to school; there was the household to be kept up; there +were Theodore's violin lessons that must not be neglected--not after +what Professor Bauer had said about him. + +You may think that undue stress is being laid upon this driving force +in her, upon this business ability. But remember that this was fifteen +years or more ago, before women had invaded the world of business by the +thousands, to take their place, side by side, salary for salary, with +men. Oh, there were plenty of women wage earners in Winnebago, as +elsewhere; clerks, stenographers, school teachers, bookkeepers. The +paper mills were full of girls, and the canning factory too. But here +was a woman gently bred, untrained in business, left widowed with two +children at thirty-eight, and worse than penniless--in debt. + +And that was not all. As Ferdinand Brandeis' wife she had occupied a +certain social position in the little Jewish community of Winnebago. +True, they had never been moneyed, while the others of her own faith +in the little town were wealthy, and somewhat purse-proud. They had +carriages, most of them, with two handsome horses, and their houses +were spacious and veranda-encircled, and set in shady lawns. When the +Brandeis family came to Winnebago five years before, these people had +waited, cautiously, and investigated, and then had called. They were +of a type to be found in every small town; prosperous, conservative, +constructive citizens, clannish, but not so much so as their city +cousins, mingling socially with their Gentile neighbors, living well, +spending their money freely, taking a vast pride in the education of +their children. But here was Molly Brandeis, a Jewess, setting out +to earn her living in business, like a man. It was a thing to stir +Congregation Emanu-el to its depths. Jewish women, they would tell you, +did not work thus. Their husbands worked for them, or their sons, or +their brothers. + +“Oh, I don't know,” said Mrs. Brandeis, when she heard of it. “I seem +to remember a Jewess named Ruth who was left widowed, and who gleaned in +the fields for her living, and yet the neighbors didn't talk. For that +matter, she seems to be pretty well thought of, to this day.” + +But there is no denying that she lost caste among her own people. Custom +and training are difficult to overcome. But Molly Brandeis was too +deep in her own affairs to care. That Christmas season following her +husband's death was a ghastly time, and yet a grimly wonderful one, for +it applied the acid test to Molly Brandeis and showed her up pure gold. + +The first week in January she, with Sadie and Pearl, the two clerks, +and Aloysius, the boy, took inventory. It was a terrifying thing, +that process of casting up accounts. It showed with such starkness how +hideously the Brandeis ledger sagged on the wrong side. The three women +and the boy worked with a sort of dogged cheerfulness at it, counting, +marking, dusting, washing. They found shelves full of forgotten stock, +dust-covered and profitless. They found many articles of what is known +as hard stock, akin to the plush album; glass and plated condiment +casters for the dining table, in a day when individual salts and +separate vinegar cruets were already the thing; lamps with straight +wicks when round wicks were in demand. + +They scoured shelves, removed the grime of years from boxes, washed +whole battalions of chamber sets, bathed piles of plates, and bins of +cups and saucers. It was a dirty, back-breaking job, that ruined the +finger nails, tried the disposition, and caked the throat with +dust. Besides, the store was stove-heated and, near the front door, +uncomfortably cold. The women wore little shoulder shawls pinned over +their waists, for warmth, and all four, including Aloysius, sniffled for +weeks afterward. That inventory developed a new, grim line around Mrs. +Brandeis' mouth, and carved another at the corner of each eye. After it +was over she washed her hair, steamed her face over a bowl of hot water, +packed two valises, left minute and masterful instructions with Mattie +as to the household, and with Sadie and Pearl as to the store, and was +off to Chicago on her first buying trip. She took Fanny with her, as +ballast. It was a trial at which many men would have quailed. On the +shrewdness and judgment of that buying trip depended the future of +Brandeis' Bazaar, and Mrs. Brandeis, and Fanny, and Theodore. + +Mrs. Brandeis had accompanied her husband on many of his trips to +Chicago. She had even gone with him occasionally to the wholesale houses +around La Salle Street, and Madison, and Fifth Avenue, but she had +never bought a dollar's worth herself. She saw that he bought slowly, +cautiously, and without imagination. She made up her mind that she would +buy quickly, intuitively. She knew slightly some of the salesmen in +the wholesale houses. They had often made presents to her of a vase, +a pocketbook, a handkerchief, or some such trifle, which she accepted +reluctantly, when at all. She was thankful now for these visits. She +found herself remembering many details of them. She made up her mind, +with a canny knowingness, that there should be no presents this time, no +theater invitations, no lunches or dinners. This was business, she told +herself; more than business--it was grim war. + +They still tell of that trip, sometimes, when buyers and jobbers and +wholesale men get together. Don't imagine that she came to be a woman +captain of finance. Don't think that we are to see her at the head of +a magnificent business establishment, with buyers and department heads +below her, and a private office done up in mahogany, and stenographers +and secretaries. No, she was Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, to the +end. The bills she bought were ridiculously small, I suppose, and the +tricks she turned on that first trip were pitiful, perhaps. But they +were magnificent too, in their way. I am even bold enough to think that +she might have made business history, that plucky woman, if she had had +an earlier start, and if she had not, to the very end, had a pack of +unmanageable handicaps yelping at her heels, pulling at her skirts. + +It was only a six-hour trip to Chicago. Fanny Brandeis' eyes, big enough +at any time, were surely twice their size during the entire journey of +two hundred miles or more. They were to have lunch on the train! They +were to stop at an hotel! They were to go to the theater! She would have +lain back against the red plush seat of the car, in a swoon of joy, if +there had not been so much to see in the car itself, and through the car +window. + +“We'll have something for lunch,” said Mrs. Brandeis when they were +seated in the dining car, “that we never have at home, shall we?” + +“Oh, yes!” replied Fanny in a whisper of excitement. +“Something--something queer, and different, and not so very healthy!” + +They had oysters (a New Yorker would have sniffed at them), and chicken +potpie, and asparagus, and ice cream. If that doesn't prove Mrs. +Brandeis was game, I should like to know what could! They stopped at +the Windsor-Clifton, because it was quieter and less expensive than the +Palmer House, though quite as full of red plush and walnut. Besides, +she had stopped at the Palmer House with her husband, and she knew how +buyers were likely to be besieged by eager salesmen with cards, and with +tempting lines of goods spread knowingly in the various sample-rooms. + +Fanny Brandeis was thirteen, and emotional, and incredibly receptive +and alive. It is impossible to tell what she learned during that Chicago +trip, it was so crowded, so wonderful. She went with her mother to the +wholesale houses and heard and saw and, unconsciously, remembered. When +she became fatigued with the close air of the dim showrooms, with their +endless aisles piled with every sort of ware, she would sit on a +chair in some obscure corner, watching those sleek, over-lunched, +genial-looking salesmen who were chewing their cigars somewhat wildly +when Mrs. Brandeis finished with them. Sometimes she did not accompany +her mother, but lay in bed, deliciously, until the middle of the +morning, then dressed, and chatted with the obliging Irish chamber maid, +and read until her mother came for her at noon. + +Everything she did was a delightful adventure; everything she saw had +the tang of novelty. Fanny Brandeis was to see much that was beautiful +and rare in her full lifetime, but she never again, perhaps, got +quite the thrill that those ugly, dim, red-carpeted, gas-lighted hotel +corridors gave her, or the grim bedroom, with its walnut furniture and +its Nottingham curtains. As for the Chicago streets themselves, with +their perilous corners (there were no czars in blue to regulate traffic +in those days), older and more sophisticated pedestrians experienced +various emotions while negotiating the corner of State and Madison. + +That buying trip lasted ten days. It was a racking business, physically +and mentally. There were the hours of tramping up one aisle and down the +other in the big wholesale lofts. But that brought bodily fatigue only. +It was the mental strain that left Mrs. Brandeis spent and limp at the +end of the day. Was she buying wisely? Was she over-buying? What did +she know about buying, anyway? She would come back to her hotel at six, +sometimes so exhausted that the dining-room and dinner were unthinkable. +At such times they would have dinner in their room another delicious +adventure for Fanny. She would try to tempt the fagged woman on the bed +with bits of this or that from one of the many dishes that dotted the +dinner tray. But Molly Brandeis, harrowed in spirit and numbed in body, +was too spent to eat. + +But that was not always the case. There was that unforgettable night +when they went to see Bernhardt the divine. Fanny spent the entire +morning following standing before the bedroom mirror, with her hair +pulled out in a wild fluff in front, her mother's old marten-fur +scarf high and choky around her neck, trying to smile that slow, sad, +poignant, tear-compelling smile; but she had to give it up, clever +mimic though she was. She only succeeded in looking as though a pin were +sticking her somewhere. Besides, Fanny's own smile was a quick, broad, +flashing grin, with a generous glint of white teeth in it, and she +always forgot about being exquisitely wistful over it until it was too +late. + +I wonder if the story of the china religious figures will give a wrong +impression of Mrs. Brandeis. Perhaps not, if you will only remember this +woman's white-lipped determination to wrest a livelihood from the world, +for her children and herself. They had been in Chicago a week, and she +was buying at Bauder & Peck's. Now, Bauder & Peck, importers, are known +the world over. It is doubtful if there is one of you who has not been +supplied, indirectly, with some imported bit of china or glassware, with +French opera glasses or cunning toys and dolls, from the great New York +and Chicago showrooms of that company. + +Young Bauder himself was waiting on Mrs. Brandeis, and he was frowning +because he hated to sell women. Young Bauder was being broken into the +Chicago end of the business, and he was not taking gracefully to the +process. + +At the end of a long aisle, on an obscure shelf in a dim corner, Molly +Brandeis' sharp eyes espied a motley collection of dusty, grimy +china figures of the kind one sees on the mantel in the parlor of +the small-town Catholic home. Winnebago's population was two-thirds +Catholic, German and Irish, and very devout. + +Mrs. Brandeis stopped short. “How much for that lot?” She pointed to the +shelf. Young Bauder's gaze followed hers, puzzled. The figures were from +five inches to a foot high, in crude, effective blues, and gold, and +crimson, and white. All the saints were there in assorted sizes, the +Pieta, the cradle in the manger. There were probably two hundred or +more of the little figures. “Oh, those!” said young Bauder vaguely. “You +don't want that stuff. Now, about that Limoges china. As I said, I can +make you a special price on it if you carry it as an open-stock pattern. +You'll find----” + +“How much for that lot?” repeated Mrs. Brandeis. + +“Those are left-over samples, Mrs. Brandeis. Last year's stuff. They're +all dirty. I'd forgotten they were there.” + +“How much for the lot?” said Mrs. Brandeis, pleasantly, for the third +time. + +“I really don't know. Three hundred, I should say. But----” + +“I'll give you two hundred,” ventured Mrs. Brandeis, her heart in her +mouth and her mouth very firm. + +“Oh, come now, Mrs. Brandeis! Bauder & Peck don't do business that way, +you know. We'd really rather not sell them at all. The things aren't +worth much to us, or to you, for that matter. But three hundred----” + +“Two hundred,” repeated Mrs. Brandeis, “or I cancel my order, including +the Limoges. I want those figures.” + +And she got them. Which isn't the point of the story. The holy figures +were fine examples of foreign workmanship, their colors, beneath +the coating of dust, as brilliant and fadeless as those found in the +churches of Europe. They reached Winnebago duly, packed in straw and +paper, still dusty and shelf-worn. Mrs. Brandeis and Sadie and Pearl sat +on up-ended boxes at the rear of the store, in the big barn-like room in +which newly arrived goods were unpacked. As Aloysius dived deep into the +crate and brought up figure after figure, the three women plunged them +into warm and soapy water and proceeded to bathe and scour the entire +school of saints, angels, and cherubim. They came out brilliantly fresh +and rosy. + +All the Irish ingenuity and artistry in Aloysius came to the surface +as he dived again and again into the great barrel and brought up the +glittering pieces. + +“It'll make an elegant window,” he gasped from the depths of the hay, +his lean, lengthy frame jack-knifed over the edge. “And cheap.” His +shrewd wit had long ago divined the store's price mark. “If Father +Fitzpatrick steps by in the forenoon I'll bet they'll be gone before +nighttime to-morrow. You'll be letting me do the trim, Mrs. Brandeis?” + +He came back that evening to do it, and he threw his whole soul into it, +which, considering his ancestry and temperament, was very high voltage +for one small-town store window. He covered the floor of the window with +black crepe paper, and hung it in long folds, like a curtain, against +the rear wall. The gilt of the scepters, and halos, and capes showed up +dazzlingly against this background. The scarlets, and pinks, and blues, +and whites of the robes appeared doubly bright. The whole made a picture +that struck and held you by its vividness and contrast. + +Father Fitzpatrick, very tall and straight, and handsome, with his +iron-gray hair and his cheeks pink as a girl's, did step by next morning +on his way to the post-office. It was whispered that in his youth Father +Fitzpatrick had been an actor, and that he had deserted the footlights +for the altar lights because of a disappointment. The drama's loss was +the Church's gain. You should have heard him on Sunday morning, now +flaying them, now swaying them! He still had the actor's flexible voice, +vibrant, tremulous, or strident, at will. And no amount of fasting or +praying had ever dimmed that certain something in his eye--the something +which makes the matinee idol. + +Not only did he step by now; he turned, came back; stopped before the +window. Then he entered. + +“Madam,” he said to Mrs. Brandeis, “you'll probably save more souls with +your window display than I could in a month of hell-fire sermons.” He +raised his hand. “You have the sanction of the Church.” Which was the +beginning of a queer friendship between the Roman Catholic priest and +the Jewess shopkeeper that lasted as long as Molly Brandeis lived. + +By noon it seemed that the entire population of Winnebago had turned +devout. The figures, a tremendous bargain, though sold at a high profit, +seemed to melt away from the counter that held them. + +By three o'clock, “Only one to a customer!” announced Mrs. Brandeis. By +the middle of the week the window itself was ravished of its show. By +the end of the week there remained only a handful of the duller and less +desirable pieces--the minor saints, so to speak. Saturday night Mrs. +Brandeis did a little figuring on paper. The lot had cost her two +hundred dollars. She had sold for six hundred. Two from six leaves four. +Four hundred dollars! She repeated it to herself, quietly. Her mind +leaped back to the plush photograph album, then to young Bauder and his +cool contempt. And there stole over her that warm, comfortable glow born +of reassurance and triumph. Four hundred dollars. Not much in these +days of big business. We said, you will remember, that it was a pitiful +enough little trick she turned to make it, though an honest one. And--in +the face of disapproval--a rather magnificent one too. For it gave to +Molly Brandeis that precious quality, self-confidence, out of which is +born success. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +By spring Mrs. Brandeis had the farmer women coming to her for their +threshing dishes and kitchenware, and the West End Culture Club for +their whist prizes. She seemed to realize that the days of the general +store were numbered, and she set about making hers a novelty store. +There was something terrible about the earnestness with which she +stuck to business. She was not more than thirty-eight at this time, +intelligent, healthy, fun-loving. But she stayed at it all day. She +listened and chatted to every one, and learned much. There was about her +that human quality that invites confidence. + +She made friends by the hundreds, and friends are a business asset. +Those blithe, dressy, and smooth-spoken gentlemen known as traveling men +used to tell her their troubles, perched on a stool near the stove, and +show her the picture of their girl in the back of their watch, and asked +her to dinner at the Haley House. She listened to their tale of woe, +and advised them; she admired the picture of the girl, and gave some +wholesome counsel on the subject of traveling men's lonely wives; but +she never went to dinner at the Haley House. + +It had not taken these debonair young men long to learn that there was a +woman buyer who bought quickly, decisively, and intelligently, and that +she always demanded a duplicate slip. Even the most unscrupulous could +not stuff an order of hers, and when it came to dating she gave no +quarter. Though they wore clothes that were two leaps ahead of the +styles worn by the Winnebago young men--their straw sailors were likely +to be saw-edged when the local edges were smooth, and their coats were +more flaring, or their trousers wider than the coats and trousers of +the Winnebago boys--they were not, for the most part, the gay dogs that +Winnebago's fancy painted them. Many of them were very lonely married +men who missed their wives and babies, and loathed the cuspidored +discomfort of the small-town hotel lobby. They appreciated Mrs. +Brandeis' good-natured sympathy, and gave her the long end of a deal +when they could. It was Sam Kiser who had begged her to listen to +his advice to put in Battenberg patterns and braid, long before the +Battenberg epidemic had become widespread and virulent. + +“Now listen to me, Mrs. Brandeis,” he begged, almost tearfully. “You're +a smart woman. Don't let this get by you. You know that I know that a +salesman would have as much chance to sell you a gold brick as to sell +old John D. Rockefeller a gallon of oil.” Mrs. Brandeis eyed his samples +coldly. “But it looks so unattractive. And the average person has +no imagination. A bolt of white braid and a handful of buttons--they +wouldn't get a mental picture of the completed piece. Now, embroidery +silk----” + +“Then give 'em a real picture!” interrupted Sam. “Work up one of these +water-lily pattern table covers. Use No. 100 braid and the smallest +buttons. Stick it in the window and they'll tear their hair to get +patterns.” + +She did it, taking turns with Pearl and Sadie at weaving the great, lacy +square during dull moments. When it was finished they placed it in +the window, where it lay like frosted lace, exquisitely graceful and +delicate, with its tracery of curling petals and feathery fern sprays. +Winnebago gazed and was bitten by the Battenberg bug. It wound itself up +in a network of Battenberg braid, in all the numbers. It bought +buttons of every size; it stitched away at Battenberg covers, doilies, +bedspreads, blouses, curtains. Battenberg tumbled, foamed, cascaded over +Winnebago's front porches all that summer. Listening to Sam Kiser had +done it. + +She listened to the farmer women too, and to the mill girls, and to the +scant and precious pearls that dropped from the lips of the East End +society section. There was something about her brown eyes and her +straight, sensible nose that reassured them so that few suspected the +mischievous in her. For she was mischievous. If she had not been I think +she could not have stood the drudgery, and the heartbreaks, and the +struggle, and the terrific manual labor. + +She used to guy people, gently, and they never guessed it. Mrs. G. +Manville Smith, for example, never dreamed of the joy that her patronage +brought Molly Brandeis, who waited on her so demurely. Mrs. G. Manville +Smith (nee Finnegan) scorned the Winnebago shops, and was said to send +to Chicago for her hairpins. It was known that her household was run on +the most niggardly basis, however, and she short-rationed her two maids +outrageously. It was said that she could serve less real food on more +real lace doilies than any other housekeeper in Winnebago. Now, Mrs. +Brandeis sold Scourine two cents cheaper than the grocery stores, using +it as an advertisement to attract housewives, and making no profit on +the article itself. Mrs. G. Manville Smith always patronized Brandeis' +Bazaar for Scourine alone, and thus represented pure loss. Also she +my-good-womaned Mrs. Brandeis. That lady, seeing her enter one day with +her comic, undulating gait, double-actioned like a giraffe's, and her +plumes that would have shamed a Knight of Pythias, decided to put a stop +to these unprofitable visits. + +She waited on Mrs. G. Manville Smith, a dangerous gleam in her eye. + +“Scourine,” spake Mrs. G. Manville Smith. + +“How many?” + +“A dozen.” + +“Anything else?” + +“No. Send them.” + +Mrs. Brandeis, scribbling in her sales book, stopped, pencil poised. “We +cannot send Scourine unless with a purchase of other goods amounting to +a dollar or more.” + +Mrs. G. Manville Smith's plumes tossed and soared agitatedly. “But my +good woman, I don't want anything else!” + +“Then you'll have to carry the Scourine?” + +“Certainly not! I'll send for it.” + +“The sale closes at five.” It was then 4:57. + +“I never heard of such a thing! You can't expect me to carry them.” + +Now, Mrs. G. Manville Smith had been a dining-room girl at the old Haley +House before she married George Smith, and long before he made his money +in lumber. + +“You won't find them so heavy,” Molly Brandeis said smoothly. + +“I certainly would! Perhaps you would not. You're used to that sort of +thing. Rough work, and all that.” + +Aloysius, doubled up behind the lamps, knew what was coming, from the +gleam in his boss's eye. + +“There may be something in that,” Molly Brandeis returned sweetly. +“That's why I thought you might not mind taking them. They're really not +much heavier than a laden tray.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed the outraged Mrs. G. Manville Smith. And took her plumes +and her patronage out of Brandeis' Bazaar forever. + +That was as malicious as Molly Brandeis ever could be. And it was +forgivable malice. + +Most families must be described against the background of their homes, +but the Brandeis family life was bounded and controlled by the store. +Their meals and sleeping hours and amusements were regulated by it. +It taught them much, and brought them much, and lost them much. Fanny +Brandeis always said she hated it, but it made her wise, and tolerant, +and, in the end, famous. I don't know what more one could ask of any +institution. It brought her in contact with men and women, taught her +how to deal with them. After school she used often to run down to the +store to see her mother, while Theodore went home to practice. Perched +on a high stool in some corner she heard, and saw, and absorbed. It +was a great school for the sensitive, highly-organized, dramatic little +Jewish girl, for, to paraphrase a well-known stage line, there are just +as many kinds of people in Winnebago as there are in Washington. + +It was about this time that Fanny Brandeis began to realize, actively, +that she was different. Of course, other little Winnebago girls' mothers +did not work like a man, in a store. And she and Bella Weinberg were the +only two in her room at school who stayed out on the Day of Atonement, +and on New Year, and the lesser Jewish holidays. Also, she went to +temple on Friday night and Saturday morning, when the other girls she +knew went to church on Sunday. These things set her apart in the little +Middle Western town; but it was not these that constituted the real +difference. She played, and slept, and ate, and studied like the +other healthy little animals of her age. The real difference was +temperamental, or emotional, or dramatic, or historic, or all four. They +would be playing tag, perhaps, in one of the cool, green ravines that +were the beauty spots of the little Wisconsin town. + +They nestled like exquisite emeralds in the embrace of the hills, those +ravines, and Winnebago's civic surge had not yet swept them away in a +deluge of old tin cans, ashes, dirt and refuse, to be sold later for +building lots. The Indians had camped and hunted in them. The one under +the Court Street bridge, near the Catholic church and monastery, was +the favorite for play. It lay, a lovely, gracious thing, below the +hot little town, all green, and lush, and cool, a tiny stream dimpling +through it. The plump Capuchin Fathers, in their coarse brown robes, +knotted about the waist with a cord, their bare feet thrust into +sandals, would come out and sun themselves on the stone bench at the +side of the monastery on the hill, or would potter about the garden. +And suddenly Fanny would stop quite still in the midst of her tag game, +struck with the beauty of the picture it called from the past. + +Little Oriental that she was, she was able to combine the dry text of +her history book with the green of the trees, the gray of the church, +and the brown of the monk's robes, and evolve a thrilling mental picture +therefrom. The tag game and her noisy little companions vanished. She +was peopling the place with stealthy Indians. Stealthy, cunning, yet +savagely brave. They bore no relation to the abject, contemptible, and +rather smelly Oneidas who came to the back door on summer mornings, in +calico, and ragged overalls, with baskets of huckleberries on their +arm, their pride gone, a broken and conquered people. She saw them wild, +free, sovereign, and there were no greasy, berry-peddling Oneidas among +them. They were Sioux, and Pottawatomies (that last had the real Indian +sound), and Winnebagos, and Menomonees, and Outagamis. She made +them taciturn, and beady-eyed, and lithe, and fleet, and every other +adjectival thing her imagination and history book could supply. The +fat and placid Capuchin Fathers on the hill became Jesuits, sinister, +silent, powerful, with France and the Church of Rome behind them. From +the shelter of that big oak would step Nicolet, the brave, first among +Wisconsin explorers, and last to receive the credit for his hardihood. +Jean Nicolet! She loved the sound of it. And with him was La Salle, +straight, and slim, and elegant, and surely wearing ruffles and plumes +and sword even in a canoe. And Tonty, his Italian friend and fellow +adventurer--Tonty of the satins and velvets, graceful, tactful, poised, +a shadowy figure; his menacing iron hand, so feared by the ignorant +savages, encased always in a glove. Surely a perfumed g---- Slap! A rude +shove that jerked her head back sharply and sent her forward, stumbling, +and jarred her like a fall. + +“Ya-a-a! Tag! You're it! Fanny's it!” + +Indians, priests, cavaliers, coureurs de bois, all vanished. Fanny would +stand a moment, blinking stupidly. The next moment she was running +as fleetly as the best of the boys in savage pursuit of one of her +companions in the tag game. + +She was a strange mixture of tomboy and bookworm, which was a mercifully +kind arrangement for both body and mind. The spiritual side of her was +groping and staggering and feeling its way about as does that of any +little girl whose mind is exceptionally active, and whose mother is +unusually busy. It was on the Day of Atonement, known in the Hebrew as +Yom Kippur, in the year following her father's death that that side of +her performed a rather interesting handspring. + +Fanny Brandeis had never been allowed to fast on this, the greatest and +most solemn of Jewish holy days Molly Brandeis' modern side refused +to countenance the practice of withholding food from any child for +twenty-four hours. So it was in the face of disapproval that Fanny, +making deep inroads into the steak and fried sweet potatoes at supper on +the eve of the Day of Atonement, announced her intention of fasting from +that meal to supper on the following evening. She had just passed her +plate for a third helping of potatoes. Theodore, one lap behind her in +the race, had entered his objection. + +“Well, for the land's sakes!” he protested. “I guess you're not the only +one who likes sweet potatoes.” + +Fanny applied a generous dab of butter to an already buttery morsel, and +chewed it with an air of conscious virtue. + +“I've got to eat a lot. This is the last bite I'll have until to-morrow +night.” + +“What's that?” exclaimed Mrs. Brandeis, sharply. + +“Yes, it is!” hooted Theodore. + +Fanny went on conscientiously eating as she explained. + +“Bella Weinberg and I are going to fast all day. We just want to see if +we can.” + +“Betcha can't,” Theodore said. + +Mrs. Brandeis regarded her small daughter with a thoughtful gaze. “But +that isn't the object in fasting, Fanny--just to see if you can. If +you're going to think of food all through the Yom Kippur services----” + +“I sha'n't?” protested Fanny passionately. “Theodore would, but I +won't.” + +“Wouldn't any such thing,” denied Theodore. “But if I'm going to play +a violin solo during the memorial service I guess I've got to eat my +regular meals.” + +Theodore sometimes played at temple, on special occasions. The +little congregation, listening to the throbbing rise and fall of this +fifteen-year-old boy's violin playing, realized, vaguely, that here was +something disturbingly, harrowingly beautiful. They did not know that +they were listening to genius. + +Molly Brandeis, in her second best dress, walked to temple Yom Kippur +eve, her son at her right side, her daughter at her left. She had made +up her mind that she would not let this next day, with its poignantly +beautiful service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her +husband's death, and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on his +rendition of the memorial service that came at three in the afternoon. + +A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi Thalmann, +and unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck to the Scriptures +for his texts, finding Moses a greater leader than Roosevelt, and +the miracle of the Burning Bush more wonderful than the marvels of +twentieth-century wizardy in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann, +with hands and feet as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny +found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black broadcloth +and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading, upon his small hooked +nose. He stood very straight in the pulpit, but on the street you saw +that his back was bent just the least bit in the world--or perhaps it +was only his student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the +ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars that looked as +if they had been expressly cut and rolled to fit him. + +The evening service was at seven. The congregation, rustling in silks, +was approaching the little temple from all directions. Inside, there was +a low-toned buzz of conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward +the rear, as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little +congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture of the room in +its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in eagerly, her dark eyes soft +and luminous. The bare, yellow-varnished wooden pews glowed with the +reflection from the chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on +either side of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush +curtain that hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and the red +plush pulpit cover too, were replaced by gleaming white satin edged with +gold fringe and finished at the corners with heavy gold tassels. How the +rich white satin glistened in the light of the electric candles! Fanny +Brandeis loved the lights, and the gleam, and the music, so majestic, +and solemn, and the sight of the little rabbi, sitting so straight and +serious in his high-backed chair, or standing to read from the great +Bible. There came to this emotional little Jewess a thrill that was not +born of religious fervor at all, I am afraid. + +The sheer drama of the thing got her. In fact, the thing she had set +herself to do to-day had in it very little of religion. Mrs. Brandeis +had been right about that. It was a test of endurance, as planned. +Fanny had never fasted in all her healthy life. She would come home from +school to eat formidable stacks of bread and butter, enhanced by brown +sugar or grape jelly, and topped off with three or four apples from the +barrel in the cellar. Two hours later she would attack a supper of fried +potatoes, and liver, and tea, and peach preserve, and more stacks of +bread and butter. Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and +the berry bushes, not to speak of sundry bags of small, hard candies +of the jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and secret munching during +school. She liked good things to eat, this sturdy little girl, as did +her friend, that blonde and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. The two girls +exchanged meaningful glances during the evening service. The Weinbergs, +as befitted their station, sat in the third row at the right, and Bella +had to turn around to convey her silent messages to Fanny. The +evening service was brief, even to the sermon. Rabbi Thalmann and his +congregation would need their strength for to-morrow's trial. + +The Brandeises walked home through the soft September night, and the +children had to use all their Yom Kippur dignity to keep from scuffling +through the piled-up drifts of crackling autumn leaves. Theodore went to +the cellar and got an apple, which he ate with what Fanny considered +an unnecessary amount of scrunching. It was a firm, juicy apple, and it +gave forth a cracking sound when his teeth met in its white meat. Fanny, +after regarding him with gloomy superiority, went to bed. + +She had willed to sleep late, for gastronomic reasons, but the mental +command disobeyed itself, and she woke early, with a heavy feeling. +Early as it was, Molly Brandeis had tiptoed in still earlier to look at +her strange little daughter. She sometimes did that on Saturday mornings +when she left early for the store and Fanny slept late. This morning +Fanny's black hair was spread over the pillow as she lay on her back, +one arm outflung, the other at her breast. She made a rather startlingly +black and white and scarlet picture as she lay there asleep. Fanny +did things very much in that way, too, with broad, vivid, unmistakable +splashes of color. Mrs. Brandeis, looking at the black-haired, +red-lipped child sleeping there, wondered just how much determination +lay back of the broad white brow. She had said little to Fanny about +this feat of fasting, and she told herself that she disapproved of it. +But in her heart she wanted the girl to see it through, once attempted. + +Fanny awoke at half past seven, and her nostrils dilated to that most +exquisite, tantalizing and fragrant of smells--the aroma of simmering +coffee. It permeated the house. It tickled the senses. It carried with +it visions of hot, brown breakfast rolls, and eggs, and butter. Fanny +loved her breakfast. She turned over now, and decided to go to sleep +again. But she could not. She got up and dressed slowly and carefully. +There was no one to hurry her this morning with the call from the foot +of the stairs of, “Fanny! Your egg'll get cold!” + +She put on clean, crisp underwear, and did her hair expertly. She +slipped an all-enveloping pinafore over her head, that the new silk +dress might not be crushed before church time. She thought that Theodore +would surely have finished his breakfast by this time. But when she came +down-stairs he was at the table. Not only that, he had just begun his +breakfast. An egg, all golden, and white, and crisply brown at the +frilly edges, lay on his plate. Theodore always ate his egg in a +mathematical sort of way. He swallowed the white hastily first, because +he disliked it, and Mrs. Brandeis insisted that he eat it. Then he would +brood a moment over the yolk that lay, unmarred and complete, like an +amber jewel in the center of his plate. Then he would suddenly plunge +his fork into the very heart of the jewel, and it would flow over his +plate, mingling with the butter, and he would catch it deftly with +little mops of warm, crisp, buttery roll. + +Fanny passed the breakfast table just as Theodore plunged his fork into +the egg yolk. She caught her breath sharply, and closed her eyes. Then +she turned and fled to the front porch and breathed deeply and windily +of the heady September Wisconsin morning air. As she stood there, with +her stiff, short black curls still damp and glistening, in her best +shoes and stockings, with the all-enveloping apron covering her sturdy +little figure, the light of struggle and renunciation in her face, she +typified something at once fine and earthy. + +But the real struggle was to come later. They went to temple at ten, +Theodore with his beloved violin tucked carefully under his arm. Bella +Weinberg was waiting at the steps. + +“Did you?” she asked eagerly. + +“Of course not,” replied Fanny disdainfully. “Do you think I'd eat old +breakfast when I said I was going to fast all day?” Then, with sudden +suspicion, “Did you?” + +“No!” stoutly. + +And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating to watch the +other members of the congregation come in, the women rustling, the men +subdued in the unaccustomed dignity of black on a week day. One glance +at the yellow pews was like reading a complete social and financial +register. The seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de +Gotha of Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among the +Jewish settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an immigrant youth, and +who now owned hundreds of rich farm acres, besides houses, mills and +banks, kinged it from the front seat of the center section. He was a +magnificent old man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of +heavy iron-gray hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a startling and +unexpected dimple in one cheek that gave him a mischievous and boyish +look. + +Behind this dignitary sat his sons, and their wives, and his daughters +and their husbands, and their children, and so on, back to the Brandeis +pew, third from the last, behind which sat only a few obscure families +branded as Russians, as only the German-born Jew can brand those whose +misfortune it is to be born in that region known as hinter-Berlin. + +The morning flew by, with its music, its responses, its sermon in +German, full of four- and five-syllable German words like Barmherzigkeit +and Eigentumlichkeit. All during the sermon Fanny sat and dreamed and +watched the shadow on the window of the pine tree that stood close to +the temple, and was vastly amused at the jaundiced look that the square +of yellow window glass cast upon the face of the vain and overdressed +Mrs. Nathan Pereles. From time to time Bella would turn to bestow upon +her a look intended to convey intense suffering and a resolute though +dying condition. Fanny stonily ignored these mute messages. They +offended something in her, though she could not tell what. + +At the noon intermission she did not go home to the tempting dinner +smells, but wandered off through the little city park and down to the +river, where she sat on the bank and felt very virtuous, and spiritual, +and hollow. She was back in her seat when the afternoon service was +begun. Some of the more devout members had remained to pray all through +the midday. The congregation came straggling in by twos and threes. +Many of the women had exchanged the severely corseted discomfort of the +morning's splendor for the comparative ease of second-best silks. +Mrs. Brandeis, absent from her business throughout this holy day, came +hurrying in at two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon her pale and +resolute little daughter. + +The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and lasted almost +two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped out through the side aisle, +beckoning mysteriously and alluringly to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked +at her mother. + +“Run along,” said Mrs. Brandeis. “The air will be good for you. Come +back before the memorial service begins.” Fanny and Bella met, giggling, +in the vestibule. + +“Come on over to my house for a minute,” Bella suggested. “I want +to show you something.” The Weinberg house, a great, comfortable, +well-built home, with encircling veranda, and a well-cared-for lawn, was +just a scant block away. They skipped across the street, down the block, +and in at the back door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted. The house +seemed very quiet and hushed. Over it hung the delicious fragrance of +freshly-baked pastry. Bella, a rather baleful look in her eyes, led the +way to the butler's pantry that was as large as the average kitchen. +And there, ranged on platters, and baking boards, and on snowy-white +napkins, was that which made Tantalus's feast seem a dry and barren +snack. The Weinberg's had baked. It is the custom in the household of +Atonement Day fasters of the old school to begin the evening meal, after +the twenty-four hours of abstainment, with coffee and freshly-baked +coffee cake of every variety. It was a lead-pipe blow at one's +digestion, but delicious beyond imagining. Bella's mother was a famous +cook, and her two maids followed in the ways of their mistress. There +were to be sisters and brothers and out-of-town relations as guests at +the evening meal, and Mrs. Weinberg had outdone herself. + +“Oh!” exclaimed Fanny in a sort of agony and delight. + +“Take some,” said Bella, the temptress. + +The pantry was fragrant as a garden with spices, and fruit scents, +and the melting, delectable perfume of brown, freshly-baked dough, +sugar-coated. There was one giant platter devoted wholly to round, plump +cakes, with puffy edges, in the center of each a sunken pool that was +all plum, bearing on its bosom a snowy sifting of powdered sugar. +There were others whose centers were apricot, pure molten gold in +the sunlight. There were speckled expanses of cheese kuchen, the +golden-brown surface showing rich cracks through which one caught +glimpses of the lemon-yellow cheese beneath--cottage cheese that had +been beaten up with eggs, and spices, and sugar, and lemon. Flaky crust +rose, jaggedly, above this plateau. There were cakes with jelly, and +cinnamon kuchen, and cunning cakes with almond slices nestling side by +side. And there was freshly-baked bread--twisted loaf, with poppy seed +freckling its braid, and its sides glistening with the butter that had +been liberally swabbed on it before it had been thrust into the oven. + +Fanny Brandeis gazed, hypnotized. As she gazed Bella selected a plum +tart and bit into it--bit generously, so that her white little teeth met +in the very middle of the oozing red-brown juice and one heard a little +squirt as they closed on the luscious fruit. At the sound Fanny quivered +all through her plump and starved little body. + +“Have one,” said Bella generously. “Go on. Nobody'll ever know. Anyway, +we've fasted long enough for our age. I could fast till supper time if +I wanted to, but I don't want to.” She swallowed the last morsel of +the plum tart, and selected another--apricot, this time, and opened her +moist red lips. But just before she bit into it (the Inquisition could +have used Bella's talents) she selected its counterpart and held it out +to Fanny. Fanny shook her head slightly. Her hand came up involuntarily. +Her eyes were fastened on Bella's face. + +“Go on,” urged Bella. “Take it. They're grand! M-m-m-m!” The first bite +of apricot vanished between her rows of sharp white teeth. Fanny shut +her eyes as if in pain. She was fighting the great fight of her life. +She was to meet other temptations, and perhaps more glittering ones, in +her lifetime, but to her dying day she never forgot that first battle +between the flesh and the spirit, there in the sugar-scented pantry--and +the spirit won. As Bella's lips closed upon the second bite of apricot +tart, the while her eye roved over the almond cakes and her hand still +held the sweet out to Fanny, that young lady turned sharply, like a +soldier, and marched blindly out of the house, down the back steps, +across the street, and so into the temple. + +The evening lights had just been turned on. The little congregation, +relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of them, sat rapt and still +except at those times when the prayer book demanded spoken responses. +The voice of the little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre +that made it startlingly sweet and clear and resonant. Fanny slid very +quietly into the seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped her moist +and cold little hand into her mother's warm, work-roughened palm. The +mother's brown eyes, very bright with unshed tears, left their perusal +of the prayer book to dwell upon the white little face that was smiling +rather wanly up at her. The pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or +more to the left. Just as Fanny remarked this, there was a little moment +of hush in the march of the day's long service. The memorial hour had +begun. + +Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation stirred a +bit, changed its cramped position. Bella, the guilty, came stealing in, +a pink-and-gold picture of angelic virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt +very aloof, and clean, and remote. + +Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened. + +“But you didn't, did you?” she whispered softly. + +Fanny shook her head. + +Rabbi Thalmann was seated in his great carved chair. His eyes were +closed. The wheezy little organ in the choir loft at the rear of the +temple began the opening bars of Schumann's Traumerei. And then, above +the cracked voice of the organ, rose the clear, poignant wail of a +violin. Theodore Brandeis had begun to play. You know the playing of +the average boy of fifteen--that nerve-destroying, uninspired scraping. +There was nothing of this in the sounds that this boy called forth +from the little wooden box and the stick with its taut lines of catgut. +Whatever it was--the length of the thin, sensitive fingers, the turn of +the wrist, the articulation of the forearm, the something in the brain, +or all these combined--Theodore Brandeis possessed that which makes for +greatness. You realized that as he crouched over his violin to get his +cello tones. As he played to-day the little congregation sat very still, +and each was thinking of his ambitions and his failures; of the lover +lost, of the duty left undone, of the hope deferred; of the wrong that +was never righted; of the lost one whose memory spells remorse. It felt +the salt taste on its lips. It put up a furtive, shamed hand to dab at +its cheeks, and saw that the one who sat in the pew just ahead was doing +likewise. This is what happened when this boy of fifteen wedded his bow +to his violin. And he who makes us feel all this has that indefinable, +magic, glorious thing known as Genius. + +When it was over, there swept through the room that sigh following +tension relieved. Rabbi Thalmann passed a hand over his tired eyes, like +one returning from a far mental journey; then rose, and came forward +to the pulpit. He began, in Hebrew, the opening words of the memorial +service, and so on to the prayers in English, with their words of +infinite humility and wisdom. + +“Thou hast implanted in us the capacity for sin, but not sin itself!” + +Fanny stirred. She had learned that a brief half hour ago. The service +marched on, a moving and harrowing thing. The amens rolled out with a +new fervor from the listeners. There seemed nothing comic now in the way +old Ben Reitman, with his slower eyes, always came out five words behind +the rest who tumbled upon the responses and scurried briskly through +them, so that his fine old voice, somewhat hoarse and quavering now, +rolled out its “Amen!” in solitary majesty. They came to that gem of +humility, the mourners' prayer; the ancient and ever-solemn Kaddish +prayer. There is nothing in the written language that, for sheer drama +and magnificence, can equal it as it is chanted in the Hebrew. + +As Rabbi Thalmann began to intone it in its monotonous repetition of +praise, there arose certain black-robed figures from their places and +stood with heads bowed over their prayer books. These were members of +the congregation from whom death had taken a toll during the past year. +Fanny rose with her mother and Theodore, who had left the choir loft to +join them. The little wheezy organ played very softly. The black-robed +figures swayed. Here and there a half-stifled sob rose, and was crushed. +Fanny felt a hot haze that blurred her vision. She winked it away, and +another burned in its place. Her shoulders shook with a sob. She felt +her mother's hand close over her own that held one side of the book. +The prayer, that was not of mourning but of praise, ended with a final +crescendo from the organ, The silent black-robed figures were seated. + +Over the little, spent congregation hung a glorious atmosphere of +detachment. These Jews, listening to the words that had come from the +lips of the prophets in Israel, had been, on this day, thrown back +thousands of years, to the time when the destruction of the temple was +as real as the shattered spires and dome of the cathedral at Rheims. +Old Ben Reitman, faint with fasting, was far removed from his everyday +thoughts of his horses, his lumber mills, his farms, his mortgages. Even +Mrs. Nathan Pereles, in her black satin and bugles and jets, her +cold, hard face usually unlighted by sympathy or love, seemed to feel +something of this emotional wave. Fanny Brandeis was shaken by it. Her +head ached (that was hunger) and her hands were icy. The little Russian +girl in the seat just behind them had ceased to wriggle and squirm, and +slept against her mother's side. Rabbi Thalmann, there on the platform, +seemed somehow very far away and vague. The scent of clove apples and +ammonia salts filled the air. The atmosphere seemed strangely wavering +and luminous. The white satin of the Ark curtain gleamed and shifted. + +The long service swept on to its close. Suddenly organ and choir burst +into a paeon. Little Doctor Thalmann raised his arms. The congregation +swept to its feet with a mighty surge. Fanny rose with them, her face +very white in its frame of black curls, her eyes luminous. She raised +her face for the words of the ancient benediction that rolled, in its +simplicity and grandeur, from the lips of the rabbi: + +“May the blessing of the Lord our God rest upon you all. God bless thee +and keep thee. May God cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be +gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee, and grant +thee peace.” + +The Day of Atonement had come to an end. It was a very quiet, subdued +and spent little flock that dispersed to their homes. Fanny walked out +with scarcely a thought of Bella. She felt, vaguely, that she and this +school friend were formed of different stuff. She knew that the bond +between them had been the grubby, physical one of childhood, and that +they never would come together in the finer relation of the spirit, +though she could not have put this new knowledge into words. + +Molly Brandeis put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. + +“Tired, Fanchen?” + +“A little.” + +“Bet you're hungry!” from Theodore. + +“I was, but I'm not now.” + +“M-m-m--wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!” + +She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's pantry. But now +something within her--something fine, born of this day--kept her from +it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom two and two often made five, guessed +something of what had happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had +Molly Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with the magic +of his music. She had kissed him good night with infinite tenderness and +love. But she came into her daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to +bed, and leaned over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead. + +“Do you feel all right, my darling?” + +“Umhmph,” replied Fanny drowsily. + +“Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know that you were +able to do the thing you started out to do?” + +“Umhmph.” + +“Only,” Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite forgetting that +she was talking to a very little girl, “only, life seems to take +such special delight in offering temptation to those who are able to +withstand it. I don't know why that's true, but it is. I hope--oh, my +little girl, my baby--I hope----” + +But Fanny never knew whether her mother finished that sentence or not. +She remembered waiting for the end of it, to learn what it was her +mother hoped. And she had felt a sudden, scalding drop on her hand where +her mother bent over her. And the next thing she knew it was morning, +with mellow September sunshine. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +It was the week following this feat of fasting that two things happened +to Fanny Brandeis--two seemingly unimportant and childish things--that +were to affect the whole tenor of her life. It is pleasant to +predict thus. It gives a certain weight to a story and a sense of +inevitableness. It should insure, too, the readers's support to the +point, at least, where the prediction is fulfilled. Sometimes a careless +author loses sight altogether of his promise, and then the tricked +reader is likely to go on to the very final page, teased by the +expectation that that which was hinted at will be revealed. + +Fanny Brandeis had a way of going to the public library on Saturday +afternoons (with a bag of very sticky peanut candy in her pocket, the +little sensualist!) and there, huddled in a chair, dreamily and almost +automatically munching peanut brittle, her cheeks growing redder and +redder in the close air of the ill-ventilated room, she would read, +and read, and read. There was no one to censor her reading, so she +read promiscuously, wading gloriously through trash and classic and +historical and hysterical alike, and finding something of interest in +them all. + +She read the sprightly “Duchess” novels, where mad offers of marriage +were always made in flower-scented conservatories; she read Dickens, and +Thelma, and old bound Cosmopolitans, and Zola, and de Maupassant, and +the “Wide, Wide World,” and “Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates,” + and “Jane Eyre.” All of which are merely mentioned as examples of her +catholicism in literature. As she read she was unaware of the giggling +boys and girls who came in noisily, and made dates, and were coldly +frowned on by the austere Miss Perkins, the librarian. She would read +until the fading light would remind her that the short fall or winter +day was drawing to a close. + +She would come, shivering a little after the fetid atmosphere of +the overheated library, into the crisp, cold snap of the astringent +Wisconsin air. Sometimes she would stop at the store for her mother. +Sometimes she would run home alone through the twilight, her heels +scrunching the snow, her whole being filled with a vague and unchildish +sadness and disquiet as she faced the tender rose, and orange, and +mauve, and pale lemon of the winter sunset. There were times when her +very heart ached with the beauty of that color-flooded sky; there were +times, later, when it ached in much the same way at the look in the eyes +of a pushcart peddler; there were times when it ached, seemingly, for no +reason at all--as is sometimes the case when one is a little Jew girl, +with whole centuries of suffering behind one. + +On this day she had taken a book from the library Miss Perkins, at sight +of the title, had glared disapprovingly, and had hesitated a moment +before stamping the card. + +“Is this for yourself?” she had asked. + +“Yes'm.” + +“It isn't a book for little girls,” snapped Miss Perkins. + +“I've read half of it already,” Fanny informed her sweetly. And went out +with it under her arm. It was Zola's “The Ladies' Paradise” (Au Bonheur +des Dames). The story of the shop girl, and the crushing of the little +dealer by the great and moneyed company had thrilled and fascinated her. + +Her mind was full of it as she turned the corner on Norris Street and +ran full-tilt, into a yowling, taunting, torturing little pack of boys. +They were gathered in close formation about some object which they were +teasing, and knocking about in the mud, and otherwise abusing with the +savagery of their years. Fanny, the fiery, stopped short. She pushed +into the ring. The object of their efforts was a weak-kneed and +hollow-chested little boy who could not fight because he was cowardly +as well as weak, and his name (oh, pity!) was Clarence--Clarence Heyl. +There are few things that a mischievous group of small boys cannot +do with a name like Clarence. They whined it, they catcalled it, +they shrieked it in falsetto imitation of Clarence's mother. He was a +wide-mouthed, sallow and pindling little boy, whose pipe-stemmed legs +looked all the thinner for being contrasted with his feet, which were +long and narrow. At that time he wore spectacles, too, to correct a +muscular weakness, so that his one good feature--great soft, liquid +eyes--passed unnoticed. He was the kind of little boy whose mother +insists on dressing him in cloth-top, buttoned, patent-leather shoes for +school. His blue serge suit was never patched or shiny. His stockings +were virgin at the knee. He wore an overcoat on cool autumn days. Fanny +despised and pitied him. We ask you not to, because in this puny, shy +and ugly little boy of fifteen you behold Our Hero. + +He staggered to his feet now, as Fanny came up. His school reefer was +mud-bespattered. His stockings were torn. His cap was gone and his hair +was wild. There was a cut or scratch on one cheek, from which the blood +flowed. + +“I'll tell my mother on you!” he screamed impotently, and shook with +rage and terror. “You'll see, you will! You let me alone, now!” + +Fanny felt a sick sensation at the pit of her stomach and in her throat. +Then: + +“He'll tell his ma!” sneered the boys in chorus. “Oh, mamma!” And called +him the Name. And at that a she wildcat broke loose among them. She +pounced on them without warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and +flying hair, and white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought +fair, or if she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have been +powerless among them. But she had sprung at them with the suddenness +of rage. She kicked, and scratched, and bit, and clawed and spat. She +seemed not to feel the defensive blows that were showered upon her in +turn. Her own hard little fists were now doubled for a thump or opened, +like a claw, for scratching. + +“Go on home!” she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought. And +Clarence, gathering up his tattered school books, went, and stood not on +the order of his going. Whereupon Fanny darted nimbly to one side, out +of the way of boyish brown fists. In that moment she was transformed +from a raging fury into a very meek and trembling little girl, who +looked shyly and pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys were +for rushing at her again. + +“Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl,” cried Fanny, her lower +lip trembling ever so little. “Come on! Hit me! Afraid to fight anything +but girls! Cowardy-cats!” A tear, pearly, pathetic, coursed down her +cheek. + +The drive was broken. Five sullen little boys stood and glared at her, +impotently. + +“You hit us first,” declared one boy. “What business d' you have +scratching around like that, I'd like to know! You old scratch cat!” + +“He's sickly,” said Fanny. “He can't fight. There's something the matter +with his lungs, or something, and they're going to make him quit school. +Besides, he's a billion times better than any of you, anyway.” + +At once, “Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence! Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence!” + +Fanny picked up her somewhat battered Zola from where it had flown at +her first onslaught. “It's a lie!” she shouted. And fled, followed by +the hateful chant. + +She came in at the back door, trying to look casual. But Mattie's keen +eye detected the marks of battle, even while her knife turned the frying +potatoes. + +“Fanny Brandeis! Look at your sweater! And your hair!” + +Fanny glanced down at the torn pocket dangling untidily. “Oh, that!” she +said airily. And, passing the kitchen table, deftly filched a slice of +cold veal from the platter, and mounted the back stairs to her room. It +was a hungry business, this fighting. When Mrs. Brandeis came in at six +her small daughter was demurely reading. At supper time Mrs. Brandeis +looked up at her daughter with a sharp exclamation. + +“Fanny! There's a scratch on your cheek from your eye to your chin.” + +Fanny put up her hand. “Is there?” + +“Why, you must have felt it. How did you get it?” + +Fanny said nothing. “I'll bet she was fighting,” said Theodore with the +intuitive knowledge that one child has of another's ways. + +“Fanny!” The keen brown eyes were upon her. “Some boys were picking on +Clarence Heyl, and it made me mad. They called him names.” + +“What names?” + +“Oh, names.” + +“Fanny dear, if you're going to fight every time you hear that name----” + +Fanny thought of the torn sweater, the battered Zola, the scratched +cheek. “It is pretty expensive,” she said reflectively. + +After supper she settled down at once to her book. Theodore would labor +over his algebra after the dining-room table was cleared. He stuck his +cap on his head now, and slammed out of the door for a half-hour's play +under the corner arc-light. Fanny rarely brought books from school, and +yet she seemed to get on rather brilliantly, especially in the studies +she liked. During that winter following her husband's death Mrs. +Brandeis had a way of playing solitaire after supper; one of the +simpler forms of the game. It seemed to help her to think out the day's +problems, and to soothe her at the same time. She would turn down the +front of the writing desk, and draw up the piano stool. + +All through that winter Fanny seemed to remember reading to the +slap-slap of cards, and the whir of their shuffling. In after years she +was never able to pick up a volume of Dickens without having her mind +hark back to those long, quiet evenings. She read a great deal of +Dickens at that time. She had a fine contempt for his sentiment, and his +great ladies bored her. She did not know that this was because they were +badly drawn. The humor she loved, and she read and reread the passages +dealing with Samuel Weller, and Mr. Micawber, and Sairey Gamp, and Fanny +Squeers. It was rather trying to read Dickens before supper, she had +discovered. Pickwick Papers was fatal, she had found. It sent one to the +pantry in a sort of trance, to ransack for food--cookies, apples, cold +meat, anything. But whatever one found, it always fell short of the +succulent sounding beefsteak pies, and saddles of mutton, and hot +pineapple toddy of the printed page. + +To-night Mrs. Brandeis, coming in from the kitchen after a conference +with Mattie, found her daughter in conversational mood, though book in +hand. + +“Mother, did you ever read this?” She held up “The Ladies' Paradise.” + +“Yes; but child alive, what ever made you get it? That isn't the kind of +thing for you to read. Oh, I wish I had more time to give----” + +Fanny leaned forward eagerly. “It made me think a lot of you. You +know--the way the big store was crushing the little one, and everything. +Like the thing you were talking to that man about the other day. You +said it was killing the small-town dealer, and he said some day it would +be illegal, and you said you'd never live to see it.” + +“Oh, that! We were talking about the mail-order business, and how hard +it was to compete with it, when the farmers bought everything from a +catalogue, and had whole boxes of household goods expressed to them. I +didn't know you were listening, Fanchen.” + +“I was. I almost always do when you and some traveling man or somebody +like that are talking. It--it's interesting.” + +Fanny went back to her book then. But Molly Brandeis sat a moment, +eyeing her queer little daughter thoughtfully. Then she sighed, and laid +out her cards for solitaire. By eight o'clock she was usually so sleepy +that she would fall, dead-tired, asleep on the worn leather couch in the +sitting-room. She must have been fearfully exhausted, mind and body. The +house would be very quiet, except for Mattie, perhaps, moving about in +the kitchen or in her corner room upstairs. Sometimes the weary woman +on the couch would start suddenly from her sleep and cry out, choked +and gasping, “No! No! No!” The children would jump, terrified, and come +running to her at first, but later they got used to it, and only looked +up to say, when she asked them, bewildered, what it was that wakened +her, “You had the no-no-nos.” + +She had never told of the thing that made her start out of her sleep and +cry out like that. Perhaps it was just the protest of the exhausted +body and the overwrought nerves. Usually, after that, she would sit +up, haggardly, and take the hairpins out of her short thick hair, and +announce her intention of going to bed. She always insisted that the +children go too, though they often won an extra half hour by protesting +and teasing. It was a good thing for them, these nine o'clock bed hours, +for it gave them the tonic sleep that their young, high-strung natures +demanded. + +“Come, children,” she would say, yawning. + +“Oh, mother, please just let me finish this chapter!” + +“How much?” + +“Just this little bit. See? Just this.” + +“Well, just that, then,” for Mrs. Brandeis was a reasonable woman, and +she had the book-lover's knowledge of the fascination of the unfinished +chapter. + +Fanny and Theodore were not always honest about the bargain. They would +gallop, hot-cheeked, through the allotted chapter. Mrs. Brandeis would +have fallen into a doze, perhaps. And the two conspirators would read +on, turning the leaves softly and swiftly, gulping the pages, cramming +them down in an orgy of mental bolting, like naughty children stuffing +cake when their mother's back is turned. But the very concentration of +their dread of waking her often brought about the feared result. Mrs. +Brandeis would start up rather wildly, look about her, and see the two +buried, red-cheeked and eager, in their books. + +“Fanny! Theodore! Come now! Not another minute!” + +Fanny, shameless little glutton, would try it again. “Just to the end of +this chapter! Just this weenty bit!” + +“Fiddlesticks! You've read four chapters since I spoke to you the last +time. Come now!” + +Molly Brandeis would see to the doors, and the windows, and the clock, +and then, waiting for the weary little figures to climb the stairs, +would turn out the light, and, hairpins in one hand, corset in the +other, perhaps, mount to bed. + +By nine o'clock the little household would be sleeping, the children +sweetly and dreamlessly, the tired woman restlessly and fitfully, her +overwrought brain still surging with the day's problems. It was not like +a household at rest, somehow. It was like a spirited thing standing, +quivering for a moment, its nerves tense, its muscles twitching. + +Perhaps you have quite forgotten that here were to be retailed two +epochal events in Fanny Brandeis's life. If you have remembered, you +will have guessed that the one was the reading of that book of social +protest, though its writer has fallen into disfavor in these fickle +days. The other was the wild and unladylike street brawl in which she +took part so that a terrified and tortured little boy might escape his +tormentors. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +There was no hard stock in Brandeis' Bazaar now. The packing-room was +always littered with straw and excelsior dug from hogsheads and great +crates. Aloysius lorded it over a small red-headed satellite who +disappeared inside barrels and dived head first into huge boxes, +coming up again with a lamp, or a doll, or a piece of glassware, like +a magician. Fanny, perched on an overturned box, used to watch him, +fascinated, while he laboriously completed a water set, or a tea set. +A preliminary dive would bring up the first of a half dozen related +pieces, each swathed in tissue paper. A deft twist on the part of +the attendant Aloysius would strip the paper wrappings and disclose +a ruby-tinted tumbler, perhaps. Another dive, and another, until six +gleaming glasses stood revealed, like chicks without a hen mother. A +final dip, much scratching and burrowing, during which armfuls of hay +and excelsior were thrown out, and then the red-headed genie of the +barrel would emerge, flushed and triumphant, with the water pitcher +itself, thus completing the happy family. + +Aloysius, meanwhile, would regale her with one of those choice bits of +gossip he had always about him, like a jewel concealed, and only to be +brought out for the appreciative. Mrs. Brandeis disapproved of store +gossip, and frowned on Sadie and Pearl whenever she found them, their +heads close together, their stifled shrieks testifying to his wit. There +were times when Molly Brandeis herself could not resist the spell of his +tongue. No one knew where Aloysius got his information. He had news that +Winnebago's two daily papers never could get, and wouldn't have dared to +print if they had. + +“Did you hear about Myrtle Krieger,” he would begin, “that's marryin' +the Hempel boy next month? The one in the bank. She's exhibiting her +trewsow at the Outagamie County Fair this week, for the handwork and +embroid'ry prize. Ain't it brazen? They say the crowd's so thick around +the table that they had to take down the more pers'nal pieces. The first +day of the fair the grand-stand was, you might say, empty, even when +they was pullin' off the trottin' races and the balloon ascension. It's +funny--ain't it?--how them garmints that you wouldn't turn for a second +look at on the clothesline or in a store winda' becomes kind of wicked +and interestin' the minute they get what they call the human note. There +it lays, that virgin lawnjerie, for all the county to look at, with pink +ribbons run through everything, and the poor Krieger girl never dreamin' +she's doin' somethin' indelicate. She says yesterday if she wins the +prize she's going to put it toward one of these kitchen cabinets.” + +I wish we could stop a while with Aloysius. He is well worth it. +Aloysius, who looked a pass between Ichabod Crane and Smike; Aloysius, +with his bit of scandal burnished with wit; who, after a long, hard +Saturday, would go home to scrub the floor of the dingy lodgings where +he lived with his invalid mother, and who rose in the cold dawn of +Sunday morning to go to early mass, so that he might return to cook the +dinner and wait upon the sick woman. Aloysius, whose trousers flapped +grotesquely about his bony legs, and whose thin red wrists hung +awkwardly from his too-short sleeves, had in him that tender, faithful +and courageous stuff of which unsung heroes are made. And he adored his +clever, resourceful boss to the point of imitation. You should have seen +him trying to sell a sled or a doll's go-cart in her best style. But we +cannot stop for Aloysius. He is irrelevant, and irrelevant matter halts +the progress of a story. Any one, from Barrie to Harold Bell Wright, +will tell you that a story, to be successful, must march. + +We'll keep step, then, with Molly Brandeis until she drops out of the +ranks. There is no detouring with Mrs. Brandeis for a leader. She is the +sort that, once her face is set toward her goal, looks neither to right +nor left until she has reached it. + +When Fanny Brandeis was fourteen, and Theodore was not quite sixteen, +a tremendous thing happened. Schabelitz, the famous violinist, came to +Winnebago to give a concert under the auspices of the Young Men's Sunday +Evening Club. + +The Young Men's Sunday Evening Club of the Congregational Church prided +itself (and justifiably) on what the papers called its “auspices.” It +scorned to present to Winnebago the usual lyceum attractions--Swiss bell +ringers, negro glee clubs, and Family Fours. Instead, Schumann-Heink +sang her lieder for them; McCutcheon talked and cartooned for them; +Madame Bloomfield-Zeisler played. Winnebago was one of those wealthy +little Mid-Western towns whose people appreciate the best and set out to +acquire it for themselves. + +To the Easterner, Winnebago, and Oshkosh, and Kalamazoo, and Emporia are +names invented to get a laugh from a vaudeville audience. Yet it is the +people from Winnebago and Emporia and the like whom you meet in Egypt, +and the Catalina Islands, and at Honolulu, and St. Moritz. It is in the +Winnebago living-room that you are likely to find a prayer rug got in +Persia, a bit of gorgeous glaze from China, a scarf from some temple in +India, and on it a book, hand-tooled and rare. The Winnebagoans seem to +know what is being served and worn, from salad to veilings, surprisingly +soon after New York has informed itself on those subjects. The +7:52 Northwestern morning train out of Winnebago was always pretty +comfortably crowded with shoppers who were taking a five-hour run down +to Chicago to get a hat and see the new musical show at the Illinois. + +So Schabelitz's coming was an event, but not an unprecedented one. +Except to Theodore. Theodore had a ticket for the concert (his mother +had seen to that), and he talked of nothing else. He was going with his +violin teacher, Emil Bauer. There were strange stories as to why Emil +Bauer, with his gift of teaching, should choose to bury himself in this +obscure little Wisconsin town. It was known that he had acquaintance +with the great and famous of the musical world. The East End set fawned +upon him, and his studio suppers were the exclusive social events in +Winnebago. + +Schabelitz was to play in the evening. At half past three that afternoon +there entered Brandeis' Bazaar a white-faced, wide-eyed boy who was +Theodore Brandeis; a plump, voluble, and excited person who was Emil +Bauer; and a short, stocky man who looked rather like a foreign-born +artisan--plumber or steam-fitter--in his Sunday clothes. This was Levine +Schabelitz. + +Molly Brandeis was selling a wash boiler to a fussy housewife who, in +her anxiety to assure herself of the flawlessness of her purchase, had +done everything but climb inside it. It had early been instilled in the +minds of Mrs. Brandeis's children that she was never to be approached +when busy with a customer. There were times when they rushed into the +store bursting with news or plans, but they had learned to control +their eagerness. This, though, was no ordinary news that had blanched +Theodore's face. At sight of the three, Mrs. Brandeis quietly turned +her boiler purchaser over to Pearl and came forward from the rear of the +store. + +“Oh, Mother!” cried Theodore, an hysterical note in his voice. “Oh, +Mother!” + +And in that moment Molly Brandeis knew. Emil Bauer introduced them, +floridly. Molly Brandeis held out her hand, and her keen brown eyes +looked straight and long into the gifted Russian's pale blue ones. +According to all rules he should have started a dramatic speech, +beginning with “Madame!” hand on heart. But Schabelitz the great had +sprung from Schabelitz the peasant boy, and in the process he had +managed, somehow, to retain the simplicity which was his charm. Still, +there was something queer and foreign in the way he bent over Mrs. +Brandeis's hand. We do not bow like that in Winnebago. + +“Mrs. Brandeis, I am honored to meet you.” + +“And I to meet you,” replied the shopkeeper in the black sateen apron. + +“I have just had the pleasure of hearing your son play,” began +Schabelitz. + +“Mr. Bauer called me out of my economics class at school, Mother, and +said that----” + +“Theodore!” Theodore subsided. “He is only a boy,” went on Schabelitz, +and put one hand on Theodore's shoulder. “A very gifted boy. I hear +hundreds. Oh, how I suffer, sometimes, to listen to their devilish +scraping! To-day, my friend Bauer met me with that old plea, `You must +hear this pupil play. He has genius.' `Bah! Genius!' I said, and I swore +at him a little, for he is my friend, Bauer. But I went with him to his +studio--Bauer, that is a remarkably fine place you have there, above +that drug store; a room of exceptional proportions. And those rugs, let +me tell you----” + +“Never mind the rugs, Schabelitz. Mrs. Brandeis here----” + +“Oh, yes, yes! Well, dear lady, this boy of yours will be a great +violinist if he is willing to work, and work, and work. He has what you +in America call the spark. To make it a flame he must work, always work. +You must send him to Dresden, under Auer.” + +“Dresden!” echoed Molly Brandeis faintly, and put one hand on the table +that held the fancy cups and saucers, and they jingled a little. + +“A year, perhaps, first, in New York with Wolfsohn.” + +Wolfsohn! New York! Dresden! It was too much even for Molly Brandeis' +well-balanced brain. She was conscious of feeling a little dizzy. At +that moment Pearl approached apologetically. “Pardon me, Mis' Brandeis, +but Mrs. Trost wants to know if you'll send the boiler special this +afternoon. She wants it for the washing early to-morrow morning.” + +That served to steady her. + +“Tell Mrs. Trost I'll send it before six to-night.” Her eyes rested on +Theodore's face, flushed now, and glowing. Then she turned and faced +Schabelitz squarely. “Perhaps you do not know that this store is our +support. I earn a living here for myself and my two children. You see +what it is--just a novelty and notion store in a country town. I speak +of this because it is the important thing. I have known for a long +time that Theodore's playing was not the playing of the average boy, +musically gifted. So what you tell me does not altogether surprise me. +But when you say Dresden--well, from Brandeis' Bazaar in Winnebago, +Wisconsin, to Auer, in Dresden, Germany, is a long journey for one +afternoon.” + +“But of course you must have time to think it over. It must be brought +about, somehow.” + +“Somehow----” Mrs. Brandeis stared straight ahead, and you could almost +hear that indomitable will of hers working, crashing over obstacles, +plowing through difficulties. Theodore watched her, breathless, as +though expecting an immediate solution. His mother's eyes met his own +intent ones, and at that her mobile mouth quirked in a sudden smile. +“You look as if you expected pearls to pop out of my mouth, son. And, +by the way, if you're going to a concert this evening don't you think +it would be a good idea to squander an hour on study this afternoon? You +may be a musical prodigy, but geometry's geometry.” + +“Oh, Mother! Please!” + +“I want to talk to Mr. Schabelitz and Mr. Bauer, alone.” She patted his +shoulder, and the last pat ended in a gentle push. “Run along.” + +“I'll work, Mother. You know perfectly well I'll work.” But he looked +so startlingly like his father as he said it that Mrs. Brandeis felt a +clutching at her heart. + +Theodore out of the way, they seemed to find very little to discuss, +after all. Schabelitz was so quietly certain, Bauer so triumphantly +proud. + +Said Schabelitz, “Wolfsohn, of course, receives ten dollars a lesson +ordinarily.” + +“Ten dollars!” + +“But a pupil like Theodore is in the nature of an investment,” Bauer +hastened to explain. “An advertisement. After hearing him play, and +after what Schabelitz here will have to say for him, Wolfsohn will +certainly give Theodore lessons for nothing, or next to nothing. You +remember”--proudly--“I offered to teach him without charge, but you +would not have it.” + +Schabelitz smote his friend sharply on the shoulder “The true musician! +Oh, Bauer, Bauer! That you should bury yourself in this----” + +But Bauer stopped him with a gesture. “Mrs. Brandeis is a busy woman. +And as she says, this thing needs thinking over.” + +“After all,” said Mrs. Brandeis, “there isn't much to think about. I +know just where I stand. It's a case of mathematics, that's all. This +business of mine is just beginning to pay. From now on I shall be able +to save something every year. It might be enough to cover his musical +education. It would mean that Fanny--my daughter--and I would have to +give up everything. For myself, I should be only too happy, too proud. +But it doesn't seem fair to her. After all, a girl----” + +“It isn't fair,” broke in Schabelitz. “It isn't fair. But that is the +way of genius. It never is fair. It takes, and takes, and takes. I know. +My mother could tell you, if she were alive. She sold the little farm, +and my sisters gave up their dowries, and with them their hopes of +marriage, and they lived on bread and cabbage. That was not to pay for +my lessons. They never could have done that. It was only to send me to +Moscow. We were very poor. They must have starved. I have come to know, +since, that it was not worth it. That nothing could be worth it.” + +“But it was worth it. Your mother would do it all over again, if she had +the chance. That's what we're for.” + +Bauer pulled out his watch and uttered a horrified exclamation. “Himmel! +Four o'clock! And I have a pupil at four.” He turned hastily to Mrs. +Brandeis. “I am giving a little supper in my studio after the concert +to-night.” + +“Oh, Gott!” groaned Schabelitz. + +“It is in honor of Schabelitz here. You see how overcome he is. Will you +let me bring Theodore back with me after the concert? There will be some +music, and perhaps he will play for us.” + +Schabelitz bent again in his queer little foreign bow. “And you, of +course, will honor us, Mrs. Brandeis.” He had never lived in Winnebago. + +“Oh, certainly,” Bauer hastened to say. He had. + +“I!” Molly Brandeis looked down at her apron, and stroked it with her +fingers. Then she looked up with a little smile that was not so pleasant +as her smile usually was. There had flashed across her quick mind a +picture of Mrs. G. Manville Smith. Mrs. G. Manville Smith, in an evening +gown whose decolletage was discussed from the Haley House to Gerretson's +department store next morning, was always a guest at Bauer's studio +affairs. “Thank you, but it is impossible. And Theodore is only a +schoolboy. Just now he needs, more than anything else in the world, +nine hours of sleep every night. There will be plenty of time for studio +suppers later. When a boy's voice is changing, and he doesn't know what +to do with his hands and feet, he is better off at home.” + +“God! These mothers!” exclaimed Schabelitz. “What do they not know!” + +“I suppose you are right.” Bauer was both rueful and relieved. It +would have been fine to show off Theodore as his pupil and Schabelitz's +protege. But Mrs. Brandeis? No, that would never do. “Well, I must go. +We will talk about this again, Mrs. Brandeis. In two weeks Schabelitz +will pass through Winnebago again on his way back to Chicago. Meanwhile +he will write Wolfsohn. I also. So! Come, Schabelitz!” + +He turned to see that gentleman strolling off in the direction of the +notion counter behind which his expert eye had caught a glimpse of Sadie +in her white shirtwaist and her trim skirt. Sadie always knew what they +were wearing on State Street, Chicago, half an hour after Mrs. Brandeis +returned from one of her buying trips. Shirtwaists had just come in, and +with them those neat leather belts with a buckle, and about the throat +they were wearing folds of white satin ribbon, smooth and high and +tight, the two ends tied pertly at the back. Sadie would never be the +saleswoman that Pearl was, but her unfailing good nature and her cheery +self-confidence made her an asset in the store. Besides, she was pretty. +Mrs. Brandeis knew the value of a pretty clerk. + +At the approach of this stranger Sadie leaned coyly against the stocking +rack and patted her paper sleevelets that were secured at wrist and +elbow with elastic bands. Her method was sure death to traveling men. +She prepared now to try it on the world-famous virtuoso. The ease with +which she succeeded surprised even Sadie, accustomed though she was to +conquest. + +“Come, come, Schabelitz!” said Bauer again. “I must get along.” + +“Then go, my friend. Go along and make your preparations for that studio +supper. The only interesting woman in Winnebago--” he bowed to Mrs. +Brandeis--“will not be there. I know them, these small-town society +women, with their imitation city ways. And bony! Always! I am enjoying +myself. I shall stay here.” + +And he did stay. Sadie, talking it over afterward with Pearl and +Aloysius, put it thus: + +“They say he's the grandest violin player in the world. Not that I care +much for the violin, myself. Kind of squeaky, I always think. But it +just goes to show they're all alike. Ain't it the truth? I jollied him +just like I did Sam Bloom, of Ganz & Pick, Novelties, an hour before. He +laughed just where Sam did. And they both handed me a line of talk about +my hair and eyes, only Sam said I was a doll, and this Schabelitz, or +whatever his name is, said I was as alluring as a Lorelei. I guess he +thought he had me there, but I didn't go through the seventh reader for +nothing. `If you think I'm flattered,' I said to him, `you're mistaken. +She was the mess who used to sit out on a rock with her back hair down, +combing away and singing like mad, and keeping an eye out for sailors up +and down the river. If I had to work that hard to get some attention,' +I said, `I'd give up the struggle, and settle down with a cat and a +teakettle.' At that he just threw back his head and roared. And when +Mrs. Brandeis came up he said something about the wit of these American +women. `Work is a great sharpener of wit--and wits,' Mrs. Brandeis said +to him. `Pearl, did Aloysius send Eddie out with that boiler, special?' +And she didn't pay any more attention to him, or make any more fuss +over him, than she would to a traveler with a line of samples she wasn't +interested in. I guess that's why he had such a good time.” + +Sadie was right. That was the reason. Fanny, coming into the store half +an hour later, saw this man who had swayed thousands with his music, +down on his hands and knees in the toy section at the rear of Brandeis' +Bazaar. He and Sadie and Aloysius were winding up toy bears, and clowns, +and engines, and carriages, and sending them madly racing across the +floor. Sometimes their careening career was threatened with disaster +in the form of a clump of brooms or a stack of galvanized pails. But +Schabelitz would scramble forward with a shout and rescue them just +before the crash came, and set them deftly off again in the opposite +direction. + +“This I must have for my boy in New York.” He held up a miniature hook +and ladder. “And this windmill that whirls so busily. My Leo is seven, +and his head is full of engines, and motors, and things that run on +wheels. He cares no more for music, the little savage, than the son of a +bricklayer.” + +“Who is that man?” Fanny whispered, staring at him. + +“Levine Schabelitz.” + +“Schabelitz! Not the--” + +“Yes.” + +“But he's playing on the floor like--like a little boy! And laughing! +Why, Mother, he's just like anybody else, only nicer.” + +If Fanny had been more than fourteen her mother might have told her that +all really great people are like that, finding joy in simple things. I +think that is the secret of their genius--the child in them that keeps +their viewpoint fresh, and that makes us children again when we listen +to them. It is the Schabelitzes of this world who can shout over a toy +engine that would bore a Bauer to death. + +Fanny stood looking at him thoughtfully. She knew all about him. +Theodore's talk of the past week had accomplished that. Fanny knew that +here was a man who did one thing better than any one else in the world. +She thrilled to that thought. She adored the quality in people that +caused them to excel. Schabelitz had got hold of a jack-in-the-box, and +each time the absurd head popped out, with its grin and its squawk, he +laughed like a boy. Fanny, standing behind the wrapping counter, and +leaning on it with her elbows the better to see this great man, smiled +too, as her flexible spirit and her mobile mind caught his mood. She did +not know she was smiling. Neither did she know why she suddenly frowned +in the intensity of her concentration, reached up for one of the pencils +on the desk next the wrapping counter, and bent over the topmost sheet +of yellow wrapping paper that lay spread out before her. Her tongue-tip +curled excitedly at one corner of her mouth. Her head was cocked to one +side. + +She was rapidly sketching a crude and startling likeness of Levine +Schabelitz as he stood there with the ridiculous toy in his hand. It +was a trick she often amused herself with at school. She had drawn her +school-teacher one day as she had looked when gazing up into the eyes of +the visiting superintendent, who was a married man. Quite innocently +and unconsciously she had caught the adoring look in the eyes of Miss +McCook, the teacher, and that lady, happening upon the sketch later, had +dealt with Fanny in a manner seemingly unwarranted. In the same way it +was not only the exterior likeness of the man which she was catching +now--the pompadour that stood stiffly perpendicular like a brush; the +square, yellow peasant teeth; the strong, slender hands and wrists; the +stocky figure; the high cheek bones; the square-toed, foreign-looking +shoes and the trousers too wide at the instep to have been cut by an +American tailor. She caught and transmitted to paper, in some uncanny +way, the simplicity of the man who was grinning at the jack-in-the-box +that smirked back at him. Behind the veneer of poise and polish born of +success and adulation she had caught a glimpse of the Russian peasant +boy delighted with the crude toy in his hand. And she put it down +eagerly, wetting her pencil between her lips, shading here, erasing +there. + +Mrs. Brandeis, bustling up to the desk for a customer's change, and with +a fancy dish to be wrapped, in her hand, glanced over Fanny's shoulder. +She leaned closer. “Why, Fanny, you witch!” + +Fanny gave a little crow of delight and tossed her head in a way that +switched her short curls back from where they had fallen over her +shoulders. “It's like him, isn't it?” + +“It looks more like him than he does himself.” With which Molly Brandeis +unconsciously defined the art of cartooning. + +Fanny looked down at it, a smile curving her lips. Mrs. Brandeis, dish +in hand, counted her change expertly from the till below the desk, and +reached for the sheet of wrapping paper just beneath that on which Fanny +had made her drawing. At that moment Schabelitz, glancing up, saw her, +and came forward, smiling, the jack-in-the-box still in his hand. + +“Dear lady, I hope I have not entirely disorganized your shop. I have +had a most glorious time. Would you believe it, this jack-in-the-box +looks exactly--but exactly--like my manager, Weber, when the box-office +receipts are good. He grins just--” + +And then his eye fell on the drawing that Fanny was trying to cover with +one brown paw. “Hello! What's this?” Then he looked at Fanny. Then he +grasped her wrist in his fingers of steel and looked at the sketch that +grinned back at him impishly. “Well, I'm damned!” exploded Schabelitz in +amusement, and surprise, and appreciation. And did not apologize. “And +who is this young lady with the sense of humor?” + +“This is my little girl, Fanny.” + +He looked down at the rough sketch again, with its clean-cut satire, and +up again at the little girl in the school coat and the faded red tam o' +shanter, who was looking at him shyly, and defiantly, and provokingly, +all at once. + +“Your little girl Fanny, h'm? The one who is to give up everything that +the boy Theodore may become a great violinist.” He bent again over the +crude, effective cartoon, then put a forefinger gently under the child's +chin and tipped her glowing face up to the light. “I am not so sure now +that it will work. As for its being fair! Why, no! No!” + +Fanny waited for her mother that evening, and they walked home together. +Their step and swing were very much alike, now that Fanny's legs were +growing longer. She was at the backfisch age. + +“What did he mean, Mother, when he said that about Theodore being a +great violinist, and its not being fair? What isn't fair? And how did he +happen to be in the store, anyway? He bought a heap of toys, didn't he? +I suppose he's awfully rich.” + +“To-night, when Theodore's at the concert, I'll tell you what he meant, +and all about it.” + +“I'd love to hear him play, wouldn't you? I'd just love to.” + +Over Molly Brandeis's face there came a curious look. “You could hear +him, Fanny, in Theodore's place. Theodore would have to stay home if I +told him to.” + +Fanny's eyes and mouth grew round with horror. “Theodore stay home! Why +Mrs.--Molly--Brandeis!” Then she broke into a little relieved laugh. +“But you're just fooling, of course.” + +“No, I'm not. If you really want to go I'll tell Theodore to give up his +ticket to his sister.” + +“Well, my goodness! I guess I'm not a pig. I wouldn't have Theodore stay +home, not for a million dollars.” + +“I knew you wouldn't,” said Molly Brandeis as they swung down Norris +Street. And she told Fanny briefly of what Schabelitz had said about +Theodore. + +It was typical of Theodore that he ate his usual supper that night. He +may have got his excitement vicariously from Fanny. She was thrilled +enough for two. Her food lay almost untouched on her plate. She +chattered incessantly. When Theodore began to eat his second baked apple +with cream, her outraged feelings voiced their protest. + +“But, Theodore, I don't see how you can!” + +“Can what?” + +“Eat like that. When you're going to hear him play. And after what he +said, and everything.” + +“Well, is that any reason why I should starve to death?” + +“But I don't see how you can,” repeated Fanny helplessly, and looked +at her mother. Mrs. Brandeis reached for the cream pitcher and poured +a little more cream over Theodore's baked apple. Even as she did it +her eyes met Fanny's, and in them was a certain sly amusement, a +little gleam of fun, a look that said, “Neither do I.” Fanny sat back, +satisfied. Here, at least, was some one who understood. + +At half past seven Theodore, looking very brushed and sleek, went off to +meet Emil Bauer. Mrs. Brandeis had looked him over, and had said, “Your +nails!” and sent him back to the bathroom, and she had resisted the +desire to kiss him because Theodore disliked demonstration. “He hated to +be pawed over,” was the way he put it. After he had gone, Mrs. Brandeis +went into the dining-room where Fanny was sitting. Mattie had cleared +the table, and Fanny was busy over a book and a tablet, by the light +of the lamp that they always used for studying. It was one of the rare +occasions when she had brought home a school lesson. It was arithmetic, +and Fanny loathed arithmetic. She had no head for mathematics. The set +of problems were eighth-grade horrors, in which A is digging a well 20 +feet deep and 9 feet wide; or in which A and B are papering two rooms, +or building two fences, or plastering a wall. If A does his room in 9 +1/2 days, the room being 12 feet high, 20 feet long, and 15 1/2 feet +wide, how long will it take B to do a room 14 feet high, 11 3/4 feet, +etc. + +Fanny hated the indefatigable A and B with a bitter personal hatred. +And as for that occasional person named C, who complicated matters still +more--! + +Sometimes Mrs. Brandeis helped to disentangle Fanny from the mazes of +her wall paper problems, or dragged her up from the bottom of the well +when it seemed that she was down there for eternity unless a friendly +hand rescued her. As a rule she insisted that Fanny crack her own +mathematical nuts. She said it was good mental training, not to speak +of the moral side of it. But to-night she bent her quick mind upon the +problems that were puzzling her little daughter, and cleared them up in +no time. + +When Fanny had folded her arithmetic papers neatly inside her book and +leaned back with a relieved sigh Molly Brandeis bent forward in the +lamplight and began to talk very soberly. Fanny, red-cheeked and +bright-eyed from her recent mental struggles, listened interestedly, +then intently, then absorbedly. She attempted to interrupt, sometimes, +with an occasional, “But, Mother, how--” but Mrs. Brandeis shook her +head and went on. She told Fanny a few things about her early married +life--things that made Fanny look at her with new eyes. She had always +thought of her mother as her mother, in the way a fourteen-year-old +girl does. It never occurred to her that this mother person, who was +so capable, so confident, so worldly-wise, had once been a very young +bride, with her life before her, and her hopes stepping high, and her +love keeping time with her hopes. Fanny heard, fascinated, the story +of this girl who had married against the advice of her family and her +friends. + +Molly Brandeis talked curtly and briefly, and her very brevity and lack +of embroidering details made the story stand out with stark realism. It +was such a story of courage, and pride, and indomitable will, and sheer +pluck as can only be found among the seemingly commonplace. + +“And so,” she finished, “I used to wonder, sometimes, whether it +was worth while to keep on, and what it was all for. And now I know. +Theodore is going to make up for everything. Only we'll have to help +him, first. It's going to be hard on you, Fanchen. I'm talking to you as +if you were eighteen, instead of fourteen. But I want you to understand. +That isn't fair to you either--my expecting you to understand. Only I +don't want you to hate me too much when you're a woman, and I'm gone, +and you'll remember--” + +“Why, Mother, what in the world are you talking about? Hate you!” + +“For what I took from you to give to him, Fanny. You don't understand +now. Things must be made easy for Theodore. It will mean that you and +I will have to scrimp and save. Not now and then, but all the time. +It will mean that we can't go to the theater, even occasionally, or to +lectures, or concerts. It will mean that your clothes won't be as pretty +or as new as the other girls' clothes. You'll sit on the front porch +evenings, and watch them go by, and you'll want to go too.” + +“As if I cared.” + +“But you will care. I know. I know. It's easy enough to talk about +sacrifice in a burst of feeling; but it's the everyday, shriveling grind +that's hard. You'll want clothes, and books, and beaux, and education, +and you ought to have them. They're your right. You ought to have them!” + Suddenly Molly Brandeis' arms were folded on the table, and her head +came down on her arms and she was crying, quietly, horribly, as a man +cries. Fanny stared at her a moment in unbelief. She had not seen her +mother cry since the day of Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled +out of her chair and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her +hot, smooth cheek touched the wet, cold one. “Mother, don't! Don't Molly +dearie. I can't bear it. I'm going to cry too. Do you think I care for +old dresses and things? I should say not. It's going to be fun going +without things. It'll be like having a secret or something. Now stop, +and let's talk about it.” + +Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It was a watery +and wavering smile, but it showed that she was mistress of herself +again. + +“No,” she said, “we just won't talk about it any more. I'm tired, that's +what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense enough to know it. I'll +tell you what. I'm going to put on my kimono, and you'll make some +fudge. Will you? We'll have a party, all by ourselves, and if Mattie +scolds about the milk to-morrow you just tell her I said you could. And +I think there are some walnut meats in the third cocoa can on the shelf +in the pantry. Use 'em all.” + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +Theodore came home at twelve o'clock that night. He had gone to Bauer's +studio party after all. It was the first time he had deliberately +disobeyed his mother in a really big thing. Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny had +nibbled fudge all evening (it had turned out deliciously velvety) and +had gone to bed at their usual time. At half past ten Mrs. Brandeis had +wakened with the instinctive feeling that Theodore was not in the house. +She lay there, wide awake, staring into the darkness until eleven. Then +she got up and went into his room, though she knew he was not there. +She was not worried as to his whereabouts or his well-being. That same +instinctive feeling told her where he was. She was very angry, and a +little terrified at the significance of his act. She went back to bed +again, and she felt the blood pounding in her head. Molly Brandeis had a +temper, and it was surging now, and beating against the barriers of her +self-control. + +She told herself, as she lay there, that she must deal with him coolly +and firmly, though she wanted to spank him. The time for spankings was +past. Some one was coming down the street with a quick, light step. She +sat up in bed, listening. The steps passed the house, went on. A half +hour passed. Some one turned the corner, whistling blithely. But, no, he +would not be whistling, she told herself. He would sneak in, quietly. It +was a little after twelve when she heard the front door open (Winnebago +rarely locked its doors). She was surprised to feel her heart beating +rapidly. He was trying to be quiet, and was making a great deal of +noise about it. His shoes and the squeaky fifth stair alone would have +convicted him. The imp of perversity in Molly Brandeis made her smile, +angry as she was, at the thought of how furious he must be at that +stair. + +“Theodore!” she called quietly, just as he was tip-toeing past her room. + +“Yeh.” + +“Come in here. And turn on the light.” + +He switched on the light and stood there in the doorway. Molly Brandeis, +sitting up in bed in the chilly room, with her covers about her, was +conscious of a little sick feeling, not at what he had done, but that +a son of hers should ever wear the sullen, defiant, hang-dog look that +disfigured Theodore's face now. + +“Bauer's?” + +A pause. “Yes.” + +“Why?” + +“I just stopped in there for a minute after the concert. I didn't mean +to stay. And then Bauer introduced me around to everybody. And then they +asked me to play, and--” + +“And you played badly.” + +“Well, I didn't have my own violin.” + +“No football game Saturday. And no pocket money this week. Go to bed.” + +He went, breathing hard, and muttering a little under his breath. At +breakfast next morning Fanny plied him with questions and was furious at +his cool uncommunicativeness. + +“Was it wonderful, Theodore? Did he play--oh--like an angel?” + +“Played all right. Except the `Swan' thing. Maybe he thought it was too +easy, or something, but I thought he murdered it. Pass the toast, unless +you want it all.” + + +It was not until the following autumn that Theodore went to New York. +The thing that had seemed so impossible was arranged. He was to live +in Brooklyn with a distant cousin of Ferdinand Brandeis, on a business +basis, and he was to come into New York three times a week for his +lessons. Mrs. Brandeis took him as far as Chicago, treated him to an +extravagant dinner, put him on the train and with difficulty stifled the +impulse to tell all the other passengers in the car to look after her +Theodore. He looked incredibly grown up and at ease in his new suit and +the hat that they had wisely bought in Chicago. She did not cry at all +(in the train), and she kissed him only twice, and no man can ask more +than that of any mother. + +Molly Brandeis went back to Winnebago and the store with her shoulders a +little more consciously squared, her jaw a little more firmly set. There +was something almost terrible about her concentrativeness. Together she +and Fanny began a life of self-denial of which only a woman could be +capable. They saved in ways that only a woman's mind could devise; petty +ways, that included cream and ice, and clothes, and candy. It was rather +fun at first. When that wore off it had become a habit. Mrs. Brandeis +made two resolutions regarding Fanny. One was that she should have at +least a high school education, and graduate. The other that she should +help in the business of the store as little as possible. To the first +Fanny acceded gladly. To the second she objected. + +“But why? If you can work, why can't I? I could help you a lot on +Saturdays and at Christmas time, and after school.” + +“I don't want you to,” Mrs. Brandeis had replied, almost fiercely. “I'm +giving my life to it. That's enough. I don't want you to know about +buying and selling. I don't want you to know a bill of lading from a +sales slip when you see it. I don't want you to know whether f. o. b. is +a wireless signal or a branch of the Masons.” At which Fanny grinned. No +one appreciated her mother's humor more than she. + +“But I do know already. The other day when that fat man was selling you +those go-carts I heard him say. `F. o. b. Buffalo,' and I asked Aloysius +what it meant and he told me.” + +It was inevitable that Fanny Brandeis should come to know these things, +for the little household revolved about the store on Elm Street. By the +time she was eighteen and had graduated from the Winnebago high school, +she knew so many things that the average girl of eighteen did not know, +and was ignorant of so many things that the average girl of eighteen did +know, that Winnebago was almost justified in thinking her queer. She +had had a joyous time at school, in spite of algebra and geometry and +physics. She took the part of the heroine in the senior class play given +at the Winnebago opera house, and at the last rehearsal electrified +those present by announcing that if Albert Finkbein (who played the +dashing Southern hero) didn't kiss her properly when the curtain went +down on the first act, just as he was going into battle, she'd rather he +didn't kiss her at all. + +“He just makes it ridiculous,” she protested. “He sort of gives a peck +two inches from my nose, and then giggles. Everybody will laugh, and +it'll spoil everything.” + +With the rather startled elocution teacher backing her she rehearsed the +bashful Albert in that kiss until she had achieved the effect of realism +that she thought the scene demanded. But when, on the school sleighing +parties and hay rides the boy next her slipped a wooden and uncertain +arm about her waist while they all were singing “Jingle Bells, Jingle +Bells,” and “Good Night Ladies,” and “Merrily We Roll Along,” she sat +up stiffly and unyieldingly until the arm, discouraged, withdrew to its +normal position. Which two instances are quoted as being of a piece with +what Winnebago termed her queerness. + +Not that Fanny Brandeis went beauless through school. On the contrary, +she always had some one to carry her books, and to take her to the +school parties and home from the Friday night debating society meetings. +Her first love affair turned out disastrously. She was twelve, and she +chose as the object of her affections a bullet-headed boy named Simpson. +One morning, as the last bell rang and they were taking their seats, +Fanny passed his desk and gave his coarse and stubbly hair a tweak. It +was really a love tweak, and intended to be playful, but she probably +put more fervor into it than she knew. It brought the tears of pain +to his eyes, and he turned and called her the name at which she shrank +back, horrified. Her shock and unbelief must have been stamped on her +face, for the boy, still smarting, had snarled, “Ya-as, I mean it.” + +It was strange how she remembered that incident years after she had +forgotten important happenings in her life. Clarence Heyl, whose very +existence you will have failed to remember, used to hover about her +uncertainly, always looking as if he would like to walk home with her, +but never summoning the courage to do it. They were graduated from the +grammar school together, and Clarence solemnly read a graduation essay +entitled “Where is the Horse?” Automobiles were just beginning to +flash plentifully up and down Elm Street. Clarence had always been +what Winnebago termed sickly, in spite of his mother's noodle soup, and +coddling. He was sent West, to Colorado, or to a ranch in Wyoming, Fanny +was not quite sure which, perhaps because she was not interested. He had +come over one afternoon to bid her good-by, and had dangled about the +front porch until she went into the house and shut the door. + +When she was sixteen there was a blond German boy whose taciturnity +attracted her volubility and vivacity. She mistook his stolidness for +depth, and it was a long time before she realized that his silence +was not due to the weight of his thoughts but to the fact that he +had nothing to say. In her last year at high school she found herself +singled out for the attentions of Harmon Kent, who was the Beau Nash +of the Winnebago high school. His clothes were made by Schwartze, the +tailor, when all the other boys of his age got theirs at the spring and +fall sales of the Golden Eagle Clothing Store. It was always nip and +tuck between his semester standings and his track team and football +possibilities. The faculty refused to allow flunkers to take part in +athletics. + +He was one of those boys who have definite charm, and manner, and poise +at seventeen, and who crib their exams off their cuffs. He was always at +the head of any social plans in the school, and at the dances he rushed +about wearing in his coat lapel a ribbon marked Floor Committee. The +teachers all knew he was a bluff, but his engaging manner carried +him through. When he went away to the state university he made Fanny +solemnly promise to write; to come down to Madison for the football +games; to be sure to remember about the Junior prom. He wrote once--a +badly spelled scrawl--and she answered. But he was the sort of person +who must be present to be felt. He could not project his personality. +When he came home for the Christmas holidays Fanny was helping in the +store. He dropped in one afternoon when she was selling whisky glasses +to Mike Hearn of the Farmers' Rest Hotel. + +They did not write at all during the following semester, and when he +came back for the long summer vacation they met on the street one day +and exchanged a few rather forced pleasantries. It suddenly dawned on +Fanny that he was patronizing her much as the scion of an aristocratic +line banters the housemaid whom he meets on the stairs. She bit an +imaginary apron corner, and bobbed a curtsy right there on Elm Street, +in front of the Courier office and walked off, leaving him staring. +It was shortly after this that she began a queer line of reading for +a girl--lives of Disraeli, Spinoza, Mendelssohn, Mozart--distinguished +Jews who had found their religion a handicap. + +The year of her graduation she did a thing for which Winnebago felt +itself justified in calling her different. Each member of the graduating +class was allowed to choose a theme for a thesis. Fanny Brandeis called +hers “A Piece of Paper.” On Winnebago's Fox River were located a number +of the largest and most important paper mills in the country. There were +mills in which paper was made of wood fiber, and others in which paper +was made of rags. You could smell the sulphur as soon as you crossed the +bridge that led to the Flats. Sometimes, when the wind was right, the +pungent odor of it spread all over the town. Strangers sniffed it and +made a wry face, but the natives liked it. + +The mills themselves were great ugly brick buildings, their windows +festooned with dust webs. Some of them boasted high detached tower-like +structures where a secret acid process went on. In the early days the +mills had employed many workers, but newly invented machinery had come +to take the place of hand labor. The rag-rooms alone still employed +hundreds of girls who picked, sorted, dusted over the great suction +bins. The rooms in which they worked were gray with dust. They wore caps +over their hair to protect it from the motes that you could see spinning +and swirling in the watery sunlight that occasionally found its way +through the gray-filmed window panes. It never seemed to occur to them +that the dust cap so carefully pulled down about their heads did not +afford protection for their lungs. They were pale girls, the rag-room +girls, with a peculiarly gray-white pallor. + +Fanny Brandeis had once been through the Winnebago Paper Company's mill +and she had watched, fascinated, while a pair of soiled and greasy old +blue overalls were dusted and cleaned, and put through this acid vat, +and that acid tub, growing whiter and more pulpy with each process until +it was fed into a great crushing roller that pressed the moisture out +of it, flattened it to the proper thinness and spewed it out at last, +miraculously, in the form of rolls of crisp, white paper. On the first +day of the Easter vacation Fanny Brandeis walked down to the office of +the Winnebago Paper Company's mill and applied at the superintendent's +office for a job. She got it. They were generally shorthanded in the +rag-room. When Mrs. Brandeis heard of it there followed one of the few +stormy scenes between mother and daughter. + +“Why did you do it?” demanded Mrs. Brandeis. + +“I had to, to get it right.” + +“Oh, don't be silly. You could have visited the mill a dozen times.” + +Fanny twisted the fingers of her left hand in the fingers of her right +as was her way when she was terribly in earnest, and rather excited. + +“But I don't want to write about the paper business as a process.” + +“Well, then, what do you want?” + +“I want to write about the overalls on some railroad engineer, perhaps; +or the blue calico wrapper that belonged, maybe, to a scrub woman. And +how they came to be spotted, or faded, or torn, and finally all worn +out. And how the rag man got them, and the mill, and how the girls +sorted them. And the room in which they do it. And the bins. And the +machinery. Oh, it's the most fascinating, and--and sort of relentless +machinery. And the acid burns on the hands of the men at the vats. And +their shoes. And then the paper, so white. And the way we tear it up, +or crumple it, and throw it in the waste basket. Just a piece of paper, +don't you see what I mean? Just a piece of paper, and yet all that--” + she stopped and frowned a little, and grew inarticulate, and gave it up +with a final, “Don't you see what I mean, Mother? Don't you see what I +mean?” + +Molly Brandeis looked at her daughter in a startled way, like one who, +walking tranquilly along an accustomed path, finds himself confronting a +new and hitherto unsuspected vista, formed by a peculiar arrangement of +clouds, perhaps, or light, or foliage, or all three blended. “I see +what you mean,” she said. “But I wish you wouldn't do it. I--I wish you +didn't feel that you wanted to do it.” + +“But how can I make it real if I don't?” + +“You can't,” said Molly Brandeis. “That's just it. You can't, ever.” + +Fanny got up before six every morning of that Easter vacation, and went +to the mill, lunch box in hand. She came home at night dead-tired. She +did not take the street car to and from the mill, as she might have, +because she said the other girls in the rag-room walked, some of them +from the very edge of town. Mrs. Brandeis said that she was carrying +things too far, but Fanny stuck it out for the two weeks, at the end +of which period she spent an entire Sunday in a hair-washing, +face-steaming, and manicuring bee. She wrote her paper from notes she +had taken, and turned it in at the office of the high school principal +with the feeling that it was not at all what she had meant it to be. A +week later Professor Henning called her into his office. The essay lay +on his desk. + +“I've read your thesis,” he began, and stopped, and cleared his throat. +He was not an eloquent man. “Where did you get your information, Miss +Brandeis?” + +“I got it at the mill.” + +“From one of the employees?” + +“Oh, no. I worked there, in the rag-room.” + +Professor Henning gave a little startled exclamation that he turned +hastily into a cough. “I thought that perhaps the editor of the Courier +might like to see it--it being local. And interesting.” + +He brought it down to the office of the little paper himself, and +promised to call for it again in an hour or two, when Lem Davis should +have read it. Lem Davis did read it, and snorted, and scuffled with his +feet in the drift of papers under his desk, which was a way he had when +enraged. + +“Read it!” he echoed, at Professor Henning's question. “Read it! Yes, I +read it. And let me tell you it's socialism of the rankest kind, that's +what! It's anarchism, that's what! Who's this girl? Mrs. Brandeis's +daughter--of the Bazaar? Let me tell you I'd go over there and tell her +what I think of the way she's bringing up that girl--if she wasn't an +advertiser. `A Piece of Paper'! Hell!” And to show his contempt for what +he had read he wadded together a great mass of exchanges that littered +his desk and hurled them, a crumpled heap, to the floor, and then spat +tobacco juice upon them. + +“I'm sorry,” said Professor Henning, and rose; but at the door he turned +and said something highly unprofessorial. “It's a darn fine piece +of writing.” And slammed the door. At supper that night he told Mrs. +Henning about it. Mrs. Henning was a practical woman, as the wife of a +small-town high school principal must needs be. “But don't you know,” + she said, “that Roscoe Moore, who is president of the Outagamie Pulp +Mill and the Winnebago Paper Company, practically owns the Courier?” + +Professor Henning passed a hand over his hair, ruefully, like a school +boy. “No, Martha, I didn't know. If I knew those things, dear, I suppose +we wouldn't be eating sausage for supper to-night.” There was a little +silence between them. Then he looked up. “Some day I'm going to brag +about having been that Brandeis girl's teacher.” + +Fanny was in the store a great deal now. After she finished high school +they sent Mattie away and Fanny took over the housekeeping duties, but +it was not her milieu. Not that she didn't do it well. She put a perfect +fury of energy and care into the preparation of a pot roast. After she +had iced a cake she enhanced it with cunning arabesques of jelly. The +house shone as it never had, even under Mattie's honest regime. But +it was like hitching a high-power engine to a butter churn. There were +periods of maddening restlessness. At such times she would set +about cleaning the cellar, perhaps. It was a three-roomed cellar, +brick-floored, cool, and having about it that indefinable cellar smell +which is of mold, and coal, and potatoes, and onions, and kindling wood, +and dill pickles and ashes. + +Other girls of Fanny's age, at such times, cleaned out their bureau +drawers and read forbidden novels. Fanny armed herself with the third +best broom, the dust-pan, and an old bushel basket. She swept up chips, +scraped up ashes, scoured the preserve shelves, washed the windows, +cleaned the vegetable bins, and got gritty, and scarlet-cheeked and +streaked with soot. It was a wonderful safety valve, that cellar. A pity +it was that the house had no attic. + +Then there were long, lazy summer afternoons when there was nothing to +do but read. And dream. And watch the town go by to supper. I think that +is why our great men and women so often have sprung from small towns, or +villages. They have had time to dream in their adolescence. No cars +to catch, no matinees, no city streets, none of the teeming, empty, +energy-consuming occupations of the city child. Little that is +competitive, much that is unconsciously absorbed at the most +impressionable period, long evenings for reading, long afternoons in the +fields or woods. With the cloth laid, and the bread cut and covered with +a napkin, and the sauce in the glass bowl, and the cookies on a blue +plate, and the potatoes doing very, very slowly, and the kettle steaming +with a Peerybingle cheerfulness, Fanny would stroll out to the front +porch again to watch for the familiar figure to appear around the corner +of Norris Street. She would wear her blue-and-white checked gingham +apron deftly twisted over one hip, and tucked in, in deference to the +passers-by. And the town would go by--Hen Cody's drays, rattling and +thundering; the high school boys thudding down the road, dog-tired and +sweaty in their football suits, or their track pants and jersies, on +their way from the athletic field to the school shower baths; Mrs. +Mosher flying home, her skirts billowing behind her, after a protracted +afternoon at whist; little Ernie Trost with a napkin-covered peach +basket carefully balanced in his hand, waiting for the six-fifteen +interurban to round the corner near the switch, so that he could hand up +his father's supper; Rudie Mass, the butcher, with a moist little packet +of meat in his hand, and lurching ever so slightly, and looking about +defiantly. Oh, Fanny probably never realized how much she saw and +absorbed, sitting there on Brandeis' front porch, watching Winnebago go +by to supper. + +At Christmas time she helped in the store, afternoons and evenings. +Then, one Christmas, Mrs. Brandeis was ill for three weeks with grippe. +They had to have a helper in the house. When Mrs. Brandeis was able to +come back to the store Sadie left to marry, not one of her traveling-men +victims, but a steady person, in the paper-hanging way, whose suit had +long been considered hopeless. After that Fanny took her place. She +developed a surprising knack at selling. Yet it was not so surprising, +perhaps, when one considered her teacher. She learned as only a woman +can learn who is brought into daily contact with the outside world. +It was not only contact: it was the relation of buyer and seller. She +learned to judge people because she had to. How else could one gauge +their tastes, temperaments, and pocketbooks? They passed in and out +of Brandeis' Bazaar, day after day, in an endless and varied +procession--traveling men, school children, housewives, farmers, worried +hostesses, newly married couples bent on house furnishing, business men. + +She learned that it was the girls from the paper mills who bought +the expensive plates--the ones with the red roses and green leaves +hand-painted in great smears and costing two dollars and a half, while +the golf club crowd selected for a gift or prize one of the little white +plates with the faded-looking blue sprig pattern, costing thirty-nine +cents. One day, after she had spent endless time and patience over the +sale of a nondescript little plate to one of Winnebago's socially elect, +she stared wrathfully after the retreating back of the trying customer. + +“Did you see that? I spent an hour with her. One hour! I showed her +everything from the imported Limoges bowls to the Sevres cups and +saucers, and all she bought was that miserable little bonbon dish with +the cornflower pattern. Cat!” + +Mrs. Brandeis spoke from the depths of her wisdom. + +“Fanny, I didn't miss much that went on during that hour, and I was +dying to come over and take her away from you, but I didn't because I +knew you needed the lesson, and I knew that that McNulty woman never +spends more than twenty-five cents, anyway. But I want to tell you now +that it isn't only a matter of plates. It's a matter of understanding +folks. When you've learned whom to show the expensive hand-painted +things to, and when to suggest quietly the little, vague things, with +what you call the faded look, why, you've learned just about all there +is to know of human nature. Don't expect it, at your age.” + +Molly Brandeis had never lost her trick of chatting with customers, or +listening to them, whenever she had a moment's time. People used to drop +in, and perch themselves on one of the stools near the big glowing base +burner and talk to Mrs. Brandeis. It was incredible, the secrets they +revealed of business, and love and disgrace; of hopes and aspirations, +and troubles, and happiness. The farmer women used to fascinate Fanny +by their very drabness. Mrs. Brandeis had a long and loyal following +of these women. It was before the day when every farmhouse boasted an +automobile, a telephone, and a phonograph. + +A worn and dreary lot, these farmer women, living a skimmed milk +existence, putting their youth, and health, and looks into the soil. +They used often to sit back near the stove in winter, or in a cool +corner near the front of the store in summer, and reveal, bit by bit, +the sordid, tragic details of their starved existence. Fanny was often +shocked when they told their age--twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty, +but old and withered from drudgery, and child-bearing, and coarse, +unwholesome food. Ignorant women, and terribly lonely, with the dumb, +lack-luster eyes that bespeak monotony. When they smiled they showed +blue-white, glassily perfect false teeth that flashed incongruously in +the ruin of their wrinkled, sallow, weather-beaten faces. Mrs. Brandeis +would question them gently. + +Children? Ten. Living? Four. Doctor? Never had one in the house. Why? He +didn't believe in them. No proper kitchen utensils, none of the +devices that lighten the deadeningly monotonous drudgery of housework. +Everything went to make his work easier--new harrows, plows, tractors, +wind mills, reapers, barns, silos. The story would come out, bit by +bit, as the woman sat there, a worn, unlovely figure, her +hands--toil-blackened, seamed, calloused, unlovelier than any woman's +hands were ever meant to be--lying in unaccustomed idleness in her lap. + +Fanny learned, too, that the woman with the shawl, and with her money +tied in a corner of her handkerchief, was more likely to buy the +six-dollar doll, with the blue satin dress, and the real hair and +eye-lashes, while the Winnebago East End society woman haggled over the +forty-nine cent kind, which she dressed herself. + +I think their loyalty to Mrs. Brandeis might be explained by her honesty +and her sympathy. She was so square with them. When Minnie Mahler, out +Centerville way, got married, she knew there would be no redundancy of +water sets, hanging lamps, or pickle dishes. + +“I thought like I'd get her a chamber set,” Minnie's aunt would confide +to Mrs. Brandeis. + +“Is this for Minnie Mahler, of Centerville?” + +“Yes; she gets married Sunday.” + +“I sold a chamber set for that wedding yesterday. And a set of dishes. +But I don't think she's got a parlor lamp. At least I haven't sold one. +Why don't you get her that? If she doesn't like it she can change it. +Now there's that blue one with the pink roses.” + +And Minnie's aunt would end by buying the lamp. + +Fanny learned that the mill girls liked the bright-colored and expensive +wares, and why; she learned that the woman with the “fascinator” (tragic +misnomer!) over her head wanted the finest sled for her boy. She learned +to keep her temper. She learned to suggest without seeming to suggest. +She learned to do surprisingly well all those things that her mother did +so surprisingly well--surprisingly because both the women secretly hated +the business of buying and selling. Once, on the Fourth of July, when +there was a stand outside the store laden with all sorts of fireworks, +Fanny came down to find Aloysius and the boy Eddie absent on other work, +and Mrs. Brandeis momentarily in charge. The sight sickened her, then +infuriated her. + +“Come in,” she said, between her teeth. “That isn't your work.” + +“Somebody had to be there. Pearl's at dinner. And Aloysius and Eddie +were--” + +“Then leave it alone. We're not starving--yet. I won't have you selling +fireworks like that--on the street. I won't have it! I won't have it!” + +The store was paying, now. Not magnificently, but well enough. Most of +the money went to Theodore, in Dresden. He was progressing, though not +so meteorically as Bauer and Schabelitz had predicted. But that sort +of thing took time, Mrs. Brandeis argued. Fanny often found her mother +looking at her these days with a questioning sadness in her eyes. Once +she suggested that Fanny join the class in drawing at the Winnebago +university--a small fresh-water college. Fanny did try it for a few +months, but the work was not what she wanted; they did fruit pictures +and vases, with a book, on a table; or a clump of very pink and very +white flowers. Fanny quit in disgust and boredom. Besides, they were +busy at the store, and needed her. + +There came often to Winnebago a woman whom Fanny Brandeis admired +intensely. She was a traveling saleswoman, successful, magnetic, and +very much alive. Her name was Mrs. Emma McChesney, and between her and +Mrs. Brandeis there existed a warm friendship. She always took dinner +with Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny, and they made a special effort to give her +all those delectable home-cooked dishes denied her in her endless round +of hotels. + +“Noodle soup!” she used to say, almost lyrically. + +“With real hand-made, egg noodles! You don't know what it means. You +haven't been eating vermicelli soup all through Illinois and Wisconsin.” + +“We've made a dessert, though, that--” + +“Molly Brandeis, don't you dare to tell me what you've got for dessert. +I couldn't stand it. But, oh, suppose, SUPPOSE it's homemade strawberry +shortcake!” + +Which it more than likely was. + +Fanny Brandeis used to think that she would dress exactly as Mrs. +McChesney dressed, if she too were a successful business woman earning a +man-size salary. Mrs. McChesney was a blue serge sort of woman--and her +blue serge never was shiny in the back. Her collar, or jabot, or tie, +or cuffs, or whatever relieving bit of white she wore, was always of the +freshest and crispest. Her hats were apt to be small and full of what is +known as “line.” She usually would try to arrange her schedule so as to +spend a Sunday in Winnebago, and the three alert, humor-loving women, +grown wise and tolerant from much contact with human beings, would have +a delightful day together. + +“Molly,” Mrs. McChesney would say, when they were comfortably settled +in the living-room, or on the front porch, “with your shrewdness, +and experience, and brains, you ought to be one of those five or ten +thousand a year buyers. You know how to sell goods and handle people. +And you know values. That's all there is to the whole game of business. +I don't advise you to go on the road. Heaven knows I wouldn't advise my +dearest enemy to do that, much less a friend. But you could do bigger +things, and get bigger results. You know most of the big wholesalers, +and retailers too. Why don't you speak to them about a department +position? Or let me nose around a bit for you.” + +Molly Brandeis shook her head, though her expressive eyes were eager +and interested. “Don't you think I've thought of that, Emma? A thousand +times? But I'm--I'm afraid. There's too much at stake. Suppose I +couldn't succeed? There's Theodore. His whole future is dependent on me +for the next few years. And there's Fanny here. No, I guess I'm too old. +And I'm sure of the business here, small as it is.” + +Emma McChesney glanced at the girl. “I'm thinking that Fanny has the +making of a pretty capable business woman herself.” + +Fanny drew in her breath sharply, and her face sparkled into sudden +life, as always when she was tremendously interested. + +“Do you know what I'd do if I were in Mother's place? I'd take a great, +big running jump for it and land! I'd take a chance. What is there for +her in this town? Nothing! She's been giving things up all her life, and +what has it brought her?” + +“It has brought me a comfortable living, and the love of my two +children, and the respect of my townspeople.” + +“Respect? Why shouldn't they respect you? You're the smartest woman in +Winnebago, and the hardest working.” + +Emma McChesney frowned a little, in thought. “What do you two girls do +for recreation?” + +“I'm afraid we have too little of that, Emma. I know Fanny has. I'm so +dog-tired at the end of the day. All I want is to take my hairpins out +and go to bed.” + +“And Fanny?” + +“Oh, I read. I'm free to pick my book friends, at least.” + +“Now, just what do you mean by that, child? It sounds a little bitter.” + +“I was thinking of what Chesterfield said in one of his Letters to His +Son. `Choose always to be in the society of those above you,' he wrote. +I guess he lived in Winnebago, Wisconsin. I'm a working woman, and a +Jew, and we haven't any money or social position. And unless she's a +Becky Sharp any small town girl with all those handicaps might as +well choose a certain constellation of stars in the sky to wear as a +breastpin, as try to choose the friends she really wants.” + +From Molly Brandeis to Emma McChesney there flashed a look that said, +“You see?” And from Emma McChesney to Molly Brandeis another that said, +“Yes; and it's your fault.” + +“Look here, Fanny, don't you see any boys--men?” + +“No. There aren't any. Those who have any sense and initiative leave +to go to Milwaukee, or Chicago, or New York. Those that stay marry the +banker's lovely daughter.” + +Emma McChesney laughed at that, and Molly Brandeis too, and Fanny joined +them a bit ruefully. Then quite suddenly, there came into her face a +melting, softening look that made it almost lovely. She crossed swiftly +over to where her mother sat, and put a hand on either cheek (grown +thinner of late) and kissed the tip of her nose. “We don't care--really. +Do we Mother? We're poor wurkin' girruls. But gosh! Ain't we proud? +Mother, your mistake was in not doing as Ruth did.” + +“Ruth?” + +“In the Bible. Remember when What's-his-name, her husband, died? Did +she go back to her home town? No, she didn't. She'd lived there all +her life, and she knew better. She said to Naomi, her mother-in-law, +`Whither thou goest I will go.' And she went. And when they got to +Bethlehem, Ruth looked around, knowingly, until she saw Boaz, the +catch of the town. So she went to work in his fields, gleaning, and +she gleaned away, trying to look just as girlish, and dreamy, and +unconscious, but watching him out of the corner of her eye all the +time. Presently Boaz came along, looking over the crops, and he saw her. +`Who's the new damsel?' he asked. `The peach?'” + +“Fanny Brandeis, aren't you ashamed?” + +“But, Mother, that's what it says in the Bible, actually. `Whose damsel +is this?' They told him it was Ruth, the dashing widow. After that it +was all off with the Bethlehem girls. Boaz paid no more attention +to them than if they had never existed. He married Ruth, and she led +society. Just a little careful scheming, that's all.” + +“I should say you have been reading, Fanny Brandeis,” said Emma +McChesney. She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. “Now listen to +me, child. The very next time a traveling man in a brown suit and a red +necktie asks you to take dinner with him at the Haley House--even one +of those roast pork, queen-fritter-with-rum-sauce, Roman punch Sunday +dinners--I want you to accept.” + +“Even if he wears an Elks' pin, and a Masonic charm, and a diamond ring +and a brown derby?” “Even if he shows you the letters from his girl in +Manistee,” said Mrs. McChesney solemnly. “You've been seeing too much of +Fanny Brandeis.” + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +Theodore had been gone six years. His letters, all too brief, were +events in the lives of the two women. They read and reread them. Fanny +unconsciously embellished them with fascinating details made up out of +her own imagination. + +“They're really triumphs of stupidity and dullness,” she said one day +in disgust, after one of Theodore's long-awaited letters had proved +particularly dry and sparse. “Just think of it! Dresden, Munich, +Leipsic, Vienna, Berlin, Frankfurt! And from his letters you would never +know he had left Winnebago. I don't believe he actually sees anything +of these cities--their people, and the queer houses, and the streets. +I suppose a new city means nothing to him but another platform, another +audience, another piano, all intended as a background for his violin. He +could travel all over the world and it wouldn't touch him once. He's got +his mental fingers crossed all the time.” + +Theodore had begun to play in concert with some success, but he wrote +that there was no real money in it yet. He was not well enough known. It +took time. He would have to get a name in Europe before he could attempt +an American tour. Just now every one was mad over Greinert. He was +drawing immense audiences. He sent them a photograph at which they +gasped, and then laughed, surprisedly. He looked so awfully German, so +different, somehow. + +“It's the way his hair is clipped, I suppose,” said Fanny. “High, like +that, on the temples. And look at his clothes! That tie! And his pants! +And that awful collar! Why, his very features look German, don't they? I +suppose it's the effect of that haberdashery.” + +A month after the photograph, came a letter announcing his marriage. +Fanny's quick eye, leaping ahead from line to line, took in the facts +that her mind seemed unable to grasp. Her name was Olga Stumpf. (In the +midst of her horror some imp in Fanny's brain said that her hands would +be red, and thick, with a name like that.) An orphan. She sang. One of +the Vienna concert halls, but so different from the other girls. And he +was so happy. And he hated to ask them for it, but if they could cable a +hundred or so. That would help. And here was her picture. + +And there was her picture. One of the so-called vivacious type of +Viennese of the lower class, smiling a conscious smile, her hair +elaborately waved and dressed, her figure high-busted, narrow-waisted; +earrings, chains, bracelets. You knew that she used a heavy scent. She +was older than Theodore. Or perhaps it was the earrings. + +They cabled the hundred. + +After the first shock of it Molly Brandeis found excuses for him. “He +must have been awfully lonely, Fanny. Often. And perhaps it will steady +him, and make him more ambitious. He'll probably work all the harder +now.” + +“No, he won't. But you will. And I will. I didn't mind working for +Theodore, and scrimping, and never having any of the things I wanted, +from blouses to music. But I won't work and deny myself to keep a great, +thick, cheap, German barmaid, or whatever she is in comfort. I won't!” + +But she did. And quite suddenly Molly Brandeis, of the straight, firm +figure and the bright, alert eye, and the buoyant humor, seemed to lose +some of those electric qualities. It was an almost imperceptible letting +down. You have seen a fine race horse suddenly break and lose his stride +in the midst of the field, and pull up and try to gain it again, and go +bravely on, his stride and form still there, but his spirit broken? That +was Molly Brandeis. + +Fanny did much of the buying now. She bought quickly and shrewdly, like +her mother. She even went to the Haley House to buy, when necessary, and +Winnebagoans, passing the hotel, would see her slim, erect figure in one +of the sample-rooms with its white-covered tables laden with china, +or glassware, or Christmas goods, or whatever that particular salesman +happened to carry. They lifted their eye-brows at first, but, somehow, +it was impossible to associate this girl with the blithe, shirt-sleeved, +cigar-smoking traveling men who followed her about the sample-room, +order book in hand. + +As time went on she introduced some new features into the business, +and did away with various old ones. The overflowing benches outside the +store were curbed, and finally disappeared altogether. Fanny took charge +of the window displays, and often came back to the store at night to +spend the evening at work with Aloysius. They would tack a piece +of muslin around the window to keep off the gaze of passers-by, and +together evolve a window that more than made up for the absent show +benches. + +This, I suppose, is no time to stop for a description of Fanny Brandeis. +And yet the impulse to do so is irresistible. Personally, I like to +know about the hair, and eyes, and mouth of the person whose life I am +following. How did she look when she said that? What sort of expression +did she wear when this happened? Perhaps the thing that Fanny Brandeis +said about herself one day, when she was having one of her talks with +Emma McChesney, who was on her fall trip for the Featherbloom Petticoat +Company, might help. + +“No ballroom would ever be hushed into admiring awe when I entered,” she +said. “No waiter would ever drop his tray, dazzled, and no diners in a +restaurant would stop to gaze at me, their forks poised halfway, their +eyes blinded by my beauty. I could tramp up and down between the tables +for hours, and no one would know I was there. I'm one of a million women +who look their best in a tailor suit and a hat with a line. Not that I +ever had either. But I have my points, only they're blunted just now.” + +Still, that bit of description doesn't do, after all. Because she had +distinct charm, and some beauty. She was not what is known as the Jewish +type, in spite of her coloring. The hair that used to curl, waved +now. In a day when coiffures were a bird's-nest of puffs and curls and +pompadour, she wore her hair straight back from her forehead and wound +in a coil at the neck. Her face in repose was apt to be rather lifeless, +and almost heavy. But when she talked, it flashed into sudden life, and +you found yourself watching her mouth, fascinated. It was the key to +her whole character, that mouth. Mobile, humorous, sensitive, the +sensuousness of the lower lip corrected by the firmness of the upper. +She had large, square teeth, very regular, and of the yellow-white tone +that bespeaks health. She used to make many of her own clothes, and she +always trimmed her hats. Mrs. Brandeis used to bring home material and +styles from her Chicago buying trips, and Fanny's quick mind adapted +them. She managed, somehow, to look miraculously well dressed. + +The Christmas following Theodore's marriage was the most successful +one in the history of Brandeis' Bazaar. And it bred in Fanny Brandeis a +lifelong hatred of the holiday season. In years after she always tried +to get away from the city at Christmas time. The two women did the work +of four men. They had a big stock on hand. Mrs. Brandeis was everywhere +at once. She got an enormous amount of work out of her clerks, and they +did not resent it. It is a gift that all born leaders have. She herself +never sat down, and the clerks unconsciously followed her example. She +never complained of weariness, she never lost her temper, she never lost +patience with a customer, even the tight-fisted farmer type who doled +their money out with that reluctance found only in those who have wrung +it from the soil. + +In the midst of the rush she managed, somehow, never to fail to grasp +the humor of a situation. A farmer woman came in for a doll's head, +which she chose with incredible deliberation and pains. As it was being +wrapped she explained that it was for her little girl, Minnie. She had +promised the head this year. Next Christmas they would buy a body for +it. Molly Brandeis's quick sympathy went out to the little girl who was +to lavish her mother-love on a doll's head for a whole year. She saw the +head, in ghastly decapitation, staring stiffly out from the cushions of +the chill and funereal parlor sofa, and the small Minnie peering in to +feast her eyes upon its blond and waxen beauty. + +“Here,” she had said, “take this, and sew it on the head, so Minnie'll +have something she can hold, at least.” And she had wrapped a pink +cambric, sawdust-stuffed body in with the head. + +It was a snowy and picturesque Christmas, and intensely cold, with the +hard, dry, cutting cold of Wisconsin. Near the door the little store +was freezing. Every time the door opened it let in a blast. Near the big +glowing stove it was very hot. + +The aisles were packed so that sometimes it was almost impossible to +wedge one's way through. The china plates, stacked high, fairly melted +away, as did the dolls piled on the counters. Mrs. Brandeis imported +her china and dolls, and no store in Winnebago, not even Gerretson's big +department store, could touch them for value. + +The two women scarcely stopped to eat in the last ten days of the +holiday rush. Often Annie, the girl who had taken Mattie's place in the +household, would bring down their supper, hot and hot, and they would +eat it quickly up in the little gallery where they kept the sleds, +and doll buggies, and drums. At night (the store was open until ten or +eleven at Christmas time) they would trudge home through the snow, so +numb with weariness that they hardly minded the cold. The icy wind cut +their foreheads like a knife, and made the temples ache. The snow, hard +and resilient, squeaked beneath their heels. They would open the front +door and stagger in, blinking. The house seemed so weirdly quiet and +peaceful after the rush and clamor of the store. + +“Don't you want a sandwich, Mother, with a glass of beer?” + +“I'm too tired to eat it, Fanny. I just want to get to bed.” + +Fanny grew to hate the stock phrases that met her with each customer. “I +want something for a little boy about ten. He's really got everything.” + Or, “I'm looking for a present for a lady friend. Do you think a plate +would be nice?” She began to loathe them--these satiated little boys, +these unknown friends, for whom she must rack her brains. + +They cleared a snug little fortune that Christmas. On Christmas Eve they +smiled wanly at each other, like two comrades who have fought and bled +together, and won. When they left the store it was nearly midnight. +Belated shoppers, bundle-laden, carrying holly wreaths, with strange +handles, and painted heads, and sticks protruding from lumpy brown paper +burdens, were hurrying home. + +They stumbled home, too spent to talk. Fanny, groping for the keyhole, +stubbed her toe against a wooden box between the storm door and the +inner door. It had evidently been left there by the expressman or a +delivery boy. It was a very heavy box. + +“A Christmas present!” Fanny exclaimed. “Do you think it is? But it must +be.” She looked at the address, “Miss Fanny Brandeis.” She went to the +kitchen for a crowbar, and came back, still in her hat and coat. She +pried open the box expertly, tore away the wrappings, and disclosed a +gleaming leather-bound set of Balzac, and beneath that, incongruously +enough, Mark Twain. + +“Why!” exclaimed Fanny, sitting down on the floor rather heavily. Then +her eye fell upon a card tossed aside in the hurry of unpacking. She +picked it up, read it hastily. “Merry Christmas to the best daughter in +the world. From her Mother.” + +Mrs. Brandeis had taken off her wraps and was standing over the +sitting-room register, rubbing her numbed hands and smiling a little. + +“Why, Mother!” Fanny scrambled to her feet. “You darling! In all that +rush and work, to take time to think of me! Why--” Her arms were around +her mother's shoulders. She was pressing her glowing cheek against +the pale, cold one. And they both wept a little, from emotion, and +weariness, and relief, and enjoyed it, as women sometimes do. + +Fanny made her mother stay in bed next morning, a thing that Mrs. +Brandeis took to most ungracefully. After the holiday rush and strain +she invariably had a severe cold, the protest of the body she had +over-driven and under-nourished for two or three weeks. As a patient she +was as trying and fractious as a man, tossing about, threatening to get +up, demanding hot-water bags, cold compresses, alcohol rubs. She fretted +about the business, and imagined that things were at a stand-still +during her absence. + +Fanny herself rose early. Her healthy young body, after a night's sleep, +was already recuperating from the month's strain. She had planned a +real Christmas dinner, to banish the memory of the hasty and unpalatable +lunches they had had to gulp during the rush. There was to be a turkey, +and Fanny had warned Annie not to touch it. She wanted to stuff it and +roast it herself. She spent the morning in the kitchen, aside from an +occasional tip-toeing visit to her mother's room. At eleven she found +her mother up, and no amount of coaxing would induce her to go back to +bed. She had read the papers and she said she felt rested already. + +The turkey came out a delicate golden-brown, and deliciously crackly. +Fanny, looking up over a drumstick, noticed, with a shock, that her +mother's eyes looked strangely sunken, and her skin, around the jaws and +just under the chin, where her loose wrapper revealed her throat, was +queerly yellow and shriveled. She had eaten almost nothing. + +“Mother, you're not eating a thing! You really must eat a little.” + +Mrs. Brandeis began a pretense of using knife and fork, but gave it up +finally and sat back, smiling rather wanly. “I guess I'm tireder than +I thought I was, dear. I think I've got a cold coming on, too. I'll +lie down again after dinner, and by to-morrow I'll be as chipper as a +sparrow. The turkey's wonderful, isn't it? I'll have some, cold, for +supper.” + +After dinner the house felt very warm and stuffy. It was crisply cold +and sunny outdoors. The snow was piled high except on the sidewalks, +where it had been neatly shoveled away by the mufflered Winnebago sons +and fathers. There was no man in the Brandeis household, and Aloysius +had been too busy to perform the chores usually considered his work +about the house. The snow lay in drifts upon the sidewalk in front of +the Brandeis house, except where passing feet had trampled it a bit. + +“I'm going to shovel the walk,” Fanny announced suddenly. “Way around +to the woodshed. Where are those old mittens of mine? Annie, where's the +snow shovel? Sure I am. Why not?” + +She shoveled and scraped and pounded, bending rhythmically to the work, +lifting each heaping shovelful with her strong young arms, tossing it to +the side, digging in again, and under. An occasional neighbor passed +by, or a friend, and she waved at them, gayly, and tossed back their +badinage. “Merry Christmas!” she called, again and again, in reply to a +passing acquaintance. “Same to you!” + +At two o'clock Bella Weinberg telephoned to say that a little party of +them were going to the river to skate. The ice was wonderful. Oh, come +on! Fanny skated very well. But she hesitated. Mrs. Brandeis, dozing on +the couch, sensed what was going on in her daughter's mind, and roused +herself with something of her old asperity. + +“Don't be foolish, child. Run along! You don't intend to sit here and +gaze upon your sleeping beauty of a mother all afternoon, do you? Well, +then!” + +So Fanny changed her clothes, got her skates, and ran out into the snap +and sparkle of the day. The winter darkness had settled down before she +returned, all glowing and rosy, and bright-eyed. Her blood was racing +through her body. Her lips were parted. The drudgery of the past three +weeks seemed to have been blotted out by this one radiant afternoon. + +The house was dark when she entered. It seemed very quiet, and close, +and depressing after the sparkle and rush of the afternoon on the river. +“Mother! Mother dear! Still sleeping?” + +Mrs. Brandeis stirred, sighed, awoke. Fanny flicked on the light. Her +mother was huddled in a kimono on the sofa. She sat up rather dazedly +now, and stared at Fanny. + +“Why--what time is it? What? Have I been sleeping all afternoon? Your +mother's getting old.” + +She yawned, and in the midst of it caught her breath with a little cry +of pain. + +“What is it? What's the matter?” + +Molly Brandeis pressed a hand to her breast. “A stitch, I guess. It's +this miserable cold coming on. Is there any asperin in the house? I'll +dose myself after supper, and take a hot foot bath and go to bed. I'm +dead.” + +She ate less for supper than she had for dinner. She hardly tasted the +cup of tea that Fanny insisted on making for her. She swayed a little as +she sat, and her lids came down over her eyes, flutteringly, as if the +weight of them was too great to keep up. At seven she was up-stairs, in +bed, sleeping, and breathing heavily. + +At eleven, or thereabouts, Fanny woke up with a start. She sat up in +bed, wide-eyed, peering into the darkness and listening. Some one was +talking in a high, queer voice, a voice like her mother's, and yet +unlike. She ran, shivering with the cold, into her mother's bedroom. She +switched on the light. Mrs. Brandeis was lying on the pillow, her eyes +almost closed, except for a terrifying slit of white that showed +between the lids. Her head was tossing to and fro on the pillow. She was +talking, sometimes clearly, and sometimes mumblingly. + +“One gross cups and saucers... and now what do you think you'd like for +a second prize... in the basement, Aloysius... the trains... I'll see +that they get there to-day... yours of the tenth at hand...” + +“Mother! Mother! Molly dear!” She shook her gently, then almost roughly. +The voice ceased. The eyes remained the same. “Oh, God!” She ran to the +back of the house. “Annie! Annie, get up! Mother's sick. She's out of +her head. I'm going to 'phone for the doctor. Go in with her.” + +She got the doctor at last. She tried to keep her voice under control, +and thought, with a certain pride, that she was succeeding. She ran +up-stairs again. The voice had begun again, but it seemed thicker now. +She got into her clothes, shaking with cold and terror, and yet thinking +very clearly, as she always did in a crisis. She put clean towels in +the bathroom, pushed the table up to the bed, got a glass of water, +straightened the covers, put away the clothes that the tired woman +had left about the room. Doctor Hertz came. He went through the usual +preliminaries, listened, tapped, counted, straightened up at last. + +“Fresh air,” he said. “Cold air. All the windows open.” They rigged up +a device of screens and sheets to protect the bed from the drafts. Fanny +obeyed orders silently, like a soldier. But her eyes went from the face +on the pillow to that of the man bent over the bed. Something vague, +cold, clammy, seemed to be closing itself around her heart. It was +like an icy hand, squeezing there. There had suddenly sprung up that +indefinable atmosphere of the sick-room--a sick-room in which a fight is +being waged. Bottles on the table, glasses, a spoon, a paper shade over +the electric light globe. + +“What is it?” said Fanny, at last. “Grip?--grip?” + +Doctor Hertz hesitated a moment. “Pneumonia.” + +Fanny's hands grasped the footboard tightly. “Do you think we'd better +have a nurse?” + +“Yes.” + +The nurse seemed to be there, somehow, miraculously. And the morning +came. And in the kitchen Annie went about her work, a little more +quietly than usual. And yesterday seemed far away. It was afternoon; it +was twilight. Doctor Hertz had been there for hours. The last time he +brought another doctor with him--Thorn. Mrs. Brandeis was not talking +now. But she was breathing. It filled the room, that breathing; it +filled the house. Fanny took her mother's hand, that hand with the +work-hardened palm and the broken nails. It was very cold. She looked +down at it. The nails were blue. She began to rub it. She looked up into +the faces of the two men. She picked up the other hand--snatched at it. +“Look here!” she said. “Look here!” And then she stood up. The vague, +clammy thing that had been wound about her heart suddenly relaxed. And +at that something icy hot rushed all over her body and shook her. She +came around to the foot of the bed, and gripped it with her two hands. +Her chin was thrust forward, and her eyes were bright and staring. She +looked very much like her mother, just then. It was a fighting face. A +desperate face. + +“Look here,” she began, and was surprised to find that she was only +whispering. She wet her lips and smiled, and tried again, forming the +words carefully with her lips. “Look here. She's dying--isn't she? Isn't +she! She's dying, isn't she?” + +Doctor Hertz pursed his lips. The nurse came over to her, and put a hand +on her shoulder. Fanny shook her off. + +“Answer me. I've got a right to know. Look at this!” She reached forward +and picked up that inert, cold, strangely shriveled blue hand again. + +“My dear child--I'm afraid so.” + +There came from Fanny's throat a moan that began high, and poignant, and +quavering, and ended in a shiver that seemed to die in her heart. The +room was still again, except for the breathing, and even that was less +raucous. + +Fanny stared at the woman on the bed--at the long, finely-shaped head, +with the black hair wadded up so carelessly now; at the long, straight, +clever nose; the full, generous mouth. There flooded her whole being a +great, blinding rage. What had she had of life? she demanded fiercely. +What? What? Her teeth came together grindingly. She breathed heavily +through her nostrils, as if she had been running. And suddenly she began +to pray, not with the sounding, unctions thees and thous of the Church +and Bible; not elegantly or eloquently, with well-rounded phrases, as +the righteous pray, but threateningly, hoarsely, as a desperate woman +prays. It was not a prayer so much as a cry of defiance---a challenge. + +“Look here, God!” and there was nothing profane as she said it. “Look +here, God! She's done her part. It's up to You now. Don't You let her +die! Look at her. Look at her!” She choked and shook herself angrily, +and went on. “Is that fair? That's a rotten trick to play on a woman +that gave what she gave! What did she ever have of life? Nothing! That +little miserable, dirty store, and those little miserable, dirty people. +You give her a chance, d'You hear? You give her a chance, God, or +I'll----” + +Her voice broke in a thin, cracked quaver. The nurse turned her around, +suddenly and sharply, and led her from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +“You can come down now. They're all here, I guess. Doctor Thalmann's +going to begin.” Fanny, huddled in a chair in her bedroom, looked up +into the plump, kindly face of the woman who was bending over her. +Then she stood up, docilely, and walked toward the stairs with a heavy, +stumbling step. + +“I'd put down my veil if I were you,” said the neighbor woman. And +reached up for the black folds that draped Fanny's hat. Fanny's fingers +reached for them too, fumblingly. “I'd forgotten about it,” she said. +The heavy crape fell about her shoulders, mercifully hiding the swollen, +discolored face. She went down the stairs. There was a little stir, +a swaying toward her, a sibilant murmur of sympathy from the crowded +sitting-room as she passed through to the parlor where Rabbi Thalmann +stood waiting, prayer book in hand, in front of that which was covered +with flowers. Fanny sat down. A feeling of unreality was strong upon +her. Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat and opened the book. + +After all, it was not Rabbi Thalmann's funeral sermon that testified to +Mrs. Brandeis's standing in the community. It was the character of the +gathering that listened to what he had to say. Each had his own opinion +of Molly Brandeis, and needed no final eulogy to confirm it. Father +Fitzpatrick was there, tall, handsome, ruddy, the two wings of white +showing at the temples making him look more than ever like a leading +man. He had been of those who had sat in what he called Mrs. Brandeis's +confessional, there in the quiet little store. The two had talked of +things theological and things earthy. His wit, quick though it was, was +no match for hers, but they both had a humor sense and a drama sense, +and one day they discovered, queerly enough, that they worshiped the +same God. Any one of these things is basis enough for a friendship. +Besides, Molly Brandeis could tell an Irish story inimitably. And you +should have heard Father Fitzpatrick do the one about Ikey and the +nickel. No, I think the Catholic priest, seeming to listen with such +respectful attention, really heard very little of what Rabbi Thalmann +had to say. + +Herman Walthers was there, he of the First National Bank of Winnebago, +whose visits had once brought such terror to Molly Brandeis. Augustus G. +Gerretson was there, and three of his department heads. Emil Bauer sat +just behind him. In a corner was Sadie, the erstwhile coquette, very +subdued now, and months behind the fashions in everything but baby +clothes. Hen Cody, who had done all of Molly Brandeis's draying, sat, +in unaccustomed black, next to Mayor A. J. Dawes. Temple Emmanu-el +was there, almost a unit. The officers of Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid +Society sat in a row. They had never honored Molly Brandeis with office +in the society--she who could have managed its business, politics and +social activities with one hand tied behind her, and both her bright +eyes shut. In the kitchen and on the porch and in the hallway stood +certain obscure people--women whose finger tips stuck out of their +cotton gloves, and whose skirts dipped ludicrously in the back. Only +Molly Brandeis could have identified them for you. Mrs. Brosch, the +butter and egg woman, hovered in the dining-room doorway. She had +brought a pound of butter. It was her contribution to the funeral baked +meats. She had deposited it furtively on the kitchen table. Birdie +Callahan, head waitress at the Haley House, found a seat just next to +the elegant Mrs. Morehouse, who led the Golf Club crowd. A haughty young +lady in the dining-room, Birdie Callahan, in her stiffly starched white, +but beneath the icy crust of her hauteur was a molten mass of good humor +and friendliness. She and Molly Brandeis had had much in common. + +But no one--not even Fanny Brandeis--ever knew who sent the great +cluster of American Beauty roses that had come all the way from +Milwaukee. There had been no card, so who could have guessed that they +came from Blanche Devine. Blanche Devine, of the white powder, and the +minks, and the diamonds, and the high-heeled shoes, and the plumes, +lived in the house with the closed shutters, near the freight depot. +She often came into Brandeis' Bazaar. Molly Brandeis had never allowed +Sadie, or Pearl, or Fanny or Aloysius to wait on her. She had attended +to her herself. And one day, for some reason, Blanche Devine found +herself telling Molly Brandeis how she had come to be Blanche Devine, +and it was a moving and terrible story. And now her cardless flowers, a +great, scarlet sheaf of them, lay next the chaste white roses that had +been sent by the Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid. Truly, death is a great +leveler. + +In a vague way Fanny seemed to realize that all these people were +there. I think she must even have found a certain grim comfort in their +presence. Hers had not been the dry-eyed grief of the strong, such as +you read about. She had wept, night and day, hopelessly, inconsolably, +torturing herself with remorseful questions. If she had not gone +skating, might she not have seen how ill her mother was? Why hadn't +she insisted on the doctor when her mother refused to eat the Christmas +dinner? Blind and selfish, she told herself; blind and selfish. Her face +was swollen and distorted now, and she was thankful for the black veil +that shielded her. Winnebago was scandalized to see that she wore no +other black. Mrs. Brandeis had never wanted Fanny to wear it; she hadn't +enough color, she said. So now she was dressed in her winter suit of +blue, and her hat with the pert blue quill. And the little rabbi's voice +went on and on, and Fanny knew that it could not be true. What had all +this dust-to-dust talk to do with any one as vital, and electric, and +constructive as Molly Brandeis. In the midst of the service there was a +sharp cry, and a little stir, and the sound of stifled sobbing. It was +Aloysius the merry, Aloysius the faithful, whose Irish heart was quite +broken. Fanny ground her teeth together in an effort at self-control. + +And so to the end, and out past the little hushed, respectful group +on the porch, to the Jewish cemetery on the state road. The snow of +Christmas week was quite virgin there, except for that one spot where +the sexton and his men had been at work. Then back at a smart jog trot +through the early dusk of the winter afternoon, the carriage wheels +creaking upon the hard, dry snow. And Fanny Brandeis said to herself +(she must have been a little light-headed from hunger and weeping): + +“Now I'll know whether it's true or not. When I go into the house. If +she's there she'll say, `Well Fanchen! Hungry? Oh, but my little girl's +hands are cold! Come here to the register and warm them.' O God, let her +be there! Let her be there!” + +But she wasn't. The house had been set to rights by brisk and +unaccustomed hands. There was a bustle and stir in the dining-room, and +from the kitchen came the appetizing odors of cooking food. Fanny went +up to a chair that was out of its place, and shoved it back against the +wall where it belonged. She straightened a rug, carried the waste basket +from the desk to the spot near the living-room table where it had always +served to hide the shabby, worn place in the rug. Fanny went up-stairs, +past The Room that was once more just a comfortable, old fashioned +bedroom, instead of a mysterious and awful chamber; bathed her face, +tidied her hair, came down-stairs again, ate and drank things hot and +revivifying. The house was full of kindly women. + +Fanny found herself clinging to them--clinging desperately to these +ample, broad-bosomed, soothing women whom she had scarcely known before. +They were always there, those women, and their husbands too; kindly, +awkward men, who patted her shoulder, and who spoke of Molly Brandeis +with that sincerity of admiration such as men usually give only to men. +People were constantly popping in at the back door with napkin-covered +trays, and dishes and baskets. A wonderful and beautiful thing, that +homely small-town sympathy that knows the value of physical comfort in +time of spiritual anguish. + +Two days after the funeral Fanny Brandeis went back to the store, much +as her mother had done many years before, after her husband's death. She +looked about at the bright, well-stocked shelves and tables with a new +eye--a speculative eye. The Christmas season was over. January was the +time for inventory and for replenishment. Mrs. Brandeis had always +gone to Chicago the second week in January for the spring stock. But +something was forming in Fanny Brandeis's mind--a resolve that grew so +rapidly as to take her breath away. Her brain felt strangely clear and +keen after the crashing storm of grief that had shaken her during the +past week. + +“What are you going to do now?” people had asked her, curious and +interested. “Is Theodore coming back?” + +“I don't know--yet.” In answer to the first. And, “No. Why should he? He +has his work.” + +“But he could be of such help to you.” + +“I'll help myself,” said Fanny Brandeis, and smiled a curious smile +that had in it more of bitterness and less of mirth than any smile has a +right to have. + +Mrs. Brandeis had left a will, far-sighted business woman that she was. +It was a terse, clear-headed document, that gave “to Fanny Brandeis, my +daughter,” the six-thousand-dollar insurance, the stock, good-will and +fixtures of Brandeis' Bazaar, the house furnishings, the few pieces of +jewelry in their old-fashioned setting. To Theodore was left the sum of +fifteen hundred dollars. He had received his share in the years of his +musical education. + +Fanny Brandeis did not go to Chicago that January. She took inventory +of Brandeis' Bazaar, carefully and minutely. And then, just as carefully +and minutely she took stock of Fanny Brandeis. There was something +relentless and terrible in the way she went about this self-analysis. +She walked a great deal that winter, often out through the drifts to the +little cemetery. As she walked her mind was working, working. She held +long mental conversations with herself during these walks, and once she +was rather frightened to find herself talking aloud. She wondered if she +had done that before. And a plan was maturing in her brain, while the +fight went on within herself, thus: + +“You'll never do it, Fanny. You're not built that way.” + +“Oh, won't I! Watch me! Give me time.” + +“You'll think of what your mother would have done under the same +conditions, and you'll do that thing.” + +“I won't. Not unless it's the long-headed thing to do. I'm through being +sentimental and unselfish. What did it bring her? Nothing!” + +The weeks went by. Fanny worked hard in the store, and bought little. +February came, and with the spring her months of private thinking bore +fruit. There came to Fanny Brandeis a great resolve. She would put +herself in a high place. Every talent she possessed, every advantage, +every scrap of knowledge, every bit of experience, would be used toward +that end. She would make something of herself. It was a worldly, selfish +resolve, born of a bitter sorrow, and ambition, and resentment. She made +up her mind that she would admit no handicaps. Race, religion, training, +natural impulses--she would discard them all if they stood in her way. +She would leave Winnebago behind. At best, if she stayed there, she +could never accomplish more than to make her business a more than +ordinarily successful small-town store. And she would be--nobody. No, +she had had enough of that. She would crush and destroy the little girl +who had fasted on that Day of Atonement; the more mature girl who had +written the thesis about the paper mill rag-room; the young woman who +had drudged in the store on Elm Street. In her place she would mold a +hard, keen-eyed, resolute woman, whose godhead was to be success, and +to whom success would mean money and position. She had not a head for +mathematics, but out of the puzzling problems and syllogisms in geometry +she had retained in her memory this one immovable truth: + +A straight line is the shortest distance between two points. + +With her mental eye she marked her two points, and then, starting from +the first, made directly for the second. But she forgot to reckon with +the law of tangents. She forgot, too, how paradoxical a creature +was this Fanny Brandeis whose eyes filled with tears at sight of a +parade--just the sheer drama of it--were the marchers G. A. R. veterans, +school children in white, soldiers, Foresters, political marching clubs; +and whose eyes burned dry and bright as she stood over the white mound +in the cemetery on the state road. Generous, spontaneous, impulsive, +warm-hearted, she would be cold, calculating, deliberate, she told +herself. + +Thousands of years of persecution behind her made her quick to +appreciate suffering in others, and gave her an innate sense of +fellowship with the downtrodden. She resolved to use that sense as a +searchlight aiding her to see and overcome obstacles. She told herself +that she was done with maudlin sentimentality. On the rare occasions +when she had accompanied her mother to Chicago, the two women had found +delight in wandering about the city's foreign quarters. When other +small-town women buyers snatched occasional moments of leisure for the +theater or personal shopping, these two had spent hours in the ghetto +around Jefferson and Taylor, and Fourteenth Streets. Something in +the sight of these people--alien, hopeful, emotional, often +grotesque--thrilled and interested both the women. And at sight of an +ill-clad Italian, with his slovenly, wrinkled old-young wife, turning +the handle of his grind organ whilst both pairs of eyes searched windows +and porches and doorsteps with a hopeless sort of hopefulness, she lost +her head entirely and emptied her limp pocketbook of dimes, and nickels, +and pennies. Incidentally it might be stated that she loved the cheap +and florid music of the hand organ itself. + +It was rumored that Brandeis' Bazaar was for sale. In the spring +Gerretson's offered Fanny the position of buyer and head of the china, +glassware, and kitchenware sections. Gerretson's showed an imposing +block of gleaming plate-glass front now, and drew custom from a dozen +thrifty little towns throughout the Fox River Valley. Fanny refused the +offer. In March she sold outright the stock, good-will, and fixtures of +Brandeis' Bazaar. The purchaser was a thrifty, farsighted traveling +man who had wearied of the road and wanted to settle down. She sold the +household goods too--those intimate, personal pieces of wood and cloth +that had become, somehow, part of her life. She had grown up with them. +She knew the history of every nick, every scratch and worn spot. Her +mother lived again in every piece. The old couch went off in a farmer's +wagon. Fanny turned away when they joggled it down the front steps and +into the rude vehicle. It was like another funeral. She was furious to +find herself weeping again. She promised herself punishment for that. + +Up in her bedroom she opened the bottom drawer of her bureau. That +bureau and its history and the history of every piece of furniture in +the room bore mute testimony to the character of its occupant; to her +protest against things as she found them, and her determination to +make them over to suit her. She had spent innumerable Sunday mornings +wielding the magic paint brush that had transformed the bedroom from +dingy oak to gleaming cream enamel. She sat down on the floor now, +before the bureau, and opened the bottom drawer. + +In a corner at the back, under the neat pile of garments, was a +tightly-rolled bundle of cloth. Fanny reached for it, took it out, and +held it in her hands a moment. Then she unrolled it slowly, and the +bundle revealed itself to be a faded, stained, voluminous gingham apron, +blue and white. It was the kind of apron women don when they perform +some very special household ritual--baking, preserving, house cleaning. +It crossed over the shoulders with straps, and its generous fullness ran +all the way around the waist. It was discolored in many places with the +brown and reddish stains of fruit juices. It had been Molly Brandeis' +canning apron. Fanny had come upon it hanging on a hook behind the +kitchen door, after that week in December. And at sight of it all her +fortitude and forced calm had fled. She had spread her arms over the +limp, mute, yet speaking thing dangling there, and had wept so wildly +and uncontrollably as to alarm even herself. + +Nothing in connection with her mother's death had power to call up such +poignant memories as did this homely, intimate garment. She saw again +the steamy kitchen, deliciously scented with the perfume of cooking +fruit, or the tantalizing, mouth-watering spiciness of vinegar and +pickles. On the stove the big dishpan, in which the jelly glasses and +fruit jars, with their tops and rubbers, bobbed about in hot water. +In the great granite kettle simmered the cooking fruit Molly Brandeis, +enveloped in the familiar blue-and-white apron, stood over it, like a +priestess, stirring, stirring, slowly, rhythmically. Her face would be +hot and moist with the steam, and very tired too, for she often came +home from the store utterly weary, to stand over the kettle until ten +or eleven o'clock. But the pride in it as she counted the golden or ruby +tinted tumblers gleaming in orderly rows as they cooled on the kitchen +table! + +“Fifteen glasses of grape jell, Fan! And I didn't mix a bit of apple +with it. I didn't think I'd get more than ten. And nine of the quince +preserve. That makes--let me see--eighty-three, ninety-eight--one +hundred and seven altogether.” + +“We'll never eat it, Mother.” + +“You said that last year, and by April my preserve cupboard looked like +Old Mother Hubbard's.” + +But then, Mrs. Brandeis was famous for her preserves, as Father +Fitzpatrick, and Aloysius, and Doctor Thalmann, and a dozen others could +testify. After the strain and flurry of a busy day at the store there +was something about this homely household rite that brought a certain +sense of rest and peace to Molly Brandeis. + +All this moved through Fanny Brandeis's mind as she sat with the +crumpled apron in her lap, her eyes swimming with hot tears. The very +stains that discolored it, the faded blue of the front breadth, the +frayed buttonhole, the little scorched place where she had burned a hole +when trying unwisely to lift a steaming kettle from the stove with the +apron's corner, spoke to her with eloquent lips. That apron had become +a vice with Fanny. She brooded over it as a mother broods over the +shapeless, scuffled bit of leather that was a baby's shoe; as a woman, +widowed, clings to a shabby, frayed old smoking jacket. More than once +she had cried herself to sleep with the apron clasped tightly in her +arms. + +She got up from the floor now, with the apron in her hands, and went +down the stairs, opened the door that led to the cellar, walked heavily +down those steps and over to the furnace. She flung open the furnace +door. Red and purple the coal bed gleamed, with little white flame +sprites dancing over it. Fanny stared at it a moment, fascinated. Her +face was set, her eyes brilliant. Suddenly she flung the tightly-rolled +apron into the heart of the gleaming mass. She shut her eyes then. +The fire seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Then, with a gasp, it +sprang upon its food. The bundle stiffened, writhed, crumpled, sank, lay +a blackened heap, was dissolved. The fire bed glowed red and purple as +before, except for a dark spot in its heart. Fanny shivered a little. +She shut the furnace door and went up-stairs again. + +“Smells like something burning--cloth, or something,” called Annie, from +the kitchen. + +“It's only an old apron that was cluttering up my--my bureau drawer.” + +Thus she successfully demonstrated the first lesson in the cruel and +rigid course of mental training she had mapped out for herself. + +Leaving Winnebago was not easy. There is something about a small town +that holds you. Your life is so intimately interwoven with that of your +neighbor. Existence is so safe, so sane, so sure. Fanny knew that when +she turned the corner of Elm Street every third person she met would +speak to her. Life was made up of minute details, too trivial for the +notice of the hurrying city crowds. You knew when Milly Glaenzer changed +the baby buggy for a go-cart. The youngest Hupp boy--Sammy--who was +graduated from High School in June, is driving A. J. Dawes's automobile +now. My goodness, how time flies! Doeppler's grocery has put in +plate-glass windows, and they're getting out-of-season vegetables every +day now from Milwaukee. As you pass you get the coral glow of tomatoes, +and the tender green of lettuces. And that vivid green? Fresh young +peas! And in February. Well! They've torn down the old yellow brick +National Bank, and in its place a chaste Greek Temple of a building +looks rather contemptuously down its classic columns upon the farmer's +wagons drawn up along the curb. If Fanny Brandeis' sense of proportion +had not been out of plumb she might have realized that, to Winnebago, +the new First National Bank building was as significant and epochal as +had been the Woolworth Building to New York. + +The very intimacy of these details, Fanny argued, was another reason for +leaving Winnebago. They were like detaining fingers that grasped at your +skirts, impeding your progress. + +She had early set about pulling every wire within her reach that might +lead, directly or indirectly, to the furtherance of her ambition. She +got two offers from Milwaukee retail stores. She did not consider them +for a moment. Even a Chicago department store of the second grade (one +of those on the wrong side of State Street) did not tempt her. She knew +her value. She could afford to wait. There was money enough on which to +live comfortably until the right chance presented itself. She knew every +item of her equipment, and she conned them to herself greedily: +Definite charm of manner; the thing that is called magnetism; brains; +imagination; driving force; health; youth; and, most precious of all, +that which money could not buy, nor education provide--experience. +Experience, a priceless weapon, that is beaten into shape only by +much contact with men and women, and that is sharpened by much rubbing +against the rough edges of this world. + +In April her chance came to her; came in that accidental, haphazard way +that momentous happenings have. She met on Elm Street a traveling man +from whom Molly Brandeis had bought for years. He dropped both sample +cases and shook hands with Fanny, eying her expertly and approvingly, +and yet without insolence. He was a wise, road-weary, skillful member +of his fraternity, grown gray in years of service, and a little bitter. +Though perhaps that was due partly to traveling man's dyspepsia, brought +on by years of small-town hotel food. + +“So you've sold out.” + +“Yes. Over a month ago.” + +“H'm. That was a nice little business you had there. Your ma built it up +herself. There was a woman! Gosh! Discounted her bills, even during the +panic.” + +Fanny smiled a reflective little smile. “That line is a complete +characterization of my mother. Her life was a series of panics. But she +never lost her head. And she always discounted.” + +He held out his hand. “Well, glad I met you.” He picked up his sample +cases. “You leaving Winnebago?” + +“Yes.” + +“Going to the city, I suppose. Well you're a smart girl. And your +mother's daughter. I guess you'll get along all right. What house are +you going with?” + +“I don't know. I'm waiting for the right chance. It's all in starting +right. I'm not going to hurry.” + +He put down his cases again, and his eyes grew keen and kindly. He +gesticulated with one broad forefinger. “Listen, m' girl. I'm what they +call an old-timer. They want these high-power, eight-cylinder kids on +the road these days, and it's all we can do to keep up. But I've got +something they haven't got--yet. I never read anybody on the Psychology +of Business, but I know human nature all the way from Elm Street, +Winnebago, to Fifth Avenue, New York.” + +“I'm sure you do,” said Fanny politely, and took a little step forward, +as though to end the conversation. + +“Now wait a minute. They say the way to learn is to make mistakes. If +that's true, I'm at the head of the class. I've made 'em all. Now get +this. You start out and specialize. Specialize! Tie to one thing, and +make yourself an expert in it. But first be sure it's the right thing.” + +“But how is one to be sure?” + +“By squinting up your eyes so you can see ten years ahead. If it looks +good to you at that distance--better, in fact, than it does close +by--then it's right. I suppose that's what they call having imagination. +I never had any. That's why I'm still selling goods on the road. To look +at you I'd say you had too much. Maybe I'm wrong. But I never yet saw +a woman with a mouth like yours who was cut out for business--unless +it was your mother--And her eyes were different. Let's see, what was I +saying?” + +“Specialize.” + +“Oh, yes. And that reminds me. Bunch of fellows in the smoker last night +talking about Haynes-Cooper. Your mother hated 'em like poison, the +way every small-town merchant hates the mail-order houses. But I hear +they've got an infants' wear department that's just going to grass for +lack of a proper head. You're only a kid. And they have done you dirt +all these years, of course. But if you could sort of horn in there--why, +say, there's no limit to the distance you could go. No limit! With your +brains and experience.” + +That had been the beginning. From then on the thing had moved forward +with a certain inevitableness. There was something about the vastness of +the thing that appealed to Fanny. Here was an organization whose great +arms embraced the world. Haynes-Cooper, giant among mail-order houses, +was said to eat a small-town merchant every morning for breakfast. + +“There's a Haynes-Cooper catalogue in every farmer's kitchen,” Molly +Brandeis used to say. “The Bible's in the parlor, but they keep the H. +C. book in the room where they live.” + +That she was about to affiliate herself with this house appealed to +Fanny Brandeis's sense of comedy. She had heard her mother presenting +her arguments to the stubborn farmer folk who insisted on ordering their +stove, or dinner set, or plow, or kitchen goods from the fascinating +catalogue. “I honestly think it's just the craving for excitement that +makes them do it,” she often said. “They want the thrill they get +when they receive a box from Chicago, and open it, and take off the +wrappings, and dig out the thing they ordered from a picture, not +knowing whether it will be right or wrong.” + +Her arguments usually left the farmer unmoved. He would drive into town, +mail his painfully written letter and order at the post-office, dispose +of his load of apples, or butter, or cheese, or vegetables, and drive +cheerfully back again, his empty wagon bumping and rattling down the old +corduroy road. Express, breakage, risk, loyalty to his own region--an +these arguments left him cold. + +In May, after much manipulation, correspondence, two interviews, came a +definite offer from the Haynes-Cooper Company. It was much less than the +State Street store had offered, and there was something tentative about +the whole agreement. Haynes-Cooper proffered little and demanded much, +as is the way of the rich and mighty. But Fanny remembered the ten-year +viewpoint that the weary-wise old traveling man had spoken about. She +took their offer. She was to go to Chicago almost at once, to begin work +June first. + +Two conversations that took place before she left are perhaps worth +recording. One was with Father Fitzpatrick of St. Ignatius Catholic +Church. The other with Rabbi Emil Thalmann of Temple Emanu-el. + +An impulse brought her into Father Fitzpatrick's study. It was a week +before her departure. She was tired. There had been much last signing of +papers, nailing of boxes, strapping of trunks. When things began to come +too thick and fast for her she put on her hat and went for a walk at the +close of the May day. May, in Wisconsin, is a thing all fragrant, and +gold, and blue; and white with cherry blossoms; and pink with apple +blossoms; and tremulous with budding things. + +Fanny struck out westward through the neat streets of the little town, +and found herself on the bridge over the ravine in which she had played +when a little girl--the ravine that her childish imagination had +peopled with such pageantry of redskin, and priests, and voyageurs, +and cavaliers. She leaned over the iron railing and looked down. +Where grass, and brook, and wild flower had been there now oozed great +eruptions of ash heaps, tin cans, broken bottles, mounds of dirt. +Winnebago's growing pains had begun. Fanny turned away with a little +sick feeling. She went on across the bridge past the Catholic church. +Just next the church was the parish house where Father Fitzpatrick +lived. It always looked as if it had been scrubbed, inside and out, with +a scouring brick. Its windows were a reproach and a challenge to every +housekeeper in Winnebago. + +Fanny wanted to talk to somebody about that ravine. She was full of it. +Father Fitzpatrick's study over-looked it. Besides, she wanted to +see him before she left Winnebago. A picture came to her mind of his +handsome, ruddy face, twinkling with humor as she had last seen it when +he had dropped in at Brandeis' Bazaar for a chat with her mother. She +turned in at the gate and ran up the immaculate, gray-painted steps, +that always gleamed as though still wet with the paint brush. + +“I shouldn't wonder if that housekeeper of his comes out with a pail +of paint and does 'em every morning before breakfast,” Fanny said to +herself as she rang the bell. + +Usually it was that sparse and spectacled person herself who opened the +parish house door, but to-day Fanny's ring was answered by Father Casey, +parish assistant. A sour-faced and suspicious young man, Father Casey, +thick-spectacled, and pointed of nose. Nothing of the jolly priest about +him. He was new to the town, but he recognized Fanny and surveyed her +darkly. + +“Father Fitzpatrick in? I'm Fanny Brandeis.” + +“The reverend father is busy,” and the glass door began to close. + +“Who is it?” boomed a voice from within. “Who're you turning away, +Casey?” + +“A woman, not a parishioner.” The door was almost shut now. + + +Footsteps down the hall. “Good! Let her in.” The door opened ever so +reluctantly. Father Fitzpatrick loomed up beside his puny assistant, +dwarfing him. He looked sharply at the figure on the porch. “For the +love of--! Casey, you're a fool! How you ever got beyond being an +altar-boy is more than I can see. Come in, child. Come in! The man's cut +out for a jailor, not a priest.” + +Fanny's two hands were caught in one of his big ones, and she was led +down the hall to the study. It was the room of a scholar and a man, and +the one spot in the house that defied the housekeeper's weapons of broom +and duster. A comfortable and disreputable room, full of books, and +fishing tackle, and chairs with sagging springs, and a sofa that was +dented with friendly hollows. Pipes on the disorderly desk. A copy +of “Mr. Dooley” spread face down on what appeared to be next Sunday's +sermon, rough-drafted. + +“I just wanted to talk to you.” Fanny drifted to the shelves, book-lover +that she was, and ran a finger over a half-dozen titles. “Your assistant +was justified, really, in closing the door on me. But I'm glad you +rescued me.” She came over to him and stood looking up at him. He seemed +to loom up endlessly, though hers was a medium height. “I think I really +wanted to talk to you about that ravine, though I came to say good-by.” + +“Sit down, child, sit down!” He creaked into his great +leather-upholstered desk chair, himself. “If you had left without seeing +me I'd have excommunicated Casey. Between you and me the man's mad. His +job ought to be duenna to a Spanish maiden, not assistant to a priest +with a leaning toward the flesh.” + +Now, Father Fitzpatrick talked with a--no, you couldn't call it a +brogue. It was nothing so gross as that. One does not speak of the +flavor of a rare wine; one calls attention to its bouquet. A subtle, +teasing, elusive something that just tickles the senses instead +of punching them in the ribs. So his speech was permeated with a +will-o'-the-wisp, a tingling richness that evaded definition. You will +have to imagine it. There shall be no vain attempt to set it down. +Besides, you always skip dialect. + +“So you're going away. I'd heard. Where to?” + +“Chicago, Haynes-Cooper. It's a wonderful chance. I don't see yet how +I got it. There's only one other woman on their business staff--I mean +working actually in an executive way in the buying and selling end of +the business. Of course there are thousands doing clerical work, and +that kind of thing. Have you ever been through the plant? It's--it's +incredible.” + +Father Fitzpatrick drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair, and +looked at Fanny, his handsome eyes half shut. + +“So it's going to be business, h'm? Well, I suppose it's only natural. +Your mother and I used to talk about you often. I don't know if you and +she ever spoke seriously of this little trick of drawing, or cartooning, +or whatever it is you have. She used to think about it. She said once to +me, that it looked to her more than just a knack. An authentic gift of +caricature, she called it--if it could only be developed. But of course +Theodore took everything. That worried her.” + +“Oh, nonsense! That! I just amuse myself with it.” + +“Yes. But what amuses you might amuse other people. There's all too few +amusing things in the world. Your mother was a smart woman, Fanny. The +smartest I ever knew.” + +“There's no money in it, even if I were to get on with it. What could +I do with it? Who ever heard of a woman cartoonist! And I couldn't +illustrate. Those pink cheesecloth pictures the magazines use. I want to +earn money. Lots of it. And now.” + +She got up and went to the window, and stood looking down the steep +green slope of the ravine that lay, a natural amphitheater, just below. + +“Money, h'm?” mused Father Fitzpatrick. “Well, it's popular and handy. +And you look to me like the kind of girl who'd get it, once you started +out for it. I've never had much myself. They say it has a way of turning +to dust and ashes in the mouth, once you get a good, satisfying bite of +it. But that's only talk, I suppose.” + +Fanny laughed a little, still looking down at the ravine. “I'm fairly +accustomed to dust and ashes by this time. It won't be a new taste to +me.” She whirled around suddenly. “And speaking of dust and ashes, isn't +this a shame? A crime? Why doesn't somebody stop it? Why don't you stop +it?” She pointed to the desecrated ravine below. Her eyes were blazing, +her face all animation. + +Father Fitzpatrick came over and stood beside her. His face was sad. +“It's a--” He stopped abruptly, and looked down into her glowing face. +He cleared his throat. “It's a perfectly natural state of affairs,” he +said smoothly. “Winnebago's growing. Especially over there on the west +side, since the new mill went up, and they've extended the street car +line. They need the land to build on. It's business. And money.” + +“Business! It's a crime! It's wanton! Those ravines are the most +beautiful natural spots in Wisconsin. Why, they're history, and romance, +and beauty!” + +“So that's the way you feel about it?” + +“Of course. Don't you? Can't you stop it? Petitions--” + +“Certainly I feel it's an outrage. But I'm just a poor fool of a priest, +and sentimental, with no head for business. Now you're a business woman, +and different.” + +“I! You're joking.” + +“Say, listen, m' girl. The world's made up of just two things: ravines +and dump heaps. And the dumpers are forever edging up, and squeedging +up, and trying to grab the ravines and spoil 'em, when nobody's looking. +You've made your choice, and allied yourself with the dump heaps. What +right have you to cry out against the desecration of the ravines?” + +“The right that every one has that loves them.” + +“Child, you're going to get so used to seeing your ravines choked up at +Haynes-Cooper that after a while you'll prefer 'em that way.” + +Fanny turned on him passionately. “I won't! And if I do, perhaps it's +just as well. There's such a thing as too much ravine. What do you want +me to do? Stay here, and grub away, and become a crabbed old maid like +Irma Klein, thankful to be taken around by the married crowd, joining +the Aid Society and going to the card parties on Sunday nights? Or I +could marry a traveling man, perhaps, or Lee Kohn of the Golden Eagle. +I'm just like any other ambitious woman with brains--” + +“No you're not. You're different. And I'll tell you why. You're a Jew.” + +“Yes, I've got that handicap.” + +“That isn't a handicap, Fanny. It's an asset. Outwardly you're like +any other girl of your age. Inwardly you've been molded by occupation, +training, religion, history, temperament, race, into something--” + +“Ethnologists have proved that there is no such thing as a Jewish race,” + she interrupted pertly. + +“H'm. Maybe. I don't know what you'd call it, then. You can't take a +people and persecute them for thousands of years, hounding them from +place to place, herding them in dark and filthy streets, without leaving +some sort of brand on them--a mark that differentiates. Sometimes it +doesn't show outwardly. But it's there, inside. You know, Fanny, how +it's always been said that no artist can became a genius until he has +suffered. You've suffered, you Jews, for centuries and centuries, until +you're all artists--quick to see drama because you've lived in it, +emotional, oversensitive, cringing, or swaggering, high-strung, +demonstrative, affectionate, generous. + +“Maybe they're right. Perhaps it isn't a race. But what do you call the +thing, then, that made you draw me as you did that morning when you came +to ten o'clock mass and did a caricature of me in the pulpit. You showed +up something that I've been trying to hide for twenty years, till I'd +fooled everybody, including myself. My church is always packed. Nobody +else there ever saw it. I'll tell you, Fanny, what I've always said: the +Irish would be the greatest people in the world--if it weren't for the +Jews.” + +They laughed together at that, and the tension was relieved. + +“Well, anyway,” said Fanny, and patted his great arm, “I'd rather talk +to you than to any man in the world.” + +“I hope you won't be able to say that a year from now, dear girl.” + +And so they parted. He took her to the door himself, and watched her +slim figure down the street and across the ravine bridge, and thought +she walked very much like her mother, shoulders squared, chin high, hips +firm. He went back into the house, after surveying the sunset largely, +and encountered the dour Casey in the hall. + +“I'll type your sermon now, sir--if it's done.” + +“It isn't done, Casey. And you know it. Oh, Casey,”--(I wish your +imagination would supply that brogue, because it was such a deliciously +soft and racy thing)--“Oh, Casey, Casey! you're a better priest than I +am--but a poorer man.” + +Fanny was to leave Winnebago the following Saturday. She had sold the +last of the household furniture, and had taken a room at the Haley +House. She felt very old and experienced--and sad. That, she told +herself, was only natural. Leaving things to which one is accustomed is +always hard. Queerly enough, it was her good-by to Aloysius that most +unnerved her. Aloysius had been taken on at Gerretson's, and the dignity +of his new position sat heavily upon him. You should have seen his ties. +Fanny sought him out at Gerretson's. + +“It's flure-manager of the basement I am,” he said, and struck an +elegant attitude against the case of misses'-ready-to-wear coats. “And +when you come back to Winnebago, Miss Fanny,--and the saints send it +be soon--I'll bet ye'll see me on th' first flure, keepin' a stern but +kindly eye on the swellest trade in town. Ev'ry last thing I know I +learned off yur poor ma.” + +“I hope it will serve you here, Aloysius.” + +“Sarve me!” He bent closer. “Meanin' no offense, Miss Fanny; but say, +listen: Oncet ye get a Yiddish business education into an Irish head, +and there's no limit to the length ye can go. If I ain't a dry-goods +king be th' time I'm thirty I hope a packin' case'll fall on me.” + +The sight of Aloysius seemed to recall so vividly all that was happy and +all that was hateful about Brandeis' Bazaar; all the bravery and pluck, +and resourcefulness of the bright-eyed woman he had admiringly called +his boss, that Fanny found her self-control slipping. She put out her +hand rather blindly to meet his great red paw (a dressy striped cuff +seemed to make it all the redder), murmured a word of thanks in return +for his fervent good wishes, and fled up the basement stairs. + +On Friday night (she was to leave next day) she went to the temple. The +evening service began at seven. At half past six Fanny had finished her +early supper. She would drop in at Doctor Thalmann's house and walk with +him to temple, if he had not already gone. + +“Nein, der Herr Rabbi ist noch hier--sure,” the maid said in answer +to Fanny's question. The Thalmann's had a German maid--one Minna--who +bullied the invalid Mrs. Thalmann, was famous for her cookies with +walnuts on the top, and who made life exceedingly difficult for +unlinguistic callers. + +Rabbi Thalmann was up in his study. Fanny ran lightly up the stairs. + +“Who is it, Emil? That Minna! Next Monday her week is up. She goes.” + +“It's I, Mrs. Thalmann. Fanny Brandeis.” + +“Na, Fanny! Now what do you think!” + +In the brightly-lighted doorway of his little study appeared Rabbi +Thalmann, on one foot a comfortable old romeo, on the other a street +shoe. He held out both hands. “Only at supper we talked about you. Isn't +that so, Harriet?” He called into the darkened room. + +“I came to say good-by. And I thought we might walk to temple together. +How's Mrs. Thalmann tonight?” + +The little rabbi shook his head darkly, and waved a dismal hand. But +that was for Fanny alone. What he said was: “She's really splendid +to-day. A little tired, perhaps; but what is that?” + +“Emil!” from the darkened bedroom. “How can you say that? But how! What +I have suffered to-day, only! Torture! And because I say nothing I'm not +sick.” + +“Go in,” said Rabbi Thalmann. + +So Fanny went in to the woman lying, yellow-faced, on the pillows of the +dim old-fashioned bedroom with its walnut furniture, and its red plush +mantel drape. Mrs. Thalmann held out a hand. Fanny took it in hers, and +perched herself on the edge of the bed. She patted the dry, devitalized +hand, and pressed it in her own strong, electric grip. Mrs. Thalmann +raised her head from the pillow. + +“Tell me, did she have her white apron on?” + +“White apron?” + +“Minna, the girl.” + +“Oh!” Fanny's mind jerked back to the gingham-covered figure that had +opened the door for her. “Yes,” she lied, “a white one--with crochet +around the bottom. Quite grand.” + +Mrs. Thalmann sank back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh. “A wonder.” + She shook her head. “What that girl wastes alone, when I am helpless +here.” + +Rabbi Thalmann came into the room, both feet booted now, and placed his +slippers neatly, toes out, under the bed. “Ach, Harriet, the girl is all +right. You imagine. Come, Fanny.” He took a great, fat watch out of his +pocket. “It is time to go.” + +Mrs. Thalmann laid a detaining hand on Fanny's arm. “You will come often +back here to Winnebago?” + +“I'm afraid not. Once a year, perhaps, to visit my graves.” + +The sick eyes regarded the fresh young face. “Your mother, Fanny, +we didn't understand her so well, here in Winnebago, among us Jewish +ladies. She was different.” + +Fanny's face hardened. She stood up. “Yes, she was different.” + +“She comes often into my mind now, when I am here alone, with only the +four walls. We were aber dumm, we women--but how dumm! She was too smart +for us, your mother. Too smart. Und eine sehr brave frau.” + +And suddenly Fanny, she who had resolved to set her face against all +emotion, and all sentiment, found herself with her glowing cheek pressed +against the withered one, and it was the weak old hand that patted her +now. So she lay for a moment, silent. Then she got up, straightened her +hat, smiled. + +“Auf Wiedersehen,” she said in her best German. “Und gute Besserung.” + +But the rabbi's wife shook her head. “Good-by.” + +From the hall below Doctor Thalmann called to her. “Come, child, come!” + Then, “Ach, the light in my study! I forgot to turn it out, Fanny, be so +good, yes?” + +Fanny entered the bright little room, reached up to turn off the light, +and paused a moment to glance about her. It was an ugly, comfortable, +old-fashioned room that had never progressed beyond the what-not period. +Fanny's eye was caught by certain framed pictures on the walls. +They were photographs of Rabbi Thalmann's confirmation classes. +Spindling-legged little boys in the splendor of patent-leather buttoned +shoes, stiff white shirts, black broadcloth suits with satin lapels; +self-conscious and awkward little girls--these in the minority--in white +dresses and stiff white hair bows. In the center of each group sat the +little rabbi, very proud and alert. Fanny was not among these. She had +never formally taken the vows of her creed. As she turned down the light +now, and found her way down the stairs, she told herself that she was +glad this was so. + +It was a matter of only four blocks to the temple. But they were late, +and so they hurried, and there was little conversation. Fanny's arm was +tucked comfortably in his. It felt, somehow, startlingly thin, that arm. +And as they hurried along there was a jerky feebleness about his gait. +It was with difficulty that Fanny restrained herself from supporting him +when they came to a rough bit of walk or a sudden step. Something fine +in her prompted her not to. But the alert mind in that old frame sensed +what was going on in her thoughts. + +“He's getting feeble, the old rabbi, h'm?” + +“Not a bit of it. I've got all I can do to keep up with you. You set +such a pace.” + +“I know. I know. They are not all so kind, Fanny. They are too +prosperous, this congregation of mine. And some day, `Off with his +head!' And in my place there will step a young man, with eye-glasses +instead of spectacles. They are tired of hearing about the prophets. +Texts from the Bible have gone out of fashion. You think I do not see +them giggling, h'm? The young people. And the whispering in the choir +loft. And the buzz when I get up from my chair after the second hymn. +`Is he going to have a sermon? Is he? Sure enough!' Na, he will make +them sit up, my successor. Sex sermons! Political lectures. That's it. +Lectures.” They were turning in at the temple now. “The race is to the +young, Fanny. To the young. And I am old.” + +She squeezed the frail old arm in hers. “My dear!” she said. “My dear!” + A second breaking of her new resolutions. + +One by one, two by two, they straggled in for the Friday evening +service, these placid, prosperous people, not unkind, but careless, +perhaps, in their prosperity. + +“He's worth any ten of them,” Fanny said hotly to herself, as she sat +in her pew that, after to-morrow, would no longer be hers. “The dear +old thing. `Sex sermons.' And the race is to the young. How right he is. +Well, no one can say I'm not getting an early start.” + +The choir had begun the first hymn when there came down the aisle a +stranger. There was a little stir among the congregation. Visitors were +rare. He was dark and very slim--with the slimness of steel wire. +He passed down the aisle rather uncertainly. A traveling man, Fanny +thought, dropped in, as sometimes they did, to say Kaddish for a +departed father or mother. Then she changed her mind. Her quick +eye noted his walk; a peculiar walk, with a spring in it. Only one +unfamiliar with cement pavements could walk like that. The Indians must +have had that same light, muscular step. He chose an empty pew halfway +down the aisle and stumbled into it rather awkwardly. Fanny thought he +was unnecessarily ugly, even for a man. Then he looked up, and nodded +and smiled at Lee Kohn, across the aisle. His teeth were very white, +and the smile was singularly sweet. Fanny changed her mind again. Not +so bad-looking, after all. Different, anyway. And then--why, of course! +Little Clarence Heyl, come back from the West. Clarence Heyl, the +cowardy-cat. + +Her mind went back to that day of the street fight. She smiled. At that +moment Clarence Heyl, who had been screwing about most shockingly, as +though searching for some one, turned and met her smile, intended for +no one, with a startlingly radiant one of his own, intended most plainly +for her. He half started forward in his pew, and then remembered, and +sat back again, but with an effect of impermanence that was ludicrous. +It had been years since he had left Winnebago. At the time of his +mother's death they had tried to reach him, and had been unable to +get in touch with him for weeks. He had been off on some mountain +expedition, hundreds of miles from railroad or telegraph. Fanny +remembered having read about him in the Winnebago Courier. He seemed +to be climbing mountains a great deal--rather difficult mountains, +evidently, from the fuss they made over it. A queer enough occupation +for a cowardy-cat. There had been a book, too. About the Rockies. She +had not read it. She rather disliked these nature books, as do most +nature lovers. She told herself that when she came upon a flaming golden +maple in October she was content to know it was a maple, and to warm her +soul at its blaze. + +There had been something in the Chicago Herald, though--oh, yes; it had +spoken of him as the brilliant young naturalist, Clarence Heyl. He was +to have gone on an expedition with Roosevelt. A sprained ankle, or some +such thing, had prevented. Fanny smiled again, to herself. His mother, +the fussy person who had been responsible for his boyhood reefers and +too-shiny shoes, and his cowardice too, no doubt, had dreamed of seeing +her Clarence a rabbi. + +From that point Fanny's thoughts wandered to the brave old man in the +pulpit. She had heard almost nothing of the service. She looked at him +now--at him, and then at his congregation, inattentive and palpably +bored. As always with her, the thing stamped itself on her mind as a +picture. She was forever seeing a situation in terms of its human value. +How small he looked, how frail, against the background of the massive +Ark with its red velvet curtain. And how bravely he glared over his +blue glasses at the two Aarons girls who were whispering and giggling +together, eyes on the newcomer. + +So this was what life did to you, was it? Squeezed you dry, and then +cast you aside in your old age, a pulp, a bit of discard. Well, they'd +never catch her that way. + +Unchurchly thoughts, these. The little place was very peaceful and +quiet, lulling one like a narcotic. The rabbi's voice had in it that +soothing monotony bred of years in the pulpit. Fanny found her thoughts +straying back to the busy, bright little store on Elm Street, then +forward, to the Haynes-Cooper plant and the fight that was before her. +There settled about her mouth a certain grim line that sat strangely on +so young a face. The service marched on. There came the organ prelude +that announced the mourners' prayer. Then Rabbi Thalmann began to intone +the Kaddish. Fanny rose, prayer book in hand. At that Clarence Heyl +rose too, hurriedly, as one unaccustomed to the service, and stood +with unbowed head, looking at the rabbi interestedly, thoughtfully, +reverently. The two stood alone. Death had been kind to Congregation +Emanu-el this year. The prayer ended. Fanny winked the tears from +her eyes, almost wrathfully. She sat down, and there swept over her a +feeling of finality. It was like the closing of Book One in a volume +made up of three parts. + +She said to herself: “Winnebago is ended, and my life here. How +interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is like the first +movement in one of the concertos Theodore was forever playing. Now for +the second movement! It's got to be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!” + +For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid conclusion at +which to arrive. How could she think it possible to shed her past +life, like a garment? Those impressionable years, between fourteen and +twenty-four, could never be cast off. She might don a new cloak to cover +the old dress beneath, but the old would always be there, its folds +peeping out here and there, its outlines plainly to be seen. She might +eat of things rare, and drink of things costly, but the sturdy, stocky +little girl in the made-over silk dress, who had resisted the Devil in +Weinberg's pantry on that long-ago Day of Atonement, would always be +there at the feast. Myself, I confess I am tired of these stories of +young women who go to the big city, there to do battle with failure, to +grapple with temptation, sin and discouragement. So it may as well +be admitted that Fanny Brandeis' story was not that of a painful +hand-over-hand climb. She was made for success. What she attempted, she +accomplished. That which she strove for, she won. She was too sure, too +vital, too electric, for failure. No, Fanny Brandeis' struggle went on +inside. And in trying to stifle it she came near making the blackest +failure that a woman can make. In grubbing for the pot of gold she +almost missed the rainbow. + +Rabbi Thalmann raised his arms for the benediction. Fanny looked +straight up at him as though stamping a picture on her mind. His eyes +were resting gently on her--or perhaps she just fancied that he spoke to +her alone as he began the words of the ancient closing prayer: + +“May the blessings of the Lord Our God rest upon you. God bless thee +and keep thee. May He cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be +gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee...” + +At the last word she hurried up the aisle, and down the stairs, into the +soft beauty of the May night. She felt she could stand no good-bys. In +her hotel room she busied herself with the half-packed trunks and bags. +So it was she altogether failed to see the dark young man who hurried +after her eagerly, and who was stopped by a dozen welcoming hands there +in the temple vestibule. He swore a deep inward “Damn!” as he saw her +straight, slim figure disappear down the steps and around the corner, +even while he found himself saying, politely, “Why, thanks! It's good to +BE back.” And, “Yes, things have changed. All but the temple, and Rabbi +Thalmann.” + +Fanny left Winnebago at eight next morning. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +“Mr. Fenger will see you now.” Mr. Fenger, general manager, had been +a long time about it. This heel-cooling experience was new to Fanny +Brandeis. It had always been her privilege to keep others waiting. +Still, she felt no resentment as she sat in Michael Fenger's outer +office. For as she sat there, waiting, she was getting a distinct +impression of this unseen man whose voice she could just hear as he +talked over the telephone in his inner office. It was characteristic of +Michael Fenger that his personality reached out and touched you before +you came into actual contact with the man. Fanny had heard of him long +before she came to Haynes-Cooper. He was the genie of that glittering +lamp. All through the gigantic plant (she had already met department +heads, buyers, merchandise managers) one heard his name, and felt the +impress of his mind: + +“You'll have to see Mr. Fenger about that.” + +“Yes,”--pointing to a new conveyor, perhaps,--“that has just been +installed. It's a great help to us. Doubles our shipping-room +efficiency. We used to use baskets, pulled by a rope. It's Mr. Fenger's +idea.” + +Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. Fenger had made it a slogan in the +Haynes-Cooper plant long before the German nation forced it into our +everyday vocabulary. Michael Fenger was System. He could take a muddle +of orders, a jungle of unfilled contracts, a horde of incompetent +workers, and of them make a smooth-running and effective unit. +Untangling snarls was his pastime. Esprit de corps was his shibboleth. +Order and management his idols. And his war-cry was “Results!” + +It was eleven o'clock when Fanny came into his outer office. The very +atmosphere was vibrant with his personality. There hung about the place +an air of repressed expectancy. The room was electrically charged with +the high-voltage of the man in the inner office. His secretary was a +spare, middle-aged, anxious-looking woman in snuff-brown and spectacles; +his stenographer a blond young man, also spectacled and anxious; his +office boy a stern youth in knickers, who bore no relation to the +slangy, gum-chewing, redheaded office boy of the comic sections. + +The low-pitched, high-powered voice went on inside, talking over the +long-distance telephone. Fenger was the kind of man who is always +talking to New York when he is in Chicago, and to Chicago when he is in +New York. Trains with the word Limited after them were invented for +him and his type. A buzzer sounded. It galvanized the office boy into +instant action. It brought the anxious-looking stenographer to the +doorway, notebook in hand, ready. It sent the lean secretary out, and up +to Fanny. + +“Temper,” said Fanny, to herself, “or horribly nervous and high-keyed. +They jump like a set of puppets on a string.” + +It was then that the lean secretary had said, “Mr. Fenger will see you +now.” + +Fanny was aware of a pleasant little tingle of excitement. She entered +the inner office. + +It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that he employed no cheap +tricks. He was not writing as Fanny Brandeis came in. He was not +telephoning. He was not doing anything but standing at his desk, waiting +for Fanny Brandeis. As she came in he looked at her, through her, and +she seemed to feel her mental processes laid open to him as a skilled +surgeon cuts through skin and flesh and fat, to lay bare the muscles +and nerves and vital organs beneath. He put out his hand. Fanny extended +hers. They met in a silent grip. It was like a meeting between two +men. Even as he indexed her, Fanny's alert mind was busy docketing, +numbering, cataloguing him. They had in common a certain force, a +driving power. Fanny seated herself opposite him, in obedience to a +gesture. He crossed his legs comfortably and sat back in his big desk +chair. A great-bodied man, with powerful square shoulders, a long head, +a rugged crest of a nose--the kind you see on the type of Englishman +who has the imagination and initiative to go to Canada, or Australia, or +America. He wore spectacles, not the fashionable horn-rimmed sort, but +the kind with gold ear pieces. They were becoming, and gave a certain +humanness to a face that otherwise would have been too rugged, too +strong. A man of forty-five, perhaps. + +He spoke first. “You're younger than I thought.” + +“So are you.” + +“Old inside.” + +“So am I.” + +He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, folded his arms on the desk. + +“You've been through the plant, Miss Brandeis?” + +“Yes. Twice. Once with a regular tourist party. And once with the +special guide.” “Good. Go through the plant whenever you can. Don't +stick to your own department. It narrows one.” He paused a moment. “Did +you think that this opportunity to come to Haynes-Cooper, as assistant +to the infants' wear department buyer was just a piece of luck, +augmented by a little pulling on your part?” + +“Yes.” + +“It wasn't. You were carefully picked by me, and I don't expect to find +I've made a mistake. I suppose you know very little about buying and +selling infants' wear?” + +“Less than about almost any other article in the world--at least, in the +department store, or mail order world.” + +“I thought so. And it doesn't matter. I pretty well know your history, +which means that I know your training. You're young; you're ambitious, +you're experienced; you're imaginative. There's no length you can't go, +with these. It just depends on how farsighted your mental vision is. +Now listen, Miss Brandeis: I'm not going to talk to you in millions. The +guides do enough of that. But you know we do buy and sell in terms of +millions, don't you? Well, our infants' wear department isn't helping +to roll up the millions; and it ought to, because there are millions of +babies born every year, and the golden-spoon kind are in the minority. +I've decided that that department needs a woman, your kind of woman. +Now, as a rule, I never employ a woman when I can use a man. There's +only one other woman filling a really important position in the +merchandise end of this business. That's Ella Monahan, head of the glove +department, and she's a genius. She is a woman who is limited in every +other respect--just average; but she knows glove materials in a way +that's uncanny. I'd rather have a man in her place; but I don't happen +to know any men glove-geniuses. Tell me, what do you think of that +etching?” + +Fanny tried--and successfully--not to show the jolt her mind had +received as she turned to look at the picture to which his finger +pointed. She got up and strolled over to it, and she was glad her suit +fitted and hung as it did in the back. + +“I don't like it particularly. I like it less than any other etching you +have here.” The walls were hung with them. “Of course you understand I +know nothing about them. But it's too flowery, isn't it, to be good? +Too many lines. Like a writer who spoils his effect by using too many +words.” + +Fenger came over and stood beside her, staring at the black and white +and gray thing in its frame. “I felt that way, too.” He stared down at +her, then. “Jew?” he asked. + +A breathless instant. “No,” said Fanny Brandeis. + +Michael Fenger smiled for the first time. Fanny Brandeis would have +given everything she had, everything she hoped to be, to be able to +take back that monosyllable. She was gripped with horror at what she had +done. She had spoken almost mechanically. And yet that monosyllable must +have been the fruit of all these months of inward struggle and thought. +“Now I begin to understand you,” Fenger went on. “You've decided to +lop off all the excrescences, eh? Well, I can't say that I blame you. A +woman in business is handicapped enough by the very fact of her sex.” He +stared at her again. “Too bad you're so pretty.” + +“I'm not!” said Fanny hotly, like a school-girl. + +“That's a thing that can't be argued, child. Beauty's subjective, you +know.” + +“I don't see what difference it makes, anyway.” + +“Oh, yes, you do.” He stopped. “Or perhaps you don't, after all. I +forget how young you are. Well, now, Miss Brandeis, you and your woman's +mind, and your masculine business experience and sense are to be turned +loose on our infants' wear department. The buyer, Mr. Slosson, is going +to resent you. Naturally. I don't know whether we'll get results from +you in a month, or six months or a year. Or ever. But something tells me +we're going to get them. You've lived in a small town most of your life. +And we want that small-town viewpoint. D'you think you've got it?” + +Fanny was on her own ground here. “If knowing the Wisconsin small-town +woman, and the Wisconsin farmer woman--and man too, for that +matter--means knowing the Oregon, and Wyoming, and Pennsylvania, and +Iowa people of the same class, then I've got it.” + +“Good!” Michael Fenger stood up. “I'm not going to load you down with +instructions, or advice. I think I'll let you grope your own way around, +and bump your head a few times. Then you'll learn where the low places +are. And, Miss Brandeis, remember that suggestions are welcome in this +plant. We take suggestions all the way from the elevator starter to the +president.” His tone was kindly, but not hopeful. + +Fanny was standing too, her mental eye on the door. But now she turned +to face him squarely. + +“Do you mean that?” + +“Absolutely.” + +“Well, then, I've one to make. Your stock boys and stock girls walk +miles and miles every day, on every floor of this fifteen-story +building. I watched them yesterday, filling up the bins, carrying +orders, covering those enormous distances from one bin to another, up +one aisle and down the next, to the office, back again. Your floors are +concrete, or cement, or some such mixture, aren't they? I just happened +to think of the boy who used to deliver our paper on Norris Street, in +Winnebago, Wisconsin. He covered his route on roller skates. It saved +him an hour. Why don't you put roller skates on your stock boys and +girls?” + +Fenger stared at her. You could almost hear that mind of his +working, like a thing on ball bearings. “Roller skates.” It wasn't an +exclamation. It was a decision. He pressed a buzzer--the snuff-brown +secretary buzzer. “Tell Clancy I want him. Now.” He had not glanced +up, or taken his eyes from Fanny. She was aware of feeling a little +uncomfortable, but elated, too. She moved toward the door. Fenger stood +at his desk. “Wait a minute.” Fanny waited. Still Fenger did not speak. +Finally, “I suppose you know you've earned six months' salary in the +last five minutes.” + +Fanny eyed him coolly. “Considering the number of your stock force, the +time, energy, and labor saved, including wear and tear on department +heads and their assistants, I should say that was a conservative +statement.” And she nodded pleasantly, and left him. + +Two days later every stock clerk in the vast plant was equipped with +light-weight roller skates. They made a sort of carnival of it at first. +There were some spills, too, going around corners, and a little too much +hilarity. That wore off in a week. In two weeks their roller skates were +part of them; just shop labor-savers. The report presented to Fenger was +this: Time and energy saved, fifty-five per cent; stock staff decreased +by one third. The picturesqueness of it, the almost ludicrous simplicity +of the idea appealed to the entire plant. It tickled the humor sense in +every one of the ten thousand employees in that vast organization. In +the first week of her association with Haynes-Cooper Fanny Brandeis was +actually more widely known than men who had worked there for years. The +president, Nathan Haynes himself, sent for her, chuckling. + +Nathan Haynes--but then, why stop for him? Nathan Haynes had been +swallowed, long ago, by this monster plant that he himself had +innocently created. You must have visited it, this Gargantuan thing that +sprawls its length in the very center of Chicago, the giant son of +a surprised father. It is one of the city's show places, like the +stockyards, the Art Institute, and Field's. Fifteen years before, +a building had been erected to accommodate a prosperous mail order +business. It had been built large and roomy, with plenty of seams, +planned amply, it was thought, to allow the boy to grow. It would do for +twenty-five years, surely. In ten years Haynes-Cooper was bursting its +seams. In twelve it was shamelessly naked, its arms and legs +sticking out of its inadequate garments. New red brick buildings +another--another. Five stories added to this one, six stories to that, +a new fifteen story merchandise building. + +The firm began to talk in tens of millions. Its stock became gilt-edged, +unattainable. Lucky ones who had bought of it diffidently, discreetly, +with modest visions of four and a half per cent in their unimaginative +minds, saw their dividends doubling, trebling, quadrupling, finally +soaring gymnastically beyond all reason. Listen to the old guide who (at +fifteen a week) takes groups of awed visitors through the great plant. +How he juggles figures; how grandly they roll off his tongue. How glib +he is with Nathan Haynes's millions. + +“This, ladies and gentlemen, is our mail department. From two thousand +to twenty-five hundred pounds of mail, comprising over one hundred +thousand letters, are received here every day. Yes, madam, I said every +day. About half of these letters are orders. Last year the banking +department counted one hundred and thirty millions of dollars. One +hundred and thirty millions!” He stands there in his ill-fitting coat, +and his star, and rubs one bony hand over the other. + +“Dear me!” says a lady tourist from Idaho, rather inadequately. And yet, +not so inadequately. What exclamation is there, please, that fits a sum +like one hundred and thirty millions of anything? + +Fanny Brandeis, fresh from Winnebago, Wisconsin, slipped into the great +scheme of things at the Haynes-Cooper plant like part of a perfectly +planned blue print. It was as though she had been thought out and +shaped for this particular corner. And the reason for it was, primarily, +Winnebago, Wisconsin. For Haynes-Cooper grew and thrived on just such +towns, with their surrounding farms and villages. Haynes-Cooper had +their fingers on the pulse and heart of the country as did no other +industry. They were close, close. When rugs began to take the place of +ingrain carpets it was Haynes-Cooper who first sensed the change. Oh, +they had had them in New York years before, certainly. But after all, +it isn't New York's artistic progress that shows the development of this +nation. It is the thing they are thinking, and doing, and learning in +Backwash, Nebraska, that marks time for these United States. There may +be a certain significance in the announcement that New York has dropped +the Russian craze and has gone in for that quaint Chinese stuff. My +dear, it makes the loveliest hangings and decorations. When Fifth +Avenue takes down its filet lace and eyelet embroidered curtains, and +substitutes severe shantung and chaste net, there is little in the +act to revolutionize industry, or stir the art-world. But when the +Haynes-Cooper company, by referring to its inventory ledgers, learns +that it is selling more Alma Gluck than Harry Lauder records; when its +statistics show that Tchaikowsky is going better than Irving Berlin, +something epochal is happening in the musical progress of a nation. And +when the orders from Noose Gulch, Nevada, are for those plain dimity +curtains instead of the cheap and gaudy Nottingham atrocities, there is +conveyed to the mind a fact of immense, of overwhelming significance. +The country has taken a step toward civilization and good taste. + +So. You have a skeleton sketch of Haynes-Cooper, whose feelers reach the +remotest dugout in the Yukon, the most isolated cabin in the Rockies, +the loneliest ranch-house in Wyoming; the Montana mining shack, the +bleak Maine farm, the plantation in Virginia. + +And the man who had so innocently put life into this monster? A +plumpish, kindly-faced man; a bewildered, gentle, unimaginative and +somewhat frightened man, fresh-cheeked, eye-glassed. In his suite of +offices in the new Administration Building--built two years ago--marble +and oak throughout--twelve stories, and we're adding three already; +offices all two-toned rugs, and leather upholstery, with dim, rich, +brown-toned Dutch masterpieces on the walls, he sat helpless and +defenseless while the torrent of millions rushed, and swirled, and +foamed about him. I think he had fancied, fifteen years ago, that he +would some day be a fairly prosperous man; not rich, as riches are +counted nowadays, but with a comfortable number of tens of thousands +tucked away. Two or three hundred thousand; perhaps five hundred +thousand!--perhaps a--but, nonsense! Nonsense! + +And then the thing had started. It was as when a man idly throws a +pebble into a chasm, or shoves a bit of ice with the toe of his boot, +and starts a snow-slide that grows as it goes. He had started this +avalanche of money, and now it rushed on of its own momentum, plunging, +rolling, leaping, crashing, and as it swept on it gathered rocks, trees, +stones, houses, everything that lay in its way. It was beyond the power +of human hand to stop this tumbling, roaring slide. In the midst of it +sat Nathan Haynes, deafened, stunned, terrified at the immensity of what +he had done. + +He began giving away huge sums, incredible sums. It piled up faster than +he could give it away. And so he sat there in the office hung with the +dim old masterpieces, and tried to keep simple, tried to keep sane, with +that austerity that only mad wealth can afford--or bitter poverty. He +caused the land about the plant to be laid out in sunken gardens and +baseball fields and tennis courts, so that one approached this monster +of commerce through enchanted grounds, glowing with tulips and heady +hyacinths in spring, with roses in June, blazing with salvia and +golden-glow and asters in autumn. There was something apologetic about +these grounds. + +This, then, was the environment that Fanny Brandeis had chosen. On the +face of things you would have said she had chosen well. The inspiration +of the roller skates had not been merely a lucky flash. That idea had +been part of the consistent whole. Her mind was her mother's mind raised +to the nth power, and enhanced by the genius she was trying to crush. +Refusing to die, it found expression in a hundred brilliant plans, of +which the roller skate idea was only one. + +Fanny had reached Chicago on Sunday. She had entered the city as a +queen enters her domain, authoritatively, with no fear upon her, no +trepidation, no doubts. She had gone at once to the Mendota Hotel, +on Michigan Avenue, up-town, away from the roar of the loop. It was a +residential hotel, very quiet, decidedly luxurious. She had no idea of +making it her home. But she would stay there until she could find an +apartment that was small, bright, near the lake, and yet within fairly +reasonable transportation facilities for her work. Her room was on the +ninth floor, not on the Michigan Avenue side, but east, overlooking the +lake. She spent hours at the windows, fascinated by the stone and steel +city that lay just below with the incredible blue of the sail-dotted +lake beyond, and at night, with the lights spangling the velvety +blackness, the flaring blaze of Thirty-first Street's chop-suey +restaurants and moving picture houses at the right; and far, far away, +the red and white eye of the lighthouse winking, blinking, winking, +blinking, the rumble and clank of a flat-wheeled Indiana avenue car, the +sound of high laughter and a snatch of song that came faintly up to her +from the speeding car of some midnight joy-riders! + +But all this had to do with her other side. It had no bearing on +Haynes-Cooper, and business. Business! That was it. She had trained +herself for it, like an athlete. Eight hours of sleep. A cold plunge on +arising. Sane food. Long walks. There was something terrible about her +earnestness. + +On Monday she presented herself at the Haynes-Cooper plant. Monday and +Tuesday were spent in going over the great works. It was an exhausting +process, but fascinating beyond belief. It was on Wednesday that she had +been summoned for the talk with Michael Fenger. Thursday morning she was +at her desk at eight-thirty. It was an obscure desk, in a dingy corner +of the infants' wear department, the black sheep section of the great +plant. Her very presence in that corner seemed to change it magically. +You must remember how young she was, how healthy, how vigorous, with the +freshness of the small town still upon her. It was health and youth, +and vigor that gave that gloss to her hair (conscientious brushing too, +perhaps), that color to her cheeks and lips, that brightness to her +eyes. But crafty art and her dramatic instinct were responsible for the +tailored severity of her costume, for the whiteness of her blouse, the +trim common-sense expensiveness of her shoes and hat and gloves. + +Slosson, buyer and head of the department, came in at nine. Fanny rose +to greet him. She felt a little sorry for Slosson. In her mind she +already knew him for a doomed man. + +“Well, well!”--he was the kind of person who would say, well, +well!--“You're bright and early, Miss--ah--” + +“Brandeis.” + +“Yes, certainly; Miss Brandeis. Well, nothing like making a good start.” + +“I wanted to go through the department by myself,” said Fanny. “The +shelves and bins, and the numbering system. I see that your new +maternity dresses have just come in.” + +“Oh, yes. How do you like them?” + +“I think they're unnecessarily hideous, Mr. Slosson.” + +“My dear young lady, a plain garment is what they want. Unnoticeable.” + +“Unnoticeable, yes; but becoming. At such a time a woman is at her +worst. If she can get it, she at least wants a dress that doesn't add to +her unattractiveness.” + +“Let me see--you are not--ah--married, I believe, Miss Brandeis?” + +“No.” + +“I am. Three children. All girls.” He passed a nervous hand over his +head, rumpling his hair a little. “An expensive proposition, let me tell +you, three girls. But there's very little I don't know about babies, as +you may imagine.” + +But there settled over Fanny Brandeis' face the mask of hardness that +was so often to transform it. + +The morning mail was in--the day's biggest grist, deluge of it, a flood. +Buyer and assistant buyer never saw the actual letters, or attended to +their enclosed orders. It was only the unusual letter, the complaint or +protest that reached their desk. Hundreds of hands downstairs sorted, +stamped, indexed, filed, after the letter-opening machines had slit the +envelopes. Those letter-openers! Fanny had hung over them, enthralled. +The unopened envelopes were fed into them. Flip! Zip! Flip! Out! Opened! +Faster than eye could follow. It was uncanny. It was, somehow, humorous, +like the clever antics of a trained dog. You could not believe that this +little machine actually performed what your eyes beheld. Two years later +they installed the sand-paper letter-opener, marvel of simplicity. +It made the old machine seem cumbersome and slow. Guided by Izzy, the +expert, its rough tongue was capable of licking open six hundred and +fifty letters a minute. + +Ten minutes after the mail came in the orders were being filled; bins, +shelves, warehouses, were emptying their contents. Up and down the +aisles went the stock clerks; into the conveyors went the bundles, down +the great spiral bundle chute, into the shipping room, out by mail, by +express, by freight. This leghorn hat for a Nebraska country belle; a +tombstone for a rancher's wife; a plow, brave in its red paint; coffee, +tea, tinned fruit, bound for Alaska; lace, muslin, sheeting, toweling, +all intended for the coarse trousseau of a Georgia bride. + +It was not remarkable that Fanny Brandeis fitted into this scheme of +things. For years she had ministered to the wants of just this type of +person. The letters she saw at Haynes-Cooper's read exactly as customers +had worded their wants at Brandeis' Bazaar. The magnitude of the thing +thrilled her, the endless possibilities of her own position. + +During the first two months of her work there she was as unaggressive +as possible. She opened the very pores of her mind and absorbed every +detail of her department. But she said little, followed Slosson's +instructions in her position as assistant buyer, and suggested no +changes. Slosson's wrinkle of anxiety smoothed itself away, and his +manner became patronizingly authoritative again. Fanny seemed to have +become part of the routine of the place. Fenger did not send for her. +June and July were insufferably hot. Fanny seemed to thrive, to expand +like a flower in the heat, when others wilted and shriveled. The +spring catalogue was to be made up in October, as always, six months +in advance. The first week in August Fanny asked for an interview with +Fenger. Slosson was to be there. At ten o'clock she entered Fenger's +inner office. He was telephoning--something about dinner at the Union +League Club. His voice was suave, his tone well modulated, his accent +correct, his English faultless. And yet Fanny Brandeis, studying the +etchings on his wall, her back turned to him, smiled to herself. The +voice, the tone, the accent, the English, did not ring true They were +acquired graces, exquisite imitations of the real thing. Fanny Brandeis +knew. She was playing the same game herself. She understood this man +now, after two months in the Haynes-Cooper plant. These marvelous +examples of the etcher's art, for example. They were the struggle for +expression of a man whose youth had been bare of such things. His love +for them was much the same as that which impels the new made millionaire +to buy rare pictures, rich hangings, tapestries, rugs, not so much +in the desire to impress the world with his wealth as to satisfy the +craving for beauty, the longing to possess that which is exquisite, and +fine, and almost unobtainable. You have seen how a woman, long denied +luxuries, feeds her starved senses on soft silken things, on laces and +gleaming jewels, for pure sensuous delight in their feel and look. + +Thus Fanny mused as she eyed these treasures--grim, deft, repressed +things, done with that economy of line which is the test of the etcher's +art. + +Fenger hung up the receiver. + +“So it's taken you two months, Miss Brandeis. I was awfully afraid, from +the start you made, that you'd be back here in a week, bursting with +ideas.” + +Fanny smiled, appreciatively. He had come very near the truth. “I had to +use all my self-control, that first week. After that it wasn't so hard.” + +Fenger's eyes narrowed upon her. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?” + +“Yes,” said Fanny. She came over to his desk. + +“I wish we needn't have Mr. Slosson here this morning. After all, he's +been here for years, and I'm practically an upstart. He's so much older, +too. I--I hate to hurt him. I wish you'd--” + +But Fenger shook his head. “Slosson's due now. And he has got to take +his medicine. This is business, Miss Brandeis. You ought to know what +that means. For that matter, it may be that you haven't hit upon an +idea. In that case, Slosson would have the laugh, wouldn't he?” + +Slosson entered at that moment. And there was a chip on his shoulder. +It was evident in the way he bristled, in the way he seated himself. +His fingers drummed his knees. He was like a testy, hum-ha stage father +dealing with a willful child. + +Fenger took out his watch. + +“Now, Miss Brandeis.” + +Fanny took a chair facing the two men, and crossed her trim blue serge +knees, and folded her hands in her lap. A deep pink glowed in her +cheeks. Her eyes were very bright. All the Molly Brandeis in her was +at the surface, sparkling there. And she looked almost insultingly +youthful. + +“You--you want me to talk?” + +“We want you to talk. We have time for just three-quarters of an hour of +uninterrupted conversation. If you've got anything to say you ought to +say it in that time. Now, Miss Brandeis, what's the trouble with the +Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department?” + +And Fanny Brandeis took a long breath + +“The trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department is that it +doesn't understand women. There are millions of babies born every year. +An incredible number of them are mail order babies. I mean by that they +are born to tired, clumsy-fingered immigrant women, to women in mills +and factories, to women on farms, to women in remote villages. They're +the type who use the mail order method. I've learned this one thing +about that sort of woman: she may not want that baby, but either before +or after it's born she'll starve, and save, and go without proper +clothing, and even beg, and steal to give it clothes--clothes with +lace on them, with ribbon on them, sheer white things. I don't know why +that's true, but it is. Well, we're not reaching them. Our goods are +unattractive. They're packed and shipped unattractively. Why, all this +department needs is a little psychology--and some lace that doesn't +look as if it had been chopped out with an ax. It's the little, silly, +intimate things that will reach these women. No, not silly, either. +Quite understandable. She wants fine things for her baby, just as the +silver-spoon mother does. The thing we'll have to do is to give her +silver-spoon models at pewter prices.” + +“It can't be done,” said Slosson. + +“Now, wait a minute, Slosson,” Fenger put in, smoothly. “Miss Brandeis +has given us a very fair general statement. We'll have some facts. Are +you prepared to give us an actual working plan?” + +“Yes. At least, it sounds practical to me. And if it does to you--and to +Mr. Slosson--” + +“Humph!” snorted that gentleman, in expression of defiance, unbelief, +and a determination not to be impressed. + +It acted as a goad to Fanny. She leaned forward in her chair and talked +straight at the big, potent force that sat regarding her in silent +attention. + +“I still say that we can copy the high-priced models in low-priced +materials because, in almost every case, it isn't the material that +makes the expensive model; it's the line, the cut, the little trick that +gives it style. We can get that. We've been giving them stuff that might +have been made by prison labor, for all the distinction it had. Then +I think we ought to make a feature of the sanitary methods used in our +infants' department. Every article intended for a baby's use should be +wrapped or boxed as it lies in the bin or on the shelf. And those bins +ought to be glassed. We would advertise that, and it would advertise +itself. Our visitors would talk about it. This department hasn't been +getting a square deal in the catalogue. Not enough space. It ought to +have not only more catalogue space, but a catalogue all its own--the +Baby Book. Full of pictures. Good ones. Illustrations that will make +every mother think her baby will look like that baby, once it is wearing +our No. 29E798--chubby babies, curly-headed, and dimply. And the feature +of that catalogue ought to be, not separate garments, but complete +outfits. Outfits boxed, ready for shipping, and ranging in price all the +way from twenty-five dollars to three-ninety-eight--” + +“It can't be done!” yelled Slosson. “Three-ninety-eight! Outfits!” + +“It can be done. I've figured it out, down to a packet of assorted size +safety pins. We'll call it our emergency outfit. Thirty pieces. And +while we're about it, every outfit over five dollars ought to be packed +in a pink or a pale blue pasteboard box. The outfits trimmed in pink, +pink boxes; the outfits trimmed in blue, blue boxes. In eight cases out +of ten their letters will tell us whether it's a pink or blue baby. And +when they get our package, and take out that pink or blue box, they'll +be as pleased as if we'd made them a present. It's the personal note--” + +“Personal slop!” growled Slosson. “It isn't business. It's sentimental +slush!” + +“Sentimental, yes,” agreed Fanny pleasantly, “but then, we're running +the only sentimental department in this business. And we ought to be +doing it at the rate of a million and a quarter a year. If you think +these last suggestions sentimental, I'm afraid the next one--” + +“Let's have it, Miss Brandeis,” Fenger encouraged her quietly. + +“It's”--she flashed a mischievous smile at Slosson--“it's a mother's +guide and helper, and adviser. A woman who'll answer questions, give +advice. Some one they'll write to, with a picture in their minds of a +large, comfortable, motherly-looking person in gray. You know we get +hundreds of letters asking whether they ought to order flannel bands, +or the double-knitted kind. That sort of thing. And who's been answering +them? Some sixteen-year-old girl in the mailing department who doesn't +know a flannel band from a bootee when she sees it. We could call our +woman something pleasant and everydayish, like Emily Brand. Easy to +remember. And until we can find her, I'll answer those letters myself. +They're important to us as well as to the woman who writes them. And +now, there's the matter of obstetrical outfits. Three grades, packed +ready for shipment, practical, simple, and complete. Our drug section +has the separate articles, but we ought to--” + +“Oh, lord!” groaned Slosson, and slumped disgustedly in his seat. + +But Fenger got up, came over to Fanny, and put a hand on her shoulder +for a moment. He looked down at her. “I knew you'd do it.” He smiled +queerly. “Tell me, where did you learn all this?” + +“I don't know,” faltered Fanny happily. “Brandeis' Bazaar, perhaps. It's +just another case of plush photograph album.” + +“Plush--?” + +Fanny told him that story. Even the discomfited Slosson grinned at it. + +But after ten minutes more of general discussion Slosson left. Fenger, +without putting it in words, had conveyed that to him. Fanny stayed. +They did things that way at Haynes-Cooper. No waste. No delay. That she +had accomplished in two months that which ordinarily takes years was not +surprising. They did things that way, too, at Haynes-Cooper. Take the +case of Nathan Haynes himself. And Michael Fenger too who, not so many +years before, had been a machine-boy in a Racine woolen mill. + +For my part, I confess that Fanny Brandeis begins to lose interest +for me. Big Business seems to dwarf the finer things in her. That +red-cheeked, shabby little schoolgirl, absorbed in Zola and peanut +brittle in the Winnebago library, was infinitely more appealing than +this glib and capable young woman. The spitting wildcat of the street +fight so long ago was gentler by far than this cool person who was so +deliberately taking his job away from Slosson. You, too, feel that way +about her? That is as it should be. It is the penalty they pay who, +given genius, sympathy, and understanding as their birthright, trade +them for the tawdry trinkets money brings. + +Perhaps the last five minutes of that conference between Fanny and +Michael Fenger reveals a new side, and presents something of interest. +It was a harrowing and unexpected five minutes. + +You may remember how Michael Fenger had a way of looking at one, +silently. It was an intent and concentrated gaze that had the effect of +an actual physical hold. Most people squirmed under it. Fanny, feeling +it on her now, frowned and rose to leave. + +“Shall you want to talk these things over again? Of course I've only +outlined them, roughly. You gave me so little time.” + +Fenger, at his desk, did not answer, or turn away his gaze. A little +blaze of wrath flamed into Fanny's face. + +“General manager or not,” she said, very low-voiced, “I wish +you wouldn't sit and glower at me like that. It's rude, and it's +disconcerting,” which was putting it forthrightly. + +“I beg your pardon!” Fenger came swiftly around the desk, and over to +her. “I was thinking very hard. Miss Brandeis, will you dine with me +somewhere tonight? Then to-morrow night? But I want to talk to you.” + +“Here I am. Talk.” + +“But I want to talk to--you.” + +It was then that Fanny Brandeis saved an ugly situation. For she +laughed, a big, wholesome, outdoors sort of laugh. She was honestly +amused. + +“My dear Mr. Fenger, you've been reading the murky magazines. Very bad +for you.” + +Fenger was unsmiling: “Why won't you dine with me?” + +“Because it would be unconventional and foolish. I respect the +conventions. They're so sensible. And because it would be unfair to you, +and to Mrs. Fenger, and to me.” + +“Rot! It's you who have the murky magazine viewpoint, as you call it, +when you imply--” + +“Now, look here, Mr. Fenger,” Fanny interrupted, quietly. “Let's be +square with each other, even if we're not being square with ourselves. +You're the real power in this plant, because you've the brains. You +can make any person in this organization, or break them. That sounds +melodramatic, but it's true. I've got a definite life plan, and it's as +complete and detailed as an engineering blue print. I don't intend to +let you spoil it. I've made a real start here. If you want to, I've no +doubt you can end it. But before you do, I want to warn you that I'll +make a pretty stiff fight for it. I'm no silent sufferer. I'll say +things. And people usually believe me when I talk.” + +Still the silent, concentrated gaze. With a little impatient exclamation +Fanny walked toward the door. Fenger, startlingly light and agile for +his great height, followed. + +“I'm sorry, Miss Brandeis, terribly sorry. You see, you interest me very +much. Very much.” + +“Thanks,” dryly. + +“Don't go just yet. Please. I'm not a villain. Really. That is, not a +deliberate villain. But when I find something very fine, very intricate, +very fascinating and complex--like those etchings, for example--I am +intrigued. I want it near me. I want to study it.” + +Fanny said nothing. But she thought, “This is a dangerously clever man. +Too clever for you. You know so little about them.” Fenger waited. Most +women would have found refuge in words. The wrong words. It is only the +strong who can be silent when in doubt. + +“Perhaps you will dine with Mrs. Fenger and me at our home some evening? +Mrs. Fenger will speak to you about it.” + +“I'm afraid I'm usually too tired for further effort at the end of the +day. I'm sorry----” + +“Some Sunday night perhaps, then. Tea.” + +“Thank you.” And so out, past the spare secretary, the anxious-browed +stenographer, the academic office boy, to the hallway, the elevator, and +finally the refuge of her own orderly desk. Slosson was at lunch in one +of the huge restaurants provided for employees in the building across +the street. She sat there, very still, for some minutes; for more +minutes than she knew. Her hands were clasped tightly on the desk, and +her eyes stared ahead in a puzzled, resentful, bewildered way. Something +inside her was saying over and over again: + +“You lied to him on that very first day. That placed you. That stamped +you. Now he thinks you're rotten all the way through. You lied on the +very first day.” + +Ella Monahan poked her head in at the door. The Gloves were on that +floor, at the far end. The two women rarely saw each other, except at +lunch time. + +“Missed you at lunch,” said Ella Monahan. She was a pink-cheeked, +bright-eyed woman of forty-one or two, prematurely gray and therefore +excessively young in her manner, as women often are who have grown gray +before their time. + +Fanny stood up, hurriedly. “I was just about to go.” + +“Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious.” And strolled off down the +aisle that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. + +Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though meaning to call +her back. But she must have changed her mind, because she said, “Oh, +nonsense!” aloud. And went across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And +enjoyed it. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A thin, +querulous voice over the telephone prepared one for the thin, querulous +Mrs. Fenger herself. A sallow, plaintive woman, with a misbehaving +valve. The valve, she confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also +it made her susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a scarf +that was constantly slipping and constantly being retrieved by Michael +Fenger. The sight of this man, a physical and mental giant, performing +this task ever so gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity +through Fanny, as Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived in +an apartment on the Lake Shore Drive--an apartment such as only Chicago +boasts. A view straight across the lake, rooms huge and many-windowed, +a glass-enclosed sun-porch gay with chintz and wicker, an incredible +number of bathrooms. The guests, besides Fanny, included a young pair, +newly married and interested solely in rents, hangings, linen closets, +and the superiority of the Florentine over the Jacobean for dining +room purposes; and a very scrubbed looking, handsome, spectacled man of +thirty-two or three who was a mechanical engineer. Fanny failed to +catch his name, though she learned it later. Privately, she dubbed him +Fascinating Facts, and he always remained that. His conversation was +invariably prefaced with, “Funny thing happened down at the works +to-day.” The rest of it sounded like something one reads at the foot of +each page of a loose-leaf desk calendar. + +At tea there was a great deal of silver, and lace, but Fanny thought +she could have improved on the chicken a la king. It lacked paprika and +personality. Mrs. Fenger was constantly directing one or the other of +the neat maids in an irritating aside. + +After tea Michael Fenger showed Fanny his pictures, not boastfully, but +as one who loves them reveals his treasures to an appreciative friend. +He showed her his library, too, and it was the library of a reader. +Fanny nibbled at it, hungrily. She pulled out a book here, a book +there, read a paragraph, skimmed a page. There was no attempt at +classification. Lever rubbed elbows with Spinoza; Mark Twain dug a +facetious thumb into Haeckel's ribs. Fanny wanted to sit down on the +floor, legs crossed, before the open shelves, and read, and read, and +read. Fenger, watching the light in her face, seemed himself to take on +a certain glow, as people generally did who found this girl in sympathy +with them. + +They were deep in book talk when Fascinating Facts strolled in, looking +aggrieved, and spoiled it with the thoroughness of one who never reads, +and is not ashamed of it. + +“My word, I'm having a rotten time, Fenger,” he said, plaintively. +“They've got a tape-measure out of your wife's sewing basket, those +two in there, and they're down on their hands and knees, measuring +something. It has to do with their rug, over your rug, or some such rot. +And then you take Miss Brandeis and go off into the library.” + +“Then stay here,” said Fanny, “and talk books.” + +“My book's a blue-print,” admitted Fascinating Facts, cheerfully. +“I never get time to read. There's enough fiction, and romance, and +adventure in my job to give me all the thrill I want. Why, just last +Tuesday--no, Thursday it was--down at the works----” + +Between Fanny and Fenger there flashed a look made up of dismay, and +amusement, and secret sympathy. It was a look that said, “We both see +the humor of this. Most people wouldn't. Our angle is the same.” Such a +glance jumps the gap between acquaintance and friendship that whole days +of spoken conversation cannot cover. + +“Cigar?” asked Fenger, hoping to stay the flood. + +“No, thanks. Say, Fenger, would there be a row if I smoked my pipe?” + +“That black one? With the smell?” + +“The black one, yes.” + +“There would.” Fenger glanced in toward his wife, and smiled, dryly. +Fascinating Facts took his hand out of his pocket, regretfully. + +“Wouldn't it sour a fellow on marriage! Wouldn't it! First those two +in there, with their damned linen closets, and their rugs--I beg your +pardon, Miss Brandeis! And now your missus objects to my pipe. You +wouldn't treat me like that, would you, Miss Brandeis?” + +There was about him something that appealed--something boyish and +likeable. + +“No, I wouldn't. I'd let you smoke a nargileh, if you wanted to, +surrounded by rolls of blue prints.” + +“I knew it. I'm going to drive you home for that.” + +And he did, in his trim little roadster. It is a fairy road at night, +that lake drive between the north and south sides. Even the Rush street +bridge cannot quite spoil it. Fanny sat back luxuriously and let the +soft splendor of the late August night enfold her. She was intelligently +monosyllabic, while Fascinating Facts talked. At the door of her +apartment house (she had left the Mendota weeks before) Fascinating +Facts surprised her. + +“I--I'd like to see you again, Miss Brandeis. If you'll let me.” + +“I'm so busy,” faltered Fanny. Then it came to her that perhaps he did +not know. “I'm with Haynes-Cooper, you know. Assistant buyer in the +infants' wear department.” + +“Yes, I know. I suppose a girl like you couldn't be interested in seeing +a chap like me again, but I thought maybe----” + +“But I would,” interrupted Fanny, impulsively. “Indeed I would.” + +“Really! Perhaps you'll drive, some evening. Over to the Bismarck +Gardens, or somewhere. It would rest you.” + +“I'm sure it would. Suppose you telephone me.” + +That was her honest, forthright, Winnebago Wisconsin self talking. +But up in her apartment the other Fanny Brandeis, the calculating, +ambitious, determined woman, said: “Now why did I say that! I never want +to see the boy again. + +“Use him. Experiment with him. Evidently men are going to enter into +this thing. Michael Fenger has, already. And now this boy. Why not try +certain tests with them as we used to follow certain formulae in the +chemistry laboratory at high school? This compound, that compound, what +reaction? Then, when the time comes to apply your knowledge, you'll +know.” + +Which shows how ignorant she was of this dangerous phase of her +experiment. If she had not been, she must have known that these were not +chemicals, but explosives with which she proposed to play. + +The trouble was that Fanny Brandeis, the creative, was not being fed. +And the creative fire requires fuel. Fanny Brandeis fed on people, not +things. And her work at Haynes-Cooper was all with inanimate objects. +The three months since her coming to Chicago had been crowded and +eventful. Haynes-Cooper claimed every ounce of her energy, every atom +of her wit and resourcefulness. In return it gave--salary. Not too much +salary. That would come later, perhaps. Unfortunately, Fanny Brandeis +did not thrive on that kind of fare. She needed people. She craved +contact. All these millions whom she served--these unseen, unheard men +and women, and children--she wanted to see them. She wanted to touch +them. She wanted to talk with them. It was as though a lover of the +drama, eager to see his favorite actress in her greatest part, were to +find himself viewing her in a badly constructed film play. + +So Fanny Brandeis took to prowling. There are people who have a penchant +for cities--more than that, a talent for them, a gift of sensing +them, of feeling their rhythm and pulse-beats, as others have a highly +developed music sense, or color reaction. It is a thing that cannot +be acquired. In Fanny Brandeis there was this abnormal response to the +color and tone of any city. And Chicago was a huge, polyglot orchestra, +made up of players in every possible sort of bizarre costume, performing +on every known instrument, leaderless, terrifyingly discordant, yet with +an occasional strain, exquisite and poignant, to be heard through the +clamor and din. + +A walk along State street (the wrong side) or Michigan avenue at five, +or through one of the city's foreign quarters, or along the lake front +at dusk, stimulated her like strong wine. She was drunk with it. And all +the time she would say to herself, little blind fool that she was: + +“Don't let it get you. Look at it, but don't think about it. Don't let +the human end of it touch you. There's nothing in it.” + +And meanwhile she was feasting on those faces in the crowds. Those faces +in the crowds! They seemed to leap out at her. They called to her. So +she sketched them, telling herself that she did it by way of relaxation, +and diversion. One afternoon she left her desk early, and perched +herself on one of the marble benches that lined the sunken garden just +across from the main group of Haynes-Cooper buildings. She wanted to see +what happened when those great buildings emptied. Even her imagination +did not meet the actuality. At 5:30 the streets about the plant were +empty, except for an occasional passerby. At 5:31 there trickled +down the broad steps of building after building thin dark streams of +humanity, like the first slow line of lava that crawls down the side of +an erupting volcano. The trickle broadened into a stream, spread into +a flood, became a torrent that inundated the streets, the sidewalks, +filling every nook and crevice, a moving mass. Ten thousand people! A +city! Fanny found herself shaking with excitement, and something like +terror at the immensity of it. She tried to get a picture of it, a +sketch, with the gleaming windows of the red brick buildings as a +background. Amazingly enough, she succeeded in doing it. That was +because she tried for broad effects, and relied on one bit of detail for +her story. It was the face of a girl--a very tired and tawdry girl, of +sixteen, perhaps. On her face the look that the day's work had stamped +there was being wiped gently away by another look; a look that said +release, and a sweetheart, and an evening at the movies. Fanny, in some +miraculous way, got it. + +She prowled in the Ghetto, and sketched those patient Jewish faces, +often grotesque, sometimes repulsive, always mobile. She wandered down +South Clark street, flaring with purple-white arc-lights, and looked in +at its windows that displayed a pawnbroker's glittering wares, or, just +next door, a flat-topped stove over which a white-capped magician whose +face smacked of the galley, performed deft tricks with a pancake turner. +“Southern chicken dinner,” a lying sign read, “with waffles and real +maple syrup, 35 cents each.” Past these windows promenaded the Clark +street women, hard-eyed, high-heeled, aigretted; on the street corners +loafed the Clark street men, blue-shaven, wearing checked suits, soiled +faun-topped shoes, and diamond scarf pins. And even as she watched them, +fascinated, they vanished. Clark street changed overnight, and became a +business thoroughfare, lined with stately office buildings, boasting +marble and gold-leaf banks, filled with hurrying clerks, stenographers, +and prosperous bond salesmen. It was like a sporting man who, thriving +in middle age, endeavors to live down his shady past. + +Fanny discovered Cottage Grove avenue, and Halsted street, and +Jefferson, and South State, where she should never have walked. There +is an ugliness about Chicago's ugly streets that, for sheer, naked +brutality, is equaled nowhere in the world. London has its foul streets, +smoke-blackened, sinister. But they are ugly as crime is ugly--and as +fascinating. It is like the ugliness of an old hag who has lived a life, +and who could tell you strange tales, if she would. Walking through them +you think of Fagin, of Children of the Ghetto, of Tales of Mean Streets. +Naples is honeycombed with narrow, teeming alleys, grimed with the +sediment of centuries, colored like old Stilton, and smelling much +worse. But where is there another Cottage Grove avenue! Sylvan misnomer! +A hideous street, and sordid. A street of flat-wheeled cars, of +delicatessen shops and moving picture houses, of clanging bells, of +frowsy women, of men who dart around corners with pitchers, their coat +collars turned up to hide the absence of linen. One day Fanny found +herself at Fifty-first street, and there before her lay Washington Park, +with its gracious meadow, its Italian garden, its rose walk, its lagoon, +and drooping willows. But then, that was Chicago. All contrast. The +Illinois Central railroad puffed contemptuous cinders into the great +blue lake. And almost in the shadow of the City Hall nestled Bath-House +John's groggery. + +Michigan Avenue fascinated her most. Here was a street developing before +one's eyes. To walk on it was like being present at a birth. It is one +of the few streets in the world. New York has two, Paris a hundred, +London none, Vienna one. Berlin, before the war, knew that no one walked +Unter den Linden but American tourists and German shopkeepers from the +provinces, with their fat wives. But this Michigan Boulevard, unfinished +as Chicago itself, shifting and changing daily, still manages to take on +a certain form and rugged beauty. It has about it a gracious breadth. As +you turn into it from the crash and thunder of Wabash there comes to you +a sense of peace. That's the sweep of it, and the lake just beyond, for +Michigan avenue is a one-side street. It's west side is a sheer mountain +wall of office buildings, clubs, and hotels, whose ground floors are +fascinating with specialty shops. A milliner tantalizes the passer-by +with a single hat stuck knowingly on a carved stick. An art store shows +two etchings, and a vase. A jeweler's window holds square blobs of +emeralds, on velvet, and perhaps a gold mesh bag, sprawling limp and +invertebrate, or a diamond and platinum la valliere, chastely barbaric. +Past these windows, from Randolph to Twelfth surges the crowd: matinee +girls, all white fox, and giggles and orchids; wise-eyed saleswomen from +the smart specialty shops, dressed in next week's mode; art students, +hugging their precious flat packages under their arms; immigrants, +in corduroys and shawls, just landed at the Twelfth street station; +sightseeing families, dazed and weary, from Kansas; tailored and sabled +Lake Shore Drive dwellers; convention delegates spilling out of the +Auditorium hotel, red-faced, hoarse, with satin badges pinned on their +coats, and their hats (the wrong kind) stuck far back on their heads; +music students to whom Michigan Avenue means the Fine Arts Building. +There you have the west side. But just across the street the walk is +as deserted as though a pestilence lurked there. Here the Art Institute +rears its smoke-blackened face, and Grant Park's greenery struggles +bravely against the poisonous breath of the Illinois Central engines. + +Just below Twelfth street block after block shows the solid plate glass +of the automobile shops, their glittering wares displayed against an +absurd background of oriental rugs, Tiffany lamps, potted plants, and +mahogany. In the windows pose the salesmen, no less sleek and glittering +than their wares. Just below these, for a block or two, rows of sinister +looking houses, fallen into decay, with slatternly women lolling +at their windows, and gas jets flaring blue in dim hallways. Below +Eighteenth still another change, where the fat stone mansions of +Chicago's old families (save the mark!) hide their diminished heads +behind signs that read: + +“Marguerite. Robes et Manteaux.” And, “Smolkin. Tailor.” + +Now, you know that women buyers for mail order houses do not spend their +Saturday afternoons and Sundays thus, prowling about a city's streets. +Fanny Brandeis knew it too, in her heart. She knew that the Ella +Monahans of her world spent their holidays in stayless relaxation, +manicuring, mending a bit, skimming the Sunday papers, massaging +crows'-feet somewhat futilely. She knew that women buyers do not, as a +rule, catch their breath with delight at sight of the pock-marked old +Field Columbian museum in Jackson Park, softened and beautified by the +kindly gray chiffon of the lake mist, and tinted by the rouge of the +sunset glow, so that it is a thing of spectral loveliness. Successful +mercantile women, seeing the furnace glare of the South Chicago steel +mills flaring a sullen red against the lowering sky, do not draw a +disquieting mental picture of men toiling there, naked to the waist, and +glistening with sweat in the devouring heat of the fires. + +I don't know how she tricked herself. I suppose she said it was the +city's appeal to the country dweller, but she lied, and she knew she was +lying. She must have known it was the spirit of Molly Brandeis in her, +and of Molly Brandeis' mother, and of her mother's mother's mother, +down the centuries to Sarah; repressed women, suffering women, troubled, +patient, nomadic women, struggling now in her for expression. + +And Fanny Brandeis went doggedly on, buying and selling infants' wear, +and doing it expertly. Her office desk would have interested you. It was +so likely to be littered with the most appealing bits of apparel--a +pair of tiny, crocheted bootees, pink and white; a sturdy linen smock; a +silken hood so small that one's doubled fist filled it. + +The new catalogue was on the presses. Fanny had slaved over it, hampered +by Slosson. Fenger had given her practically a free hand. Results would +not come in for many days. The Christmas trade would not tell the +tale, for that was always a time of abnormal business. The dull season +following the holiday rush would show the real returns. Slosson was +discouragement itself. His attitude was not resentful; it was pitying, +and that frightened Fanny. She wished that he would storm a little. Then +she read her department catalogue proof sheets, and these reassured her. +They were attractive. And the new baby book had turned out very well, +with a colored cover that would appeal to any one who had ever been or +seen a baby. + +September brought a letter from Theodore. A letter from Theodore meant +just one thing. Fanny hesitated a moment before opening it. She always +hesitated before opening Theodore's letters. While she hesitated the old +struggle would rage in her. + +“I don't owe him anything,” the thing within her would say. “God knows I +don't. What have I done all my life but give, and give, and give to him! +I'm a woman. He's a man. Let him work with his hands, as I do. He's had +his share. More than his share.” + +Nevertheless she had sent him one thousand of the six thousand her +mother had bequeathed to her. She didn't want to do it. She fought doing +it. But she did it. + +Now, as she held this last letter in her hands, and stared at the +Bavarian stamp, she said to herself: + +“He wants something. Money. If I send him some I can't have that new +tailor suit, or the furs. And I need them. I'm going to have them.” + +She tore open the letter. + +“Dear Old Fan: + +“Olga and I are back in Munich, as you see. I think we'll be here all +winter, though Olga hates it. She says it isn't lustig. Well, it isn't +Vienna, but I think there's a chance for a class here of American +pupils. Munich's swarming with Americans--whole families who come here +to live for a year or two. I think I might get together a very decent +class, backed by Auer's recommendations. Teaching! Good God, how I hate +it! But Auer is planning a series of twenty concerts for me. They ought +to be a success, if slaving can do it. I worked six hours a day all +summer. I wanted to spend the summer--most of it, that is--in Holzhausen +Am Ammersee, which is a little village, or artist's colony in the +valley, an hour's ride from here, and within sight of the Bavarian Alps. +We had Kurt Stein's little villa for almost nothing. But Olga was bored, +and she wasn't well, poor girl, so we went to Interlaken and it was +awful. And that brings me to what I want to tell you. + +“There's going to be a baby. No use saying I'm glad, because I'm not, +and neither is Olga. About February, I think. Olga has been simply +wretched, but the doctor says she'll feel better from now on. The truth +of it is she needs a lot of things and I can't give them to her. I told +you I'd been working on this concerto of mine. Sometimes I think it's +the real thing, if only I could get the leisure and the peace of mind +I need to work on it. You don't know what it means to be eaten up with +ambition and to be handicapped.” + +“Oh, don't I!” said Fanny Brandeis, between her teeth, and crumpled the +letter in her strong fingers. “Don't I!” She got up from her chair and +began to walk up and down her little office, up and down. A man often +works off his feelings thus; a woman rarely. Fenger, who had not been +twice in her office since her coming to the Haynes-Cooper plant, chose +this moment to visit her, his hands full of papers, his head full of +plans. He sensed something wrong at once, as a highly organized human +instrument responds to a similarly constructed one. + +“What's wrong, girl?” + +“Everything. And don't call me girl.” + +Fenger saw the letter crushed in her hand. + +“Brother?” She had told him about Theodore and he had been tremendously +interested. + +“Yes.” + +“Money again, I suppose?” + +“Yes, but----” + +“You know your salary's going up, after Christmas.” + +“Catalogue or no catalogue?” + +“Catalogue or no catalogue.” + +“Why?” + +“Because you've earned it.” + +Fanny faced him squarely. “I know that Haynes-Cooper isn't exactly a +philanthropic institution. A salary raise here usually means a battle. +I've only been here three months.” Fenger seated himself in the chair +beside her desk and ran a cool finger through the sheaf of papers in his +hand. “My dear girl--I beg your pardon. I forgot. My good woman +then--if you like that better--you've transfused red blood into a dying +department. It may suffer a relapse after Christmas, but I don't think +so. That's why you're getting more money, and not because I happen to be +tremendously interested in you, personally.” + +Fanny's face flamed scarlet. “I didn't mean that.” + +“Yes you did. Here are those comparative lists you sent me. If I didn't +know Slosson to be as honest as Old Dog Tray I'd think he had been +selling us to the manufacturers. No wonder this department hasn't paid. +He's been giving 'em top prices for shoddy. Now what's this new plan of +yours?” + +In an instant Fanny forgot about Theodore, the new winter suit and furs, +everything but the idea that was clamoring to be born. She sat at her +desk, her fingers folding and unfolding a bit of paper, her face all +light and animation as she talked. + +“My idea is to have a person known as a selector for each important +department. It would mean a boiling down of the products of every +manufacturer we deal with, and skimming the cream off the top. As it is +now a department buyer has to do the selecting and buying too. He can't +do both and get results. We ought to set aside an entire floor for the +display of manufacturers' samples. The selector would make his choice +among these, six months in advance of the season. The selector would +go to the eastern markets too, of course. Not to buy. Merely to select. +Then, with the line chosen as far as style, quality, and value +is concerned, the buyer would be free to deal directly with the +manufacturer as to quantity, time, and all that. You know as well as I +that that's enough of a job for any one person, with the labor situation +what it is. He wouldn't need to bother about styles or colors, or any of +that. It would all have been done for him. The selector would have the +real responsibility. Don't you see the simplicity of it, and the way it +would grease the entire machinery?” + +Something very like jealousy came into Michael Fenger's face as he +looked at her. But it was gone in an instant. “Gad! You'll have my job +away from me in two years. You're a super-woman, do you know that?” + +“Super nothing! It's just a perfectly good idea, founded on common sense +and economy.” + +“M-m-m, but that's all Columbus had in mind when he started out to find +a short cut to India.” + +Fanny laughed out at that. “Yes, but see where he landed!” + +But Fenger was serious. “We'll have to have a meeting on this. Are you +prepared to go into detail on it, before Mr. Haynes and the two Coopers, +at a real meeting in a real mahogany directors' room? Wednesday, say?” + +“I think so.” + +Fenger got up. “Look here, Miss Brandeis. You need a day in the country. +Why don't you run up to your home town over Sunday? Wisconsin, wasn't +it?” + +“Oh, no! No. I mean yes it was Wisconsin, but no I don't want to go.” + +“Then let me send you my car.” + +“Car! No, thanks. That's not my idea of the country.” + +“It was just a suggestion. What do you call going to the country, then?” + +“Tramping all day, and getting lost, if possible. Lying down under +a tree for hours, and letting the ants amble over you. Dreaming. And +coming back tired, hungry, dusty, and refreshed.” + +“It sounds awfully uncomfortable. But I wish you'd try it, this week.” + +“Do I look such a wreck?” Fanny demanded, rather pettishly. + +“You!” Fenger's voice was vibrant. “You're the most splendidly alive +looking woman I ever saw. When you came into my office that first day +you seemed to spark with health, and repressed energy, and electricity, +so that you radiated them. People who can do that, stimulate. That's +what you are to me--a stimulant.” + +What can one do with a man who talks like that? After all, what he said +was harmless enough. His tone was quietly sincere. One can't resent an +expression of the eyes. Then, too, just as she made up her mind to be +angry she remembered the limp and querulous Mrs. Fenger, and the valve +and the scarf. And her anger became pity. There flashed back to her +the illuminating bit of conversation with which Fascinating Facts had +regaled her on the homeward drive that night of the tea. + +“Nice chap, Fenger. And a wiz in business. Get's a king's salary; Must +be hell for a man to be tied, hand and foot, the way he is.” + +“Tied?” + +“Mrs. Fenger's a semi-invalid. At that I don't believe she's as helpless +as she seems. I think she just holds him by that shawl of hers, that's +forever slipping. You know he was a machine boy in her father's woolen +mill. She met him after he'd worked his way up to an office job. He has +forged ahead like a locomotive ever since.” + +That had been their conversation, gossipy, but tremendously enlightening +for Fanny. She looked up at him now. + +“Thanks for the vacation suggestion. I may go off somewhere. Just a +last-minute leap. It usually turns out better, that way. I'll be ready +for the Wednesday discussion.” + +She sounded very final and busy. The crumpled letter lay on her desk. +She smoothed it out, and the crumple transferred itself to her forehead. +Fenger stood a moment, looking down at her. Then he turned, abruptly and +left the office. Fanny did not look up. + +That was Friday. On Saturday her vacation took a personally conducted +turn. She had planned to get away at noon, as most office heads did on +Saturday, during the warm weather. When her 'phone rang at eleven she +answered it mechanically as does one whose telephone calls mean a row +with a tardy manufacturer, an argument with a merchandise man, or a +catalogue query from the printer's. + +The name that came to her over the telephone conveyed nothing to her. + +“Who?” Again the name. “Heyl?” She repeated the name uncertainly. “I'm +afraid I--O, of course! Clarence Heyl. Howdy-do.” + +“I want to see you,” said the voice, promptly. + +There rose up in Fanny's mind a cruelly clear picture of the little, +sallow, sniveling school boy of her girlhood. The little boy with the +big glasses and the shiny shoes, and the weak lungs. + +“Sorry,” she replied, promptly, “but I'm afraid it's impossible. I'm +leaving the office early, and I'm swamped.” Which was a lie. + +“This evening?” + +“I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a rule.” + +“Too tired to drive?” + +“I'm afraid so.” + +A brief silence. Then, “I'm coming out there to see you.” + +“Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl. I'm terribly +sorry, but I can't----” + +“Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you it will be +over your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him. I'm coming. Good-by.” + +“Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!” + +A jiggling of the hook. “Number, please?” droned the voice of the +operator. + +Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her work, lips +compressed, a frown forming a double cleft between her eyes. + +Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in his card, as +she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that it was the wrong kind of +card. She would show him what happened to pushers who pestered business +women during office hours. + +“Bring him in in twenty minutes,” she said, grimly. Her office boy (and +slave) always took his cue from her. She hoped he wouldn't be too rude +to Heyl, and turned back to her work again. Thirty-nine seconds later +Clarence Heyl walked in. + +“Hello, Fan!” he said, and had her limp hand in a grip that made her +wince. + +“But I told----” + +“Yes, I know. But he's a crushed and broken office boy by now. I had to +be real harsh with him.” + +Fanny stood up, really angry now. She looked up at Clarence Heyl, and +her eyes were flashing. Clarence Heyl looked down at her, and his +eyes were the keenest, kindest, most gently humorous eyes she had ever +encountered. You know that picture of Lincoln that shows us his eyes +with much that expression in them? That's as near as I can come to +conveying to you the whimsical pathos in this man. They were the eyes of +a lonely little boy grown up. And they had seen much in the process. + +Fanny felt her little blaze of anger flicker and die. + +“That's the girl,” said Heyl, and patted her hand. “You'll like +me--presently. After you've forgotten about that sniveling kid you +hated.” He stepped back a pace and threw back his coat senatorially. +“How do I look?” he demanded. + +“Look?” repeated Fanny, feebly. + +“I've been hours preparing for this. Years! And now something tells +me--This tie, for instance.” + +Fanny bit her lip in a vain effort to retain her solemnity. Then she +gave it up and giggled, frankly. “Well, since you ask me, that tie!----” + +“What's the matter with it?” + +Fanny giggled again. “It's red, that's what.” + +“Well, what of it! Red's all right. I've always considered red one of +our leading colors.” + +“But you can't wear it.” + +“Can't! Why can't I?” + +“Because you're the brunest kind of brunette. And dark people have a +special curse hanging over them that makes them want to wear red. +It's fatal. That tie makes you look like a Mafia murderer dressed for +business.” + +“I knew it,” groaned Heyl. “Something told me.” He sank into a chair +at the side of her desk, a picture of mock dejection. “And I chose it. +Deliberately. I had black ones, and blue ones, and green ones. And I +chose--this.” He covered his face with a shaking hand. + +Fanny Brandeis leaned back in her chair, and laughed, and laughed, and +laughed. Surely she hadn't laughed like that in a year at least. + +“You're a madman,” she said, finally. + +At that Heyl looked up with his singularly winning smile. “But +different. Concede that, Fanny. Be fair, now. Refreshingly different.” + +“Different,” said Fanny, “doesn't begin to cover it. Well, now you're +here, tell me what you're doing here.” + +“Seeing you.” + +“I mean here, in Chicago.” + +“So do I. I'm on my way from Winnebago to New York, and I'm in Chicago +to see Fanny Brandeis.” + +“Don't expect me to believe that.” + +Heyl put an arm on Fanny's desk and learned forward, his face very +earnest. “I do expect you to believe it. I expect you to believe +everything I say to you. Not only that, I expect you not to be surprised +at anything I say. I've done such a mass of private thinking about you +in the last ten years that I'm likely to forget I've scarcely seen you +in that time. Just remember, will you, that like the girl in the sob +song, `You made me what I am to-day?'” + +“I! You're being humorous again.” + +“Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly, sickly little boy +you fought for in the street, that day in Winnebago, showed every sign +of growing up a cowardly, sickly man. You're the real reason for his +not doing so. Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, +I guess. Sickly ones are apt to be. I worshiped you and hated you from +that day. Worshiped you for the blazing, generous, whole-souled little +devil of a spitfire that you were. Hated you because--well, what boy +wouldn't hate a girl who had to fight for him. Gosh! It makes me sick to +think of it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!” + +“What nonsense! I'd forgotten all about it.” + +“No you hadn't. Tell me, what flashed into your mind when you saw me in +Temple that night before you left Winnebago? The truth, now.” + +She learned, later, that people did not lie to him. She tried it now, +and found herself saying, rather shamefacedly, “I thought `Why, it's +Clarence Heyl, the Cowardy-Cat!'” + +“There! That's why I'm here to-day. I knew you were thinking that. I +knew it all the time I was in Colorado, growing up from a sickly kid, +with a bum lung, to a heap big strong man. It forced me to do things I +was afraid to do. It goaded me on to stunts at the very thought of which +I'd break out in a clammy sweat. Don't you see how I'll have to turn +handsprings in front of you, like the school-boy in the McCutcheon +cartoon? Don't you see how I'll have to flex my muscles--like this--to +show you how strong I am? I may even have to beat you, eventually. Why, +child, I've chummed with lions, and bears, and wolves, and everything, +because of you, you little devil in the red cap! I've climbed +unclimbable mountains. I've frozen my feet in blizzards. I've wandered +for days on a mountain top, lost, living on dried currants and milk +chocolate,--and Lord! how I hate milk chocolate! I've dodged snowslides, +and slept in trees; I've endured cold, and hunger and thirst, through +you. It took me years to get used to the idea of passing a timber wolf +without looking around, but I learned to do it--because of you. You made +me. They sent me to Colorado, a lonely kid, with a pretty fair chance +of dying, and I would have, if it hadn't been for you. There! How's that +for a burst of speech, young woman! And wait a minute. Remember, too, my +name was Clarence. I had that to live down.” + +Fanny was staring at him eyes round, lips parted. “But why?” she said, +faintly. “Why?” + +Heyl smiled that singularly winning smile of his. “Since you force me to +it, I think I'm in love with that little, warm-hearted spitfire in the +red cap. That's why.” + +Fanny sat forward now. She had been leaning back in her chair, her +hands grasping its arms, her face a lovely, mobile thing, across which +laughter, and pity, and sympathy and surprise rippled and played. It +hardened now, and set. She looked down at her hands, and clasped them +in her lap, then up at him. “In that case, you can forsake the strenuous +life with a free conscience. You need never climb another mountain, or +wrestle with another--er--hippopotamus. That little girl in the red cap +is dead.” + +“Dead?” + +“Yes. She died a year ago. If the one who has taken her place were to +pass you on the street today, and see you beset by forty thieves, she'd +not even stop. Not she. She'd say, `Let him fight it out alone. It's +none of your business. You've got your own fights to handle.'” + +“Why--Fanny. You don't mean that, do you? What could have made her like +that?” + +“She just discovered that fighting for others didn't pay. She just +happened to know some one else who had done that all her life and--it +killed her.” + +“Her mother?” + +“Yes.” + +A little silence. “Fanny, let's play outdoors tomorrow, will you? All +day.” + +Involuntarily Fanny glanced around the room. Papers, catalogues, files, +desk, chair, typewriter. “I'm afraid I've forgotten how.” + +“I'll teach you. You look as if you could stand a little of it.” + +“I must be a pretty sight. You're the second man to tell me that in two +days.” + +Heyl leaned forward a little. “That so? Who's the other one?” + +“Fenger, the General Manager.” + +“Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I don't know what +he had in mind, but you're going to spend Sunday at the dunes of Indiana +with me.” + +“Dunes? Of Indiana?” + +“There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In September +that combination of yellow sand, and blue lake, and the woods beyond +is--well, you'll see what it is. It's only a little more than an hour's +ride by train. And it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, +Fan.” He stood up. “I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, or +thereabouts. That's early for Sunday, but it's going to be worth it.” + +“I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to. I----” + +“I promise not to lecture on Nature, if that's what's worrying you.” He +took her hand in a parting grip. “Bring some sandwiches, will you? Quite +a lot of 'em. I'll have some other stuff in my rucksack. And wear some +clothes you don't mind wrecking. I suppose you haven't got a red tam o' +shanter?” + +“Heavens, no!” + +“I just thought it might help to keep me humble.” He was at the door, +and so was she, somehow, her hand still in his. “Eight o'clock. How do +you stand it in this place, Fan? Oh, well--I'll find that out to-morrow. +Good-by.” + +Fanny went back to her desk and papers. The room seemed all at once +impossibly stuffy, her papers and letters dry, meaningless things. In +the next office, separated from her by a partition half glass, half +wood, she saw the top of Slosson's bald head as he stood up to shut +his old-fashioned roll-top desk. He was leaving. She looked out of the +window. Ella Monahan, in hat and suit, passed and came back to poke her +head in the door. + +“Run along!” she said. “It's Saturday afternoon. You'll work overtime +enough when the Christmas rush begins. Come on, child, and call it a +day!” + +And Fanny gathered papers, figures, catalogue proofs into a glorious +heap, thrust them into a drawer, locked the drawer, pushed back her +chair, and came. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +Fanny told herself, before she went to bed Saturday night, that she +hoped it would rain Sunday morning from seven to twelve. But when +Princess woke her at seven-thirty, as per instructions left in penciled +scrawl on the kitchen table, she turned to the window at once, and was +glad, somehow, to find it sun-flooded. Princess, if you're mystified, +was royal in name only--a biscuit-tinted lady, with a very black and +no-account husband whose habits made it necessary for Princess to let +herself into Fanny's four-room flat at seven every morning, and let +herself out at eight every evening. She had an incredibly soft and +musical voice, had Princess, and a cooking hand. She kept Fanny mended, +fed and comfortable, and her only cross was that Fanny's taste in +blouses (ultimately her property) ran to the severe and tailored. + +“Mawnin', Miss Fanny. There's a gep'mun waitin' to see yo'.” + +Fanny choked on a yawn. “A what!” + +“Gep'mun. Says yo-all goin' picnickin'. He's in the settin' room, +a-lookin' at yo' pictchah papahs. Will Ah fry yo' up a li'l chicken to +pack along? San'wiches ain't no eatin' fo' Sunday.” + +Fanny flung back her covers, swung around to the side of the bed, and +stood up, all, seemingly, in one sweeping movement. “Do you mean to tell +me he's in there, now?” + +From the sitting room. “I think I ought to tell you I can hear +everything you're saying. Say. Fanny, those sketches of yours +are----Why, Gee Whiz! I didn't know you did that kind of thing. This one +here, with that girl's face in the crowd----” + +“For heaven's sake!” Fanny demanded, “what are you doing here at +seven-thirty? And I don't allow people to look at those sketches. You +said eight-thirty.” + +“I was afraid you'd change your mind, or something. Besides, it's +now twenty-two minutes to eight. And will you tell the lady that's a +wonderful idea about the chicken? Only she'd better start now.” + +Goaded by time bulletins shouted through the closed door, Fanny found +herself tubbed, clothed, and ready for breakfast by eight-ten. When +she opened the door Clarence was standing in the center of her little +sitting room, waiting, a sheaf of loose sketches in his hand. + +“Say, look here! These are the real thing. Why, they're great! They get +you. This old geezer with the beard, selling fish and looking like one +of the Disciples. And this. What the devil are you doing in a mail order +house, or whatever it is? Tell me that! When you can draw like this!” + +“Good morning,” said Fanny, calmly. “And I'll tell you nothing before +breakfast. The one thing that interests me this moment is hot coffee. +Will you have some breakfast? Oh, well, a second one won't hurt you. +You must have got up at three, or thereabouts.” She went toward the tiny +kitchen. “Never mind, Princess. I'll wait on myself. You go on with that +chicken.” + +Princess was the kind of person who can fry a chicken, wrap it in +cool, crisp lettuce leaves, box it, cut sandwiches, and come out of the +process with an unruffled temper and an immaculate kitchen. Thanks to +her, Fanny and Heyl found themselves on the eight fifty-three train, +bound for the dunes. + +Clarence swung his rucksack up to the bundle rack. He took off his cap, +and stuffed it into his pocket. He was grinning like a schoolboy. Fanny +turned from the window and smiled at what she saw in his face. At that +he gave an absurd little bounce in his place, like an overgrown child, +and reached over and patted her hand. + +“I've dreamed of this for years.” + +“You're just fourteen, going on fifteen,” Fanny reproved him. + +“I know it. And it's great! Won't you be, too? Forget you're a fair +financier, or whatever they call it. Forget you earn more in a month +than I do in six. Relax. Unbend. Loosen up. Don't assume that hardshell +air with me. Just remember that I knew you when the frill of your +panties showed below your skirt.” + +“Clarence Heyl!” + +But he was leaning past her, and pointing out of the window. “See that +curtain of smoke off there? That's the South Chicago, and the Hammond +and Gary steel mills. Wait till you see those smokestacks against the +sky, and the iron scaffoldings that look like giant lacework, and the +slag heaps, and the coal piles, and those huge, grim tanks. Gad! It's +awful and beautiful. Like the things Pennell does.” “I came out here on +the street car one day,” said Fanny, quietly. “One Sunday.” + +“You did!” He stared at her. + +“It was hot, and they were all spilling out into the street. You know, +the women in wrappers, just blobs of flesh trying to get cool. And the +young girls in their pink silk dresses and white shoes, and the boys on +the street corners, calling to them. Babies all over the sidewalks and +streets, and the men who weren't in the mills--you know how they look in +their Sunday shirtsleeves, with their flat faces, and high cheekbones, +and their great brown hands with the broken nails. Hunkies. Well, at +five the motor cars began whizzing by from the country roads back +to Chicago. You have to go back that way. Just then the five o'clock +whistles blew and the day shift came off. There was a great army of +them, clumping down the road the way they do. Their shoulders were +slack, and their lunch pails dangled, empty, and they were wet and +reeking with sweat. The motor cars were full of wild phlox and daisies +and spiderwort.” + +Clarence was still turned sideways, looking at her. “Get a picture of +it?” + +“Yes. I tried, at least.” + +“Is that the way you usually spend your Sundays?” + +“Well, I--I like snooping about.” + +“M-m,” mused Clarence. Then, “How's business, Fanny?” + +“Business?” You could almost feel her mind jerk back. “Oh, let's not +talk about business on Sunday.” + +“I thought so,” said Clarence, enigmatically. “Now listen to me, Fanny.” + +“I'll listen,” interrupted she, “if you'll talk about yourself. I +want to know what you're doing, and why you're going to New York. What +business can a naturalist have in New York, anyway?” + +“I didn't intend to be a naturalist. You can tell that by looking at me. +But you can't have your very nose rubbed up against trees, and rocks, +and mountains, and snow for years and years without learning something +about 'em. There were whole weeks when I hadn't anything to chum with +but a timber-line pine and an odd assortment of mountain peaks. We just +had to get acquainted.” + +“But you're going back, aren't you? Don't they talk about the spell of +the mountains, or some such thing?” “They do. And they're right. And +I've got to have them six months in the year, at least. But I'm going +to try spending the other six in the bosom of the human race. Not only +that, I'm going to write about it. Writing's my job, really. At least, +it's the thing I like best.” + +“Nature?” + +“Human nature. I went out to Colorado just a lonesome little kid with +a bum lung. The lung's all right, but I never did quite get over the +other. Two years ago, in the mountains, I met Carl Lasker, who owns +the New York Star. It's said to be the greatest morning paper in the +country. Lasker's a genius. And he fries the best bacon I ever tasted. +I took him on a four-weeks' horseback trip through the mountains. We got +pretty well acquainted. At the end of it he offered me a job. You see, +I'd never seen a chorus girl, or the Woolworth building, or a cabaret, +or a broiled lobster, or a subway. But I was interested and curious +about all of them. And Lasker said, `A man who can humanize a rock, or +a tree, or a chipmunk ought to be able to make even those things seem +human. You've got what they call the fresh viewpoint. New York's full of +people with a scum over their eyes, but a lot of them came to New York +from Winnebago, or towns just like it, and you'd be surprised at the +number of them who still get their home town paper. One day, when I +came into Lee Kohl's office, with stars, and leading men, and all that +waiting outside to see him, he was sitting with his feet on the desk +reading the Sheffield, Illinois, Gazette.' You see, the thing he thinks +I can do is to give them a picture of New York as they used to see it, +before they got color blind. A column or so a day, about anything that +hits me. How does that strike you as a job for a naturalist?” + +“It's a job for a human naturalist. I think you'll cover it.” + +If you know the dunes, which you probably don't, you know why they did +not get off at Millers, with the crowd, but rode on until they were +free of the Sunday picnickers. Then they got off, and walked across the +tracks, past saloons, and a few huddled houses, hideous in yellow paint, +and on, and on down a road that seemed endless. A stretch of cinders, +then dust, a rather stiff little hill, a great length of yellow sand +and--the lake! We say, the lake! like that, with an exclamation point +after it, because it wasn't at all the Lake Michigan that Chicagoans +know. This vast blue glory bore no relation to the sullen, gray, turbid +thing that the city calls the lake. It was all the blues of which you've +ever heard, and every passing cloud gave it a new shade. Sapphire. No, +cobalt. No, that's too cold. Mediterranean. Turquoise. And the sand in +golden contrast. Miles of sand along the beach, and back of that the +dunes. Now, any dictionary or Scotchman will tell you that a dune is +a hill of loose sand. But these dunes are done in American fashion, +lavishly. Mountains of sand, as far as the eye can see, and on the top +of them, incredibly, great pine trees that clutch at their perilous, +shifting foothold with frantic root-toes. And behind that, still more +incredibly, the woods, filled with wild flowers, with strange growths +found nowhere else in the whole land, with trees, and vines, and brush, +and always the pungent scent of the pines. And there you have the +dunes--blue lake, golden sand-hills, green forest, in one. + +Fanny and Clarence stood there on the sand, in silence, two ridiculously +diminutive figures in that great wilderness of beauty. I wish I could +get to you, somehow, the clear sparkle of it, the brilliance of it, and +yet the peace of it. They stood there a long while, those two, without +speaking. Then Fanny shut her eyes, and I think her lower lip trembled +just a little. And Clarence patted her hand just twice. + +“I thank you,” he said, “in the name of that much-abused lady known as +Nature.” + +Said Fanny, “I want to scramble up to the top of one of those dunes--the +high one--and just sit there.” + +And that is what they did. A poor enough Sunday, I suppose, in the minds +of those of you who spend yours golfing at the club, or motoring along +grease-soaked roads that lead to a shore dinner and a ukulele band. But +it turned Fanny Brandeis back a dozen years or more, so that she was +again the little girl whose heart had ached at sight of the pale rose +and, orange of the Wisconsin winter sunsets. She forgot all about +layettes, and obstetrical outfits, and flannel bands, and safety pins; +her mind was a blank in the matter of bootees, and catalogues, and our +No. 29E8347, and those hungry bins that always yawned for more. She +forgot about Michael Fenger, and Theodore, and the new furs. They +scrambled up dunes, digging into the treacherous sand with heels, toes, +and the side of the foot, and clutching at fickle roots with frantic +fingers. Forward a step, and back two--that's dune climbing. A +back-breaking business, unless you're young and strong, as were these +two. They explored the woods, and Heyl had a fascinating way of talking +about stones and shrubs and trees as if they were endowed with human +qualities--as indeed they were for him. They found a hill-slope carpeted +with dwarf huckleberry plants, still bearing tiny clusters of the +blue-black fruit. Fanny's heart was pounding, her lungs ached, her +cheeks were scarlet, her eyes shining. Heyl, steel-muscled, took the +hills like a chamois. Once they crossed hands atop a dune and literally +skated down it, right, left, right, left, shrieking with laughter, and +ending in a heap at the bottom. “In the name of all that's idiotic!” + shouted Heyl. “Silk stockings! What in thunder made you wear silk +stockings! At the sand dunes! Gosh!” + +They ate their dinner in olympic splendor, atop a dune. Heyl produced +unexpected things from the rucksack--things that ranged all the way from +milk chocolate to literature, and from grape juice to cigarettes. +They ate ravenously, but at Heyl's thrifty suggestion they saved a few +sandwiches for the late afternoon. It was he, too, who made a little +bonfire of papers, crusts, and bones, as is the cleanly habit of your +true woodsman. Then they stretched out, full length, in the noon sun, on +the warm, clean sand. + +“What's your best price on one-sixth doz. flannel vests?” inquired Heyl. + +And, “Oh, shut up!” said Fanny, elegantly. Heyl laughed as one who hugs +a secret. + +“We'll work our way down the beach,” he announced, “toward Millers. +There'll be northern lights to-night; did you know that? Want to stay +and see them?” + +“Do I want to! I won't go home till I have.” + +These were the things they did on that holiday; childish, happy, tiring +things, such as people do who love the outdoors. + +The charm of Clarence Heyl--for he had charm--is difficult to transmit. +His lovableness and appeal lay in his simplicity. It was not so much +what he said as in what he didn't say. He was staring unwinkingly now at +the sunset that had suddenly burst upon them. His were the eyes of one +accustomed to the silent distances. + +“Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that color?” said +Fanny, her face toward the blaze. + +“Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more subdued, +myself.” They were atop a dune, and he stretched himself flat on the +sand, still keeping his bright brown eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat +up, excitedly. “Heh, try that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing. +Like this. Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in. +And you can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a balloon on a +string.” + +They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the orange +faded to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to mauve, to gray. +The first pale star came out, and the brazen lights of Gary, far to the +north, defied it. Fanny sat up with a sigh and a little shiver. + +“Fasten up that sweater around your throat,” said Heyl. “Got a pin?” + They munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by now, and drank the last +of the grape juice. “We'll have a bite of hot supper in town, at a +restaurant that doesn't mind Sunday trampers. Come on, Fan. We'll start +down the beach until the northern lights begin to show.” + +“It's been the most accommodating day,” murmured Fanny. “Sunshine, +sunset, northern lights, everything. If we were to demand a rainbow and +an eclipse they'd turn those on, too.” + +They started to walk down the beach in the twilight, keeping close to +the water's edge where the sand was moist and firm. It was hard going. +They plunged along arm in arm, in silence. Now and again they stopped, +with one accord, and looked out over the great gray expanse that lay +before them, and then up at the hills and the pines etched in black +against the sky. Nothing competitive here, Fanny thought, and took a +deep breath. She thought of to-morrow's work, with day after to-morrow's +biting and snapping at its heels. + +Clarence seemed to sense her thoughts. “Doesn't this make you feel you +want to get away from those damned bins that you're forever feeding? +I watched those boys for a minute, the other day, outside your office. +Jove!” + +Fanny dug a heel into the sand, savagely. “Some days I feel that I've +got to walk out of the office, and down the street, without a hat, and +on, and on, walking and walking, and running now and then, till I come +to the horizon. That's how I feel, some days.” + +“Then some day, Fanny, that feeling will get too strong for you, and +you'll do it. Now listen to me. Tuck this away in your subconscious +mind, and leave it there until you need it. When that time comes get on +a train for Denver. From Denver take another to Estes Park. That's the +Rocky Mountains, and they're your destination, because that's where +the horizon lives and has its being. When you get there ask for Heyl's +place. They'll just hand you from one to the other, gently, until you +get there. I may be there, but more likely I shan't. The key's in the +mail box, tied to a string. You'll find a fire already laid, in the +fireplace, with fat pine knots that will blaze up at the touch of a +match. My books are there, along the walls. The bedding's in the cedar +chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And +the mountains are there, girl, to make you clean and whole again. And +the pines that are nature's prophylactic brushes. And the sky. And +peace. That sounds like a railway folder, but it's true. I know.” They +trudged along in silence for a little while. “Got that?” + +“M-m,” replied Fanny, disinterestedly, without looking at him. + +Heyl's jaw set. You could see the muscles show white for an instant. +Then he said: “It has been a wonderful day, Fanny, but you haven't told +me a thing about yourself. I'd like to know about your work. I'd like to +know what you're doing; what your plan is. You looked so darned +definite up there in that office. Whom do you play with? And who's this +Fenger--wasn't that the name?--who saw that you looked tired?” + +“All right, Clancy. I'll tell you all about it,” Fanny agreed, briskly. + +“All right--who!” + +“Well, I can't call you Clarence. It doesn't fit. So just for the rest +of the day let's make it Clancy, even if you do look like one of the +minor Hebrew prophets, minus the beard.” + +And so she began to tell him of her work and her aims. I think that she +had been craving just this chance to talk. That which she told him was, +unconsciously, a confession. She told him of Theodore and his marriage; +of her mother's death; of her coming to Haynes-Cooper, and the changes +she had brought about there. She showed him the infinite possibilities +for advancement there. Slosson she tossed aside. Then, rather haltingly, +she told him of Fenger, of his business genius, his magnetic qualities, +of his career. She even sketched a deft word-picture of the limp and +irritating Mrs. Fenger. + +“Is this Fenger in love with you?” asked Heyl, startlingly. + +Fanny recoiled at the idea with a primness that did credit to Winnebago. + +“Clancy! Please! He's married.” + +“Now don't sneak, Fanny. And don't talk like an ingenue. So far, you've +outlined a life-plan that makes Becky Sharp look like a cooing dove. So +just answer this straight, will you?” + +“Why, I suppose I attract him, as any man of his sort, with a wife like +that, would be attracted to a healthily alert woman, whose ideas match +his. And I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that. It hurts.” + +“I'm glad of that. I was afraid you'd passed that stage. Well now, how +about those sketches of yours? I suppose you know that they're as +good, in a crude, effective sort of way, as anything that's being done +to-day.” + +“Oh, nonsense!” But then she stopped, suddenly, and put both hands on +his arm, and looked up at him, her face radiant in the gray twilight. +“Do you really think they're good!” + +“You bet they're good. There isn't a newspaper in the country that +couldn't use that kind of stuff. And there aren't three people in the +country who can do it. It isn't a case of being able to draw. It's being +able to see life in a peculiar light, and to throw that light so that +others get the glow. Those sketches I saw this morning are life, served +up raw. That's your gift, Fanny. Why the devil don't you use it!” + +But Fanny had got herself in hand again. “It isn't a gift,” she said, +lightly. “It's just a little knack that amuses me. There's no money in +it. Besides, it's too late now. One's got to do a thing superlatively, +nowadays, to be recognized. I don't draw superlatively, but I do handle +infants' wear better than any woman I know. In two more years I'll be +getting ten thousand a year at Haynes-Cooper. In five years----” + +“Then what?” + +Fanny's hands became fists, gripping the power she craved. “Then I shall +have arrived. I shall be able to see the great and beautiful things of +this world, and mingle with the people who possess them.” + +“When you might be making them yourself, you little fool. Don't glare at +me like that. I tell you that those pictures are the real expression +of you. That's why you turn to them as relief from the shop grind. You +can't help doing them. They're you.” + +“I can stop if I want to. They amuse me, that's all.” + +“You can't stop. It's in your blood. It's the Jew in you.” + +“The----Here, I'll show you. I won't do another sketch for a year. I'll +prove to you that my ancestors' religion doesn't influence my work, or +my play.” + +“Dear, you can't prove that, because the contrary has been proven long +ago. You yourself proved it when you did that sketch of the old fish +vender in the Ghetto. The one with the beard. It took a thousand years +of suffering and persecution and faith to stamp that look on his face, +and it took a thousand years to breed in you the genius to see it, and +put it down on paper. Fan, did you ever read Fishberg's book?” + +“No,” said Fanny, low-voiced. + +“Sometime, when you can snatch a moment from the fascinations of the +mail order catalogue, read it. Fishberg says--I wish I could remember +his exact words--`It isn't the body that marks the Jew. It's his Soul. +The type is not anthropological, or physical; it's social or psychic. It +isn't the complexion, the nose, the lips, the head. It's his Soul which +betrays his faith. Centuries of Ghetto confinement, ostracism, ceaseless +suffering, have produced a psychic type. The thing that is stamped on +the Soul seeps through the veins and works its way magically to the +face----'” + +“But I don't want to talk about souls! Please! You're spoiling a +wonderful day.” + +“And you're spoiling a wonderful life. I don't object to this driving +ambition in you. I don't say that you're wrong in wanting to make a +place for yourself in the world. But don't expect me to stand by and let +you trample over your own immortal soul to get there. Your head is busy +enough on this infants' wear job, but how about the rest of you--how +about You? What do you suppose all those years of work, and suppression, +and self-denial, and beauty-hunger there in Winnebago were meant for! +Not to develop the mail order business. They were given you so that you +might recognize hunger, and suppression, and self-denial in others. The +light in the face of that girl in the crowd pouring out of the plant. +What's that but the reflection of the light in you! I tell you, Fanny, +we Jews have got a money-grubbing, loud-talking, diamond-studded, +get-there-at-any-price reputation, and perhaps we deserve it. But every +now and then, out of the mass of us, one lifts his head and stands +erect, and the great white light is in his face. And that person has +suffered, for suffering breeds genius. It expands the soul just as +over-prosperity shrivels it. You see it all the way from Lew Fields to +Sarah Bernhardt; from Mendelssohn to Irving Berlin; from Mischa Elman +to Charlie Chaplin. You were a person set apart in Winnebago. Instead of +thanking your God for that, you set out to be something you aren't. No, +it's worse than that. You're trying not to be what you are. And it's +going to do for you.” + +“Stop!” cried Fanny. “My head's whirling. It sounds like something out +of `Alice in Wonderland.'” + +“And you,” retorted Heyl, “sound like some one who's afraid to talk or +think about herself. You're suppressing the thing that is you. You're +cutting yourself off from your own people--a dramatic, impulsive, +emotional people. By doing those things you're killing the goose that +lays the golden egg. What's that old copy-book line? `To thine own self +be true,' and the rest of it.” + +“Yes; like Theodore, for example,” sneered Fanny. + +At which unpleasant point Nature kindly supplied a diversion. Across +the black sky there shot two luminous shafts of lights. Northern lights, +pale sisters of the chromatic glory one sees in the far north, but still +weirdly beautiful. Fanny and Heyl stopped short, faces upturned. The +ghostly radiance wavered, expanded, glowed palely, like celestial +searchlights. Suddenly, from the tip of each shaft, there burst a +cluster of slender, pin-point lines, like aigrettes set in a band of +silver. Then these slowly wavered, faded, combined to form a third and +fourth slender shaft of light. It was like the radiance one sees in the +old pictures of the Holy Family. Together Fanny and Heyl watched it in +silence until the last pale glimmer faded and was gone, and only the +brazen lights of Gary, far, far down the beach, cast a fiery glow +against the sky. + +They sighed, simultaneously. Then they laughed, each at the other. + +“Curtain,” said Fanny. They raced for the station, despite the sand. +Their car was filled with pudgy babies lying limp in parental arms; +with lunch baskets exuding the sickly scent of bananas; with disheveled +vandals whose moist palms grasped bunches of wilted wild flowers. Past +the belching chimneys of Gary, through South Chicago, the back yard of a +metropolis, past Jackson Park that breathed coolly upon them, and so to +the city again. They looked at it with the shock that comes to eyes +that have rested for hours on long stretches of sand and sky and water. +Monday, that had seemed so far away, became an actuality of to-morrow. + +Tired as they were, they stopped at one of those frank little +restaurants that brighten Chicago's drab side streets. Its windows were +full of pans that held baked beans, all crusty and brown, and falsely +tempting, and of baked apples swimming in a pool of syrup. These flanked +by ketchup bottles and geometrical pyramids of golden grape-fruit. + +Coffee and hot roast beef sandwiches, of course, in a place like that. +“And,” added Fanny, “one of those baked apples. Just to prove they can't +be as good as they look.” + +They weren't, but she was too hungry to care. Not too hungry, though, to +note with quick eye all that the little restaurant held of interest, nor +too sleepy to respond to the friendly waitress who, seeing their dusty +boots, and the sprig of sumac stuck in Fanny's coat, said, “My, it +must have been swell in the country today!” as her flapping napkin +precipitated crumbs into their laps. + +“It was,” said Fanny, and smiled up at the girl with her generous, +flashing smile. “Here's a bit of it I brought back for you.” And she +stuck the scarlet sumac sprig into the belt of the white apron. + +They finished the day incongruously by taking a taxi home, Fanny yawning +luxuriously all the way. “Do you know,” she said, as they parted, “we've +talked about everything from souls to infants' wear. We're talked out. +It's a mercy you're going to New York. There won't be a next time.” + +“Young woman,” said Heyl, forcefully, “there will. That young devil +in the red tam isn't dead. She's alive. And kicking. There's a kick in +every one of those Chicago sketches in your portfolio upstairs. You said +she wouldn't fight anybody's battles to-day. You little idiot, she's +fighting one in each of those pictures, from the one showing that girl's +face in the crowd, to the old chap with the fish-stall. She'll never die +that one. Because she's the spirit. It's the other one who's dead--and +she doesn't know it. But some day she'll find herself buried. And I want +to be there to shovel on the dirt.” + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +From the first of December the floor of the Haynes-Cooper mail room +looked like the New York Stock Exchange, after a panic. The aisles were +drifts of paper against which a squad of boys struggled as vainly as a +gang of snow-shovelers against a blizzard. The guide talked in terms of +tons of mail, instead of thousands. And smacked his lips after it. The +Ten Thousand were working at night now, stopping for a hasty bite of +supper at six, then back to desk, or bin or shelf until nine, so that +Oklahoma and Minnesota might have its Christmas box in time. + +Fanny Brandeis, working under the light of her green-shaded desk lamp, +wondered, a little bitterly, if Christmas would ever mean anything to +her but pressure, weariness, work. She told herself that she would not +think of that Christmas of one year ago. One year! As she glanced around +the orderly little office, and out to the stock room beyond, then back +to her desk again, she had an odd little feeling of unreality. Surely it +had been not one year, but many years--a lifetime--since she had elbowed +her way up and down those packed aisles of the busy little store in +Winnebago--she and that brisk, alert, courageous woman. + +“Mrs. Brandeis, lady wants to know if you can't put this blue satin +dress on the dark-haired doll, and the pink satin.... Well, I did tell +her, but she said for me to ask you, anyway.” + +“Mis' Brandeis, this man says he paid a dollar down on a go-cart last +month and he wants to pay the rest and take it home with him.” + +And then the reassuring, authoritative voice, “Coming! I'll be right +there.” + +“Coming!” That had been her whole life. Service. And now she lay so +quietly beneath the snow of the bitter northern winter. + +At that point Fanny's fist would come down hard on her desk, and the +quick, indrawn breath of mutinous resentment would hiss through her +teeth. + +She kept away from the downtown shops and their crowds. She scowled at +sight of the holly and mistletoe wreaths, with their crimson streamers. +There was something almost ludicrous in the way she shut her eyes to the +holiday pageant all around her, and doubled and redoubled her work. It +seemed that she had a new scheme for her department every other day, and +every other one was a good one. + +Slosson had long ago abandoned the attempt to keep up with her. He did +not even resent her, as he had at first. “I'm a buyer,” he said, rather +pathetically, “and a pret-ty good one, too. But I'm not a genius, and +I never will be. And I guess you've got to be a genius, these days, +to keep up. It used to be enough for an infants' wear buyer to +know muslins, cottons, woolens, silks, and embroideries. But that's +old-fashioned now. These days, when you hire an office boy you don't ask +him if he can read and write. You tell him he's got to have personality, +magnetism, and imagination. Makes me sick!” + +The Baby Book came off the presses and it was good. Even Slosson +admitted it, grudgingly. The cover was a sunny, breezy seashore picture, +all blue and gold, with plump, dimpled youngsters playing, digging in +the sand, romping (and wearing our No. 13E1269, etc., of course). Inside +were displayed the complete baby outfits, with a smiling mother, and a +chubby, crowing baby as a central picture, and each piece of each outfit +separately pictured. Just below this, the outfit number and price, and a +list of the pieces that went to make it up. From the emergency outfit at +$3.98 to the outfit de luxe (for Haynes-Cooper patrons) at $28.50, each +group was comprehensive, practical, complete. In the back of the book +was a personal service plea. “Use us,” it said. “We are here to assist +you, not only in the matter of merchandise, but with information and +advice. Mothers in particular are in need of such service. This book +will save you weariness and worry. Use us.” + +Fanny surveyed the book with pardonable pride. But she was not +satisfied. “We lack style,” she said. “The practical garments are all +right. But what we need is a little snap. That means cut and line. And +I'm going to New York to get it.” That had always been Slosson's work. + +She and Ella Monahan were to go to the eastern markets together. Ella +Monahan went to New York regularly every three weeks. Fanny had never +been east of Chicago. She envied Ella her knowledge of the New York +wholesalers and manufacturers. Ella had dropped into Fanny's office for +a brief moment. The two women had little in common, except their work, +but they got on very well, and each found the other educating. + +“Seems to me you're putting an awful lot into this,” observed Ella +Monahan, her wise eyes on Fanny's rather tense face. + +“You've got to,” replied Fanny, “to get anything out of it.” + +“I guess you're right,” Ella agreed, and laughed a rueful little laugh. +“I know I've given 'em everything I've got--and a few things I didn't +know I had. It's a queer game--life. Now if my old father hadn't run a +tannery in Racine, and if I hadn't run around there all the day, so that +I got so the smell and feel of leather and hides were part of me, why, +I'd never be buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper. And you----” + +“Brandeis' Bazaar.” And was going on, when her office boy came in with a +name. Ella rose to go, but Fanny stopped her. “Father Fitzpatrick! Bring +him right in! Miss Monahan, you've got to meet him. He's”--then, as the +great frame of the handsome old priest filled the doorway--“he's just +Father Fitzpatrick. Ella Monahan.” + +The white-haired Irishman, and the white-haired Irish woman clasped +hands. + +“And who are you, daughter, besides being Ella Monahan?” + +“Buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper, Father.” + +“You don't tell me, now!” He turned to Fanny, put his two big hands +on her shoulders, and swung her around to face the light. “Hm,” he +murmured, noncommittally, after that. + +“Hm--what?” demanded Fanny. “It sounds unflattering, whatever it means.” + “Gloves!” repeated Father Fitzpatrick, unheeding her. “Well, now, what +d'you think of that! Millions of dollars' worth, I'll wager, in your +time.” + +“Two million and a half in my department last year,” replied Ella, +without the least trace of boastfulness. One talked only in terms of +millions at Haynes-Cooper's. + +“What an age it is! When two slips of women can earn salaries that would +make the old kings of Ireland look like beggars.” He twinkled upon the +older woman. “And what a feeling it must be--independence, and all.” + +“I've earned my own living since I was seventeen,” said Ella Monahan. +“I'd hate to tell you how long that is.” A murmur from the gallant +Irishman. “Thanks, Father, for the compliment I see in your eyes. But +what I mean is this: You're right about independence. It is a grand +thing. At first. But after a while it begins to pall on you. Don't ask +me why. I don't know. I only hope you won't think I'm a wicked woman +when I say I could learn to love any man who'd hang a silver fox scarf +and a string of pearls around my neck, and ask me if I didn't feel a +draft.” + +“Wicked! Not a bit of it, my girl. It's only natural, and +commendable--barrin' the pearls.” + +“I'd forego them,” laughed Ella, and with a parting handshake left the +two alone. + +Father Fitzpatrick looked after her. “A smart woman, that.” He took out +his watch, a fat silver one. “It's eleven-thirty. My train leaves at +four. Now, Fanny, if you'll get on your hat, and arrange to steal an +hour or so from this Brobdingnagian place a grand word that, my girl, +and nearer to swearing than any word I know--I'll take you to the +Blackstone, no less, for lunch. How's that for a poor miserable old +priest!” + +“You dear, I couldn't think of it. Oh, yes, I could get away, but let's +lunch right here at the plant, in the grill----” + +“Never! I couldn't. Don't ask it of me. This place scares me. I came up +in the elevator with a crowd and a guide, and he was juggling millions, +that chap, the way a newsboy flips a cent. I'm but a poor parish priest, +but I've got my pride. We'll go to the Blackstone, which I've passed, +humbly, but never been in, with its rose silk shades and its window +boxes. And we'll be waited on by velvet-footed servitors, me girl. Get +your hat.” + +Fanny, protesting, but laughing, too, got it. They took the L. Michigan +avenue, as they approached it from Wabash, was wind-swept and bleak as +only Michigan avenue can be in December. They entered the warm radiance +of the luxurious foyer with a little breathless rush, as wind-blown +Chicagoans generally do. The head waiter must have thought Father +Fitzpatrick a cardinal, at least, for he seated them at a window table +that looked out upon the icy street, with Grant Park, crusted with sooty +snow, just across the way, and beyond that the I. C. tracks and the +great gray lake. The splendid room was all color, and perfume, and +humming conversation. A fountain tinkled in the center, and upon its +waters there floated lily pads and blossoms, weirdly rose, and mauve, +and lavender. The tables were occupied by deliciously slim young +girls and very self-conscious college boys, home for the holidays, and +marcelled matrons, furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks +deepened. She loved luxury. She smiled and flashed at the handsome old +priest opposite her. + +“You're a wastrel,” she said, “but isn't it nice!” And tasted the first +delicious sip of soup. + +“It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us, now and then.” + He glanced leisurely about the brilliant room, then out to the street, +bleakly windswept. He leaned back and drummed a bit with his fingers on +the satin-smooth cloth. “Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you +say, off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here? You +used to have a trick of picking out what they call the human side. Your +mother had it, too.” + +Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes unconsciously following +the track his had taken. About the room, and out, to the icy street. +“The most interesting thing?” Back to the flower-scented room, with its +music, and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. “You see +that man, standing at the curb, across the street. He's sort of crouched +against the lamp post. See him? Yes, there, just this side of that big +gray car? He's all drawn up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He +looks as if he were trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever +since we came in I've noticed him staring straight across at these +windows where we're all sitting so grandly, lunching. I know what he's +thinking, don't you? And I wish I didn't feel so uncomfortable, knowing +it. I wish we hadn't ordered lobster thermidor. I wish--there! the +policeman's moving him on.” + +Father Fitzpatrick reached over and took her hand, as it lay on the +table, in his great grasp. “Fanny, girl, you've told me what I wanted to +know. Haynes-Cooper or no Haynes-Cooper, millions or no millions, your +ravines aren't choked up with ashes yet, my dear. Thank God.” + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +From now on Fanny Brandeis' life became such a swift-moving thing that +your trilogist would have regarded her with disgust. Here was no slow +unfolding, petal by petal. Here were two processes going on, side by +side. Fanny, the woman of business, flourished and throve like a weed, +arrogantly flaunting its head above the timid, white flower that lay +close to the soil, and crept, and spread, and multiplied. Between the +two the fight went on silently. + +Fate, or Chance, or whatever it is that directs our movements, was +forever throwing tragic or comic little life-groups in her path, and +then, pointing an arresting finger at her, implying, “This means you!” + Fanny stepped over these obstructions, or walked around them, or stared +straight through them. + +She had told herself that she would observe the first anniversary of her +mother's death with none of those ancient customs by which your pious +Jew honors his dead. There would be no Yahrzeit light burning for +twenty-four hours. She would not go to Temple for Kaddish prayer. But +the thing was too strong for her, too anciently inbred. Her ancestors +would have lighted a candle, or an oil lamp. Fanny, coming home at six, +found herself turning on the shaded electric lamp in her hall. She went +through to the kitchen. + +“Princess, when you come in to-morrow morning you'll find a light in the +hall. Don't turn it off until to-morrow evening at six.” + +“All day long, Miss Fan! Mah sakes, wa' foh?” + +“It's just a religious custom.” + +“Didn't know yo' had no relijin, Miss Fan. Leastways, Ah nevah could +figgah----” + +“I haven't,” said Fanny, shortly. “Dinner ready soon, Princess? I'm +starved.” + +She had entered a Jewish house of worship only once in this year. It was +the stately, white-columned edifice on Grand Boulevard that housed the +congregation presided over by the famous Kirsch. She had heard of him, +naturally. She was there out of curiosity, like any other newcomer to +Chicago. The beauty of the auditorium enchanted her--a magnificently +proportioned room, and restful without being in the least gloomy. +Then she had been interested in the congregation as it rustled in. She +thought she had never seen so many modishly gowned women in one room +in all her life. The men were sleekly broadclothed, but they lacked the +well-dressed air, somehow. The women were slimly elegant in tailor suits +and furs. They all looked as if they had been turned out by the same +tailor. An artist, in his line, but of limited imagination. Dr. Kirsch, +sociologist and savant, aquiline, semi-bald, grimly satiric, sat in +his splendid, high-backed chair, surveying his silken flock through +half-closed lids. He looked tired, and rather ill, Fanny thought, but +distinctly a personage. She wondered if he held them or they him. That +recalled to her the little Winnebago Temple and Rabbi Thalmann. +She remembered the frequent rudeness and open inattention of that +congregation. No doubt Mrs. Nathan Pereles had her counterpart here, and +the hypocritical Bella Weinberg, too, and the giggling Aarons girls, +and old Ben Reitman. Here Dr. Kirsch had risen, and, coming forward, had +paused to lean over his desk and, with an awful geniality, had looked +down upon two rustling, exquisitely gowned late-comers. They sank into +their seats, cowed. Fanny grinned. He began his lecture something +about modern politics. Fanny was fascinated and resentful by turns. His +brilliant satire probed, cut, jabbed like a surgeon's scalpel; or he +railed, scolded, snarled, like a dyspeptic schoolmaster. Often he was +in wretched taste. He mimicked, postured, sneered. But he had this +millionaire congregation of his in hand. Fanny found herself smiling +up at him, delightedly. Perhaps this wasn't religion, as she had been +taught to look upon it, but it certainly was tonic. She told herself +that she would have come to the same conclusion if Kirsch had occupied a +Methodist pulpit. + +There were no Kaddish prayers in Kirsch's Temple. On the Friday +following the first anniversary of Molly Brandeis's death Fanny did not +go home after working hours, but took a bite of supper in a neighborhood +restaurant. Then she found her way to one of the orthodox Russian Jewish +synagogues on the west side. It was a dim, odorous, bare little place, +this house of worship. Fanny had never seen one like it before. She was +herded up in the gallery, where the women sat. And when the patriarchal +rabbi began to intone the prayer for the dead Fanny threw the gallery +into wild panic by rising for it--a thing that no woman is allowed to +do in an orthodox Jewish church. She stood, calmly, though the beshawled +women to right and left of her yanked at her coat. + +In January Fanny discovered New York. She went as selector for her +department. Hereafter Slosson would do only the actual buying. Styles, +prices, and materials would be decided by her. Ella Monahan accompanied +her, it being the time for her monthly trip. Fanny openly envied her her +knowledge of New York's wholesale district. Ella offered to help her. + +“No,” Fanny had replied, “I think not, thanks. You've your own work. And +besides I know pretty well what I want, and where to go to get it. It's +making them give it to me that will be hard.” + +They went to the same hotel, and took connecting rooms. Each went her +own way, not seeing the other from morning until night, but they often +found kimonoed comfort in each other's presence. + +Fanny had spent weeks outlining her plan of attack. She had determined +to retain the cheap grades, but to add a finer line as well. She +recalled those lace-bedecked bundles that the farmer women and mill +hands had born so tenderly in their arms. Here was one direction in +which they allowed extravagance free rein. As a canny business woman, +she would trade on her knowledge of their weakness. + +At Haynes-Cooper order is never a thing to be despised by a wholesaler. +Fanny, knowing this, had made up her mind to go straight to Horn & +Udell. Now, Horn & Udell are responsible for the bloomers your small +daughter wears under her play frock, in place of the troublesome and +extravagant petticoat of the old days. It was they who introduced +smocked pinafores to you; and those modish patent-leather belts for +children at which your grandmothers would have raised horrified hands. +They taught you that an inch of hand embroidery is worth a yard of cheap +lace. And as for style, cut, line--you can tell a Horn & Udell child +from among a flock of thirty. + +Fanny, entering their office, felt much as Molly Brandeis had felt that +January many, many years before, when she had made that first terrifying +trip to the Chicago market. The engagement had been made days before. +Fanny never knew the shock that her youthfully expectant face gave old +Sid Udell. He turned from his desk to greet her, his polite smile of +greeting giving way to a look of bewilderment. + +“But you are not the buyer, are you, Miss Brandeis?” + +“No, Mr. Slosson buys.” + +“I thought so.” + +“But I select for my entire department. I decide on our styles, +materials, and prices, six months in advance. Then Mr. Slosson does the +actual bulk buying.” + +“Something new-fangled?” inquired Sid Udell. “Of course, we've never +sold much to you people. Our stuff is----” + +“Yes, I know. But you'd like to, wouldn't you?” + +“Our class of goods isn't exactly suited to your wants.” + +“Yes, it is. Exactly. That's why I'm here. We'll be doing a business of +a million and a quarter in my department in another two years. No firm, +not even Horn & Udell, can afford to ignore an account like that.” + +Sid Udell smiled a little. “You've made up your mind to that million and +a quarter, young lady?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I've dealt with buyers for a quarter of a century or more. And +I'd say that you're going to get it.” + +Whereupon Fanny began to talk. Ten minutes later Udell interrupted her +to summon Horn, whose domain was the factory. Horn came, was introduced, +looked doubtful. Fanny had statistics. Fanny had arguments. She had +determination. “And what we want,” she went on, in her quiet, assured +way, “is style. The Horn & Udell clothes have chic. Now, material can't +be imitated successfully, but style can. Our goods lack just that. +I could copy any model you have, turn the idea over to a cheap +manufacturer, and get a million just like it, at one-fifth the price. +That isn't a threat. It's just a business statement that you know to be +true. I can sketch from memory anything I've seen once. What I want to +know is this: Will you make it necessary for me to do that, or will you +undertake to furnish us with cheaper copies of your high-priced designs? +We could use your entire output. I know the small-town woman of the +poorer class, and I know she'll wear a shawl in order to give her child +a cloth coat with fancy buttons and a velvet collar.” + +And Horn & Udell, whose attitude at first had been that of two seasoned +business men dealing with a precocious child, found themselves quoting +prices to her, shipments, materials, quality, quantities. Then came the +question of time. + +“We'll get out a special catalogue for the summer,” Fanny said. “A small +one, to start them our way. Then the big Fall catalogue will contain the +entire line.” + +“That doesn't give us time!” exclaimed both men, in a breath. + +“But you must manage, somehow. Can't you speed up the workroom? Put on +extra hands? It's worth it.” + +They might, under normal conditions. But there was this strike-talk, its +ugly head bobbing up in a hundred places. And their goods were the kind +that required high-class workers. Their girls earned all the way from +twelve to twenty-five dollars. But Fanny knew she had driven home +the entering wedge. She left them after making an engagement for +the following day. The Horn & Udell factory was in New York's newer +loft-building section, around Madison, Fifth avenue, and the Thirties. +Her hotel was very near. She walked up Fifth avenue a little way, and as +she walked she wondered why she did not feel more elated. Her day's work +had exceeded her expectations. It was a brilliant January afternoon, +with a snap in the air that was almost western. Fifth avenue flowed up, +flowed down, and Fanny fought the impulse to stare after every second or +third woman she passed. They were so invariably well-dressed. There was +none of the occasional shabbiness or dowdiness of Michigan Avenue. Every +woman seemed to have emerged fresh from the hands of masseuse and maid. +Their hair was coiffed to suit the angle of the hat, and the hat had +been chosen to enhance the contour of the head, and the head was carried +with regard for the dark furs that encircled the throat. They were +amazingly well shod. Their white gloves were white. (A fact remarkable +to any soot-haunted Chicagoan.) Their coloring rivaled the rose leaf. +And nobody's nose was red. + +“Goodness knows I've never pretended to be a beauty,” Fanny said that +evening, in conversation with Ella Monahan. “But I've always thought +I had my good points. By the time I'd reached Forty-second street I +wouldn't have given two cents for my chances of winning a cave man on a +desert island.” + +She made up her mind that she would go back to the hotel, get a thick +coat, and ride outside one of those fascinating Fifth avenue 'buses. It +struck her as an ideal way to see this amazing street. She was back at +her hotel in ten minutes. Ella had not yet come in. Their rooms were on +the tenth floor. Fanny got her coat, peered at her own reflection in +the mirror, sighed, shook her head, and was off down the hall toward the +elevators. The great hall window looked toward Fifth avenue, but between +it and the avenue rose a yellow-brick building that housed tier on +tier of manufacturing lofts. Cloaks, suits, blouses, petticoats, hats, +dresses--it was just such a building as Fanny had come from when she +left the offices of Horn & Udell. It might be their very building, for +all she knew. She looked straight into its windows as she stood waiting +for the lift. And window after window showed women, sewing. They were +sewing at machines, and at hand-work, but not as women are accustomed +to sew, with leisurely stitches, stopping to pat a seam here, to run +a calculating eye along hem or ruffle. It was a dreadful, mechanical +motion, that sewing, a machine-like, relentless motion, with no waste in +it, no pause. Fanny's mind leaped back to Winnebago, with its pleasant +porches on which leisurely women sat stitching peacefully at a fine +seam. + +What was it she had said to Udell? “Can't you speed up the workroom? It's +worth it.” + +Fanny turned abruptly from the window as the door of the bronze and +mirrored lift opened for her. She walked over to Fifth avenue again and +up to Forty-fifth street. Then she scrambled up the spiral stairs of a +Washington Square 'bus. The air was crisp, clear, intoxicating. To her +Chicago eyes the buildings, the streets, the very sky looked startlingly +fresh and new-washed. As the 'bus lurched down Fifth avenue she leaned +over the railing to stare, fascinated, at the colorful, shifting, +brilliant panorama of the most amazing street in the world. Block after +block, as far as the eye could see, the gorgeous procession moved up, +moved down, and the great, gleaming motor cars crept, and crawled, and +writhed in and out, like nothing so much as swollen angle worms in a +fishing can, Fanny thought. Her eye was caught by one limousine that +stood out, even in that crush of magnificence. It was all black, as +though scorning to attract the eye with vulgar color, and it was lined +with white. Fanny thought it looked very much like Siegel & Cowan's +hearse, back in Winnebago. In it sat a woman, all furs, and orchids, +and complexion. She was holding up to the window a little dog with a +wrinkled and weary face, like that of an old, old man. He was sticking +his little evil, eager red tongue out at the world. And he wore a very +smart and woolly white sweater, of the imported kind--with a monogram +done in black. + +The traffic policeman put up his hand. The 'bus rumbled on down the +street. Names that had always been remotely mythical to her now met her +eye and became realities. Maillard's. And that great red stone +castle was the Waldorf. Almost historic, and it looked newer than the +smoke-grimed Blackstone. And straight ahead--why, that must be the +Flatiron building! It loomed up like the giant prow of an unimaginable +ship. Brentano's. The Holland House. Madison Square. Why there never was +anything so terrifying, and beautiful, and palpitating, and exquisite +as this Fifth avenue in the late winter afternoon, with the sky ahead a +rosy mist, and the golden lights just beginning to spangle the gray. At +Madison Square she decided to walk. She negotiated the 'bus steps with +surprising skill for a novice, and scurried along the perilous crossing +to the opposite side. She entered Madison Square. But why hadn't O. +Henry emphasized its beauty, instead of its squalor? It lay, a purple +pool of shadow, surrounded by the great, gleaming, many-windowed office +buildings, like an amethyst sunk in a circle of diamonds. “It's a +fairyland!” Fanny told herself. “Who'd have thought a city could be so +beautiful!” + +And then, at her elbow, a voice said, “Oh, lady, for the lova God!” + She turned with a jerk and looked up into the unshaven face of a great, +blue-eyed giant who pulled off his cap and stood twisting it in his +swollen blue fingers. “Lady, I'm cold. I'm hungry. I been sittin' here +hours.” + +Fanny clutched her bag a little fearfully. She looked at his huge frame. +“Why don't you work?” + +“Work!” He laughed. “There ain't any. Looka this!” He turned up his +foot, and you saw the bare sole, blackened and horrible, and fringed, +comically, by the tattered leather upper. + +“Oh--my dear!” said Fanny. And at that the man began to cry, weakly, +sickeningly, like a little boy. + +“Don't do that! Don't! Here.” She was emptying her purse, and something +inside her was saying, “You fool, he's only a professional beggar.” + +And then the man wiped his face with his cap, and swallowed hard, and +said, “I don't want all you got. I ain't holdin' you up. Just gimme +that. I been sittin' here, on that bench, lookin' at that sign across +the street. Over there. It says, `EAT.' It goes off an' on. Seemed like +it was drivin' me crazy.” + +Fanny thrust a crumpled five-dollar bill into his hand. And was off. She +fairly flew along, so that it was not until she had reached Thirty-third +street that she said aloud, as was her way when moved, “I don't care. +Don't blame me. It was that miserable little beast of a dog in the white +sweater that did it.” + +It was almost seven when she reached her room. A maid, in neat black and +white, was just coming out with an armful of towels. + +“I just brought you a couple of extra towels. We were short this +morning,” she said. + +The room was warm, and quiet, and bright. In her bathroom, that +glistened with blue and white tiling, were those redundant towels. Fanny +stood in the doorway and counted them, whimsically. Four great fuzzy +bath towels. Eight glistening hand towels. A blue and white bath rug +hung at the side of the tub. Her telephone rang. It was Ella. + +“Where in the world have you been, child? I was worried about you. I +thought you were lost in the streets of New York.” + +“I took a 'bus ride,” Fanny explained. + +“See anything of New York?” + +“I saw all of it,” replied Fanny. Ella laughed at that, but Fanny's face +was serious. + +“How did you make out at Horn & Udell's? Never mind, I'm coming in for a +minute; can I?” + +“Please do. I need you.” + +A moment later Ella bounced in, fresh as to blouse, pink as to cheeks, +her whole appearance a testimony to the revivifying effects of a warm +bath, a brief nap, clean clothes. + +“Dear child, you look tired. I'm not going to stay. You get dressed and +I'll meet you for dinner. Or do you want yours up here?” + +“Oh, no!” + +“'Phone me when you're dressed. But tell me, isn't it a wonder, this +town? I'll never forget my first trip here. I spent one whole evening +standing in front of the mirror trying to make those little spit-curls +the women were wearing then. I'd seen 'em on Fifth avenue, and it seemed +I'd die if I couldn't have 'em, too. And I dabbed on rouge, and touched +up my eyebrows. I don't know. It's a kind of a crazy feeling gets you. +The minute I got on the train for Chicago I washed my face and took my +hair down and did it plain again.” + +“Why, that's the way I felt!” laughed Fanny. “I didn't care anything +about infants' wear, or Haynes-Cooper, or anything. I just wanted to be +beautiful, as they all were.” + +“Sure! It gets us all!” + +Fanny twisted her hair into the relentless knob women assume preparatory +to bathing. “It seems to me you have to come from Winnebago, or +thereabouts, to get New York--really get it, I mean.” + +“That's so,” agreed Ella. “There's a man on the New York Star who writes +a column every day that everybody reads. If he isn't a small-town man +then we're both wrong.” + +Fanny, bathward bound, turned to stare at Ella. “A column about what?” + +“Oh, everything. New York, mostly. Say, it's the humanest stuff. He +says the kind of thing we'd all say, if we knew how. Reading him is like +getting a letter from home. I'll bet he went to a country school and +wore his mittens sewed to a piece of tape that ran through his coat +sleeves.” + +“You're right,” said Fanny; “he did. That man's from Winnebago, +Wisconsin.” + +“No!” + +“Yes.” + +“Do you mean you know him? Honestly? What's he like?” + +But Fanny had vanished. “I'm a tired business woman,” she called, above +the splashing that followed, “and I won't converse until I'm fed.” + +“But how about Horn & Udell?” demanded Ella, her mouth against the +crack. + +“Practically mine,” boasted Fanny. + +“You mean--landed!” + +“Well, hooked, at any rate, and putting up a very poor struggle.” + +“Why, you clever little divil, you! You'll be making me look like a +stock girl next.” + +Fanny did not telephone Heyl until the day she left New York. She had +told herself she would not telephone him at all. He had sent her his New +York address and telephone number months before, after that Sunday +at the dunes. Ella Monahan had finished her work and had gone back to +Chicago four days before Fanny was ready to leave. In those four days +Fanny had scoured the city from the Palisades to Pell street. I don't +know how she found her way about. It was a sort of instinct with her. +She seemed to scent the picturesque. She never for a moment neglected +her work. But she had found it was often impossible to see these New +York business men until ten--sometimes eleven--o'clock. She awoke at +seven, a habit formed in her Winnebago days. Eight-thirty one morning +found her staring up at the dim vastness of the dome of the cathedral of +St. John the Divine. The great gray pile, mountainous, almost ominous, +looms up in the midst of the dingy commonplaceness of Amsterdam avenue +and 110th street. New Yorkers do not know this, or if they know it, the +fact does not interest them. New Yorkers do not go to stare up into the +murky shadows of this glorious edifice. They would if it were situate +in Rome. Bare, crude, unfinished, chaotic, it gives rich promise of +magnificent fulfillment. In an age when great structures are thrown up +to-day, to be torn down to-morrow, this slow-moving giant is at once a +reproach and an example. Twenty-five years in building, twenty-five +more for completion, it has elbowed its way, stone by stone, into such +company as St. Peter's at Rome, and the marvel at Milan. Fanny found her +way down the crude cinder paths that made an alley-like approach to +the cathedral. She entered at the side door that one found by following +arrows posted on the rough wooden fence. Once inside she stood a moment, +awed by the immensity of the half-finished nave. As she stood there, +hands clasped, her face turned raptly up to where the massive granite +columns reared their height to frame the choir, she was, for the moment, +as devout as any Episcopalian whose money had helped make the great +building. Not only devout, but prayerful, ecstatic. That was partly due +to the effect of the pillars, the lights, the tapestries, the great, +unfinished chunks of stone that loomed out from the side walls, and the +purple shadow cast by the window above the chapels at the far end; and +partly to the actress in her that responded magically to any mood, and +always to surroundings. Later she walked softly down the deserted nave, +past the choir, to the cluster of chapels, set like gems at one end, +and running from north to south, in a semi-circle. A placard outside one +said, “St. Saviour's chapel. For those who wish to rest and pray.” All +white marble, this little nook, gleaming softly in the gray half-light. +Fanny entered, and sat down. She was quite alone. The roar and crash +of the Eighth avenue L, the Amsterdam cars, the motors drumming up +Morningside hill, were softened here to a soothing hum. + +For those who wish to rest and pray. + +Fanny Brandeis had neither rested nor prayed since that hideous day when +she had hurled her prayer of defiance at Him. But something within her +now began a groping for words; for words that should follow an ancient +plea beginning, “O God of my Fathers----” But at that the picture of the +room came back to her mental vision--the room so quiet except for the +breathing of the woman on the bed; the woman with the tolerant, humorous +mouth, and the straight, clever nose, and the softly bright brown eyes, +all so strangely pinched and shrunken-looking now---- + +Fanny got to her feet, with a noisy scraping of the chair on the stone +floor. The vague, half-formed prayer died at birth. She found her way +out of the dim, quiet little chapel, up the long aisle and out the great +door. She shivered a little in the cold of the early January morning as +she hurried toward the Broadway subway. + +At nine-thirty she was standing at a counter in the infants' wear +section at Best's, making mental notes while the unsuspecting saleswoman +showed her how the pink ribbon in this year's models was brought +under the beading, French fashion, instead of weaving through it, +as heretofore. At ten-thirty she was saying to Sid Udell, “I think +a written contract is always best. Then we'll all know just where we +stand. Mr. Fenger will be on next week to arrange the details, but just +now a very brief written understanding to show him on my return would +do.” + +And she got it, and tucked it away in her bag, in triumph. + +She tried to leave New York without talking to Heyl, but some quiet, +insistent force impelled her to act contrary to her resolution. It was, +after all, the urge of the stronger wish against the weaker. + +When he heard her voice over the telephone Heyl did not say, “Who is +this?” Neither did he put those inevitable questions of the dweller to +the transient, “Where are you? How long have you been here?” What he +said was, “How're you going to avoid dining with me to-night?” + +To which Fanny replied, promptly, “By taking the Twentieth Century back +to Chicago to-day.” + +A little silence. A hurt silence. Then, “When they get the Twentieth +Century habit they're as good as lost. How's the infants' wear business, +Fanny?” + +“Booming, thank you. I want to tell you I've read the column every day. +It's wonderful stuff.” + +“It's a wonderful job. I'm a lucky boy. I'm doing the thing I'd rather +do than anything else in the world. There are mighty few who can say +that.” There was another silence, awkward, heavy. Then, “Fanny, you're +not really leaving to-day?” + +“I'll be in Chicago to-morrow, barring wrecks.” + +“You might have let me show you our more or less fair city.” + +“I've shown it to myself. I've seen Riverside Drive at sunset, and at +night. That alone would have been enough. But I've seen Fulton market, +too, and the Grand street stalls, and Washington Square, and Central +Park, and Lady Duff-Gordon's inner showroom, and the Night Court, and +the Grand Central subway horror at six p. m., and the gambling on +the Curb, and the bench sleepers in Madison Square--Oh, Clancy, the +misery----” + +“Heh, wait a minute! All this, alone?” + +“Yes. And one more thing. I've landed Horn & Udell, which means nothing +to you, but to me it means that by Spring my department will be a credit +to its stepmother; a real success.” + +“I knew it would be a success. So did you. Anything you might attempt +would be successful. You'd have made a successful lawyer, or cook, or +actress, or hydraulic engineer, because you couldn't do a thing badly. +It isn't in you. You're a superlative sort of person. But that's no +reason for being any of those things. If you won't admit a debt to +humanity, surely you'll acknowledge you've an obligation to yourself.” + +“Preaching again. Good-by.” + +“Fanny, you're afraid to see me.” + +“Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be?” + +“Because I say aloud the things you daren't let yourself think. If I +were to promise not to talk about anything but flannel bands----” + +“Will you promise?” + +“No. But I'm going to meet you at the clock at the Grand Central Station +fifteen minutes before train time. I don't care if every infants' wear +manufacturer in New York had a prior claim on your time. You may as well +be there, because if you're not I'll get on the train and stay on as far +as Albany. Take your choice.” + +He was there before her. Fanny, following the wake of a redcap, picked +him at once from among the crowd of clock-waiters. He saw her at the +same time, and started forward with that singularly lithe, springy step +which was, after all, just the result of perfectly trained muscles in +coordination. He was wearing New York clothes--the right kind, Fanny +noted. + +Their hands met. “How well you look,” said Fanny, rather lamely. + +“It's the clothes,” said Heyl, and began to revolve slowly, coyly, +hands out, palms down, eyelids drooping, in delicious imitation of those +ladies whose business it is to revolve thus for fashion. + +“Clancy, you idiot! All these people! Stop it!” + +“But get the grace! Get the easy English hang, at once so loose and so +clinging.” + +Fanny grinned, appreciatively, and led the way through the gate to the +train. She was surprisingly glad to be with him again. On discovering +that, she began to talk rapidly, and about him. + +“Tell me, how do you manage to keep that fresh viewpoint? Everybody else +who comes to New York to write loses his identity. The city swallows him +up. I mean by that, that things seem to strike you as freshly as they +did when you first came. I remember you wrote me an amazing letter.” + +“For one thing, I'll never be anything but a foreigner in New York. +I'll never quite believe Broadway. I'll never cease to marvel at Fifth +avenue, and Cooper Union, and the Bronx. The time may come when I can +take the subway for granted, but don't ask it of me just yet.” + +“But the other writers--and all those people who live down in Washington +Square?” + +“I never see them. It's sure death. Those Greenwichers are always taking +out their own feelings and analyzing them, and pawing them over, +and passing them around. When they get through with them they're so +thumb-marked and greasy that no one else wants them. They don't get +enough golf, those Greenwichers. They don't get enough tennis. They +don't get enough walking in the open places. Gosh, no! I know better +than to fall for that kind of thing. They spend hours talking to each +other, in dim-lighted attics, about Souls, and Society, and the Joy +of Life, and the Greater Good. And they know all about each other's +insides. They talk themselves out, and there's nothing left to write +about. A little of that kind of thing purges and cleanses. Too much of +it poisons, and clogs. No, ma'am! When I want to talk I go down and chin +with the foreman of our composing room. There's a chap that has what +I call conversation. A philosopher, and knows everything in the world. +Composing room foremen always are and do. Now, that's all of that. How +about Fanny Brandeis? Any sketches? Come on. Confess. Grand street, +anyway.” + +“I haven't touched a pencil, except to add up a column of figures or +copy an order, since last September, when you were so sure I couldn't +stop.” + +“You've done a thousand in your head. And if you haven't done one on +paper so much the better. You'll jam them back, and stifle them, and +screw the cover down tight on every natural impulse, and then, some day, +the cover will blow off with a loud report. You can't kill that kind +of thing, Fanny. It would have to be a wholesale massacre of all the +centuries behind you. I don't so much mind your being disloyal to your +tribe, or race, or whatever you want to call it. But you've turned your +back on yourself; you've got an obligation to humanity, and I'll nag +you till you pay it. I don't care if I lose you, so long as you find +yourself. The thing you've got isn't merely racial. God, no! It's +universal. And you owe it to the world. Pay up, Fanny! Pay up!” + +“Look here!” began Fanny, her voice low with anger; “the last time I saw +you I said I'd never again put myself in a position to be lectured by +you, like a schoolgirl. I mean it, this time. If you have anything +else to say to me, say it now. The train leaves”--she glanced at +her wrist--“in two minutes, thank Heaven, and this will be your last +chance.” + +“All right,” said Heyl. “I have got something to say. Do you wear +hatpins?” + +“Hatpins!” blankly. “Not with this small hat, but what----” + +“That means you're defenseless. If you're going to prowl the streets of +Chicago alone get this: If you double your fist this way, and tuck your +thumb alongside, like that, and aim for this spot right here, about two +inches this side of the chin, bringing your arm back, and up, quickly, +like a piston, the person you hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve +right here that communicates with the brain. That blow makes you +see stars, bright lights, and fancy colors. They use it in the comic +papers.” + +“You ARE crazy,” said Fanny, as though at last assured of a +long-suspected truth. The train began to move, almost imperceptibly. +“Run!” she cried. + +Heyl sped up the aisle. At the door he turned. “It's called an +uppercut,” he shouted to the amazement of the other passengers. And +leaped from the train. + +Fanny sank into her seat, weakly. Then she began to laugh, and there was +a dash of hysteria in it. He had left a paper on the car seat. It was +the Star. Fanny crumpled it, childishly, and kicked it under the seat. +She took off her hat, arranged her belongings, and sat back with eyes +closed. After a few moments she opened them, fished about under the seat +for the crumpled copy of the Star, and read it, turning at once to his +column. She thought it was a very unpretentious thing, that column, and +yet so full of insight, and sagacity, and whimsical humor. Not a guffaw +in it, but a smile in every fifth line. She wondered if those years +of illness, and loneliness, with weeks of reading, and tramping, and +climbing in the Colorado mountains had kept him strangely young, or made +him strangely old. + +She welcomed the hours that lay between New York and Chicago. They would +give her an opportunity to digest the events of the past ten days. +In her systematic mind she began to range them in the order of their +importance. Horn & Udell came first, of course, and then the line of +maternity dresses she had selected to take the place of the hideous +models carried under Slosson's regime. And then the slip-over pinafores. +But somehow her thoughts became jumbled here, so that faces instead of +garments filled her mind's eye. Again and again there swam into her ken +the face of that woman of fifty, in decent widow's weeds, who had stood +there in the Night Court, charged with drunkenness on the streets. And +the man with the frost-bitten fingers in Madison Square. And the dog in +the sweater. And the feverish concentration of the piece-work sewers in +the window of the loft building. + +She gave it up, selected a magazine, and decided to go in to lunch. + +There was nothing spectacular about the welcome she got on her return +to the office after this first trip. A firm that counts its employees by +the thousands, and its profits in tens of millions, cannot be expected +to draw up formal resolutions of thanks when a heretofore flabby +department begins to show signs of red blood. + +Ella Monahan said, “They'll make light of it--all but Fenger. That's +their way.” + +Slosson drummed with his fingers all the time she was giving him the +result of her work in terms of style, material, quantity, time, and +price. When she had finished he said, “Well, all I can say is we seem +to be going out of the mail order business and into the imported novelty +line, de luxe. I suppose by next Christmas the grocery department will +be putting in artichoke hearts, and truffles and French champagne by the +keg for community orders.” + +To which Fanny had returned, sweetly, “If Oregon and Wyoming show any +desire for artichokes and champagne I don't see why we shouldn't.” + +Fenger, strangely enough, said little. He was apt to be rather curt +these days, and almost irritable. Fanny attributed it to the reaction +following the strain of the Christmas rush. + +One did not approach Fenger's office except by appointment. Fanny sent +word to him of her return. For two days she heard nothing from him. Then +the voice of the snuff-brown secretary summoned her. She did not have +to wait this time, but passed directly through the big bright outer room +into the smaller room. The Power House, Fanny called it. + +Fenger was facing the door. “Missed you,” he said. + +“You must have,” Fanny laughed, “with only nine thousand nine hundred +and ninety-nine to look after.” + +“You look as if you'd been on a vacation, instead of a test trip.” + +“So I have. Why didn't you warn me that business, as transacted in New +York, is a series of social rites? I didn't have enough white kid gloves +to go round. No one will talk business in an office. I don't see what +they use offices for, except as places in which to receive their mail. +You utter the word `Business,' and the other person immediately says, +`Lunch.' No wholesaler seems able to quote you his prices until he +has been sustained by half a dozen Cape Cods. I don't want to see a +restaurant or a rose silk shade for weeks.” + +Fenger tapped the little pile of papers on his desk. “I've read your +reports. If you can do that on lunches, I'd like to see what you could +put over in a series of dinners.” + +“Heaven forbid,” said Fanny, fervently. Then, for a very concentrated +fifteen minutes they went over the reports together. Fanny's voice grew +dry and lifeless as she went into figures. + +“You don't sound particularly enthusiastic,” Fenger said, when they had +finished, “considering that you've accomplished what you set out to do.” + +“That's just it,” quickly. “I like the uncertainty. It was interesting +to deal directly with those people, to stack one's arguments, and +personality, and mentality and power over theirs, until they had to give +way. But after that! Well, you can't expect me to be vitally interested +in gross lots, and carloads and dating.” + +“It's part of business.” + +“It's the part I hate.” + +Fenger stacked the papers neatly. “You came in June, didn't you?” + +“Yes.” + +“It has been a remarkable eight-months' record, even at Haynes-Cooper's, +where records are the rule. Have you been through the plant since the +time you first went through?” + +“Through it! Goodness, no! It would take a day.” + +“Then I wish you'd take it. I like to have the heads of departments +go through the plant at least twice a year. You'll find the fourteenth +floor has been cleared and is being used entirely by the selectors. The +manufacturers' samples are spread on the tables in the various sections. +You'll find your place ready for you. You'll be amused at Daly's +section. He took your suggestion about trying the blouses on live models +instead of selecting them as he used to. You remember you said that one +could tell about the lines and style of a dress merely by looking at it, +but that a blouse is just a limp rag until it's on.” + +“It's true of the flimsy Georgette things women want now. They may be +lovely in the box and hideously unbecoming when worn. If Daly's going in +for the higher grade stuff he can't risk choosing unbecoming models.” + +“Wait till you see him!” smiled Fenger, “sitting there like a sultan +while the pinks and blues, and whites and plaids parade before him.” He +turned to his desk again. “That's all, Miss Brandeis. Thank you.” Then, +at a sudden thought. “Do you know that all your suggestions have been +human suggestions? I mean they all have had to do with people. Tell me, +how do you happen to have learned so much about what people feel and +think, in such a short time?” + +The thing that Clarence Heyl had said flashed through her mind, and she +was startled to find herself quoting it. “It hasn't been a short time,” + she said. + +“It took a thousand years.” And left Fenger staring, puzzled. + +She took next morning for her tour of the plant as Fenger had suggested. +She went through it, not as the startled, wide-eyed girl of eight months +before had gone, but critically, and with a little unconscious air of +authority. For, this organization, vast though it was, actually showed +her imprint. She could have put her finger on this spot, and that, +saying, “Here is the mark of my personality.” And she thought, as she +passed from department to department, “Ten thousand a year, if you keep +on as you've started.” Up one aisle and down the next. Bundles, bundles, +bundles. And everywhere you saw the yellow order-slips. In the hands of +the stock boys whizzing by on roller skates; in the filing department; +in the traffic department. The very air seemed jaundiced with those +clouds of yellow order-slips. She stopped a moment, fascinated as always +before the main spiral gravity chute down which the bundles--hundreds +of them, thousands of them daily--chased each other to--to what? Fanny +asked herself. She knew, vaguely, that hands caught these bundles +halfway, and redirected them toward the proper channel, where they were +assembled and made ready for shipping or mailing. She turned to a stock +boy. + +“Where does this empty?” she asked. + +“Floor below,” said the boy, “on the platform.” + +Fanny walked down a flight of iron stairs, and around to face the spiral +chute again. In front of the chute, and connected with it by a great +metal lip, was a platform perhaps twelve feet above the floor and +looking very much like the pilot's deck of a ship. A little flight of +steps led up to it--very steep steps, that trembled a little under a +repetition of shocks that came from above. Fanny climbed them warily, +gained the top, and found herself standing next to the girl whose face +had gleamed out at her from among those thousands in the crowd pouring +out of the plant. The girl glanced up at Fanny for a second--no, for the +fraction of a second. Her job was the kind that permitted no more than +that. Fanny watched her for one breathless moment. In that moment she +understood the look that had been stamped on the girl's face that night; +the look that had cried: “Release!” For this platform, shaking under the +thud of bundles, bundles, bundles, was the stomach of the Haynes-Cooper +plant. Sixty per cent of the forty-five thousand daily orders passed +through the hands of this girl and her assistants. Down the chutes +swished the bundles, stamped with their section mark, and here they were +caught deftly and hurled into one of the dozen conveyers that flowed +out from this main stream. The wrong bundle into the wrong conveyer? +Confusion in the shipping room. It only took a glance of the eye and a +motion of the arms. But that glance and that motion had been boiled down +to the very concentrated essence of economy. They seemed to be working +with fury, but then, so does a pile-driver until you get the simplicity +of it. + +Fanny bent over the girl (it was a noisy corner) and put a question. The +girl did not pause in her work as she answered it. She caught a bundle +with one hand, hurled one into a conveyer with the other. + +“Seven a week,” she said. And deftly caught the next slithering bundle. + +Fanny watched her for another moment. Then she turned and went down the +steep stairs. + +“None of your business,” she said to herself, and continued her tour. +“None of your business.” She went up to the new selectors' floor, and +found the plan running as smoothly as if it had been part of the plant's +system for years. The elevator whisked her up to the top floor, where +she met the plant's latest practical fad, the new textile chemist--a +charming youth, disguised in bone-rimmed glasses, who did the honors of +his little laboratory with all the manner of a Harvard host. This was +the fusing oven for silks. Here was the drying oven. This delicate scale +weighed every ounce of the cloth swatches that came in for inspection, +to get the percentage of wool and cotton. Not a chance for the +manufacturer to slip shoddy into his goods, now. + +“Mm,” said Fanny, politely. She hated complicated processes that had to +do with scales, and weights, and pounds, and acids. She crossed over +to the Administration Building, and stopped at the door marked, “Mrs. +Knowles.” If you had been an employee of the Haynes-Cooper company, and +had been asked to define Mrs. Knowles's position the chances are that +you would have found yourself floundering, wordless. Haynes-Cooper +was reluctant to acknowledge the need of Mrs. Knowles. Still, when you +employ ten thousand people, and more than half of these are girls, and +fifty per cent of these girls are unskilled, ignorant, and terribly +human you find that a Mrs. Knowles saves the equivalent of ten times her +salary in wear and tear and general prevention. She could have told you +tragic stories, could Mrs. Knowles, and sordid stories, and comic too; +she knew how to deal with terror, and shame, and stubborn silence, and +hopeless misery. Gray-haired and motherly? Not at all. An astonishingly +young, pleasingly plumpish woman, with nothing remarkable about her +except a certain splendid calm. Four years out of Vassar, and already +she had learned that if you fold your hands in your lap and wait, +quietly, asking no questions, almost any one will tell you almost +anything. + +“Hello!” called Fanny. “How are our morals this morning?” + +“Going up!” answered Esther Knowles, “considering that it's Tuesday. +Come in. How's the infant prodigy, I lunched with Ella Monahan, and she +told me your first New York trip was a whirlwind. Congratulations!” + +“Thanks. I can't stop. I haven't touched my desk to-day. I just want +to ask you if you know the name of that girl who has charge of the main +chute in the merchandise building.” + +“Good Lord, child! There are thousands of girls.” + +“But this one's rather special. She is awfully pretty, and rather +different looking. Exquisite coloring, a discontented expression, and a +blouse that's too low in the neck.” + +“Which might be a description of Fanny Brandeis herself, barring the +blouse,” laughed Mrs. Knowles. Then, at the startled look in Fanny's +face, “Do forgive me. And don't look so horrified. I think I know which +one you mean. Her name is Sarah Sapinsky--yes, isn't it a pity!--and +it's queer that you should ask me about her because I've been having +trouble with that particular girl.” + +“Trouble?” + +“She knows she's pretty, and she knows she's different, and she knows +she's handicapped, and that accounts for the discontented expression. +That, and some other things. She gets seven a week here, and they take +just about all of it at home. She says she's sick of it. She has left +home twice. I don't blame the child, but I've always managed to bring +her back. Some day there'll be a third time--and I'm afraid of it. She's +not bad. She's really rather splendid, and she has a certain dreadful +philosophy of her own. Her theory is that there are only two kinds of +people in the world. Those that give, and those that take. And she's +tired of giving. Sarah didn't put it just that way; but you know what +she means, don't you?” + +“I know what she means,” said Fanny, grimly. + +So it was Sarah she saw above all else in her trip through the gigantic +plant; Sarah's face shone out from among the thousands; the thud-thud +of Sarah's bundle-chute beat a dull accompaniment to the hum of the big +hive; above the rustle of those myriad yellow order-slips, through +the buzz of the busy mail room; beneath the roar of the presses in the +printing building, the crash of the dishes in the cafeteria, ran the +leid-motif of Sarah-at-seven-a-week. Back in her office once more Fanny +dictated a brief observation-report for Fenger's perusal. + +“It seems to me there's room for improvement in our card index file +system. It's thorough, but unwieldy. It isn't a system any more. It's +a ceremony. Can't you get a corps of system sharks to simplify things +there?” + +She went into detail and passed on to the next suggestion. + +“If the North American Cloak & Suit Company can sell mail order dresses +that are actually smart and in good taste, I don't see why we have to +go on carrying only the most hideous crudities in our women's dress +department. I know that the majority of our women customers wouldn't +wear a plain, good looking little blue serge dress with a white +collar, and some tailored buttons. They want cerise satin revers on a +plum-colored foulard, and that's what we've been giving them. But there +are plenty of other women living miles from anywhere who know what's +being worn on Fifth avenue. I don't know how they know it, but they +do. And they want it. Why can't we reach those women, as well as their +shoddier sisters? The North American people do it. I'd wear one of +their dresses myself. I wouldn't be found dead in one of ours. Here's a +suggestion: + +“Why can't we get Camille to design half a dozen models a season for +us? Now don't roar at that. And don't think that the women on western +ranches haven't heard of Camille. They have. They may know nothing of +Mrs. Pankhurst, and Lillian Russell may be a myth to them, but I'll +swear that every one of them knows that Camille is a dressmaker who +makes super-dresses. She is as much a household word among them as +Roosevelt used to be to their men folks. And if we can promise them a +Camille-designed dress for $7.85 (which we could) then why don't we?” + +At the very end, to her stenographer's mystification, she added this +irrelevant line. + +“Seven dollars a week is not a living wage.” + +The report went to Fenger. He hurdled lightly over the first suggestion, +knowing that the file system was as simple as a monster of its bulk +could be. He ignored the third hint. The second suggestion amused, +then interested, then convinced him. Within six months Camille's name +actually appeared in the Haynes-Cooper catalogue. Not that alone, the +Haynes-Cooper company broke its rule as to outside advertising, and +announced in full-page magazine ads the news of the $7.85 gowns designed +by Camille especially for the Haynes-Cooper company. There went up +a nationwide shout of amusement and unbelief, but the announcement +continued. Camille (herself a frump with a fringe) whose frocks were +worn by queens, and dancers and matrons with millions, and debutantes; +Camille, who had introduced the slouch, revived the hoop, discovered the +sunset chiffon, had actually consented to design six models every +season for the mail order millions of the Haynes-Cooper women's dress +department--at a price that made even Michael Fenger wince. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +Fanny Brandeis' blouses showed real Cluny now, and her hats were nothing +but line. A scant two years before she had wondered if she would ever +reach a pinnacle of success lofty enough to enable her to wear blue +tailor suits as smart as the well-cut garments worn by her mother's +friend, Mrs. Emma McChesney. Mrs. McChesney's trig little suits had cost +fifty dollars, and had looked sixty. Fanny's now cost one hundred and +twenty-five, and looked one hundred and twenty-five. Her sleeves alone +gave it away. If you would test the soul of a tailor you have only to +glance at shoulder-seam, elbow and wrist. Therein lies the wizardry. +Fanny's sleeve flowed from arm-pit to thumb-bone without a ripple. +Also she moved from the South side to the North side, always a sign of +prosperity or social ambition, in Chicago. Her new apartment was near +the lake, exhilaratingly high, correspondingly expensive. And she was +hideously lonely. She was earning a man-size salary now, and she was +working like a man. A less magnificently healthy woman could not have +stood the strain, for Fanny Brandeis was working with her head, not her +heart. When we say heart we have come to mean something more than the +hollow muscular structure that propels the blood through the veins. +That, in the dictionary, is the primary definition. The secondary +definition has to do with such words as emotion, sympathy, tenderness, +courage, conviction. She was working, now, as Michael Fenger worked, +relentlessly, coldly, indomitably, using all the material at hand as +a means to an end, with never a thought of the material itself, as a +builder reaches for a brick, or stone, and fits it into place, smoothly, +almost without actually seeing the brick itself, except as something +which will help to make a finished wall. She rarely prowled the city +now. She told herself she was too tired at night, and on Sundays and +holidays, and I suppose she was. Indeed, she no longer saw things with +her former vision. It was as though her soul had shriveled in direct +proportion to her salary's expansion. The streets seldom furnished her +with a rich mental meal now. When she met a woman with a child, in +the park, her keen eye noted the child's dress before it saw the child +itself, if, indeed, she noticed the child at all. + +Fascinating Facts, the guileless, pink-cheeked youth who had driven +her home the night of her first visit to the Fengers, shortly after her +coming to Haynes-Cooper's, had proved her faithful slave, and she had +not abused his devotion. Indeed, she hardly considered it that. The sex +side of her was being repressed with the artist side. Most men found her +curt, brisk, businesslike manner a little repellent, though interesting. +They never made love to her, in spite of her undeniable attractiveness. +Fascinating Facts drove her about in his smart little roadster and one +night he established himself in her memory forever as the first man who +had ever asked her to marry him. He did it haltingly, painfully, almost +grudgingly. Fanny was frankly amazed. She had enjoyed going about with +him. He rested and soothed her. He, in turn, had been stimulated by her +energy, her humor, her electric force. Nothing was said for a minute +after his awkward declaration. + +“But,” he persisted, “you like me, don't you?” + +“Of course I do. Immensely.” + +“Then why?” + +“When a woman of my sort marries it's a miracle. I'm twenty-six, and +intelligent and very successful. A frightful combination. Unmarried +women of my type aren't content just to feel. They must analyze their +feelings. And analysis is death to romance.” + +“Great Scott! You expect to marry somebody sometime, don't you, Fanny?” + +“No one I know now. When I do marry, if I do, it will be with the idea +of making a definite gain. I don't mean necessarily worldly gain, +though that would be a factor, too.” Fascinating Facts had been staring +straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with unnecessary rigidity. +He relaxed a little now, and even laughed, though not very successfully. +Then he said something very wise, for him. + +“Listen to me, girl. You'll never get away with that vampire stuff. +Talons are things you have to be born with. You'll never learn to grab +with these.” He reached over, and picked up her left hand lying inertly +in her lap, and brought it up to his lips, and kissed it, glove and all. +“They're built on the open-face pattern--for giving. You can't fool me. +I know.” + +A year and a half after her coming to Haynes-Cooper Fanny's department +was doing a business of a million a year. The need had been there. She +had merely given it the impetus. She was working more or less directly +with Fenger now, with an eye on every one of the departments that had +to do with women's clothing, from shoes to hats. Not that she did any +actual buying, or selling in these departments. She still confined +her actual selecting of goods to the infants' wear section, but she +occupied, unofficially, the position of assistant to the General +Merchandise Manager. They worked well together, she and Fenger, their +minds often marching along without the necessity of a single spoken +word. There was no doubt that Fenger's mind was a marvelous piece +of mechanism. Under it the Haynes-Cooper plant functioned with the +clockwork regularity of a gigantic automaton. System and Results--these +were his twin gods. With his mind intent on them he failed to see that +new gods, born of spiritual unrest, were being set up in the temples of +Big Business. Their coming had been rumored for many years. Words such +as Brotherhood, Labor, Rights, Humanity, Hours, once regarded as the +special property of the street corner ranter, were creeping into our +everyday vocabulary. And strangely enough, Nathan Haynes, the gentle, +the bewildered, the uninspired, heard them, and listened. Nathan Haynes +had begun to accustom himself to the roar of the flood that had formerly +deafened him. He was no longer stunned by the inrush of his millions. +The report sheet handed him daily had never ceased to be a wildly +unexpected thing, and he still shrank from it, sometimes. It was so +fantastic, so out of all reason. But he even dared, now and then, to put +out a tentative hand to guide the flood. He began to realize, vaguely, +that Italian Gardens, and marble pools, educational endowments and pet +charities were but poor, ineffectual barriers of mud and sticks, soon +swept away by the torrent. As he sat there in his great, luxurious +office, with the dim, rich old portraits gleaming down on him from the +walls, he began, gropingly, to evolve a new plan; a plan by which the +golden flood was to be curbed, divided, and made to form a sub-stream, +to be utilized for the good of the many; for the good of the Ten +Thousand, who were almost Fifteen Thousand now, with another fifteen +thousand in mills and factories at distant points, whose entire +output was swallowed up by the Haynes-Cooper plant. Michael Fenger, +Super-Manager, listened to the plan, smiled tolerantly, and went on +perfecting an already miraculous System. Sarah Sapinsky, at seven a +week, was just so much untrained labor material, easily replaced by +material exactly like it. No, Michael Fenger, with his head in the sand, +heard no talk of new gods. He only knew that the monster plant under +his management was yielding the greatest possible profit under the least +possible outlay. + +In Fanny Brandeis he had found a stimulating, energizing fellow worker. +That had been from the beginning. In the first month or two of her +work, when her keen brain was darting here and there, into forgotten +and neglected corners, ferreting out dusty scraps of business waste and +holding them up to the light, disdainfully, Fenger had watched her +with a mingling of amusement and a sort of fond pride, as one would a +precocious child. As the months went on the pride and amusement welded +into something more than admiration, such as one expert feels for a +fellow-craftsman. Long before the end of the first year he knew that +here was a woman such as he had dreamed of all his life and never hoped +to find. He often found himself sitting at his office desk, or in his +library at home, staring straight ahead for a longer time than he dared +admit, his papers or book forgotten in his hand. His thoughts applied +to her adjectives which proved her a paradox: Generous, sympathetic, +warm-hearted, impulsive, imaginative; cold, indomitable, brilliant, +daring, intuitive. He would rouse himself almost angrily and force +himself to concentrate again upon the page before him. I don't know how +he thought it all would end--he whose life-habit it was to follow out +every process to its ultimate step, whether mental or mechanical. As for +Fanny, there was nothing of the intriguant about her. She was used to +admiration. She was accustomed to deference from men. Brandeis' Bazaar +had insured that. All her life men had taken orders from her, all the +way from Aloysius and the blithe traveling men of whom she bought goods, +to the salesmen and importers in the Chicago wholesale houses. If they +had attempted, occasionally, to mingle the social and personal with the +commercial Fanny had not resented their attitude. She had accepted their +admiration and refused their invitations with equal good nature, and +thus retained their friendship. It is not exaggeration to say that +she looked upon Michael Fenger much as she had upon these genial +fellow-workers. A woman as straightforward and direct as she has what is +known as a single-track mind in such matters. It is your soft and silken +mollusc type of woman whose mind pursues a slimy and labyrinthine trail. +But it is useless to say that she did not feel something of the intense +personal attraction of the man. Often it used to puzzle and annoy her +to find that as they sat arguing in the brisk, everyday atmosphere of +office or merchandise room the air between them would suddenly become +electric, vibrant. They met each other's eyes with effort. When their +hands touched, accidentally, over papers or samples they snatched them +back. Fanny found herself laughing uncertainly, at nothing, and was +furious. When a silence fell between them they would pounce upon it, +breathlessly, and smother it with talk. + +Do not think that any furtive love-making went on, sandwiched between +shop talk. Their conversation might have taken place between two men. +Indeed, they often were brutally frank to each other. Fanny had the +vision, Fenger the science to apply it. Sometimes her intuition leaped +ahead of his reasoning. Then he would say, “I'm not sold on that,” which +is modern business slang meaning, “You haven't convinced me.” She would +go back and start afresh, covering the ground more slowly. + +Usually her suggestions were practical and what might be termed human. +They seemed to be founded on an uncanny knowledge of people's frailties. +It was only when she touched upon his beloved System that he was +adamant. + +“None of that socialistic stuff,” he would say. “This isn't a Benevolent +Association we're running. It's the biggest mail order business in +the world, and its back-bone is System. I've been just fifteen years +perfecting that System. It's my job. Hands off.” + +“A fifteen year old system ought to be scrapped,” Fanny would retort, +boldly. “Anyway, the Simon Legree thing has gone out.” + +No one in the plant had ever dared to talk to him like that. He would +glare down at Fanny for a moment, like a mastiff on a terrier. Fanny, +seeing his face rage-red, would flash him a cheerful and impudent smile. +The anger, fading slowly, gave way to another look, so that admiration +and resentment mingled for a moment. + +“Lucky for you you're not a man.” + +“I wish I were.” + +“I'm glad you're not.” + +Not a very thrilling conversation for those of you who are seeking +heartthrobs. + +In May Fanny made her first trip to Europe for the firm. It was a sudden +plan. Instantly Theodore leaped to her mind and she was startled at the +tumult she felt at the thought of seeing him and his child. The baby, +a girl, was more than a year old. Her business, a matter of two weeks, +perhaps, was all in Berlin and Paris, but she cabled Theodore that she +would come to them in Munich, if only for a day or two. She had very +little curiosity about the woman Theodore had married. The memory of +that first photograph of hers, befrizzed, bejeweled, and asmirk, had +never effaced itself. It had stamped her indelibly in Fanny's mind. + +The day before she left for New York (she sailed from there) she had a +letter from Theodore. It was evident at once that he had not received +her cable. He was in Russia, giving a series of concerts. Olga and the +baby were with him. He would be back in Munich in June. There was some +talk of America. When Fanny realized that she was not to see him she +experienced a strange feeling that was a mixture of regret and relief. +All the family love in her, a racial trait, had been stirred at the +thought of again seeing that dear blond brother, the self-centered, +willful, gifted boy who had held the little congregation rapt, there in +the Jewish house of worship in Winnebago. But she had recoiled a little +from the meeting with this other unknown person who gave concerts in +Russia, who had adopted Munich as his home, who was the husband of this +Olga person, and the father of a ridiculously German looking baby in a +very German looking dress, all lace and tucks, and wearing bracelets on +its chubby arms, and a locket round its neck. That was what one might +expect of Olga's baby. But not of Theodore's. Besides, what business had +that boy with a baby, anyway? Himself a baby. + +Fenger had arranged for her cabin, and she rather resented its luxury +until she learned later, that it is the buyers who always occupy the +staterooms de luxe on ocean liners. She learned, too, that the men in +yachting caps and white flannels, and the women in the smartest and +most subdued of blue serge and furs were not millionaires temporarily +deprived of their own private seagoing craft, but buyers like herself, +shrewd, aggressive, wise and incredibly endowed with savoir faire. +Merely to watch one of them dealing with a deck steward was to know for +all time the superiority of mind over matter. + +Most incongruously, it was Ella Monahan and Clarence Heyl who waved +good-by to her as her ship swung clear of the dock. Ella was in New +York on her monthly trip. Heyl had appeared at the hotel as Fanny was +adjusting her veil and casting a last rather wild look around the room. +Molly Brandeis had been the kind of woman who never misses a train or +overlooks a hairpin. Fanny's early training had proved invaluable more +than once in the last two years. Nevertheless, she was rather flustered, +for her, as the elevator took her down to the main floor. She told +herself it was not the contemplation of the voyage itself that thrilled +her. It was the fact that here was another step definitely marking her +progress. Heyl, looking incredibly limp, was leaning against a gaudy +marble pillar, his eyes on the downcoming elevators. Fanny saw him +just an instant before he saw her, and in that moment she found herself +wondering why this boy (she felt years older than he) should look so +fantastically out of place in this great, glittering, feverish hotel +lobby. Just a shy, rather swarthy Jewish boy, who wore the right kind of +clothes in the wrong manner--then Heyl saw her and came swiftly toward +her. + +“Hello, Fan!” + +“Hello, Clancy!” They had not seen each other in six months. + +“Anybody else going down with you?” + +“No. Ella Monahan had a last-minute business appointment, but she +promised to be at the dock, somehow, before the boat leaves. I'm going +to be grand, and taxi all the way.” + +“I've an open car, waiting.” + +“But I won't have it! I can't let you do that.” + +“Oh, yes you can. Don't take it so hard. That's the trouble with you +business women. You're killing the gallantry of a nation. Some day one +of you will get up and give me a seat in a subway----” + +“I'll punish you for that, Clancy. If you want the Jane Austen thing +I'll accommodate. I'll drop my handkerchief, gloves, bag, flowers and +fur scarf at intervals of five minutes all the way downtown. Then you +may scramble around on the floor of the cab and feel like a knight.” + +Fanny had long ago ceased to try to define the charm of this man. She +always meant to be serenely dignified with him. She always ended by +feeling very young, and, somehow, gloriously carefree and lighthearted. +There was about him a naturalness, a simplicity, to which one responded +in kind. + +Seated beside her he turned and regarded her with disconcerting +scrutiny. + +“Like it?” demanded Fanny, pertly. And smoothed her veil, consciously. + +“No.” + +“Well, for a man who looks negligee even in evening clothes aren't you +overcritical?” + +“I'm not criticizing your clothes. Even I can see that that hat and suit +have the repressed note that means money. And you're the kind of woman +who looks her best in those plain dark things.” + +“Well, then?” + +“You look like a buyer. In two more years your face will have that hard +finish that never comes off.” + +“I am a buyer.” + +“You're not. You're a creator. Remember, I'm not belittling your +job. It's a wonderful job--for Ella Monahan. I wish I had the gift of +eloquence. I wish I had the right to spank you. I wish I could prove to +you, somehow, that with your gift, and heritage, and racial right it's +as criminal for you to be earning your thousands at Haynes-Cooper's as +it would have been for a vestal virgin to desert her altar fire to stoke +a furnace. Your eyes are bright and hard, instead of tolerant. Your +mouth is losing its graciousness. Your whole face is beginning to be +stamped with a look that says shrewdness and experience, and success.” + +“I am successful. Why shouldn't I look it?” + +“Because you're a failure. I'm sick, I tell you--sick with +disappointment in you. Jane Addams would have been a success in +business, too. She was born with a humanity sense, and a value sense, +and a something else that can't be acquired. Ida Tarbell could have +managed your whole Haynes-Cooper plant, if she'd had to. So could a +dozen other women I could name. You don't see any sign of what you call +success on Jane Addams's face, do you? You wouldn't say, on seeing her, +that here was a woman who looked as if she might afford hundred-dollar +tailor suits and a town car. No. All you see in her face is the +reflection of the souls of all the men and women she has worked to save. +She has covered her job--the job that the Lord intended her to cover. +And to me she is the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever seen.” + +Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand in the grip +of the other, as she had since childhood, when deeply disturbed. And +suddenly she began to cry--silently, harrowingly, as a man cries, her +shoulders shaking, her face buried in her furs. + +“Fanny! Fanny girl!” He was horribly disturbed and contrite. He patted +her arm, awkwardly. She shook free of his hand, childishly. “Don't cry, +dear. I'm sorry. It's just that I care so much. It's just----” + +She raised an angry, tear-stained face. “It's just that you have an +exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just that you've grown up +from what they used to call a bright little boy to a bright young man, +and you're just as tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, +except when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all those +years. Why, I'll never get over being thrilled at the idea of being +able to go to the theater, or to a concert, whenever I like. Actually +whenever I want to. And to be able to buy a jabot, or a smart hat, or a +book. You don't know how I wanted things, and how tired I got of never +having them. I'm happy! I'm happy! Leave me alone!” + +“It's an awful price to pay for a hat, and a jabot, and a book and a +theater ticket, Fan.” + +Ella Monahan had taken the tube, and was standing in the great shed, +watching arrivals with interest, long before they bumped over the +cobblestones of Hoboken. The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had +sent champagne--six cosy pints in a wicker basket. + +“They say it's good for seasickness,” she announced, cheerfully, “but +it's a lie. Nothing's good for seasickness, except death, or dry land. +But even if you do feel miserable--and you probably will--there's +something about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne +alone, by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing.” + +Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and exclamatory over +her books and flowers. + +“Of course it's my first trip,” she explained, “and an event in my life, +but I didn't suppose that anybody else would care. What's this? Candy? +Glace fruit.” She glanced around the luxurious little cabin, then up at +Heyl, impudently. “I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy, but I +must say I like this very, very much. Sorry.” + +They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full of parting +instructions. “And be sure to eat at Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty +cents for lobster. And caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as +codfish. And don't forget to order mai-bowle. It tastes like champagne, +but isn't, and it has the most delicious dwarf strawberries floating on +top. This is just the season for it. You're lucky. If you tip the waiter +one mark he's yours for life. Oh, and remember the plum compote. You'll +be disappointed in their Wertheim's that they're always bragging about. +After all, Field's makes 'em all look like country stores.” + +“Wertheim's? Is that something to eat, too?” + +“No, idiot. It's their big department store.” Ella turned to Heyl, +for whom she felt mingled awe and liking. “If this trip of hers is +successful, the firm will probably send her over three or four times a +year. It's a wonderful chance for a kid like her.” + +“Then I hope,” said Heyl, quietly, “that this trip may be a failure.” + +Ella smiled, uncertainly. + +“Don't laugh,” said Fanny, sharply. “He means it.” + +Ella, sensing an unpleasant something in which she had no part, covered +the situation with another rush of conversation. + +“You'll get the jolt of your life when you come to Paris and find that +you're expected to pay for the lunches, and all the cab fares, and +everything, of those shrimpy little commissionaires. Polite little +fellows, they are, in frock coats, and mustaches, and they just stand +aside, as courtly as you please, while you pay for everything. Their +house expects it. I almost passed away, the first time, but you get used +to it. Say, imagine one of our traveling men letting you pay for his +lunch and taxi.” + +She rattled on, genially. Heyl listened with unfeigned delight. Ella +found herself suddenly abashed before those clear, far-seeing eyes. “You +think I'm a gabby old girl, don't you?” + +“I think you're a wonderful woman,” said Heyl. “Very wise, and very +kind.” + +“Why--thanks,” faltered Ella. “Why--thanks.” + +They said their good-bys. Ella hugged Fanny warm-heartedly. Then she +turned away, awkwardly. Heyl put his two hands on Fanny's shoulders and +looked down at her. For a breathless second she thought he was about to +kiss her. She was amazed to find herself hoping that he would. But he +didn't. “Good-by,” he said, simply. And took her hand in his steel grip +a moment, and dropped it. And turned away. A messenger boy, very much +out of breath, came running up to her, a telegram in his hand. + +“For me?” Fanny opened it, frowned, smiled. “It's from Mr. Fenger. Good +wishes. As if all those flowers weren't enough.” + +“Mm,” said Ella. She and Heyl descended the gang-way, and stood at the +dock's edge, looking rather foolish and uncertain, as people do at such +times. There followed a few moments of scramble, of absurdly shouted +last messages, of bells, and frantic waving of handkerchiefs. Fanny, +at the rail, found her two among the crowd, and smiled down upon them, +mistily. Ella was waving energetically. Heyl was standing quite still, +looking up. The ship swung clear, crept away from the dock. The good-bys +swelled to a roar. Fanny leaned far over the rail and waved too, a sob +in her throat. Then she saw that she was waving with the hand that held +the yellow telegram. She crumpled it in the other hand, and substituted +her handkerchief. Heyl still stood, hat in hand, motionless. + +“Why don't you wave good-by?” she called, though he could not possibly +hear. “Wave good-by!” And then the hand with the handkerchief went to +her face, and she was weeping. I think it was that old drama-thrill in +her, dormant for so long. But at that Heyl swung his hat above his head, +three times, like a schoolboy, and, grasping Ella's plump and resisting +arm, marched abruptly away. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +The first week in June found her back in New York. That month of +absence had worked a subtle change. The two weeks spent in crossing and +recrossing had provided her with a let-down that had been almost jarring +in its completeness. Everything competitive had seemed to fade away with +the receding shore, and to loom up again only when the skyline became a +thing of smoke-banks, spires, and shafts. She had had only two weeks for +the actual transaction of her business. She must have been something of +a revelation to those Paris and Berlin manufacturers, accustomed though +they were to the brisk and irresistible methods of the American business +woman. She was, after all, absurdly young to be talking in terms +of millions, and she was amazingly well dressed. This last passed +unnoticed, or was taken for granted in Paris, but in Berlin, home of the +frump and the flour-sack figure, she was stared at, appreciatively. Her +business, except for one or two unimportant side lines, had to do with +two factories on whose product the Haynes-Cooper company had long had a +covetous eye. Quantity, as usual, was the keynote of their demand, +and Fanny's task was that of talking in six-figure terms to these +conservative and over-wary foreign manufacturers. That she had +successfully accomplished this, and that she had managed to impress them +also with the important part that time and promptness in delivery played +in a swift-moving machine like the Haynes-Cooper concern, was due to +many things beside her natural business ability. Self-confidence was +there, and physical vigor, and diplomacy. But above all there was that +sheer love of the game; the dramatic sense that enabled her to see +herself in the part. That alone precluded the possibility of failure. +She knew how youthful she looked, and how glowing. She anticipated the +look that came into their faces when she left polite small-talk behind +and soared up into the cold, rarefied atmosphere of business. She +delighted in seeing the admiring and tolerant smirk vanish and give way +to a startled and defensive attentiveness. + +It might be mentioned that she managed, somehow, to spend almost half +a day in Petticoat Lane, and its squalid surroundings, while in London. +She actually prowled, alone, at night, in the evil-smelling, narrow +streets of the poorer quarter of Paris, and how she escaped unharmed is +a mystery that never bothered her, because she had never known fear of +streets. She had always walked on the streets of Winnebago, Wisconsin, +alone. It never occurred to her not to do the same in the streets of +Chicago, or New York, or London, or Paris. She found Berlin, with +its Adlon, its appalling cleanliness, its overfed populace, and its +omnipresent Kaiser forever scudding up and down Unter den Linden in his +chocolate-colored car, incredibly dull, and unpicturesque. Something she +had temporarily lost there in the busy atmosphere of the Haynes-Cooper +plant, seemed to have returned, miraculously. + +New York, on her return, was something of a shock. She remembered how +vividly fresh it had looked to her on the day of that first visit, +months before. Now, to eyes fresh from the crisp immaculateness of Paris +and Berlin, Fifth avenue looked almost grimy, and certainly shabby in +spots. + +Ella Monahan, cheerful, congratulatory, beaming, met her at the pier, +and Fanny was startled at her own sensation of happiness as she saw +that pink, good-natured face looking up at her from the crowd below. The +month that had gone by since last she saw Ella standing just so, seemed +to slip away and fade into nothingness. + +“I waited over a day,” said Ella, “just to see you. My, you look grand! +I know where you got that hat. Galeries Lafayette. How much?” + +“I don't expect you to believe it. Thirty-five francs. Seven dollars. I +couldn't get it for twenty-five here.” + +They were soon clear of the customs. Ella had engaged a room for her at +the hotel they always used. As they rode uptown together, happily, Ella +opened her bag and laid a little packet of telegrams and letters in +Fanny's lap. + +“I guess Fenger's pleased, all right, if telegrams mean anything. Not +that I know they're from him. But he said--” + +But Fanny was looking up from one of them with a startled expression. +“He's here. Fenger's here.” + +“In New York?” asked Ella, rather dully. + +“Yes.” She ripped open another letter. It was from Theodore. He was +coming to New York in August. The Russian tour had been a brilliant +success. They had arranged a series of concerts for him in the United +States. He could give his concerto there. It was impossible in Russia, +Munich, even Berlin, because it was distinctly Jewish in theme--as +Jewish as the Kol Nidre, and as somber. They would have none of it in +Europe. Prejudice was too strong. But in America! He was happier than he +had been in years. Olga objected to coming to America, but she would +get over that. The little one was well, and she was learning to talk. +Actually! They were teaching her to say Tante Fanny. + +“Well!” exclaimed Fanny, her eyes shining. She read bits of the letter +aloud to Ella. Ella was such a satisfactory sort of person to whom to +read a letter aloud. She exclaimed in all the right places. Her face was +as radiant as Fanny's. They both had forgotten all about Fenger, their +Chief. But they had been in their hotel scarcely a half hour, and Ella +had not done exclaiming over the bag that Fanny had brought her from +Paris, when his telephone call came. + +He wasted very little time on preliminaries. + +“I'll call for you at four. We'll drive through the park, and out by the +river, and have tea somewhere.” + +“That would be wonderful. That is, if Ella's free. I'll ask her.” + +“Ella?” + +“Yes. She's right here. Hold the wire, will you?” She turned away from +the telephone to face Ella. “It's Mr. Fenger. He wants to take us both +driving this afternoon. You can go, can't you?” + +“I certainly CAN,” replied Miss Monahan, with what might have appeared +to be undue force. + +Fanny turned back to the telephone. “Yes, thanks. We can both go. We'll +be ready at four.” + +Fanny decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have been what she +thought it was. + +Ella busied herself with the unpacking of a bag. She showed a +disposition to spoil Fanny. “You haven't asked after your friend, Mr. +Heyl. My land! If I had a friend like that--” “Oh, yes,” said Fanny, +vaguely. “I suppose you and he are great chums by this time. He's a nice +boy.” + +“You don't suppose anything of the kind,” Ella retorted, crisply. “That +boy, as you call him--and it isn't always the man with the biggest fists +that's got the most fight in him--is about as far above me as--as--” + she sat down on the floor, ponderously, beside the open bag, and +gesticulated with a hairbrush, at loss for a simile “as an eagle is +above a waddling old duck. No, I don't mean that, either, because I +never did think much of the eagle, morally. But you get me. Not that +he knows it, or shows it. Heyl, I mean. Lord, no! But he's got +something--something kind of spiritual in him that makes you that way, +too. He doesn't say much, either. That's the funny part of it. I do all +the talking, seems, when I'm with him. But I find myself saying things +I didn't know I knew. He makes you think about things you're afraid to +face by yourself. Big things. Things inside of you.” She fell silent a +moment, sitting cross-legged before the bag. Then she got up, snapped +the bag shut, and bore it across the room to a corner. “You know he's +gone, I s'pose.” + +“Gone?” + +“To those mountains, or wherever it is he gets that look in his eyes +from. That's my notion of a job. They let him go for the whole summer, +roaming around being a naturalist, just so's he'll come back in the +winter.” + +“And the column?” Fanny asked. “Do they let that go, too?” + +“I guess he's going to do some writing for them up there. After all, +he's the column. It doesn't make much difference where he writes from. +Did you know it's being syndicated now, all over the country? Well, it +is. That's the secret of its success, I suppose. It isn't only a column +written about New York for a New York paper. It's about everything, for +anybody. It's the humanest stuff. And he isn't afraid of anything. New +York's crazy about him. They say he's getting a salary you wouldn't +believe. I'm a tongue-tied old fool when I'm with him, but then, he +likes to talk about you, mostly, so it doesn't matter.” + +Fanny turned swiftly from the dressing-table, where she was taking the +pins out of her vigorous, abundant hair. + +“What kind of thing does he say about me, Ellen girl. H'm? What kind of +thing?” + +“Abuse, mostly. I'll be running along to my own room now. I'll be out +for lunch, but back at four, for that airing Fenger's so wild to have +me take. If I were you I'd lie down for an hour, till you get your +land-legs.” She poked her head in at the door again. “Not that you +look as if you needed it. You've got a different look, somehow. Kind of +rested. After all, there's nothing like an ocean voyage.” + +She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the room. There +was nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had you seen her standing there, +motionless, you would still have got a sense of action from her. She +looked so splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood +looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not yet turned +the city into a cauldron of stone and steel. From her height she could +glimpse the green of the park, with a glint of silver in its heart, that +was the lake. Her mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far +removed from its usual orderly functioning. Now she thought of Theodore, +her little brother--his promised return. It had been a slow and painful +thing, his climb. Perhaps if she had been more ready to help, if she +had not always waited until he asked the aid that she might have +volunteered--she thrust that thought out of her mind, rudely, and +slammed the door on it.... Fenger. He had said, “Damn!” when she had +told him about Ella. And his voice had been--well--she pushed that +thought outside her mind, too.... Clarence Heyl.... “He makes you think +about things you're afraid to face by yourself. Big things. Things +inside of you....” + +Fanny turned away from the window. She decided she must be tired, after +all. Because here she was, with everything to make her happy: Theodore +coming home; her foreign trip a success; Ella and Fenger to praise her +and make much of her; a drive and tea this afternoon (she wasn't above +these creature comforts)--and still she felt unexhilarated, dull. She +decided to go down for a bit of lunch, and perhaps a stroll of ten +or fifteen minutes, just to see what Fifth avenue was showing. It +was half-past one when she reached that ordinarily well-regulated +thoroughfare. She found its sidewalks packed solid, up and down, as far +as the eye could see, with a quiet, orderly, expectant mass of people. +Squads of mounted police clattered up and down, keeping the middle +of the street cleared. Whatever it was that had called forth that +incredible mass, was scheduled to proceed uptown from far downtown, and +that very soon. Heads were turned that way. Fanny, wedged in the crowd, +stood a-tiptoe, but she could see nothing. It brought to her mind the +Circus Day of her Winnebago childhood, with Elm street packed with +townspeople and farmers, all straining their eyes up toward Cherry +street, the first turn in the line of march. Then, far away, the blare +of a band. “Here they come!” Just then, far down the canyon of Fifth +avenue, sounded the cry that had always swayed Elm street, Winnebago. +“Here they come!” + +“What is it?” Fanny asked a woman against whom she found herself +close-packed. “What are they waiting for?” + +“It's the suffrage parade,” replied the woman. “The big suffrage parade. +Don't you know?” + +“No. I haven't been here.” Fanny was a little disappointed. The crowd +had surged forward, so that it was impossible for her to extricate +herself. She found herself near the curb. She could see down the broad +street now, and below Twenty-third street it was a moving, glittering +mass, pennants, banners, streamers flying. The woman next her +volunteered additional information. + +“The mayor refused permission to let them march. But they fought it, and +they say it's the greatest suffrage parade ever held. I'd march myself, +only--” + +“Only what?” + +“I don't know. I'm scared to, I think. I'm not a New Yorker.” + +“Neither am I,” said Fanny. Fanny always became friendly with the woman +next her in a crowd. That was her mother in her. One could hear the +music of the band, now. Fanny glanced at her watch. It was not quite +two. Oh, well, she would wait and see some of it. Her mind was still too +freshly packed with European impressions to receive any real idea of +the value of this pageant, she told herself. She knew she did not feel +particularly interested. But she waited. + +Another surging forward. It was no longer, “Here they come!” but, “Here +they are!” + +And here they were. + +A squad of mounted police, on very prancy horses. The men looked very +ruddy, and well set-up and imposing. Fanny had always thrilled to +anything in uniform, given sufficient numbers of them. Another police +squad. A brass band, on foot. And then, in white, on a snow-white +charger, holding a white banner aloft, her eyes looking straight ahead, +her face very serious and youthful, the famous beauty and suffrage +leader, Mildred Inness. One of the few famous beauties who actually +was a beauty. And after that women, women, women! Hundreds of them, +thousands of them, a river of them flowing up Fifth avenue to the park. +More bands. More horses. Women! Women! They bore banners. This section, +that section. Artists. School teachers. Lawyers. Doctors. Writers. Women +in college caps and gowns. Women in white, from shoes to hats. Young +women. Girls. Gray-haired women. A woman in a wheel chair, smiling. A +man next to Fanny began to jeer. He was a red-faced young man, with a +coarse, blotchy skin, and thick lips. He smoked a cigar, and called to +the women in a falsetto voice, “Hello, Sadie!” he called. “Hello, kid!” + And the women marched on, serious-faced, calm-eyed. There came floats; +elaborate affairs, with girls in Greek robes. Fanny did not care for +these. More solid ranks. And then a strange and pitiful and tragic +and eloquent group. Their banner said, “Garment Workers. Infants' Wear +Section.” And at their head marched a girl, carrying a banner. I don't +know how she attained that honor. I think she must have been one of +those fiery, eloquent leaders in her factory clique. The banner she +carried was a large one, and it flapped prodigiously in the breeze, and +its pole was thick and heavy. She was a very small girl, even in that +group of pale-faced, under-sized, under-fed girls. A Russian Jewess, +evidently. Her shoes were ludicrous. They curled up at the toes, and the +heels were run down. Her dress was a sort of parody on the prevailing +fashion. But on her face, as she trudged along, hugging the pole of the +great pennant that flapped in the breeze, was stamped a look.--well, you +see that same look in some pictures of Joan of Arc. It wasn't merely a +look. It was a story. It was tragedy. It was the history of a people. +You saw in it that which told of centuries of oppression in Russia. You +saw eager groups of student Intellectuals, gathered in secret places +for low-voiced, fiery talk. There was in it the unspeakable misery of +Siberia. It spoke eloquently of pogroms, of massacres, of Kiev and its +sister-horror, Kishineff. You saw mean and narrow streets, and carefully +darkened windows, and, on the other side of those windows the warm +yellow glow of the seven-branched Shabbos light. Above this there shone +the courage of a race serene in the knowledge that it cannot die. +And illuminating all, so that her pinched face, beneath the flapping +pennant, was the rapt, uplifted countenance of the Crusader, there +blazed the great glow of hope. This woman movement, spoken of so glibly +as Suffrage, was, to the mind of this over-read, under-fed, emotional, +dreamy little Russian garment worker the glorious means to a long hoped +for end. She had idealized it, with the imagery of her kind. She had +endowed it with promise that it would never actually hold for her, +perhaps. And so she marched on, down the great, glittering avenue, +proudly clutching her unwieldy banner, a stunted, grotesque, magnificent +figure. More than a figure. A symbol. + +Fanny's eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. She put up her +hand to her cheek, and her face was wet. She stood there, and the parade +went on, endlessly, it seemed, and she saw it through a haze. Bands. +More bands. Pennants. Floats. Women. Women. Women. + +“I always cry at parades,” said Fanny, to the woman who stood next +her--the woman who wanted to march, but was scared to. “That's all +right,” said the woman. “That's all right.” And she laughed, because she +was crying, too. And then she did a surprising thing. She elbowed her +way to the edge of the crowd, past the red-faced man with the cigar, +out to the street, and fell into line, and marched on up the street, +shoulders squared, head high. + +Fanny glanced down at her watch. It was quarter after four. With a +little gasp she turned to work her way through the close-packed crowd. +It was an actual physical struggle, from which she emerged disheveled, +breathless, uncomfortably warm, and minus her handkerchief, but she had +gained the comparative quiet of the side street, and she made the short +distance that lay between the Avenue and her hotel a matter of little +more than a minute. In the hotel corridor stood Ella and Fenger, the +former looking worried, the latter savage. + +“Where in the world--” began Ella. + +“Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was--it +was--glorious!” She was shaking hands with Fenger, and realizing for the +first time that she must be looking decidedly sketchy and that she had +lost her handkerchief. She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when +Fenger released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said: + +“What's the matter with your eyes?” + +“I've been crying,” Fanny confessed cheerfully. + +“Crying!” + +“The parade. There was a little girl in it--” she stopped. Fenger would +not be interested in that little girl. Now Clancy would have--but Ella +broke in on that thought. + +“I guess you don't realize that out in front of this hotel there's a +kind of a glorified taxi waiting, with the top rolled back, and it's +been there half an hour. I never expect to see the time when I could +enjoy keeping a taxi waiting. It goes against me.” + +“I'm sorry. Really. Let's go. I'm ready.” + +“You are not. Your hair's a sight; and those eyes!” + +Fenger put a hand on her arm. “Go on up and powder your nose, Miss +Brandeis. And don't hurry. I want you to enjoy this drive.” + +On her way up in the elevator Fanny thought, “He has lost his waistline. +Now, that couldn't have happened in a month. Queer I didn't notice it +before. And he looks soft. Not enough exercise.” + +When she rejoined them she was freshly bloused and gloved and all traces +of the tell-tale red had vanished from her eyelids. Fifth avenue was +impossible. Their car sped up Madison avenue, and made for the Park. The +Plaza was a jam of tired marchers. They dispersed from there, but there +seemed no end to the line that still flowed up Fifth avenue. Fenger +seemed scarcely to see it. He had plunged at once into talk of the +European trip. Fanny gave him every detail, omitting nothing. She +repeated all that her letters and cables had told. Fenger was more +excited than she had ever seen him. He questioned, cross-questioned, +criticized, probed, exacted an account of every conversation. Usually +it was not method that interested him, but results. Fanny, having +accomplished the thing she had set out to do, had lost interest in it +now. The actual millions so glibly bandied in the Haynes-Cooper plant +had never thrilled her. The methods by which they were made possible +had. + +Ella had been listening with the shrewd comprehension of one who admires +the superior art of a fellow craftsman. + +“I'll say this, Mr. Fenger. If I could make you look like that, by going +to Europe and putting it over those foreign boys, I'd feel I'd earned +a year's salary right there, and quit. Not to speak of the +cross-examination you're putting her through.” + +Fenger laughed, a little self-consciously. “It's just that I want to be +sure it's real. I needn't tell you how important this trick is that Miss +Brandeis has just turned.” He turned to Fanny, with a boyish laugh. “Now +don't pose. You know you can't be as bored as you look.” + +“Anyway,” put in Ella, briskly, “I move that the witness step down. She +may not be bored, but she certainly must be tired, and she's beginning +to look it. Just lean back, Fanny, and let the green of this park soak +in. At that, it isn't so awfully green, when you get right close, except +that one stretch of meadow. Kind of ugly, Central Park, isn't it? Bare.” + +Fanny sat forward. There was more sparkle in her face than at any time +during the drive. They were skimming along those green-shaded drives +that are so sophisticatedly sylvan. + +“I used to think it was bare, too, and bony as an old maid, with no soft +cuddly places like the parks at home; no gracious green stretches, and +no rose gardens. But somehow, it grows on you. The reticence of it. And +that stretch of meadow near the Mall, in the late afternoon, with the +mist on it, and the sky faintly pink, and that electric sign--Somebody's +Tires or other--winking off and on--” + +“You're a queer child,” interrupted Fenger. “As wooden as an Indian +while talking about a million-a-year deal, and lyrical over a +combination of electric sign, sunset, and moth-eaten park. Oh, well, +perhaps that's what makes you as you are.” + +Even Ella looked a little startled at that. + +They had tea at Claremont, at a table overlooking the river and the +Palisades. Fenger was the kind of man to whom waiters always give a +table overlooking anything that should be overlooked. After tea they +drove out along the river and came back in the cool of the evening. +Fanny was very quiet now. Fenger followed her mood. Ella sustained the +conversation, somewhat doggedly. It was almost seven when they reached +the plaza exit. And there Fanny, sitting forward suddenly, gave a little +cry. + +“Why--they're marching yet!” she said, and her voice was high with +wonder. “They're marching yet! All the time we've been driving and +teaing, they've been marching.” + +And so they had. Thousands upon thousands, they had flowed along as +relentlessly, and seemingly as endlessly as a river. They were marching +yet. For six hours the thousands had poured up that street, making it a +moving mass of white. And the end was not yet. What pen, and tongue, and +sense of justice had failed to do, they were doing now by sheer, crude +force of numbers. The red-faced hooligan, who had stood next to Fanny +in the crowd hours before, had long ago ceased his jibes and slunk away, +bored, if not impressed. After all, one might jeer at ten, or fifty, or +a hundred women, or even five hundred. But not at forty thousand. + +Their car turned down Madison Avenue, and Fenger twisted about for a +last look at the throng in the plaza. He was plainly impressed. The +magnitude of the thing appealed to him. To a Haynes-Cooper-trained +mind, forty thousand women, marching for whatever the cause, must +be impressive. Forty thousand of anything had the respect of Michael +Fenger. His eyes narrowed, thoughtfully. + +“They seem to have put it over,” he said. “And yet, what's the idea? +Oh, I'm for suffrage, of course. Naturally. And all those thousands of +women, in white--still, a thing as huge as this parade has to be reduced +to a common denominator, to be really successful. If somebody could take +the whole thing, boil it down, and make the country see what this huge +demonstration stands for.” + +Fanny leaned forward suddenly. “Tell the man to stop. I want to get +out.” + +Fenger and Ella stared. “What for?” But Fenger obeyed. + +“I want to get something at this stationer's shop.” She had jumped down +almost before the motor had stopped at the curb. + +“But let me get it.” + +“No. You can't. Wait here.” She disappeared within the shop. She was +back in five minutes, a flat, loosely wrapped square under her arm. +“Cardboard,” she explained briefly, in answer to their questions. + +Fenger, about to leave them at their hotel, presented his plans for the +evening. Fanny, looking up at him, her head full of other plans, thought +he looked and sounded very much like Big Business. And, for the moment +at least, Fanny Brandeis loathed Big Business, and all that it stood +for. + +“It's almost seven,” Fenger was saying. “We'll be rubes in New York, +this evening. You girls will just have time to freshen up a bit--I +suppose you want to--and then we'll have dinner, and go to the theater, +and to supper afterward. What do you want to see?” + +Ella looked at Fanny. And Fanny shook her head, “Thanks. You're awfully +kind. But--no.” + +“Why not?” demanded Fenger, gruffly. + +“Perhaps because I'm tired. And there's something else I must do.” + +Ella looked relieved. Fenger's eyes bored down upon Fanny, but she +seemed not to feel them. She held out her hand. + +“You're going back to-morrow?” Fenger asked. “I'm not leaving until +Thursday.” + +“To-morrow, with Ella. Good-by. It's been a glorious drive. I feel quite +rested.” + +“You just said you were tired.” + +The elevator door clanged, shutting out the sight of Fenger's resentful +frown. + +“He's as sensitive as a soubrette,” said Ella. “I'm glad you decided not +to go out. I'm dead, myself. A kimono for the rest of the evening.” + +Fanny seemed scarcely to hear her. With a nod she left Ella, and entered +her own room. There she wasted no time. She threw her hat and coat on +the bed. Her suitcase was on the baggage stand. She turned on all the +lights, swung the closed suitcase up to the table, shoved the table +against the wall, up-ended the suitcase so that its leather side +presented a smooth surface, and propped a firm sheet of white cardboard +against the impromptu rack. She brought her chair up close, fumbled in +her bag for the pens she had just purchased. Her eyes were on the blank +white surface of the paper. The table was the kind that has a sub-shelf. +It prevented Fanny from crossing her legs under it, and that bothered +her. While she fitted her pens, and blocked her paper, she kept on +barking her shins in unconscious protest against the uncomfortable +conditions under which she must work. + +She sat staring at the paper now, after having marked it off into +blocks, with a pencil. She got up, and walked across the room, +aimlessly, and stood there a moment, and came back. She picked up a +thread on the floor. Sat down again. Picked up her pencil, rolled it a +moment in her palms, then, catching her toes behind either foreleg of +her chair, in an attitude that was as workmanlike as it was ungraceful, +she began to draw, nervously, tentatively at first, but gaining in +firmness and assurance as she went on. + +If you had been standing behind her chair you would have seen, emerging +miraculously from the white surface under Fanny's pencil, a thin, +undersized little figure in sleazy black and white, whose face, under +the cheap hat, was upturned and rapturous. Her skirts were wind-blown, +and the wind tugged, too, at the banner whose pole she hugged so tightly +in her arms. Dimly you could see the crowds that lined the street on +either side. Vaguely, too, you saw the faces and stunted figures of the +little group of girls she led. But she, the central figure, stood out +among all the rest. Fanny Brandeis, the artist, and Fanny Brandeis, the +salesman, combined shrewdly to omit no telling detail. The wrong kind of +feet in the wrong kind of shoes; the absurd hat; the shabby skirt--every +bit of grotesquerie was there, serving to emphasize the glory of the +face. Fanny Brandeis' face, as the figure grew, line by line, was a +glorious thing, too. + +She was working rapidly. She laid down her pencil, now, and leaned back, +squinting her eyes critically. She looked grimly pleased. Her hair was +rather rumpled, and her cheeks very pink. She took up her pen, now, and +began to ink her drawing with firm black strokes. As she worked a little +crow of delight escaped her--the same absurd crow of triumph that had +sounded that day in Winnebago, years and years before, when she, +a school girl in a red tam o' shanter, had caught the likeness of +Schabelitz, the peasant boy, under the exterior of Schabelitz, the +famous. There sounded a smart little double knock at her door. Fanny +did not heed it. She did not hear it. Her toes were caught behind the +chair-legs again. She was slumped down on the middle of her spine. She +had brought the table, with its ridiculously up-ended suitcase, very +near, so that she worked with a minimum of effort. The door opened. +Fanny did not turn her head. Ella Monahan came in, yawning. She was +wearing an expensive looking silk kimono that fell in straight, simple +folds, and gave a certain majesty to her ample figure. + +“Well, what in the world--” she began, and yawned again, luxuriously. +She stopped behind Fanny's chair and glanced over her shoulder. The yawn +died. She craned her neck a little, and leaned forward. And the little +girl went marching by, in her cheap and crooked shoes, and her short +and sleazy skirt, with the banner tugging, tugging in the breeze. +Fanny Brandeis had done her with that economy of line, and absence +of sentimentality which is the test separating the artist from the +draughtsman. + +Silence, except for the scratching of Fanny Brandeis's pen. + +“Why--the poor little kike!” said Ella Monahan. Then, after another +moment of silence, “I didn't know you could draw like that.” + +Fanny laid down her pen. “Like what?” She pushed back her chair, and +rose, stiffly. The drawing, still wet, was propped up against the +suitcase. Fanny walked across the room. Ella dropped into her chair, so +that when Fanny came back to the table it was she who looked over Ella's +shoulder. Into Ella's shrewd and heavy face there had come a certain +look. + +“They don't get a square deal, do they? They don't get a square deal.” + +The two looked at the girl a moment longer, in silence. Then Fanny went +over to the bed, and picked up her hat and coat. She smoothed her hair, +deftly, powdered her nose with care, and adjusted her hat at the smart +angle approved by the Galeries Lafayette. She came back to the table, +picked up her pen, and beneath the drawing wrote, in large print: + +THE MARCHER. + + +She picked up the drawing, still wet, opened the door, and with a smile +at the bewildered Ella, was gone. + +It was after eight o'clock when she reached the Star building. She asked +for Lasker's office, and sent in her card. Heyl had told her that Lasker +was always at his desk at eight. Now, Fanny Brandeis knew that the +average young woman, standing outside the office of a man like Lasker, +unknown and at the mercy of office boy or secretary, continues to stand +outside until she leaves in discouragement. But Fanny knew, too, that +she was not an average young woman. She had, on the surface, an air +of authority and distinction. She had that quiet assurance of one +accustomed to deference. She had youth, and beauty, and charm. She had a +hat and suit bought in Paris, France; and a secretary is only human. + +Carl Lasker's private office was the bare, bright, newspaper-strewn room +of a man who is not only a newspaper proprietor, but a newspaper man. +There's a difference. Carl Lasker had sold papers on the street when he +was ten. He had slept on burlap sacks, paper stuffed, in the basement +of a newspaper office. Ink flowed with the blood in his veins. He could +operate a press. He could manipulate a linotype machine (that almost +humanly intelligent piece of mechanism). He could make up a paper single +handed, and had done it. He knew the newspaper game, did Carl Lasker, +from the composing room to the street, and he was a very great man in +his line. And so he was easy to reach, and simple to talk to, as are all +great men. + +A stocky man, decidedly handsome, surprisingly young, well dressed, +smooth shaven, direct. + +Fanny entered. Lasker laid down her card. “Brandeis. That's a good +name.” He extended his hand. He wore evening clothes, with a white +flower in his buttonhole. He must have just come from a dinner, or he +was to attend a late affair, somewhere. Perhaps Fanny, taken aback, +unconsciously showed her surprise, because Lasker grinned, as he waved +her to a chair. His quick mind had interpreted her thought. + +“Sit down, Miss Brandeis. You think I'm gotten up like the newspaper +man in a Richard Harding Davis short story, don't you? What can I do for +you?” + +Fanny wasted no words. “I saw the parade this afternoon. I did a +picture. I think it's good. If you think so too, I wish you'd use it.” + +She laid it, face up, on Lasker's desk. Lasker picked it up in his two +hands, held it off, and scrutinized it. All the drama in the world is +concentrated in the confines of a newspaper office every day in the +year, and so you hear very few dramatic exclamations in such a place. +Men like Lasker do not show emotion when impressed. It is too wearing +on the mechanism. Besides, they are trained to self-control. So Lasker +said, now: + +“Yes, I think it's pretty good, too.” Then, raising his voice to a +sudden bellow, “Boy!” He handed the drawing to a boy, gave a few brief +orders, and turned back to Fanny. “To-morrow morning every other paper +in New York will have pictures showing Mildred Inness, the beauty, on +her snow-white charger, or Sophronisba A. Bannister, A.B., Ph.D., in her +cap and gown, or Mrs. William Van der Welt as Liberty. We'll have that +little rat with the banner, and it'll get 'em. They'll talk about it.” + His eyes narrowed a little. “Do you always get that angle?” + +“Yes.” + +“There isn't a woman cartoonist in New York who does that human stuff. +Did you know that?” + +“Yes.” + +“Want a job?” + +“N-no.” + +His knowing eye missed no detail of the suit, the hat, the gloves, the +shoes. + +“What's your salary now?” + +“Ten thousand.” + +“Satisfied?” + +“No.” + +“You've hit the heart of that parade. I don't know whether you could do +that every day, or not. But if you struck twelve half the time, it would +be enough. When you want a job, come back.” + +“Thanks,” said Fanny quietly. And held out her hand. + +She returned in the subway. It was a Bronx train, full of sagging faces, +lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, black-eyed girls in soiled +white shoes; of stoop-shouldered men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew +script; of smells and sounds and glaring light. + +And though to-morrow would bring its reaction, and common sense would +have her again in its cold grip, she was radiant to-night and glowing +with the exaltation that comes with creation. And over and over a voice +within her was saying: + +These are my people! These are my people! + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +The ship that brought Theodore Brandeis to America was the last of +its kind to leave German ports for years. The day after he sailed from +Bremen came the war. Fanny Brandeis was only one of the millions of +Americans who refused to accept the idea of war. She took it as a +personal affront. It was uncivilized, it was old fashioned, it was +inconvenient. Especially inconvenient. She had just come from Europe, +where she had negotiated a million-dollar deal. War would mean that she +could not get the goods ordered. Consequently there could be no war. + +Theodore landed the first week in August. Fanny stole two days from the +ravenous bins to meet him in New York. I think she must have been a very +love-hungry woman in the years since her mother's death. She had never +admitted it. But only emotions denied to the point of starvation could +have been so shaken now at the thought of the feast before them. She had +trained herself to think of him as Theodore the selfish, Theodore the +callous, Theodore the voracious. “An unsuccessful genius,” she +told herself. “He'll be impossible. They're bad enough when they're +successful.” + +But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent emotions +were straining toward the boat whose great prow was looming toward her, +a terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting the ship was enormous. A dramatic +enough scene at any time, the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled +with an unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning +papers had carried wireless news that the ship had been chased by a +French gunboat and had escaped only through the timely warning of the +Dresden, a German gunboat. That had added the last fillip to an already +tense situation. Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned +toward the crowded decks. And from every side: + +“Do you see her?” + +“That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!” + +“Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!” + +Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. “Ted!” she called, +and choked back a sob. “Teddy!” Still she did not see him. She was +searching, womanlike, for a tall, blondish boy, with a sulky mouth, and +humorous eyes, and an unruly lock of hair that would insist on escaping +from the rest and straggling down over his forehead. I think she was +even looking for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in knickers. +Women lose all sense of time and proportion at such times. Still she did +not see him. The passengers were filing down the gangplank now; rushing +down as quickly as the careful hands of the crew would allow them, and +hurling themselves into the arms of friends and family crowded below. +Fanny strained her eyes toward that narrow passageway, anxious, hopeful, +fearful, heartsick. For the moment Olga and the baby did not exist for +her. And then she saw him. + +She saw him through an unimaginable disguise. She saw him, and knew +him in spite of the fact that the fair-haired, sulky, handsome boy had +vanished, and in his place walked a man. His hair was close-cropped, +German-fashion; his face careworn and older than she had ever thought +possible; his bearing, his features, his whole personality stamped +with an unmistakable distinction. And his clothes were appallingly, +inconceivably German. So she saw him, and he was her brother, and she +was his sister, and she stretched out her arms to him. + +“Teddy!” She hugged him close, her face buried in his shoulder. “Teddy, +you--you Spitzbube you!” She laughed at that, a little hysterically. +“Not that I know what a Spitzbube is, but it's the Germanest word I +can think of.” That shaven head. Those trousers. That linen. The awful +boots. The tie! “Oh, Teddy, and you're the Germanest thing I ever saw.” + She kissed him again, rapturously. + +He kissed her, too, wordlessly at first. They moved aside a little, out +of the crowd. Then he spoke for the first time. + +“God! I'm glad to see you, Fanny.” There was tragedy, not profanation +in his voice. His hand gripped hers. He turned, and now, for the +first time, Fanny saw that at his elbow stood a buxom, peasant woman, +evidently a nurse, and in her arms a child. A child with Molly Brandeis' +mouth, and Ferdinand Brandeis' forehead, and Fanny Brandeis' eyes, and +Theodore Brandeis' roseleaf skin, and over, and above all these, +weaving in and out through the whole, an expression or cast--a vague, +undefinable thing which we call a resemblance--that could only have come +from the woman of the picture, Theodore Brandeis' wife, Olga. + +“Why--it's the baby!” cried Fanny, and swung her out of the nurse's +protesting arms. Such a German-looking baby. Such an adorably +German-looking baby. “Du kleine, du!” Fanny kissed the roseleaf cheek. +“Du suszes--” She turned suddenly to Theodore. “Olga--where's Olga?” + +“She did not come.” + +Fanny tightened her hold of the little squirming bundle in her arms. +“Didn't come?” + +Theodore shook his head, dumbly. In his eyes was an agony of pain. And +suddenly all those inexplicable things in his face were made clear to +Fanny. She placed the little Mizzi in the nurse's arms again. “Then +we'll go, dear. They won't be a minute over your trunks, I'm sure. Just +follow me.” + +Her arm was linked through Theodore's. Her hand was on his. Her head +was up. Her chin was thrust out, and she never knew how startlingly she +resembled the Molly Brandeis who used to march so bravely down Norris +street on her way to Brandeis' Bazaar. She was facing a situation, and +she recognized it. There was about her an assurance, a composure, a +blithe capability that imparted itself to the three bewildered and +helpless ones in her charge. Theodore felt it, and the strained look +in his face began to lift just a little. The heavy-witted peasant woman +felt it, and trudged along, cheerfully. The baby in her arms seemed to +sense it, and began to converse volubly and unintelligibly with the blue +uniformed customs inspector. + +They were out of the great shed in an incredibly short time. Fanny +seemed equal to every situation. She had taken the tube to Hoboken, but +now she found a commodious open car, and drove a shrewd bargain with the +chauffeur. She bundled the three into it. Of the three, perhaps Theodore +seemed the most bewildered and helpless. He clung to his violin and +Fanny. + +“I feel like an immigrant,” he said. “Fan, you're a wonder. You don't +know how much you look and act like mother. I've been watching you. It's +startling.” + +Fanny laughed and took his hand, and held his hand up to her breast, +and crushed it there. “And you look like an illustration out of the +Fliegende Blaetter. It isn't only your clothes. Your face is German. +As for Mizzi here--” she gathered the child in her arms again--“you've +never explained that name to me. Why, by the way, Mizzi? Of all the +names in the world.” + +Theodore smiled a wry little smile. “Mizzi is named after Olga's chum. +You see, in Vienna every other--well, chorus girl I suppose you'd +call them--is named Mizzi. Like all the Gladyses and Flossies here in +America. Well, Olga's special friend Mizzi--” + +“I see,” said Fanny quietly. “Well, anything's better than Fanny. Always +did make me think of an old white horse.” And at that the small German +person in her arms screwed her mouth into a fascinating bunch, and then +unscrewed it and, having made these preparations said, “Tante Fanny. +Shecago. Tante Fanny.” + +“Why, Mizzi Brandeis, you darling! Teddy, did you hear that! She said +`Tante Fanny' and `Chicago' just as plainly!” “Did I hear it? Have I +heard anything else for weeks?” + +The plump person on the opposite seat, who had been shaking her head +violently all this time here threatened to burst if not encouraged to +speak. Fanny nodded to her. Whereupon the flood broke. + +“Wunderbar, nicht war! Ich kuss' die handt, gnadiges Fraulein.” She +actually did it, to Fanny's consternation. “Ich hab' ihr das gelernt, +Gnadige. Selbst. Ist es nicht ganz entzuckend! Tante Fanny. Auch +Shecago.” + +Fanny nodded a number of times, first up and down, signifying assent, +then sideways, signifying unbounded wonder and admiration. She made a +gigantic effort to summon her forgotten German. + +“Was ist Ihre Name?” she managed to ask. + +“Otti.” + +“Oh, my!” exclaimed Fanny, weakly. “Mizzi and Otti. It sounds like the +first act of the `Merry Widow.'” She turned to Theodore. “I wish you'd +sit back, and relax, and if you must clutch that violin case, do it +more comfortably. I don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is +ghastly in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My apartment +in Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the lake is in the front +yard, practically. To-night, perhaps, we'll talk about--things. And, oh, +Teddy, how glad I am to see you--to have you--to--” she put out a hand +and patted his thin cheek--“to touch you.” + +And at that the man became a boy again. His face worked a moment, +painfully and then his head came down in her lap that held the baby, +and so she had them both for a moment, one arm about the child, one hand +smoothing the boy's close-cropped hair. And in that moment she was more +splendidly maternal than either of the women who had borne these whom +she now comforted. + +It was Fanny who attended to the hotel rooms, to the baby's comfort, to +the railroad tickets, to the ordering of the meals. Theodore was like a +stranger in a strange land. Not only that, he seemed dazed. + +“We'll have it out to-night,” Fanny said to herself. “He'll never +get that look off his face until he has told it all. I knew she was a +beast.” + +She made him lie down while she attended to schedules, tickets, berths. +She was gone for two hours. When she returned she found him looking +amused, terrified and helpless, all at once, while three men reporters +and one woman special writer bombarded him with questions. The woman +had brought a staff artist with her, and he was now engaged in making a +bungling sketch of Theodore's face, with its ludicrous expression. + +Fanny sensed the situation and saved it. She hadn't sold goods all these +years without learning the value of advertising. She came forward now, +graciously (but not too graciously). Theodore looked relieved. Already +he had learned that one might lean on this sister who was so capable, so +bountifully alive. + +“Teddy, you're much too tired to talk. Let me talk for you.” + +“My sister, Miss Brandeis,” said Teddy, and waved a rather feeble hand +in an inclusive gesture at the interrogatory five. + +Fanny smiled. “Do sit down,” she said, “all of you. Tell me, how did you +happen to get on my brother's trail?” + +One of the men explained. “We had a list of ship's passengers, of +course. And we knew that Mr. Brandeis was a German violinist. And then +the story of the ship being chased by a French boat. We just missed him +down at the pier--” + +“But he isn't a German violinist,” interrupted Fanny. “Please get that +straight. He's American. He is THE American violinist--or will be, as +soon as his concert tour here is well started. It was Schabelitz +himself who discovered my brother, and predicted his brilliant career. +Here”--she had been glancing over the artist's shoulder--“will you let +me make a sketch for you--just for the fun of the thing? I do that kind +of thing rather decently. Did you see my picture called `The Marcher,' +in the Star, at the time of the suffrage parade in May? Yes, that was +mine. Just because he has what we call a butcher haircut, don't think +he's German, because he isn't. You wouldn't call Winnebago, Wisconsin, +Germany, would you?” + +She was sketching him swiftly, daringly, masterfully. She was bringing +out the distinction, the suffering, the boyishness in his face, and +toning down the queer little foreign air he had. Toning it, but not +omitting it altogether. She was too good a showman for that. As she +sketched she talked, and as she talked she drew Theodore into the +conversation, deftly, and just when he was needed. She gave them what +they had come for--a story. And a good one. She brought in Mizzi and +Otti, for color, and she saw to it that they spelled those names as they +should be spelled. She managed to gloss over the question of Olga. Ill. +Detained. Last minute. Too brave to sacrifice her husband's American +tour. She finished her sketch and gave it to the woman reporter. It was +an amazingly compelling little piece of work--and yet, not so amazing, +perhaps, when you consider the thing that Fanny Brandeis had put into +it. Then she sent them away, tactfully. They left, knowing all that +Fanny Brandeis had wanted them to know; guessing little that she had +not wanted them to guess. More than that no human being can accomplish, +without the advice of his lawyer. + +“Whew!” from Fanny, when the door had closed. + +“Gott im Himmel!” from Theodore. “I had forgotten that America was like +that.” + +“But America IS like that. And Teddy, we're going to make it sit up and +take notice.” + +At that Theodore drooped again. Fanny thought that he looked startlingly +as she remembered her father had looked in those days of her childhood, +when Brandeis' Bazaar was slithering downhill. The sight of him moved +her to a sudden resolve. She crossed swiftly to him, and put one +heartening hand on his shoulder. + +“Come on, brother. Out with it. Let's have it all now.” + +He reached up for her hand and held it, desperately. “Oh, Fan!” began +Theodore, “Fan, I've been through hell.” + +Fanny said nothing. She only waited, quietly, encouragingly. She had +learned when not to talk. Presently he took up his story, plunging +directly into it, as though sensing that she had already divined much. + +“She married me for a living. You'll think that's a joke, knowing what +I was earning there, in Vienna, and how you and mother were denying +yourselves everything to keep me. But in a city that circulates a +coin valued at a twentieth of a cent, an American dollar looms up +big. Besides, two of the other girls had got married. Good for nothing +officers. She was jealous, I suppose. I didn't know any of that. I was +flattered to think she'd notice me. She was awfully popular. She has +a kind of wit. I suppose you'd call it that. The other girls were just +coarse, and heavy, and--well--animal. You can't know the rottenness of +life there in Vienna. Olga could keep a whole supper table laughing all +evening. I can see, now, that that isn't difficult when your audience +is made up of music hall girls, and stupid, bullet-headed officers, with +their damned high collars, and their gold braid, and their silly swords, +and their corsets, and their glittering shoes and their miserable petty +poverty beneath all the show. I thought I was a lucky boy. I'd have +pitied everybody in Winnebago, if I'd ever thought of anybody in +Winnebago. I never did, except once in a while of you and mother when +I needed money. I kept on with my music. I had sense enough left, for +that. Besides, it was a habit, by that time. Well, we were married.” + +He laughed, an ugly, abrupt little laugh that ended in a moan, and +turned his head and buried his face in Fanny's breast. And Fanny's arm +was there, about his shoulder. “Fanny, you don't--I can't--” He stopped. +Another silence. Fanny's arm tightened its hold. She bent and kissed the +top of the stubbly head, bowed so low now. “Fan, do you remember that +woman in `The Three Musketeers'? The hellish woman, that all men +loved and loathed? Well, Olga's like that. I'm not whining. I'm not +exaggerating. I'm just trying to make you understand. And yet I don't +want you to understand. Only you don't know what it means to have you to +talk to. To have some one who”--he clutched her hand, fearfully--“You do +love me, don't you, Fanny? You do, don't you, Sis?” + +“More than any one in the world,” Fanny reassured him, quietly. “The way +mother would have, if she had lived.” + +A sigh escaped him, at that, as though a load had lifted from him. He +went on, presently. “It would have been all right if I could have earned +just a little more money.” Fanny shrank at that, and shut her eyes for +a sick moment. “But I couldn't. I asked her to be patient. But you don't +know the life there. There is no real home life. They live in the cafes. +They go there to keep warm, in the winter, and to meet their friends, +and gossip, and drink that eternal coffee, and every coffee house--there +are thousands--is a rendezvous. We had two rooms, comfortable ones, for +Vienna, and I tried to explain to her that if I could work hard, and +get into concert, and keep at the composing, we'd be rich some day, and +famous, and happy, and she'd have clothes, and jewels. But she was too +stupid, or too bored. Olga is the kind of woman who only believes what +she sees. Things got worse all the time. She had a temper. So have +I--or I used to have. But when hers was aroused it was--horrible. Words +that--that--unspeakable words. And one day she taunted me with being a +----with my race. The first time she called me that I felt that I must +kill her. That was my mistake. I should have killed her. And I didn't.” + +“Teddy boy! Don't, brother! You're tired. You're excited and worn out.” + +“No, I'm not. Just let me talk. I know what I'm saying. There's +something clean about killing.” He brooded a moment over that thought. +Then he went on, doggedly, not raising his voice. His hands were clasped +loosely. “You don't know about the intolerance and the anti-Semitism +in Prussia, I suppose. All through Germany, for that matter. In Bavaria +it's bitter. That's one reason why Olga loathed Munich so. The queer +part of it is that all that opposition seemed to fan something in me; +something that had been smoldering for a long time.” His voice had lost +its dull tone now. It had in it a new timbre. And as he talked he began +to interlard his English with bits of German, the language to which his +tongue had accustomed itself in the past ten years. His sentences, too, +took on a German construction, from time to time. He was plainly excited +now. “My playing began to improve. There would be a ghastly scene with +Olga--sickening--degrading. Then I would go to my work, and I would +play, but magnificently! I tell you, it would be playing. I know. To +fool myself I know better. One morning, after a dreadful quarrel I got +the idea for the concerto, and the psalms. Jewish music. As Jewish as +the Kol Nidre. I wanted to express the passion, and fire, and history of +a people. My people. Why was that? Tell me. Selbst, weiss ich nicht. +I felt that if I could put into it just a millionth part of their +humiliation, and their glory; their tragedy and their triumph; their +sorrow, and their grandeur; their persecution, their weldtschmerz. +Volkschmerz. That was it. And through it all, weaving in and out, one +great underlying motif. Indestructibility. The great cry which says, `We +cannot be destroyed!'” + +He stood up, uncertainly. His eyes were blazing. He began to walk up +and down the luxurious little room. Fanny's eyes matched his. She was +staring at him, fascinated, trembling. + +She moistened her lips a little with her tongue. “And you've done it? +Teddy! You've done--that!” + +Theodore Brandeis stood up, very straight and tall. “Yes,” he said, +simply. “Yes, I've done that.” + +She came over to him then, and put her two hands on his shoulders. +“Ted--dear--will you ever forgive me? I'll try to make up for it now. +I didn't know. I've been blind. Worse than blind. Criminal.” She was +weeping now, broken-heartedly, and he was patting her with little +comforting love pats, and whispering words of tenderness. + +“Forgive you? Forgive you what?” + +“The years of suffering. The years you've had to spend with her. With +that horrible woman--” + +“Don't--” He sucked his breath between his teeth. His face had gone +haggard again. Fanny, direct as always, made up her mind that she would +have it all. And now. + +“There's something you haven't told me. Tell me all of it. You're my +brother and I'm your sister. We're all we have in the world.” And at +that, as though timed by some miraculous and supernatural stage manager, +there came a cry from the next room; a sleepy, comfortable, imperious +little cry. Mizzi had awakened. Fanny made a step in the direction of +the door. Then she turned back. “Tell me why Olga didn't come. Why isn't +she here with her husband and baby?” + +“Because she's with another man.” + +“Another--” + +“It had been going on for a long time. I was the last to know about it. +It's that way, always, isn't it? He's an officer. A fool. He'll have +to take off his silly corsets now, and his velvet collar, and his shiny +boots, and go to war. Damn him! I hope they'll kill him with a hundred +bayonets, one by one, and leave him to rot on the field. She had been +fooling me all the time, and they had been laughing at me, the two of +them. I didn't find it out until just before this American trip. And +when I confronted her with it she laughed in my face. She said she hated +me. She said she'd rather starve than leave him to come to America with +me. She said I was a fiddling fool. She--” he was trembling and sick +with the shame of it--“God! I can't tell you the things she said. +She wanted to keep Mizzi. Isn't that strange? She loves the baby. She +neglects her, and spoils her, and once I saw her beat her, in a rage. +But she says she loves my Mizzi, and I believe she does, in her own +dreadful way. I promised her, and lied to her, and then I ran away with +Mizzi and her nurse.” + +“Oh, I thank God for that!” Fanny cried. “I thank God for that! And now, +Teddy boy, we'll forget all about those miserable years. We'll forget +all about her, and the life she led you. You're going to have your +chance here. You're going to be repaid for every minute of suffering +you've endured. I'll make it up to you. And when you see them applauding +you, calling for you, adoring you, all those hideous years will fade +from your mind, and you'll be Theodore Brandeis, the successful, +Theodore Brandeis, the gifted, Theodore Brandeis, the great! You need +never think of her again. You'll never see her again. That beast! That +woman!” + +And at that Theodore's face became distorted and dreadful with pain. He +raised two impotent, shaking arms high above his head. “That's just it! +That's just it! You don't know what love is. You don't know what hate +is. You don't know how I hate myself. Loathe myself. She's all that's +miserable, all that's unspeakable, all that's vile. And if she called +me to-day I'd come. That's it.” He covered his shamed face with his two +hands, so that the words came from him slobberingly, sickeningly. “I +hate her! I hate her! And I want her. I want her. I want her!” + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +If Fanny Brandeis, the deliberately selfish, the calculatingly +ambitious, was aghast at the trick fate had played her, she kept her +thoughts to herself. Knowing her, I think she must have been grimly +amused at finding herself saddled with a helpless baby, a bewildered +peasant woman, and an artist brother both helpless and bewildered. + +It was out of the question to house them in her small apartment. She +found a furnished apartment near her own, and installed them there, with +a working housekeeper in charge. She had a gift for management, and she +arranged all these details with a brisk capability that swept everything +before it. A sunny bedroom for Mizzi. But then, a bright living room, +too, for Theodore's hours of practice. No noise. Chicago's roar maddened +him. Otti shied at every new contrivance that met her eye. She had to +be broken in to elevators, electric switches, hot and cold faucets, +radiators. + +“No apartment ever built could cover all the requirements,” Fanny +confided to Fenger, after the first harrowing week. “What they really +need is a combination palace, houseboat, sanatorium, and creche.” + +“Look here,” said Fenger. “If I can help, why--” a sudden thought struck +him. “Why don't you bring 'em all down to my place in the country? We're +not there half the time. It's too cool for my wife in September. Just +the thing for the child, and your brother could fiddle his head off.” + +The Fengers had a roomy, wide-verandaed house near Lake Forest; one +of the many places of its kind that dot the section known as the north +shore. Its lawn sloped gently down to the water's edge. The house was +gay with striped awnings, and scarlet geraniums, and chintz-covered +chairs. The bright, sparkling, luxurious little place seemed to satisfy +a certain beauty-sense in Fenger, as did the etchings on the walls in +his office. Fanny had spent a week-end there in July, with three or four +other guests, including Fascinating Facts. She had been charmed with it, +and had announced that her energies thereafter would be directed solely +toward the possession of just such a house as this, with a lawn that was +lipped by the lake, awnings and geraniums to give it a French cafe air; +books and magazines enough to belie that. + +“And I'll always wear white,” she promised, gayly, “and there'll be +pitchers on every table, frosty on the outside, and minty on the inside, +and you're all invited.” + +They had laughed at that, and so had she, but she had been grimly in +earnest just the same. + +She shook her head now at Fenger's suggestion. “Imagine Mrs. Fenger's +face at sight of Mizzi, and Theodore with his violin, and Otti with her +shawls and paraphernalia. Though,” she added, seriously, “it's mighty +kind of you, and generous--and just like a man.” + +“It isn't kindness nor generosity that makes me want to do things for +you.” + +“Modest,” murmured Fanny, wickedly, “as always.” + +Fenger bent his look upon her. “Don't try the ingenue on me, Fanny.” + +Theodore's manager, Kurt Stein, was to have followed him in ten days. +The war changed that. The war was to change many things. Fanny seemed to +sense the influx of musicians that was to burst upon the United States +following the first few weeks of the catastrophe, and she set about +forestalling it. Advertising. That was what Theodore needed. She had +faith enough in his genius. But her business sense told her that this +genius must be enhanced by the proper setting. She set about creating +this setting. She overlooked no chance to fix his personality in the +kaleidoscopic mind of the American public--or as much of it as she could +reach. His publicity man was a dignified German-American whose methods +were legitimate and uninspired. Fanny's enthusiasm and superb confidence +in Theodore's genius infected Fenger, Fascinating Facts, even Nathan +Haynes himself. Nathan Haynes had never posed as a patron of the arts, +in spite of his fantastic millions. But by the middle of September there +were few of his friends, or his wife's friends, who had not heard of +this Theodore Brandeis. In Chicago, Illinois, no one lives in houses, it +is said, except the city's old families, and new millionaires. The rest +of the vast population is flat-dwelling. To say that Nathan Haynes' +spoken praise reached the city's house-dwellers would carry with it a +significance plain to any Chicagoan. + +As for Fanny's method; here is a typical example of her somewhat crude +effectiveness in showmanship. Otti had brought with her from Vienna +her native peasant costume. It is a costume seen daily in the Austrian +capital, on the Ring, in the Stadt Park, wherever Viennese nurses +convene with their small charges. To the American eye it is a musical +comedy costume, picturesque, bouffant, amazing. Your Austrian takes +it quite for granted. Regardless of the age of the nurse, the skirt is +short, coming a few inches below the knees, and built like a lamp shade, +in color usually a bright scarlet, with rows of black velvet ribbon at +the bottom. Beneath it are worn skirts and skirts, and skirts, so that +the opera-bouffe effect is complete. The bodice is black velvet, laced +over a chemise of white. The head-gear a soaring winged affair of +stiffly starched white, that is a pass between the Breton peasant +woman's cap and an aeroplane. Black stockings and slippers finish the +costume. + +Otti and Mizzi spent the glorious September days in Lincoln park, +Otti garbed in staid American stripes and apron, Mizzi resplendent in +smartest of children's dresses provided for her lavishly by her aunt. +Her fat and dimpled hands smoothed the blue, or pink or white folds with +a complacency astonishing in one of her years. “That's her mother in +her,” Fanny thought. + +One rainy autumn day Fanny entered her brother's apartment to find Otti +resplendent in her Viennese nurse's costume. Mizzi had been cross and +fretful, and the sight of the familiar scarlet and black and white, and +the great winged cap seemed to soothe her. + +“Otti!” Fanny exclaimed. “You gorgeous creature! What is it? A dress +rehearsal?” Otti got the import, if not the English. + +“So gehen wir im Wien,” she explained, and struck a killing pose. + +“Everybody? All the nurses? Alle?” + +“Aber sure,” Otti displayed her half dozen English words whenever +possible. + +Fanny stared a moment. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “To-morrow's +Saturday,” she said, in German. “If it's fair and warm you put on that +costume and take Mizzi to the park.... Certainly the animal cages, if +you want to. If any one annoys you, come home. If a policeman asks you +why you are dressed that way tell him it is the costume worn by nurses +in Vienna. Give him your name. Tell him who your master is. If he +doesn't speak German--and he won't, in Chicago--some one will translate +for you.” + +Not a Sunday paper in Chicago that did not carry a startling picture of +the resplendent Otti and the dimpled and smiling Mizzi. The omnipresent +staff photographer seemed to sniff his victim from afar. He pounced on +Theodore Brandeis' baby daughter, accompanied by her Viennese nurse +(in costume) and he played her up in a Sunday special that was worth +thousands of dollars, Fanny assured the bewildered and resentful +Theodore, as he floundered wildly through the billowing waves of the +Sunday newspaper flood. Theodore's first appearance was to be in Chicago +as soloist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, in the season's opening +program in October. Any music-wise Chicagoan will tell you that +the Chicago Symphony Orchestra is not only a musical organization +functioning marvelously (when playing Beethoven). It is an institution. +Its patrons will admit the existence, but not the superiority of +similar organizations in Boston, Philadelphia and New York. On Friday +afternoons, during the season, Orchestra Hall, situate on Michigan +Boulevard, holds more pretty girls and fewer men than one might expect +to see at any one gathering other than, perhaps, a wholesale debutante +tea crush. A Friday afternoon ticket is as impossible of attainment for +one not a subscriber as a seat in heaven for a sinner. Saturday night's +audience is staider, more masculine, less staccato. Gallery, balcony, +parquet, it represents the city's best. Its men prefer Beethoven to +Berlin. Its women could wear pearl necklaces, and don't. Between the +audience and the solemn black-and-white rows on the platform there +exists an entente cordiale. The Konzert-Meister bows to his friend in +the third row, as he tucks his violin under his chin. The fifth row, +aisle, smiles and nods to the sausage-fingered 'cellist. + +“Fritz is playing well to-night.” + +In a rarefied form, it is the atmosphere that existed between audience +and players in the days of the old and famous Daly stock company. + +Such was the character of the audience Theodore was to face on his first +appearance in America. Fanny explained its nature to him. He shrugged +his shoulders in a gesture as German as it was expressive. + +Theodore seemed to have become irrevocably German during the years of +his absence from America. He had a queer stock of little foreign tricks. +He lifted his hat to men acquaintances on the street. He had learned to +smack his heels smartly together and to bow stiffly from the waist, +and to kiss the hand of the matrons--and they adored him for it. He was +quite innocent of pose in these things. He seemed to have imbibed +them, together with his queer German haircut, and his incredibly German +clothes. + +Fanny allowed him to retain the bow, and the courtly hand-kiss, but she +insisted that he change the clothes and the haircut. + +“You'll have to let it grow, Ted. I don't mean that I want you to have a +mane, like Ysaye. But I do think you ought to discard that convict +cut. Besides, it isn't becoming. And if you're going to be an American +violinist you'll have to look it--with a foreign finish.” He let his +hair grow. Fanny watched with interest for the appearance of the unruly +lock which had been wont to straggle over his white forehead in +his schoolboy days. The new and well-cut American clothes effected +surprisingly little change. Fanny, surveying him, shook her head. + +“When you stepped off the ship you looked like a German in German +clothes. Now you look like a German in American clothes. I don't know--I +do believe it's your face, Ted. I wouldn't have thought that ten years +or so in any country could change the shape of one's nose, and mouth and +cheekbones. Do you suppose it's the umlauts?” + +“Cut it out!” laughed Ted, that being his idea of modern American slang. +He was fascinated by these crisp phrases, but he was ten years or so +behind the times, and he sometimes startled his hearers by an exhibition +of slang so old as to be almost new. It was all the more startling in +contrast with his conversational English, which was as carefully correct +as a born German's. + +As for the rest, it was plain that he was interested, but unhappy. He +practiced for hours daily. He often took Mizzi to the park and came back +storming about the dirt, the noise, the haste, the rudeness, the crowds, +the mismanagement of the entire city. Dummheit, he called it. They +profaned the lake. They allowed the people to trample the grass. They +threw papers and banana skins about. And they wasted! His years in +Germany had taught him to regard all these things as sacrilege, and the +last as downright criminal. He was lonesome for his Germany. That was +plain. He hated it, and loved it, much as he hated and loved the woman +who had so nearly spoiled his life. The maelstrom known as the southwest +corner of State and Madison streets appalled him. + +“Gott!” he exclaimed. “Es ist unglaublich! Aber ganz unglaublich! Ich +werde bald veruckt.” He somehow lapsed into German when excited. + +Fanny took him to the Haynes-Cooper plant one day, and it left +him dazed, and incredulous. She quoted millions at him. He was not +interested. He looked at the office workers, the mail-room girls, and +shook his head, dumbly. They were using bicycles now, with a bundle rack +in the front, in the vast stock rooms, and the roller skates had been +discarded as too slow. The stock boys skimmed around corners on these +lightweight bicycles, up one aisle, and down the next, snatching bundles +out of bins, shooting bundles into bins, as expertly as players in a +gymkhana. + +Theodore saw the uncanny rapidity with which the letter-opening machines +did their work. He watched the great presses that turned out the +catalogue--the catalogue whose message meant millions; he sat in +Fenger's office and stared at the etchings, and said, “Certainly,” with +politeness, when Fenger excused himself in the midst of a conversation +to pick up the telephone receiver and talk to their shoe factory in +Maine. He ended up finally in Fanny's office, no longer a dingy and +undesirable corner, but a quietly brisk center that sent out vibrations +over the entire plant. Slosson, incidentally, was no longer of the +infants' wear. He had been transferred to a subordinate position in the +grocery section. + +“Well,” said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling radiantly +upon her brother. “Well, what do you think of us?” + +And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the blind, said a +most amazing thing. + +“Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions that are lying +about everywhere in this country. And then I'll take you out of this. I +promise you.” + +Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment. + +“Why, you talk as if you were--sorry for me!” + +“I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you, somehow.” + +It was the first time in all her dashing and successful career that +Fanny Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She resented it, hotly. And +from Theodore, the groper, the--“But at any rate,” something within her +said, “he has always been true to himself.” + +Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat, on which he +had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin with three others. Kurt +Stein was German born, but American bred, and he had the American love +of luxurious travel. He was still testy when he reached Chicago and his +charge. + +“How goes the work?” he demanded at once, of Theodore. He eyed him +sharply. “That's better. You have lost some of the look you had when you +left Wien. The ladies would have liked that look, here in America. But +it is bad for the work.” + +He took Fanny aside before he left. His face was serious. It was +plain that he was disturbed. “That woman,” he began. “Pardon me, Mrs. +Brandeis. She came to me. She says she is starving. She is alone there, +in Vienna. Her--well, she is alone. The war is everywhere. They say it +will last for years. She wept and pleaded with me to take her here.” + +“No!” cried Fanny. “Don't let him hear it. He mustn't know. He----” + +“Yes, I know. She is a paradox, that woman. I tell you, she almost +prevailed on me. There is something about her; something that repels +and compels.” That struck him as being a very fine phrase indeed, and he +repeated it appreciatively. + +“I'll send her money, somehow,” said Fanny. + +“Yes. But they say that money is not reaching them over there. I don't +know what becomes of it. It vanishes.” He turned to leave. “Oh, a +message for you. On my boat was Schabelitz. It looks very much as if his +great fortune, the accumulation of years, would be swept away by this +war. Already they are tramping up and down his lands in Poland. His +money--much of it--is invested in great hotels in Poland and Russia, and +they are using them for barracks and hospitals.” + +“Schabelitz! You mean a message for Theodore? From him? That's +wonderful.” + +“For Theodore, and for you, too.” + +“For me! I made a picture of him once when I was a little girl. I didn't +see him again for years. Then I heard him play. It was on his last tour +here. I wanted to speak to him. But I was afraid. And my face was red +with weeping.” + +“He remembers you. And he means to see Theodore and you. He can do much +for Theodore in this country, and I think he will. His message for you +was this: `Tell her I still have the picture that she made of me, with +the jack-in-the-box in my hand, and that look on my face. Tell her I +have often wondered about that little girl in the red cap and the black +curls. I've wondered if she went on, catching that look back of people's +faces. If she did, she should be more famous than her brother.”' + +“He said that! About me!” + +“I am telling you as nearly as I can. He said, `Tell her it was a +woman who ruined Bauer's career, and caused him to end his days a music +teacher in--in--Gott! I can't remember the name of that town----” + +“Winnebago.” + +“Winnebago. That was it. `Tell her not to let the brother spoil his life +that way.' So. That is the message. He said you would understand.” + +Theodore's face was ominous when she returned to him, after Stein had +left. + +“I wish you and Stein wouldn't stand out there in the hall whispering +about me as if I were an idiot patient. What were you saying?” + +“Nothing, Ted. Really.” + +He brooded a moment. Then his face lighted up with a flash of intuition. +He flung an accusing finger at Fanny. + +“He has seen her.” + +“Ted! You promised.” + +“She's in trouble. This war. And she hasn't any money. I know. Look +here. We've got to send her money. Cable it.” + +“I will. Just leave it all to me.” + +“If she's here, in this country, and you're lying to me----” + +“She isn't. My word of honor, Ted.” + +He relaxed. + +Life was a very complicated thing for Fanny these days. Ted was +leaning on her; Mizzi, Otti, and now Fenger. Nathan Haynes was poking a +disturbing finger into that delicate and complicated mechanism of +System which Fenger had built up in the Haynes-Cooper plant. And Fenger, +snarling, was trying to guard his treasure. He came to Fanny with his +grievance. Fanny had always stimulated him, reassured him, given him the +mental readjustment that he needed. + +He strode into her office one morning in late September. Ordinarily he +sent for her. He stood by her desk now, a sheaf of papers in his hand, +palpably stage props, and lifted significant eyebrows in the direction +of the stenographer busy at her typewriter in the corner. + +“You may leave that, Miss Mahin,” Fanny said. Miss Mahin, a +comprehending young woman, left it, and the room as well. Fenger sat +down. He was under great excitement, though he was quite controlled. +Fanny, knowing him, waited quietly. His eyes held hers. + +“It's come,” Fenger began. “You know that for the last year Haynes has +been milling around with a herd of sociologists, philanthropists, and +students of economics. He had some scheme in the back of his head, but I +thought it was just another of his impractical ideas. It appears that +it wasn't. Between the lot of them they've evolved a savings and +profit-sharing plan that's founded on a kind of practical universal +brotherhood dream. Haynes's millions are bothering him. If they actually +put this thing through I'll get out. It'll mean that everything I've +built up will be torn down. It will mean that any six-dollar-a-week +girl----” + +“As I understand it,” interrupted Fanny, “it will mean that there will +be no more six-dollar-a-week girls.” + +“That's it. And let me tell you, once you get the ignorant, unskilled +type to believing they're actually capable of earning decent money, +actually worth something, they're worse than useless. They're +dangerous.” + +“You don't believe that.” + +“I do.” + +“But it's a theory that belongs to the Dark Ages. We've disproved it. +We've got beyond that.” + +“Yes. So was war. We'd got beyond it. But it's here. I tell you, there +are only two classes: the governing and the governed. That has always +been true. It always will be. Let the Socialists rave. It has never got +them anywhere. I know. I come from the mucker class myself. I know what +they stand for. Boost them, and they'll turn on you. If there's anything +in any of them, he'll pull himself up by his own bootstraps.” + +“They're not all potential Fengers.” + +“Then let 'em stay what they are.” + +Fanny's pencil was tracing and retracing a tortured and meaningless +figure on the paper before her. “Tell me, do you remember a girl named +Sarah Sapinsky?” + +“Never heard of her.” + +“That's fitting. Sarah Sapinsky was a very pretty, very dissatisfied +girl who was a slave to the bundle chute. One day there was a period +of two seconds when a bundle didn't pop out at her, and she had time to +think. Anyway, she left. I asked about her. She's on the streets.” + +“Well?” + +“Thanks to you and your system.” + +“Look here, Fanny. I didn't come to you for that kind of talk. Don't, +for heaven's sake, give me any sociological drivel to-day. I'm not here +just to tell you my troubles. You know what my contract is here with +Haynes-Cooper. And you know the amount of stock I hold. If this scheme +of Haynes's goes in, I go out. Voluntarily. But at my own price. The +Haynes-Cooper plant is at the height of its efficiency now.” He dropped +his voice. “But the mail order business is in its infancy. There's no +limit to what can be done with it in the next few years. Understand? +Do you get what I'm trying to tell you?” He leaned forward, tense and +terribly in earnest. + +Fanny stared at him. Then her hand went to her head in a gesture of +weariness. “Not to-day. Please. And not here. Don't think I'm ungrateful +for your confidence. But--this month has been a terrific strain. +Just let me pass the fifteenth of October. Let me see Theodore on the +way----” + +Fenger's fingers closed about her wrist. Fanny got to her feet angrily. +They glared at each other a moment. Then the humor of the picture they +must be making struck Fanny. She began to laugh. Fenger's glare became a +frown. He turned abruptly and left the office. Fanny looked down at her +wrist ruefully. Four circlets of red marked its smooth whiteness. She +laughed again, a little uncertainly this time. + +When she got home that night she found, in her mail, a letter for +Theodore, postmarked Vienna, and stamped with the mark of the censor. +Theodore had given her his word of honor that he would not write Olga, +or give her his address. Olga was risking Fanny's address. She stood +looking at the letter now. Theodore was coming in for dinner, as he did +five nights out of the week. As she stood in the hallway, she heard +the rattle of his key in the lock. She flew down the hall and into her +bedroom, her letters in her hand. She opened her dressing table drawer +and threw them into it, switched on the light and turned to face +Theodore in the doorway. + +“'Lo, Sis.” + +“Hello, Teddy. Kiss me. Phew! That pipe again. How'd the work go +to-day?” + +“So--so. Any mail for me?” + +“No.” + +That night, when he had gone, she took out the letter and stood turning +it over and over in her hands. She had no thought of reading it. It was +its destruction she was contemplating. Finally she tucked it away in her +handkerchief box. Perhaps, after the fifteenth of October. Everything +depended on that. + +And the fifteenth of October came. It had dragged for weeks, and then, +at the end, it galloped. By that time Fanny had got used to seeing +Theodore's picture and name outside Orchestra Hall, and in the musical +columns of the papers. Brandeis. Theodore Brandeis, the violinist. The +name sang in her ears. When she walked on Michigan Avenue during that +last week she would force herself to march straight on past Orchestra +Hall, contenting herself with a furtive and oblique glance at the +announcement board. The advance programs hung, a little bundle of them, +suspended by a string from a nail on the wall near the box office, so +that ticket purchasers might rip one off and peruse the week's musical +menu. Fanny longed to hear the comment of the little groups that were +constantly forming and dispersing about the box office window. She never +dreamed of allowing herself to hover near it. She thought sometimes of +the woman in the businesslike gray skirt and the black sateen apron who +had drudged so cheerfully in the little shop so that Theodore Brandeis' +name might shine now from the very top of the program, in heavy black +letters: + +Soloist: MR. THEODORE BRANDEIS, Violin + +The injustice of it. Fanny had never ceased to rage at that. + +In the years to come Theodore Brandeis was to have that adulation which +the American public, temperamentally so cold, gives its favorite, once +the ice of its reserve is thawed. He was to look down on that surging, +tempestuous crowd which sometimes packs itself about the foot of the +platform in Carnegie Hall, demanding more, more, more, after a generous +concert is concluded. He had to learn to protect himself from those +hysterical, enraptured, wholly feminine adorers who swarmed about him, +scaling the platform itself. But of all this there was nothing on that +Friday and Saturday in October. Orchestra Hall audiences are not, as +a rule, wildly demonstrative. They were no exception. They listened +attentively, appreciatively. They talked, critically and favorably, on +the way home. They applauded generously. They behaved as an Orchestra +Hall audience always behaves, and would behave, even if it were +confronted with a composite Elman-Kreisler-Ysaye soloist. Theodore's +playing was, as a whole, perhaps the worst of his career. Not that he +did not rise to magnificent heights at times. But it was what is known +as uneven playing. He was torn emotionally, nervously, mentally. His +playing showed it. + +Fanny, seated in the auditorium, her hands clasped tight, her heart +hammering, had a sense of unreality as she waited for Theodore to appear +from the little door at the left. He was to play after the intermission. +Fanny had arrived late, with Theodore, that Friday afternoon. She felt +she could not sit through the first part of the program. They waited +together in the anteroom. Theodore, looking very slim and boyish in his +frock coat, walked up and down, up and down. Fanny wanted to straighten +his tie. She wanted to pick an imaginary thread off his lapel. She +wanted to adjust the white flower in his buttonhole (he jerked it out +presently, because it interfered with his violin, he said). She wanted +to do any one of the foolish, futile things that would have served to +relieve her own surcharged feelings. But she had learned control in +these years. And she yielded to none of them. + +The things they said and did were, perhaps, almost ludicrous. + +“How do I look?” Theodore demanded, and stood up before her. + +“Beautiful!” said Fanny, and meant it. + +Theodore passed a hand over his cheek. “Cut myself shaving, damn it!” + +“It doesn't show.” + +He resumed his pacing. Now and then he stopped, and rubbed his hands +together with a motion we use in washing. Finally: + +“I wish you'd go out front,” he said, almost pettishly. Fanny rose, +without a word. She looked very handsome. Excitement had given her +color. The pupils of her eyes were dilated and they shone brilliantly. +She looked at her brother. He stared at her. They swayed together. They +kissed, and clung together for a long moment. Then Fanny turned and +walked swiftly away, and stumbled a little as she groped for the +stairway. + +The bell in the foyer rang. The audience strolled to the auditorium. +They lagged, Fanny thought. They crawled. She told herself that she must +not allow her nerves to tease her like that. She looked about her, with +outward calm. Her eyes met Fenger's. He was seated, alone. It was he +who had got a subscription seat for her from a friend. She had said she +preferred to be alone. She looked at him now and he at her, and they did +not nod nor smile. The house settled itself flutteringly. + +A man behind Fanny spoke. “Who's this Brandeis?” + +“I don't know. A new one. German, I guess. They say he's good. +Kreisler's the boy who can play for me, though.” + +The orchestra was seated now. Stock, the conductor, came out from +the little side door. Behind him walked Theodore. There was a little, +impersonal burst of applause. Stock mounted his conductor's platform and +glanced paternally down at Theodore, who stood at the left, violin and +bow in hand, bowing. The audience seemed to warm to his boyishness. +They applauded again, and he bowed in a little series of jerky bobs that +waggled his coat-tails. Heels close together, knees close together. A +German bow. And then a polite series of bobs addressed to Stock and his +orchestra. Stock's long, slim hands poised in air. His fingertips seemed +to draw from the men before him the first poignant strains of Theodore's +concerto. Theodore stood, slim and straight. Fanny's face, lifted toward +him, was a prayerful thing. Theodore suddenly jerked back the left lapel +of his coat in a little movement Fanny remembered as typical in his +boyish days, nuzzled his violin tenderly, and began to play. + +It is the most excruciating of instruments, the violin, or the most +exquisite. I think Fanny actually heard very little of his playing. Her +hands were icy. Her cheeks were hot. The man before her was not Theodore +Brandeis, the violinist, but Teddy, the bright-haired, knickered +schoolboy who played to those people seated in the yellow wooden pews of +the temple in Winnebago. The years seemed to fade away. He crouched over +his violin to get the 'cello tones for which he was to become famous, +and it was the same hunched, almost awkward pose that the boy had used. +Fanny found herself watching his feet as his shifted his position. He +was nervous. And he was not taken out of himself. She knew that because +she saw the play of his muscles about the jaw-bone. It followed that he +was not playing his best. She could not tell that from listening to him. +Her music sense was dulled. She got it from these outward signs. The +woman next to her was reading a program absorbedly, turning the pages +regularly, and with care. Fanny could have killed her with her two +hands. She tried to listen detachedly. The music was familiar to her. +Theodore had played it for her, again and again. The last movement +had never failed to shake her emotionally. It was the glorious and +triumphant cry of a people tried and unafraid. She heard it now, +unmoved. + +And then Theodore was bowing his little jerky bows, and he was shaking +hands with Stock, and with the First Violin. He was gone. Fanny sat with +her hands in her lap. The applause continued. Theodore appeared again. +Bowed. He bent very low now, with his arms hanging straight. There was +something gracious and courtly about him. And foreign. He must keep +that, Fanny thought. They like it. She saw him off again. More applause. +Encores were against the house rules. She knew that. Then it meant they +were pleased. He was to play again. A group of Hungarian dances this +time. They were wild, gypsy things, rising to frenzy at times. He played +them with spirit and poetry. To listen sent the blood singing through +the veins. Fanny found herself thinking clearly and exaltedly. + +“This is what my mother drudged for, and died for, and it was worth it. +And you must do the same, if necessary. Nothing else matters. What he +needs now is luxury. He's worn out with fighting. Ease. Peace. Leisure. +You've got to give them to him. It's no use, Fanny. You lose.” + +In that moment she reached a mark in her spiritual career that she was +to outdistance but once. + +Theodore was bowing again. Fanny had scarcely realized that he had +finished. The concert was over. + +“... the group of dances,” the man behind her was saying as he helped +the girl next him with her coat, “but I didn't like that first thing. +Church music, not concert.” + +Fanny found her way back to the ante-room. Theodore was talking to the +conductor, and one or two others. He looked tired, and his eyes found +Fanny's with appeal and relief in them. She came over to him. There were +introductions, congratulations. Fanny slipped her hand over his with a +firm pressure. + +“Come, dear. You must be tired.” + +At the door they found Fenger waiting. Theodore received his well-worded +congratulations with an ill-concealed scowl. + +“My car's waiting,” said Fenger. “Won't you let me take you home?” + +A warning pressure from Theodore. “Thanks, no. We have a car. Theodore's +very tired.” + +“I can quite believe that.” + +“Not tired,” growled Theodore, like a great boy. “I'm hungry. Starved. I +never eat before playing.” + +Kurt Stein, Theodore's manager, had been hovering over him solicitously. +“You must remember to-morrow night. I should advise you to rest now, as +quickly as possible.” He, too, glared at Fenger. + +Fenger fell back, almost humbly. “I've great news for you. I must see +you Sunday. After this is over. I'll telephone you. Don't try to come to +work to-morrow.” All this is a hurried aside to Fanny. + +Fanny nodded and moved away with Theodore. + +Theodore leaned back in the car, but there was no hint of relaxation. He +was as tense and vibrant as one of his own violin strings. + +“It went, didn't it? They're like clods, these American audiences.” + It was on the tip of Fanny's tongue to say that he had professed +indifference to audiences, but she wisely refrained. “Gad! I'm hungry. +What makes this Fenger hang around so? I'm going to tell him to keep +away, some day. The way he stares at you. Let's go somewhere to-night, +Fan. Or have some people in. I can't sit about after I've played. Olga +always used to have a supper party, or something.” + +“All right, Ted. Would you like the theater?” + +For the first time in her life she felt a little whisper of sympathy for +the despised Olga. Perhaps, after all, she had not been wholly to blame. + +He was to leave Sunday morning for Cleveland, where he would play +Monday. He had insisted on taking Mizzi with him, though Fanny had +railed and stormed. Theodore had had his way. + +“She's used to it. She likes to travel, don't you, Mizzi? You should +have seen her in Russia, and all over Germany, and in Sweden. She's a +better traveler than her dad.” + +Saturday morning's papers were kind, but cool. They used words such as +promising, uneven, overambitious, gifted. Theodore crumpled the lot +into a ball and hurled them across the room, swearing horribly. Then he +smoothed them out, clipped them, and saved them carefully. His playing +that night was tinged with bravado, and the Saturday evening audience +rose to it. There was about his performance a glow, a spirit that had +been lacking on the previous day. + +Inconsistently enough, he missed the antagonism of the European critics. +He was puzzled and resentful. + +“They hardly say a word about the meaning of the concerto. They accept +it as a piece of music, Jewish in theme. It might as well be entitled +Springtime.” + +“This isn't France or Russia,” said Fanny. “Antagonism here isn't +religious. It's personal, almost. You've been away so many years you've +forgotten. They don't object to us as a sect, or a race, but as a type. +That's the trouble, Clarence Heyl says. We're free to build as many +synagogues as we like, and worship in them all day, if we want to. But +we don't want to. The struggle isn't racial any more, but individual. +For some reason or other one flashy, loud-talking Hebrew in a restaurant +can cause more ill feeling than ten thousand of them holding a religious +mass meeting in Union Square.” + +Theodore pondered a moment. “Then here each one of us is responsible. Is +that it?” + +“I suppose so.” + +“But look here. I've been here ten weeks, and I've met your friends, and +not one of them is a Jew. How's that?” + +Fanny flushed a little. “Oh, it just worked out that way.” + +Theodore looked at her hard. “You mean you worked it out that way?” + +“Yes.” + +“Fan, we're a couple of weaklings, both of us, to have sprung from +a mother like ours. I don't know which is worse; my selfishness, +or yours.” Then, at the hurt that showed in her face, he was all +contrition. “Forgive me, Sis. You've been so wonderful to me, and to +Mizzi, and to all of us. I'm a good-for-nothing fiddler, that's all. +You're the strong one.” + +Fenger had telephoned her on Saturday. He and his wife were at their +place in the country. Fanny was to take the train out there Sunday +morning. She looked forward to it with a certain relief. The weather had +turned unseasonably warm, as Chicago Octobers sometimes do. Up to the +last moment she had tried to shake Theodore's determination to take +Mizzi and Otti with him. But he was stubborn. + +“I've got to have her,” he said. + +Michael Fenger's voice over the telephone had been as vibrant with +suppressed excitement as Michael Fenger's dry, hard tones could be. + +“Fanny, it's done--finished,” he said. “We had a meeting to-day. This is +my last month with Haynes-Cooper.” + +“But you can't mean it. Why, you ARE Haynes-Cooper. How can they let you +go?” + +“I can't tell you now. We'll go over it all to-morrow. I've new plans. +They've bought me out. D'you see? At a price that--well, I thought I'd +got used to juggling millions at Haynes-Cooper. But this surprised even +me. Will you come? Early? Take the eight-ten.” + +“That's too early. I'll get the ten.” + +The mid-October country was a lovely thing. Fanny, with the strain of +Theodore's debut and leave-taking behind her, and the prospect of a +high-tension business talk with Fenger ahead, drank in the beauty of the +wayside woods gratefully. + +Fenger met her at the station. She had never seen him so boyish, so +exuberant. He almost pranced. + +“Hop in,” he said. He had driven down in a runabout. “Brother get off +all right? Gad! He CAN play. And you've made the whole thing possible.” + He turned to look at her. “You're a wonder.” + +“In your present frame of mind and state of being,” laughed Fanny, +“you'd consider any one a wonder. You're so pleased with yourself you're +fairly gummy.” + +Fenger laughed softly and sped the car on. They turned in at the gate. +There was scarlet salvia, now, to take the place of the red geraniums. +The gay awnings, too, were gone. + +“This is our last week,” Fenger explained. “It's too cold out here for +Katherine. We're moving into town to-morrow. We're more or less camping +out here, with only the Jap to take care of us.” + +“Don't apologize, please. I'm grateful just to be here, after the week +I've had. Let's have the news now.” + +“We'll have lunch first. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse Katherine. She +probably won't be down for lunch.” The Jap had spread the luncheon table +on the veranda, but a brisk lake breeze had sprung up, and he was busy +now transferring his table from the porch to the dining room. “Would you +have believed it,” said Fenger, “when you left town? Good old lake. Mrs. +Fenger coming down?” to the man. + +The Jap shook his head. “Nossa.” + +Their talk at luncheon was all about Theodore and his future. Fenger +said that what Theodore needed was a firm and guiding hand. “A sort of +combination manager and slave-driver. An ambitious and intelligent wife +would do it. That's what we all need. A woman to work for, and to make +us work.” + +Fanny smiled. “Mizzi will have to be woman enough, I'm afraid. Poor +Ted.” + +They rose. “Now for the talk,” said Fenger. But the telephone had +sounded shrilly a moment before, and the omnipresent little Jap summoned +Fenger. He was back in a minute, frowning. “It's Haynes. I'm sorry. I'm +afraid it'll take a half hour of telephoning. Don't you want to take a +cat-nap? Or a stroll down to the lake?” + +“Don't bother about me. I'll probably take a run outdoors.” + +“Be back in half an hour.” + +But when she returned he was still at the telephone. She got a book and +stretched luxuriously among the cushions of one of the great lounging +chairs, and fell asleep. When she awoke Fenger was seated opposite her. +He was not reading. He was not smoking. He evidently had been sitting +there, looking at her. + +“Oh, gracious! Mouth open?” + +“No.” + +Fanny fought down an impulse to look as cross as she felt. “What time? +Why didn't you wake me?” The house was very quiet. She patted her hair +deftly, straightened her collar. “Where's everybody? Isn't Mrs. Fenger +down yet?” + +“No. Don't you want to hear about my plans now?” + +“Of course I do. That's what I came for. I don't see why you didn't tell +me hours ago. You're as slow in action as a Chinese play. Out with it.” + +Fenger got up and began to pace the floor, not excitedly, but with an +air of repression. He looked very powerful and compelling, there in the +low-ceilinged, luxurious room. “I'll make it brief. We met yesterday in +Haynes's office. Of course we had discussed the thing before. You know +that. Haynes knew that I'd never run the plant under the new conditions. +Why, it would kill every efficiency rule I've ever made. Here I had +trimmed that enormous plant down to fighting weight. There wasn't a +useless inch or ounce about the whole enormous billionaire bulk of it. +And then to have Haynes come along, with his burdensome notions, and +his socialistic slop. They'd cripple any business, no matter how great +a start it had. I told him all that. We didn't waste much time on +argument, though. We knew we'd never get together. In half an hour we +were talking terms. You know my contract and the amount of stock I hold. +Well, we threshed that out, and Haynes is settling for two million and a +half.” + +He came to a stop before Fanny's chair. + +“Two million and a half what?” asked Fanny, feebly. + +“Dollars.” He smiled rather grimly. “In a check.” + +“One--check?” “One check.” + +Fanny digested that in her orderly mind. “I thought I was used to +thinking in millions. But this--I'd like to touch the check, just once.” + +“You shall.” He drew up a chair near her. “Now get this, Fanny. There's +nothing that you and I can't do with two millions and a half. Nothing. +We know this mail order game as no two people in the world know it. And +it's in its infancy. I know the technical side of it. You know the +human side of it. I tell you that in five years' time you and I can be +a national power. Not merely the heads of a prosperous mail order +business, but figures in finance. See what's happened to Haynes-Cooper +in the last five years! Why, it's incredible. It's grotesque. And it's +nothing to what you and I can do, working together. You know people, +somehow. You've a genius for sensing their wants, or feelings, or +emotions--I don't know just what it is. And I know facts. And we have +two million and a half--I can make it nearly three millions--to start +with. Haynes, fifteen years ago, had a couple of hundred thousand. In +five years we can make the Haynes-Cooper organization look as modern and +competent as a cross-roads store. This isn't a dream. These are facts. +You know how my mind works. Like a cold chisel. I can see this whole +country--and Europe, too, after the war--God, yes!--stretched out before +us like a patient before expert surgeons. You to attend to its heart, +and I to its bones and ligaments. I can put you where no other woman +has ever been. I've a hundred new plans this minute, and a hundred +more waiting to be born. So have you. I tell you it's just a matter of +buildings. Of bricks and stone, and machinery and people to make the +machinery go. Once we get those--and it's only a matter of months--we +can accomplish things I daren't even dream of. What was Haynes-Cooper +fifteen years ago? What was the North American Cloak and Suit Company? +The Peter Johnston Stores, of New York? Wells-Kayser? Nothing. They +didn't exist. And this year Haynes-Cooper is declaring a twenty-five per +cent dividend. Do you get what that means? But of course you do. That's +the wonder of it. I never need explain things to you. You've a genius +for understanding.” + +Fanny had been sitting back in her chair, crouching almost, her +eyes fixed upon the man's face, so terrible in its earnestness and +indomitable strength. When he stopped talking now, and stood looking +down at her, she rose, too, her eyes still on his face. She was twisting +the fingers of one hand in the fingers of the other, in a frightened +sort of way. + +“I'm not really a business woman. I--wait a minute, please--I have a +knack of knowing what people are thinking and wanting. But that isn't +business.” “It isn't, eh? It's the finest kind of business sense. It's +the thing the bugs call psychology, and it's as necessary to-day as +capital was yesterday. You can get along without the last. You can't +without the first. One can be acquired. The other you've got to be born +with.” + +“But I--you know, of late, it's only the human side of it that has +appealed to me. I don't know why. I seem to have lost interest in the +actual mechanics of it.” + +Fenger stood looking at her, his head lowered. A scarlet stripe, that +she had never noticed before, seemed to stand out suddenly, like a +welt, on his forehead. Then he came toward her. She raised her hand in +a little futile gesture. She took an involuntary step backward, +encountered the chair she had just left, and sank into it coweringly. +She sat there, looking up at him, fascinated. His hand, on the wing of +the great chair, was shaking. So, too, was his voice. + +“Fanny, Katherine's not here.” + +Fanny still looked up at him, wordlessly. + +“Katherine left here yesterday. She's in town.” Then, at the look in +her face, “She was here when I telephoned you yesterday. Late yesterday +afternoon she had one of her fantastic notions. She insisted that she +must go into town. It was too cold for her here. Too damp. Too--well, +she went. And I let her go. And I didn't telephone you again. I wanted +you to come.” + +Fanny Brandeis, knowing him, must have felt a great qualm of terror +and helplessness. But she was angry, too, a wholesome ingredient in a +situation such as this. The thing she said and did now was inspired. She +laughed--a little uncertainly, it is true--but still she laughed. And +she said, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +“Well, I must say that's a rather shabby trick. Still, I suppose the +tired business man has got to have his little melodrama. What do I do? +H'm? Beat my breast and howl? Or pound on the door panel?” + +Fenger stood looking at her. “Don't laugh at me, Fanny.” + +She stood up, still smiling. It was rather a brilliant piece of work. +Fenger, taken out of himself though he was, still was artist enough to +appreciate it. + +“Why not laugh,” she said, “if I'm amused? And I am. Come now, Mr. +Fenger. Be serious. And let's get back to the billions. I want to catch +the five-fifteen.” + +“I AM serious.” “Well, if you expect me to play the hunted heroine, +I'm sorry.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “I know now. You're +quitting Haynes-Cooper for the movies. And this is a rehearsal for a +vampire film.” + +“You nervy little devil, you!” He reached out with one great, +irresistible hand and gripped her shoulder. “You wonderful, glorious +girl!” The hand that gripped her shoulder swung her to him. She saw his +face with veins she had never noticed before standing out, in knots, +on his temples, and his eyes were fixed and queer. And he was talking, +rather incoherently, and rapidly. He was saying the same thing over and +over again: “I'm crazy about you. I've been looking for a woman like +you--all my life. I'm crazy about you. I'm crazy----” + +And then Fanny's fine composure and self control fled, and she thought +of her mother. She began to struggle, too, and to say, like any other +girl, “Let me go! Let me go! You're hurting me. Let me go! You! You!” + +And then, quite clearly, from that part of her brain where it had been +tucked away until she should need it, came Clarence Heyl's whimsical bit +of advice. Her mind released it now, complete. + +“If you double your fist this way, and tuck your thumb alongside, like +that, and aim for this spot right here, about two inches this side of +the chin, bringing your arm back and up quickly, like a piston, the +person you hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve right here that +communicates with the brain. The blow makes you see stars, and bright +lights----” + +She went limp in his arms. She shut her eyes, flutteringly. “All +men--like you--have a yellow streak,” she whispered, and opened her +eyes, and looked up at him, smiling a little. He relaxed his hold, in +surprise and relief. And with her eyes on that spot barely two inches +to the side of the chin she brought her right arm down, slowly, slowly, +fist doubled, and then up like a piston--snap! His teeth came together +with a sharp little crack. His face, in that second, was a comic mask, +surprised, stunned, almost idiotic. Then he went down, as Clarence Heyl +had predicted, limp. Not with a crash, but slowly, crumpingly, so that +he almost dragged her with him. + +Fanny stood looking down at him a moment. Then she wiped her mouth with +the back of her hand. She walked out of the room, and down the hall. She +saw the little Jap dart suddenly back from a doorway, and she stamped +her foot and said, “S-s-cat!” as if he had been a rat. She gathered up +her hat and bag from the hall table, and so, out of the door, and down +the walk, to the road. And then she began to run. She ran, and ran, and +ran. It was a longish stretch to the pretty, vine-covered station. She +seemed unconscious of fatigue, or distance. She must have been at least +a half hour on the way. When she reached the station the ticket agent +told her there was no train until six. So she waited, quietly. She put +on her hat (she had carried it in her hand all the way) and patted her +hair into place. When the train came she found a seat quite alone, and +sank into its corner, and rested her head against her open palm. It was +not until then that she felt a stab of pain. She looked at her hand, and +saw that the skin of her knuckles was bruised and bleeding. + +“Well, if this,” she said to herself, “isn't the most idiotic thing that +ever happened to a woman outside a near-novel.” + +She looked at her knuckles, critically, as though the hand belonged to +some one else. Then she smiled. And even as she smiled a great lump came +into her throat, and the bruise blurred before her eyes, and she was +crying rackingly, relievedly, huddled there in her red plush corner. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +It was eight o'clock when she let herself into her apartment. She had +given the maid a whole holiday. When Fanny had turned on the light in +her little hallway she stood there a moment, against the door, her hand +spread flat against the panel. It was almost as though she patted it, +lovingly, gratefully. Then she went on into the living room, and stood +looking at its rosy lamplight. Then, still as though seeing it all for +the first time, into her own quiet, cleanly bedroom, with its cream +enamel, and the chaise longue that she had had cushioned in rose because +it contrasted so becomingly with her black hair. And there, on her +dressing table, propped up against the brushes and bottles, was the +yellow oblong of a telegram. From Theodore of course. She opened it with +a rush of happiness. It was like a loving hand held out to her in need. +It was a day letter. + +“We sail Monday on the St. Paul. Mizzi is with me. I broke my word to +you. But you lied to me about the letters. I found them the week +before the concert. I shall bring her back with me or stay to fight for +Germany. Forgive me, dear sister.” + + +Just fifty words. His thrifty German training. + +“No!” cried Fanny, aloud. “No! No!” And the cry quavered and died away, +and another took its place, and it, too, gave way to another, so that +she was moaning as she stood there with the telegram in her shaking +hand. She read it again, her lips moving, as old people sometimes read. +Then she began to whimper, with her closed fist over her mouth, her +whole body shaking. All her fine courage gone now; all her rigid +self-discipline; all her iron determination. She was not a tearful +woman. And she had wept much on the train. So the thing that +wrenched and shook her now was all the more horrible because of its +soundlessness. She walked up and down the room, pushing her hair back +from her forehead with the flat of her hand. From time to time she +smoothed out the crumpled yellow slip of paper and read it again. Her +mind, if you could have seen into it, would have presented a confused +and motley picture. Something like this: But his concert engagements?... +That was what had happened to Bauer.... How silly he had looked when her +fist met his jaw.... It had turned cold; why didn't they have steam on? +The middle of October.... Teddy, how could you do it! How could you +do it!... Was he still lying in a heap on the floor? But of course the +sneaking little Jap had found him.... Somebody to talk to. That was what +she wanted. Some one to talk to.... + +Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her lamp-lighted +living room, and she held out her hands in silent appeal. Some one to +talk to. In her mind she went over the list of those whose lives had +touched hers in the last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, +Ella Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women she had +met from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating Facts. Not one of +them could she turn to now. + +Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence Heyl. He had +helped her once, to-day. And now, for the second time, something that +he had said long before came from its hiding place in her subconscious +mind. She had said: + +“Some days I feel I've got to walk out of the office, and down the +street, without a hat, and on and on, walking and walking, and running +and running till I come to the horizon.” + +And Heyl had answered, in his quiet, reassuring way: “Some day that +feeling will get too strong for you. When that time comes get on a train +marked Denver. From there take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky +Mountains, where the horizon lives and has its being. Ask for Heyl's +place. They'll hand you from one to the other. I may be there, but more +likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a string. You'll +find a fire laid with fat pine knots. My books are there. The bedding's +in the cedar chest. And the mountains will make you clean and whole +again; and the pines...” + +Fanny went to the telephone. Trains for Denver. She found the road she +wanted, and asked for information. She was on her own ground here. All +her life she had had to find her own trains, check her own trunks, plan +her journeys. Sometimes she had envied the cotton-wool women who had had +all these things done for them, always. + +One-half of her mind was working clearly and coolly. The other half was +numb. There were things to be done. They would take a day. More than +a day, but she would neglect most of them. She must notify the office. +There were tickets to be got. Reservations. Money at the bank. Packing. +When the maid came in at eleven Fanny had suitcases and bags out, and +her bedroom was strewn with shoes, skirts, coats. + +Late Monday afternoon Fenger telephoned. She did not answer. There came +a note from him, then a telegram. She did not read them. Tuesday found +her on a train bound for Colorado. She remembered little of the first +half of her journey. She had brought with her books and magazines, and +she must have read hem, but her mind had evidently retained nothing of +what she had read. She must have spent hours looking out of the window, +for she remembered, long afterward, the endlessness and the monotony of +the Kansas prairies. They soothed her. She was glad there were no bits +of autumnal woodland, no tantalizing vistas, nothing to break the flat +and boundless immensity of it. Here was something big, and bountiful, +and real, and primal. Good Kansas dirt. Miles of it. Miles of it. She +felt she would like to get out and tramp on it, hard. + +“Pretty cold up there in Estes Park,” the conductor had said. “Been +snowing up in the mountains.” + +She had arranged to stop in Denver only long enough to change trains. +A puffy little branch line was to take her from Denver to Loveland, and +there, she had been told, one of the big mountain-road steam automobiles +would take her up the mountains to her destination. For one as mentally +alert as she normally was, the exact location of that destination was +very hazy in her mind. Heyl's place. That was all. Ordinarily she would +have found the thought ridiculous. But she concentrated on it now; clung +to it. + +At the first glimpse of the foot-hills Fanny's listless gaze became +interested. If you have ever traveled on the jerky, cleanly, meandering +little road that runs between Denver and the Park you know that it +winds, and curves, so that the mountains seem to leap about, friskily, +first confronting you on one side of the car window, then disappearing +and seeming to taunt you from the windows of the opposite side. Fanny +laughed aloud. The mountain steam-car was waiting at Loveland. There +were few passengers at this time of year. The driver was a great tanned +giant, pongee colored from his hair to his puttees and boots. Fanny was +to learn, later, that in Estes Park the male tourist was likely to +be puny, pallid, and unattractive when compared to the tall, slim, +straight, khaki-clad youth, browned by the sun, and the wind, and the +dust, who drives his steamer up and down the perilous mountain roads +with more dexterity than the charioteering gods ever displayed on +Olympus. + +Fanny got the seat beside this glorious person. The steamer was a huge +vehicle, boasting five rows of seats, and looking very much like a small +edition of the sightseeing cars one finds in tourist-infested cities. + +“Heyl's place,” said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work! + +Said the blond god, “Stopping at the Inn overnight, I s'pose.” + +“Why--I don't know,” faltered Fanny. “Can't I go right on to--to--Heyl's +place?” + +“Can.” Mountain steamer men are not loquacious. “Sure. Better not. You +won't get to the Inn till dark. Better stay there over night, and go on +up to Heyl's place in the morning.” + +Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what appeared to +Fanny's eyes to be a maze of handles, brakes, valves; and the great car +glided smoothly off, without a bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long +breath. + +There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile. +And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the aspens are turning! Well, +aspens turn gold in October. People who have seen an aspen grove in +October believe in fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive +passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen it? +There shall be no poor weaving together of words. There shall be no +description of orange and mauve and flame-colored sunsets, no juggling +with mists and clouds, and sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain +dwellers and mountain lovers are a laconic tribe. They know the futility +of words. + +But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. That is within our +province. In the first place, they made her hungry. That was the crisp, +heady air. The mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a +thing of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous ribbon +of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road all horseshoe curves +and hairpin twists. Fanny found herself gasping. But that passed after +a time. Big Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the +pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so angularly graceful +among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole a side glance at him now and +then. He looked straight ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do +look straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely to mean +death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that foams and rushes below. + +Fanny ventured a question. “Do you know Mr. Heyl?” + +“Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday.” + +“Down?” + +“To the village. He's gone back east.” + +Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was relief or +consternation. + +At Estes village the blond god handed her over to a twin charioteer who +would drive her up the mountain road to the Inn that nestled in a valley +nine thousand feet up the mountain. It was a drive Fanny never forgot. +Fenger, Ted, Haynes-Cooper, her work, her plans, her ambitions, seemed +to dwindle to puny insignificance beside the vast grandeur that unfolded +before her at every fresh turn in the road. Up they went, and up, and +up, and the air was cold, but without a sting in it. It was dark when +the lights of the Inn twinkled out at them. The door was thrown open +as they swung up the curve to the porch. A great log fire glowed in the +fireplace. The dining room held only a dozen people, or thereabouts--a +dozen weary, healthy people, in corduroys and sweaters and boots, whose +cleanly talk was all about climbing and fishing, and horseback rides and +trails. And it was fried chicken night at the Inn. Fanny thought she was +too utterly tired to eat, until she began to eat, and then she thought +she was too hungry ever to stop. After dinner she sat, for a moment, +before the log fire in the low-ceilinged room, with its log walls, its +rustic benches, and its soft-toned green and brown cushions. She forgot +to be unhappy. She forgot to be anything but deliciously drowsy. +And presently she climbed the winding stair whose newel post was a +fire-marked tree trunk, richly colored, and curiously twisted. And so +to her lamp-lighted room, very small, very clean, very quiet. She opened +her window and looked out at the towering mass that was Long's Peak, and +at the stars, and she heard the busy little brook that scurries through +the Inn yard on its way from the mountain to the valley. She undressed +quickly, and crept into bed, meaning to be very, very miserable indeed. +And the next thing she knew it was morning. A blue and gold October +morning. And the mountains!--but there is no describing a mountain. +One uses words, and they are futile. Fanny viewed them again, from her +window, between pauses in dressing. And she meant, privately, to be +miserable again. But she could only think, somehow, of bacon and eggs, +and coffee, and muffins. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +Heyl's place. Fanny stood before it, key in hand (she had found it +in the mail box, tied to a string), and she had a curious and restful +feeling, as if she had come home, after long wanderings. She smiled, +whimsically, and repeated her lesson to herself: + +“The fire's laid in the fireplace with fat pine knots that will blaze +up at the touch of a match. My books are there, along the wall. The +bedding's in the cedar chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned +stuff in the pantry. And the mountains are there, girl, to make you +clean and whole again....” + +She stepped up to the little log-pillared porch and turned the key in +the lock. She opened the door wide, and walked in. And then she shut her +eyes for a moment. Because, if it shouldn't be true---- + +But there was a fire laid with fat pine knots. She walked straight over +to it, and took her box of matches from her bag, struck one, and held +it to the wood. They blazed like a torch. Books! Along the four walls, +books. Fat, comfortable, used-looking books. Hundreds of them. A lamp on +the table, and beside it a pipe, blackened from much use. Fanny picked +it up, smiling. She held it a moment in her hand, as though she expected +to find it still warm. + +“It's like one of the fairy tales,” she thought, “the kind that repeats +and repeats. The kind that says, `and she went into the next room, and +it was as the good fairy had said.'” + +There's tinned stuff in the pantry. She went into the tiny kitchen and +opened the pantry door cautiously, being wary of mice. But it met her +eye in spotless array. Orderly rows of tins. Orderly rows of bottles. +Coffee. Condensed milk. Beans. Spaghetti. Flour. Peaches. Pears. + +Off the bedroom there was an absurdly adequate little bathroom, with a +zinc tub and an elaborate water-heating arrangement. + +Fanny threw back her head and laughed as she hadn't laughed in months. +“Wild life in the Rockies,” she said aloud. She went back to the +book-lined living room. The fire was crackling gloriously. It was a +many-windowed room, and each window framed an enchanting glimpse of +mountain, flaming with aspens up to timber-line, and snow-capped at the +top. Fanny decided to wait until the fire had died down to a coal-bed. +Then she banked it carefully, put on a heavy sweater and a cap, and made +for the outdoors. She struck out briskly, tenderfoot that she was. In +five minutes she was panting. Her heart was hammering suffocatingly. Her +lungs ached. She stopped, trembling. Then she remembered. The altitude, +of course. Heyl had boasted that his cabin stood at an altitude of over +nine thousand feet. Well, she would have to get used to it. But she was +soon striding forward as briskly as before. She was a natural mountain +dweller. The air, the altitude, speeded up her heart, her lungs, sent +the blood dancing through her veins. Figuratively, she was on tip-toe. + +They had warned her, at the Inn, to take it slowly for the first few +days. They had asked no questions. Fanny learned to heed their advice. +She learned many more things in the next few days. She learned how to +entice the chipmunks that crossed her path, streak o' sunshine, streak +o' shadow. She learned to broil bacon over a fire, with a forked stick. +She learned to ride trail ponies, and to bask in a sun-warmed spot on a +wind-swept hill, and to tell time by the sun, and to give thanks for the +beauty of the world about her, and to leave the wild flowers unpicked, +to put out her campfire with scrupulous care, and to destroy all rubbish +(your true woodsman and mountaineer is as painstakingly neat as a French +housewife). + +She was out of doors all day. At night she read for a while before the +fire, but by nine her eyelids were heavy. She walked down to the Inn +sometimes, but not often. One memorable night she went, with half a +dozen others from the Inn, to the tiny one-room cabin of Oscar, the +handy man about the Inn, and there she listened to one of Oscar's +far-famed phonograph concerts. Oscar's phonograph had cost twenty-five +dollars in Denver. It stood in one corner of his cabin, and its base was +a tree stump just five hundred years old, as you could tell for yourself +by counting its rings. His cabin walls were gorgeous with pictures of +Maxine Elliott in her palmy days, and blonde and sophisticated little +girls on vinegar calendars, posing bare-legged and self-conscious in +blue calico and sunbonnets. You sat in the warm yellow glow of Oscar's +lamp and were regaled with everything from the Swedish National +Anthem to Mischa Elman's tenderest crooning. And Oscar sat rapt, his +weather-beaten face a rich deep mahogany, his eyes bluer than any eyes +could ever be except in contrast with that ruddy countenance, his teeth +so white that you found yourself watching for his smile that was so +gently sweet and childlike. Oh, when Oscar put on his black pants and +issued invitations for a musical evening one was sure to find his cabin +packed. Eight did it, with squeezing. + +This, then, was the atmosphere in which Fanny Brandeis found herself. +As far from Haynes-Cooper as anything could be. At the end of the first +week she found herself able to think clearly and unemotionally about +Theodore, and about Fenger. She had even evolved a certain rather crude +philosophy out of the ruins that had tumbled about her ears. It was +so crude, so unformed in her mind that it can hardly be set down. To +justify one's own existence. That was all that life held or meant. But +that included all the lives that touched on yours. It had nothing to +do with success, as she had counted success heretofore. It was service, +really. It was living as--well, as Molly Brandeis had lived, helpfully, +self-effacingly, magnificently. Fanny gave up trying to form the thing +that was growing in her mind. Perhaps, after all, it was too soon to +expect a complete understanding of that which had worked this change in +her from that afternoon in Fenger's library. + +After the first few days she found less and less difficulty in climbing. +Her astonished heart and lungs ceased to object so strenuously to the +unaccustomed work. The Cabin Rock trail, for example, whose summit found +her panting and exhausted at first, now seemed a mere stroll. She grew +more daring and ambitious. One day she climbed the Long's Peak trail to +timberline, and had tea at Timberline Cabin with Albert Edward Cobbins. +Albert Edward Cobbins, Englishman, erstwhile sailor, adventurer and +gentleman, was the keeper of Timberline Cabin, and the loneliest man in +the Rockies. It was his duty to house overnight climbers bound for the +Peak, sunrise parties and sunset parties, all too few now in the chill +October season-end. Fanny was his first visitor in three days. He was +pathetically glad to see her. + +“I'll have tea for you,” he said, “in a jiffy. And I baked a pan of +French rolls ten minutes ago. I had a feeling.” + +A magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet tall slim, +broad-shouldered, long-headed, and scrubbed-looking as only an +Englishman can be, there was something almost pathetic in the sight of +him bustling about the rickety little kitchen stove. + +“To-morrow,” said Fanny, over her tea, “I'm going to get an early start, +reach here by noon, and go on to Boulder Field and maybe Keyhole.” + +“Better not, Miss. Not in October, when there's likely to be a snowstorm +up there in a minute's notice.” + +“You'd come and find me, wouldn't you? They always do, in the books.” + +“Books are all very well, Miss. But I'm not a mountain man. The truth +is I don't know my way fifty feet from this cabin. I got the job because +I'm used to loneliness, and don't mind it, and because I can cook, d'you +see, having shipped as cook for years. But I'm a seafaring man, Miss. I +wouldn't advise it, Miss. Another cup of tea?” + +But Long's Peak, king of the range, had fascinated her from the first. +She knew that the climb to the summit would be impossible for her now, +but she had an overwhelming desire to see the terrifying bulk of it from +a point midway of the range. It beckoned her and intrigued her, as the +difficult always did. + +By noon of the following day she had left Albert Edward's cabin (he +stood looking after her in the doorway until she disappeared around the +bend) and was jauntily following the trail that led to Boulder Field, +that sea of jagged rock a mile across. Soon she had left the tortured, +wind-twisted timberline trees far behind. How pitiful Cabin Rock and +Twin Sisters looked compared to this. She climbed easily and steadily, +stopping for brief rests. Early in the week she had ridden down to the +village, where she had bought climbing breeches and stout leggings. She +laughed at Albert Edward and his fears. By one o'clock she had reached +Boulder Field. She found the rocks glazed with ice. Just over Keyhole, +that freakish vent in a wall of rock, the blue of the sky had changed +to the gray of snow-clouds. Tenderfoot though she was, she knew that the +climb over Boulder Field would be perilous, if not impossible. She went +on, from rock to rock, for half an hour, then decided to turn back. A +clap of thunder, that roared and crashed, and cracked up and down the +canyons and over the peaks, hastened her decision. She looked about her. +Peak on peak. Purple and black and yellow masses, fantastic in their +hugeness. Chasms. Canyons. Pyramids and minarets. And so near. So grim. +So ghastly desolate. And yet so threatening. And then Fanny Brandeis was +seized with mountain terror. It is a disease recognized by mountain men +everywhere, and it is panic, pure and simple. It is fear brought on by +the immensity and the silence of the mountains. A great horror of the +vastness and ruggedness came upon her. It was colossal, it was crushing, +it was nauseating. + +She began to run. A mistake, that, when one is following a mountain +trail, at best an elusive thing. In five minutes she had lost the trail. +She stopped, and scolded herself sternly, and looked about her. She saw +the faint trail line again, or thought she saw it, and made toward it, +and found it to be no trail at all. She knew that she must be not more +than an hour's walk from Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward, and +his biscuits and tea. Why be frightened? It was absurd. But she was +frightened, horribly, harrowingly. The great, grim rock masses seemed +to be shaking with silent laughter. She began to run again. She was very +cold, and a piercing wind had sprung up. She kept on walking, doggedly, +reasoning with herself quite calmly, and proud of her calmness. Which +proves how terrified she really was. Then the snow came, not slowly, +not gradually, but a blanket of it, as it does come in the mountains, +shutting off everything. And suddenly Fanny's terror vanished. She felt +quite free from weariness. She was alive and tingling to her fingertips. +The psychology of fear is a fascinating thing. Fanny had reached +the second stage. She was quite taken out of herself. She forgot her +stone-bruised feet. She was no longer conscious of cold. She ran now, +fleetly, lightly, the ground seeming to spur her on. She had given up +the trail completely now. She told herself that if she ran on, down, +down, down, she must come to the valley sometime. Unless she was turned +about, and headed in the direction of one of those hideous chasms. She +stopped a moment, peering through the snow curtain, but she could see +nothing. She ran on lightly, laughing a little. Then her feet met a +projection, she stumbled, and fell flat over a slab of wood that jutted +out of the ground. She lay there a moment, dazed. Then she sat up, and +bent down to look at this thing that had tripped her. Probably a tree +trunk. Then she must be near timberline. She bent closer. It was a rough +wooden slab. Closer still. There were words carved on it. She lay flat +and managed to make them out painfully. + +“Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest, and died alone, April 26, 1893.” + +Fanny had heard the story of Sarah Cannon, a stern spinster who had +achieved the climb to the Peak, and who had met with mishap on the down +trail. Her guide had left her to go for help. When the relief party +returned, hours later, they had found her dead. + +Fanny sprang up, filled with a furious energy. She felt strangely light +and clear-headed. She ran on, stopped, ran again. Now she was +making little short runs here and there. It was snowing furiously, +vindictively. It seemed to her that she had been running for hours. It +probably was minutes. Suddenly she sank down, got to her feet again, +stumbled on perhaps a dozen paces, and sank down again. It was as though +her knees had turned liquid. She lay there, with her eyes shut. + +“I'm just resting,” she told herself. “In a minute I'll go on. In a +minute. After I've rested.” + +“Hallo-o-o-o!” from somewhere on the other side of the snow blanket. +“Hallo-o-o-o!” Fanny sat up, helloing shrilly, hysterically. She got to +her feet, staggeringly. And Clarence Heyl walked toward her. + +“You ought to be spanked for this,” he said. + +Fanny began to cry weakly. She felt no curiosity as to his being there. +She wasn't at all sure that he actually was there, for that matter. +At that thought she dug a frantic hand into his arm. He seemed to +understand, for he said, “It's all right. I'm real enough. Can you +walk?” + +“Yes.” But she tried it and found she could not. She decided she was too +tired to care. “I stumbled over a thing--a horrible thing--a gravestone. +And I must have hurt my leg. I didn't know----” + +She leaned against him, a dead weight. “Tell you what,” said Heyl, +cheerfully. “You wait here. I'll go on down to Timberline Cabin for +help, and come back.” + +“You couldn't manage it--alone? If I tried? If I tried to walk?” + +“Oh, impossible.” His tone was brisk. “Now you sit right down here.” + She sank down obediently. She felt a little sorry for herself, and glad, +too, and queer, and not at all cold. She looked up at him dumbly. He was +smiling. “All right?” + +She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from sight at once. + +“Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April 26, 1893.” + +She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew that this was +the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all sad. Happy, if anything. + +“You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?” + +She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and lifted her +lightly to her feet. “Timberline Cabin's not a hundred yards away. I +just did it to try you.” + +She had spirit enough left to say, “Beast.” + +Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He carried her, +not in his arms, as they do it in books and in the movies. He could not +have gone a hundred feet that way. He carried her over his shoulder, +like a sack of meal, by one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy +scout knows that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most +effectual carrying method known, though unromantic. + +And so they came to Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward Cobbins was in +the doorway. Heyl put her down gently on the bench that ran alongside +the table. The hospitable table that bore two smoking cups of tea. +Fanny's lips were cracked, and the skin was peeled from her nose, and +her hair was straggling and her eyes red-rimmed. She drank the tea in +great gulps. And then she went into the tiny bunkroom, and tumbled into +one of the shelf-bunks, and slept. + +When she awoke she sat up in terror, and bumped her head against the +bunk above, and called, “Clancy!” + +“Yep!” from the next room. He came to the door. The acrid smell of their +pipes was incense in her nostrils. “Rested?” + +“What time is it?” + +“Seven o'clock. Dinner time. Ham and eggs.” + +She got up stiffly, and bathed her roughened face, and produced a powder +pad (they carry them in the face of danger, death, and dissolution) and +dusted it over her scaly nose. She did her hair--her vigorous, abundant +hair that shone in the lamplight, pulled down her blouse, surveyed +her torn shoes ruefully, donned the khaki skirt that Albert Edward had +magically produced from somewhere to take the place of her breeches. +She dusted her shoes with a bit of rag, regarded herself steadily in the +wavering mirror, and went in. + +The two men were talking quietly. Albert Edward was moving deftly from +stove to table. They both looked up as she came in, and she looked at +Heyl. Their eyes held. + +Albert Edward was as sporting a gentleman as the late dear king whose +name he bore. He went out to tend Heyl's horse, he said. It was little +he knew of horses, and he rather feared them, as does a sailing man. But +he went, nevertheless. + +Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him. + +“It's absurd,” said Fanny. “It's the kind of thing that doesn't happen.” + +“It's simple enough, really,” he answered. “I saw Ella Monahan in +Chicago, and she told me all she knew, and something of what she had +guessed. I waited a few days and came back. I had to.” He smiled. “A +pretty job you've made of trying to be selfish.” + +At that she smiled, too, pitifully enough, for her lower lip trembled. +She caught it between her teeth in a last sharp effort at self-control. +“Don't!” she quavered. And then, in a panic, her two hands came up in a +vain effort to hide the tears. She sank down on the rough bench by the +table, and the proud head came down on her arms so that there was a +little clatter and tinkle among the supper things spread on the table. +Then quiet. + +Clarence Heyl stared. He stared, helplessly, as does a man who has +never, in all his life, been called upon to comfort a woman in tears. +Then instinct came to his rescue. He made her side of the table in two +strides (your favorite film star couldn't have done it better), put his +two hands on her shoulders and neatly shifted the bowed head from the +cold, hard surface of the table top to the warm, rough, tobacco-scented +comfort of his coat. It rested there quite naturally. Just as naturally +Fanny's arm crept up, and about his neck. So they remained for a moment, +until he bent so that his lips touched her hair. Her head came up at +that, sharply, so that it bumped his chin. They both laughed, looking +into each other's eyes, but at what they saw there they stopped laughing +and were serious. + +“Dear,” said Heyl. “Dearest.” The lids drooped over Fanny's eyes. “Look +at me,” said Heyl. So she tried to lift them again, bravely, and could +not. At that he bent his head and kissed Fanny Brandeis in the way a +woman wants to be kissed for the first time by the man she loves. It +hurt her lips, that kiss, and her teeth, and the back of her neck, and +it left her breathless, and set things whirling. When she opened her +eyes (they shut them at such times) he kissed her again, very tenderly, +this time, and lightly, and reassuringly. She returned that kiss, and, +strangely enough, it was the one that stayed in her memory long, long +after the other had faded. + +“Oh, Clancy, I've made such a mess of it all. Such a miserable mess. +The little girl in the red tam was worth ten of me. I don't see how you +can--care for me.” + +“You're the most wonderful woman in the world,” said Heyl, “and the most +beautiful and splendid.” + +He must have meant it, for he was looking down at her as he said it, and +we know that the skin had been peeled off her nose by the mountain winds +and sun, that her lips were cracked and her cheeks rough, and that she +was red-eyed and worn-looking. And she must have believed him, for she +brought his cheek down to hers with such a sigh of content, though she +said, “But are we at all suited to each other?” + +“Probably not,” Heyl answered, briskly. “That's why we're going to be +so terrifically happy. Some day I'll be passing the Singer building, and +I'll glance up at it and think how pitiful it would look next to Long's +Peak. And then I'll be off, probably, to these mountains.” + +“Or some day,” Fanny returned, “we'll be up here, and I'll remember, +suddenly, how Fifth Avenue looks on a bright afternoon between four and +five. And I'll be off, probably, to the Grand Central station.” + +And then began one of those beautiful and foolish conversations which +all lovers have whose love has been a sure and steady growth. Thus: +“When did you first begin to care,” etc. And, “That day we spent at the +dunes, and you said so and so, did you mean this and that?” + +Albert Edward Cobbins announced his approach by terrific stampings and +scufflings, ostensibly for the purpose of ridding his boots of snow. He +entered looking casual, and very nipped. + +“You're here for the night,” he said. “A regular blizzard. The greatest +piece of luck I've had in a month.” He busied himself with the ham and +eggs and the teapot. “Hungry?” + +“Not a bit,” said Fanny and Heyl, together. + +“H'm,” said Albert Edward, and broke six eggs into the frying pan just +the same. + +After supper they aided Albert Edward in the process of washing up. When +everything was tidy he lighted his most malignant pipe and told them +seafaring yarns not necessarily true. Then he knocked the ashes out +of his pipe and fell asleep there by the fire, effacing himself as +effectually as one of three people can in a single room. They talked; +low-toned murmurings that they seemed to find exquisitely meaningful +or witty, by turn. Fanny, rubbing a forefinger (his) along her +weather-roughened nose, would say, “At least you've seen me at my +worst.” + +Or he, mock serious: “I think I ought to tell you that I'm the kind of +man who throws wet towels into the laundry hamper.” + +But there was no mirth in Fanny's voice when she said, “Dear, do you +think Lasker will give me that job? You know he said, `When you want a +job, come back.' Do you think he meant it?” + +“Lasker always means it.” + +“But,” fearfully, and shyly, too, “you don't think I may have lost my +drawing hand and my seeing eye, do you? As punishment?” + +“I do not. I think you've just found them, for keeps. There wasn't a +woman cartoonist in the country--or man, either, for that matter--could +touch you two years ago. In two more I'll be just Fanny Brandeis' +husband, that's all.” + +They laughed together at that, so that Albert Edward Cobbins awoke with +a start and tried to look as if he had not been asleep, and failing, +smiled benignly and drowsily upon them. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + +***** This file should be named 350-0.txt or 350-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/350/ + +Produced by Mike Lough + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/350-0.zip b/350-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..07a42ef --- /dev/null +++ b/350-0.zip diff --git a/350-h.zip b/350-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..90eea32 --- /dev/null +++ b/350-h.zip diff --git a/350-h/350-h.htm b/350-h/350-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc591cc --- /dev/null +++ b/350-h/350-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12923 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fanny Herself + +Author: Edna Ferber + +Release Date: July 3, 2008 [EBook #350] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + + + + +Produced by Mike Lough and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + FANNY HERSELF + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edna Ferber + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FANNY HERSELF </a><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER TEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER FIFTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER SIXTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER NINETEEN </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + It has become the fashion among novelists to introduce their hero in knee + pants, their heroine in pinafore and pigtails. Time was when we were + rushed up to a stalwart young man of twenty-four, who was presented as the + pivot about whom the plot would revolve. Now we are led, protesting, up to + a grubby urchin of five and are invited to watch him through twenty years + of intimate minutiae. In extreme cases we have been obliged to witness his + evolution from swaddling clothes to dresses, from dresses to shorts (he is + so often English), from shorts to Etons. + </p> + <p> + The thrill we get for our pains is when, at twenty-five, he jumps over the + traces and marries the young lady we met in her cradle on page two. The + process is known as a psychological study. A publisher's note on page five + hundred and seventy-three assures us that the author is now at work on + Volume Two, dealing with the hero's adult life. A third volume will + present his pleasing senility. The whole is known as a trilogy. If the + chief character is of the other sex we are dragged through her dreamy + girlhood, or hoydenish. We see her in her graduation white, in her bridal + finery. By the time she is twenty we know her better than her mother ever + will, and are infinitely more bored by her. + </p> + <p> + Yet who would exchange one page in the life of the boy, David Copperfield, + for whole chapters dealing with Trotwood Copperfield, the man? Who would + relinquish the button-bursting Peggotty for the saintly Agnes? And that + other David—he of the slingshot; one could not love him so well in + his psalm-singing days had one not known him first as the gallant, + dauntless vanquisher of giants. As for Becky Sharp, with her treachery, + her cruelty, her vindicativeness, perhaps we could better have understood + and forgiven her had we known her lonely and neglected childhood, with the + drunken artist father and her mother, the French opera girl. + </p> + <p> + With which modest preamble you are asked to be patient with Miss Fanny + Brandeis, aged thirteen. Not only must you suffer Fanny, but Fanny's + mother as well, without whom there could be no understanding Fanny. For + that matter, we shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Brandeis were to turn out the + heroine in the end. She is that kind of person. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FANNY HERSELF + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + You could not have lived a week in Winnebago without being aware of Mrs. + Brandeis. In a town of ten thousand, where every one was a personality, + from Hen Cody, the drayman, in blue overalls (magically transformed on + Sunday mornings into a suave black-broadcloth usher at the Congregational + Church), to A. J. Dawes, who owned the waterworks before the city bought + it. Mrs. Brandeis was a super-personality. Winnebago did not know it. + Winnebago, buying its dolls, and china, and Battenberg braid and tinware + and toys of Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, realized vaguely that here + was some one different. + </p> + <p> + When you entered the long, cool, narrow store on Elm Street, Mrs. Brandeis + herself came forward to serve you, unless she already was busy with two + customers. There were two clerks—three, if you count Aloysius, the + boy—but to Mrs. Brandeis belonged the privilege of docketing you + first. If you happened in during a moment of business lull, you were + likely to find her reading in the left-hand corner at the front of the + store, near the shelf where were ranged the dolls' heads, the pens, the + pencils, and school supplies. + </p> + <p> + You saw a sturdy, well-set-up, alert woman, of the kind that looks taller + than she really is; a woman with a long, straight, clever nose that + indexed her character, as did everything about her, from her crisp, + vigorous, abundant hair to the way she came down hard on her heels in + walking. She was what might be called a very definite person. But first + you remarked her eyes. Will you concede that eyes can be piercing, yet + velvety? Their piercingness was a mental quality, I suppose, and the + velvety softness a physical one. One could only think, somehow, of wild + pansies—the brown kind. If Winnebago had taken the trouble to glance + at the title of the book she laid face down on the pencil boxes as you + entered, it would have learned that the book was one of Balzac's, or, + perhaps, Zangwill's, or Zola's. She never could overcome that habit of + snatching a chapter here and there during dull moments. She was too tired + to read when night came. + </p> + <p> + There were many times when the little Wisconsin town lay broiling in the + August sun, or locked in the January drifts, and the main business street + was as silent as that of a deserted village. But more often she came + forward to you from the rear of the store, with bits of excelsior clinging + to her black sateen apron. You knew that she had been helping Aloysius as + he unpacked a consignment of chamber sets or a hogshead of china or + glassware, chalking each piece with the price mark as it was dug from its + nest of straw and paper. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do!” she would say. “What can I do for you?” And in that + moment she had you listed, indexed, and filed, were you a farmer woman in + a black shawl and rusty bonnet with a faded rose bobbing grotesquely atop + it, or one of the patronizing East End set who came to Brandeis' Bazaar + because Mrs. Brandeis' party favors, for one thing, were of a variety that + could be got nowhere else this side of Chicago. If, after greeting you, + Mrs. Brandeis called, “Sadie! Stockings!” (supposing stockings were your + quest), you might know that Mrs. Brandeis had weighed you and found you + wanting. + </p> + <p> + There had always been a store—at least, ever since Fanny could + remember. She often thought how queer it would seem to have to buy pins, + or needles, or dishes, or soap, or thread. The store held all these + things, and many more. Just to glance at the bewildering display outside + gave you promise of the variety within. Winnebago was rather ashamed of + that display. It was before the day of repression in decoration, and the + two benches in front of the windows overflowed with lamps, and water sets, + and brooms, and boilers and tinware and hampers. Once the Winnebago + Courier had had a sarcastic editorial about what they called the Oriental + bazaar (that was after the editor, Lem Davis, had bumped his shin against + a toy cart that protruded unduly), but Mrs. Brandeis changed nothing. She + knew that the farmer women who stood outside with their husbands on busy + Saturdays would not have understood repression in display, but they did + understand the tickets that marked the wares in plain figures—this + berry set, $1.59; that lamp, $1.23. They talked it over, outside, and + drifted away, and came back, and entered, and bought. + </p> + <p> + She knew when to be old-fashioned, did Mrs. Brandeis, and when to be + modern. She had worn the first short walking skirt in Winnebago. It + cleared the ground in a day before germs were discovered, when women's + skirts trailed and flounced behind them in a cloud of dust. One of her + scandalized neighbors (Mrs. Nathan Pereles, it was) had taken her aside to + tell her that no decent woman would dress that way. + </p> + <p> + “Next year,” said Mrs. Brandeis, “when you are wearing one, I'll remind + you of that.” And she did, too. She had worn shirtwaists with a broad + “Gibson” shoulder tuck, when other Winnebago women were still encased in + linings and bodices. Do not get the impression that she stood for + emancipation, or feminism, or any of those advanced things. They had + scarcely been touched on in those days. She was just an extraordinarily + alert woman, mentally and physically, with a shrewd sense of values. Molly + Brandeis never could set a table without forgetting the spoons, or the + salt, or something, but she could add a double column of figures in her + head as fast as her eye could travel. + </p> + <p> + There she goes, running off with the story, as we were afraid she would. + Not only that, she is using up whole pages of description when she should + be giving us dialogue. Prospective readers, running their eyes over a + printed page, object to the solid block formation of the descriptive + passage. And yet it is fascinating to weave words about her, as it is + fascinating to turn a fine diamond this way and that in the sunlight, to + catch its prismatic hues. Besides, you want to know—do you not?—how + this woman who reads Balzac should be waiting upon you in a little general + store in Winnebago, Wisconsin? + </p> + <p> + In the first place, Ferdinand Brandeis had been a dreamer, and a potential + poet, which is bad equipment for success in the business of general + merchandise. Four times, since her marriage, Molly Brandeis had packed her + household goods, bade her friends good-by, and with her two children, + Fanny and Theodore, had followed her husband to pastures new. A + heart-breaking business, that, but broadening. She knew nothing of the art + of buying and selling at the time of her marriage, but as the years went + by she learned unconsciously the things one should not do in business, + from watching Ferdinand Brandeis do them all. She even suggested this + change and that, but to no avail. Ferdinand Brandeis was a gentle and + lovable man at home; a testy, quick-tempered one in business. + </p> + <p> + That was because he had been miscast from the first, and yet had played + one part too long, even though unsuccessfully, ever to learn another. He + did not make friends with the genial traveling salesmen who breezed in, + slapped him on the back, offered him a cigar, inquired after his health, + opened their sample cases and flirted with the girl clerks, all in a + breath. He was a man who talked little, listened little, learned little. + He had never got the trick of turning his money over quickly—that + trick so necessary to the success of the small-town business. + </p> + <p> + So it was that, in the year preceding Ferdinand Brandeis' death, there + came often to the store a certain grim visitor. Herman Walthers, cashier + of the First National Bank of Winnebago, was a kindly-enough, shrewd, + small-town banker, but to Ferdinand Brandeis and his wife his visits, + growing more and more frequent, typified all that was frightful, presaged + misery and despair. He would drop in on a bright summer morning, perhaps, + with a cheerful greeting. He would stand for a moment at the front of the + store, balancing airily from toe to heel, and glancing about from shelf to + bin and back again in a large, speculative way. Then he would begin to + walk slowly and ruminatively about, his shrewd little German eyes + appraising the stock. He would hum a little absent-minded tune as he + walked, up one aisle and down the next (there were only two), picking up a + piece of china there, turning it over to look at its stamp, holding it up + to the light, tapping it a bit with his knuckles, and putting it down + carefully before going musically on down the aisle to the water sets, the + lamps, the stockings, the hardware, the toys. And so, his hands behind his + back, still humming, out the swinging screen door and into the sunshine of + Elm Street, leaving gloom and fear behind him. + </p> + <p> + One year after Molly Brandeis took hold, Herman Walthers' visits ceased, + and in two years he used to rise to greet her from his little cubbyhole + when she came into the bank. + </p> + <p> + Which brings us to the plush photograph album. The plush photograph album + is a concrete example of what makes business failure and success. More + than that, its brief history presents a complete characterization of + Ferdinand and Molly Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + Ten years before, Ferdinand Brandeis had bought a large bill of Christmas + fancy-goods—celluloid toilette sets, leather collar boxes, velvet + glove cases. Among the lot was a photograph album in the shape of a huge + acorn done in lightning-struck plush. It was a hideous thing, and + expensive. It stood on a brass stand, and its leaves were edged in gilt, + and its color was a nauseous green and blue, and it was altogether the + sort of thing to grace the chill and funereal best room in a Wisconsin + farmhouse. Ferdinand Brandeis marked it at six dollars and stood it up for + the Christmas trade. That had been ten years before. It was too expensive; + or too pretentious, or perhaps even too horrible for the bucolic purse. At + any rate, it had been taken out, brushed, dusted, and placed on its stand + every holiday season for ten years. On the day after Christmas it was + always there, its lightning-struck plush face staring wildly out upon the + ravaged fancy-goods counter. It would be packed in its box again and + consigned to its long summer's sleep. It had seen three towns, and many + changes. The four dollars that Ferdinand Brandeis had invested in it still + remained unturned. + </p> + <p> + One snowy day in November (Ferdinand Brandeis died a fortnight later) Mrs. + Brandeis, entering the store, saw two women standing at the fancy-goods + counter, laughing in a stifled sort of way. One of them was bowing + elaborately to a person unseen. Mrs. Brandeis was puzzled. She watched + them for a moment, interested. One of the women was known to her. She came + up to them and put her question, bluntly, though her quick wits had + already given her a suspicion of the truth. + </p> + <p> + “What are you bowing to?” + </p> + <p> + The one who had done the bowing blushed a little, but giggled too, as she + said, “I'm greeting my old friend, the plush album. I've seen it here + every Christmas for five years.” + </p> + <p> + Ferdinand Brandeis died suddenly a little more than a week later. It was a + terrible period, and one that might have prostrated a less resolute and + balanced woman. There were long-standing debts, not to speak of the entire + stock of holiday goods to be paid for. The day after the funeral Winnebago + got a shock. The Brandeis house was besieged by condoling callers. Every + member of the little Jewish congregation of Winnebago came, of course, as + they had come before the funeral. Those who had not brought cakes, and + salads, and meats, and pies, brought them now, as was the invariable + custom in time of mourning. + </p> + <p> + Others of the townspeople called, too; men and women who had known and + respected Ferdinand Brandeis. And the shock they got was this: Mrs. + Brandeis was out. Any one could have told you that she should have been + sitting at home in a darkened room, wearing a black gown, clasping Fanny + and Theodore to her, and holding a black-bordered handkerchief at + intervals to her reddened eyes. And that is what she really wanted to do, + for she had loved her husband, and she respected the conventions. What she + did was to put on a white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven o'clock + the morning after the funeral. + </p> + <p> + The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at seven + forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping out with wet sawdust and a languid + broom. The extra force of holiday clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at + eight or after, expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At + eight-ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph album, + whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck in its place a neatly + printed card bearing these figures: “To-day—79 cents!” The plush album + went home in a farmer's wagon that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + Right here there should be something said about Fanny Brandeis. And yet, + each time I turn to her I find her mother plucking at my sleeve. There + comes to my mind the picture of Mrs. Brandeis turning down Norris Street + at quarter to eight every morning, her walk almost a march, so firm and + measured it was, her head high, her chin thrust forward a little, as a + fighter walks, but not pugnaciously; her short gray skirt clearing the + ground, her shoulders almost consciously squared. Other Winnebago women + were just tying up their daughters' pigtails for school, or sweeping the + front porch, or watering the hanging baskets. Norris Street residents got + into the habit of timing themselves by Mrs. Brandeis. When she marched by + at seven forty-five they hurried a little with the tying of the hair bow, + as they glanced out of the window. When she came by again, a little before + twelve, for her hasty dinner, they turned up the fire under the potatoes + and stirred the flour thickening for the gravy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis had soon learned that Fanny and Theodore could manage their + own school toilettes, with, perhaps, some speeding up on the part of + Mattie, the servant girl. But it needed her keen brown eye to detect + corners that Aloysius had neglected to sweep out with wet sawdust, and her + presence to make sure that the counter covers were taken off and folded, + the outside show dusted and arranged, the windows washed, the whole store + shining and ready for business by eight o'clock. So Fanny had even learned + to do her own tight, shiny, black, shoulder-length curls, which she tied + back with a black bow. They were wet, meek, and tractable curls at eight + in the morning. By the time school was out at four they were as wildly + unruly as if charged with electric currents—which they really were, + when you consider the little dynamo that wore them. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis took a scant half hour to walk the six blocks between the + store and the house, to snatch a hurried dinner, and traverse the distance + to the store again. It was a program that would have killed a woman less + magnificently healthy and determined. She seemed to thrive on it, and she + kept her figure and her wit when other women of her age grew dull, and + heavy, and ineffectual. On summer days the little town often lay + shimmering in the heat, the yellow road glaring in it, the red bricks of + the high school reflecting it in waves, the very pine knots in the + sidewalks gummy and resinous with heat, and sending up a pungent smell + that was of the woods, and yet stifling. She must have felt an almost + irresistible temptation to sit for a moment on the cool, shady front + porch, with its green-painted flower boxes, its hanging fern baskets and + the catalpa tree looking boskily down upon it. + </p> + <p> + But she never did. She had an almost savage energy and determination. The + unpaid debts were ever ahead of her; there were the children to be dressed + and sent to school; there was the household to be kept up; there were + Theodore's violin lessons that must not be neglected—not after what + Professor Bauer had said about him. + </p> + <p> + You may think that undue stress is being laid upon this driving force in + her, upon this business ability. But remember that this was fifteen years + or more ago, before women had invaded the world of business by the + thousands, to take their place, side by side, salary for salary, with men. + Oh, there were plenty of women wage earners in Winnebago, as elsewhere; + clerks, stenographers, school teachers, bookkeepers. The paper mills were + full of girls, and the canning factory too. But here was a woman gently + bred, untrained in business, left widowed with two children at + thirty-eight, and worse than penniless—in debt. + </p> + <p> + And that was not all. As Ferdinand Brandeis' wife she had occupied a + certain social position in the little Jewish community of Winnebago. True, + they had never been moneyed, while the others of her own faith in the + little town were wealthy, and somewhat purse-proud. They had carriages, + most of them, with two handsome horses, and their houses were spacious and + veranda-encircled, and set in shady lawns. When the Brandeis family came + to Winnebago five years before, these people had waited, cautiously, and + investigated, and then had called. They were of a type to be found in + every small town; prosperous, conservative, constructive citizens, + clannish, but not so much so as their city cousins, mingling socially with + their Gentile neighbors, living well, spending their money freely, taking + a vast pride in the education of their children. But here was Molly + Brandeis, a Jewess, setting out to earn her living in business, like a + man. It was a thing to stir Congregation Emanu-el to its depths. Jewish + women, they would tell you, did not work thus. Their husbands worked for + them, or their sons, or their brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” said Mrs. Brandeis, when she heard of it. “I seem to + remember a Jewess named Ruth who was left widowed, and who gleaned in the + fields for her living, and yet the neighbors didn't talk. For that matter, + she seems to be pretty well thought of, to this day.” + </p> + <p> + But there is no denying that she lost caste among her own people. Custom + and training are difficult to overcome. But Molly Brandeis was too deep in + her own affairs to care. That Christmas season following her husband's + death was a ghastly time, and yet a grimly wonderful one, for it applied + the acid test to Molly Brandeis and showed her up pure gold. + </p> + <p> + The first week in January she, with Sadie and Pearl, the two clerks, and + Aloysius, the boy, took inventory. It was a terrifying thing, that process + of casting up accounts. It showed with such starkness how hideously the + Brandeis ledger sagged on the wrong side. The three women and the boy + worked with a sort of dogged cheerfulness at it, counting, marking, + dusting, washing. They found shelves full of forgotten stock, dust-covered + and profitless. They found many articles of what is known as hard stock, + akin to the plush album; glass and plated condiment casters for the dining + table, in a day when individual salts and separate vinegar cruets were + already the thing; lamps with straight wicks when round wicks were in + demand. + </p> + <p> + They scoured shelves, removed the grime of years from boxes, washed whole + battalions of chamber sets, bathed piles of plates, and bins of cups and + saucers. It was a dirty, back-breaking job, that ruined the finger nails, + tried the disposition, and caked the throat with dust. Besides, the store + was stove-heated and, near the front door, uncomfortably cold. The women + wore little shoulder shawls pinned over their waists, for warmth, and all + four, including Aloysius, sniffled for weeks afterward. That inventory + developed a new, grim line around Mrs. Brandeis' mouth, and carved another + at the corner of each eye. After it was over she washed her hair, steamed + her face over a bowl of hot water, packed two valises, left minute and + masterful instructions with Mattie as to the household, and with Sadie and + Pearl as to the store, and was off to Chicago on her first buying trip. + She took Fanny with her, as ballast. It was a trial at which many men + would have quailed. On the shrewdness and judgment of that buying trip + depended the future of Brandeis' Bazaar, and Mrs. Brandeis, and Fanny, and + Theodore. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis had accompanied her husband on many of his trips to Chicago. + She had even gone with him occasionally to the wholesale houses around La + Salle Street, and Madison, and Fifth Avenue, but she had never bought a + dollar's worth herself. She saw that he bought slowly, cautiously, and + without imagination. She made up her mind that she would buy quickly, + intuitively. She knew slightly some of the salesmen in the wholesale + houses. They had often made presents to her of a vase, a pocketbook, a + handkerchief, or some such trifle, which she accepted reluctantly, when at + all. She was thankful now for these visits. She found herself remembering + many details of them. She made up her mind, with a canny knowingness, that + there should be no presents this time, no theater invitations, no lunches + or dinners. This was business, she told herself; more than business—it + was grim war. + </p> + <p> + They still tell of that trip, sometimes, when buyers and jobbers and + wholesale men get together. Don't imagine that she came to be a woman + captain of finance. Don't think that we are to see her at the head of a + magnificent business establishment, with buyers and department heads below + her, and a private office done up in mahogany, and stenographers and + secretaries. No, she was Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, to the end. + The bills she bought were ridiculously small, I suppose, and the tricks + she turned on that first trip were pitiful, perhaps. But they were + magnificent too, in their way. I am even bold enough to think that she + might have made business history, that plucky woman, if she had had an + earlier start, and if she had not, to the very end, had a pack of + unmanageable handicaps yelping at her heels, pulling at her skirts. + </p> + <p> + It was only a six-hour trip to Chicago. Fanny Brandeis' eyes, big enough + at any time, were surely twice their size during the entire journey of two + hundred miles or more. They were to have lunch on the train! They were to + stop at an hotel! They were to go to the theater! She would have lain back + against the red plush seat of the car, in a swoon of joy, if there had not + been so much to see in the car itself, and through the car window. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have something for lunch,” said Mrs. Brandeis when they were seated + in the dining car, “that we never have at home, shall we?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” replied Fanny in a whisper of excitement. “Something—something + queer, and different, and not so very healthy!” + </p> + <p> + They had oysters (a New Yorker would have sniffed at them), and chicken + potpie, and asparagus, and ice cream. If that doesn't prove Mrs. Brandeis + was game, I should like to know what could! They stopped at the + Windsor-Clifton, because it was quieter and less expensive than the Palmer + House, though quite as full of red plush and walnut. Besides, she had + stopped at the Palmer House with her husband, and she knew how buyers were + likely to be besieged by eager salesmen with cards, and with tempting + lines of goods spread knowingly in the various sample-rooms. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis was thirteen, and emotional, and incredibly receptive and + alive. It is impossible to tell what she learned during that Chicago trip, + it was so crowded, so wonderful. She went with her mother to the wholesale + houses and heard and saw and, unconsciously, remembered. When she became + fatigued with the close air of the dim showrooms, with their endless + aisles piled with every sort of ware, she would sit on a chair in some + obscure corner, watching those sleek, over-lunched, genial-looking + salesmen who were chewing their cigars somewhat wildly when Mrs. Brandeis + finished with them. Sometimes she did not accompany her mother, but lay in + bed, deliciously, until the middle of the morning, then dressed, and + chatted with the obliging Irish chamber maid, and read until her mother + came for her at noon. + </p> + <p> + Everything she did was a delightful adventure; everything she saw had the + tang of novelty. Fanny Brandeis was to see much that was beautiful and + rare in her full lifetime, but she never again, perhaps, got quite the + thrill that those ugly, dim, red-carpeted, gas-lighted hotel corridors + gave her, or the grim bedroom, with its walnut furniture and its + Nottingham curtains. As for the Chicago streets themselves, with their + perilous corners (there were no czars in blue to regulate traffic in those + days), older and more sophisticated pedestrians experienced various + emotions while negotiating the corner of State and Madison. + </p> + <p> + That buying trip lasted ten days. It was a racking business, physically + and mentally. There were the hours of tramping up one aisle and down the + other in the big wholesale lofts. But that brought bodily fatigue only. It + was the mental strain that left Mrs. Brandeis spent and limp at the end of + the day. Was she buying wisely? Was she over-buying? What did she know + about buying, anyway? She would come back to her hotel at six, sometimes + so exhausted that the dining-room and dinner were unthinkable. At such + times they would have dinner in their room another delicious adventure for + Fanny. She would try to tempt the fagged woman on the bed with bits of + this or that from one of the many dishes that dotted the dinner tray. But + Molly Brandeis, harrowed in spirit and numbed in body, was too spent to + eat. + </p> + <p> + But that was not always the case. There was that unforgettable night when + they went to see Bernhardt the divine. Fanny spent the entire morning + following standing before the bedroom mirror, with her hair pulled out in + a wild fluff in front, her mother's old marten-fur scarf high and choky + around her neck, trying to smile that slow, sad, poignant, tear-compelling + smile; but she had to give it up, clever mimic though she was. She only + succeeded in looking as though a pin were sticking her somewhere. Besides, + Fanny's own smile was a quick, broad, flashing grin, with a generous glint + of white teeth in it, and she always forgot about being exquisitely + wistful over it until it was too late. + </p> + <p> + I wonder if the story of the china religious figures will give a wrong + impression of Mrs. Brandeis. Perhaps not, if you will only remember this + woman's white-lipped determination to wrest a livelihood from the world, + for her children and herself. They had been in Chicago a week, and she was + buying at Bauder & Peck's. Now, Bauder & Peck, importers, are + known the world over. It is doubtful if there is one of you who has not + been supplied, indirectly, with some imported bit of china or glassware, + with French opera glasses or cunning toys and dolls, from the great New + York and Chicago showrooms of that company. + </p> + <p> + Young Bauder himself was waiting on Mrs. Brandeis, and he was frowning + because he hated to sell women. Young Bauder was being broken into the + Chicago end of the business, and he was not taking gracefully to the + process. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a long aisle, on an obscure shelf in a dim corner, Molly + Brandeis' sharp eyes espied a motley collection of dusty, grimy china + figures of the kind one sees on the mantel in the parlor of the small-town + Catholic home. Winnebago's population was two-thirds Catholic, German and + Irish, and very devout. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis stopped short. “How much for that lot?” She pointed to the + shelf. Young Bauder's gaze followed hers, puzzled. The figures were from + five inches to a foot high, in crude, effective blues, and gold, and + crimson, and white. All the saints were there in assorted sizes, the + Pieta, the cradle in the manger. There were probably two hundred or more + of the little figures. “Oh, those!” said young Bauder vaguely. “You don't + want that stuff. Now, about that Limoges china. As I said, I can make you + a special price on it if you carry it as an open-stock pattern. You'll + find——” + </p> + <p> + “How much for that lot?” repeated Mrs. Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + “Those are left-over samples, Mrs. Brandeis. Last year's stuff. They're + all dirty. I'd forgotten they were there.” + </p> + <p> + “How much for the lot?” said Mrs. Brandeis, pleasantly, for the third + time. + </p> + <p> + “I really don't know. Three hundred, I should say. But——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you two hundred,” ventured Mrs. Brandeis, her heart in her + mouth and her mouth very firm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come now, Mrs. Brandeis! Bauder & Peck don't do business that + way, you know. We'd really rather not sell them at all. The things aren't + worth much to us, or to you, for that matter. But three hundred——” + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred,” repeated Mrs. Brandeis, “or I cancel my order, including + the Limoges. I want those figures.” + </p> + <p> + And she got them. Which isn't the point of the story. The holy figures + were fine examples of foreign workmanship, their colors, beneath the + coating of dust, as brilliant and fadeless as those found in the churches + of Europe. They reached Winnebago duly, packed in straw and paper, still + dusty and shelf-worn. Mrs. Brandeis and Sadie and Pearl sat on up-ended + boxes at the rear of the store, in the big barn-like room in which newly + arrived goods were unpacked. As Aloysius dived deep into the crate and + brought up figure after figure, the three women plunged them into warm and + soapy water and proceeded to bathe and scour the entire school of saints, + angels, and cherubim. They came out brilliantly fresh and rosy. + </p> + <p> + All the Irish ingenuity and artistry in Aloysius came to the surface as he + dived again and again into the great barrel and brought up the glittering + pieces. + </p> + <p> + “It'll make an elegant window,” he gasped from the depths of the hay, his + lean, lengthy frame jack-knifed over the edge. “And cheap.” His shrewd wit + had long ago divined the store's price mark. “If Father Fitzpatrick steps + by in the forenoon I'll bet they'll be gone before nighttime to-morrow. + You'll be letting me do the trim, Mrs. Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + He came back that evening to do it, and he threw his whole soul into it, + which, considering his ancestry and temperament, was very high voltage for + one small-town store window. He covered the floor of the window with black + crepe paper, and hung it in long folds, like a curtain, against the rear + wall. The gilt of the scepters, and halos, and capes showed up dazzlingly + against this background. The scarlets, and pinks, and blues, and whites of + the robes appeared doubly bright. The whole made a picture that struck and + held you by its vividness and contrast. + </p> + <p> + Father Fitzpatrick, very tall and straight, and handsome, with his + iron-gray hair and his cheeks pink as a girl's, did step by next morning + on his way to the post-office. It was whispered that in his youth Father + Fitzpatrick had been an actor, and that he had deserted the footlights for + the altar lights because of a disappointment. The drama's loss was the + Church's gain. You should have heard him on Sunday morning, now flaying + them, now swaying them! He still had the actor's flexible voice, vibrant, + tremulous, or strident, at will. And no amount of fasting or praying had + ever dimmed that certain something in his eye—the something which + makes the matinee idol. + </p> + <p> + Not only did he step by now; he turned, came back; stopped before the + window. Then he entered. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” he said to Mrs. Brandeis, “you'll probably save more souls with + your window display than I could in a month of hell-fire sermons.” He + raised his hand. “You have the sanction of the Church.” Which was the + beginning of a queer friendship between the Roman Catholic priest and the + Jewess shopkeeper that lasted as long as Molly Brandeis lived. + </p> + <p> + By noon it seemed that the entire population of Winnebago had turned + devout. The figures, a tremendous bargain, though sold at a high profit, + seemed to melt away from the counter that held them. + </p> + <p> + By three o'clock, “Only one to a customer!” announced Mrs. Brandeis. By + the middle of the week the window itself was ravished of its show. By the + end of the week there remained only a handful of the duller and less + desirable pieces—the minor saints, so to speak. Saturday night Mrs. + Brandeis did a little figuring on paper. The lot had cost her two hundred + dollars. She had sold for six hundred. Two from six leaves four. Four + hundred dollars! She repeated it to herself, quietly. Her mind leaped back + to the plush photograph album, then to young Bauder and his cool contempt. + And there stole over her that warm, comfortable glow born of reassurance + and triumph. Four hundred dollars. Not much in these days of big business. + We said, you will remember, that it was a pitiful enough little trick she + turned to make it, though an honest one. And—in the face of + disapproval—a rather magnificent one too. For it gave to Molly + Brandeis that precious quality, self-confidence, out of which is born + success. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + By spring Mrs. Brandeis had the farmer women coming to her for their + threshing dishes and kitchenware, and the West End Culture Club for their + whist prizes. She seemed to realize that the days of the general store + were numbered, and she set about making hers a novelty store. There was + something terrible about the earnestness with which she stuck to business. + She was not more than thirty-eight at this time, intelligent, healthy, + fun-loving. But she stayed at it all day. She listened and chatted to + every one, and learned much. There was about her that human quality that + invites confidence. + </p> + <p> + She made friends by the hundreds, and friends are a business asset. Those + blithe, dressy, and smooth-spoken gentlemen known as traveling men used to + tell her their troubles, perched on a stool near the stove, and show her + the picture of their girl in the back of their watch, and asked her to + dinner at the Haley House. She listened to their tale of woe, and advised + them; she admired the picture of the girl, and gave some wholesome counsel + on the subject of traveling men's lonely wives; but she never went to + dinner at the Haley House. + </p> + <p> + It had not taken these debonair young men long to learn that there was a + woman buyer who bought quickly, decisively, and intelligently, and that + she always demanded a duplicate slip. Even the most unscrupulous could not + stuff an order of hers, and when it came to dating she gave no quarter. + Though they wore clothes that were two leaps ahead of the styles worn by + the Winnebago young men—their straw sailors were likely to be + saw-edged when the local edges were smooth, and their coats were more + flaring, or their trousers wider than the coats and trousers of the + Winnebago boys—they were not, for the most part, the gay dogs that + Winnebago's fancy painted them. Many of them were very lonely married men + who missed their wives and babies, and loathed the cuspidored discomfort + of the small-town hotel lobby. They appreciated Mrs. Brandeis' + good-natured sympathy, and gave her the long end of a deal when they + could. It was Sam Kiser who had begged her to listen to his advice to put + in Battenberg patterns and braid, long before the Battenberg epidemic had + become widespread and virulent. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to me, Mrs. Brandeis,” he begged, almost tearfully. “You're a + smart woman. Don't let this get by you. You know that I know that a + salesman would have as much chance to sell you a gold brick as to sell old + John D. Rockefeller a gallon of oil.” Mrs. Brandeis eyed his samples + coldly. “But it looks so unattractive. And the average person has no + imagination. A bolt of white braid and a handful of buttons—they + wouldn't get a mental picture of the completed piece. Now, embroidery silk——” + </p> + <p> + “Then give 'em a real picture!” interrupted Sam. “Work up one of these + water-lily pattern table covers. Use No. 100 braid and the smallest + buttons. Stick it in the window and they'll tear their hair to get + patterns.” + </p> + <p> + She did it, taking turns with Pearl and Sadie at weaving the great, lacy + square during dull moments. When it was finished they placed it in the + window, where it lay like frosted lace, exquisitely graceful and delicate, + with its tracery of curling petals and feathery fern sprays. Winnebago + gazed and was bitten by the Battenberg bug. It wound itself up in a + network of Battenberg braid, in all the numbers. It bought buttons of + every size; it stitched away at Battenberg covers, doilies, bedspreads, + blouses, curtains. Battenberg tumbled, foamed, cascaded over Winnebago's + front porches all that summer. Listening to Sam Kiser had done it. + </p> + <p> + She listened to the farmer women too, and to the mill girls, and to the + scant and precious pearls that dropped from the lips of the East End + society section. There was something about her brown eyes and her + straight, sensible nose that reassured them so that few suspected the + mischievous in her. For she was mischievous. If she had not been I think + she could not have stood the drudgery, and the heartbreaks, and the + struggle, and the terrific manual labor. + </p> + <p> + She used to guy people, gently, and they never guessed it. Mrs. G. + Manville Smith, for example, never dreamed of the joy that her patronage + brought Molly Brandeis, who waited on her so demurely. Mrs. G. Manville + Smith (nee Finnegan) scorned the Winnebago shops, and was said to send to + Chicago for her hairpins. It was known that her household was run on the + most niggardly basis, however, and she short-rationed her two maids + outrageously. It was said that she could serve less real food on more real + lace doilies than any other housekeeper in Winnebago. Now, Mrs. Brandeis + sold Scourine two cents cheaper than the grocery stores, using it as an + advertisement to attract housewives, and making no profit on the article + itself. Mrs. G. Manville Smith always patronized Brandeis' Bazaar for + Scourine alone, and thus represented pure loss. Also she my-good-womaned + Mrs. Brandeis. That lady, seeing her enter one day with her comic, + undulating gait, double-actioned like a giraffe's, and her plumes that + would have shamed a Knight of Pythias, decided to put a stop to these + unprofitable visits. + </p> + <p> + She waited on Mrs. G. Manville Smith, a dangerous gleam in her eye. + </p> + <p> + “Scourine,” spake Mrs. G. Manville Smith. + </p> + <p> + “How many?” + </p> + <p> + “A dozen.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Send them.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis, scribbling in her sales book, stopped, pencil poised. “We + cannot send Scourine unless with a purchase of other goods amounting to a + dollar or more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Manville Smith's plumes tossed and soared agitatedly. “But my good + woman, I don't want anything else!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll have to carry the Scourine?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not! I'll send for it.” + </p> + <p> + “The sale closes at five.” It was then 4:57. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of such a thing! You can't expect me to carry them.” + </p> + <p> + Now, Mrs. G. Manville Smith had been a dining-room girl at the old Haley + House before she married George Smith, and long before he made his money + in lumber. + </p> + <p> + “You won't find them so heavy,” Molly Brandeis said smoothly. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly would! Perhaps you would not. You're used to that sort of + thing. Rough work, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + Aloysius, doubled up behind the lamps, knew what was coming, from the + gleam in his boss's eye. + </p> + <p> + “There may be something in that,” Molly Brandeis returned sweetly. “That's + why I thought you might not mind taking them. They're really not much + heavier than a laden tray.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed the outraged Mrs. G. Manville Smith. And took her plumes + and her patronage out of Brandeis' Bazaar forever. + </p> + <p> + That was as malicious as Molly Brandeis ever could be. And it was + forgivable malice. + </p> + <p> + Most families must be described against the background of their homes, but + the Brandeis family life was bounded and controlled by the store. Their + meals and sleeping hours and amusements were regulated by it. It taught + them much, and brought them much, and lost them much. Fanny Brandeis + always said she hated it, but it made her wise, and tolerant, and, in the + end, famous. I don't know what more one could ask of any institution. It + brought her in contact with men and women, taught her how to deal with + them. After school she used often to run down to the store to see her + mother, while Theodore went home to practice. Perched on a high stool in + some corner she heard, and saw, and absorbed. It was a great school for + the sensitive, highly-organized, dramatic little Jewish girl, for, to + paraphrase a well-known stage line, there are just as many kinds of people + in Winnebago as there are in Washington. + </p> + <p> + It was about this time that Fanny Brandeis began to realize, actively, + that she was different. Of course, other little Winnebago girls' mothers + did not work like a man, in a store. And she and Bella Weinberg were the + only two in her room at school who stayed out on the Day of Atonement, and + on New Year, and the lesser Jewish holidays. Also, she went to temple on + Friday night and Saturday morning, when the other girls she knew went to + church on Sunday. These things set her apart in the little Middle Western + town; but it was not these that constituted the real difference. She + played, and slept, and ate, and studied like the other healthy little + animals of her age. The real difference was temperamental, or emotional, + or dramatic, or historic, or all four. They would be playing tag, perhaps, + in one of the cool, green ravines that were the beauty spots of the little + Wisconsin town. + </p> + <p> + They nestled like exquisite emeralds in the embrace of the hills, those + ravines, and Winnebago's civic surge had not yet swept them away in a + deluge of old tin cans, ashes, dirt and refuse, to be sold later for + building lots. The Indians had camped and hunted in them. The one under + the Court Street bridge, near the Catholic church and monastery, was the + favorite for play. It lay, a lovely, gracious thing, below the hot little + town, all green, and lush, and cool, a tiny stream dimpling through it. + The plump Capuchin Fathers, in their coarse brown robes, knotted about the + waist with a cord, their bare feet thrust into sandals, would come out and + sun themselves on the stone bench at the side of the monastery on the + hill, or would potter about the garden. And suddenly Fanny would stop + quite still in the midst of her tag game, struck with the beauty of the + picture it called from the past. + </p> + <p> + Little Oriental that she was, she was able to combine the dry text of her + history book with the green of the trees, the gray of the church, and the + brown of the monk's robes, and evolve a thrilling mental picture + therefrom. The tag game and her noisy little companions vanished. She was + peopling the place with stealthy Indians. Stealthy, cunning, yet savagely + brave. They bore no relation to the abject, contemptible, and rather + smelly Oneidas who came to the back door on summer mornings, in calico, + and ragged overalls, with baskets of huckleberries on their arm, their + pride gone, a broken and conquered people. She saw them wild, free, + sovereign, and there were no greasy, berry-peddling Oneidas among them. + They were Sioux, and Pottawatomies (that last had the real Indian sound), + and Winnebagos, and Menomonees, and Outagamis. She made them taciturn, and + beady-eyed, and lithe, and fleet, and every other adjectival thing her + imagination and history book could supply. The fat and placid Capuchin + Fathers on the hill became Jesuits, sinister, silent, powerful, with + France and the Church of Rome behind them. From the shelter of that big + oak would step Nicolet, the brave, first among Wisconsin explorers, and + last to receive the credit for his hardihood. Jean Nicolet! She loved the + sound of it. And with him was La Salle, straight, and slim, and elegant, + and surely wearing ruffles and plumes and sword even in a canoe. And + Tonty, his Italian friend and fellow adventurer—Tonty of the satins + and velvets, graceful, tactful, poised, a shadowy figure; his menacing + iron hand, so feared by the ignorant savages, encased always in a glove. + Surely a perfumed g—— Slap! A rude shove that jerked her head + back sharply and sent her forward, stumbling, and jarred her like a fall. + </p> + <p> + “Ya-a-a! Tag! You're it! Fanny's it!” + </p> + <p> + Indians, priests, cavaliers, coureurs de bois, all vanished. Fanny would + stand a moment, blinking stupidly. The next moment she was running as + fleetly as the best of the boys in savage pursuit of one of her companions + in the tag game. + </p> + <p> + She was a strange mixture of tomboy and bookworm, which was a mercifully + kind arrangement for both body and mind. The spiritual side of her was + groping and staggering and feeling its way about as does that of any + little girl whose mind is exceptionally active, and whose mother is + unusually busy. It was on the Day of Atonement, known in the Hebrew as Yom + Kippur, in the year following her father's death that that side of her + performed a rather interesting handspring. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis had never been allowed to fast on this, the greatest and + most solemn of Jewish holy days Molly Brandeis' modern side refused to + countenance the practice of withholding food from any child for + twenty-four hours. So it was in the face of disapproval that Fanny, making + deep inroads into the steak and fried sweet potatoes at supper on the eve + of the Day of Atonement, announced her intention of fasting from that meal + to supper on the following evening. She had just passed her plate for a + third helping of potatoes. Theodore, one lap behind her in the race, had + entered his objection. + </p> + <p> + “Well, for the land's sakes!” he protested. “I guess you're not the only + one who likes sweet potatoes.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny applied a generous dab of butter to an already buttery morsel, and + chewed it with an air of conscious virtue. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to eat a lot. This is the last bite I'll have until to-morrow + night.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” exclaimed Mrs. Brandeis, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is!” hooted Theodore. + </p> + <p> + Fanny went on conscientiously eating as she explained. + </p> + <p> + “Bella Weinberg and I are going to fast all day. We just want to see if we + can.” + </p> + <p> + “Betcha can't,” Theodore said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis regarded her small daughter with a thoughtful gaze. “But + that isn't the object in fasting, Fanny—just to see if you can. If + you're going to think of food all through the Yom Kippur services——” + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't?” protested Fanny passionately. “Theodore would, but I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't any such thing,” denied Theodore. “But if I'm going to play a + violin solo during the memorial service I guess I've got to eat my regular + meals.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore sometimes played at temple, on special occasions. The little + congregation, listening to the throbbing rise and fall of this + fifteen-year-old boy's violin playing, realized, vaguely, that here was + something disturbingly, harrowingly beautiful. They did not know that they + were listening to genius. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis, in her second best dress, walked to temple Yom Kippur eve, + her son at her right side, her daughter at her left. She had made up her + mind that she would not let this next day, with its poignantly beautiful + service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her husband's death, + and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on his rendition of the memorial + service that came at three in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi Thalmann, and + unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck to the Scriptures for his + texts, finding Moses a greater leader than Roosevelt, and the miracle of + the Burning Bush more wonderful than the marvels of twentieth-century + wizardy in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann, with hands and feet + as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny found him fascinating to + look on, in his rabbinical black broadcloth and his two pairs of glasses + perched, in reading, upon his small hooked nose. He stood very straight in + the pulpit, but on the street you saw that his back was bent just the + least bit in the world—or perhaps it was only his student stoop, as + he walked along with his eyes on the ground, smoking those slender, + dapper, pale brown cigars that looked as if they had been expressly cut + and rolled to fit him. + </p> + <p> + The evening service was at seven. The congregation, rustling in silks, was + approaching the little temple from all directions. Inside, there was a + low-toned buzz of conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward the + rear, as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little + congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture of the room in + its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in eagerly, her dark eyes soft and + luminous. The bare, yellow-varnished wooden pews glowed with the + reflection from the chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on either + side of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush curtain that + hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and the red plush pulpit cover + too, were replaced by gleaming white satin edged with gold fringe and + finished at the corners with heavy gold tassels. How the rich white satin + glistened in the light of the electric candles! Fanny Brandeis loved the + lights, and the gleam, and the music, so majestic, and solemn, and the + sight of the little rabbi, sitting so straight and serious in his + high-backed chair, or standing to read from the great Bible. There came to + this emotional little Jewess a thrill that was not born of religious + fervor at all, I am afraid. + </p> + <p> + The sheer drama of the thing got her. In fact, the thing she had set + herself to do to-day had in it very little of religion. Mrs. Brandeis had + been right about that. It was a test of endurance, as planned. Fanny had + never fasted in all her healthy life. She would come home from school to + eat formidable stacks of bread and butter, enhanced by brown sugar or + grape jelly, and topped off with three or four apples from the barrel in + the cellar. Two hours later she would attack a supper of fried potatoes, + and liver, and tea, and peach preserve, and more stacks of bread and + butter. Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and the berry + bushes, not to speak of sundry bags of small, hard candies of the + jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and secret munching during school. + She liked good things to eat, this sturdy little girl, as did her friend, + that blonde and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. The two girls exchanged + meaningful glances during the evening service. The Weinbergs, as befitted + their station, sat in the third row at the right, and Bella had to turn + around to convey her silent messages to Fanny. The evening service was + brief, even to the sermon. Rabbi Thalmann and his congregation would need + their strength for to-morrow's trial. + </p> + <p> + The Brandeises walked home through the soft September night, and the + children had to use all their Yom Kippur dignity to keep from scuffling + through the piled-up drifts of crackling autumn leaves. Theodore went to + the cellar and got an apple, which he ate with what Fanny considered an + unnecessary amount of scrunching. It was a firm, juicy apple, and it gave + forth a cracking sound when his teeth met in its white meat. Fanny, after + regarding him with gloomy superiority, went to bed. + </p> + <p> + She had willed to sleep late, for gastronomic reasons, but the mental + command disobeyed itself, and she woke early, with a heavy feeling. Early + as it was, Molly Brandeis had tiptoed in still earlier to look at her + strange little daughter. She sometimes did that on Saturday mornings when + she left early for the store and Fanny slept late. This morning Fanny's + black hair was spread over the pillow as she lay on her back, one arm + outflung, the other at her breast. She made a rather startlingly black and + white and scarlet picture as she lay there asleep. Fanny did things very + much in that way, too, with broad, vivid, unmistakable splashes of color. + Mrs. Brandeis, looking at the black-haired, red-lipped child sleeping + there, wondered just how much determination lay back of the broad white + brow. She had said little to Fanny about this feat of fasting, and she + told herself that she disapproved of it. But in her heart she wanted the + girl to see it through, once attempted. + </p> + <p> + Fanny awoke at half past seven, and her nostrils dilated to that most + exquisite, tantalizing and fragrant of smells—the aroma of simmering + coffee. It permeated the house. It tickled the senses. It carried with it + visions of hot, brown breakfast rolls, and eggs, and butter. Fanny loved + her breakfast. She turned over now, and decided to go to sleep again. But + she could not. She got up and dressed slowly and carefully. There was no + one to hurry her this morning with the call from the foot of the stairs + of, “Fanny! Your egg'll get cold!” + </p> + <p> + She put on clean, crisp underwear, and did her hair expertly. She slipped + an all-enveloping pinafore over her head, that the new silk dress might + not be crushed before church time. She thought that Theodore would surely + have finished his breakfast by this time. But when she came down-stairs he + was at the table. Not only that, he had just begun his breakfast. An egg, + all golden, and white, and crisply brown at the frilly edges, lay on his + plate. Theodore always ate his egg in a mathematical sort of way. He + swallowed the white hastily first, because he disliked it, and Mrs. + Brandeis insisted that he eat it. Then he would brood a moment over the + yolk that lay, unmarred and complete, like an amber jewel in the center of + his plate. Then he would suddenly plunge his fork into the very heart of + the jewel, and it would flow over his plate, mingling with the butter, and + he would catch it deftly with little mops of warm, crisp, buttery roll. + </p> + <p> + Fanny passed the breakfast table just as Theodore plunged his fork into + the egg yolk. She caught her breath sharply, and closed her eyes. Then she + turned and fled to the front porch and breathed deeply and windily of the + heady September Wisconsin morning air. As she stood there, with her stiff, + short black curls still damp and glistening, in her best shoes and + stockings, with the all-enveloping apron covering her sturdy little + figure, the light of struggle and renunciation in her face, she typified + something at once fine and earthy. + </p> + <p> + But the real struggle was to come later. They went to temple at ten, + Theodore with his beloved violin tucked carefully under his arm. Bella + Weinberg was waiting at the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” she asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” replied Fanny disdainfully. “Do you think I'd eat old + breakfast when I said I was going to fast all day?” Then, with sudden + suspicion, “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” stoutly. + </p> + <p> + And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating to watch the + other members of the congregation come in, the women rustling, the men + subdued in the unaccustomed dignity of black on a week day. One glance at + the yellow pews was like reading a complete social and financial register. + The seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de Gotha of + Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among the Jewish + settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an immigrant youth, and who now + owned hundreds of rich farm acres, besides houses, mills and banks, kinged + it from the front seat of the center section. He was a magnificent old + man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of heavy iron-gray + hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a startling and unexpected dimple + in one cheek that gave him a mischievous and boyish look. + </p> + <p> + Behind this dignitary sat his sons, and their wives, and his daughters and + their husbands, and their children, and so on, back to the Brandeis pew, + third from the last, behind which sat only a few obscure families branded + as Russians, as only the German-born Jew can brand those whose misfortune + it is to be born in that region known as hinter-Berlin. + </p> + <p> + The morning flew by, with its music, its responses, its sermon in German, + full of four- and five-syllable German words like Barmherzigkeit and + Eigentumlichkeit. All during the sermon Fanny sat and dreamed and watched + the shadow on the window of the pine tree that stood close to the temple, + and was vastly amused at the jaundiced look that the square of yellow + window glass cast upon the face of the vain and overdressed Mrs. Nathan + Pereles. From time to time Bella would turn to bestow upon her a look + intended to convey intense suffering and a resolute though dying + condition. Fanny stonily ignored these mute messages. They offended + something in her, though she could not tell what. + </p> + <p> + At the noon intermission she did not go home to the tempting dinner + smells, but wandered off through the little city park and down to the + river, where she sat on the bank and felt very virtuous, and spiritual, + and hollow. She was back in her seat when the afternoon service was begun. + Some of the more devout members had remained to pray all through the + midday. The congregation came straggling in by twos and threes. Many of + the women had exchanged the severely corseted discomfort of the morning's + splendor for the comparative ease of second-best silks. Mrs. Brandeis, + absent from her business throughout this holy day, came hurrying in at + two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon her pale and resolute little + daughter. + </p> + <p> + The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and lasted almost + two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped out through the side aisle, + beckoning mysteriously and alluringly to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked + at her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Run along,” said Mrs. Brandeis. “The air will be good for you. Come back + before the memorial service begins.” Fanny and Bella met, giggling, in the + vestibule. + </p> + <p> + “Come on over to my house for a minute,” Bella suggested. “I want to show + you something.” The Weinberg house, a great, comfortable, well-built home, + with encircling veranda, and a well-cared-for lawn, was just a scant block + away. They skipped across the street, down the block, and in at the back + door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted. The house seemed very quiet and + hushed. Over it hung the delicious fragrance of freshly-baked pastry. + Bella, a rather baleful look in her eyes, led the way to the butler's + pantry that was as large as the average kitchen. And there, ranged on + platters, and baking boards, and on snowy-white napkins, was that which + made Tantalus's feast seem a dry and barren snack. The Weinberg's had + baked. It is the custom in the household of Atonement Day fasters of the + old school to begin the evening meal, after the twenty-four hours of + abstainment, with coffee and freshly-baked coffee cake of every variety. + It was a lead-pipe blow at one's digestion, but delicious beyond + imagining. Bella's mother was a famous cook, and her two maids followed in + the ways of their mistress. There were to be sisters and brothers and + out-of-town relations as guests at the evening meal, and Mrs. Weinberg had + outdone herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Fanny in a sort of agony and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Take some,” said Bella, the temptress. + </p> + <p> + The pantry was fragrant as a garden with spices, and fruit scents, and the + melting, delectable perfume of brown, freshly-baked dough, sugar-coated. + There was one giant platter devoted wholly to round, plump cakes, with + puffy edges, in the center of each a sunken pool that was all plum, + bearing on its bosom a snowy sifting of powdered sugar. There were others + whose centers were apricot, pure molten gold in the sunlight. There were + speckled expanses of cheese kuchen, the golden-brown surface showing rich + cracks through which one caught glimpses of the lemon-yellow cheese + beneath—cottage cheese that had been beaten up with eggs, and + spices, and sugar, and lemon. Flaky crust rose, jaggedly, above this + plateau. There were cakes with jelly, and cinnamon kuchen, and cunning + cakes with almond slices nestling side by side. And there was + freshly-baked bread—twisted loaf, with poppy seed freckling its + braid, and its sides glistening with the butter that had been liberally + swabbed on it before it had been thrust into the oven. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis gazed, hypnotized. As she gazed Bella selected a plum tart + and bit into it—bit generously, so that her white little teeth met + in the very middle of the oozing red-brown juice and one heard a little + squirt as they closed on the luscious fruit. At the sound Fanny quivered + all through her plump and starved little body. + </p> + <p> + “Have one,” said Bella generously. “Go on. Nobody'll ever know. Anyway, + we've fasted long enough for our age. I could fast till supper time if I + wanted to, but I don't want to.” She swallowed the last morsel of the plum + tart, and selected another—apricot, this time, and opened her moist + red lips. But just before she bit into it (the Inquisition could have used + Bella's talents) she selected its counterpart and held it out to Fanny. + Fanny shook her head slightly. Her hand came up involuntarily. Her eyes + were fastened on Bella's face. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” urged Bella. “Take it. They're grand! M-m-m-m!” The first bite of + apricot vanished between her rows of sharp white teeth. Fanny shut her + eyes as if in pain. She was fighting the great fight of her life. She was + to meet other temptations, and perhaps more glittering ones, in her + lifetime, but to her dying day she never forgot that first battle between + the flesh and the spirit, there in the sugar-scented pantry—and the + spirit won. As Bella's lips closed upon the second bite of apricot tart, + the while her eye roved over the almond cakes and her hand still held the + sweet out to Fanny, that young lady turned sharply, like a soldier, and + marched blindly out of the house, down the back steps, across the street, + and so into the temple. + </p> + <p> + The evening lights had just been turned on. The little congregation, + relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of them, sat rapt and still except + at those times when the prayer book demanded spoken responses. The voice + of the little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre that made it + startlingly sweet and clear and resonant. Fanny slid very quietly into the + seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped her moist and cold little hand into + her mother's warm, work-roughened palm. The mother's brown eyes, very + bright with unshed tears, left their perusal of the prayer book to dwell + upon the white little face that was smiling rather wanly up at her. The + pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or more to the left. Just as Fanny + remarked this, there was a little moment of hush in the march of the day's + long service. The memorial hour had begun. + </p> + <p> + Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation stirred a bit, + changed its cramped position. Bella, the guilty, came stealing in, a + pink-and-gold picture of angelic virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt very + aloof, and clean, and remote. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened. + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't, did you?” she whispered softly. + </p> + <p> + Fanny shook her head. + </p> + <p> + Rabbi Thalmann was seated in his great carved chair. His eyes were closed. + The wheezy little organ in the choir loft at the rear of the temple began + the opening bars of Schumann's Traumerei. And then, above the cracked + voice of the organ, rose the clear, poignant wail of a violin. Theodore + Brandeis had begun to play. You know the playing of the average boy of + fifteen—that nerve-destroying, uninspired scraping. There was + nothing of this in the sounds that this boy called forth from the little + wooden box and the stick with its taut lines of catgut. Whatever it was—the + length of the thin, sensitive fingers, the turn of the wrist, the + articulation of the forearm, the something in the brain, or all these + combined—Theodore Brandeis possessed that which makes for greatness. + You realized that as he crouched over his violin to get his cello tones. + As he played to-day the little congregation sat very still, and each was + thinking of his ambitions and his failures; of the lover lost, of the duty + left undone, of the hope deferred; of the wrong that was never righted; of + the lost one whose memory spells remorse. It felt the salt taste on its + lips. It put up a furtive, shamed hand to dab at its cheeks, and saw that + the one who sat in the pew just ahead was doing likewise. This is what + happened when this boy of fifteen wedded his bow to his violin. And he who + makes us feel all this has that indefinable, magic, glorious thing known + as Genius. + </p> + <p> + When it was over, there swept through the room that sigh following tension + relieved. Rabbi Thalmann passed a hand over his tired eyes, like one + returning from a far mental journey; then rose, and came forward to the + pulpit. He began, in Hebrew, the opening words of the memorial service, + and so on to the prayers in English, with their words of infinite humility + and wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast implanted in us the capacity for sin, but not sin itself!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny stirred. She had learned that a brief half hour ago. The service + marched on, a moving and harrowing thing. The amens rolled out with a new + fervor from the listeners. There seemed nothing comic now in the way old + Ben Reitman, with his slower eyes, always came out five words behind the + rest who tumbled upon the responses and scurried briskly through them, so + that his fine old voice, somewhat hoarse and quavering now, rolled out its + “Amen!” in solitary majesty. They came to that gem of humility, the + mourners' prayer; the ancient and ever-solemn Kaddish prayer. There is + nothing in the written language that, for sheer drama and magnificence, + can equal it as it is chanted in the Hebrew. + </p> + <p> + As Rabbi Thalmann began to intone it in its monotonous repetition of + praise, there arose certain black-robed figures from their places and + stood with heads bowed over their prayer books. These were members of the + congregation from whom death had taken a toll during the past year. Fanny + rose with her mother and Theodore, who had left the choir loft to join + them. The little wheezy organ played very softly. The black-robed figures + swayed. Here and there a half-stifled sob rose, and was crushed. Fanny + felt a hot haze that blurred her vision. She winked it away, and another + burned in its place. Her shoulders shook with a sob. She felt her mother's + hand close over her own that held one side of the book. The prayer, that + was not of mourning but of praise, ended with a final crescendo from the + organ, The silent black-robed figures were seated. + </p> + <p> + Over the little, spent congregation hung a glorious atmosphere of + detachment. These Jews, listening to the words that had come from the lips + of the prophets in Israel, had been, on this day, thrown back thousands of + years, to the time when the destruction of the temple was as real as the + shattered spires and dome of the cathedral at Rheims. Old Ben Reitman, + faint with fasting, was far removed from his everyday thoughts of his + horses, his lumber mills, his farms, his mortgages. Even Mrs. Nathan + Pereles, in her black satin and bugles and jets, her cold, hard face + usually unlighted by sympathy or love, seemed to feel something of this + emotional wave. Fanny Brandeis was shaken by it. Her head ached (that was + hunger) and her hands were icy. The little Russian girl in the seat just + behind them had ceased to wriggle and squirm, and slept against her + mother's side. Rabbi Thalmann, there on the platform, seemed somehow very + far away and vague. The scent of clove apples and ammonia salts filled the + air. The atmosphere seemed strangely wavering and luminous. The white + satin of the Ark curtain gleamed and shifted. + </p> + <p> + The long service swept on to its close. Suddenly organ and choir burst + into a paeon. Little Doctor Thalmann raised his arms. The congregation + swept to its feet with a mighty surge. Fanny rose with them, her face very + white in its frame of black curls, her eyes luminous. She raised her face + for the words of the ancient benediction that rolled, in its simplicity + and grandeur, from the lips of the rabbi: + </p> + <p> + “May the blessing of the Lord our God rest upon you all. God bless thee + and keep thee. May God cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be + gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee, and grant + thee peace.” + </p> + <p> + The Day of Atonement had come to an end. It was a very quiet, subdued and + spent little flock that dispersed to their homes. Fanny walked out with + scarcely a thought of Bella. She felt, vaguely, that she and this school + friend were formed of different stuff. She knew that the bond between them + had been the grubby, physical one of childhood, and that they never would + come together in the finer relation of the spirit, though she could not + have put this new knowledge into words. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Tired, Fanchen?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you're hungry!” from Theodore. + </p> + <p> + “I was, but I'm not now.” + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m—wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!” + </p> + <p> + She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's pantry. But now + something within her—something fine, born of this day—kept her + from it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom two and two often made five, guessed + something of what had happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had + Molly Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with the magic of + his music. She had kissed him good night with infinite tenderness and + love. But she came into her daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to + bed, and leaned over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel all right, my darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Umhmph,” replied Fanny drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know that you were + able to do the thing you started out to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Umhmph.” + </p> + <p> + “Only,” Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite forgetting that she + was talking to a very little girl, “only, life seems to take such special + delight in offering temptation to those who are able to withstand it. I + don't know why that's true, but it is. I hope—oh, my little girl, my + baby—I hope——” + </p> + <p> + But Fanny never knew whether her mother finished that sentence or not. She + remembered waiting for the end of it, to learn what it was her mother + hoped. And she had felt a sudden, scalding drop on her hand where her + mother bent over her. And the next thing she knew it was morning, with + mellow September sunshine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + It was the week following this feat of fasting that two things happened to + Fanny Brandeis—two seemingly unimportant and childish things—that + were to affect the whole tenor of her life. It is pleasant to predict + thus. It gives a certain weight to a story and a sense of inevitableness. + It should insure, too, the readers's support to the point, at least, where + the prediction is fulfilled. Sometimes a careless author loses sight + altogether of his promise, and then the tricked reader is likely to go on + to the very final page, teased by the expectation that that which was + hinted at will be revealed. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis had a way of going to the public library on Saturday + afternoons (with a bag of very sticky peanut candy in her pocket, the + little sensualist!) and there, huddled in a chair, dreamily and almost + automatically munching peanut brittle, her cheeks growing redder and + redder in the close air of the ill-ventilated room, she would read, and + read, and read. There was no one to censor her reading, so she read + promiscuously, wading gloriously through trash and classic and historical + and hysterical alike, and finding something of interest in them all. + </p> + <p> + She read the sprightly “Duchess” novels, where mad offers of marriage were + always made in flower-scented conservatories; she read Dickens, and + Thelma, and old bound Cosmopolitans, and Zola, and de Maupassant, and the + “Wide, Wide World,” and “Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates,” and “Jane + Eyre.” All of which are merely mentioned as examples of her catholicism in + literature. As she read she was unaware of the giggling boys and girls who + came in noisily, and made dates, and were coldly frowned on by the austere + Miss Perkins, the librarian. She would read until the fading light would + remind her that the short fall or winter day was drawing to a close. + </p> + <p> + She would come, shivering a little after the fetid atmosphere of the + overheated library, into the crisp, cold snap of the astringent Wisconsin + air. Sometimes she would stop at the store for her mother. Sometimes she + would run home alone through the twilight, her heels scrunching the snow, + her whole being filled with a vague and unchildish sadness and disquiet as + she faced the tender rose, and orange, and mauve, and pale lemon of the + winter sunset. There were times when her very heart ached with the beauty + of that color-flooded sky; there were times, later, when it ached in much + the same way at the look in the eyes of a pushcart peddler; there were + times when it ached, seemingly, for no reason at all—as is sometimes + the case when one is a little Jew girl, with whole centuries of suffering + behind one. + </p> + <p> + On this day she had taken a book from the library Miss Perkins, at sight + of the title, had glared disapprovingly, and had hesitated a moment before + stamping the card. + </p> + <p> + “Is this for yourself?” she had asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a book for little girls,” snapped Miss Perkins. + </p> + <p> + “I've read half of it already,” Fanny informed her sweetly. And went out + with it under her arm. It was Zola's “The Ladies' Paradise” (Au Bonheur + des Dames). The story of the shop girl, and the crushing of the little + dealer by the great and moneyed company had thrilled and fascinated her. + </p> + <p> + Her mind was full of it as she turned the corner on Norris Street and ran + full-tilt, into a yowling, taunting, torturing little pack of boys. They + were gathered in close formation about some object which they were + teasing, and knocking about in the mud, and otherwise abusing with the + savagery of their years. Fanny, the fiery, stopped short. She pushed into + the ring. The object of their efforts was a weak-kneed and hollow-chested + little boy who could not fight because he was cowardly as well as weak, + and his name (oh, pity!) was Clarence—Clarence Heyl. There are few + things that a mischievous group of small boys cannot do with a name like + Clarence. They whined it, they catcalled it, they shrieked it in falsetto + imitation of Clarence's mother. He was a wide-mouthed, sallow and pindling + little boy, whose pipe-stemmed legs looked all the thinner for being + contrasted with his feet, which were long and narrow. At that time he wore + spectacles, too, to correct a muscular weakness, so that his one good + feature—great soft, liquid eyes—passed unnoticed. He was the + kind of little boy whose mother insists on dressing him in cloth-top, + buttoned, patent-leather shoes for school. His blue serge suit was never + patched or shiny. His stockings were virgin at the knee. He wore an + overcoat on cool autumn days. Fanny despised and pitied him. We ask you + not to, because in this puny, shy and ugly little boy of fifteen you + behold Our Hero. + </p> + <p> + He staggered to his feet now, as Fanny came up. His school reefer was + mud-bespattered. His stockings were torn. His cap was gone and his hair + was wild. There was a cut or scratch on one cheek, from which the blood + flowed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell my mother on you!” he screamed impotently, and shook with rage + and terror. “You'll see, you will! You let me alone, now!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny felt a sick sensation at the pit of her stomach and in her throat. + Then: + </p> + <p> + “He'll tell his ma!” sneered the boys in chorus. “Oh, mamma!” And called + him the Name. And at that a she wildcat broke loose among them. She + pounced on them without warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and flying + hair, and white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought fair, or if + she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have been powerless among + them. But she had sprung at them with the suddenness of rage. She kicked, + and scratched, and bit, and clawed and spat. She seemed not to feel the + defensive blows that were showered upon her in turn. Her own hard little + fists were now doubled for a thump or opened, like a claw, for scratching. + </p> + <p> + “Go on home!” she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought. And Clarence, + gathering up his tattered school books, went, and stood not on the order + of his going. Whereupon Fanny darted nimbly to one side, out of the way of + boyish brown fists. In that moment she was transformed from a raging fury + into a very meek and trembling little girl, who looked shyly and + pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys were for rushing at her + again. + </p> + <p> + “Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl,” cried Fanny, her lower lip + trembling ever so little. “Come on! Hit me! Afraid to fight anything but + girls! Cowardy-cats!” A tear, pearly, pathetic, coursed down her cheek. + </p> + <p> + The drive was broken. Five sullen little boys stood and glared at her, + impotently. + </p> + <p> + “You hit us first,” declared one boy. “What business d' you have + scratching around like that, I'd like to know! You old scratch cat!” + </p> + <p> + “He's sickly,” said Fanny. “He can't fight. There's something the matter + with his lungs, or something, and they're going to make him quit school. + Besides, he's a billion times better than any of you, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + At once, “Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence! Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny picked up her somewhat battered Zola from where it had flown at her + first onslaught. “It's a lie!” she shouted. And fled, followed by the + hateful chant. + </p> + <p> + She came in at the back door, trying to look casual. But Mattie's keen eye + detected the marks of battle, even while her knife turned the frying + potatoes. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny Brandeis! Look at your sweater! And your hair!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny glanced down at the torn pocket dangling untidily. “Oh, that!” she + said airily. And, passing the kitchen table, deftly filched a slice of + cold veal from the platter, and mounted the back stairs to her room. It + was a hungry business, this fighting. When Mrs. Brandeis came in at six + her small daughter was demurely reading. At supper time Mrs. Brandeis + looked up at her daughter with a sharp exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny! There's a scratch on your cheek from your eye to your chin.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny put up her hand. “Is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you must have felt it. How did you get it?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny said nothing. “I'll bet she was fighting,” said Theodore with the + intuitive knowledge that one child has of another's ways. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny!” The keen brown eyes were upon her. “Some boys were picking on + Clarence Heyl, and it made me mad. They called him names.” + </p> + <p> + “What names?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, names.” + </p> + <p> + “Fanny dear, if you're going to fight every time you hear that name——” + </p> + <p> + Fanny thought of the torn sweater, the battered Zola, the scratched cheek. + “It is pretty expensive,” she said reflectively. + </p> + <p> + After supper she settled down at once to her book. Theodore would labor + over his algebra after the dining-room table was cleared. He stuck his cap + on his head now, and slammed out of the door for a half-hour's play under + the corner arc-light. Fanny rarely brought books from school, and yet she + seemed to get on rather brilliantly, especially in the studies she liked. + During that winter following her husband's death Mrs. Brandeis had a way + of playing solitaire after supper; one of the simpler forms of the game. + It seemed to help her to think out the day's problems, and to soothe her + at the same time. She would turn down the front of the writing desk, and + draw up the piano stool. + </p> + <p> + All through that winter Fanny seemed to remember reading to the slap-slap + of cards, and the whir of their shuffling. In after years she was never + able to pick up a volume of Dickens without having her mind hark back to + those long, quiet evenings. She read a great deal of Dickens at that time. + She had a fine contempt for his sentiment, and his great ladies bored her. + She did not know that this was because they were badly drawn. The humor + she loved, and she read and reread the passages dealing with Samuel + Weller, and Mr. Micawber, and Sairey Gamp, and Fanny Squeers. It was + rather trying to read Dickens before supper, she had discovered. Pickwick + Papers was fatal, she had found. It sent one to the pantry in a sort of + trance, to ransack for food—cookies, apples, cold meat, anything. + But whatever one found, it always fell short of the succulent sounding + beefsteak pies, and saddles of mutton, and hot pineapple toddy of the + printed page. + </p> + <p> + To-night Mrs. Brandeis, coming in from the kitchen after a conference with + Mattie, found her daughter in conversational mood, though book in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, did you ever read this?” She held up “The Ladies' Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but child alive, what ever made you get it? That isn't the kind of + thing for you to read. Oh, I wish I had more time to give——” + </p> + <p> + Fanny leaned forward eagerly. “It made me think a lot of you. You know—the + way the big store was crushing the little one, and everything. Like the + thing you were talking to that man about the other day. You said it was + killing the small-town dealer, and he said some day it would be illegal, + and you said you'd never live to see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that! We were talking about the mail-order business, and how hard it + was to compete with it, when the farmers bought everything from a + catalogue, and had whole boxes of household goods expressed to them. I + didn't know you were listening, Fanchen.” + </p> + <p> + “I was. I almost always do when you and some traveling man or somebody + like that are talking. It—it's interesting.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny went back to her book then. But Molly Brandeis sat a moment, eyeing + her queer little daughter thoughtfully. Then she sighed, and laid out her + cards for solitaire. By eight o'clock she was usually so sleepy that she + would fall, dead-tired, asleep on the worn leather couch in the + sitting-room. She must have been fearfully exhausted, mind and body. The + house would be very quiet, except for Mattie, perhaps, moving about in the + kitchen or in her corner room upstairs. Sometimes the weary woman on the + couch would start suddenly from her sleep and cry out, choked and gasping, + “No! No! No!” The children would jump, terrified, and come running to her + at first, but later they got used to it, and only looked up to say, when + she asked them, bewildered, what it was that wakened her, “You had the + no-no-nos.” + </p> + <p> + She had never told of the thing that made her start out of her sleep and + cry out like that. Perhaps it was just the protest of the exhausted body + and the overwrought nerves. Usually, after that, she would sit up, + haggardly, and take the hairpins out of her short thick hair, and announce + her intention of going to bed. She always insisted that the children go + too, though they often won an extra half hour by protesting and teasing. + It was a good thing for them, these nine o'clock bed hours, for it gave + them the tonic sleep that their young, high-strung natures demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Come, children,” she would say, yawning. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother, please just let me finish this chapter!” + </p> + <p> + “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “Just this little bit. See? Just this.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, just that, then,” for Mrs. Brandeis was a reasonable woman, and she + had the book-lover's knowledge of the fascination of the unfinished + chapter. + </p> + <p> + Fanny and Theodore were not always honest about the bargain. They would + gallop, hot-cheeked, through the allotted chapter. Mrs. Brandeis would + have fallen into a doze, perhaps. And the two conspirators would read on, + turning the leaves softly and swiftly, gulping the pages, cramming them + down in an orgy of mental bolting, like naughty children stuffing cake + when their mother's back is turned. But the very concentration of their + dread of waking her often brought about the feared result. Mrs. Brandeis + would start up rather wildly, look about her, and see the two buried, + red-cheeked and eager, in their books. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny! Theodore! Come now! Not another minute!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny, shameless little glutton, would try it again. “Just to the end of + this chapter! Just this weenty bit!” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! You've read four chapters since I spoke to you the last + time. Come now!” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis would see to the doors, and the windows, and the clock, and + then, waiting for the weary little figures to climb the stairs, would turn + out the light, and, hairpins in one hand, corset in the other, perhaps, + mount to bed. + </p> + <p> + By nine o'clock the little household would be sleeping, the children + sweetly and dreamlessly, the tired woman restlessly and fitfully, her + overwrought brain still surging with the day's problems. It was not like a + household at rest, somehow. It was like a spirited thing standing, + quivering for a moment, its nerves tense, its muscles twitching. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps you have quite forgotten that here were to be retailed two epochal + events in Fanny Brandeis's life. If you have remembered, you will have + guessed that the one was the reading of that book of social protest, + though its writer has fallen into disfavor in these fickle days. The other + was the wild and unladylike street brawl in which she took part so that a + terrified and tortured little boy might escape his tormentors. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIVE + </h2> + <p> + There was no hard stock in Brandeis' Bazaar now. The packing-room was + always littered with straw and excelsior dug from hogsheads and great + crates. Aloysius lorded it over a small red-headed satellite who + disappeared inside barrels and dived head first into huge boxes, coming up + again with a lamp, or a doll, or a piece of glassware, like a magician. + Fanny, perched on an overturned box, used to watch him, fascinated, while + he laboriously completed a water set, or a tea set. A preliminary dive + would bring up the first of a half dozen related pieces, each swathed in + tissue paper. A deft twist on the part of the attendant Aloysius would + strip the paper wrappings and disclose a ruby-tinted tumbler, perhaps. + Another dive, and another, until six gleaming glasses stood revealed, like + chicks without a hen mother. A final dip, much scratching and burrowing, + during which armfuls of hay and excelsior were thrown out, and then the + red-headed genie of the barrel would emerge, flushed and triumphant, with + the water pitcher itself, thus completing the happy family. + </p> + <p> + Aloysius, meanwhile, would regale her with one of those choice bits of + gossip he had always about him, like a jewel concealed, and only to be + brought out for the appreciative. Mrs. Brandeis disapproved of store + gossip, and frowned on Sadie and Pearl whenever she found them, their + heads close together, their stifled shrieks testifying to his wit. There + were times when Molly Brandeis herself could not resist the spell of his + tongue. No one knew where Aloysius got his information. He had news that + Winnebago's two daily papers never could get, and wouldn't have dared to + print if they had. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear about Myrtle Krieger,” he would begin, “that's marryin' the + Hempel boy next month? The one in the bank. She's exhibiting her trewsow + at the Outagamie County Fair this week, for the handwork and embroid'ry + prize. Ain't it brazen? They say the crowd's so thick around the table + that they had to take down the more pers'nal pieces. The first day of the + fair the grand-stand was, you might say, empty, even when they was pullin' + off the trottin' races and the balloon ascension. It's funny—ain't + it?—how them garmints that you wouldn't turn for a second look at on + the clothesline or in a store winda' becomes kind of wicked and + interestin' the minute they get what they call the human note. There it + lays, that virgin lawnjerie, for all the county to look at, with pink + ribbons run through everything, and the poor Krieger girl never dreamin' + she's doin' somethin' indelicate. She says yesterday if she wins the prize + she's going to put it toward one of these kitchen cabinets.” + </p> + <p> + I wish we could stop a while with Aloysius. He is well worth it. Aloysius, + who looked a pass between Ichabod Crane and Smike; Aloysius, with his bit + of scandal burnished with wit; who, after a long, hard Saturday, would go + home to scrub the floor of the dingy lodgings where he lived with his + invalid mother, and who rose in the cold dawn of Sunday morning to go to + early mass, so that he might return to cook the dinner and wait upon the + sick woman. Aloysius, whose trousers flapped grotesquely about his bony + legs, and whose thin red wrists hung awkwardly from his too-short sleeves, + had in him that tender, faithful and courageous stuff of which unsung + heroes are made. And he adored his clever, resourceful boss to the point + of imitation. You should have seen him trying to sell a sled or a doll's + go-cart in her best style. But we cannot stop for Aloysius. He is + irrelevant, and irrelevant matter halts the progress of a story. Any one, + from Barrie to Harold Bell Wright, will tell you that a story, to be + successful, must march. + </p> + <p> + We'll keep step, then, with Molly Brandeis until she drops out of the + ranks. There is no detouring with Mrs. Brandeis for a leader. She is the + sort that, once her face is set toward her goal, looks neither to right + nor left until she has reached it. + </p> + <p> + When Fanny Brandeis was fourteen, and Theodore was not quite sixteen, a + tremendous thing happened. Schabelitz, the famous violinist, came to + Winnebago to give a concert under the auspices of the Young Men's Sunday + Evening Club. + </p> + <p> + The Young Men's Sunday Evening Club of the Congregational Church prided + itself (and justifiably) on what the papers called its “auspices.” It + scorned to present to Winnebago the usual lyceum attractions—Swiss + bell ringers, negro glee clubs, and Family Fours. Instead, Schumann-Heink + sang her lieder for them; McCutcheon talked and cartooned for them; Madame + Bloomfield-Zeisler played. Winnebago was one of those wealthy little + Mid-Western towns whose people appreciate the best and set out to acquire + it for themselves. + </p> + <p> + To the Easterner, Winnebago, and Oshkosh, and Kalamazoo, and Emporia are + names invented to get a laugh from a vaudeville audience. Yet it is the + people from Winnebago and Emporia and the like whom you meet in Egypt, and + the Catalina Islands, and at Honolulu, and St. Moritz. It is in the + Winnebago living-room that you are likely to find a prayer rug got in + Persia, a bit of gorgeous glaze from China, a scarf from some temple in + India, and on it a book, hand-tooled and rare. The Winnebagoans seem to + know what is being served and worn, from salad to veilings, surprisingly + soon after New York has informed itself on those subjects. The 7:52 + Northwestern morning train out of Winnebago was always pretty comfortably + crowded with shoppers who were taking a five-hour run down to Chicago to + get a hat and see the new musical show at the Illinois. + </p> + <p> + So Schabelitz's coming was an event, but not an unprecedented one. Except + to Theodore. Theodore had a ticket for the concert (his mother had seen to + that), and he talked of nothing else. He was going with his violin + teacher, Emil Bauer. There were strange stories as to why Emil Bauer, with + his gift of teaching, should choose to bury himself in this obscure little + Wisconsin town. It was known that he had acquaintance with the great and + famous of the musical world. The East End set fawned upon him, and his + studio suppers were the exclusive social events in Winnebago. + </p> + <p> + Schabelitz was to play in the evening. At half past three that afternoon + there entered Brandeis' Bazaar a white-faced, wide-eyed boy who was + Theodore Brandeis; a plump, voluble, and excited person who was Emil + Bauer; and a short, stocky man who looked rather like a foreign-born + artisan—plumber or steam-fitter—in his Sunday clothes. This + was Levine Schabelitz. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis was selling a wash boiler to a fussy housewife who, in her + anxiety to assure herself of the flawlessness of her purchase, had done + everything but climb inside it. It had early been instilled in the minds + of Mrs. Brandeis's children that she was never to be approached when busy + with a customer. There were times when they rushed into the store bursting + with news or plans, but they had learned to control their eagerness. This, + though, was no ordinary news that had blanched Theodore's face. At sight + of the three, Mrs. Brandeis quietly turned her boiler purchaser over to + Pearl and came forward from the rear of the store. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mother!” cried Theodore, an hysterical note in his voice. “Oh, + Mother!” + </p> + <p> + And in that moment Molly Brandeis knew. Emil Bauer introduced them, + floridly. Molly Brandeis held out her hand, and her keen brown eyes looked + straight and long into the gifted Russian's pale blue ones. According to + all rules he should have started a dramatic speech, beginning with + “Madame!” hand on heart. But Schabelitz the great had sprung from + Schabelitz the peasant boy, and in the process he had managed, somehow, to + retain the simplicity which was his charm. Still, there was something + queer and foreign in the way he bent over Mrs. Brandeis's hand. We do not + bow like that in Winnebago. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brandeis, I am honored to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I to meet you,” replied the shopkeeper in the black sateen apron. + </p> + <p> + “I have just had the pleasure of hearing your son play,” began Schabelitz. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bauer called me out of my economics class at school, Mother, and said + that——” + </p> + <p> + “Theodore!” Theodore subsided. “He is only a boy,” went on Schabelitz, and + put one hand on Theodore's shoulder. “A very gifted boy. I hear hundreds. + Oh, how I suffer, sometimes, to listen to their devilish scraping! To-day, + my friend Bauer met me with that old plea, `You must hear this pupil play. + He has genius.' `Bah! Genius!' I said, and I swore at him a little, for he + is my friend, Bauer. But I went with him to his studio—Bauer, that + is a remarkably fine place you have there, above that drug store; a room + of exceptional proportions. And those rugs, let me tell you——” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the rugs, Schabelitz. Mrs. Brandeis here——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, yes! Well, dear lady, this boy of yours will be a great + violinist if he is willing to work, and work, and work. He has what you in + America call the spark. To make it a flame he must work, always work. You + must send him to Dresden, under Auer.” + </p> + <p> + “Dresden!” echoed Molly Brandeis faintly, and put one hand on the table + that held the fancy cups and saucers, and they jingled a little. + </p> + <p> + “A year, perhaps, first, in New York with Wolfsohn.” + </p> + <p> + Wolfsohn! New York! Dresden! It was too much even for Molly Brandeis' + well-balanced brain. She was conscious of feeling a little dizzy. At that + moment Pearl approached apologetically. “Pardon me, Mis' Brandeis, but + Mrs. Trost wants to know if you'll send the boiler special this afternoon. + She wants it for the washing early to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + That served to steady her. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mrs. Trost I'll send it before six to-night.” Her eyes rested on + Theodore's face, flushed now, and glowing. Then she turned and faced + Schabelitz squarely. “Perhaps you do not know that this store is our + support. I earn a living here for myself and my two children. You see what + it is—just a novelty and notion store in a country town. I speak of + this because it is the important thing. I have known for a long time that + Theodore's playing was not the playing of the average boy, musically + gifted. So what you tell me does not altogether surprise me. But when you + say Dresden—well, from Brandeis' Bazaar in Winnebago, Wisconsin, to + Auer, in Dresden, Germany, is a long journey for one afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “But of course you must have time to think it over. It must be brought + about, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Somehow——” Mrs. Brandeis stared straight ahead, and you could + almost hear that indomitable will of hers working, crashing over + obstacles, plowing through difficulties. Theodore watched her, breathless, + as though expecting an immediate solution. His mother's eyes met his own + intent ones, and at that her mobile mouth quirked in a sudden smile. “You + look as if you expected pearls to pop out of my mouth, son. And, by the + way, if you're going to a concert this evening don't you think it would be + a good idea to squander an hour on study this afternoon? You may be a + musical prodigy, but geometry's geometry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mother! Please!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk to Mr. Schabelitz and Mr. Bauer, alone.” She patted his + shoulder, and the last pat ended in a gentle push. “Run along.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll work, Mother. You know perfectly well I'll work.” But he looked so + startlingly like his father as he said it that Mrs. Brandeis felt a + clutching at her heart. + </p> + <p> + Theodore out of the way, they seemed to find very little to discuss, after + all. Schabelitz was so quietly certain, Bauer so triumphantly proud. + </p> + <p> + Said Schabelitz, “Wolfsohn, of course, receives ten dollars a lesson + ordinarily.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten dollars!” + </p> + <p> + “But a pupil like Theodore is in the nature of an investment,” Bauer + hastened to explain. “An advertisement. After hearing him play, and after + what Schabelitz here will have to say for him, Wolfsohn will certainly + give Theodore lessons for nothing, or next to nothing. You remember”—proudly—“I + offered to teach him without charge, but you would not have it.” + </p> + <p> + Schabelitz smote his friend sharply on the shoulder “The true musician! + Oh, Bauer, Bauer! That you should bury yourself in this——” + </p> + <p> + But Bauer stopped him with a gesture. “Mrs. Brandeis is a busy woman. And + as she says, this thing needs thinking over.” + </p> + <p> + “After all,” said Mrs. Brandeis, “there isn't much to think about. I know + just where I stand. It's a case of mathematics, that's all. This business + of mine is just beginning to pay. From now on I shall be able to save + something every year. It might be enough to cover his musical education. + It would mean that Fanny—my daughter—and I would have to give + up everything. For myself, I should be only too happy, too proud. But it + doesn't seem fair to her. After all, a girl——” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't fair,” broke in Schabelitz. “It isn't fair. But that is the way + of genius. It never is fair. It takes, and takes, and takes. I know. My + mother could tell you, if she were alive. She sold the little farm, and my + sisters gave up their dowries, and with them their hopes of marriage, and + they lived on bread and cabbage. That was not to pay for my lessons. They + never could have done that. It was only to send me to Moscow. We were very + poor. They must have starved. I have come to know, since, that it was not + worth it. That nothing could be worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it was worth it. Your mother would do it all over again, if she had + the chance. That's what we're for.” + </p> + <p> + Bauer pulled out his watch and uttered a horrified exclamation. “Himmel! + Four o'clock! And I have a pupil at four.” He turned hastily to Mrs. + Brandeis. “I am giving a little supper in my studio after the concert + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gott!” groaned Schabelitz. + </p> + <p> + “It is in honor of Schabelitz here. You see how overcome he is. Will you + let me bring Theodore back with me after the concert? There will be some + music, and perhaps he will play for us.” + </p> + <p> + Schabelitz bent again in his queer little foreign bow. “And you, of + course, will honor us, Mrs. Brandeis.” He had never lived in Winnebago. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” Bauer hastened to say. He had. + </p> + <p> + “I!” Molly Brandeis looked down at her apron, and stroked it with her + fingers. Then she looked up with a little smile that was not so pleasant + as her smile usually was. There had flashed across her quick mind a + picture of Mrs. G. Manville Smith. Mrs. G. Manville Smith, in an evening + gown whose decolletage was discussed from the Haley House to Gerretson's + department store next morning, was always a guest at Bauer's studio + affairs. “Thank you, but it is impossible. And Theodore is only a + schoolboy. Just now he needs, more than anything else in the world, nine + hours of sleep every night. There will be plenty of time for studio + suppers later. When a boy's voice is changing, and he doesn't know what to + do with his hands and feet, he is better off at home.” + </p> + <p> + “God! These mothers!” exclaimed Schabelitz. “What do they not know!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are right.” Bauer was both rueful and relieved. It would + have been fine to show off Theodore as his pupil and Schabelitz's protege. + But Mrs. Brandeis? No, that would never do. “Well, I must go. We will talk + about this again, Mrs. Brandeis. In two weeks Schabelitz will pass through + Winnebago again on his way back to Chicago. Meanwhile he will write + Wolfsohn. I also. So! Come, Schabelitz!” + </p> + <p> + He turned to see that gentleman strolling off in the direction of the + notion counter behind which his expert eye had caught a glimpse of Sadie + in her white shirtwaist and her trim skirt. Sadie always knew what they + were wearing on State Street, Chicago, half an hour after Mrs. Brandeis + returned from one of her buying trips. Shirtwaists had just come in, and + with them those neat leather belts with a buckle, and about the throat + they were wearing folds of white satin ribbon, smooth and high and tight, + the two ends tied pertly at the back. Sadie would never be the saleswoman + that Pearl was, but her unfailing good nature and her cheery + self-confidence made her an asset in the store. Besides, she was pretty. + Mrs. Brandeis knew the value of a pretty clerk. + </p> + <p> + At the approach of this stranger Sadie leaned coyly against the stocking + rack and patted her paper sleevelets that were secured at wrist and elbow + with elastic bands. Her method was sure death to traveling men. She + prepared now to try it on the world-famous virtuoso. The ease with which + she succeeded surprised even Sadie, accustomed though she was to conquest. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Schabelitz!” said Bauer again. “I must get along.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go, my friend. Go along and make your preparations for that studio + supper. The only interesting woman in Winnebago—” he bowed to Mrs. + Brandeis—“will not be there. I know them, these small-town society + women, with their imitation city ways. And bony! Always! I am enjoying + myself. I shall stay here.” + </p> + <p> + And he did stay. Sadie, talking it over afterward with Pearl and Aloysius, + put it thus: + </p> + <p> + “They say he's the grandest violin player in the world. Not that I care + much for the violin, myself. Kind of squeaky, I always think. But it just + goes to show they're all alike. Ain't it the truth? I jollied him just + like I did Sam Bloom, of Ganz & Pick, Novelties, an hour before. He + laughed just where Sam did. And they both handed me a line of talk about + my hair and eyes, only Sam said I was a doll, and this Schabelitz, or + whatever his name is, said I was as alluring as a Lorelei. I guess he + thought he had me there, but I didn't go through the seventh reader for + nothing. `If you think I'm flattered,' I said to him, `you're mistaken. + She was the mess who used to sit out on a rock with her back hair down, + combing away and singing like mad, and keeping an eye out for sailors up + and down the river. If I had to work that hard to get some attention,' I + said, `I'd give up the struggle, and settle down with a cat and a + teakettle.' At that he just threw back his head and roared. And when Mrs. + Brandeis came up he said something about the wit of these American women. + `Work is a great sharpener of wit—and wits,' Mrs. Brandeis said to + him. `Pearl, did Aloysius send Eddie out with that boiler, special?' And + she didn't pay any more attention to him, or make any more fuss over him, + than she would to a traveler with a line of samples she wasn't interested + in. I guess that's why he had such a good time.” + </p> + <p> + Sadie was right. That was the reason. Fanny, coming into the store half an + hour later, saw this man who had swayed thousands with his music, down on + his hands and knees in the toy section at the rear of Brandeis' Bazaar. He + and Sadie and Aloysius were winding up toy bears, and clowns, and engines, + and carriages, and sending them madly racing across the floor. Sometimes + their careening career was threatened with disaster in the form of a clump + of brooms or a stack of galvanized pails. But Schabelitz would scramble + forward with a shout and rescue them just before the crash came, and set + them deftly off again in the opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + “This I must have for my boy in New York.” He held up a miniature hook and + ladder. “And this windmill that whirls so busily. My Leo is seven, and his + head is full of engines, and motors, and things that run on wheels. He + cares no more for music, the little savage, than the son of a bricklayer.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that man?” Fanny whispered, staring at him. + </p> + <p> + “Levine Schabelitz.” + </p> + <p> + “Schabelitz! Not the—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's playing on the floor like—like a little boy! And laughing! + Why, Mother, he's just like anybody else, only nicer.” + </p> + <p> + If Fanny had been more than fourteen her mother might have told her that + all really great people are like that, finding joy in simple things. I + think that is the secret of their genius—the child in them that + keeps their viewpoint fresh, and that makes us children again when we + listen to them. It is the Schabelitzes of this world who can shout over a + toy engine that would bore a Bauer to death. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stood looking at him thoughtfully. She knew all about him. + Theodore's talk of the past week had accomplished that. Fanny knew that + here was a man who did one thing better than any one else in the world. + She thrilled to that thought. She adored the quality in people that caused + them to excel. Schabelitz had got hold of a jack-in-the-box, and each time + the absurd head popped out, with its grin and its squawk, he laughed like + a boy. Fanny, standing behind the wrapping counter, and leaning on it with + her elbows the better to see this great man, smiled too, as her flexible + spirit and her mobile mind caught his mood. She did not know she was + smiling. Neither did she know why she suddenly frowned in the intensity of + her concentration, reached up for one of the pencils on the desk next the + wrapping counter, and bent over the topmost sheet of yellow wrapping paper + that lay spread out before her. Her tongue-tip curled excitedly at one + corner of her mouth. Her head was cocked to one side. + </p> + <p> + She was rapidly sketching a crude and startling likeness of Levine + Schabelitz as he stood there with the ridiculous toy in his hand. It was a + trick she often amused herself with at school. She had drawn her + school-teacher one day as she had looked when gazing up into the eyes of + the visiting superintendent, who was a married man. Quite innocently and + unconsciously she had caught the adoring look in the eyes of Miss McCook, + the teacher, and that lady, happening upon the sketch later, had dealt + with Fanny in a manner seemingly unwarranted. In the same way it was not + only the exterior likeness of the man which she was catching now—the + pompadour that stood stiffly perpendicular like a brush; the square, + yellow peasant teeth; the strong, slender hands and wrists; the stocky + figure; the high cheek bones; the square-toed, foreign-looking shoes and + the trousers too wide at the instep to have been cut by an American + tailor. She caught and transmitted to paper, in some uncanny way, the + simplicity of the man who was grinning at the jack-in-the-box that smirked + back at him. Behind the veneer of poise and polish born of success and + adulation she had caught a glimpse of the Russian peasant boy delighted + with the crude toy in his hand. And she put it down eagerly, wetting her + pencil between her lips, shading here, erasing there. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis, bustling up to the desk for a customer's change, and with a + fancy dish to be wrapped, in her hand, glanced over Fanny's shoulder. She + leaned closer. “Why, Fanny, you witch!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny gave a little crow of delight and tossed her head in a way that + switched her short curls back from where they had fallen over her + shoulders. “It's like him, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks more like him than he does himself.” With which Molly Brandeis + unconsciously defined the art of cartooning. + </p> + <p> + Fanny looked down at it, a smile curving her lips. Mrs. Brandeis, dish in + hand, counted her change expertly from the till below the desk, and + reached for the sheet of wrapping paper just beneath that on which Fanny + had made her drawing. At that moment Schabelitz, glancing up, saw her, and + came forward, smiling, the jack-in-the-box still in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Dear lady, I hope I have not entirely disorganized your shop. I have had + a most glorious time. Would you believe it, this jack-in-the-box looks + exactly—but exactly—like my manager, Weber, when the + box-office receipts are good. He grins just—” + </p> + <p> + And then his eye fell on the drawing that Fanny was trying to cover with + one brown paw. “Hello! What's this?” Then he looked at Fanny. Then he + grasped her wrist in his fingers of steel and looked at the sketch that + grinned back at him impishly. “Well, I'm damned!” exploded Schabelitz in + amusement, and surprise, and appreciation. And did not apologize. “And who + is this young lady with the sense of humor?” + </p> + <p> + “This is my little girl, Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at the rough sketch again, with its clean-cut satire, and + up again at the little girl in the school coat and the faded red tam o' + shanter, who was looking at him shyly, and defiantly, and provokingly, all + at once. + </p> + <p> + “Your little girl Fanny, h'm? The one who is to give up everything that + the boy Theodore may become a great violinist.” He bent again over the + crude, effective cartoon, then put a forefinger gently under the child's + chin and tipped her glowing face up to the light. “I am not so sure now + that it will work. As for its being fair! Why, no! No!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny waited for her mother that evening, and they walked home together. + Their step and swing were very much alike, now that Fanny's legs were + growing longer. She was at the backfisch age. + </p> + <p> + “What did he mean, Mother, when he said that about Theodore being a great + violinist, and its not being fair? What isn't fair? And how did he happen + to be in the store, anyway? He bought a heap of toys, didn't he? I suppose + he's awfully rich.” + </p> + <p> + “To-night, when Theodore's at the concert, I'll tell you what he meant, + and all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd love to hear him play, wouldn't you? I'd just love to.” + </p> + <p> + Over Molly Brandeis's face there came a curious look. “You could hear him, + Fanny, in Theodore's place. Theodore would have to stay home if I told him + to.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's eyes and mouth grew round with horror. “Theodore stay home! Why + Mrs.—Molly—Brandeis!” Then she broke into a little relieved + laugh. “But you're just fooling, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not. If you really want to go I'll tell Theodore to give up his + ticket to his sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my goodness! I guess I'm not a pig. I wouldn't have Theodore stay + home, not for a million dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn't,” said Molly Brandeis as they swung down Norris + Street. And she told Fanny briefly of what Schabelitz had said about + Theodore. + </p> + <p> + It was typical of Theodore that he ate his usual supper that night. He may + have got his excitement vicariously from Fanny. She was thrilled enough + for two. Her food lay almost untouched on her plate. She chattered + incessantly. When Theodore began to eat his second baked apple with cream, + her outraged feelings voiced their protest. + </p> + <p> + “But, Theodore, I don't see how you can!” + </p> + <p> + “Can what?” + </p> + <p> + “Eat like that. When you're going to hear him play. And after what he + said, and everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is that any reason why I should starve to death?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't see how you can,” repeated Fanny helplessly, and looked at + her mother. Mrs. Brandeis reached for the cream pitcher and poured a + little more cream over Theodore's baked apple. Even as she did it her eyes + met Fanny's, and in them was a certain sly amusement, a little gleam of + fun, a look that said, “Neither do I.” Fanny sat back, satisfied. Here, at + least, was some one who understood. + </p> + <p> + At half past seven Theodore, looking very brushed and sleek, went off to + meet Emil Bauer. Mrs. Brandeis had looked him over, and had said, “Your + nails!” and sent him back to the bathroom, and she had resisted the desire + to kiss him because Theodore disliked demonstration. “He hated to be pawed + over,” was the way he put it. After he had gone, Mrs. Brandeis went into + the dining-room where Fanny was sitting. Mattie had cleared the table, and + Fanny was busy over a book and a tablet, by the light of the lamp that + they always used for studying. It was one of the rare occasions when she + had brought home a school lesson. It was arithmetic, and Fanny loathed + arithmetic. She had no head for mathematics. The set of problems were + eighth-grade horrors, in which A is digging a well 20 feet deep and 9 feet + wide; or in which A and B are papering two rooms, or building two fences, + or plastering a wall. If A does his room in 9 1/2 days, the room being 12 + feet high, 20 feet long, and 15 1/2 feet wide, how long will it take B to + do a room 14 feet high, 11 3/4 feet, etc. + </p> + <p> + Fanny hated the indefatigable A and B with a bitter personal hatred. And + as for that occasional person named C, who complicated matters still more—! + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Mrs. Brandeis helped to disentangle Fanny from the mazes of her + wall paper problems, or dragged her up from the bottom of the well when it + seemed that she was down there for eternity unless a friendly hand rescued + her. As a rule she insisted that Fanny crack her own mathematical nuts. + She said it was good mental training, not to speak of the moral side of + it. But to-night she bent her quick mind upon the problems that were + puzzling her little daughter, and cleared them up in no time. + </p> + <p> + When Fanny had folded her arithmetic papers neatly inside her book and + leaned back with a relieved sigh Molly Brandeis bent forward in the + lamplight and began to talk very soberly. Fanny, red-cheeked and + bright-eyed from her recent mental struggles, listened interestedly, then + intently, then absorbedly. She attempted to interrupt, sometimes, with an + occasional, “But, Mother, how—” but Mrs. Brandeis shook her head and + went on. She told Fanny a few things about her early married life—things + that made Fanny look at her with new eyes. She had always thought of her + mother as her mother, in the way a fourteen-year-old girl does. It never + occurred to her that this mother person, who was so capable, so confident, + so worldly-wise, had once been a very young bride, with her life before + her, and her hopes stepping high, and her love keeping time with her + hopes. Fanny heard, fascinated, the story of this girl who had married + against the advice of her family and her friends. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis talked curtly and briefly, and her very brevity and lack of + embroidering details made the story stand out with stark realism. It was + such a story of courage, and pride, and indomitable will, and sheer pluck + as can only be found among the seemingly commonplace. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she finished, “I used to wonder, sometimes, whether it was worth + while to keep on, and what it was all for. And now I know. Theodore is + going to make up for everything. Only we'll have to help him, first. It's + going to be hard on you, Fanchen. I'm talking to you as if you were + eighteen, instead of fourteen. But I want you to understand. That isn't + fair to you either—my expecting you to understand. Only I don't want + you to hate me too much when you're a woman, and I'm gone, and you'll + remember—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mother, what in the world are you talking about? Hate you!” + </p> + <p> + “For what I took from you to give to him, Fanny. You don't understand now. + Things must be made easy for Theodore. It will mean that you and I will + have to scrimp and save. Not now and then, but all the time. It will mean + that we can't go to the theater, even occasionally, or to lectures, or + concerts. It will mean that your clothes won't be as pretty or as new as + the other girls' clothes. You'll sit on the front porch evenings, and + watch them go by, and you'll want to go too.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I cared.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will care. I know. I know. It's easy enough to talk about + sacrifice in a burst of feeling; but it's the everyday, shriveling grind + that's hard. You'll want clothes, and books, and beaux, and education, and + you ought to have them. They're your right. You ought to have them!” + Suddenly Molly Brandeis' arms were folded on the table, and her head came + down on her arms and she was crying, quietly, horribly, as a man cries. + Fanny stared at her a moment in unbelief. She had not seen her mother cry + since the day of Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled out of her chair + and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her hot, smooth cheek + touched the wet, cold one. “Mother, don't! Don't Molly dearie. I can't + bear it. I'm going to cry too. Do you think I care for old dresses and + things? I should say not. It's going to be fun going without things. It'll + be like having a secret or something. Now stop, and let's talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It was a watery and + wavering smile, but it showed that she was mistress of herself again. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “we just won't talk about it any more. I'm tired, that's + what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense enough to know it. I'll + tell you what. I'm going to put on my kimono, and you'll make some fudge. + Will you? We'll have a party, all by ourselves, and if Mattie scolds about + the milk to-morrow you just tell her I said you could. And I think there + are some walnut meats in the third cocoa can on the shelf in the pantry. + Use 'em all.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SIX + </h2> + <p> + Theodore came home at twelve o'clock that night. He had gone to Bauer's + studio party after all. It was the first time he had deliberately + disobeyed his mother in a really big thing. Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny had + nibbled fudge all evening (it had turned out deliciously velvety) and had + gone to bed at their usual time. At half past ten Mrs. Brandeis had + wakened with the instinctive feeling that Theodore was not in the house. + She lay there, wide awake, staring into the darkness until eleven. Then + she got up and went into his room, though she knew he was not there. She + was not worried as to his whereabouts or his well-being. That same + instinctive feeling told her where he was. She was very angry, and a + little terrified at the significance of his act. She went back to bed + again, and she felt the blood pounding in her head. Molly Brandeis had a + temper, and it was surging now, and beating against the barriers of her + self-control. + </p> + <p> + She told herself, as she lay there, that she must deal with him coolly and + firmly, though she wanted to spank him. The time for spankings was past. + Some one was coming down the street with a quick, light step. She sat up + in bed, listening. The steps passed the house, went on. A half hour + passed. Some one turned the corner, whistling blithely. But, no, he would + not be whistling, she told herself. He would sneak in, quietly. It was a + little after twelve when she heard the front door open (Winnebago rarely + locked its doors). She was surprised to feel her heart beating rapidly. He + was trying to be quiet, and was making a great deal of noise about it. His + shoes and the squeaky fifth stair alone would have convicted him. The imp + of perversity in Molly Brandeis made her smile, angry as she was, at the + thought of how furious he must be at that stair. + </p> + <p> + “Theodore!” she called quietly, just as he was tip-toeing past her room. + </p> + <p> + “Yeh.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in here. And turn on the light.” + </p> + <p> + He switched on the light and stood there in the doorway. Molly Brandeis, + sitting up in bed in the chilly room, with her covers about her, was + conscious of a little sick feeling, not at what he had done, but that a + son of hers should ever wear the sullen, defiant, hang-dog look that + disfigured Theodore's face now. + </p> + <p> + “Bauer's?” + </p> + <p> + A pause. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I just stopped in there for a minute after the concert. I didn't mean to + stay. And then Bauer introduced me around to everybody. And then they + asked me to play, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And you played badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't have my own violin.” + </p> + <p> + “No football game Saturday. And no pocket money this week. Go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + He went, breathing hard, and muttering a little under his breath. At + breakfast next morning Fanny plied him with questions and was furious at + his cool uncommunicativeness. + </p> + <p> + “Was it wonderful, Theodore? Did he play—oh—like an angel?” + </p> + <p> + “Played all right. Except the `Swan' thing. Maybe he thought it was too + easy, or something, but I thought he murdered it. Pass the toast, unless + you want it all.” + </p> + <p> + It was not until the following autumn that Theodore went to New York. The + thing that had seemed so impossible was arranged. He was to live in + Brooklyn with a distant cousin of Ferdinand Brandeis, on a business basis, + and he was to come into New York three times a week for his lessons. Mrs. + Brandeis took him as far as Chicago, treated him to an extravagant dinner, + put him on the train and with difficulty stifled the impulse to tell all + the other passengers in the car to look after her Theodore. He looked + incredibly grown up and at ease in his new suit and the hat that they had + wisely bought in Chicago. She did not cry at all (in the train), and she + kissed him only twice, and no man can ask more than that of any mother. + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis went back to Winnebago and the store with her shoulders a + little more consciously squared, her jaw a little more firmly set. There + was something almost terrible about her concentrativeness. Together she + and Fanny began a life of self-denial of which only a woman could be + capable. They saved in ways that only a woman's mind could devise; petty + ways, that included cream and ice, and clothes, and candy. It was rather + fun at first. When that wore off it had become a habit. Mrs. Brandeis made + two resolutions regarding Fanny. One was that she should have at least a + high school education, and graduate. The other that she should help in the + business of the store as little as possible. To the first Fanny acceded + gladly. To the second she objected. + </p> + <p> + “But why? If you can work, why can't I? I could help you a lot on + Saturdays and at Christmas time, and after school.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to,” Mrs. Brandeis had replied, almost fiercely. “I'm + giving my life to it. That's enough. I don't want you to know about buying + and selling. I don't want you to know a bill of lading from a sales slip + when you see it. I don't want you to know whether f. o. b. is a wireless + signal or a branch of the Masons.” At which Fanny grinned. No one + appreciated her mother's humor more than she. + </p> + <p> + “But I do know already. The other day when that fat man was selling you + those go-carts I heard him say. `F. o. b. Buffalo,' and I asked Aloysius + what it meant and he told me.” + </p> + <p> + It was inevitable that Fanny Brandeis should come to know these things, + for the little household revolved about the store on Elm Street. By the + time she was eighteen and had graduated from the Winnebago high school, + she knew so many things that the average girl of eighteen did not know, + and was ignorant of so many things that the average girl of eighteen did + know, that Winnebago was almost justified in thinking her queer. She had + had a joyous time at school, in spite of algebra and geometry and physics. + She took the part of the heroine in the senior class play given at the + Winnebago opera house, and at the last rehearsal electrified those present + by announcing that if Albert Finkbein (who played the dashing Southern + hero) didn't kiss her properly when the curtain went down on the first + act, just as he was going into battle, she'd rather he didn't kiss her at + all. + </p> + <p> + “He just makes it ridiculous,” she protested. “He sort of gives a peck two + inches from my nose, and then giggles. Everybody will laugh, and it'll + spoil everything.” + </p> + <p> + With the rather startled elocution teacher backing her she rehearsed the + bashful Albert in that kiss until she had achieved the effect of realism + that she thought the scene demanded. But when, on the school sleighing + parties and hay rides the boy next her slipped a wooden and uncertain arm + about her waist while they all were singing “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,” + and “Good Night Ladies,” and “Merrily We Roll Along,” she sat up stiffly + and unyieldingly until the arm, discouraged, withdrew to its normal + position. Which two instances are quoted as being of a piece with what + Winnebago termed her queerness. + </p> + <p> + Not that Fanny Brandeis went beauless through school. On the contrary, she + always had some one to carry her books, and to take her to the school + parties and home from the Friday night debating society meetings. Her + first love affair turned out disastrously. She was twelve, and she chose + as the object of her affections a bullet-headed boy named Simpson. One + morning, as the last bell rang and they were taking their seats, Fanny + passed his desk and gave his coarse and stubbly hair a tweak. It was + really a love tweak, and intended to be playful, but she probably put more + fervor into it than she knew. It brought the tears of pain to his eyes, + and he turned and called her the name at which she shrank back, horrified. + Her shock and unbelief must have been stamped on her face, for the boy, + still smarting, had snarled, “Ya-as, I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + It was strange how she remembered that incident years after she had + forgotten important happenings in her life. Clarence Heyl, whose very + existence you will have failed to remember, used to hover about her + uncertainly, always looking as if he would like to walk home with her, but + never summoning the courage to do it. They were graduated from the grammar + school together, and Clarence solemnly read a graduation essay entitled + “Where is the Horse?” Automobiles were just beginning to flash plentifully + up and down Elm Street. Clarence had always been what Winnebago termed + sickly, in spite of his mother's noodle soup, and coddling. He was sent + West, to Colorado, or to a ranch in Wyoming, Fanny was not quite sure + which, perhaps because she was not interested. He had come over one + afternoon to bid her good-by, and had dangled about the front porch until + she went into the house and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + When she was sixteen there was a blond German boy whose taciturnity + attracted her volubility and vivacity. She mistook his stolidness for + depth, and it was a long time before she realized that his silence was not + due to the weight of his thoughts but to the fact that he had nothing to + say. In her last year at high school she found herself singled out for the + attentions of Harmon Kent, who was the Beau Nash of the Winnebago high + school. His clothes were made by Schwartze, the tailor, when all the other + boys of his age got theirs at the spring and fall sales of the Golden + Eagle Clothing Store. It was always nip and tuck between his semester + standings and his track team and football possibilities. The faculty + refused to allow flunkers to take part in athletics. + </p> + <p> + He was one of those boys who have definite charm, and manner, and poise at + seventeen, and who crib their exams off their cuffs. He was always at the + head of any social plans in the school, and at the dances he rushed about + wearing in his coat lapel a ribbon marked Floor Committee. The teachers + all knew he was a bluff, but his engaging manner carried him through. When + he went away to the state university he made Fanny solemnly promise to + write; to come down to Madison for the football games; to be sure to + remember about the Junior prom. He wrote once—a badly spelled scrawl—and + she answered. But he was the sort of person who must be present to be + felt. He could not project his personality. When he came home for the + Christmas holidays Fanny was helping in the store. He dropped in one + afternoon when she was selling whisky glasses to Mike Hearn of the + Farmers' Rest Hotel. + </p> + <p> + They did not write at all during the following semester, and when he came + back for the long summer vacation they met on the street one day and + exchanged a few rather forced pleasantries. It suddenly dawned on Fanny + that he was patronizing her much as the scion of an aristocratic line + banters the housemaid whom he meets on the stairs. She bit an imaginary + apron corner, and bobbed a curtsy right there on Elm Street, in front of + the Courier office and walked off, leaving him staring. It was shortly + after this that she began a queer line of reading for a girl—lives + of Disraeli, Spinoza, Mendelssohn, Mozart—distinguished Jews who had + found their religion a handicap. + </p> + <p> + The year of her graduation she did a thing for which Winnebago felt itself + justified in calling her different. Each member of the graduating class + was allowed to choose a theme for a thesis. Fanny Brandeis called hers “A + Piece of Paper.” On Winnebago's Fox River were located a number of the + largest and most important paper mills in the country. There were mills in + which paper was made of wood fiber, and others in which paper was made of + rags. You could smell the sulphur as soon as you crossed the bridge that + led to the Flats. Sometimes, when the wind was right, the pungent odor of + it spread all over the town. Strangers sniffed it and made a wry face, but + the natives liked it. + </p> + <p> + The mills themselves were great ugly brick buildings, their windows + festooned with dust webs. Some of them boasted high detached tower-like + structures where a secret acid process went on. In the early days the + mills had employed many workers, but newly invented machinery had come to + take the place of hand labor. The rag-rooms alone still employed hundreds + of girls who picked, sorted, dusted over the great suction bins. The rooms + in which they worked were gray with dust. They wore caps over their hair + to protect it from the motes that you could see spinning and swirling in + the watery sunlight that occasionally found its way through the + gray-filmed window panes. It never seemed to occur to them that the dust + cap so carefully pulled down about their heads did not afford protection + for their lungs. They were pale girls, the rag-room girls, with a + peculiarly gray-white pallor. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis had once been through the Winnebago Paper Company's mill + and she had watched, fascinated, while a pair of soiled and greasy old + blue overalls were dusted and cleaned, and put through this acid vat, and + that acid tub, growing whiter and more pulpy with each process until it + was fed into a great crushing roller that pressed the moisture out of it, + flattened it to the proper thinness and spewed it out at last, + miraculously, in the form of rolls of crisp, white paper. On the first day + of the Easter vacation Fanny Brandeis walked down to the office of the + Winnebago Paper Company's mill and applied at the superintendent's office + for a job. She got it. They were generally shorthanded in the rag-room. + When Mrs. Brandeis heard of it there followed one of the few stormy scenes + between mother and daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do it?” demanded Mrs. Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + “I had to, to get it right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't be silly. You could have visited the mill a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny twisted the fingers of her left hand in the fingers of her right as + was her way when she was terribly in earnest, and rather excited. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to write about the paper business as a process.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to write about the overalls on some railroad engineer, perhaps; or + the blue calico wrapper that belonged, maybe, to a scrub woman. And how + they came to be spotted, or faded, or torn, and finally all worn out. And + how the rag man got them, and the mill, and how the girls sorted them. And + the room in which they do it. And the bins. And the machinery. Oh, it's + the most fascinating, and—and sort of relentless machinery. And the + acid burns on the hands of the men at the vats. And their shoes. And then + the paper, so white. And the way we tear it up, or crumple it, and throw + it in the waste basket. Just a piece of paper, don't you see what I mean? + Just a piece of paper, and yet all that—” she stopped and frowned a + little, and grew inarticulate, and gave it up with a final, “Don't you see + what I mean, Mother? Don't you see what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis looked at her daughter in a startled way, like one who, + walking tranquilly along an accustomed path, finds himself confronting a + new and hitherto unsuspected vista, formed by a peculiar arrangement of + clouds, perhaps, or light, or foliage, or all three blended. “I see what + you mean,” she said. “But I wish you wouldn't do it. I—I wish you + didn't feel that you wanted to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I make it real if I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “You can't,” said Molly Brandeis. “That's just it. You can't, ever.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny got up before six every morning of that Easter vacation, and went to + the mill, lunch box in hand. She came home at night dead-tired. She did + not take the street car to and from the mill, as she might have, because + she said the other girls in the rag-room walked, some of them from the + very edge of town. Mrs. Brandeis said that she was carrying things too + far, but Fanny stuck it out for the two weeks, at the end of which period + she spent an entire Sunday in a hair-washing, face-steaming, and + manicuring bee. She wrote her paper from notes she had taken, and turned + it in at the office of the high school principal with the feeling that it + was not at all what she had meant it to be. A week later Professor Henning + called her into his office. The essay lay on his desk. + </p> + <p> + “I've read your thesis,” he began, and stopped, and cleared his throat. He + was not an eloquent man. “Where did you get your information, Miss + Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + “I got it at the mill.” + </p> + <p> + “From one of the employees?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. I worked there, in the rag-room.” + </p> + <p> + Professor Henning gave a little startled exclamation that he turned + hastily into a cough. “I thought that perhaps the editor of the Courier + might like to see it—it being local. And interesting.” + </p> + <p> + He brought it down to the office of the little paper himself, and promised + to call for it again in an hour or two, when Lem Davis should have read + it. Lem Davis did read it, and snorted, and scuffled with his feet in the + drift of papers under his desk, which was a way he had when enraged. + </p> + <p> + “Read it!” he echoed, at Professor Henning's question. “Read it! Yes, I + read it. And let me tell you it's socialism of the rankest kind, that's + what! It's anarchism, that's what! Who's this girl? Mrs. Brandeis's + daughter—of the Bazaar? Let me tell you I'd go over there and tell + her what I think of the way she's bringing up that girl—if she + wasn't an advertiser. `A Piece of Paper'! Hell!” And to show his contempt + for what he had read he wadded together a great mass of exchanges that + littered his desk and hurled them, a crumpled heap, to the floor, and then + spat tobacco juice upon them. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Professor Henning, and rose; but at the door he turned + and said something highly unprofessorial. “It's a darn fine piece of + writing.” And slammed the door. At supper that night he told Mrs. Henning + about it. Mrs. Henning was a practical woman, as the wife of a small-town + high school principal must needs be. “But don't you know,” she said, “that + Roscoe Moore, who is president of the Outagamie Pulp Mill and the + Winnebago Paper Company, practically owns the Courier?” + </p> + <p> + Professor Henning passed a hand over his hair, ruefully, like a school + boy. “No, Martha, I didn't know. If I knew those things, dear, I suppose + we wouldn't be eating sausage for supper to-night.” There was a little + silence between them. Then he looked up. “Some day I'm going to brag about + having been that Brandeis girl's teacher.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was in the store a great deal now. After she finished high school + they sent Mattie away and Fanny took over the housekeeping duties, but it + was not her milieu. Not that she didn't do it well. She put a perfect fury + of energy and care into the preparation of a pot roast. After she had iced + a cake she enhanced it with cunning arabesques of jelly. The house shone + as it never had, even under Mattie's honest regime. But it was like + hitching a high-power engine to a butter churn. There were periods of + maddening restlessness. At such times she would set about cleaning the + cellar, perhaps. It was a three-roomed cellar, brick-floored, cool, and + having about it that indefinable cellar smell which is of mold, and coal, + and potatoes, and onions, and kindling wood, and dill pickles and ashes. + </p> + <p> + Other girls of Fanny's age, at such times, cleaned out their bureau + drawers and read forbidden novels. Fanny armed herself with the third best + broom, the dust-pan, and an old bushel basket. She swept up chips, scraped + up ashes, scoured the preserve shelves, washed the windows, cleaned the + vegetable bins, and got gritty, and scarlet-cheeked and streaked with + soot. It was a wonderful safety valve, that cellar. A pity it was that the + house had no attic. + </p> + <p> + Then there were long, lazy summer afternoons when there was nothing to do + but read. And dream. And watch the town go by to supper. I think that is + why our great men and women so often have sprung from small towns, or + villages. They have had time to dream in their adolescence. No cars to + catch, no matinees, no city streets, none of the teeming, empty, + energy-consuming occupations of the city child. Little that is + competitive, much that is unconsciously absorbed at the most + impressionable period, long evenings for reading, long afternoons in the + fields or woods. With the cloth laid, and the bread cut and covered with a + napkin, and the sauce in the glass bowl, and the cookies on a blue plate, + and the potatoes doing very, very slowly, and the kettle steaming with a + Peerybingle cheerfulness, Fanny would stroll out to the front porch again + to watch for the familiar figure to appear around the corner of Norris + Street. She would wear her blue-and-white checked gingham apron deftly + twisted over one hip, and tucked in, in deference to the passers-by. And + the town would go by—Hen Cody's drays, rattling and thundering; the + high school boys thudding down the road, dog-tired and sweaty in their + football suits, or their track pants and jersies, on their way from the + athletic field to the school shower baths; Mrs. Mosher flying home, her + skirts billowing behind her, after a protracted afternoon at whist; little + Ernie Trost with a napkin-covered peach basket carefully balanced in his + hand, waiting for the six-fifteen interurban to round the corner near the + switch, so that he could hand up his father's supper; Rudie Mass, the + butcher, with a moist little packet of meat in his hand, and lurching ever + so slightly, and looking about defiantly. Oh, Fanny probably never + realized how much she saw and absorbed, sitting there on Brandeis' front + porch, watching Winnebago go by to supper. + </p> + <p> + At Christmas time she helped in the store, afternoons and evenings. Then, + one Christmas, Mrs. Brandeis was ill for three weeks with grippe. They had + to have a helper in the house. When Mrs. Brandeis was able to come back to + the store Sadie left to marry, not one of her traveling-men victims, but a + steady person, in the paper-hanging way, whose suit had long been + considered hopeless. After that Fanny took her place. She developed a + surprising knack at selling. Yet it was not so surprising, perhaps, when + one considered her teacher. She learned as only a woman can learn who is + brought into daily contact with the outside world. It was not only + contact: it was the relation of buyer and seller. She learned to judge + people because she had to. How else could one gauge their tastes, + temperaments, and pocketbooks? They passed in and out of Brandeis' Bazaar, + day after day, in an endless and varied procession—traveling men, + school children, housewives, farmers, worried hostesses, newly married + couples bent on house furnishing, business men. + </p> + <p> + She learned that it was the girls from the paper mills who bought the + expensive plates—the ones with the red roses and green leaves + hand-painted in great smears and costing two dollars and a half, while the + golf club crowd selected for a gift or prize one of the little white + plates with the faded-looking blue sprig pattern, costing thirty-nine + cents. One day, after she had spent endless time and patience over the + sale of a nondescript little plate to one of Winnebago's socially elect, + she stared wrathfully after the retreating back of the trying customer. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see that? I spent an hour with her. One hour! I showed her + everything from the imported Limoges bowls to the Sevres cups and saucers, + and all she bought was that miserable little bonbon dish with the + cornflower pattern. Cat!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis spoke from the depths of her wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny, I didn't miss much that went on during that hour, and I was dying + to come over and take her away from you, but I didn't because I knew you + needed the lesson, and I knew that that McNulty woman never spends more + than twenty-five cents, anyway. But I want to tell you now that it isn't + only a matter of plates. It's a matter of understanding folks. When you've + learned whom to show the expensive hand-painted things to, and when to + suggest quietly the little, vague things, with what you call the faded + look, why, you've learned just about all there is to know of human nature. + Don't expect it, at your age.” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis had never lost her trick of chatting with customers, or + listening to them, whenever she had a moment's time. People used to drop + in, and perch themselves on one of the stools near the big glowing base + burner and talk to Mrs. Brandeis. It was incredible, the secrets they + revealed of business, and love and disgrace; of hopes and aspirations, and + troubles, and happiness. The farmer women used to fascinate Fanny by their + very drabness. Mrs. Brandeis had a long and loyal following of these + women. It was before the day when every farmhouse boasted an automobile, a + telephone, and a phonograph. + </p> + <p> + A worn and dreary lot, these farmer women, living a skimmed milk + existence, putting their youth, and health, and looks into the soil. They + used often to sit back near the stove in winter, or in a cool corner near + the front of the store in summer, and reveal, bit by bit, the sordid, + tragic details of their starved existence. Fanny was often shocked when + they told their age—twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty, but old and + withered from drudgery, and child-bearing, and coarse, unwholesome food. + Ignorant women, and terribly lonely, with the dumb, lack-luster eyes that + bespeak monotony. When they smiled they showed blue-white, glassily + perfect false teeth that flashed incongruously in the ruin of their + wrinkled, sallow, weather-beaten faces. Mrs. Brandeis would question them + gently. + </p> + <p> + Children? Ten. Living? Four. Doctor? Never had one in the house. Why? He + didn't believe in them. No proper kitchen utensils, none of the devices + that lighten the deadeningly monotonous drudgery of housework. Everything + went to make his work easier—new harrows, plows, tractors, wind + mills, reapers, barns, silos. The story would come out, bit by bit, as the + woman sat there, a worn, unlovely figure, her hands—toil-blackened, + seamed, calloused, unlovelier than any woman's hands were ever meant to be—lying + in unaccustomed idleness in her lap. + </p> + <p> + Fanny learned, too, that the woman with the shawl, and with her money tied + in a corner of her handkerchief, was more likely to buy the six-dollar + doll, with the blue satin dress, and the real hair and eye-lashes, while + the Winnebago East End society woman haggled over the forty-nine cent + kind, which she dressed herself. + </p> + <p> + I think their loyalty to Mrs. Brandeis might be explained by her honesty + and her sympathy. She was so square with them. When Minnie Mahler, out + Centerville way, got married, she knew there would be no redundancy of + water sets, hanging lamps, or pickle dishes. + </p> + <p> + “I thought like I'd get her a chamber set,” Minnie's aunt would confide to + Mrs. Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + “Is this for Minnie Mahler, of Centerville?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she gets married Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “I sold a chamber set for that wedding yesterday. And a set of dishes. But + I don't think she's got a parlor lamp. At least I haven't sold one. Why + don't you get her that? If she doesn't like it she can change it. Now + there's that blue one with the pink roses.” + </p> + <p> + And Minnie's aunt would end by buying the lamp. + </p> + <p> + Fanny learned that the mill girls liked the bright-colored and expensive + wares, and why; she learned that the woman with the “fascinator” (tragic + misnomer!) over her head wanted the finest sled for her boy. She learned + to keep her temper. She learned to suggest without seeming to suggest. She + learned to do surprisingly well all those things that her mother did so + surprisingly well—surprisingly because both the women secretly hated + the business of buying and selling. Once, on the Fourth of July, when + there was a stand outside the store laden with all sorts of fireworks, + Fanny came down to find Aloysius and the boy Eddie absent on other work, + and Mrs. Brandeis momentarily in charge. The sight sickened her, then + infuriated her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” she said, between her teeth. “That isn't your work.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody had to be there. Pearl's at dinner. And Aloysius and Eddie were—” + </p> + <p> + “Then leave it alone. We're not starving—yet. I won't have you + selling fireworks like that—on the street. I won't have it! I won't + have it!” + </p> + <p> + The store was paying, now. Not magnificently, but well enough. Most of the + money went to Theodore, in Dresden. He was progressing, though not so + meteorically as Bauer and Schabelitz had predicted. But that sort of thing + took time, Mrs. Brandeis argued. Fanny often found her mother looking at + her these days with a questioning sadness in her eyes. Once she suggested + that Fanny join the class in drawing at the Winnebago university—a + small fresh-water college. Fanny did try it for a few months, but the work + was not what she wanted; they did fruit pictures and vases, with a book, + on a table; or a clump of very pink and very white flowers. Fanny quit in + disgust and boredom. Besides, they were busy at the store, and needed her. + </p> + <p> + There came often to Winnebago a woman whom Fanny Brandeis admired + intensely. She was a traveling saleswoman, successful, magnetic, and very + much alive. Her name was Mrs. Emma McChesney, and between her and Mrs. + Brandeis there existed a warm friendship. She always took dinner with Mrs. + Brandeis and Fanny, and they made a special effort to give her all those + delectable home-cooked dishes denied her in her endless round of hotels. + </p> + <p> + “Noodle soup!” she used to say, almost lyrically. + </p> + <p> + “With real hand-made, egg noodles! You don't know what it means. You + haven't been eating vermicelli soup all through Illinois and Wisconsin.” + </p> + <p> + “We've made a dessert, though, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Molly Brandeis, don't you dare to tell me what you've got for dessert. I + couldn't stand it. But, oh, suppose, SUPPOSE it's homemade strawberry + shortcake!” + </p> + <p> + Which it more than likely was. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis used to think that she would dress exactly as Mrs. + McChesney dressed, if she too were a successful business woman earning a + man-size salary. Mrs. McChesney was a blue serge sort of woman—and + her blue serge never was shiny in the back. Her collar, or jabot, or tie, + or cuffs, or whatever relieving bit of white she wore, was always of the + freshest and crispest. Her hats were apt to be small and full of what is + known as “line.” She usually would try to arrange her schedule so as to + spend a Sunday in Winnebago, and the three alert, humor-loving women, + grown wise and tolerant from much contact with human beings, would have a + delightful day together. + </p> + <p> + “Molly,” Mrs. McChesney would say, when they were comfortably settled in + the living-room, or on the front porch, “with your shrewdness, and + experience, and brains, you ought to be one of those five or ten thousand + a year buyers. You know how to sell goods and handle people. And you know + values. That's all there is to the whole game of business. I don't advise + you to go on the road. Heaven knows I wouldn't advise my dearest enemy to + do that, much less a friend. But you could do bigger things, and get + bigger results. You know most of the big wholesalers, and retailers too. + Why don't you speak to them about a department position? Or let me nose + around a bit for you.” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis shook her head, though her expressive eyes were eager and + interested. “Don't you think I've thought of that, Emma? A thousand times? + But I'm—I'm afraid. There's too much at stake. Suppose I couldn't + succeed? There's Theodore. His whole future is dependent on me for the + next few years. And there's Fanny here. No, I guess I'm too old. And I'm + sure of the business here, small as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Emma McChesney glanced at the girl. “I'm thinking that Fanny has the + making of a pretty capable business woman herself.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny drew in her breath sharply, and her face sparkled into sudden life, + as always when she was tremendously interested. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I'd do if I were in Mother's place? I'd take a great, + big running jump for it and land! I'd take a chance. What is there for her + in this town? Nothing! She's been giving things up all her life, and what + has it brought her?” + </p> + <p> + “It has brought me a comfortable living, and the love of my two children, + and the respect of my townspeople.” + </p> + <p> + “Respect? Why shouldn't they respect you? You're the smartest woman in + Winnebago, and the hardest working.” + </p> + <p> + Emma McChesney frowned a little, in thought. “What do you two girls do for + recreation?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid we have too little of that, Emma. I know Fanny has. I'm so + dog-tired at the end of the day. All I want is to take my hairpins out and + go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “And Fanny?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I read. I'm free to pick my book friends, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, just what do you mean by that, child? It sounds a little bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of what Chesterfield said in one of his Letters to His + Son. `Choose always to be in the society of those above you,' he wrote. I + guess he lived in Winnebago, Wisconsin. I'm a working woman, and a Jew, + and we haven't any money or social position. And unless she's a Becky + Sharp any small town girl with all those handicaps might as well choose a + certain constellation of stars in the sky to wear as a breastpin, as try + to choose the friends she really wants.” + </p> + <p> + From Molly Brandeis to Emma McChesney there flashed a look that said, “You + see?” And from Emma McChesney to Molly Brandeis another that said, “Yes; + and it's your fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Fanny, don't you see any boys—men?” + </p> + <p> + “No. There aren't any. Those who have any sense and initiative leave to go + to Milwaukee, or Chicago, or New York. Those that stay marry the banker's + lovely daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Emma McChesney laughed at that, and Molly Brandeis too, and Fanny joined + them a bit ruefully. Then quite suddenly, there came into her face a + melting, softening look that made it almost lovely. She crossed swiftly + over to where her mother sat, and put a hand on either cheek (grown + thinner of late) and kissed the tip of her nose. “We don't care—really. + Do we Mother? We're poor wurkin' girruls. But gosh! Ain't we proud? + Mother, your mistake was in not doing as Ruth did.” + </p> + <p> + “Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Bible. Remember when What's-his-name, her husband, died? Did she + go back to her home town? No, she didn't. She'd lived there all her life, + and she knew better. She said to Naomi, her mother-in-law, `Whither thou + goest I will go.' And she went. And when they got to Bethlehem, Ruth + looked around, knowingly, until she saw Boaz, the catch of the town. So + she went to work in his fields, gleaning, and she gleaned away, trying to + look just as girlish, and dreamy, and unconscious, but watching him out of + the corner of her eye all the time. Presently Boaz came along, looking + over the crops, and he saw her. `Who's the new damsel?' he asked. `The + peach?'” + </p> + <p> + “Fanny Brandeis, aren't you ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mother, that's what it says in the Bible, actually. `Whose damsel is + this?' They told him it was Ruth, the dashing widow. After that it was all + off with the Bethlehem girls. Boaz paid no more attention to them than if + they had never existed. He married Ruth, and she led society. Just a + little careful scheming, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say you have been reading, Fanny Brandeis,” said Emma McChesney. + She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. “Now listen to me, child. The + very next time a traveling man in a brown suit and a red necktie asks you + to take dinner with him at the Haley House—even one of those roast + pork, queen-fritter-with-rum-sauce, Roman punch Sunday dinners—I + want you to accept.” + </p> + <p> + “Even if he wears an Elks' pin, and a Masonic charm, and a diamond ring + and a brown derby?” “Even if he shows you the letters from his girl in + Manistee,” said Mrs. McChesney solemnly. “You've been seeing too much of + Fanny Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SEVEN + </h2> + <p> + Theodore had been gone six years. His letters, all too brief, were events + in the lives of the two women. They read and reread them. Fanny + unconsciously embellished them with fascinating details made up out of her + own imagination. + </p> + <p> + “They're really triumphs of stupidity and dullness,” she said one day in + disgust, after one of Theodore's long-awaited letters had proved + particularly dry and sparse. “Just think of it! Dresden, Munich, Leipsic, + Vienna, Berlin, Frankfurt! And from his letters you would never know he + had left Winnebago. I don't believe he actually sees anything of these + cities—their people, and the queer houses, and the streets. I + suppose a new city means nothing to him but another platform, another + audience, another piano, all intended as a background for his violin. He + could travel all over the world and it wouldn't touch him once. He's got + his mental fingers crossed all the time.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore had begun to play in concert with some success, but he wrote that + there was no real money in it yet. He was not well enough known. It took + time. He would have to get a name in Europe before he could attempt an + American tour. Just now every one was mad over Greinert. He was drawing + immense audiences. He sent them a photograph at which they gasped, and + then laughed, surprisedly. He looked so awfully German, so different, + somehow. + </p> + <p> + “It's the way his hair is clipped, I suppose,” said Fanny. “High, like + that, on the temples. And look at his clothes! That tie! And his pants! + And that awful collar! Why, his very features look German, don't they? I + suppose it's the effect of that haberdashery.” + </p> + <p> + A month after the photograph, came a letter announcing his marriage. + Fanny's quick eye, leaping ahead from line to line, took in the facts that + her mind seemed unable to grasp. Her name was Olga Stumpf. (In the midst + of her horror some imp in Fanny's brain said that her hands would be red, + and thick, with a name like that.) An orphan. She sang. One of the Vienna + concert halls, but so different from the other girls. And he was so happy. + And he hated to ask them for it, but if they could cable a hundred or so. + That would help. And here was her picture. + </p> + <p> + And there was her picture. One of the so-called vivacious type of Viennese + of the lower class, smiling a conscious smile, her hair elaborately waved + and dressed, her figure high-busted, narrow-waisted; earrings, chains, + bracelets. You knew that she used a heavy scent. She was older than + Theodore. Or perhaps it was the earrings. + </p> + <p> + They cabled the hundred. + </p> + <p> + After the first shock of it Molly Brandeis found excuses for him. “He must + have been awfully lonely, Fanny. Often. And perhaps it will steady him, + and make him more ambitious. He'll probably work all the harder now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he won't. But you will. And I will. I didn't mind working for + Theodore, and scrimping, and never having any of the things I wanted, from + blouses to music. But I won't work and deny myself to keep a great, thick, + cheap, German barmaid, or whatever she is in comfort. I won't!” + </p> + <p> + But she did. And quite suddenly Molly Brandeis, of the straight, firm + figure and the bright, alert eye, and the buoyant humor, seemed to lose + some of those electric qualities. It was an almost imperceptible letting + down. You have seen a fine race horse suddenly break and lose his stride + in the midst of the field, and pull up and try to gain it again, and go + bravely on, his stride and form still there, but his spirit broken? That + was Molly Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + Fanny did much of the buying now. She bought quickly and shrewdly, like + her mother. She even went to the Haley House to buy, when necessary, and + Winnebagoans, passing the hotel, would see her slim, erect figure in one + of the sample-rooms with its white-covered tables laden with china, or + glassware, or Christmas goods, or whatever that particular salesman + happened to carry. They lifted their eye-brows at first, but, somehow, it + was impossible to associate this girl with the blithe, shirt-sleeved, + cigar-smoking traveling men who followed her about the sample-room, order + book in hand. + </p> + <p> + As time went on she introduced some new features into the business, and + did away with various old ones. The overflowing benches outside the store + were curbed, and finally disappeared altogether. Fanny took charge of the + window displays, and often came back to the store at night to spend the + evening at work with Aloysius. They would tack a piece of muslin around + the window to keep off the gaze of passers-by, and together evolve a + window that more than made up for the absent show benches. + </p> + <p> + This, I suppose, is no time to stop for a description of Fanny Brandeis. + And yet the impulse to do so is irresistible. Personally, I like to know + about the hair, and eyes, and mouth of the person whose life I am + following. How did she look when she said that? What sort of expression + did she wear when this happened? Perhaps the thing that Fanny Brandeis + said about herself one day, when she was having one of her talks with Emma + McChesney, who was on her fall trip for the Featherbloom Petticoat + Company, might help. + </p> + <p> + “No ballroom would ever be hushed into admiring awe when I entered,” she + said. “No waiter would ever drop his tray, dazzled, and no diners in a + restaurant would stop to gaze at me, their forks poised halfway, their + eyes blinded by my beauty. I could tramp up and down between the tables + for hours, and no one would know I was there. I'm one of a million women + who look their best in a tailor suit and a hat with a line. Not that I + ever had either. But I have my points, only they're blunted just now.” + </p> + <p> + Still, that bit of description doesn't do, after all. Because she had + distinct charm, and some beauty. She was not what is known as the Jewish + type, in spite of her coloring. The hair that used to curl, waved now. In + a day when coiffures were a bird's-nest of puffs and curls and pompadour, + she wore her hair straight back from her forehead and wound in a coil at + the neck. Her face in repose was apt to be rather lifeless, and almost + heavy. But when she talked, it flashed into sudden life, and you found + yourself watching her mouth, fascinated. It was the key to her whole + character, that mouth. Mobile, humorous, sensitive, the sensuousness of + the lower lip corrected by the firmness of the upper. She had large, + square teeth, very regular, and of the yellow-white tone that bespeaks + health. She used to make many of her own clothes, and she always trimmed + her hats. Mrs. Brandeis used to bring home material and styles from her + Chicago buying trips, and Fanny's quick mind adapted them. She managed, + somehow, to look miraculously well dressed. + </p> + <p> + The Christmas following Theodore's marriage was the most successful one in + the history of Brandeis' Bazaar. And it bred in Fanny Brandeis a lifelong + hatred of the holiday season. In years after she always tried to get away + from the city at Christmas time. The two women did the work of four men. + They had a big stock on hand. Mrs. Brandeis was everywhere at once. She + got an enormous amount of work out of her clerks, and they did not resent + it. It is a gift that all born leaders have. She herself never sat down, + and the clerks unconsciously followed her example. She never complained of + weariness, she never lost her temper, she never lost patience with a + customer, even the tight-fisted farmer type who doled their money out with + that reluctance found only in those who have wrung it from the soil. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the rush she managed, somehow, never to fail to grasp the + humor of a situation. A farmer woman came in for a doll's head, which she + chose with incredible deliberation and pains. As it was being wrapped she + explained that it was for her little girl, Minnie. She had promised the + head this year. Next Christmas they would buy a body for it. Molly + Brandeis's quick sympathy went out to the little girl who was to lavish + her mother-love on a doll's head for a whole year. She saw the head, in + ghastly decapitation, staring stiffly out from the cushions of the chill + and funereal parlor sofa, and the small Minnie peering in to feast her + eyes upon its blond and waxen beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” she had said, “take this, and sew it on the head, so Minnie'll + have something she can hold, at least.” And she had wrapped a pink + cambric, sawdust-stuffed body in with the head. + </p> + <p> + It was a snowy and picturesque Christmas, and intensely cold, with the + hard, dry, cutting cold of Wisconsin. Near the door the little store was + freezing. Every time the door opened it let in a blast. Near the big + glowing stove it was very hot. + </p> + <p> + The aisles were packed so that sometimes it was almost impossible to wedge + one's way through. The china plates, stacked high, fairly melted away, as + did the dolls piled on the counters. Mrs. Brandeis imported her china and + dolls, and no store in Winnebago, not even Gerretson's big department + store, could touch them for value. + </p> + <p> + The two women scarcely stopped to eat in the last ten days of the holiday + rush. Often Annie, the girl who had taken Mattie's place in the household, + would bring down their supper, hot and hot, and they would eat it quickly + up in the little gallery where they kept the sleds, and doll buggies, and + drums. At night (the store was open until ten or eleven at Christmas time) + they would trudge home through the snow, so numb with weariness that they + hardly minded the cold. The icy wind cut their foreheads like a knife, and + made the temples ache. The snow, hard and resilient, squeaked beneath + their heels. They would open the front door and stagger in, blinking. The + house seemed so weirdly quiet and peaceful after the rush and clamor of + the store. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you want a sandwich, Mother, with a glass of beer?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm too tired to eat it, Fanny. I just want to get to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny grew to hate the stock phrases that met her with each customer. “I + want something for a little boy about ten. He's really got everything.” + Or, “I'm looking for a present for a lady friend. Do you think a plate + would be nice?” She began to loathe them—these satiated little boys, + these unknown friends, for whom she must rack her brains. + </p> + <p> + They cleared a snug little fortune that Christmas. On Christmas Eve they + smiled wanly at each other, like two comrades who have fought and bled + together, and won. When they left the store it was nearly midnight. + Belated shoppers, bundle-laden, carrying holly wreaths, with strange + handles, and painted heads, and sticks protruding from lumpy brown paper + burdens, were hurrying home. + </p> + <p> + They stumbled home, too spent to talk. Fanny, groping for the keyhole, + stubbed her toe against a wooden box between the storm door and the inner + door. It had evidently been left there by the expressman or a delivery + boy. It was a very heavy box. + </p> + <p> + “A Christmas present!” Fanny exclaimed. “Do you think it is? But it must + be.” She looked at the address, “Miss Fanny Brandeis.” She went to the + kitchen for a crowbar, and came back, still in her hat and coat. She pried + open the box expertly, tore away the wrappings, and disclosed a gleaming + leather-bound set of Balzac, and beneath that, incongruously enough, Mark + Twain. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” exclaimed Fanny, sitting down on the floor rather heavily. Then her + eye fell upon a card tossed aside in the hurry of unpacking. She picked it + up, read it hastily. “Merry Christmas to the best daughter in the world. + From her Mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis had taken off her wraps and was standing over the + sitting-room register, rubbing her numbed hands and smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mother!” Fanny scrambled to her feet. “You darling! In all that rush + and work, to take time to think of me! Why—” Her arms were around + her mother's shoulders. She was pressing her glowing cheek against the + pale, cold one. And they both wept a little, from emotion, and weariness, + and relief, and enjoyed it, as women sometimes do. + </p> + <p> + Fanny made her mother stay in bed next morning, a thing that Mrs. Brandeis + took to most ungracefully. After the holiday rush and strain she + invariably had a severe cold, the protest of the body she had over-driven + and under-nourished for two or three weeks. As a patient she was as trying + and fractious as a man, tossing about, threatening to get up, demanding + hot-water bags, cold compresses, alcohol rubs. She fretted about the + business, and imagined that things were at a stand-still during her + absence. + </p> + <p> + Fanny herself rose early. Her healthy young body, after a night's sleep, + was already recuperating from the month's strain. She had planned a real + Christmas dinner, to banish the memory of the hasty and unpalatable + lunches they had had to gulp during the rush. There was to be a turkey, + and Fanny had warned Annie not to touch it. She wanted to stuff it and + roast it herself. She spent the morning in the kitchen, aside from an + occasional tip-toeing visit to her mother's room. At eleven she found her + mother up, and no amount of coaxing would induce her to go back to bed. + She had read the papers and she said she felt rested already. + </p> + <p> + The turkey came out a delicate golden-brown, and deliciously crackly. + Fanny, looking up over a drumstick, noticed, with a shock, that her + mother's eyes looked strangely sunken, and her skin, around the jaws and + just under the chin, where her loose wrapper revealed her throat, was + queerly yellow and shriveled. She had eaten almost nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, you're not eating a thing! You really must eat a little.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis began a pretense of using knife and fork, but gave it up + finally and sat back, smiling rather wanly. “I guess I'm tireder than I + thought I was, dear. I think I've got a cold coming on, too. I'll lie down + again after dinner, and by to-morrow I'll be as chipper as a sparrow. The + turkey's wonderful, isn't it? I'll have some, cold, for supper.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner the house felt very warm and stuffy. It was crisply cold and + sunny outdoors. The snow was piled high except on the sidewalks, where it + had been neatly shoveled away by the mufflered Winnebago sons and fathers. + There was no man in the Brandeis household, and Aloysius had been too busy + to perform the chores usually considered his work about the house. The + snow lay in drifts upon the sidewalk in front of the Brandeis house, + except where passing feet had trampled it a bit. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to shovel the walk,” Fanny announced suddenly. “Way around to + the woodshed. Where are those old mittens of mine? Annie, where's the snow + shovel? Sure I am. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + She shoveled and scraped and pounded, bending rhythmically to the work, + lifting each heaping shovelful with her strong young arms, tossing it to + the side, digging in again, and under. An occasional neighbor passed by, + or a friend, and she waved at them, gayly, and tossed back their badinage. + “Merry Christmas!” she called, again and again, in reply to a passing + acquaintance. “Same to you!” + </p> + <p> + At two o'clock Bella Weinberg telephoned to say that a little party of + them were going to the river to skate. The ice was wonderful. Oh, come on! + Fanny skated very well. But she hesitated. Mrs. Brandeis, dozing on the + couch, sensed what was going on in her daughter's mind, and roused herself + with something of her old asperity. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be foolish, child. Run along! You don't intend to sit here and gaze + upon your sleeping beauty of a mother all afternoon, do you? Well, then!” + </p> + <p> + So Fanny changed her clothes, got her skates, and ran out into the snap + and sparkle of the day. The winter darkness had settled down before she + returned, all glowing and rosy, and bright-eyed. Her blood was racing + through her body. Her lips were parted. The drudgery of the past three + weeks seemed to have been blotted out by this one radiant afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The house was dark when she entered. It seemed very quiet, and close, and + depressing after the sparkle and rush of the afternoon on the river. + “Mother! Mother dear! Still sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis stirred, sighed, awoke. Fanny flicked on the light. Her + mother was huddled in a kimono on the sofa. She sat up rather dazedly now, + and stared at Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “Why—what time is it? What? Have I been sleeping all afternoon? Your + mother's getting old.” + </p> + <p> + She yawned, and in the midst of it caught her breath with a little cry of + pain. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + Molly Brandeis pressed a hand to her breast. “A stitch, I guess. It's this + miserable cold coming on. Is there any asperin in the house? I'll dose + myself after supper, and take a hot foot bath and go to bed. I'm dead.” + </p> + <p> + She ate less for supper than she had for dinner. She hardly tasted the cup + of tea that Fanny insisted on making for her. She swayed a little as she + sat, and her lids came down over her eyes, flutteringly, as if the weight + of them was too great to keep up. At seven she was up-stairs, in bed, + sleeping, and breathing heavily. + </p> + <p> + At eleven, or thereabouts, Fanny woke up with a start. She sat up in bed, + wide-eyed, peering into the darkness and listening. Some one was talking + in a high, queer voice, a voice like her mother's, and yet unlike. She + ran, shivering with the cold, into her mother's bedroom. She switched on + the light. Mrs. Brandeis was lying on the pillow, her eyes almost closed, + except for a terrifying slit of white that showed between the lids. Her + head was tossing to and fro on the pillow. She was talking, sometimes + clearly, and sometimes mumblingly. + </p> + <p> + “One gross cups and saucers... and now what do you think you'd like for a + second prize... in the basement, Aloysius... the trains... I'll see that + they get there to-day... yours of the tenth at hand...” + </p> + <p> + “Mother! Mother! Molly dear!” She shook her gently, then almost roughly. + The voice ceased. The eyes remained the same. “Oh, God!” She ran to the + back of the house. “Annie! Annie, get up! Mother's sick. She's out of her + head. I'm going to 'phone for the doctor. Go in with her.” + </p> + <p> + She got the doctor at last. She tried to keep her voice under control, and + thought, with a certain pride, that she was succeeding. She ran up-stairs + again. The voice had begun again, but it seemed thicker now. She got into + her clothes, shaking with cold and terror, and yet thinking very clearly, + as she always did in a crisis. She put clean towels in the bathroom, + pushed the table up to the bed, got a glass of water, straightened the + covers, put away the clothes that the tired woman had left about the room. + Doctor Hertz came. He went through the usual preliminaries, listened, + tapped, counted, straightened up at last. + </p> + <p> + “Fresh air,” he said. “Cold air. All the windows open.” They rigged up a + device of screens and sheets to protect the bed from the drafts. Fanny + obeyed orders silently, like a soldier. But her eyes went from the face on + the pillow to that of the man bent over the bed. Something vague, cold, + clammy, seemed to be closing itself around her heart. It was like an icy + hand, squeezing there. There had suddenly sprung up that indefinable + atmosphere of the sick-room—a sick-room in which a fight is being + waged. Bottles on the table, glasses, a spoon, a paper shade over the + electric light globe. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Fanny, at last. “Grip?—grip?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Hertz hesitated a moment. “Pneumonia.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's hands grasped the footboard tightly. “Do you think we'd better + have a nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse seemed to be there, somehow, miraculously. And the morning came. + And in the kitchen Annie went about her work, a little more quietly than + usual. And yesterday seemed far away. It was afternoon; it was twilight. + Doctor Hertz had been there for hours. The last time he brought another + doctor with him—Thorn. Mrs. Brandeis was not talking now. But she + was breathing. It filled the room, that breathing; it filled the house. + Fanny took her mother's hand, that hand with the work-hardened palm and + the broken nails. It was very cold. She looked down at it. The nails were + blue. She began to rub it. She looked up into the faces of the two men. + She picked up the other hand—snatched at it. “Look here!” she said. + “Look here!” And then she stood up. The vague, clammy thing that had been + wound about her heart suddenly relaxed. And at that something icy hot + rushed all over her body and shook her. She came around to the foot of the + bed, and gripped it with her two hands. Her chin was thrust forward, and + her eyes were bright and staring. She looked very much like her mother, + just then. It was a fighting face. A desperate face. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she began, and was surprised to find that she was only + whispering. She wet her lips and smiled, and tried again, forming the + words carefully with her lips. “Look here. She's dying—isn't she? + Isn't she! She's dying, isn't she?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Hertz pursed his lips. The nurse came over to her, and put a hand + on her shoulder. Fanny shook her off. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me. I've got a right to know. Look at this!” She reached forward + and picked up that inert, cold, strangely shriveled blue hand again. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child—I'm afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + There came from Fanny's throat a moan that began high, and poignant, and + quavering, and ended in a shiver that seemed to die in her heart. The room + was still again, except for the breathing, and even that was less raucous. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stared at the woman on the bed—at the long, finely-shaped + head, with the black hair wadded up so carelessly now; at the long, + straight, clever nose; the full, generous mouth. There flooded her whole + being a great, blinding rage. What had she had of life? she demanded + fiercely. What? What? Her teeth came together grindingly. She breathed + heavily through her nostrils, as if she had been running. And suddenly she + began to pray, not with the sounding, unctions thees and thous of the + Church and Bible; not elegantly or eloquently, with well-rounded phrases, + as the righteous pray, but threateningly, hoarsely, as a desperate woman + prays. It was not a prayer so much as a cry of defiance—-a + challenge. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, God!” and there was nothing profane as she said it. “Look + here, God! She's done her part. It's up to You now. Don't You let her die! + Look at her. Look at her!” She choked and shook herself angrily, and went + on. “Is that fair? That's a rotten trick to play on a woman that gave what + she gave! What did she ever have of life? Nothing! That little miserable, + dirty store, and those little miserable, dirty people. You give her a + chance, d'You hear? You give her a chance, God, or I'll——” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke in a thin, cracked quaver. The nurse turned her around, + suddenly and sharply, and led her from the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER EIGHT + </h2> + <p> + “You can come down now. They're all here, I guess. Doctor Thalmann's going + to begin.” Fanny, huddled in a chair in her bedroom, looked up into the + plump, kindly face of the woman who was bending over her. Then she stood + up, docilely, and walked toward the stairs with a heavy, stumbling step. + </p> + <p> + “I'd put down my veil if I were you,” said the neighbor woman. And reached + up for the black folds that draped Fanny's hat. Fanny's fingers reached + for them too, fumblingly. “I'd forgotten about it,” she said. The heavy + crape fell about her shoulders, mercifully hiding the swollen, discolored + face. She went down the stairs. There was a little stir, a swaying toward + her, a sibilant murmur of sympathy from the crowded sitting-room as she + passed through to the parlor where Rabbi Thalmann stood waiting, prayer + book in hand, in front of that which was covered with flowers. Fanny sat + down. A feeling of unreality was strong upon her. Doctor Thalmann cleared + his throat and opened the book. + </p> + <p> + After all, it was not Rabbi Thalmann's funeral sermon that testified to + Mrs. Brandeis's standing in the community. It was the character of the + gathering that listened to what he had to say. Each had his own opinion of + Molly Brandeis, and needed no final eulogy to confirm it. Father + Fitzpatrick was there, tall, handsome, ruddy, the two wings of white + showing at the temples making him look more than ever like a leading man. + He had been of those who had sat in what he called Mrs. Brandeis's + confessional, there in the quiet little store. The two had talked of + things theological and things earthy. His wit, quick though it was, was no + match for hers, but they both had a humor sense and a drama sense, and one + day they discovered, queerly enough, that they worshiped the same God. Any + one of these things is basis enough for a friendship. Besides, Molly + Brandeis could tell an Irish story inimitably. And you should have heard + Father Fitzpatrick do the one about Ikey and the nickel. No, I think the + Catholic priest, seeming to listen with such respectful attention, really + heard very little of what Rabbi Thalmann had to say. + </p> + <p> + Herman Walthers was there, he of the First National Bank of Winnebago, + whose visits had once brought such terror to Molly Brandeis. Augustus G. + Gerretson was there, and three of his department heads. Emil Bauer sat + just behind him. In a corner was Sadie, the erstwhile coquette, very + subdued now, and months behind the fashions in everything but baby + clothes. Hen Cody, who had done all of Molly Brandeis's draying, sat, in + unaccustomed black, next to Mayor A. J. Dawes. Temple Emmanu-el was there, + almost a unit. The officers of Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid Society sat in + a row. They had never honored Molly Brandeis with office in the society—she + who could have managed its business, politics and social activities with + one hand tied behind her, and both her bright eyes shut. In the kitchen + and on the porch and in the hallway stood certain obscure people—women + whose finger tips stuck out of their cotton gloves, and whose skirts + dipped ludicrously in the back. Only Molly Brandeis could have identified + them for you. Mrs. Brosch, the butter and egg woman, hovered in the + dining-room doorway. She had brought a pound of butter. It was her + contribution to the funeral baked meats. She had deposited it furtively on + the kitchen table. Birdie Callahan, head waitress at the Haley House, + found a seat just next to the elegant Mrs. Morehouse, who led the Golf + Club crowd. A haughty young lady in the dining-room, Birdie Callahan, in + her stiffly starched white, but beneath the icy crust of her hauteur was a + molten mass of good humor and friendliness. She and Molly Brandeis had had + much in common. + </p> + <p> + But no one—not even Fanny Brandeis—ever knew who sent the + great cluster of American Beauty roses that had come all the way from + Milwaukee. There had been no card, so who could have guessed that they + came from Blanche Devine. Blanche Devine, of the white powder, and the + minks, and the diamonds, and the high-heeled shoes, and the plumes, lived + in the house with the closed shutters, near the freight depot. She often + came into Brandeis' Bazaar. Molly Brandeis had never allowed Sadie, or + Pearl, or Fanny or Aloysius to wait on her. She had attended to her + herself. And one day, for some reason, Blanche Devine found herself + telling Molly Brandeis how she had come to be Blanche Devine, and it was a + moving and terrible story. And now her cardless flowers, a great, scarlet + sheaf of them, lay next the chaste white roses that had been sent by the + Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid. Truly, death is a great leveler. + </p> + <p> + In a vague way Fanny seemed to realize that all these people were there. I + think she must even have found a certain grim comfort in their presence. + Hers had not been the dry-eyed grief of the strong, such as you read + about. She had wept, night and day, hopelessly, inconsolably, torturing + herself with remorseful questions. If she had not gone skating, might she + not have seen how ill her mother was? Why hadn't she insisted on the + doctor when her mother refused to eat the Christmas dinner? Blind and + selfish, she told herself; blind and selfish. Her face was swollen and + distorted now, and she was thankful for the black veil that shielded her. + Winnebago was scandalized to see that she wore no other black. Mrs. + Brandeis had never wanted Fanny to wear it; she hadn't enough color, she + said. So now she was dressed in her winter suit of blue, and her hat with + the pert blue quill. And the little rabbi's voice went on and on, and + Fanny knew that it could not be true. What had all this dust-to-dust talk + to do with any one as vital, and electric, and constructive as Molly + Brandeis. In the midst of the service there was a sharp cry, and a little + stir, and the sound of stifled sobbing. It was Aloysius the merry, + Aloysius the faithful, whose Irish heart was quite broken. Fanny ground + her teeth together in an effort at self-control. + </p> + <p> + And so to the end, and out past the little hushed, respectful group on the + porch, to the Jewish cemetery on the state road. The snow of Christmas + week was quite virgin there, except for that one spot where the sexton and + his men had been at work. Then back at a smart jog trot through the early + dusk of the winter afternoon, the carriage wheels creaking upon the hard, + dry snow. And Fanny Brandeis said to herself (she must have been a little + light-headed from hunger and weeping): + </p> + <p> + “Now I'll know whether it's true or not. When I go into the house. If + she's there she'll say, `Well Fanchen! Hungry? Oh, but my little girl's + hands are cold! Come here to the register and warm them.' O God, let her + be there! Let her be there!” + </p> + <p> + But she wasn't. The house had been set to rights by brisk and unaccustomed + hands. There was a bustle and stir in the dining-room, and from the + kitchen came the appetizing odors of cooking food. Fanny went up to a + chair that was out of its place, and shoved it back against the wall where + it belonged. She straightened a rug, carried the waste basket from the + desk to the spot near the living-room table where it had always served to + hide the shabby, worn place in the rug. Fanny went up-stairs, past The + Room that was once more just a comfortable, old fashioned bedroom, instead + of a mysterious and awful chamber; bathed her face, tidied her hair, came + down-stairs again, ate and drank things hot and revivifying. The house was + full of kindly women. + </p> + <p> + Fanny found herself clinging to them—clinging desperately to these + ample, broad-bosomed, soothing women whom she had scarcely known before. + They were always there, those women, and their husbands too; kindly, + awkward men, who patted her shoulder, and who spoke of Molly Brandeis with + that sincerity of admiration such as men usually give only to men. People + were constantly popping in at the back door with napkin-covered trays, and + dishes and baskets. A wonderful and beautiful thing, that homely + small-town sympathy that knows the value of physical comfort in time of + spiritual anguish. + </p> + <p> + Two days after the funeral Fanny Brandeis went back to the store, much as + her mother had done many years before, after her husband's death. She + looked about at the bright, well-stocked shelves and tables with a new eye—a + speculative eye. The Christmas season was over. January was the time for + inventory and for replenishment. Mrs. Brandeis had always gone to Chicago + the second week in January for the spring stock. But something was forming + in Fanny Brandeis's mind—a resolve that grew so rapidly as to take + her breath away. Her brain felt strangely clear and keen after the + crashing storm of grief that had shaken her during the past week. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do now?” people had asked her, curious and + interested. “Is Theodore coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—yet.” In answer to the first. And, “No. Why should he? + He has his work.” + </p> + <p> + “But he could be of such help to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll help myself,” said Fanny Brandeis, and smiled a curious smile that + had in it more of bitterness and less of mirth than any smile has a right + to have. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brandeis had left a will, far-sighted business woman that she was. It + was a terse, clear-headed document, that gave “to Fanny Brandeis, my + daughter,” the six-thousand-dollar insurance, the stock, good-will and + fixtures of Brandeis' Bazaar, the house furnishings, the few pieces of + jewelry in their old-fashioned setting. To Theodore was left the sum of + fifteen hundred dollars. He had received his share in the years of his + musical education. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis did not go to Chicago that January. She took inventory of + Brandeis' Bazaar, carefully and minutely. And then, just as carefully and + minutely she took stock of Fanny Brandeis. There was something relentless + and terrible in the way she went about this self-analysis. She walked a + great deal that winter, often out through the drifts to the little + cemetery. As she walked her mind was working, working. She held long + mental conversations with herself during these walks, and once she was + rather frightened to find herself talking aloud. She wondered if she had + done that before. And a plan was maturing in her brain, while the fight + went on within herself, thus: + </p> + <p> + “You'll never do it, Fanny. You're not built that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, won't I! Watch me! Give me time.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll think of what your mother would have done under the same + conditions, and you'll do that thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't. Not unless it's the long-headed thing to do. I'm through being + sentimental and unselfish. What did it bring her? Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + The weeks went by. Fanny worked hard in the store, and bought little. + February came, and with the spring her months of private thinking bore + fruit. There came to Fanny Brandeis a great resolve. She would put herself + in a high place. Every talent she possessed, every advantage, every scrap + of knowledge, every bit of experience, would be used toward that end. She + would make something of herself. It was a worldly, selfish resolve, born + of a bitter sorrow, and ambition, and resentment. She made up her mind + that she would admit no handicaps. Race, religion, training, natural + impulses—she would discard them all if they stood in her way. She + would leave Winnebago behind. At best, if she stayed there, she could + never accomplish more than to make her business a more than ordinarily + successful small-town store. And she would be—nobody. No, she had + had enough of that. She would crush and destroy the little girl who had + fasted on that Day of Atonement; the more mature girl who had written the + thesis about the paper mill rag-room; the young woman who had drudged in + the store on Elm Street. In her place she would mold a hard, keen-eyed, + resolute woman, whose godhead was to be success, and to whom success would + mean money and position. She had not a head for mathematics, but out of + the puzzling problems and syllogisms in geometry she had retained in her + memory this one immovable truth: + </p> + <p> + A straight line is the shortest distance between two points. + </p> + <p> + With her mental eye she marked her two points, and then, starting from the + first, made directly for the second. But she forgot to reckon with the law + of tangents. She forgot, too, how paradoxical a creature was this Fanny + Brandeis whose eyes filled with tears at sight of a parade—just the + sheer drama of it—were the marchers G. A. R. veterans, school + children in white, soldiers, Foresters, political marching clubs; and + whose eyes burned dry and bright as she stood over the white mound in the + cemetery on the state road. Generous, spontaneous, impulsive, + warm-hearted, she would be cold, calculating, deliberate, she told + herself. + </p> + <p> + Thousands of years of persecution behind her made her quick to appreciate + suffering in others, and gave her an innate sense of fellowship with the + downtrodden. She resolved to use that sense as a searchlight aiding her to + see and overcome obstacles. She told herself that she was done with + maudlin sentimentality. On the rare occasions when she had accompanied her + mother to Chicago, the two women had found delight in wandering about the + city's foreign quarters. When other small-town women buyers snatched + occasional moments of leisure for the theater or personal shopping, these + two had spent hours in the ghetto around Jefferson and Taylor, and + Fourteenth Streets. Something in the sight of these people—alien, + hopeful, emotional, often grotesque—thrilled and interested both the + women. And at sight of an ill-clad Italian, with his slovenly, wrinkled + old-young wife, turning the handle of his grind organ whilst both pairs of + eyes searched windows and porches and doorsteps with a hopeless sort of + hopefulness, she lost her head entirely and emptied her limp pocketbook of + dimes, and nickels, and pennies. Incidentally it might be stated that she + loved the cheap and florid music of the hand organ itself. + </p> + <p> + It was rumored that Brandeis' Bazaar was for sale. In the spring + Gerretson's offered Fanny the position of buyer and head of the china, + glassware, and kitchenware sections. Gerretson's showed an imposing block + of gleaming plate-glass front now, and drew custom from a dozen thrifty + little towns throughout the Fox River Valley. Fanny refused the offer. In + March she sold outright the stock, good-will, and fixtures of Brandeis' + Bazaar. The purchaser was a thrifty, farsighted traveling man who had + wearied of the road and wanted to settle down. She sold the household + goods too—those intimate, personal pieces of wood and cloth that had + become, somehow, part of her life. She had grown up with them. She knew + the history of every nick, every scratch and worn spot. Her mother lived + again in every piece. The old couch went off in a farmer's wagon. Fanny + turned away when they joggled it down the front steps and into the rude + vehicle. It was like another funeral. She was furious to find herself + weeping again. She promised herself punishment for that. + </p> + <p> + Up in her bedroom she opened the bottom drawer of her bureau. That bureau + and its history and the history of every piece of furniture in the room + bore mute testimony to the character of its occupant; to her protest + against things as she found them, and her determination to make them over + to suit her. She had spent innumerable Sunday mornings wielding the magic + paint brush that had transformed the bedroom from dingy oak to gleaming + cream enamel. She sat down on the floor now, before the bureau, and opened + the bottom drawer. + </p> + <p> + In a corner at the back, under the neat pile of garments, was a + tightly-rolled bundle of cloth. Fanny reached for it, took it out, and + held it in her hands a moment. Then she unrolled it slowly, and the bundle + revealed itself to be a faded, stained, voluminous gingham apron, blue and + white. It was the kind of apron women don when they perform some very + special household ritual—baking, preserving, house cleaning. It + crossed over the shoulders with straps, and its generous fullness ran all + the way around the waist. It was discolored in many places with the brown + and reddish stains of fruit juices. It had been Molly Brandeis' canning + apron. Fanny had come upon it hanging on a hook behind the kitchen door, + after that week in December. And at sight of it all her fortitude and + forced calm had fled. She had spread her arms over the limp, mute, yet + speaking thing dangling there, and had wept so wildly and uncontrollably + as to alarm even herself. + </p> + <p> + Nothing in connection with her mother's death had power to call up such + poignant memories as did this homely, intimate garment. She saw again the + steamy kitchen, deliciously scented with the perfume of cooking fruit, or + the tantalizing, mouth-watering spiciness of vinegar and pickles. On the + stove the big dishpan, in which the jelly glasses and fruit jars, with + their tops and rubbers, bobbed about in hot water. In the great granite + kettle simmered the cooking fruit Molly Brandeis, enveloped in the + familiar blue-and-white apron, stood over it, like a priestess, stirring, + stirring, slowly, rhythmically. Her face would be hot and moist with the + steam, and very tired too, for she often came home from the store utterly + weary, to stand over the kettle until ten or eleven o'clock. But the pride + in it as she counted the golden or ruby tinted tumblers gleaming in + orderly rows as they cooled on the kitchen table! + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen glasses of grape jell, Fan! And I didn't mix a bit of apple with + it. I didn't think I'd get more than ten. And nine of the quince preserve. + That makes—let me see—eighty-three, ninety-eight—one + hundred and seven altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll never eat it, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You said that last year, and by April my preserve cupboard looked like + Old Mother Hubbard's.” + </p> + <p> + But then, Mrs. Brandeis was famous for her preserves, as Father + Fitzpatrick, and Aloysius, and Doctor Thalmann, and a dozen others could + testify. After the strain and flurry of a busy day at the store there was + something about this homely household rite that brought a certain sense of + rest and peace to Molly Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + All this moved through Fanny Brandeis's mind as she sat with the crumpled + apron in her lap, her eyes swimming with hot tears. The very stains that + discolored it, the faded blue of the front breadth, the frayed buttonhole, + the little scorched place where she had burned a hole when trying unwisely + to lift a steaming kettle from the stove with the apron's corner, spoke to + her with eloquent lips. That apron had become a vice with Fanny. She + brooded over it as a mother broods over the shapeless, scuffled bit of + leather that was a baby's shoe; as a woman, widowed, clings to a shabby, + frayed old smoking jacket. More than once she had cried herself to sleep + with the apron clasped tightly in her arms. + </p> + <p> + She got up from the floor now, with the apron in her hands, and went down + the stairs, opened the door that led to the cellar, walked heavily down + those steps and over to the furnace. She flung open the furnace door. Red + and purple the coal bed gleamed, with little white flame sprites dancing + over it. Fanny stared at it a moment, fascinated. Her face was set, her + eyes brilliant. Suddenly she flung the tightly-rolled apron into the heart + of the gleaming mass. She shut her eyes then. The fire seemed to hold its + breath for a moment. Then, with a gasp, it sprang upon its food. The + bundle stiffened, writhed, crumpled, sank, lay a blackened heap, was + dissolved. The fire bed glowed red and purple as before, except for a dark + spot in its heart. Fanny shivered a little. She shut the furnace door and + went up-stairs again. + </p> + <p> + “Smells like something burning—cloth, or something,” called Annie, + from the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “It's only an old apron that was cluttering up my—my bureau drawer.” + </p> + <p> + Thus she successfully demonstrated the first lesson in the cruel and rigid + course of mental training she had mapped out for herself. + </p> + <p> + Leaving Winnebago was not easy. There is something about a small town that + holds you. Your life is so intimately interwoven with that of your + neighbor. Existence is so safe, so sane, so sure. Fanny knew that when she + turned the corner of Elm Street every third person she met would speak to + her. Life was made up of minute details, too trivial for the notice of the + hurrying city crowds. You knew when Milly Glaenzer changed the baby buggy + for a go-cart. The youngest Hupp boy—Sammy—who was graduated + from High School in June, is driving A. J. Dawes's automobile now. My + goodness, how time flies! Doeppler's grocery has put in plate-glass + windows, and they're getting out-of-season vegetables every day now from + Milwaukee. As you pass you get the coral glow of tomatoes, and the tender + green of lettuces. And that vivid green? Fresh young peas! And in + February. Well! They've torn down the old yellow brick National Bank, and + in its place a chaste Greek Temple of a building looks rather + contemptuously down its classic columns upon the farmer's wagons drawn up + along the curb. If Fanny Brandeis' sense of proportion had not been out of + plumb she might have realized that, to Winnebago, the new First National + Bank building was as significant and epochal as had been the Woolworth + Building to New York. + </p> + <p> + The very intimacy of these details, Fanny argued, was another reason for + leaving Winnebago. They were like detaining fingers that grasped at your + skirts, impeding your progress. + </p> + <p> + She had early set about pulling every wire within her reach that might + lead, directly or indirectly, to the furtherance of her ambition. She got + two offers from Milwaukee retail stores. She did not consider them for a + moment. Even a Chicago department store of the second grade (one of those + on the wrong side of State Street) did not tempt her. She knew her value. + She could afford to wait. There was money enough on which to live + comfortably until the right chance presented itself. She knew every item + of her equipment, and she conned them to herself greedily: Definite charm + of manner; the thing that is called magnetism; brains; imagination; + driving force; health; youth; and, most precious of all, that which money + could not buy, nor education provide—experience. Experience, a + priceless weapon, that is beaten into shape only by much contact with men + and women, and that is sharpened by much rubbing against the rough edges + of this world. + </p> + <p> + In April her chance came to her; came in that accidental, haphazard way + that momentous happenings have. She met on Elm Street a traveling man from + whom Molly Brandeis had bought for years. He dropped both sample cases and + shook hands with Fanny, eying her expertly and approvingly, and yet + without insolence. He was a wise, road-weary, skillful member of his + fraternity, grown gray in years of service, and a little bitter. Though + perhaps that was due partly to traveling man's dyspepsia, brought on by + years of small-town hotel food. + </p> + <p> + “So you've sold out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Over a month ago.” + </p> + <p> + “H'm. That was a nice little business you had there. Your ma built it up + herself. There was a woman! Gosh! Discounted her bills, even during the + panic.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny smiled a reflective little smile. “That line is a complete + characterization of my mother. Her life was a series of panics. But she + never lost her head. And she always discounted.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand. “Well, glad I met you.” He picked up his sample + cases. “You leaving Winnebago?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to the city, I suppose. Well you're a smart girl. And your mother's + daughter. I guess you'll get along all right. What house are you going + with?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I'm waiting for the right chance. It's all in starting + right. I'm not going to hurry.” + </p> + <p> + He put down his cases again, and his eyes grew keen and kindly. He + gesticulated with one broad forefinger. “Listen, m' girl. I'm what they + call an old-timer. They want these high-power, eight-cylinder kids on the + road these days, and it's all we can do to keep up. But I've got something + they haven't got—yet. I never read anybody on the Psychology of + Business, but I know human nature all the way from Elm Street, Winnebago, + to Fifth Avenue, New York.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you do,” said Fanny politely, and took a little step forward, as + though to end the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Now wait a minute. They say the way to learn is to make mistakes. If + that's true, I'm at the head of the class. I've made 'em all. Now get + this. You start out and specialize. Specialize! Tie to one thing, and make + yourself an expert in it. But first be sure it's the right thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But how is one to be sure?” + </p> + <p> + “By squinting up your eyes so you can see ten years ahead. If it looks + good to you at that distance—better, in fact, than it does close by—then + it's right. I suppose that's what they call having imagination. I never + had any. That's why I'm still selling goods on the road. To look at you + I'd say you had too much. Maybe I'm wrong. But I never yet saw a woman + with a mouth like yours who was cut out for business—unless it was + your mother—And her eyes were different. Let's see, what was I + saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Specialize.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. And that reminds me. Bunch of fellows in the smoker last night + talking about Haynes-Cooper. Your mother hated 'em like poison, the way + every small-town merchant hates the mail-order houses. But I hear they've + got an infants' wear department that's just going to grass for lack of a + proper head. You're only a kid. And they have done you dirt all these + years, of course. But if you could sort of horn in there—why, say, + there's no limit to the distance you could go. No limit! With your brains + and experience.” + </p> + <p> + That had been the beginning. From then on the thing had moved forward with + a certain inevitableness. There was something about the vastness of the + thing that appealed to Fanny. Here was an organization whose great arms + embraced the world. Haynes-Cooper, giant among mail-order houses, was said + to eat a small-town merchant every morning for breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “There's a Haynes-Cooper catalogue in every farmer's kitchen,” Molly + Brandeis used to say. “The Bible's in the parlor, but they keep the H. C. + book in the room where they live.” + </p> + <p> + That she was about to affiliate herself with this house appealed to Fanny + Brandeis's sense of comedy. She had heard her mother presenting her + arguments to the stubborn farmer folk who insisted on ordering their + stove, or dinner set, or plow, or kitchen goods from the fascinating + catalogue. “I honestly think it's just the craving for excitement that + makes them do it,” she often said. “They want the thrill they get when + they receive a box from Chicago, and open it, and take off the wrappings, + and dig out the thing they ordered from a picture, not knowing whether it + will be right or wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Her arguments usually left the farmer unmoved. He would drive into town, + mail his painfully written letter and order at the post-office, dispose of + his load of apples, or butter, or cheese, or vegetables, and drive + cheerfully back again, his empty wagon bumping and rattling down the old + corduroy road. Express, breakage, risk, loyalty to his own region—an + these arguments left him cold. + </p> + <p> + In May, after much manipulation, correspondence, two interviews, came a + definite offer from the Haynes-Cooper Company. It was much less than the + State Street store had offered, and there was something tentative about + the whole agreement. Haynes-Cooper proffered little and demanded much, as + is the way of the rich and mighty. But Fanny remembered the ten-year + viewpoint that the weary-wise old traveling man had spoken about. She took + their offer. She was to go to Chicago almost at once, to begin work June + first. + </p> + <p> + Two conversations that took place before she left are perhaps worth + recording. One was with Father Fitzpatrick of St. Ignatius Catholic + Church. The other with Rabbi Emil Thalmann of Temple Emanu-el. + </p> + <p> + An impulse brought her into Father Fitzpatrick's study. It was a week + before her departure. She was tired. There had been much last signing of + papers, nailing of boxes, strapping of trunks. When things began to come + too thick and fast for her she put on her hat and went for a walk at the + close of the May day. May, in Wisconsin, is a thing all fragrant, and + gold, and blue; and white with cherry blossoms; and pink with apple + blossoms; and tremulous with budding things. + </p> + <p> + Fanny struck out westward through the neat streets of the little town, and + found herself on the bridge over the ravine in which she had played when a + little girl—the ravine that her childish imagination had peopled + with such pageantry of redskin, and priests, and voyageurs, and cavaliers. + She leaned over the iron railing and looked down. Where grass, and brook, + and wild flower had been there now oozed great eruptions of ash heaps, tin + cans, broken bottles, mounds of dirt. Winnebago's growing pains had begun. + Fanny turned away with a little sick feeling. She went on across the + bridge past the Catholic church. Just next the church was the parish house + where Father Fitzpatrick lived. It always looked as if it had been + scrubbed, inside and out, with a scouring brick. Its windows were a + reproach and a challenge to every housekeeper in Winnebago. + </p> + <p> + Fanny wanted to talk to somebody about that ravine. She was full of it. + Father Fitzpatrick's study over-looked it. Besides, she wanted to see him + before she left Winnebago. A picture came to her mind of his handsome, + ruddy face, twinkling with humor as she had last seen it when he had + dropped in at Brandeis' Bazaar for a chat with her mother. She turned in + at the gate and ran up the immaculate, gray-painted steps, that always + gleamed as though still wet with the paint brush. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder if that housekeeper of his comes out with a pail of + paint and does 'em every morning before breakfast,” Fanny said to herself + as she rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + Usually it was that sparse and spectacled person herself who opened the + parish house door, but to-day Fanny's ring was answered by Father Casey, + parish assistant. A sour-faced and suspicious young man, Father Casey, + thick-spectacled, and pointed of nose. Nothing of the jolly priest about + him. He was new to the town, but he recognized Fanny and surveyed her + darkly. + </p> + <p> + “Father Fitzpatrick in? I'm Fanny Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + “The reverend father is busy,” and the glass door began to close. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” boomed a voice from within. “Who're you turning away, Casey?” + </p> + <p> + “A woman, not a parishioner.” The door was almost shut now. + </p> + <p> + Footsteps down the hall. “Good! Let her in.” The door opened ever so + reluctantly. Father Fitzpatrick loomed up beside his puny assistant, + dwarfing him. He looked sharply at the figure on the porch. “For the love + of—! Casey, you're a fool! How you ever got beyond being an + altar-boy is more than I can see. Come in, child. Come in! The man's cut + out for a jailor, not a priest.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's two hands were caught in one of his big ones, and she was led down + the hall to the study. It was the room of a scholar and a man, and the one + spot in the house that defied the housekeeper's weapons of broom and + duster. A comfortable and disreputable room, full of books, and fishing + tackle, and chairs with sagging springs, and a sofa that was dented with + friendly hollows. Pipes on the disorderly desk. A copy of “Mr. Dooley” + spread face down on what appeared to be next Sunday's sermon, + rough-drafted. + </p> + <p> + “I just wanted to talk to you.” Fanny drifted to the shelves, book-lover + that she was, and ran a finger over a half-dozen titles. “Your assistant + was justified, really, in closing the door on me. But I'm glad you rescued + me.” She came over to him and stood looking up at him. He seemed to loom + up endlessly, though hers was a medium height. “I think I really wanted to + talk to you about that ravine, though I came to say good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, child, sit down!” He creaked into his great leather-upholstered + desk chair, himself. “If you had left without seeing me I'd have + excommunicated Casey. Between you and me the man's mad. His job ought to + be duenna to a Spanish maiden, not assistant to a priest with a leaning + toward the flesh.” + </p> + <p> + Now, Father Fitzpatrick talked with a—no, you couldn't call it a + brogue. It was nothing so gross as that. One does not speak of the flavor + of a rare wine; one calls attention to its bouquet. A subtle, teasing, + elusive something that just tickles the senses instead of punching them in + the ribs. So his speech was permeated with a will-o'-the-wisp, a tingling + richness that evaded definition. You will have to imagine it. There shall + be no vain attempt to set it down. Besides, you always skip dialect. + </p> + <p> + “So you're going away. I'd heard. Where to?” + </p> + <p> + “Chicago, Haynes-Cooper. It's a wonderful chance. I don't see yet how I + got it. There's only one other woman on their business staff—I mean + working actually in an executive way in the buying and selling end of the + business. Of course there are thousands doing clerical work, and that kind + of thing. Have you ever been through the plant? It's—it's + incredible.” + </p> + <p> + Father Fitzpatrick drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair, and + looked at Fanny, his handsome eyes half shut. + </p> + <p> + “So it's going to be business, h'm? Well, I suppose it's only natural. + Your mother and I used to talk about you often. I don't know if you and + she ever spoke seriously of this little trick of drawing, or cartooning, + or whatever it is you have. She used to think about it. She said once to + me, that it looked to her more than just a knack. An authentic gift of + caricature, she called it—if it could only be developed. But of + course Theodore took everything. That worried her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense! That! I just amuse myself with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But what amuses you might amuse other people. There's all too few + amusing things in the world. Your mother was a smart woman, Fanny. The + smartest I ever knew.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no money in it, even if I were to get on with it. What could I do + with it? Who ever heard of a woman cartoonist! And I couldn't illustrate. + Those pink cheesecloth pictures the magazines use. I want to earn money. + Lots of it. And now.” + </p> + <p> + She got up and went to the window, and stood looking down the steep green + slope of the ravine that lay, a natural amphitheater, just below. + </p> + <p> + “Money, h'm?” mused Father Fitzpatrick. “Well, it's popular and handy. And + you look to me like the kind of girl who'd get it, once you started out + for it. I've never had much myself. They say it has a way of turning to + dust and ashes in the mouth, once you get a good, satisfying bite of it. + But that's only talk, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny laughed a little, still looking down at the ravine. “I'm fairly + accustomed to dust and ashes by this time. It won't be a new taste to me.” + She whirled around suddenly. “And speaking of dust and ashes, isn't this a + shame? A crime? Why doesn't somebody stop it? Why don't you stop it?” She + pointed to the desecrated ravine below. Her eyes were blazing, her face + all animation. + </p> + <p> + Father Fitzpatrick came over and stood beside her. His face was sad. “It's + a—” He stopped abruptly, and looked down into her glowing face. He + cleared his throat. “It's a perfectly natural state of affairs,” he said + smoothly. “Winnebago's growing. Especially over there on the west side, + since the new mill went up, and they've extended the street car line. They + need the land to build on. It's business. And money.” + </p> + <p> + “Business! It's a crime! It's wanton! Those ravines are the most beautiful + natural spots in Wisconsin. Why, they're history, and romance, and + beauty!” + </p> + <p> + “So that's the way you feel about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Don't you? Can't you stop it? Petitions—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I feel it's an outrage. But I'm just a poor fool of a priest, + and sentimental, with no head for business. Now you're a business woman, + and different.” + </p> + <p> + “I! You're joking.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, listen, m' girl. The world's made up of just two things: ravines and + dump heaps. And the dumpers are forever edging up, and squeedging up, and + trying to grab the ravines and spoil 'em, when nobody's looking. You've + made your choice, and allied yourself with the dump heaps. What right have + you to cry out against the desecration of the ravines?” + </p> + <p> + “The right that every one has that loves them.” + </p> + <p> + “Child, you're going to get so used to seeing your ravines choked up at + Haynes-Cooper that after a while you'll prefer 'em that way.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny turned on him passionately. “I won't! And if I do, perhaps it's just + as well. There's such a thing as too much ravine. What do you want me to + do? Stay here, and grub away, and become a crabbed old maid like Irma + Klein, thankful to be taken around by the married crowd, joining the Aid + Society and going to the card parties on Sunday nights? Or I could marry a + traveling man, perhaps, or Lee Kohn of the Golden Eagle. I'm just like any + other ambitious woman with brains—” + </p> + <p> + “No you're not. You're different. And I'll tell you why. You're a Jew.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've got that handicap.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't a handicap, Fanny. It's an asset. Outwardly you're like any + other girl of your age. Inwardly you've been molded by occupation, + training, religion, history, temperament, race, into something—” + </p> + <p> + “Ethnologists have proved that there is no such thing as a Jewish race,” + she interrupted pertly. + </p> + <p> + “H'm. Maybe. I don't know what you'd call it, then. You can't take a + people and persecute them for thousands of years, hounding them from place + to place, herding them in dark and filthy streets, without leaving some + sort of brand on them—a mark that differentiates. Sometimes it + doesn't show outwardly. But it's there, inside. You know, Fanny, how it's + always been said that no artist can became a genius until he has suffered. + You've suffered, you Jews, for centuries and centuries, until you're all + artists—quick to see drama because you've lived in it, emotional, + oversensitive, cringing, or swaggering, high-strung, demonstrative, + affectionate, generous. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they're right. Perhaps it isn't a race. But what do you call the + thing, then, that made you draw me as you did that morning when you came + to ten o'clock mass and did a caricature of me in the pulpit. You showed + up something that I've been trying to hide for twenty years, till I'd + fooled everybody, including myself. My church is always packed. Nobody + else there ever saw it. I'll tell you, Fanny, what I've always said: the + Irish would be the greatest people in the world—if it weren't for + the Jews.” + </p> + <p> + They laughed together at that, and the tension was relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway,” said Fanny, and patted his great arm, “I'd rather talk to + you than to any man in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won't be able to say that a year from now, dear girl.” + </p> + <p> + And so they parted. He took her to the door himself, and watched her slim + figure down the street and across the ravine bridge, and thought she + walked very much like her mother, shoulders squared, chin high, hips firm. + He went back into the house, after surveying the sunset largely, and + encountered the dour Casey in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I'll type your sermon now, sir—if it's done.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't done, Casey. And you know it. Oh, Casey,”—(I wish your + imagination would supply that brogue, because it was such a deliciously + soft and racy thing)—“Oh, Casey, Casey! you're a better priest than + I am—but a poorer man.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was to leave Winnebago the following Saturday. She had sold the last + of the household furniture, and had taken a room at the Haley House. She + felt very old and experienced—and sad. That, she told herself, was + only natural. Leaving things to which one is accustomed is always hard. + Queerly enough, it was her good-by to Aloysius that most unnerved her. + Aloysius had been taken on at Gerretson's, and the dignity of his new + position sat heavily upon him. You should have seen his ties. Fanny sought + him out at Gerretson's. + </p> + <p> + “It's flure-manager of the basement I am,” he said, and struck an elegant + attitude against the case of misses'-ready-to-wear coats. “And when you + come back to Winnebago, Miss Fanny,—and the saints send it be soon—I'll + bet ye'll see me on th' first flure, keepin' a stern but kindly eye on the + swellest trade in town. Ev'ry last thing I know I learned off yur poor + ma.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it will serve you here, Aloysius.” + </p> + <p> + “Sarve me!” He bent closer. “Meanin' no offense, Miss Fanny; but say, + listen: Oncet ye get a Yiddish business education into an Irish head, and + there's no limit to the length ye can go. If I ain't a dry-goods king be + th' time I'm thirty I hope a packin' case'll fall on me.” + </p> + <p> + The sight of Aloysius seemed to recall so vividly all that was happy and + all that was hateful about Brandeis' Bazaar; all the bravery and pluck, + and resourcefulness of the bright-eyed woman he had admiringly called his + boss, that Fanny found her self-control slipping. She put out her hand + rather blindly to meet his great red paw (a dressy striped cuff seemed to + make it all the redder), murmured a word of thanks in return for his + fervent good wishes, and fled up the basement stairs. + </p> + <p> + On Friday night (she was to leave next day) she went to the temple. The + evening service began at seven. At half past six Fanny had finished her + early supper. She would drop in at Doctor Thalmann's house and walk with + him to temple, if he had not already gone. + </p> + <p> + “Nein, der Herr Rabbi ist noch hier—sure,” the maid said in answer + to Fanny's question. The Thalmann's had a German maid—one Minna—who + bullied the invalid Mrs. Thalmann, was famous for her cookies with walnuts + on the top, and who made life exceedingly difficult for unlinguistic + callers. + </p> + <p> + Rabbi Thalmann was up in his study. Fanny ran lightly up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it, Emil? That Minna! Next Monday her week is up. She goes.” + </p> + <p> + “It's I, Mrs. Thalmann. Fanny Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + “Na, Fanny! Now what do you think!” + </p> + <p> + In the brightly-lighted doorway of his little study appeared Rabbi + Thalmann, on one foot a comfortable old romeo, on the other a street shoe. + He held out both hands. “Only at supper we talked about you. Isn't that + so, Harriet?” He called into the darkened room. + </p> + <p> + “I came to say good-by. And I thought we might walk to temple together. + How's Mrs. Thalmann tonight?” + </p> + <p> + The little rabbi shook his head darkly, and waved a dismal hand. But that + was for Fanny alone. What he said was: “She's really splendid to-day. A + little tired, perhaps; but what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Emil!” from the darkened bedroom. “How can you say that? But how! What I + have suffered to-day, only! Torture! And because I say nothing I'm not + sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Go in,” said Rabbi Thalmann. + </p> + <p> + So Fanny went in to the woman lying, yellow-faced, on the pillows of the + dim old-fashioned bedroom with its walnut furniture, and its red plush + mantel drape. Mrs. Thalmann held out a hand. Fanny took it in hers, and + perched herself on the edge of the bed. She patted the dry, devitalized + hand, and pressed it in her own strong, electric grip. Mrs. Thalmann + raised her head from the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, did she have her white apron on?” + </p> + <p> + “White apron?” + </p> + <p> + “Minna, the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Fanny's mind jerked back to the gingham-covered figure that had + opened the door for her. “Yes,” she lied, “a white one—with crochet + around the bottom. Quite grand.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Thalmann sank back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh. “A wonder.” + She shook her head. “What that girl wastes alone, when I am helpless + here.” + </p> + <p> + Rabbi Thalmann came into the room, both feet booted now, and placed his + slippers neatly, toes out, under the bed. “Ach, Harriet, the girl is all + right. You imagine. Come, Fanny.” He took a great, fat watch out of his + pocket. “It is time to go.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Thalmann laid a detaining hand on Fanny's arm. “You will come often + back here to Winnebago?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not. Once a year, perhaps, to visit my graves.” + </p> + <p> + The sick eyes regarded the fresh young face. “Your mother, Fanny, we + didn't understand her so well, here in Winnebago, among us Jewish ladies. + She was different.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's face hardened. She stood up. “Yes, she was different.” + </p> + <p> + “She comes often into my mind now, when I am here alone, with only the + four walls. We were aber dumm, we women—but how dumm! She was too + smart for us, your mother. Too smart. Und eine sehr brave frau.” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly Fanny, she who had resolved to set her face against all + emotion, and all sentiment, found herself with her glowing cheek pressed + against the withered one, and it was the weak old hand that patted her + now. So she lay for a moment, silent. Then she got up, straightened her + hat, smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Auf Wiedersehen,” she said in her best German. “Und gute Besserung.” + </p> + <p> + But the rabbi's wife shook her head. “Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + From the hall below Doctor Thalmann called to her. “Come, child, come!” + Then, “Ach, the light in my study! I forgot to turn it out, Fanny, be so + good, yes?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny entered the bright little room, reached up to turn off the light, + and paused a moment to glance about her. It was an ugly, comfortable, + old-fashioned room that had never progressed beyond the what-not period. + Fanny's eye was caught by certain framed pictures on the walls. They were + photographs of Rabbi Thalmann's confirmation classes. Spindling-legged + little boys in the splendor of patent-leather buttoned shoes, stiff white + shirts, black broadcloth suits with satin lapels; self-conscious and + awkward little girls—these in the minority—in white dresses + and stiff white hair bows. In the center of each group sat the little + rabbi, very proud and alert. Fanny was not among these. She had never + formally taken the vows of her creed. As she turned down the light now, + and found her way down the stairs, she told herself that she was glad this + was so. + </p> + <p> + It was a matter of only four blocks to the temple. But they were late, and + so they hurried, and there was little conversation. Fanny's arm was tucked + comfortably in his. It felt, somehow, startlingly thin, that arm. And as + they hurried along there was a jerky feebleness about his gait. It was + with difficulty that Fanny restrained herself from supporting him when + they came to a rough bit of walk or a sudden step. Something fine in her + prompted her not to. But the alert mind in that old frame sensed what was + going on in her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “He's getting feeble, the old rabbi, h'm?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. I've got all I can do to keep up with you. You set such + a pace.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I know. They are not all so kind, Fanny. They are too prosperous, + this congregation of mine. And some day, `Off with his head!' And in my + place there will step a young man, with eye-glasses instead of spectacles. + They are tired of hearing about the prophets. Texts from the Bible have + gone out of fashion. You think I do not see them giggling, h'm? The young + people. And the whispering in the choir loft. And the buzz when I get up + from my chair after the second hymn. `Is he going to have a sermon? Is he? + Sure enough!' Na, he will make them sit up, my successor. Sex sermons! + Political lectures. That's it. Lectures.” They were turning in at the + temple now. “The race is to the young, Fanny. To the young. And I am old.” + </p> + <p> + She squeezed the frail old arm in hers. “My dear!” she said. “My dear!” A + second breaking of her new resolutions. + </p> + <p> + One by one, two by two, they straggled in for the Friday evening service, + these placid, prosperous people, not unkind, but careless, perhaps, in + their prosperity. + </p> + <p> + “He's worth any ten of them,” Fanny said hotly to herself, as she sat in + her pew that, after to-morrow, would no longer be hers. “The dear old + thing. `Sex sermons.' And the race is to the young. How right he is. Well, + no one can say I'm not getting an early start.” + </p> + <p> + The choir had begun the first hymn when there came down the aisle a + stranger. There was a little stir among the congregation. Visitors were + rare. He was dark and very slim—with the slimness of steel wire. He + passed down the aisle rather uncertainly. A traveling man, Fanny thought, + dropped in, as sometimes they did, to say Kaddish for a departed father or + mother. Then she changed her mind. Her quick eye noted his walk; a + peculiar walk, with a spring in it. Only one unfamiliar with cement + pavements could walk like that. The Indians must have had that same light, + muscular step. He chose an empty pew halfway down the aisle and stumbled + into it rather awkwardly. Fanny thought he was unnecessarily ugly, even + for a man. Then he looked up, and nodded and smiled at Lee Kohn, across + the aisle. His teeth were very white, and the smile was singularly sweet. + Fanny changed her mind again. Not so bad-looking, after all. Different, + anyway. And then—why, of course! Little Clarence Heyl, come back + from the West. Clarence Heyl, the cowardy-cat. + </p> + <p> + Her mind went back to that day of the street fight. She smiled. At that + moment Clarence Heyl, who had been screwing about most shockingly, as + though searching for some one, turned and met her smile, intended for no + one, with a startlingly radiant one of his own, intended most plainly for + her. He half started forward in his pew, and then remembered, and sat back + again, but with an effect of impermanence that was ludicrous. It had been + years since he had left Winnebago. At the time of his mother's death they + had tried to reach him, and had been unable to get in touch with him for + weeks. He had been off on some mountain expedition, hundreds of miles from + railroad or telegraph. Fanny remembered having read about him in the + Winnebago Courier. He seemed to be climbing mountains a great deal—rather + difficult mountains, evidently, from the fuss they made over it. A queer + enough occupation for a cowardy-cat. There had been a book, too. About the + Rockies. She had not read it. She rather disliked these nature books, as + do most nature lovers. She told herself that when she came upon a flaming + golden maple in October she was content to know it was a maple, and to + warm her soul at its blaze. + </p> + <p> + There had been something in the Chicago Herald, though—oh, yes; it + had spoken of him as the brilliant young naturalist, Clarence Heyl. He was + to have gone on an expedition with Roosevelt. A sprained ankle, or some + such thing, had prevented. Fanny smiled again, to herself. His mother, the + fussy person who had been responsible for his boyhood reefers and + too-shiny shoes, and his cowardice too, no doubt, had dreamed of seeing + her Clarence a rabbi. + </p> + <p> + From that point Fanny's thoughts wandered to the brave old man in the + pulpit. She had heard almost nothing of the service. She looked at him now—at + him, and then at his congregation, inattentive and palpably bored. As + always with her, the thing stamped itself on her mind as a picture. She + was forever seeing a situation in terms of its human value. How small he + looked, how frail, against the background of the massive Ark with its red + velvet curtain. And how bravely he glared over his blue glasses at the two + Aarons girls who were whispering and giggling together, eyes on the + newcomer. + </p> + <p> + So this was what life did to you, was it? Squeezed you dry, and then cast + you aside in your old age, a pulp, a bit of discard. Well, they'd never + catch her that way. + </p> + <p> + Unchurchly thoughts, these. The little place was very peaceful and quiet, + lulling one like a narcotic. The rabbi's voice had in it that soothing + monotony bred of years in the pulpit. Fanny found her thoughts straying + back to the busy, bright little store on Elm Street, then forward, to the + Haynes-Cooper plant and the fight that was before her. There settled about + her mouth a certain grim line that sat strangely on so young a face. The + service marched on. There came the organ prelude that announced the + mourners' prayer. Then Rabbi Thalmann began to intone the Kaddish. Fanny + rose, prayer book in hand. At that Clarence Heyl rose too, hurriedly, as + one unaccustomed to the service, and stood with unbowed head, looking at + the rabbi interestedly, thoughtfully, reverently. The two stood alone. + Death had been kind to Congregation Emanu-el this year. The prayer ended. + Fanny winked the tears from her eyes, almost wrathfully. She sat down, and + there swept over her a feeling of finality. It was like the closing of + Book One in a volume made up of three parts. + </p> + <p> + She said to herself: “Winnebago is ended, and my life here. How + interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is like the first + movement in one of the concertos Theodore was forever playing. Now for the + second movement! It's got to be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!” + </p> + <p> + For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid conclusion at + which to arrive. How could she think it possible to shed her past life, + like a garment? Those impressionable years, between fourteen and + twenty-four, could never be cast off. She might don a new cloak to cover + the old dress beneath, but the old would always be there, its folds + peeping out here and there, its outlines plainly to be seen. She might eat + of things rare, and drink of things costly, but the sturdy, stocky little + girl in the made-over silk dress, who had resisted the Devil in Weinberg's + pantry on that long-ago Day of Atonement, would always be there at the + feast. Myself, I confess I am tired of these stories of young women who go + to the big city, there to do battle with failure, to grapple with + temptation, sin and discouragement. So it may as well be admitted that + Fanny Brandeis' story was not that of a painful hand-over-hand climb. She + was made for success. What she attempted, she accomplished. That which she + strove for, she won. She was too sure, too vital, too electric, for + failure. No, Fanny Brandeis' struggle went on inside. And in trying to + stifle it she came near making the blackest failure that a woman can make. + In grubbing for the pot of gold she almost missed the rainbow. + </p> + <p> + Rabbi Thalmann raised his arms for the benediction. Fanny looked straight + up at him as though stamping a picture on her mind. His eyes were resting + gently on her—or perhaps she just fancied that he spoke to her alone + as he began the words of the ancient closing prayer: + </p> + <p> + “May the blessings of the Lord Our God rest upon you. God bless thee and + keep thee. May He cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be gracious + unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee...” + </p> + <p> + At the last word she hurried up the aisle, and down the stairs, into the + soft beauty of the May night. She felt she could stand no good-bys. In her + hotel room she busied herself with the half-packed trunks and bags. So it + was she altogether failed to see the dark young man who hurried after her + eagerly, and who was stopped by a dozen welcoming hands there in the + temple vestibule. He swore a deep inward “Damn!” as he saw her straight, + slim figure disappear down the steps and around the corner, even while he + found himself saying, politely, “Why, thanks! It's good to BE back.” And, + “Yes, things have changed. All but the temple, and Rabbi Thalmann.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny left Winnebago at eight next morning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER NINE + </h2> + <p> + “Mr. Fenger will see you now.” Mr. Fenger, general manager, had been a + long time about it. This heel-cooling experience was new to Fanny + Brandeis. It had always been her privilege to keep others waiting. Still, + she felt no resentment as she sat in Michael Fenger's outer office. For as + she sat there, waiting, she was getting a distinct impression of this + unseen man whose voice she could just hear as he talked over the telephone + in his inner office. It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that his + personality reached out and touched you before you came into actual + contact with the man. Fanny had heard of him long before she came to + Haynes-Cooper. He was the genie of that glittering lamp. All through the + gigantic plant (she had already met department heads, buyers, merchandise + managers) one heard his name, and felt the impress of his mind: + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to see Mr. Fenger about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,”—pointing to a new conveyor, perhaps,—“that has just + been installed. It's a great help to us. Doubles our shipping-room + efficiency. We used to use baskets, pulled by a rope. It's Mr. Fenger's + idea.” + </p> + <p> + Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. Fenger had made it a slogan in the + Haynes-Cooper plant long before the German nation forced it into our + everyday vocabulary. Michael Fenger was System. He could take a muddle of + orders, a jungle of unfilled contracts, a horde of incompetent workers, + and of them make a smooth-running and effective unit. Untangling snarls + was his pastime. Esprit de corps was his shibboleth. Order and management + his idols. And his war-cry was “Results!” + </p> + <p> + It was eleven o'clock when Fanny came into his outer office. The very + atmosphere was vibrant with his personality. There hung about the place an + air of repressed expectancy. The room was electrically charged with the + high-voltage of the man in the inner office. His secretary was a spare, + middle-aged, anxious-looking woman in snuff-brown and spectacles; his + stenographer a blond young man, also spectacled and anxious; his office + boy a stern youth in knickers, who bore no relation to the slangy, + gum-chewing, redheaded office boy of the comic sections. + </p> + <p> + The low-pitched, high-powered voice went on inside, talking over the + long-distance telephone. Fenger was the kind of man who is always talking + to New York when he is in Chicago, and to Chicago when he is in New York. + Trains with the word Limited after them were invented for him and his + type. A buzzer sounded. It galvanized the office boy into instant action. + It brought the anxious-looking stenographer to the doorway, notebook in + hand, ready. It sent the lean secretary out, and up to Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “Temper,” said Fanny, to herself, “or horribly nervous and high-keyed. + They jump like a set of puppets on a string.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that the lean secretary had said, “Mr. Fenger will see you + now.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was aware of a pleasant little tingle of excitement. She entered the + inner office. + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that he employed no cheap tricks. + He was not writing as Fanny Brandeis came in. He was not telephoning. He + was not doing anything but standing at his desk, waiting for Fanny + Brandeis. As she came in he looked at her, through her, and she seemed to + feel her mental processes laid open to him as a skilled surgeon cuts + through skin and flesh and fat, to lay bare the muscles and nerves and + vital organs beneath. He put out his hand. Fanny extended hers. They met + in a silent grip. It was like a meeting between two men. Even as he + indexed her, Fanny's alert mind was busy docketing, numbering, cataloguing + him. They had in common a certain force, a driving power. Fanny seated + herself opposite him, in obedience to a gesture. He crossed his legs + comfortably and sat back in his big desk chair. A great-bodied man, with + powerful square shoulders, a long head, a rugged crest of a nose—the + kind you see on the type of Englishman who has the imagination and + initiative to go to Canada, or Australia, or America. He wore spectacles, + not the fashionable horn-rimmed sort, but the kind with gold ear pieces. + They were becoming, and gave a certain humanness to a face that otherwise + would have been too rugged, too strong. A man of forty-five, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + He spoke first. “You're younger than I thought.” + </p> + <p> + “So are you.” + </p> + <p> + “Old inside.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I.” + </p> + <p> + He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, folded his arms on the desk. + </p> + <p> + “You've been through the plant, Miss Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Twice. Once with a regular tourist party. And once with the special + guide.” “Good. Go through the plant whenever you can. Don't stick to your + own department. It narrows one.” He paused a moment. “Did you think that + this opportunity to come to Haynes-Cooper, as assistant to the infants' + wear department buyer was just a piece of luck, augmented by a little + pulling on your part?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't. You were carefully picked by me, and I don't expect to find + I've made a mistake. I suppose you know very little about buying and + selling infants' wear?” + </p> + <p> + “Less than about almost any other article in the world—at least, in + the department store, or mail order world.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. And it doesn't matter. I pretty well know your history, + which means that I know your training. You're young; you're ambitious, + you're experienced; you're imaginative. There's no length you can't go, + with these. It just depends on how farsighted your mental vision is. Now + listen, Miss Brandeis: I'm not going to talk to you in millions. The + guides do enough of that. But you know we do buy and sell in terms of + millions, don't you? Well, our infants' wear department isn't helping to + roll up the millions; and it ought to, because there are millions of + babies born every year, and the golden-spoon kind are in the minority. + I've decided that that department needs a woman, your kind of woman. Now, + as a rule, I never employ a woman when I can use a man. There's only one + other woman filling a really important position in the merchandise end of + this business. That's Ella Monahan, head of the glove department, and + she's a genius. She is a woman who is limited in every other respect—just + average; but she knows glove materials in a way that's uncanny. I'd rather + have a man in her place; but I don't happen to know any men + glove-geniuses. Tell me, what do you think of that etching?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny tried—and successfully—not to show the jolt her mind had + received as she turned to look at the picture to which his finger pointed. + She got up and strolled over to it, and she was glad her suit fitted and + hung as it did in the back. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it particularly. I like it less than any other etching you + have here.” The walls were hung with them. “Of course you understand I + know nothing about them. But it's too flowery, isn't it, to be good? Too + many lines. Like a writer who spoils his effect by using too many words.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger came over and stood beside her, staring at the black and white and + gray thing in its frame. “I felt that way, too.” He stared down at her, + then. “Jew?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + A breathless instant. “No,” said Fanny Brandeis. + </p> + <p> + Michael Fenger smiled for the first time. Fanny Brandeis would have given + everything she had, everything she hoped to be, to be able to take back + that monosyllable. She was gripped with horror at what she had done. She + had spoken almost mechanically. And yet that monosyllable must have been + the fruit of all these months of inward struggle and thought. “Now I begin + to understand you,” Fenger went on. “You've decided to lop off all the + excrescences, eh? Well, I can't say that I blame you. A woman in business + is handicapped enough by the very fact of her sex.” He stared at her + again. “Too bad you're so pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not!” said Fanny hotly, like a school-girl. + </p> + <p> + “That's a thing that can't be argued, child. Beauty's subjective, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what difference it makes, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you do.” He stopped. “Or perhaps you don't, after all. I forget + how young you are. Well, now, Miss Brandeis, you and your woman's mind, + and your masculine business experience and sense are to be turned loose on + our infants' wear department. The buyer, Mr. Slosson, is going to resent + you. Naturally. I don't know whether we'll get results from you in a + month, or six months or a year. Or ever. But something tells me we're + going to get them. You've lived in a small town most of your life. And we + want that small-town viewpoint. D'you think you've got it?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was on her own ground here. “If knowing the Wisconsin small-town + woman, and the Wisconsin farmer woman—and man too, for that matter—means + knowing the Oregon, and Wyoming, and Pennsylvania, and Iowa people of the + same class, then I've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” Michael Fenger stood up. “I'm not going to load you down with + instructions, or advice. I think I'll let you grope your own way around, + and bump your head a few times. Then you'll learn where the low places + are. And, Miss Brandeis, remember that suggestions are welcome in this + plant. We take suggestions all the way from the elevator starter to the + president.” His tone was kindly, but not hopeful. + </p> + <p> + Fanny was standing too, her mental eye on the door. But now she turned to + face him squarely. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I've one to make. Your stock boys and stock girls walk miles + and miles every day, on every floor of this fifteen-story building. I + watched them yesterday, filling up the bins, carrying orders, covering + those enormous distances from one bin to another, up one aisle and down + the next, to the office, back again. Your floors are concrete, or cement, + or some such mixture, aren't they? I just happened to think of the boy who + used to deliver our paper on Norris Street, in Winnebago, Wisconsin. He + covered his route on roller skates. It saved him an hour. Why don't you + put roller skates on your stock boys and girls?” + </p> + <p> + Fenger stared at her. You could almost hear that mind of his working, like + a thing on ball bearings. “Roller skates.” It wasn't an exclamation. It + was a decision. He pressed a buzzer—the snuff-brown secretary + buzzer. “Tell Clancy I want him. Now.” He had not glanced up, or taken his + eyes from Fanny. She was aware of feeling a little uncomfortable, but + elated, too. She moved toward the door. Fenger stood at his desk. “Wait a + minute.” Fanny waited. Still Fenger did not speak. Finally, “I suppose you + know you've earned six months' salary in the last five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny eyed him coolly. “Considering the number of your stock force, the + time, energy, and labor saved, including wear and tear on department heads + and their assistants, I should say that was a conservative statement.” And + she nodded pleasantly, and left him. + </p> + <p> + Two days later every stock clerk in the vast plant was equipped with + light-weight roller skates. They made a sort of carnival of it at first. + There were some spills, too, going around corners, and a little too much + hilarity. That wore off in a week. In two weeks their roller skates were + part of them; just shop labor-savers. The report presented to Fenger was + this: Time and energy saved, fifty-five per cent; stock staff decreased by + one third. The picturesqueness of it, the almost ludicrous simplicity of + the idea appealed to the entire plant. It tickled the humor sense in every + one of the ten thousand employees in that vast organization. In the first + week of her association with Haynes-Cooper Fanny Brandeis was actually + more widely known than men who had worked there for years. The president, + Nathan Haynes himself, sent for her, chuckling. + </p> + <p> + Nathan Haynes—but then, why stop for him? Nathan Haynes had been + swallowed, long ago, by this monster plant that he himself had innocently + created. You must have visited it, this Gargantuan thing that sprawls its + length in the very center of Chicago, the giant son of a surprised father. + It is one of the city's show places, like the stockyards, the Art + Institute, and Field's. Fifteen years before, a building had been erected + to accommodate a prosperous mail order business. It had been built large + and roomy, with plenty of seams, planned amply, it was thought, to allow + the boy to grow. It would do for twenty-five years, surely. In ten years + Haynes-Cooper was bursting its seams. In twelve it was shamelessly naked, + its arms and legs sticking out of its inadequate garments. New red brick + buildings another—another. Five stories added to this one, six + stories to that, a new fifteen story merchandise building. + </p> + <p> + The firm began to talk in tens of millions. Its stock became gilt-edged, + unattainable. Lucky ones who had bought of it diffidently, discreetly, + with modest visions of four and a half per cent in their unimaginative + minds, saw their dividends doubling, trebling, quadrupling, finally + soaring gymnastically beyond all reason. Listen to the old guide who (at + fifteen a week) takes groups of awed visitors through the great plant. How + he juggles figures; how grandly they roll off his tongue. How glib he is + with Nathan Haynes's millions. + </p> + <p> + “This, ladies and gentlemen, is our mail department. From two thousand to + twenty-five hundred pounds of mail, comprising over one hundred thousand + letters, are received here every day. Yes, madam, I said every day. About + half of these letters are orders. Last year the banking department counted + one hundred and thirty millions of dollars. One hundred and thirty + millions!” He stands there in his ill-fitting coat, and his star, and rubs + one bony hand over the other. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” says a lady tourist from Idaho, rather inadequately. And yet, + not so inadequately. What exclamation is there, please, that fits a sum + like one hundred and thirty millions of anything? + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis, fresh from Winnebago, Wisconsin, slipped into the great + scheme of things at the Haynes-Cooper plant like part of a perfectly + planned blue print. It was as though she had been thought out and shaped + for this particular corner. And the reason for it was, primarily, + Winnebago, Wisconsin. For Haynes-Cooper grew and thrived on just such + towns, with their surrounding farms and villages. Haynes-Cooper had their + fingers on the pulse and heart of the country as did no other industry. + They were close, close. When rugs began to take the place of ingrain + carpets it was Haynes-Cooper who first sensed the change. Oh, they had had + them in New York years before, certainly. But after all, it isn't New + York's artistic progress that shows the development of this nation. It is + the thing they are thinking, and doing, and learning in Backwash, + Nebraska, that marks time for these United States. There may be a certain + significance in the announcement that New York has dropped the Russian + craze and has gone in for that quaint Chinese stuff. My dear, it makes the + loveliest hangings and decorations. When Fifth Avenue takes down its filet + lace and eyelet embroidered curtains, and substitutes severe shantung and + chaste net, there is little in the act to revolutionize industry, or stir + the art-world. But when the Haynes-Cooper company, by referring to its + inventory ledgers, learns that it is selling more Alma Gluck than Harry + Lauder records; when its statistics show that Tchaikowsky is going better + than Irving Berlin, something epochal is happening in the musical progress + of a nation. And when the orders from Noose Gulch, Nevada, are for those + plain dimity curtains instead of the cheap and gaudy Nottingham + atrocities, there is conveyed to the mind a fact of immense, of + overwhelming significance. The country has taken a step toward + civilization and good taste. + </p> + <p> + So. You have a skeleton sketch of Haynes-Cooper, whose feelers reach the + remotest dugout in the Yukon, the most isolated cabin in the Rockies, the + loneliest ranch-house in Wyoming; the Montana mining shack, the bleak + Maine farm, the plantation in Virginia. + </p> + <p> + And the man who had so innocently put life into this monster? A plumpish, + kindly-faced man; a bewildered, gentle, unimaginative and somewhat + frightened man, fresh-cheeked, eye-glassed. In his suite of offices in the + new Administration Building—built two years ago—marble and oak + throughout—twelve stories, and we're adding three already; offices + all two-toned rugs, and leather upholstery, with dim, rich, brown-toned + Dutch masterpieces on the walls, he sat helpless and defenseless while the + torrent of millions rushed, and swirled, and foamed about him. I think he + had fancied, fifteen years ago, that he would some day be a fairly + prosperous man; not rich, as riches are counted nowadays, but with a + comfortable number of tens of thousands tucked away. Two or three hundred + thousand; perhaps five hundred thousand!—perhaps a—but, + nonsense! Nonsense! + </p> + <p> + And then the thing had started. It was as when a man idly throws a pebble + into a chasm, or shoves a bit of ice with the toe of his boot, and starts + a snow-slide that grows as it goes. He had started this avalanche of + money, and now it rushed on of its own momentum, plunging, rolling, + leaping, crashing, and as it swept on it gathered rocks, trees, stones, + houses, everything that lay in its way. It was beyond the power of human + hand to stop this tumbling, roaring slide. In the midst of it sat Nathan + Haynes, deafened, stunned, terrified at the immensity of what he had done. + </p> + <p> + He began giving away huge sums, incredible sums. It piled up faster than + he could give it away. And so he sat there in the office hung with the dim + old masterpieces, and tried to keep simple, tried to keep sane, with that + austerity that only mad wealth can afford—or bitter poverty. He + caused the land about the plant to be laid out in sunken gardens and + baseball fields and tennis courts, so that one approached this monster of + commerce through enchanted grounds, glowing with tulips and heady + hyacinths in spring, with roses in June, blazing with salvia and + golden-glow and asters in autumn. There was something apologetic about + these grounds. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was the environment that Fanny Brandeis had chosen. On the + face of things you would have said she had chosen well. The inspiration of + the roller skates had not been merely a lucky flash. That idea had been + part of the consistent whole. Her mind was her mother's mind raised to the + nth power, and enhanced by the genius she was trying to crush. Refusing to + die, it found expression in a hundred brilliant plans, of which the roller + skate idea was only one. + </p> + <p> + Fanny had reached Chicago on Sunday. She had entered the city as a queen + enters her domain, authoritatively, with no fear upon her, no trepidation, + no doubts. She had gone at once to the Mendota Hotel, on Michigan Avenue, + up-town, away from the roar of the loop. It was a residential hotel, very + quiet, decidedly luxurious. She had no idea of making it her home. But she + would stay there until she could find an apartment that was small, bright, + near the lake, and yet within fairly reasonable transportation facilities + for her work. Her room was on the ninth floor, not on the Michigan Avenue + side, but east, overlooking the lake. She spent hours at the windows, + fascinated by the stone and steel city that lay just below with the + incredible blue of the sail-dotted lake beyond, and at night, with the + lights spangling the velvety blackness, the flaring blaze of Thirty-first + Street's chop-suey restaurants and moving picture houses at the right; and + far, far away, the red and white eye of the lighthouse winking, blinking, + winking, blinking, the rumble and clank of a flat-wheeled Indiana avenue + car, the sound of high laughter and a snatch of song that came faintly up + to her from the speeding car of some midnight joy-riders! + </p> + <p> + But all this had to do with her other side. It had no bearing on + Haynes-Cooper, and business. Business! That was it. She had trained + herself for it, like an athlete. Eight hours of sleep. A cold plunge on + arising. Sane food. Long walks. There was something terrible about her + earnestness. + </p> + <p> + On Monday she presented herself at the Haynes-Cooper plant. Monday and + Tuesday were spent in going over the great works. It was an exhausting + process, but fascinating beyond belief. It was on Wednesday that she had + been summoned for the talk with Michael Fenger. Thursday morning she was + at her desk at eight-thirty. It was an obscure desk, in a dingy corner of + the infants' wear department, the black sheep section of the great plant. + Her very presence in that corner seemed to change it magically. You must + remember how young she was, how healthy, how vigorous, with the freshness + of the small town still upon her. It was health and youth, and vigor that + gave that gloss to her hair (conscientious brushing too, perhaps), that + color to her cheeks and lips, that brightness to her eyes. But crafty art + and her dramatic instinct were responsible for the tailored severity of + her costume, for the whiteness of her blouse, the trim common-sense + expensiveness of her shoes and hat and gloves. + </p> + <p> + Slosson, buyer and head of the department, came in at nine. Fanny rose to + greet him. She felt a little sorry for Slosson. In her mind she already + knew him for a doomed man. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!”—he was the kind of person who would say, well, well!—“You're + bright and early, Miss—ah—” + </p> + <p> + “Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly; Miss Brandeis. Well, nothing like making a good start.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to go through the department by myself,” said Fanny. “The + shelves and bins, and the numbering system. I see that your new maternity + dresses have just come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. How do you like them?” + </p> + <p> + “I think they're unnecessarily hideous, Mr. Slosson.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady, a plain garment is what they want. Unnoticeable.” + </p> + <p> + “Unnoticeable, yes; but becoming. At such a time a woman is at her worst. + If she can get it, she at least wants a dress that doesn't add to her + unattractiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see—you are not—ah—married, I believe, Miss + Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I am. Three children. All girls.” He passed a nervous hand over his head, + rumpling his hair a little. “An expensive proposition, let me tell you, + three girls. But there's very little I don't know about babies, as you may + imagine.” + </p> + <p> + But there settled over Fanny Brandeis' face the mask of hardness that was + so often to transform it. + </p> + <p> + The morning mail was in—the day's biggest grist, deluge of it, a + flood. Buyer and assistant buyer never saw the actual letters, or attended + to their enclosed orders. It was only the unusual letter, the complaint or + protest that reached their desk. Hundreds of hands downstairs sorted, + stamped, indexed, filed, after the letter-opening machines had slit the + envelopes. Those letter-openers! Fanny had hung over them, enthralled. The + unopened envelopes were fed into them. Flip! Zip! Flip! Out! Opened! + Faster than eye could follow. It was uncanny. It was, somehow, humorous, + like the clever antics of a trained dog. You could not believe that this + little machine actually performed what your eyes beheld. Two years later + they installed the sand-paper letter-opener, marvel of simplicity. It made + the old machine seem cumbersome and slow. Guided by Izzy, the expert, its + rough tongue was capable of licking open six hundred and fifty letters a + minute. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes after the mail came in the orders were being filled; bins, + shelves, warehouses, were emptying their contents. Up and down the aisles + went the stock clerks; into the conveyors went the bundles, down the great + spiral bundle chute, into the shipping room, out by mail, by express, by + freight. This leghorn hat for a Nebraska country belle; a tombstone for a + rancher's wife; a plow, brave in its red paint; coffee, tea, tinned fruit, + bound for Alaska; lace, muslin, sheeting, toweling, all intended for the + coarse trousseau of a Georgia bride. + </p> + <p> + It was not remarkable that Fanny Brandeis fitted into this scheme of + things. For years she had ministered to the wants of just this type of + person. The letters she saw at Haynes-Cooper's read exactly as customers + had worded their wants at Brandeis' Bazaar. The magnitude of the thing + thrilled her, the endless possibilities of her own position. + </p> + <p> + During the first two months of her work there she was as unaggressive as + possible. She opened the very pores of her mind and absorbed every detail + of her department. But she said little, followed Slosson's instructions in + her position as assistant buyer, and suggested no changes. Slosson's + wrinkle of anxiety smoothed itself away, and his manner became + patronizingly authoritative again. Fanny seemed to have become part of the + routine of the place. Fenger did not send for her. June and July were + insufferably hot. Fanny seemed to thrive, to expand like a flower in the + heat, when others wilted and shriveled. The spring catalogue was to be + made up in October, as always, six months in advance. The first week in + August Fanny asked for an interview with Fenger. Slosson was to be there. + At ten o'clock she entered Fenger's inner office. He was telephoning—something + about dinner at the Union League Club. His voice was suave, his tone well + modulated, his accent correct, his English faultless. And yet Fanny + Brandeis, studying the etchings on his wall, her back turned to him, + smiled to herself. The voice, the tone, the accent, the English, did not + ring true They were acquired graces, exquisite imitations of the real + thing. Fanny Brandeis knew. She was playing the same game herself. She + understood this man now, after two months in the Haynes-Cooper plant. + These marvelous examples of the etcher's art, for example. They were the + struggle for expression of a man whose youth had been bare of such things. + His love for them was much the same as that which impels the new made + millionaire to buy rare pictures, rich hangings, tapestries, rugs, not so + much in the desire to impress the world with his wealth as to satisfy the + craving for beauty, the longing to possess that which is exquisite, and + fine, and almost unobtainable. You have seen how a woman, long denied + luxuries, feeds her starved senses on soft silken things, on laces and + gleaming jewels, for pure sensuous delight in their feel and look. + </p> + <p> + Thus Fanny mused as she eyed these treasures—grim, deft, repressed + things, done with that economy of line which is the test of the etcher's + art. + </p> + <p> + Fenger hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + “So it's taken you two months, Miss Brandeis. I was awfully afraid, from + the start you made, that you'd be back here in a week, bursting with + ideas.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny smiled, appreciatively. He had come very near the truth. “I had to + use all my self-control, that first week. After that it wasn't so hard.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger's eyes narrowed upon her. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Fanny. She came over to his desk. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we needn't have Mr. Slosson here this morning. After all, he's + been here for years, and I'm practically an upstart. He's so much older, + too. I—I hate to hurt him. I wish you'd—” + </p> + <p> + But Fenger shook his head. “Slosson's due now. And he has got to take his + medicine. This is business, Miss Brandeis. You ought to know what that + means. For that matter, it may be that you haven't hit upon an idea. In + that case, Slosson would have the laugh, wouldn't he?” + </p> + <p> + Slosson entered at that moment. And there was a chip on his shoulder. It + was evident in the way he bristled, in the way he seated himself. His + fingers drummed his knees. He was like a testy, hum-ha stage father + dealing with a willful child. + </p> + <p> + Fenger took out his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Miss Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny took a chair facing the two men, and crossed her trim blue serge + knees, and folded her hands in her lap. A deep pink glowed in her cheeks. + Her eyes were very bright. All the Molly Brandeis in her was at the + surface, sparkling there. And she looked almost insultingly youthful. + </p> + <p> + “You—you want me to talk?” + </p> + <p> + “We want you to talk. We have time for just three-quarters of an hour of + uninterrupted conversation. If you've got anything to say you ought to say + it in that time. Now, Miss Brandeis, what's the trouble with the + Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department?” + </p> + <p> + And Fanny Brandeis took a long breath + </p> + <p> + “The trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department is that it + doesn't understand women. There are millions of babies born every year. An + incredible number of them are mail order babies. I mean by that they are + born to tired, clumsy-fingered immigrant women, to women in mills and + factories, to women on farms, to women in remote villages. They're the + type who use the mail order method. I've learned this one thing about that + sort of woman: she may not want that baby, but either before or after it's + born she'll starve, and save, and go without proper clothing, and even + beg, and steal to give it clothes—clothes with lace on them, with + ribbon on them, sheer white things. I don't know why that's true, but it + is. Well, we're not reaching them. Our goods are unattractive. They're + packed and shipped unattractively. Why, all this department needs is a + little psychology—and some lace that doesn't look as if it had been + chopped out with an ax. It's the little, silly, intimate things that will + reach these women. No, not silly, either. Quite understandable. She wants + fine things for her baby, just as the silver-spoon mother does. The thing + we'll have to do is to give her silver-spoon models at pewter prices.” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be done,” said Slosson. + </p> + <p> + “Now, wait a minute, Slosson,” Fenger put in, smoothly. “Miss Brandeis has + given us a very fair general statement. We'll have some facts. Are you + prepared to give us an actual working plan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. At least, it sounds practical to me. And if it does to you—and + to Mr. Slosson—” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” snorted that gentleman, in expression of defiance, unbelief, and + a determination not to be impressed. + </p> + <p> + It acted as a goad to Fanny. She leaned forward in her chair and talked + straight at the big, potent force that sat regarding her in silent + attention. + </p> + <p> + “I still say that we can copy the high-priced models in low-priced + materials because, in almost every case, it isn't the material that makes + the expensive model; it's the line, the cut, the little trick that gives + it style. We can get that. We've been giving them stuff that might have + been made by prison labor, for all the distinction it had. Then I think we + ought to make a feature of the sanitary methods used in our infants' + department. Every article intended for a baby's use should be wrapped or + boxed as it lies in the bin or on the shelf. And those bins ought to be + glassed. We would advertise that, and it would advertise itself. Our + visitors would talk about it. This department hasn't been getting a square + deal in the catalogue. Not enough space. It ought to have not only more + catalogue space, but a catalogue all its own—the Baby Book. Full of + pictures. Good ones. Illustrations that will make every mother think her + baby will look like that baby, once it is wearing our No. 29E798—chubby + babies, curly-headed, and dimply. And the feature of that catalogue ought + to be, not separate garments, but complete outfits. Outfits boxed, ready + for shipping, and ranging in price all the way from twenty-five dollars to + three-ninety-eight—” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be done!” yelled Slosson. “Three-ninety-eight! Outfits!” + </p> + <p> + “It can be done. I've figured it out, down to a packet of assorted size + safety pins. We'll call it our emergency outfit. Thirty pieces. And while + we're about it, every outfit over five dollars ought to be packed in a + pink or a pale blue pasteboard box. The outfits trimmed in pink, pink + boxes; the outfits trimmed in blue, blue boxes. In eight cases out of ten + their letters will tell us whether it's a pink or blue baby. And when they + get our package, and take out that pink or blue box, they'll be as pleased + as if we'd made them a present. It's the personal note—” + </p> + <p> + “Personal slop!” growled Slosson. “It isn't business. It's sentimental + slush!” + </p> + <p> + “Sentimental, yes,” agreed Fanny pleasantly, “but then, we're running the + only sentimental department in this business. And we ought to be doing it + at the rate of a million and a quarter a year. If you think these last + suggestions sentimental, I'm afraid the next one—” + </p> + <p> + “Let's have it, Miss Brandeis,” Fenger encouraged her quietly. + </p> + <p> + “It's”—she flashed a mischievous smile at Slosson—“it's a + mother's guide and helper, and adviser. A woman who'll answer questions, + give advice. Some one they'll write to, with a picture in their minds of a + large, comfortable, motherly-looking person in gray. You know we get + hundreds of letters asking whether they ought to order flannel bands, or + the double-knitted kind. That sort of thing. And who's been answering + them? Some sixteen-year-old girl in the mailing department who doesn't + know a flannel band from a bootee when she sees it. We could call our + woman something pleasant and everydayish, like Emily Brand. Easy to + remember. And until we can find her, I'll answer those letters myself. + They're important to us as well as to the woman who writes them. And now, + there's the matter of obstetrical outfits. Three grades, packed ready for + shipment, practical, simple, and complete. Our drug section has the + separate articles, but we ought to—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lord!” groaned Slosson, and slumped disgustedly in his seat. + </p> + <p> + But Fenger got up, came over to Fanny, and put a hand on her shoulder for + a moment. He looked down at her. “I knew you'd do it.” He smiled queerly. + “Tell me, where did you learn all this?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” faltered Fanny happily. “Brandeis' Bazaar, perhaps. It's + just another case of plush photograph album.” + </p> + <p> + “Plush—?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny told him that story. Even the discomfited Slosson grinned at it. + </p> + <p> + But after ten minutes more of general discussion Slosson left. Fenger, + without putting it in words, had conveyed that to him. Fanny stayed. They + did things that way at Haynes-Cooper. No waste. No delay. That she had + accomplished in two months that which ordinarily takes years was not + surprising. They did things that way, too, at Haynes-Cooper. Take the case + of Nathan Haynes himself. And Michael Fenger too who, not so many years + before, had been a machine-boy in a Racine woolen mill. + </p> + <p> + For my part, I confess that Fanny Brandeis begins to lose interest for me. + Big Business seems to dwarf the finer things in her. That red-cheeked, + shabby little schoolgirl, absorbed in Zola and peanut brittle in the + Winnebago library, was infinitely more appealing than this glib and + capable young woman. The spitting wildcat of the street fight so long ago + was gentler by far than this cool person who was so deliberately taking + his job away from Slosson. You, too, feel that way about her? That is as + it should be. It is the penalty they pay who, given genius, sympathy, and + understanding as their birthright, trade them for the tawdry trinkets + money brings. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the last five minutes of that conference between Fanny and Michael + Fenger reveals a new side, and presents something of interest. It was a + harrowing and unexpected five minutes. + </p> + <p> + You may remember how Michael Fenger had a way of looking at one, silently. + It was an intent and concentrated gaze that had the effect of an actual + physical hold. Most people squirmed under it. Fanny, feeling it on her + now, frowned and rose to leave. + </p> + <p> + “Shall you want to talk these things over again? Of course I've only + outlined them, roughly. You gave me so little time.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger, at his desk, did not answer, or turn away his gaze. A little blaze + of wrath flamed into Fanny's face. + </p> + <p> + “General manager or not,” she said, very low-voiced, “I wish you wouldn't + sit and glower at me like that. It's rude, and it's disconcerting,” which + was putting it forthrightly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon!” Fenger came swiftly around the desk, and over to her. + “I was thinking very hard. Miss Brandeis, will you dine with me somewhere + tonight? Then to-morrow night? But I want to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am. Talk.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to talk to—you.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Fanny Brandeis saved an ugly situation. For she laughed, + a big, wholesome, outdoors sort of laugh. She was honestly amused. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Fenger, you've been reading the murky magazines. Very bad for + you.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger was unsmiling: “Why won't you dine with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it would be unconventional and foolish. I respect the + conventions. They're so sensible. And because it would be unfair to you, + and to Mrs. Fenger, and to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot! It's you who have the murky magazine viewpoint, as you call it, when + you imply—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Mr. Fenger,” Fanny interrupted, quietly. “Let's be square + with each other, even if we're not being square with ourselves. You're the + real power in this plant, because you've the brains. You can make any + person in this organization, or break them. That sounds melodramatic, but + it's true. I've got a definite life plan, and it's as complete and + detailed as an engineering blue print. I don't intend to let you spoil it. + I've made a real start here. If you want to, I've no doubt you can end it. + But before you do, I want to warn you that I'll make a pretty stiff fight + for it. I'm no silent sufferer. I'll say things. And people usually + believe me when I talk.” + </p> + <p> + Still the silent, concentrated gaze. With a little impatient exclamation + Fanny walked toward the door. Fenger, startlingly light and agile for his + great height, followed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Miss Brandeis, terribly sorry. You see, you interest me very + much. Very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go just yet. Please. I'm not a villain. Really. That is, not a + deliberate villain. But when I find something very fine, very intricate, + very fascinating and complex—like those etchings, for example—I + am intrigued. I want it near me. I want to study it.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny said nothing. But she thought, “This is a dangerously clever man. + Too clever for you. You know so little about them.” Fenger waited. Most + women would have found refuge in words. The wrong words. It is only the + strong who can be silent when in doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will dine with Mrs. Fenger and me at our home some evening? + Mrs. Fenger will speak to you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I'm usually too tired for further effort at the end of the + day. I'm sorry——” + </p> + <p> + “Some Sunday night perhaps, then. Tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” And so out, past the spare secretary, the anxious-browed + stenographer, the academic office boy, to the hallway, the elevator, and + finally the refuge of her own orderly desk. Slosson was at lunch in one of + the huge restaurants provided for employees in the building across the + street. She sat there, very still, for some minutes; for more minutes than + she knew. Her hands were clasped tightly on the desk, and her eyes stared + ahead in a puzzled, resentful, bewildered way. Something inside her was + saying over and over again: + </p> + <p> + “You lied to him on that very first day. That placed you. That stamped + you. Now he thinks you're rotten all the way through. You lied on the very + first day.” + </p> + <p> + Ella Monahan poked her head in at the door. The Gloves were on that floor, + at the far end. The two women rarely saw each other, except at lunch time. + </p> + <p> + “Missed you at lunch,” said Ella Monahan. She was a pink-cheeked, + bright-eyed woman of forty-one or two, prematurely gray and therefore + excessively young in her manner, as women often are who have grown gray + before their time. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stood up, hurriedly. “I was just about to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious.” And strolled off down the aisle + that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though meaning to call her + back. But she must have changed her mind, because she said, “Oh, + nonsense!” aloud. And went across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And + enjoyed it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TEN + </h2> + <p> + The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A thin, querulous + voice over the telephone prepared one for the thin, querulous Mrs. Fenger + herself. A sallow, plaintive woman, with a misbehaving valve. The valve, + she confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also it made her + susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a scarf that was + constantly slipping and constantly being retrieved by Michael Fenger. The + sight of this man, a physical and mental giant, performing this task ever + so gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity through Fanny, as + Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived in an apartment on the + Lake Shore Drive—an apartment such as only Chicago boasts. A view + straight across the lake, rooms huge and many-windowed, a glass-enclosed + sun-porch gay with chintz and wicker, an incredible number of bathrooms. + The guests, besides Fanny, included a young pair, newly married and + interested solely in rents, hangings, linen closets, and the superiority + of the Florentine over the Jacobean for dining room purposes; and a very + scrubbed looking, handsome, spectacled man of thirty-two or three who was + a mechanical engineer. Fanny failed to catch his name, though she learned + it later. Privately, she dubbed him Fascinating Facts, and he always + remained that. His conversation was invariably prefaced with, “Funny thing + happened down at the works to-day.” The rest of it sounded like something + one reads at the foot of each page of a loose-leaf desk calendar. + </p> + <p> + At tea there was a great deal of silver, and lace, but Fanny thought she + could have improved on the chicken a la king. It lacked paprika and + personality. Mrs. Fenger was constantly directing one or the other of the + neat maids in an irritating aside. + </p> + <p> + After tea Michael Fenger showed Fanny his pictures, not boastfully, but as + one who loves them reveals his treasures to an appreciative friend. He + showed her his library, too, and it was the library of a reader. Fanny + nibbled at it, hungrily. She pulled out a book here, a book there, read a + paragraph, skimmed a page. There was no attempt at classification. Lever + rubbed elbows with Spinoza; Mark Twain dug a facetious thumb into + Haeckel's ribs. Fanny wanted to sit down on the floor, legs crossed, + before the open shelves, and read, and read, and read. Fenger, watching + the light in her face, seemed himself to take on a certain glow, as people + generally did who found this girl in sympathy with them. + </p> + <p> + They were deep in book talk when Fascinating Facts strolled in, looking + aggrieved, and spoiled it with the thoroughness of one who never reads, + and is not ashamed of it. + </p> + <p> + “My word, I'm having a rotten time, Fenger,” he said, plaintively. + “They've got a tape-measure out of your wife's sewing basket, those two in + there, and they're down on their hands and knees, measuring something. It + has to do with their rug, over your rug, or some such rot. And then you + take Miss Brandeis and go off into the library.” + </p> + <p> + “Then stay here,” said Fanny, “and talk books.” + </p> + <p> + “My book's a blue-print,” admitted Fascinating Facts, cheerfully. “I never + get time to read. There's enough fiction, and romance, and adventure in my + job to give me all the thrill I want. Why, just last Tuesday—no, + Thursday it was—down at the works——” + </p> + <p> + Between Fanny and Fenger there flashed a look made up of dismay, and + amusement, and secret sympathy. It was a look that said, “We both see the + humor of this. Most people wouldn't. Our angle is the same.” Such a glance + jumps the gap between acquaintance and friendship that whole days of + spoken conversation cannot cover. + </p> + <p> + “Cigar?” asked Fenger, hoping to stay the flood. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks. Say, Fenger, would there be a row if I smoked my pipe?” + </p> + <p> + “That black one? With the smell?” + </p> + <p> + “The black one, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “There would.” Fenger glanced in toward his wife, and smiled, dryly. + Fascinating Facts took his hand out of his pocket, regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it sour a fellow on marriage! Wouldn't it! First those two in + there, with their damned linen closets, and their rugs—I beg your + pardon, Miss Brandeis! And now your missus objects to my pipe. You + wouldn't treat me like that, would you, Miss Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + There was about him something that appealed—something boyish and + likeable. + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn't. I'd let you smoke a nargileh, if you wanted to, + surrounded by rolls of blue prints.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it. I'm going to drive you home for that.” + </p> + <p> + And he did, in his trim little roadster. It is a fairy road at night, that + lake drive between the north and south sides. Even the Rush street bridge + cannot quite spoil it. Fanny sat back luxuriously and let the soft + splendor of the late August night enfold her. She was intelligently + monosyllabic, while Fascinating Facts talked. At the door of her apartment + house (she had left the Mendota weeks before) Fascinating Facts surprised + her. + </p> + <p> + “I—I'd like to see you again, Miss Brandeis. If you'll let me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so busy,” faltered Fanny. Then it came to her that perhaps he did not + know. “I'm with Haynes-Cooper, you know. Assistant buyer in the infants' + wear department.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. I suppose a girl like you couldn't be interested in seeing a + chap like me again, but I thought maybe——” + </p> + <p> + “But I would,” interrupted Fanny, impulsively. “Indeed I would.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! Perhaps you'll drive, some evening. Over to the Bismarck Gardens, + or somewhere. It would rest you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure it would. Suppose you telephone me.” + </p> + <p> + That was her honest, forthright, Winnebago Wisconsin self talking. But up + in her apartment the other Fanny Brandeis, the calculating, ambitious, + determined woman, said: “Now why did I say that! I never want to see the + boy again. + </p> + <p> + “Use him. Experiment with him. Evidently men are going to enter into this + thing. Michael Fenger has, already. And now this boy. Why not try certain + tests with them as we used to follow certain formulae in the chemistry + laboratory at high school? This compound, that compound, what reaction? + Then, when the time comes to apply your knowledge, you'll know.” + </p> + <p> + Which shows how ignorant she was of this dangerous phase of her + experiment. If she had not been, she must have known that these were not + chemicals, but explosives with which she proposed to play. + </p> + <p> + The trouble was that Fanny Brandeis, the creative, was not being fed. And + the creative fire requires fuel. Fanny Brandeis fed on people, not things. + And her work at Haynes-Cooper was all with inanimate objects. The three + months since her coming to Chicago had been crowded and eventful. + Haynes-Cooper claimed every ounce of her energy, every atom of her wit and + resourcefulness. In return it gave—salary. Not too much salary. That + would come later, perhaps. Unfortunately, Fanny Brandeis did not thrive on + that kind of fare. She needed people. She craved contact. All these + millions whom she served—these unseen, unheard men and women, and + children—she wanted to see them. She wanted to touch them. She + wanted to talk with them. It was as though a lover of the drama, eager to + see his favorite actress in her greatest part, were to find himself + viewing her in a badly constructed film play. + </p> + <p> + So Fanny Brandeis took to prowling. There are people who have a penchant + for cities—more than that, a talent for them, a gift of sensing + them, of feeling their rhythm and pulse-beats, as others have a highly + developed music sense, or color reaction. It is a thing that cannot be + acquired. In Fanny Brandeis there was this abnormal response to the color + and tone of any city. And Chicago was a huge, polyglot orchestra, made up + of players in every possible sort of bizarre costume, performing on every + known instrument, leaderless, terrifyingly discordant, yet with an + occasional strain, exquisite and poignant, to be heard through the clamor + and din. + </p> + <p> + A walk along State street (the wrong side) or Michigan avenue at five, or + through one of the city's foreign quarters, or along the lake front at + dusk, stimulated her like strong wine. She was drunk with it. And all the + time she would say to herself, little blind fool that she was: + </p> + <p> + “Don't let it get you. Look at it, but don't think about it. Don't let the + human end of it touch you. There's nothing in it.” + </p> + <p> + And meanwhile she was feasting on those faces in the crowds. Those faces + in the crowds! They seemed to leap out at her. They called to her. So she + sketched them, telling herself that she did it by way of relaxation, and + diversion. One afternoon she left her desk early, and perched herself on + one of the marble benches that lined the sunken garden just across from + the main group of Haynes-Cooper buildings. She wanted to see what happened + when those great buildings emptied. Even her imagination did not meet the + actuality. At 5:30 the streets about the plant were empty, except for an + occasional passerby. At 5:31 there trickled down the broad steps of + building after building thin dark streams of humanity, like the first slow + line of lava that crawls down the side of an erupting volcano. The trickle + broadened into a stream, spread into a flood, became a torrent that + inundated the streets, the sidewalks, filling every nook and crevice, a + moving mass. Ten thousand people! A city! Fanny found herself shaking with + excitement, and something like terror at the immensity of it. She tried to + get a picture of it, a sketch, with the gleaming windows of the red brick + buildings as a background. Amazingly enough, she succeeded in doing it. + That was because she tried for broad effects, and relied on one bit of + detail for her story. It was the face of a girl—a very tired and + tawdry girl, of sixteen, perhaps. On her face the look that the day's work + had stamped there was being wiped gently away by another look; a look that + said release, and a sweetheart, and an evening at the movies. Fanny, in + some miraculous way, got it. + </p> + <p> + She prowled in the Ghetto, and sketched those patient Jewish faces, often + grotesque, sometimes repulsive, always mobile. She wandered down South + Clark street, flaring with purple-white arc-lights, and looked in at its + windows that displayed a pawnbroker's glittering wares, or, just next + door, a flat-topped stove over which a white-capped magician whose face + smacked of the galley, performed deft tricks with a pancake turner. + “Southern chicken dinner,” a lying sign read, “with waffles and real maple + syrup, 35 cents each.” Past these windows promenaded the Clark street + women, hard-eyed, high-heeled, aigretted; on the street corners loafed the + Clark street men, blue-shaven, wearing checked suits, soiled faun-topped + shoes, and diamond scarf pins. And even as she watched them, fascinated, + they vanished. Clark street changed overnight, and became a business + thoroughfare, lined with stately office buildings, boasting marble and + gold-leaf banks, filled with hurrying clerks, stenographers, and + prosperous bond salesmen. It was like a sporting man who, thriving in + middle age, endeavors to live down his shady past. + </p> + <p> + Fanny discovered Cottage Grove avenue, and Halsted street, and Jefferson, + and South State, where she should never have walked. There is an ugliness + about Chicago's ugly streets that, for sheer, naked brutality, is equaled + nowhere in the world. London has its foul streets, smoke-blackened, + sinister. But they are ugly as crime is ugly—and as fascinating. It + is like the ugliness of an old hag who has lived a life, and who could + tell you strange tales, if she would. Walking through them you think of + Fagin, of Children of the Ghetto, of Tales of Mean Streets. Naples is + honeycombed with narrow, teeming alleys, grimed with the sediment of + centuries, colored like old Stilton, and smelling much worse. But where is + there another Cottage Grove avenue! Sylvan misnomer! A hideous street, and + sordid. A street of flat-wheeled cars, of delicatessen shops and moving + picture houses, of clanging bells, of frowsy women, of men who dart around + corners with pitchers, their coat collars turned up to hide the absence of + linen. One day Fanny found herself at Fifty-first street, and there before + her lay Washington Park, with its gracious meadow, its Italian garden, its + rose walk, its lagoon, and drooping willows. But then, that was Chicago. + All contrast. The Illinois Central railroad puffed contemptuous cinders + into the great blue lake. And almost in the shadow of the City Hall + nestled Bath-House John's groggery. + </p> + <p> + Michigan Avenue fascinated her most. Here was a street developing before + one's eyes. To walk on it was like being present at a birth. It is one of + the few streets in the world. New York has two, Paris a hundred, London + none, Vienna one. Berlin, before the war, knew that no one walked Unter + den Linden but American tourists and German shopkeepers from the + provinces, with their fat wives. But this Michigan Boulevard, unfinished + as Chicago itself, shifting and changing daily, still manages to take on a + certain form and rugged beauty. It has about it a gracious breadth. As you + turn into it from the crash and thunder of Wabash there comes to you a + sense of peace. That's the sweep of it, and the lake just beyond, for + Michigan avenue is a one-side street. It's west side is a sheer mountain + wall of office buildings, clubs, and hotels, whose ground floors are + fascinating with specialty shops. A milliner tantalizes the passer-by with + a single hat stuck knowingly on a carved stick. An art store shows two + etchings, and a vase. A jeweler's window holds square blobs of emeralds, + on velvet, and perhaps a gold mesh bag, sprawling limp and invertebrate, + or a diamond and platinum la valliere, chastely barbaric. Past these + windows, from Randolph to Twelfth surges the crowd: matinee girls, all + white fox, and giggles and orchids; wise-eyed saleswomen from the smart + specialty shops, dressed in next week's mode; art students, hugging their + precious flat packages under their arms; immigrants, in corduroys and + shawls, just landed at the Twelfth street station; sightseeing families, + dazed and weary, from Kansas; tailored and sabled Lake Shore Drive + dwellers; convention delegates spilling out of the Auditorium hotel, + red-faced, hoarse, with satin badges pinned on their coats, and their hats + (the wrong kind) stuck far back on their heads; music students to whom + Michigan Avenue means the Fine Arts Building. There you have the west + side. But just across the street the walk is as deserted as though a + pestilence lurked there. Here the Art Institute rears its smoke-blackened + face, and Grant Park's greenery struggles bravely against the poisonous + breath of the Illinois Central engines. + </p> + <p> + Just below Twelfth street block after block shows the solid plate glass of + the automobile shops, their glittering wares displayed against an absurd + background of oriental rugs, Tiffany lamps, potted plants, and mahogany. + In the windows pose the salesmen, no less sleek and glittering than their + wares. Just below these, for a block or two, rows of sinister looking + houses, fallen into decay, with slatternly women lolling at their windows, + and gas jets flaring blue in dim hallways. Below Eighteenth still another + change, where the fat stone mansions of Chicago's old families (save the + mark!) hide their diminished heads behind signs that read: + </p> + <p> + “Marguerite. Robes et Manteaux.” And, “Smolkin. Tailor.” + </p> + <p> + Now, you know that women buyers for mail order houses do not spend their + Saturday afternoons and Sundays thus, prowling about a city's streets. + Fanny Brandeis knew it too, in her heart. She knew that the Ella Monahans + of her world spent their holidays in stayless relaxation, manicuring, + mending a bit, skimming the Sunday papers, massaging crows'-feet somewhat + futilely. She knew that women buyers do not, as a rule, catch their breath + with delight at sight of the pock-marked old Field Columbian museum in + Jackson Park, softened and beautified by the kindly gray chiffon of the + lake mist, and tinted by the rouge of the sunset glow, so that it is a + thing of spectral loveliness. Successful mercantile women, seeing the + furnace glare of the South Chicago steel mills flaring a sullen red + against the lowering sky, do not draw a disquieting mental picture of men + toiling there, naked to the waist, and glistening with sweat in the + devouring heat of the fires. + </p> + <p> + I don't know how she tricked herself. I suppose she said it was the city's + appeal to the country dweller, but she lied, and she knew she was lying. + She must have known it was the spirit of Molly Brandeis in her, and of + Molly Brandeis' mother, and of her mother's mother's mother, down the + centuries to Sarah; repressed women, suffering women, troubled, patient, + nomadic women, struggling now in her for expression. + </p> + <p> + And Fanny Brandeis went doggedly on, buying and selling infants' wear, and + doing it expertly. Her office desk would have interested you. It was so + likely to be littered with the most appealing bits of apparel—a pair + of tiny, crocheted bootees, pink and white; a sturdy linen smock; a silken + hood so small that one's doubled fist filled it. + </p> + <p> + The new catalogue was on the presses. Fanny had slaved over it, hampered + by Slosson. Fenger had given her practically a free hand. Results would + not come in for many days. The Christmas trade would not tell the tale, + for that was always a time of abnormal business. The dull season following + the holiday rush would show the real returns. Slosson was discouragement + itself. His attitude was not resentful; it was pitying, and that + frightened Fanny. She wished that he would storm a little. Then she read + her department catalogue proof sheets, and these reassured her. They were + attractive. And the new baby book had turned out very well, with a colored + cover that would appeal to any one who had ever been or seen a baby. + </p> + <p> + September brought a letter from Theodore. A letter from Theodore meant + just one thing. Fanny hesitated a moment before opening it. She always + hesitated before opening Theodore's letters. While she hesitated the old + struggle would rage in her. + </p> + <p> + “I don't owe him anything,” the thing within her would say. “God knows I + don't. What have I done all my life but give, and give, and give to him! + I'm a woman. He's a man. Let him work with his hands, as I do. He's had + his share. More than his share.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless she had sent him one thousand of the six thousand her mother + had bequeathed to her. She didn't want to do it. She fought doing it. But + she did it. + </p> + <p> + Now, as she held this last letter in her hands, and stared at the Bavarian + stamp, she said to herself: + </p> + <p> + “He wants something. Money. If I send him some I can't have that new + tailor suit, or the furs. And I need them. I'm going to have them.” + </p> + <p> + She tore open the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Old Fan: + </p> + <p> + “Olga and I are back in Munich, as you see. I think we'll be here all + winter, though Olga hates it. She says it isn't lustig. Well, it isn't + Vienna, but I think there's a chance for a class here of American pupils. + Munich's swarming with Americans—whole families who come here to + live for a year or two. I think I might get together a very decent class, + backed by Auer's recommendations. Teaching! Good God, how I hate it! But + Auer is planning a series of twenty concerts for me. They ought to be a + success, if slaving can do it. I worked six hours a day all summer. I + wanted to spend the summer—most of it, that is—in Holzhausen + Am Ammersee, which is a little village, or artist's colony in the valley, + an hour's ride from here, and within sight of the Bavarian Alps. We had + Kurt Stein's little villa for almost nothing. But Olga was bored, and she + wasn't well, poor girl, so we went to Interlaken and it was awful. And + that brings me to what I want to tell you. + </p> + <p> + “There's going to be a baby. No use saying I'm glad, because I'm not, and + neither is Olga. About February, I think. Olga has been simply wretched, + but the doctor says she'll feel better from now on. The truth of it is she + needs a lot of things and I can't give them to her. I told you I'd been + working on this concerto of mine. Sometimes I think it's the real thing, + if only I could get the leisure and the peace of mind I need to work on + it. You don't know what it means to be eaten up with ambition and to be + handicapped.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't I!” said Fanny Brandeis, between her teeth, and crumpled the + letter in her strong fingers. “Don't I!” She got up from her chair and + began to walk up and down her little office, up and down. A man often + works off his feelings thus; a woman rarely. Fenger, who had not been + twice in her office since her coming to the Haynes-Cooper plant, chose + this moment to visit her, his hands full of papers, his head full of + plans. He sensed something wrong at once, as a highly organized human + instrument responds to a similarly constructed one. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong, girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. And don't call me girl.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger saw the letter crushed in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Brother?” She had told him about Theodore and he had been tremendously + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Money again, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but——” + </p> + <p> + “You know your salary's going up, after Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Catalogue or no catalogue?” + </p> + <p> + “Catalogue or no catalogue.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you've earned it.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny faced him squarely. “I know that Haynes-Cooper isn't exactly a + philanthropic institution. A salary raise here usually means a battle. + I've only been here three months.” Fenger seated himself in the chair + beside her desk and ran a cool finger through the sheaf of papers in his + hand. “My dear girl—I beg your pardon. I forgot. My good woman then—if + you like that better—you've transfused red blood into a dying + department. It may suffer a relapse after Christmas, but I don't think so. + That's why you're getting more money, and not because I happen to be + tremendously interested in you, personally.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's face flamed scarlet. “I didn't mean that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes you did. Here are those comparative lists you sent me. If I didn't + know Slosson to be as honest as Old Dog Tray I'd think he had been selling + us to the manufacturers. No wonder this department hasn't paid. He's been + giving 'em top prices for shoddy. Now what's this new plan of yours?” + </p> + <p> + In an instant Fanny forgot about Theodore, the new winter suit and furs, + everything but the idea that was clamoring to be born. She sat at her + desk, her fingers folding and unfolding a bit of paper, her face all light + and animation as she talked. + </p> + <p> + “My idea is to have a person known as a selector for each important + department. It would mean a boiling down of the products of every + manufacturer we deal with, and skimming the cream off the top. As it is + now a department buyer has to do the selecting and buying too. He can't do + both and get results. We ought to set aside an entire floor for the + display of manufacturers' samples. The selector would make his choice + among these, six months in advance of the season. The selector would go to + the eastern markets too, of course. Not to buy. Merely to select. Then, + with the line chosen as far as style, quality, and value is concerned, the + buyer would be free to deal directly with the manufacturer as to quantity, + time, and all that. You know as well as I that that's enough of a job for + any one person, with the labor situation what it is. He wouldn't need to + bother about styles or colors, or any of that. It would all have been done + for him. The selector would have the real responsibility. Don't you see + the simplicity of it, and the way it would grease the entire machinery?” + </p> + <p> + Something very like jealousy came into Michael Fenger's face as he looked + at her. But it was gone in an instant. “Gad! You'll have my job away from + me in two years. You're a super-woman, do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Super nothing! It's just a perfectly good idea, founded on common sense + and economy.” + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m, but that's all Columbus had in mind when he started out to find a + short cut to India.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny laughed out at that. “Yes, but see where he landed!” + </p> + <p> + But Fenger was serious. “We'll have to have a meeting on this. Are you + prepared to go into detail on it, before Mr. Haynes and the two Coopers, + at a real meeting in a real mahogany directors' room? Wednesday, say?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger got up. “Look here, Miss Brandeis. You need a day in the country. + Why don't you run up to your home town over Sunday? Wisconsin, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! No. I mean yes it was Wisconsin, but no I don't want to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let me send you my car.” + </p> + <p> + “Car! No, thanks. That's not my idea of the country.” + </p> + <p> + “It was just a suggestion. What do you call going to the country, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Tramping all day, and getting lost, if possible. Lying down under a tree + for hours, and letting the ants amble over you. Dreaming. And coming back + tired, hungry, dusty, and refreshed.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds awfully uncomfortable. But I wish you'd try it, this week.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I look such a wreck?” Fanny demanded, rather pettishly. + </p> + <p> + “You!” Fenger's voice was vibrant. “You're the most splendidly alive + looking woman I ever saw. When you came into my office that first day you + seemed to spark with health, and repressed energy, and electricity, so + that you radiated them. People who can do that, stimulate. That's what you + are to me—a stimulant.” + </p> + <p> + What can one do with a man who talks like that? After all, what he said + was harmless enough. His tone was quietly sincere. One can't resent an + expression of the eyes. Then, too, just as she made up her mind to be + angry she remembered the limp and querulous Mrs. Fenger, and the valve and + the scarf. And her anger became pity. There flashed back to her the + illuminating bit of conversation with which Fascinating Facts had regaled + her on the homeward drive that night of the tea. + </p> + <p> + “Nice chap, Fenger. And a wiz in business. Get's a king's salary; Must be + hell for a man to be tied, hand and foot, the way he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Tied?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Fenger's a semi-invalid. At that I don't believe she's as helpless + as she seems. I think she just holds him by that shawl of hers, that's + forever slipping. You know he was a machine boy in her father's woolen + mill. She met him after he'd worked his way up to an office job. He has + forged ahead like a locomotive ever since.” + </p> + <p> + That had been their conversation, gossipy, but tremendously enlightening + for Fanny. She looked up at him now. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the vacation suggestion. I may go off somewhere. Just a + last-minute leap. It usually turns out better, that way. I'll be ready for + the Wednesday discussion.” + </p> + <p> + She sounded very final and busy. The crumpled letter lay on her desk. She + smoothed it out, and the crumple transferred itself to her forehead. + Fenger stood a moment, looking down at her. Then he turned, abruptly and + left the office. Fanny did not look up. + </p> + <p> + That was Friday. On Saturday her vacation took a personally conducted + turn. She had planned to get away at noon, as most office heads did on + Saturday, during the warm weather. When her 'phone rang at eleven she + answered it mechanically as does one whose telephone calls mean a row with + a tardy manufacturer, an argument with a merchandise man, or a catalogue + query from the printer's. + </p> + <p> + The name that came to her over the telephone conveyed nothing to her. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” Again the name. “Heyl?” She repeated the name uncertainly. “I'm + afraid I—O, of course! Clarence Heyl. Howdy-do.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to see you,” said the voice, promptly. + </p> + <p> + There rose up in Fanny's mind a cruelly clear picture of the little, + sallow, sniveling school boy of her girlhood. The little boy with the big + glasses and the shiny shoes, and the weak lungs. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” she replied, promptly, “but I'm afraid it's impossible. I'm + leaving the office early, and I'm swamped.” Which was a lie. + </p> + <p> + “This evening?” + </p> + <p> + “I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Too tired to drive?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + A brief silence. Then, “I'm coming out there to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl. I'm terribly sorry, + but I can't——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you it will be over + your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him. I'm coming. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!” + </p> + <p> + A jiggling of the hook. “Number, please?” droned the voice of the + operator. + </p> + <p> + Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her work, lips + compressed, a frown forming a double cleft between her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in his card, as + she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that it was the wrong kind of + card. She would show him what happened to pushers who pestered business + women during office hours. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him in in twenty minutes,” she said, grimly. Her office boy (and + slave) always took his cue from her. She hoped he wouldn't be too rude to + Heyl, and turned back to her work again. Thirty-nine seconds later + Clarence Heyl walked in. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Fan!” he said, and had her limp hand in a grip that made her + wince. + </p> + <p> + “But I told——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But he's a crushed and broken office boy by now. I had to be + real harsh with him.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny stood up, really angry now. She looked up at Clarence Heyl, and her + eyes were flashing. Clarence Heyl looked down at her, and his eyes were + the keenest, kindest, most gently humorous eyes she had ever encountered. + You know that picture of Lincoln that shows us his eyes with much that + expression in them? That's as near as I can come to conveying to you the + whimsical pathos in this man. They were the eyes of a lonely little boy + grown up. And they had seen much in the process. + </p> + <p> + Fanny felt her little blaze of anger flicker and die. + </p> + <p> + “That's the girl,” said Heyl, and patted her hand. “You'll like me—presently. + After you've forgotten about that sniveling kid you hated.” He stepped + back a pace and threw back his coat senatorially. “How do I look?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Look?” repeated Fanny, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “I've been hours preparing for this. Years! And now something tells me—This + tie, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny bit her lip in a vain effort to retain her solemnity. Then she gave + it up and giggled, frankly. “Well, since you ask me, that tie!——” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with it?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny giggled again. “It's red, that's what.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it! Red's all right. I've always considered red one of our + leading colors.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't wear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't! Why can't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you're the brunest kind of brunette. And dark people have a + special curse hanging over them that makes them want to wear red. It's + fatal. That tie makes you look like a Mafia murderer dressed for + business.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” groaned Heyl. “Something told me.” He sank into a chair at + the side of her desk, a picture of mock dejection. “And I chose it. + Deliberately. I had black ones, and blue ones, and green ones. And I chose—this.” + He covered his face with a shaking hand. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis leaned back in her chair, and laughed, and laughed, and + laughed. Surely she hadn't laughed like that in a year at least. + </p> + <p> + “You're a madman,” she said, finally. + </p> + <p> + At that Heyl looked up with his singularly winning smile. “But different. + Concede that, Fanny. Be fair, now. Refreshingly different.” + </p> + <p> + “Different,” said Fanny, “doesn't begin to cover it. Well, now you're + here, tell me what you're doing here.” + </p> + <p> + “Seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean here, in Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. I'm on my way from Winnebago to New York, and I'm in Chicago to + see Fanny Brandeis.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't expect me to believe that.” + </p> + <p> + Heyl put an arm on Fanny's desk and learned forward, his face very + earnest. “I do expect you to believe it. I expect you to believe + everything I say to you. Not only that, I expect you not to be surprised + at anything I say. I've done such a mass of private thinking about you in + the last ten years that I'm likely to forget I've scarcely seen you in + that time. Just remember, will you, that like the girl in the sob song, + `You made me what I am to-day?'” + </p> + <p> + “I! You're being humorous again.” + </p> + <p> + “Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly, sickly little boy + you fought for in the street, that day in Winnebago, showed every sign of + growing up a cowardly, sickly man. You're the real reason for his not + doing so. Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, I guess. + Sickly ones are apt to be. I worshiped you and hated you from that day. + Worshiped you for the blazing, generous, whole-souled little devil of a + spitfire that you were. Hated you because—well, what boy wouldn't + hate a girl who had to fight for him. Gosh! It makes me sick to think of + it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense! I'd forgotten all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “No you hadn't. Tell me, what flashed into your mind when you saw me in + Temple that night before you left Winnebago? The truth, now.” + </p> + <p> + She learned, later, that people did not lie to him. She tried it now, and + found herself saying, rather shamefacedly, “I thought `Why, it's Clarence + Heyl, the Cowardy-Cat!'” + </p> + <p> + “There! That's why I'm here to-day. I knew you were thinking that. I knew + it all the time I was in Colorado, growing up from a sickly kid, with a + bum lung, to a heap big strong man. It forced me to do things I was afraid + to do. It goaded me on to stunts at the very thought of which I'd break + out in a clammy sweat. Don't you see how I'll have to turn handsprings in + front of you, like the school-boy in the McCutcheon cartoon? Don't you see + how I'll have to flex my muscles—like this—to show you how + strong I am? I may even have to beat you, eventually. Why, child, I've + chummed with lions, and bears, and wolves, and everything, because of you, + you little devil in the red cap! I've climbed unclimbable mountains. I've + frozen my feet in blizzards. I've wandered for days on a mountain top, + lost, living on dried currants and milk chocolate,—and Lord! how I + hate milk chocolate! I've dodged snowslides, and slept in trees; I've + endured cold, and hunger and thirst, through you. It took me years to get + used to the idea of passing a timber wolf without looking around, but I + learned to do it—because of you. You made me. They sent me to + Colorado, a lonely kid, with a pretty fair chance of dying, and I would + have, if it hadn't been for you. There! How's that for a burst of speech, + young woman! And wait a minute. Remember, too, my name was Clarence. I had + that to live down.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was staring at him eyes round, lips parted. “But why?” she said, + faintly. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Heyl smiled that singularly winning smile of his. “Since you force me to + it, I think I'm in love with that little, warm-hearted spitfire in the red + cap. That's why.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny sat forward now. She had been leaning back in her chair, her hands + grasping its arms, her face a lovely, mobile thing, across which laughter, + and pity, and sympathy and surprise rippled and played. It hardened now, + and set. She looked down at her hands, and clasped them in her lap, then + up at him. “In that case, you can forsake the strenuous life with a free + conscience. You need never climb another mountain, or wrestle with another—er—hippopotamus. + That little girl in the red cap is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She died a year ago. If the one who has taken her place were to pass + you on the street today, and see you beset by forty thieves, she'd not + even stop. Not she. She'd say, `Let him fight it out alone. It's none of + your business. You've got your own fights to handle.'” + </p> + <p> + “Why—Fanny. You don't mean that, do you? What could have made her + like that?” + </p> + <p> + “She just discovered that fighting for others didn't pay. She just + happened to know some one else who had done that all her life and—it + killed her.” + </p> + <p> + “Her mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + A little silence. “Fanny, let's play outdoors tomorrow, will you? All + day.” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily Fanny glanced around the room. Papers, catalogues, files, + desk, chair, typewriter. “I'm afraid I've forgotten how.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll teach you. You look as if you could stand a little of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be a pretty sight. You're the second man to tell me that in two + days.” + </p> + <p> + Heyl leaned forward a little. “That so? Who's the other one?” + </p> + <p> + “Fenger, the General Manager.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I don't know what he + had in mind, but you're going to spend Sunday at the dunes of Indiana with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dunes? Of Indiana?” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In September that + combination of yellow sand, and blue lake, and the woods beyond is—well, + you'll see what it is. It's only a little more than an hour's ride by + train. And it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, Fan.” He + stood up. “I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, or thereabouts. + That's early for Sunday, but it's going to be worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to. I——” + </p> + <p> + “I promise not to lecture on Nature, if that's what's worrying you.” He + took her hand in a parting grip. “Bring some sandwiches, will you? Quite a + lot of 'em. I'll have some other stuff in my rucksack. And wear some + clothes you don't mind wrecking. I suppose you haven't got a red tam o' + shanter?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, no!” + </p> + <p> + “I just thought it might help to keep me humble.” He was at the door, and + so was she, somehow, her hand still in his. “Eight o'clock. How do you + stand it in this place, Fan? Oh, well—I'll find that out to-morrow. + Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny went back to her desk and papers. The room seemed all at once + impossibly stuffy, her papers and letters dry, meaningless things. In the + next office, separated from her by a partition half glass, half wood, she + saw the top of Slosson's bald head as he stood up to shut his + old-fashioned roll-top desk. He was leaving. She looked out of the window. + Ella Monahan, in hat and suit, passed and came back to poke her head in + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Run along!” she said. “It's Saturday afternoon. You'll work overtime + enough when the Christmas rush begins. Come on, child, and call it a day!” + </p> + <p> + And Fanny gathered papers, figures, catalogue proofs into a glorious heap, + thrust them into a drawer, locked the drawer, pushed back her chair, and + came. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ELEVEN + </h2> + <p> + Fanny told herself, before she went to bed Saturday night, that she hoped + it would rain Sunday morning from seven to twelve. But when Princess woke + her at seven-thirty, as per instructions left in penciled scrawl on the + kitchen table, she turned to the window at once, and was glad, somehow, to + find it sun-flooded. Princess, if you're mystified, was royal in name only—a + biscuit-tinted lady, with a very black and no-account husband whose habits + made it necessary for Princess to let herself into Fanny's four-room flat + at seven every morning, and let herself out at eight every evening. She + had an incredibly soft and musical voice, had Princess, and a cooking + hand. She kept Fanny mended, fed and comfortable, and her only cross was + that Fanny's taste in blouses (ultimately her property) ran to the severe + and tailored. + </p> + <p> + “Mawnin', Miss Fanny. There's a gep'mun waitin' to see yo'.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny choked on a yawn. “A what!” + </p> + <p> + “Gep'mun. Says yo-all goin' picnickin'. He's in the settin' room, + a-lookin' at yo' pictchah papahs. Will Ah fry yo' up a li'l chicken to + pack along? San'wiches ain't no eatin' fo' Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny flung back her covers, swung around to the side of the bed, and + stood up, all, seemingly, in one sweeping movement. “Do you mean to tell + me he's in there, now?” + </p> + <p> + From the sitting room. “I think I ought to tell you I can hear everything + you're saying. Say. Fanny, those sketches of yours are——Why, + Gee Whiz! I didn't know you did that kind of thing. This one here, with + that girl's face in the crowd——” + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake!” Fanny demanded, “what are you doing here at + seven-thirty? And I don't allow people to look at those sketches. You said + eight-thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you'd change your mind, or something. Besides, it's now + twenty-two minutes to eight. And will you tell the lady that's a wonderful + idea about the chicken? Only she'd better start now.” + </p> + <p> + Goaded by time bulletins shouted through the closed door, Fanny found + herself tubbed, clothed, and ready for breakfast by eight-ten. When she + opened the door Clarence was standing in the center of her little sitting + room, waiting, a sheaf of loose sketches in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Say, look here! These are the real thing. Why, they're great! They get + you. This old geezer with the beard, selling fish and looking like one of + the Disciples. And this. What the devil are you doing in a mail order + house, or whatever it is? Tell me that! When you can draw like this!” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said Fanny, calmly. “And I'll tell you nothing before + breakfast. The one thing that interests me this moment is hot coffee. Will + you have some breakfast? Oh, well, a second one won't hurt you. You must + have got up at three, or thereabouts.” She went toward the tiny kitchen. + “Never mind, Princess. I'll wait on myself. You go on with that chicken.” + </p> + <p> + Princess was the kind of person who can fry a chicken, wrap it in cool, + crisp lettuce leaves, box it, cut sandwiches, and come out of the process + with an unruffled temper and an immaculate kitchen. Thanks to her, Fanny + and Heyl found themselves on the eight fifty-three train, bound for the + dunes. + </p> + <p> + Clarence swung his rucksack up to the bundle rack. He took off his cap, + and stuffed it into his pocket. He was grinning like a schoolboy. Fanny + turned from the window and smiled at what she saw in his face. At that he + gave an absurd little bounce in his place, like an overgrown child, and + reached over and patted her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've dreamed of this for years.” + </p> + <p> + “You're just fourteen, going on fifteen,” Fanny reproved him. + </p> + <p> + “I know it. And it's great! Won't you be, too? Forget you're a fair + financier, or whatever they call it. Forget you earn more in a month than + I do in six. Relax. Unbend. Loosen up. Don't assume that hardshell air + with me. Just remember that I knew you when the frill of your panties + showed below your skirt.” + </p> + <p> + “Clarence Heyl!” + </p> + <p> + But he was leaning past her, and pointing out of the window. “See that + curtain of smoke off there? That's the South Chicago, and the Hammond and + Gary steel mills. Wait till you see those smokestacks against the sky, and + the iron scaffoldings that look like giant lacework, and the slag heaps, + and the coal piles, and those huge, grim tanks. Gad! It's awful and + beautiful. Like the things Pennell does.” “I came out here on the street + car one day,” said Fanny, quietly. “One Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “You did!” He stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “It was hot, and they were all spilling out into the street. You know, the + women in wrappers, just blobs of flesh trying to get cool. And the young + girls in their pink silk dresses and white shoes, and the boys on the + street corners, calling to them. Babies all over the sidewalks and + streets, and the men who weren't in the mills—you know how they look + in their Sunday shirtsleeves, with their flat faces, and high cheekbones, + and their great brown hands with the broken nails. Hunkies. Well, at five + the motor cars began whizzing by from the country roads back to Chicago. + You have to go back that way. Just then the five o'clock whistles blew and + the day shift came off. There was a great army of them, clumping down the + road the way they do. Their shoulders were slack, and their lunch pails + dangled, empty, and they were wet and reeking with sweat. The motor cars + were full of wild phlox and daisies and spiderwort.” + </p> + <p> + Clarence was still turned sideways, looking at her. “Get a picture of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I tried, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you usually spend your Sundays?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—I like snooping about.” + </p> + <p> + “M-m,” mused Clarence. Then, “How's business, Fanny?” + </p> + <p> + “Business?” You could almost feel her mind jerk back. “Oh, let's not talk + about business on Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” said Clarence, enigmatically. “Now listen to me, Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll listen,” interrupted she, “if you'll talk about yourself. I want to + know what you're doing, and why you're going to New York. What business + can a naturalist have in New York, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't intend to be a naturalist. You can tell that by looking at me. + But you can't have your very nose rubbed up against trees, and rocks, and + mountains, and snow for years and years without learning something about + 'em. There were whole weeks when I hadn't anything to chum with but a + timber-line pine and an odd assortment of mountain peaks. We just had to + get acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're going back, aren't you? Don't they talk about the spell of the + mountains, or some such thing?” “They do. And they're right. And I've got + to have them six months in the year, at least. But I'm going to try + spending the other six in the bosom of the human race. Not only that, I'm + going to write about it. Writing's my job, really. At least, it's the + thing I like best.” + </p> + <p> + “Nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Human nature. I went out to Colorado just a lonesome little kid with a + bum lung. The lung's all right, but I never did quite get over the other. + Two years ago, in the mountains, I met Carl Lasker, who owns the New York + Star. It's said to be the greatest morning paper in the country. Lasker's + a genius. And he fries the best bacon I ever tasted. I took him on a + four-weeks' horseback trip through the mountains. We got pretty well + acquainted. At the end of it he offered me a job. You see, I'd never seen + a chorus girl, or the Woolworth building, or a cabaret, or a broiled + lobster, or a subway. But I was interested and curious about all of them. + And Lasker said, `A man who can humanize a rock, or a tree, or a chipmunk + ought to be able to make even those things seem human. You've got what + they call the fresh viewpoint. New York's full of people with a scum over + their eyes, but a lot of them came to New York from Winnebago, or towns + just like it, and you'd be surprised at the number of them who still get + their home town paper. One day, when I came into Lee Kohl's office, with + stars, and leading men, and all that waiting outside to see him, he was + sitting with his feet on the desk reading the Sheffield, Illinois, + Gazette.' You see, the thing he thinks I can do is to give them a picture + of New York as they used to see it, before they got color blind. A column + or so a day, about anything that hits me. How does that strike you as a + job for a naturalist?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a job for a human naturalist. I think you'll cover it.” + </p> + <p> + If you know the dunes, which you probably don't, you know why they did not + get off at Millers, with the crowd, but rode on until they were free of + the Sunday picnickers. Then they got off, and walked across the tracks, + past saloons, and a few huddled houses, hideous in yellow paint, and on, + and on down a road that seemed endless. A stretch of cinders, then dust, a + rather stiff little hill, a great length of yellow sand and—the + lake! We say, the lake! like that, with an exclamation point after it, + because it wasn't at all the Lake Michigan that Chicagoans know. This vast + blue glory bore no relation to the sullen, gray, turbid thing that the + city calls the lake. It was all the blues of which you've ever heard, and + every passing cloud gave it a new shade. Sapphire. No, cobalt. No, that's + too cold. Mediterranean. Turquoise. And the sand in golden contrast. Miles + of sand along the beach, and back of that the dunes. Now, any dictionary + or Scotchman will tell you that a dune is a hill of loose sand. But these + dunes are done in American fashion, lavishly. Mountains of sand, as far as + the eye can see, and on the top of them, incredibly, great pine trees that + clutch at their perilous, shifting foothold with frantic root-toes. And + behind that, still more incredibly, the woods, filled with wild flowers, + with strange growths found nowhere else in the whole land, with trees, and + vines, and brush, and always the pungent scent of the pines. And there you + have the dunes—blue lake, golden sand-hills, green forest, in one. + </p> + <p> + Fanny and Clarence stood there on the sand, in silence, two ridiculously + diminutive figures in that great wilderness of beauty. I wish I could get + to you, somehow, the clear sparkle of it, the brilliance of it, and yet + the peace of it. They stood there a long while, those two, without + speaking. Then Fanny shut her eyes, and I think her lower lip trembled + just a little. And Clarence patted her hand just twice. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,” he said, “in the name of that much-abused lady known as + Nature.” + </p> + <p> + Said Fanny, “I want to scramble up to the top of one of those dunes—the + high one—and just sit there.” + </p> + <p> + And that is what they did. A poor enough Sunday, I suppose, in the minds + of those of you who spend yours golfing at the club, or motoring along + grease-soaked roads that lead to a shore dinner and a ukulele band. But it + turned Fanny Brandeis back a dozen years or more, so that she was again + the little girl whose heart had ached at sight of the pale rose and, + orange of the Wisconsin winter sunsets. She forgot all about layettes, and + obstetrical outfits, and flannel bands, and safety pins; her mind was a + blank in the matter of bootees, and catalogues, and our No. 29E8347, and + those hungry bins that always yawned for more. She forgot about Michael + Fenger, and Theodore, and the new furs. They scrambled up dunes, digging + into the treacherous sand with heels, toes, and the side of the foot, and + clutching at fickle roots with frantic fingers. Forward a step, and back + two—that's dune climbing. A back-breaking business, unless you're + young and strong, as were these two. They explored the woods, and Heyl had + a fascinating way of talking about stones and shrubs and trees as if they + were endowed with human qualities—as indeed they were for him. They + found a hill-slope carpeted with dwarf huckleberry plants, still bearing + tiny clusters of the blue-black fruit. Fanny's heart was pounding, her + lungs ached, her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes shining. Heyl, + steel-muscled, took the hills like a chamois. Once they crossed hands atop + a dune and literally skated down it, right, left, right, left, shrieking + with laughter, and ending in a heap at the bottom. “In the name of all + that's idiotic!” shouted Heyl. “Silk stockings! What in thunder made you + wear silk stockings! At the sand dunes! Gosh!” + </p> + <p> + They ate their dinner in olympic splendor, atop a dune. Heyl produced + unexpected things from the rucksack—things that ranged all the way + from milk chocolate to literature, and from grape juice to cigarettes. + They ate ravenously, but at Heyl's thrifty suggestion they saved a few + sandwiches for the late afternoon. It was he, too, who made a little + bonfire of papers, crusts, and bones, as is the cleanly habit of your true + woodsman. Then they stretched out, full length, in the noon sun, on the + warm, clean sand. + </p> + <p> + “What's your best price on one-sixth doz. flannel vests?” inquired Heyl. + </p> + <p> + And, “Oh, shut up!” said Fanny, elegantly. Heyl laughed as one who hugs a + secret. + </p> + <p> + “We'll work our way down the beach,” he announced, “toward Millers. + There'll be northern lights to-night; did you know that? Want to stay and + see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I want to! I won't go home till I have.” + </p> + <p> + These were the things they did on that holiday; childish, happy, tiring + things, such as people do who love the outdoors. + </p> + <p> + The charm of Clarence Heyl—for he had charm—is difficult to + transmit. His lovableness and appeal lay in his simplicity. It was not so + much what he said as in what he didn't say. He was staring unwinkingly now + at the sunset that had suddenly burst upon them. His were the eyes of one + accustomed to the silent distances. + </p> + <p> + “Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that color?” said Fanny, + her face toward the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more subdued, + myself.” They were atop a dune, and he stretched himself flat on the sand, + still keeping his bright brown eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat up, + excitedly. “Heh, try that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing. Like + this. Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in. And you + can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a balloon on a string.” + </p> + <p> + They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the orange faded + to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to mauve, to gray. The first + pale star came out, and the brazen lights of Gary, far to the north, + defied it. Fanny sat up with a sigh and a little shiver. + </p> + <p> + “Fasten up that sweater around your throat,” said Heyl. “Got a pin?” They + munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by now, and drank the last of the + grape juice. “We'll have a bite of hot supper in town, at a restaurant + that doesn't mind Sunday trampers. Come on, Fan. We'll start down the + beach until the northern lights begin to show.” + </p> + <p> + “It's been the most accommodating day,” murmured Fanny. “Sunshine, sunset, + northern lights, everything. If we were to demand a rainbow and an eclipse + they'd turn those on, too.” + </p> + <p> + They started to walk down the beach in the twilight, keeping close to the + water's edge where the sand was moist and firm. It was hard going. They + plunged along arm in arm, in silence. Now and again they stopped, with one + accord, and looked out over the great gray expanse that lay before them, + and then up at the hills and the pines etched in black against the sky. + Nothing competitive here, Fanny thought, and took a deep breath. She + thought of to-morrow's work, with day after to-morrow's biting and + snapping at its heels. + </p> + <p> + Clarence seemed to sense her thoughts. “Doesn't this make you feel you + want to get away from those damned bins that you're forever feeding? I + watched those boys for a minute, the other day, outside your office. + Jove!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny dug a heel into the sand, savagely. “Some days I feel that I've got + to walk out of the office, and down the street, without a hat, and on, and + on, walking and walking, and running now and then, till I come to the + horizon. That's how I feel, some days.” + </p> + <p> + “Then some day, Fanny, that feeling will get too strong for you, and + you'll do it. Now listen to me. Tuck this away in your subconscious mind, + and leave it there until you need it. When that time comes get on a train + for Denver. From Denver take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky + Mountains, and they're your destination, because that's where the horizon + lives and has its being. When you get there ask for Heyl's place. They'll + just hand you from one to the other, gently, until you get there. I may be + there, but more likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a + string. You'll find a fire already laid, in the fireplace, with fat pine + knots that will blaze up at the touch of a match. My books are there, + along the walls. The bedding's in the cedar chest, and the lamps are + filled. There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And the mountains are there, + girl, to make you clean and whole again. And the pines that are nature's + prophylactic brushes. And the sky. And peace. That sounds like a railway + folder, but it's true. I know.” They trudged along in silence for a little + while. “Got that?” + </p> + <p> + “M-m,” replied Fanny, disinterestedly, without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + Heyl's jaw set. You could see the muscles show white for an instant. Then + he said: “It has been a wonderful day, Fanny, but you haven't told me a + thing about yourself. I'd like to know about your work. I'd like to know + what you're doing; what your plan is. You looked so darned definite up + there in that office. Whom do you play with? And who's this Fenger—wasn't + that the name?—who saw that you looked tired?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Clancy. I'll tell you all about it,” Fanny agreed, briskly. + </p> + <p> + “All right—who!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't call you Clarence. It doesn't fit. So just for the rest of + the day let's make it Clancy, even if you do look like one of the minor + Hebrew prophets, minus the beard.” + </p> + <p> + And so she began to tell him of her work and her aims. I think that she + had been craving just this chance to talk. That which she told him was, + unconsciously, a confession. She told him of Theodore and his marriage; of + her mother's death; of her coming to Haynes-Cooper, and the changes she + had brought about there. She showed him the infinite possibilities for + advancement there. Slosson she tossed aside. Then, rather haltingly, she + told him of Fenger, of his business genius, his magnetic qualities, of his + career. She even sketched a deft word-picture of the limp and irritating + Mrs. Fenger. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Fenger in love with you?” asked Heyl, startlingly. + </p> + <p> + Fanny recoiled at the idea with a primness that did credit to Winnebago. + </p> + <p> + “Clancy! Please! He's married.” + </p> + <p> + “Now don't sneak, Fanny. And don't talk like an ingenue. So far, you've + outlined a life-plan that makes Becky Sharp look like a cooing dove. So + just answer this straight, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I suppose I attract him, as any man of his sort, with a wife like + that, would be attracted to a healthily alert woman, whose ideas match + his. And I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that. It hurts.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. I was afraid you'd passed that stage. Well now, how + about those sketches of yours? I suppose you know that they're as good, in + a crude, effective sort of way, as anything that's being done to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense!” But then she stopped, suddenly, and put both hands on his + arm, and looked up at him, her face radiant in the gray twilight. “Do you + really think they're good!” + </p> + <p> + “You bet they're good. There isn't a newspaper in the country that + couldn't use that kind of stuff. And there aren't three people in the + country who can do it. It isn't a case of being able to draw. It's being + able to see life in a peculiar light, and to throw that light so that + others get the glow. Those sketches I saw this morning are life, served up + raw. That's your gift, Fanny. Why the devil don't you use it!” + </p> + <p> + But Fanny had got herself in hand again. “It isn't a gift,” she said, + lightly. “It's just a little knack that amuses me. There's no money in it. + Besides, it's too late now. One's got to do a thing superlatively, + nowadays, to be recognized. I don't draw superlatively, but I do handle + infants' wear better than any woman I know. In two more years I'll be + getting ten thousand a year at Haynes-Cooper. In five years——” + </p> + <p> + “Then what?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's hands became fists, gripping the power she craved. “Then I shall + have arrived. I shall be able to see the great and beautiful things of + this world, and mingle with the people who possess them.” + </p> + <p> + “When you might be making them yourself, you little fool. Don't glare at + me like that. I tell you that those pictures are the real expression of + you. That's why you turn to them as relief from the shop grind. You can't + help doing them. They're you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can stop if I want to. They amuse me, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't stop. It's in your blood. It's the Jew in you.” + </p> + <p> + “The——Here, I'll show you. I won't do another sketch for a + year. I'll prove to you that my ancestors' religion doesn't influence my + work, or my play.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, you can't prove that, because the contrary has been proven long + ago. You yourself proved it when you did that sketch of the old fish + vender in the Ghetto. The one with the beard. It took a thousand years of + suffering and persecution and faith to stamp that look on his face, and it + took a thousand years to breed in you the genius to see it, and put it + down on paper. Fan, did you ever read Fishberg's book?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Fanny, low-voiced. + </p> + <p> + “Sometime, when you can snatch a moment from the fascinations of the mail + order catalogue, read it. Fishberg says—I wish I could remember his + exact words—`It isn't the body that marks the Jew. It's his Soul. + The type is not anthropological, or physical; it's social or psychic. It + isn't the complexion, the nose, the lips, the head. It's his Soul which + betrays his faith. Centuries of Ghetto confinement, ostracism, ceaseless + suffering, have produced a psychic type. The thing that is stamped on the + Soul seeps through the veins and works its way magically to the face——'” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to talk about souls! Please! You're spoiling a wonderful + day.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're spoiling a wonderful life. I don't object to this driving + ambition in you. I don't say that you're wrong in wanting to make a place + for yourself in the world. But don't expect me to stand by and let you + trample over your own immortal soul to get there. Your head is busy enough + on this infants' wear job, but how about the rest of you—how about + You? What do you suppose all those years of work, and suppression, and + self-denial, and beauty-hunger there in Winnebago were meant for! Not to + develop the mail order business. They were given you so that you might + recognize hunger, and suppression, and self-denial in others. The light in + the face of that girl in the crowd pouring out of the plant. What's that + but the reflection of the light in you! I tell you, Fanny, we Jews have + got a money-grubbing, loud-talking, diamond-studded, + get-there-at-any-price reputation, and perhaps we deserve it. But every + now and then, out of the mass of us, one lifts his head and stands erect, + and the great white light is in his face. And that person has suffered, + for suffering breeds genius. It expands the soul just as over-prosperity + shrivels it. You see it all the way from Lew Fields to Sarah Bernhardt; + from Mendelssohn to Irving Berlin; from Mischa Elman to Charlie Chaplin. + You were a person set apart in Winnebago. Instead of thanking your God for + that, you set out to be something you aren't. No, it's worse than that. + You're trying not to be what you are. And it's going to do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried Fanny. “My head's whirling. It sounds like something out of + `Alice in Wonderland.'” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” retorted Heyl, “sound like some one who's afraid to talk or + think about herself. You're suppressing the thing that is you. You're + cutting yourself off from your own people—a dramatic, impulsive, + emotional people. By doing those things you're killing the goose that lays + the golden egg. What's that old copy-book line? `To thine own self be + true,' and the rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; like Theodore, for example,” sneered Fanny. + </p> + <p> + At which unpleasant point Nature kindly supplied a diversion. Across the + black sky there shot two luminous shafts of lights. Northern lights, pale + sisters of the chromatic glory one sees in the far north, but still + weirdly beautiful. Fanny and Heyl stopped short, faces upturned. The + ghostly radiance wavered, expanded, glowed palely, like celestial + searchlights. Suddenly, from the tip of each shaft, there burst a cluster + of slender, pin-point lines, like aigrettes set in a band of silver. Then + these slowly wavered, faded, combined to form a third and fourth slender + shaft of light. It was like the radiance one sees in the old pictures of + the Holy Family. Together Fanny and Heyl watched it in silence until the + last pale glimmer faded and was gone, and only the brazen lights of Gary, + far, far down the beach, cast a fiery glow against the sky. + </p> + <p> + They sighed, simultaneously. Then they laughed, each at the other. + </p> + <p> + “Curtain,” said Fanny. They raced for the station, despite the sand. Their + car was filled with pudgy babies lying limp in parental arms; with lunch + baskets exuding the sickly scent of bananas; with disheveled vandals whose + moist palms grasped bunches of wilted wild flowers. Past the belching + chimneys of Gary, through South Chicago, the back yard of a metropolis, + past Jackson Park that breathed coolly upon them, and so to the city + again. They looked at it with the shock that comes to eyes that have + rested for hours on long stretches of sand and sky and water. Monday, that + had seemed so far away, became an actuality of to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Tired as they were, they stopped at one of those frank little restaurants + that brighten Chicago's drab side streets. Its windows were full of pans + that held baked beans, all crusty and brown, and falsely tempting, and of + baked apples swimming in a pool of syrup. These flanked by ketchup bottles + and geometrical pyramids of golden grape-fruit. + </p> + <p> + Coffee and hot roast beef sandwiches, of course, in a place like that. + “And,” added Fanny, “one of those baked apples. Just to prove they can't + be as good as they look.” + </p> + <p> + They weren't, but she was too hungry to care. Not too hungry, though, to + note with quick eye all that the little restaurant held of interest, nor + too sleepy to respond to the friendly waitress who, seeing their dusty + boots, and the sprig of sumac stuck in Fanny's coat, said, “My, it must + have been swell in the country today!” as her flapping napkin precipitated + crumbs into their laps. + </p> + <p> + “It was,” said Fanny, and smiled up at the girl with her generous, + flashing smile. “Here's a bit of it I brought back for you.” And she stuck + the scarlet sumac sprig into the belt of the white apron. + </p> + <p> + They finished the day incongruously by taking a taxi home, Fanny yawning + luxuriously all the way. “Do you know,” she said, as they parted, “we've + talked about everything from souls to infants' wear. We're talked out. + It's a mercy you're going to New York. There won't be a next time.” + </p> + <p> + “Young woman,” said Heyl, forcefully, “there will. That young devil in the + red tam isn't dead. She's alive. And kicking. There's a kick in every one + of those Chicago sketches in your portfolio upstairs. You said she + wouldn't fight anybody's battles to-day. You little idiot, she's fighting + one in each of those pictures, from the one showing that girl's face in + the crowd, to the old chap with the fish-stall. She'll never die that one. + Because she's the spirit. It's the other one who's dead—and she + doesn't know it. But some day she'll find herself buried. And I want to be + there to shovel on the dirt.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWELVE + </h2> + <p> + From the first of December the floor of the Haynes-Cooper mail room looked + like the New York Stock Exchange, after a panic. The aisles were drifts of + paper against which a squad of boys struggled as vainly as a gang of + snow-shovelers against a blizzard. The guide talked in terms of tons of + mail, instead of thousands. And smacked his lips after it. The Ten + Thousand were working at night now, stopping for a hasty bite of supper at + six, then back to desk, or bin or shelf until nine, so that Oklahoma and + Minnesota might have its Christmas box in time. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis, working under the light of her green-shaded desk lamp, + wondered, a little bitterly, if Christmas would ever mean anything to her + but pressure, weariness, work. She told herself that she would not think + of that Christmas of one year ago. One year! As she glanced around the + orderly little office, and out to the stock room beyond, then back to her + desk again, she had an odd little feeling of unreality. Surely it had been + not one year, but many years—a lifetime—since she had elbowed + her way up and down those packed aisles of the busy little store in + Winnebago—she and that brisk, alert, courageous woman. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Brandeis, lady wants to know if you can't put this blue satin dress + on the dark-haired doll, and the pink satin.... Well, I did tell her, but + she said for me to ask you, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Brandeis, this man says he paid a dollar down on a go-cart last + month and he wants to pay the rest and take it home with him.” + </p> + <p> + And then the reassuring, authoritative voice, “Coming! I'll be right + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Coming!” That had been her whole life. Service. And now she lay so + quietly beneath the snow of the bitter northern winter. + </p> + <p> + At that point Fanny's fist would come down hard on her desk, and the + quick, indrawn breath of mutinous resentment would hiss through her teeth. + </p> + <p> + She kept away from the downtown shops and their crowds. She scowled at + sight of the holly and mistletoe wreaths, with their crimson streamers. + There was something almost ludicrous in the way she shut her eyes to the + holiday pageant all around her, and doubled and redoubled her work. It + seemed that she had a new scheme for her department every other day, and + every other one was a good one. + </p> + <p> + Slosson had long ago abandoned the attempt to keep up with her. He did not + even resent her, as he had at first. “I'm a buyer,” he said, rather + pathetically, “and a pret-ty good one, too. But I'm not a genius, and I + never will be. And I guess you've got to be a genius, these days, to keep + up. It used to be enough for an infants' wear buyer to know muslins, + cottons, woolens, silks, and embroideries. But that's old-fashioned now. + These days, when you hire an office boy you don't ask him if he can read + and write. You tell him he's got to have personality, magnetism, and + imagination. Makes me sick!” + </p> + <p> + The Baby Book came off the presses and it was good. Even Slosson admitted + it, grudgingly. The cover was a sunny, breezy seashore picture, all blue + and gold, with plump, dimpled youngsters playing, digging in the sand, + romping (and wearing our No. 13E1269, etc., of course). Inside were + displayed the complete baby outfits, with a smiling mother, and a chubby, + crowing baby as a central picture, and each piece of each outfit + separately pictured. Just below this, the outfit number and price, and a + list of the pieces that went to make it up. From the emergency outfit at + $3.98 to the outfit de luxe (for Haynes-Cooper patrons) at $28.50, each + group was comprehensive, practical, complete. In the back of the book was + a personal service plea. “Use us,” it said. “We are here to assist you, + not only in the matter of merchandise, but with information and advice. + Mothers in particular are in need of such service. This book will save you + weariness and worry. Use us.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny surveyed the book with pardonable pride. But she was not satisfied. + “We lack style,” she said. “The practical garments are all right. But what + we need is a little snap. That means cut and line. And I'm going to New + York to get it.” That had always been Slosson's work. + </p> + <p> + She and Ella Monahan were to go to the eastern markets together. Ella + Monahan went to New York regularly every three weeks. Fanny had never been + east of Chicago. She envied Ella her knowledge of the New York wholesalers + and manufacturers. Ella had dropped into Fanny's office for a brief + moment. The two women had little in common, except their work, but they + got on very well, and each found the other educating. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me you're putting an awful lot into this,” observed Ella + Monahan, her wise eyes on Fanny's rather tense face. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to,” replied Fanny, “to get anything out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right,” Ella agreed, and laughed a rueful little laugh. “I + know I've given 'em everything I've got—and a few things I didn't + know I had. It's a queer game—life. Now if my old father hadn't run + a tannery in Racine, and if I hadn't run around there all the day, so that + I got so the smell and feel of leather and hides were part of me, why, I'd + never be buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper. And you——” + </p> + <p> + “Brandeis' Bazaar.” And was going on, when her office boy came in with a + name. Ella rose to go, but Fanny stopped her. “Father Fitzpatrick! Bring + him right in! Miss Monahan, you've got to meet him. He's”—then, as + the great frame of the handsome old priest filled the doorway—“he's + just Father Fitzpatrick. Ella Monahan.” + </p> + <p> + The white-haired Irishman, and the white-haired Irish woman clasped hands. + </p> + <p> + “And who are you, daughter, besides being Ella Monahan?” + </p> + <p> + “Buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper, Father.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't tell me, now!” He turned to Fanny, put his two big hands on her + shoulders, and swung her around to face the light. “Hm,” he murmured, + noncommittally, after that. + </p> + <p> + “Hm—what?” demanded Fanny. “It sounds unflattering, whatever it + means.” “Gloves!” repeated Father Fitzpatrick, unheeding her. “Well, now, + what d'you think of that! Millions of dollars' worth, I'll wager, in your + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Two million and a half in my department last year,” replied Ella, without + the least trace of boastfulness. One talked only in terms of millions at + Haynes-Cooper's. + </p> + <p> + “What an age it is! When two slips of women can earn salaries that would + make the old kings of Ireland look like beggars.” He twinkled upon the + older woman. “And what a feeling it must be—independence, and all.” + </p> + <p> + “I've earned my own living since I was seventeen,” said Ella Monahan. “I'd + hate to tell you how long that is.” A murmur from the gallant Irishman. + “Thanks, Father, for the compliment I see in your eyes. But what I mean is + this: You're right about independence. It is a grand thing. At first. But + after a while it begins to pall on you. Don't ask me why. I don't know. I + only hope you won't think I'm a wicked woman when I say I could learn to + love any man who'd hang a silver fox scarf and a string of pearls around + my neck, and ask me if I didn't feel a draft.” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked! Not a bit of it, my girl. It's only natural, and commendable—barrin' + the pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd forego them,” laughed Ella, and with a parting handshake left the two + alone. + </p> + <p> + Father Fitzpatrick looked after her. “A smart woman, that.” He took out + his watch, a fat silver one. “It's eleven-thirty. My train leaves at four. + Now, Fanny, if you'll get on your hat, and arrange to steal an hour or so + from this Brobdingnagian place a grand word that, my girl, and nearer to + swearing than any word I know—I'll take you to the Blackstone, no + less, for lunch. How's that for a poor miserable old priest!” + </p> + <p> + “You dear, I couldn't think of it. Oh, yes, I could get away, but let's + lunch right here at the plant, in the grill——” + </p> + <p> + “Never! I couldn't. Don't ask it of me. This place scares me. I came up in + the elevator with a crowd and a guide, and he was juggling millions, that + chap, the way a newsboy flips a cent. I'm but a poor parish priest, but + I've got my pride. We'll go to the Blackstone, which I've passed, humbly, + but never been in, with its rose silk shades and its window boxes. And + we'll be waited on by velvet-footed servitors, me girl. Get your hat.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny, protesting, but laughing, too, got it. They took the L. Michigan + avenue, as they approached it from Wabash, was wind-swept and bleak as + only Michigan avenue can be in December. They entered the warm radiance of + the luxurious foyer with a little breathless rush, as wind-blown + Chicagoans generally do. The head waiter must have thought Father + Fitzpatrick a cardinal, at least, for he seated them at a window table + that looked out upon the icy street, with Grant Park, crusted with sooty + snow, just across the way, and beyond that the I. C. tracks and the great + gray lake. The splendid room was all color, and perfume, and humming + conversation. A fountain tinkled in the center, and upon its waters there + floated lily pads and blossoms, weirdly rose, and mauve, and lavender. The + tables were occupied by deliciously slim young girls and very + self-conscious college boys, home for the holidays, and marcelled matrons, + furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks deepened. She loved + luxury. She smiled and flashed at the handsome old priest opposite her. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wastrel,” she said, “but isn't it nice!” And tasted the first + delicious sip of soup. + </p> + <p> + “It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us, now and then.” + He glanced leisurely about the brilliant room, then out to the street, + bleakly windswept. He leaned back and drummed a bit with his fingers on + the satin-smooth cloth. “Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you say, + off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here? You used to + have a trick of picking out what they call the human side. Your mother had + it, too.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes unconsciously following + the track his had taken. About the room, and out, to the icy street. “The + most interesting thing?” Back to the flower-scented room, with its music, + and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. “You see that man, + standing at the curb, across the street. He's sort of crouched against the + lamp post. See him? Yes, there, just this side of that big gray car? He's + all drawn up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He looks as if he were + trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever since we came in I've + noticed him staring straight across at these windows where we're all + sitting so grandly, lunching. I know what he's thinking, don't you? And I + wish I didn't feel so uncomfortable, knowing it. I wish we hadn't ordered + lobster thermidor. I wish—there! the policeman's moving him on.” + </p> + <p> + Father Fitzpatrick reached over and took her hand, as it lay on the table, + in his great grasp. “Fanny, girl, you've told me what I wanted to know. + Haynes-Cooper or no Haynes-Cooper, millions or no millions, your ravines + aren't choked up with ashes yet, my dear. Thank God.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THIRTEEN + </h2> + <p> + From now on Fanny Brandeis' life became such a swift-moving thing that + your trilogist would have regarded her with disgust. Here was no slow + unfolding, petal by petal. Here were two processes going on, side by side. + Fanny, the woman of business, flourished and throve like a weed, + arrogantly flaunting its head above the timid, white flower that lay close + to the soil, and crept, and spread, and multiplied. Between the two the + fight went on silently. + </p> + <p> + Fate, or Chance, or whatever it is that directs our movements, was forever + throwing tragic or comic little life-groups in her path, and then, + pointing an arresting finger at her, implying, “This means you!” Fanny + stepped over these obstructions, or walked around them, or stared straight + through them. + </p> + <p> + She had told herself that she would observe the first anniversary of her + mother's death with none of those ancient customs by which your pious Jew + honors his dead. There would be no Yahrzeit light burning for twenty-four + hours. She would not go to Temple for Kaddish prayer. But the thing was + too strong for her, too anciently inbred. Her ancestors would have lighted + a candle, or an oil lamp. Fanny, coming home at six, found herself turning + on the shaded electric lamp in her hall. She went through to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Princess, when you come in to-morrow morning you'll find a light in the + hall. Don't turn it off until to-morrow evening at six.” + </p> + <p> + “All day long, Miss Fan! Mah sakes, wa' foh?” + </p> + <p> + “It's just a religious custom.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't know yo' had no relijin, Miss Fan. Leastways, Ah nevah could + figgah——” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't,” said Fanny, shortly. “Dinner ready soon, Princess? I'm + starved.” + </p> + <p> + She had entered a Jewish house of worship only once in this year. It was + the stately, white-columned edifice on Grand Boulevard that housed the + congregation presided over by the famous Kirsch. She had heard of him, + naturally. She was there out of curiosity, like any other newcomer to + Chicago. The beauty of the auditorium enchanted her—a magnificently + proportioned room, and restful without being in the least gloomy. Then she + had been interested in the congregation as it rustled in. She thought she + had never seen so many modishly gowned women in one room in all her life. + The men were sleekly broadclothed, but they lacked the well-dressed air, + somehow. The women were slimly elegant in tailor suits and furs. They all + looked as if they had been turned out by the same tailor. An artist, in + his line, but of limited imagination. Dr. Kirsch, sociologist and savant, + aquiline, semi-bald, grimly satiric, sat in his splendid, high-backed + chair, surveying his silken flock through half-closed lids. He looked + tired, and rather ill, Fanny thought, but distinctly a personage. She + wondered if he held them or they him. That recalled to her the little + Winnebago Temple and Rabbi Thalmann. She remembered the frequent rudeness + and open inattention of that congregation. No doubt Mrs. Nathan Pereles + had her counterpart here, and the hypocritical Bella Weinberg, too, and + the giggling Aarons girls, and old Ben Reitman. Here Dr. Kirsch had risen, + and, coming forward, had paused to lean over his desk and, with an awful + geniality, had looked down upon two rustling, exquisitely gowned + late-comers. They sank into their seats, cowed. Fanny grinned. He began + his lecture something about modern politics. Fanny was fascinated and + resentful by turns. His brilliant satire probed, cut, jabbed like a + surgeon's scalpel; or he railed, scolded, snarled, like a dyspeptic + schoolmaster. Often he was in wretched taste. He mimicked, postured, + sneered. But he had this millionaire congregation of his in hand. Fanny + found herself smiling up at him, delightedly. Perhaps this wasn't + religion, as she had been taught to look upon it, but it certainly was + tonic. She told herself that she would have come to the same conclusion if + Kirsch had occupied a Methodist pulpit. + </p> + <p> + There were no Kaddish prayers in Kirsch's Temple. On the Friday following + the first anniversary of Molly Brandeis's death Fanny did not go home + after working hours, but took a bite of supper in a neighborhood + restaurant. Then she found her way to one of the orthodox Russian Jewish + synagogues on the west side. It was a dim, odorous, bare little place, + this house of worship. Fanny had never seen one like it before. She was + herded up in the gallery, where the women sat. And when the patriarchal + rabbi began to intone the prayer for the dead Fanny threw the gallery into + wild panic by rising for it—a thing that no woman is allowed to do + in an orthodox Jewish church. She stood, calmly, though the beshawled + women to right and left of her yanked at her coat. + </p> + <p> + In January Fanny discovered New York. She went as selector for her + department. Hereafter Slosson would do only the actual buying. Styles, + prices, and materials would be decided by her. Ella Monahan accompanied + her, it being the time for her monthly trip. Fanny openly envied her her + knowledge of New York's wholesale district. Ella offered to help her. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Fanny had replied, “I think not, thanks. You've your own work. And + besides I know pretty well what I want, and where to go to get it. It's + making them give it to me that will be hard.” + </p> + <p> + They went to the same hotel, and took connecting rooms. Each went her own + way, not seeing the other from morning until night, but they often found + kimonoed comfort in each other's presence. + </p> + <p> + Fanny had spent weeks outlining her plan of attack. She had determined to + retain the cheap grades, but to add a finer line as well. She recalled + those lace-bedecked bundles that the farmer women and mill hands had born + so tenderly in their arms. Here was one direction in which they allowed + extravagance free rein. As a canny business woman, she would trade on her + knowledge of their weakness. + </p> + <p> + At Haynes-Cooper order is never a thing to be despised by a wholesaler. + Fanny, knowing this, had made up her mind to go straight to Horn & + Udell. Now, Horn & Udell are responsible for the bloomers your small + daughter wears under her play frock, in place of the troublesome and + extravagant petticoat of the old days. It was they who introduced smocked + pinafores to you; and those modish patent-leather belts for children at + which your grandmothers would have raised horrified hands. They taught you + that an inch of hand embroidery is worth a yard of cheap lace. And as for + style, cut, line—you can tell a Horn & Udell child from among a + flock of thirty. + </p> + <p> + Fanny, entering their office, felt much as Molly Brandeis had felt that + January many, many years before, when she had made that first terrifying + trip to the Chicago market. The engagement had been made days before. + Fanny never knew the shock that her youthfully expectant face gave old Sid + Udell. He turned from his desk to greet her, his polite smile of greeting + giving way to a look of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “But you are not the buyer, are you, Miss Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Slosson buys.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so.” + </p> + <p> + “But I select for my entire department. I decide on our styles, materials, + and prices, six months in advance. Then Mr. Slosson does the actual bulk + buying.” + </p> + <p> + “Something new-fangled?” inquired Sid Udell. “Of course, we've never sold + much to you people. Our stuff is——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But you'd like to, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Our class of goods isn't exactly suited to your wants.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is. Exactly. That's why I'm here. We'll be doing a business of a + million and a quarter in my department in another two years. No firm, not + even Horn & Udell, can afford to ignore an account like that.” + </p> + <p> + Sid Udell smiled a little. “You've made up your mind to that million and a + quarter, young lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've dealt with buyers for a quarter of a century or more. And I'd + say that you're going to get it.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Fanny began to talk. Ten minutes later Udell interrupted her to + summon Horn, whose domain was the factory. Horn came, was introduced, + looked doubtful. Fanny had statistics. Fanny had arguments. She had + determination. “And what we want,” she went on, in her quiet, assured way, + “is style. The Horn & Udell clothes have chic. Now, material can't be + imitated successfully, but style can. Our goods lack just that. I could + copy any model you have, turn the idea over to a cheap manufacturer, and + get a million just like it, at one-fifth the price. That isn't a threat. + It's just a business statement that you know to be true. I can sketch from + memory anything I've seen once. What I want to know is this: Will you make + it necessary for me to do that, or will you undertake to furnish us with + cheaper copies of your high-priced designs? We could use your entire + output. I know the small-town woman of the poorer class, and I know she'll + wear a shawl in order to give her child a cloth coat with fancy buttons + and a velvet collar.” + </p> + <p> + And Horn & Udell, whose attitude at first had been that of two + seasoned business men dealing with a precocious child, found themselves + quoting prices to her, shipments, materials, quality, quantities. Then + came the question of time. + </p> + <p> + “We'll get out a special catalogue for the summer,” Fanny said. “A small + one, to start them our way. Then the big Fall catalogue will contain the + entire line.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't give us time!” exclaimed both men, in a breath. + </p> + <p> + “But you must manage, somehow. Can't you speed up the workroom? Put on + extra hands? It's worth it.” + </p> + <p> + They might, under normal conditions. But there was this strike-talk, its + ugly head bobbing up in a hundred places. And their goods were the kind + that required high-class workers. Their girls earned all the way from + twelve to twenty-five dollars. But Fanny knew she had driven home the + entering wedge. She left them after making an engagement for the following + day. The Horn & Udell factory was in New York's newer loft-building + section, around Madison, Fifth avenue, and the Thirties. Her hotel was + very near. She walked up Fifth avenue a little way, and as she walked she + wondered why she did not feel more elated. Her day's work had exceeded her + expectations. It was a brilliant January afternoon, with a snap in the air + that was almost western. Fifth avenue flowed up, flowed down, and Fanny + fought the impulse to stare after every second or third woman she passed. + They were so invariably well-dressed. There was none of the occasional + shabbiness or dowdiness of Michigan Avenue. Every woman seemed to have + emerged fresh from the hands of masseuse and maid. Their hair was coiffed + to suit the angle of the hat, and the hat had been chosen to enhance the + contour of the head, and the head was carried with regard for the dark + furs that encircled the throat. They were amazingly well shod. Their white + gloves were white. (A fact remarkable to any soot-haunted Chicagoan.) + Their coloring rivaled the rose leaf. And nobody's nose was red. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows I've never pretended to be a beauty,” Fanny said that + evening, in conversation with Ella Monahan. “But I've always thought I had + my good points. By the time I'd reached Forty-second street I wouldn't + have given two cents for my chances of winning a cave man on a desert + island.” + </p> + <p> + She made up her mind that she would go back to the hotel, get a thick + coat, and ride outside one of those fascinating Fifth avenue 'buses. It + struck her as an ideal way to see this amazing street. She was back at her + hotel in ten minutes. Ella had not yet come in. Their rooms were on the + tenth floor. Fanny got her coat, peered at her own reflection in the + mirror, sighed, shook her head, and was off down the hall toward the + elevators. The great hall window looked toward Fifth avenue, but between + it and the avenue rose a yellow-brick building that housed tier on tier of + manufacturing lofts. Cloaks, suits, blouses, petticoats, hats, dresses—it + was just such a building as Fanny had come from when she left the offices + of Horn & Udell. It might be their very building, for all she knew. + She looked straight into its windows as she stood waiting for the lift. + And window after window showed women, sewing. They were sewing at + machines, and at hand-work, but not as women are accustomed to sew, with + leisurely stitches, stopping to pat a seam here, to run a calculating eye + along hem or ruffle. It was a dreadful, mechanical motion, that sewing, a + machine-like, relentless motion, with no waste in it, no pause. Fanny's + mind leaped back to Winnebago, with its pleasant porches on which + leisurely women sat stitching peacefully at a fine seam. + </p> + <p> + What was it she had said to Udell? “Can't you speed up the workroom? It's + worth it.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny turned abruptly from the window as the door of the bronze and + mirrored lift opened for her. She walked over to Fifth avenue again and up + to Forty-fifth street. Then she scrambled up the spiral stairs of a + Washington Square 'bus. The air was crisp, clear, intoxicating. To her + Chicago eyes the buildings, the streets, the very sky looked startlingly + fresh and new-washed. As the 'bus lurched down Fifth avenue she leaned + over the railing to stare, fascinated, at the colorful, shifting, + brilliant panorama of the most amazing street in the world. Block after + block, as far as the eye could see, the gorgeous procession moved up, + moved down, and the great, gleaming motor cars crept, and crawled, and + writhed in and out, like nothing so much as swollen angle worms in a + fishing can, Fanny thought. Her eye was caught by one limousine that stood + out, even in that crush of magnificence. It was all black, as though + scorning to attract the eye with vulgar color, and it was lined with + white. Fanny thought it looked very much like Siegel & Cowan's hearse, + back in Winnebago. In it sat a woman, all furs, and orchids, and + complexion. She was holding up to the window a little dog with a wrinkled + and weary face, like that of an old, old man. He was sticking his little + evil, eager red tongue out at the world. And he wore a very smart and + woolly white sweater, of the imported kind—with a monogram done in + black. + </p> + <p> + The traffic policeman put up his hand. The 'bus rumbled on down the + street. Names that had always been remotely mythical to her now met her + eye and became realities. Maillard's. And that great red stone castle was + the Waldorf. Almost historic, and it looked newer than the smoke-grimed + Blackstone. And straight ahead—why, that must be the Flatiron + building! It loomed up like the giant prow of an unimaginable ship. + Brentano's. The Holland House. Madison Square. Why there never was + anything so terrifying, and beautiful, and palpitating, and exquisite as + this Fifth avenue in the late winter afternoon, with the sky ahead a rosy + mist, and the golden lights just beginning to spangle the gray. At Madison + Square she decided to walk. She negotiated the 'bus steps with surprising + skill for a novice, and scurried along the perilous crossing to the + opposite side. She entered Madison Square. But why hadn't O. Henry + emphasized its beauty, instead of its squalor? It lay, a purple pool of + shadow, surrounded by the great, gleaming, many-windowed office buildings, + like an amethyst sunk in a circle of diamonds. “It's a fairyland!” Fanny + told herself. “Who'd have thought a city could be so beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + And then, at her elbow, a voice said, “Oh, lady, for the lova God!” She + turned with a jerk and looked up into the unshaven face of a great, + blue-eyed giant who pulled off his cap and stood twisting it in his + swollen blue fingers. “Lady, I'm cold. I'm hungry. I been sittin' here + hours.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny clutched her bag a little fearfully. She looked at his huge frame. + “Why don't you work?” + </p> + <p> + “Work!” He laughed. “There ain't any. Looka this!” He turned up his foot, + and you saw the bare sole, blackened and horrible, and fringed, comically, + by the tattered leather upper. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—my dear!” said Fanny. And at that the man began to cry, weakly, + sickeningly, like a little boy. + </p> + <p> + “Don't do that! Don't! Here.” She was emptying her purse, and something + inside her was saying, “You fool, he's only a professional beggar.” + </p> + <p> + And then the man wiped his face with his cap, and swallowed hard, and + said, “I don't want all you got. I ain't holdin' you up. Just gimme that. + I been sittin' here, on that bench, lookin' at that sign across the + street. Over there. It says, `EAT.' It goes off an' on. Seemed like it was + drivin' me crazy.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny thrust a crumpled five-dollar bill into his hand. And was off. She + fairly flew along, so that it was not until she had reached Thirty-third + street that she said aloud, as was her way when moved, “I don't care. + Don't blame me. It was that miserable little beast of a dog in the white + sweater that did it.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost seven when she reached her room. A maid, in neat black and + white, was just coming out with an armful of towels. + </p> + <p> + “I just brought you a couple of extra towels. We were short this morning,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + The room was warm, and quiet, and bright. In her bathroom, that glistened + with blue and white tiling, were those redundant towels. Fanny stood in + the doorway and counted them, whimsically. Four great fuzzy bath towels. + Eight glistening hand towels. A blue and white bath rug hung at the side + of the tub. Her telephone rang. It was Ella. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the world have you been, child? I was worried about you. I + thought you were lost in the streets of New York.” + </p> + <p> + “I took a 'bus ride,” Fanny explained. + </p> + <p> + “See anything of New York?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw all of it,” replied Fanny. Ella laughed at that, but Fanny's face + was serious. + </p> + <p> + “How did you make out at Horn & Udell's? Never mind, I'm coming in for + a minute; can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Please do. I need you.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later Ella bounced in, fresh as to blouse, pink as to cheeks, her + whole appearance a testimony to the revivifying effects of a warm bath, a + brief nap, clean clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Dear child, you look tired. I'm not going to stay. You get dressed and + I'll meet you for dinner. Or do you want yours up here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “'Phone me when you're dressed. But tell me, isn't it a wonder, this town? + I'll never forget my first trip here. I spent one whole evening standing + in front of the mirror trying to make those little spit-curls the women + were wearing then. I'd seen 'em on Fifth avenue, and it seemed I'd die if + I couldn't have 'em, too. And I dabbed on rouge, and touched up my + eyebrows. I don't know. It's a kind of a crazy feeling gets you. The + minute I got on the train for Chicago I washed my face and took my hair + down and did it plain again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's the way I felt!” laughed Fanny. “I didn't care anything about + infants' wear, or Haynes-Cooper, or anything. I just wanted to be + beautiful, as they all were.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! It gets us all!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny twisted her hair into the relentless knob women assume preparatory + to bathing. “It seems to me you have to come from Winnebago, or + thereabouts, to get New York—really get it, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” agreed Ella. “There's a man on the New York Star who writes a + column every day that everybody reads. If he isn't a small-town man then + we're both wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny, bathward bound, turned to stare at Ella. “A column about what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, everything. New York, mostly. Say, it's the humanest stuff. He says + the kind of thing we'd all say, if we knew how. Reading him is like + getting a letter from home. I'll bet he went to a country school and wore + his mittens sewed to a piece of tape that ran through his coat sleeves.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” said Fanny; “he did. That man's from Winnebago, + Wisconsin.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean you know him? Honestly? What's he like?” + </p> + <p> + But Fanny had vanished. “I'm a tired business woman,” she called, above + the splashing that followed, “and I won't converse until I'm fed.” + </p> + <p> + “But how about Horn & Udell?” demanded Ella, her mouth against the + crack. + </p> + <p> + “Practically mine,” boasted Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—landed!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hooked, at any rate, and putting up a very poor struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you clever little divil, you! You'll be making me look like a stock + girl next.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny did not telephone Heyl until the day she left New York. She had told + herself she would not telephone him at all. He had sent her his New York + address and telephone number months before, after that Sunday at the + dunes. Ella Monahan had finished her work and had gone back to Chicago + four days before Fanny was ready to leave. In those four days Fanny had + scoured the city from the Palisades to Pell street. I don't know how she + found her way about. It was a sort of instinct with her. She seemed to + scent the picturesque. She never for a moment neglected her work. But she + had found it was often impossible to see these New York business men until + ten—sometimes eleven—o'clock. She awoke at seven, a habit + formed in her Winnebago days. Eight-thirty one morning found her staring + up at the dim vastness of the dome of the cathedral of St. John the + Divine. The great gray pile, mountainous, almost ominous, looms up in the + midst of the dingy commonplaceness of Amsterdam avenue and 110th street. + New Yorkers do not know this, or if they know it, the fact does not + interest them. New Yorkers do not go to stare up into the murky shadows of + this glorious edifice. They would if it were situate in Rome. Bare, crude, + unfinished, chaotic, it gives rich promise of magnificent fulfillment. In + an age when great structures are thrown up to-day, to be torn down + to-morrow, this slow-moving giant is at once a reproach and an example. + Twenty-five years in building, twenty-five more for completion, it has + elbowed its way, stone by stone, into such company as St. Peter's at Rome, + and the marvel at Milan. Fanny found her way down the crude cinder paths + that made an alley-like approach to the cathedral. She entered at the side + door that one found by following arrows posted on the rough wooden fence. + Once inside she stood a moment, awed by the immensity of the half-finished + nave. As she stood there, hands clasped, her face turned raptly up to + where the massive granite columns reared their height to frame the choir, + she was, for the moment, as devout as any Episcopalian whose money had + helped make the great building. Not only devout, but prayerful, ecstatic. + That was partly due to the effect of the pillars, the lights, the + tapestries, the great, unfinished chunks of stone that loomed out from the + side walls, and the purple shadow cast by the window above the chapels at + the far end; and partly to the actress in her that responded magically to + any mood, and always to surroundings. Later she walked softly down the + deserted nave, past the choir, to the cluster of chapels, set like gems at + one end, and running from north to south, in a semi-circle. A placard + outside one said, “St. Saviour's chapel. For those who wish to rest and + pray.” All white marble, this little nook, gleaming softly in the gray + half-light. Fanny entered, and sat down. She was quite alone. The roar and + crash of the Eighth avenue L, the Amsterdam cars, the motors drumming up + Morningside hill, were softened here to a soothing hum. + </p> + <p> + For those who wish to rest and pray. + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis had neither rested nor prayed since that hideous day when + she had hurled her prayer of defiance at Him. But something within her now + began a groping for words; for words that should follow an ancient plea + beginning, “O God of my Fathers——” But at that the picture of + the room came back to her mental vision—the room so quiet except for + the breathing of the woman on the bed; the woman with the tolerant, + humorous mouth, and the straight, clever nose, and the softly bright brown + eyes, all so strangely pinched and shrunken-looking now—— + </p> + <p> + Fanny got to her feet, with a noisy scraping of the chair on the stone + floor. The vague, half-formed prayer died at birth. She found her way out + of the dim, quiet little chapel, up the long aisle and out the great door. + She shivered a little in the cold of the early January morning as she + hurried toward the Broadway subway. + </p> + <p> + At nine-thirty she was standing at a counter in the infants' wear section + at Best's, making mental notes while the unsuspecting saleswoman showed + her how the pink ribbon in this year's models was brought under the + beading, French fashion, instead of weaving through it, as heretofore. At + ten-thirty she was saying to Sid Udell, “I think a written contract is + always best. Then we'll all know just where we stand. Mr. Fenger will be + on next week to arrange the details, but just now a very brief written + understanding to show him on my return would do.” + </p> + <p> + And she got it, and tucked it away in her bag, in triumph. + </p> + <p> + She tried to leave New York without talking to Heyl, but some quiet, + insistent force impelled her to act contrary to her resolution. It was, + after all, the urge of the stronger wish against the weaker. + </p> + <p> + When he heard her voice over the telephone Heyl did not say, “Who is + this?” Neither did he put those inevitable questions of the dweller to the + transient, “Where are you? How long have you been here?” What he said was, + “How're you going to avoid dining with me to-night?” + </p> + <p> + To which Fanny replied, promptly, “By taking the Twentieth Century back to + Chicago to-day.” + </p> + <p> + A little silence. A hurt silence. Then, “When they get the Twentieth + Century habit they're as good as lost. How's the infants' wear business, + Fanny?” + </p> + <p> + “Booming, thank you. I want to tell you I've read the column every day. + It's wonderful stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonderful job. I'm a lucky boy. I'm doing the thing I'd rather do + than anything else in the world. There are mighty few who can say that.” + There was another silence, awkward, heavy. Then, “Fanny, you're not really + leaving to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be in Chicago to-morrow, barring wrecks.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have let me show you our more or less fair city.” + </p> + <p> + “I've shown it to myself. I've seen Riverside Drive at sunset, and at + night. That alone would have been enough. But I've seen Fulton market, + too, and the Grand street stalls, and Washington Square, and Central Park, + and Lady Duff-Gordon's inner showroom, and the Night Court, and the Grand + Central subway horror at six p. m., and the gambling on the Curb, and the + bench sleepers in Madison Square—Oh, Clancy, the misery——” + </p> + <p> + “Heh, wait a minute! All this, alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And one more thing. I've landed Horn & Udell, which means + nothing to you, but to me it means that by Spring my department will be a + credit to its stepmother; a real success.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it would be a success. So did you. Anything you might attempt + would be successful. You'd have made a successful lawyer, or cook, or + actress, or hydraulic engineer, because you couldn't do a thing badly. It + isn't in you. You're a superlative sort of person. But that's no reason + for being any of those things. If you won't admit a debt to humanity, + surely you'll acknowledge you've an obligation to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Preaching again. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Fanny, you're afraid to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I say aloud the things you daren't let yourself think. If I were + to promise not to talk about anything but flannel bands——” + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I'm going to meet you at the clock at the Grand Central Station + fifteen minutes before train time. I don't care if every infants' wear + manufacturer in New York had a prior claim on your time. You may as well + be there, because if you're not I'll get on the train and stay on as far + as Albany. Take your choice.” + </p> + <p> + He was there before her. Fanny, following the wake of a redcap, picked him + at once from among the crowd of clock-waiters. He saw her at the same + time, and started forward with that singularly lithe, springy step which + was, after all, just the result of perfectly trained muscles in + coordination. He was wearing New York clothes—the right kind, Fanny + noted. + </p> + <p> + Their hands met. “How well you look,” said Fanny, rather lamely. + </p> + <p> + “It's the clothes,” said Heyl, and began to revolve slowly, coyly, hands + out, palms down, eyelids drooping, in delicious imitation of those ladies + whose business it is to revolve thus for fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Clancy, you idiot! All these people! Stop it!” + </p> + <p> + “But get the grace! Get the easy English hang, at once so loose and so + clinging.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny grinned, appreciatively, and led the way through the gate to the + train. She was surprisingly glad to be with him again. On discovering + that, she began to talk rapidly, and about him. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, how do you manage to keep that fresh viewpoint? Everybody else + who comes to New York to write loses his identity. The city swallows him + up. I mean by that, that things seem to strike you as freshly as they did + when you first came. I remember you wrote me an amazing letter.” + </p> + <p> + “For one thing, I'll never be anything but a foreigner in New York. I'll + never quite believe Broadway. I'll never cease to marvel at Fifth avenue, + and Cooper Union, and the Bronx. The time may come when I can take the + subway for granted, but don't ask it of me just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But the other writers—and all those people who live down in + Washington Square?” + </p> + <p> + “I never see them. It's sure death. Those Greenwichers are always taking + out their own feelings and analyzing them, and pawing them over, and + passing them around. When they get through with them they're so + thumb-marked and greasy that no one else wants them. They don't get enough + golf, those Greenwichers. They don't get enough tennis. They don't get + enough walking in the open places. Gosh, no! I know better than to fall + for that kind of thing. They spend hours talking to each other, in + dim-lighted attics, about Souls, and Society, and the Joy of Life, and the + Greater Good. And they know all about each other's insides. They talk + themselves out, and there's nothing left to write about. A little of that + kind of thing purges and cleanses. Too much of it poisons, and clogs. No, + ma'am! When I want to talk I go down and chin with the foreman of our + composing room. There's a chap that has what I call conversation. A + philosopher, and knows everything in the world. Composing room foremen + always are and do. Now, that's all of that. How about Fanny Brandeis? Any + sketches? Come on. Confess. Grand street, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't touched a pencil, except to add up a column of figures or copy + an order, since last September, when you were so sure I couldn't stop.” + </p> + <p> + “You've done a thousand in your head. And if you haven't done one on paper + so much the better. You'll jam them back, and stifle them, and screw the + cover down tight on every natural impulse, and then, some day, the cover + will blow off with a loud report. You can't kill that kind of thing, + Fanny. It would have to be a wholesale massacre of all the centuries + behind you. I don't so much mind your being disloyal to your tribe, or + race, or whatever you want to call it. But you've turned your back on + yourself; you've got an obligation to humanity, and I'll nag you till you + pay it. I don't care if I lose you, so long as you find yourself. The + thing you've got isn't merely racial. God, no! It's universal. And you owe + it to the world. Pay up, Fanny! Pay up!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” began Fanny, her voice low with anger; “the last time I saw + you I said I'd never again put myself in a position to be lectured by you, + like a schoolgirl. I mean it, this time. If you have anything else to say + to me, say it now. The train leaves”—she glanced at her wrist—“in + two minutes, thank Heaven, and this will be your last chance.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Heyl. “I have got something to say. Do you wear + hatpins?” + </p> + <p> + “Hatpins!” blankly. “Not with this small hat, but what——” + </p> + <p> + “That means you're defenseless. If you're going to prowl the streets of + Chicago alone get this: If you double your fist this way, and tuck your + thumb alongside, like that, and aim for this spot right here, about two + inches this side of the chin, bringing your arm back, and up, quickly, + like a piston, the person you hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve + right here that communicates with the brain. That blow makes you see + stars, bright lights, and fancy colors. They use it in the comic papers.” + </p> + <p> + “You ARE crazy,” said Fanny, as though at last assured of a long-suspected + truth. The train began to move, almost imperceptibly. “Run!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Heyl sped up the aisle. At the door he turned. “It's called an uppercut,” + he shouted to the amazement of the other passengers. And leaped from the + train. + </p> + <p> + Fanny sank into her seat, weakly. Then she began to laugh, and there was a + dash of hysteria in it. He had left a paper on the car seat. It was the + Star. Fanny crumpled it, childishly, and kicked it under the seat. She + took off her hat, arranged her belongings, and sat back with eyes closed. + After a few moments she opened them, fished about under the seat for the + crumpled copy of the Star, and read it, turning at once to his column. She + thought it was a very unpretentious thing, that column, and yet so full of + insight, and sagacity, and whimsical humor. Not a guffaw in it, but a + smile in every fifth line. She wondered if those years of illness, and + loneliness, with weeks of reading, and tramping, and climbing in the + Colorado mountains had kept him strangely young, or made him strangely + old. + </p> + <p> + She welcomed the hours that lay between New York and Chicago. They would + give her an opportunity to digest the events of the past ten days. In her + systematic mind she began to range them in the order of their importance. + Horn & Udell came first, of course, and then the line of maternity + dresses she had selected to take the place of the hideous models carried + under Slosson's regime. And then the slip-over pinafores. But somehow her + thoughts became jumbled here, so that faces instead of garments filled her + mind's eye. Again and again there swam into her ken the face of that woman + of fifty, in decent widow's weeds, who had stood there in the Night Court, + charged with drunkenness on the streets. And the man with the frost-bitten + fingers in Madison Square. And the dog in the sweater. And the feverish + concentration of the piece-work sewers in the window of the loft building. + </p> + <p> + She gave it up, selected a magazine, and decided to go in to lunch. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing spectacular about the welcome she got on her return to + the office after this first trip. A firm that counts its employees by the + thousands, and its profits in tens of millions, cannot be expected to draw + up formal resolutions of thanks when a heretofore flabby department begins + to show signs of red blood. + </p> + <p> + Ella Monahan said, “They'll make light of it—all but Fenger. That's + their way.” + </p> + <p> + Slosson drummed with his fingers all the time she was giving him the + result of her work in terms of style, material, quantity, time, and price. + When she had finished he said, “Well, all I can say is we seem to be going + out of the mail order business and into the imported novelty line, de + luxe. I suppose by next Christmas the grocery department will be putting + in artichoke hearts, and truffles and French champagne by the keg for + community orders.” + </p> + <p> + To which Fanny had returned, sweetly, “If Oregon and Wyoming show any + desire for artichokes and champagne I don't see why we shouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger, strangely enough, said little. He was apt to be rather curt these + days, and almost irritable. Fanny attributed it to the reaction following + the strain of the Christmas rush. + </p> + <p> + One did not approach Fenger's office except by appointment. Fanny sent + word to him of her return. For two days she heard nothing from him. Then + the voice of the snuff-brown secretary summoned her. She did not have to + wait this time, but passed directly through the big bright outer room into + the smaller room. The Power House, Fanny called it. + </p> + <p> + Fenger was facing the door. “Missed you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You must have,” Fanny laughed, “with only nine thousand nine hundred and + ninety-nine to look after.” + </p> + <p> + “You look as if you'd been on a vacation, instead of a test trip.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have. Why didn't you warn me that business, as transacted in New + York, is a series of social rites? I didn't have enough white kid gloves + to go round. No one will talk business in an office. I don't see what they + use offices for, except as places in which to receive their mail. You + utter the word `Business,' and the other person immediately says, `Lunch.' + No wholesaler seems able to quote you his prices until he has been + sustained by half a dozen Cape Cods. I don't want to see a restaurant or a + rose silk shade for weeks.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger tapped the little pile of papers on his desk. “I've read your + reports. If you can do that on lunches, I'd like to see what you could put + over in a series of dinners.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid,” said Fanny, fervently. Then, for a very concentrated + fifteen minutes they went over the reports together. Fanny's voice grew + dry and lifeless as she went into figures. + </p> + <p> + “You don't sound particularly enthusiastic,” Fenger said, when they had + finished, “considering that you've accomplished what you set out to do.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” quickly. “I like the uncertainty. It was interesting to + deal directly with those people, to stack one's arguments, and + personality, and mentality and power over theirs, until they had to give + way. But after that! Well, you can't expect me to be vitally interested in + gross lots, and carloads and dating.” + </p> + <p> + “It's part of business.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the part I hate.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger stacked the papers neatly. “You came in June, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been a remarkable eight-months' record, even at Haynes-Cooper's, + where records are the rule. Have you been through the plant since the time + you first went through?” + </p> + <p> + “Through it! Goodness, no! It would take a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I wish you'd take it. I like to have the heads of departments go + through the plant at least twice a year. You'll find the fourteenth floor + has been cleared and is being used entirely by the selectors. The + manufacturers' samples are spread on the tables in the various sections. + You'll find your place ready for you. You'll be amused at Daly's section. + He took your suggestion about trying the blouses on live models instead of + selecting them as he used to. You remember you said that one could tell + about the lines and style of a dress merely by looking at it, but that a + blouse is just a limp rag until it's on.” + </p> + <p> + “It's true of the flimsy Georgette things women want now. They may be + lovely in the box and hideously unbecoming when worn. If Daly's going in + for the higher grade stuff he can't risk choosing unbecoming models.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till you see him!” smiled Fenger, “sitting there like a sultan while + the pinks and blues, and whites and plaids parade before him.” He turned + to his desk again. “That's all, Miss Brandeis. Thank you.” Then, at a + sudden thought. “Do you know that all your suggestions have been human + suggestions? I mean they all have had to do with people. Tell me, how do + you happen to have learned so much about what people feel and think, in + such a short time?” + </p> + <p> + The thing that Clarence Heyl had said flashed through her mind, and she + was startled to find herself quoting it. “It hasn't been a short time,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “It took a thousand years.” And left Fenger staring, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + She took next morning for her tour of the plant as Fenger had suggested. + She went through it, not as the startled, wide-eyed girl of eight months + before had gone, but critically, and with a little unconscious air of + authority. For, this organization, vast though it was, actually showed her + imprint. She could have put her finger on this spot, and that, saying, + “Here is the mark of my personality.” And she thought, as she passed from + department to department, “Ten thousand a year, if you keep on as you've + started.” Up one aisle and down the next. Bundles, bundles, bundles. And + everywhere you saw the yellow order-slips. In the hands of the stock boys + whizzing by on roller skates; in the filing department; in the traffic + department. The very air seemed jaundiced with those clouds of yellow + order-slips. She stopped a moment, fascinated as always before the main + spiral gravity chute down which the bundles—hundreds of them, + thousands of them daily—chased each other to—to what? Fanny + asked herself. She knew, vaguely, that hands caught these bundles halfway, + and redirected them toward the proper channel, where they were assembled + and made ready for shipping or mailing. She turned to a stock boy. + </p> + <p> + “Where does this empty?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Floor below,” said the boy, “on the platform.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny walked down a flight of iron stairs, and around to face the spiral + chute again. In front of the chute, and connected with it by a great metal + lip, was a platform perhaps twelve feet above the floor and looking very + much like the pilot's deck of a ship. A little flight of steps led up to + it—very steep steps, that trembled a little under a repetition of + shocks that came from above. Fanny climbed them warily, gained the top, + and found herself standing next to the girl whose face had gleamed out at + her from among those thousands in the crowd pouring out of the plant. The + girl glanced up at Fanny for a second—no, for the fraction of a + second. Her job was the kind that permitted no more than that. Fanny + watched her for one breathless moment. In that moment she understood the + look that had been stamped on the girl's face that night; the look that + had cried: “Release!” For this platform, shaking under the thud of + bundles, bundles, bundles, was the stomach of the Haynes-Cooper plant. + Sixty per cent of the forty-five thousand daily orders passed through the + hands of this girl and her assistants. Down the chutes swished the + bundles, stamped with their section mark, and here they were caught deftly + and hurled into one of the dozen conveyers that flowed out from this main + stream. The wrong bundle into the wrong conveyer? Confusion in the + shipping room. It only took a glance of the eye and a motion of the arms. + But that glance and that motion had been boiled down to the very + concentrated essence of economy. They seemed to be working with fury, but + then, so does a pile-driver until you get the simplicity of it. + </p> + <p> + Fanny bent over the girl (it was a noisy corner) and put a question. The + girl did not pause in her work as she answered it. She caught a bundle + with one hand, hurled one into a conveyer with the other. + </p> + <p> + “Seven a week,” she said. And deftly caught the next slithering bundle. + </p> + <p> + Fanny watched her for another moment. Then she turned and went down the + steep stairs. + </p> + <p> + “None of your business,” she said to herself, and continued her tour. + “None of your business.” She went up to the new selectors' floor, and + found the plan running as smoothly as if it had been part of the plant's + system for years. The elevator whisked her up to the top floor, where she + met the plant's latest practical fad, the new textile chemist—a + charming youth, disguised in bone-rimmed glasses, who did the honors of + his little laboratory with all the manner of a Harvard host. This was the + fusing oven for silks. Here was the drying oven. This delicate scale + weighed every ounce of the cloth swatches that came in for inspection, to + get the percentage of wool and cotton. Not a chance for the manufacturer + to slip shoddy into his goods, now. + </p> + <p> + “Mm,” said Fanny, politely. She hated complicated processes that had to do + with scales, and weights, and pounds, and acids. She crossed over to the + Administration Building, and stopped at the door marked, “Mrs. Knowles.” + If you had been an employee of the Haynes-Cooper company, and had been + asked to define Mrs. Knowles's position the chances are that you would + have found yourself floundering, wordless. Haynes-Cooper was reluctant to + acknowledge the need of Mrs. Knowles. Still, when you employ ten thousand + people, and more than half of these are girls, and fifty per cent of these + girls are unskilled, ignorant, and terribly human you find that a Mrs. + Knowles saves the equivalent of ten times her salary in wear and tear and + general prevention. She could have told you tragic stories, could Mrs. + Knowles, and sordid stories, and comic too; she knew how to deal with + terror, and shame, and stubborn silence, and hopeless misery. Gray-haired + and motherly? Not at all. An astonishingly young, pleasingly plumpish + woman, with nothing remarkable about her except a certain splendid calm. + Four years out of Vassar, and already she had learned that if you fold + your hands in your lap and wait, quietly, asking no questions, almost any + one will tell you almost anything. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” called Fanny. “How are our morals this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Going up!” answered Esther Knowles, “considering that it's Tuesday. Come + in. How's the infant prodigy, I lunched with Ella Monahan, and she told me + your first New York trip was a whirlwind. Congratulations!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I can't stop. I haven't touched my desk to-day. I just want to + ask you if you know the name of that girl who has charge of the main chute + in the merchandise building.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, child! There are thousands of girls.” + </p> + <p> + “But this one's rather special. She is awfully pretty, and rather + different looking. Exquisite coloring, a discontented expression, and a + blouse that's too low in the neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Which might be a description of Fanny Brandeis herself, barring the + blouse,” laughed Mrs. Knowles. Then, at the startled look in Fanny's face, + “Do forgive me. And don't look so horrified. I think I know which one you + mean. Her name is Sarah Sapinsky—yes, isn't it a pity!—and + it's queer that you should ask me about her because I've been having + trouble with that particular girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “She knows she's pretty, and she knows she's different, and she knows + she's handicapped, and that accounts for the discontented expression. + That, and some other things. She gets seven a week here, and they take + just about all of it at home. She says she's sick of it. She has left home + twice. I don't blame the child, but I've always managed to bring her back. + Some day there'll be a third time—and I'm afraid of it. She's not + bad. She's really rather splendid, and she has a certain dreadful + philosophy of her own. Her theory is that there are only two kinds of + people in the world. Those that give, and those that take. And she's tired + of giving. Sarah didn't put it just that way; but you know what she means, + don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what she means,” said Fanny, grimly. + </p> + <p> + So it was Sarah she saw above all else in her trip through the gigantic + plant; Sarah's face shone out from among the thousands; the thud-thud of + Sarah's bundle-chute beat a dull accompaniment to the hum of the big hive; + above the rustle of those myriad yellow order-slips, through the buzz of + the busy mail room; beneath the roar of the presses in the printing + building, the crash of the dishes in the cafeteria, ran the leid-motif of + Sarah-at-seven-a-week. Back in her office once more Fanny dictated a brief + observation-report for Fenger's perusal. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me there's room for improvement in our card index file + system. It's thorough, but unwieldy. It isn't a system any more. It's a + ceremony. Can't you get a corps of system sharks to simplify things + there?” + </p> + <p> + She went into detail and passed on to the next suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “If the North American Cloak & Suit Company can sell mail order + dresses that are actually smart and in good taste, I don't see why we have + to go on carrying only the most hideous crudities in our women's dress + department. I know that the majority of our women customers wouldn't wear + a plain, good looking little blue serge dress with a white collar, and + some tailored buttons. They want cerise satin revers on a plum-colored + foulard, and that's what we've been giving them. But there are plenty of + other women living miles from anywhere who know what's being worn on Fifth + avenue. I don't know how they know it, but they do. And they want it. Why + can't we reach those women, as well as their shoddier sisters? The North + American people do it. I'd wear one of their dresses myself. I wouldn't be + found dead in one of ours. Here's a suggestion: + </p> + <p> + “Why can't we get Camille to design half a dozen models a season for us? + Now don't roar at that. And don't think that the women on western ranches + haven't heard of Camille. They have. They may know nothing of Mrs. + Pankhurst, and Lillian Russell may be a myth to them, but I'll swear that + every one of them knows that Camille is a dressmaker who makes + super-dresses. She is as much a household word among them as Roosevelt + used to be to their men folks. And if we can promise them a + Camille-designed dress for $7.85 (which we could) then why don't we?” + </p> + <p> + At the very end, to her stenographer's mystification, she added this + irrelevant line. + </p> + <p> + “Seven dollars a week is not a living wage.” + </p> + <p> + The report went to Fenger. He hurdled lightly over the first suggestion, + knowing that the file system was as simple as a monster of its bulk could + be. He ignored the third hint. The second suggestion amused, then + interested, then convinced him. Within six months Camille's name actually + appeared in the Haynes-Cooper catalogue. Not that alone, the Haynes-Cooper + company broke its rule as to outside advertising, and announced in + full-page magazine ads the news of the $7.85 gowns designed by Camille + especially for the Haynes-Cooper company. There went up a nationwide shout + of amusement and unbelief, but the announcement continued. Camille + (herself a frump with a fringe) whose frocks were worn by queens, and + dancers and matrons with millions, and debutantes; Camille, who had + introduced the slouch, revived the hoop, discovered the sunset chiffon, + had actually consented to design six models every season for the mail + order millions of the Haynes-Cooper women's dress department—at a + price that made even Michael Fenger wince. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOURTEEN + </h2> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis' blouses showed real Cluny now, and her hats were nothing + but line. A scant two years before she had wondered if she would ever + reach a pinnacle of success lofty enough to enable her to wear blue tailor + suits as smart as the well-cut garments worn by her mother's friend, Mrs. + Emma McChesney. Mrs. McChesney's trig little suits had cost fifty dollars, + and had looked sixty. Fanny's now cost one hundred and twenty-five, and + looked one hundred and twenty-five. Her sleeves alone gave it away. If you + would test the soul of a tailor you have only to glance at shoulder-seam, + elbow and wrist. Therein lies the wizardry. Fanny's sleeve flowed from + arm-pit to thumb-bone without a ripple. Also she moved from the South side + to the North side, always a sign of prosperity or social ambition, in + Chicago. Her new apartment was near the lake, exhilaratingly high, + correspondingly expensive. And she was hideously lonely. She was earning a + man-size salary now, and she was working like a man. A less magnificently + healthy woman could not have stood the strain, for Fanny Brandeis was + working with her head, not her heart. When we say heart we have come to + mean something more than the hollow muscular structure that propels the + blood through the veins. That, in the dictionary, is the primary + definition. The secondary definition has to do with such words as emotion, + sympathy, tenderness, courage, conviction. She was working, now, as + Michael Fenger worked, relentlessly, coldly, indomitably, using all the + material at hand as a means to an end, with never a thought of the + material itself, as a builder reaches for a brick, or stone, and fits it + into place, smoothly, almost without actually seeing the brick itself, + except as something which will help to make a finished wall. She rarely + prowled the city now. She told herself she was too tired at night, and on + Sundays and holidays, and I suppose she was. Indeed, she no longer saw + things with her former vision. It was as though her soul had shriveled in + direct proportion to her salary's expansion. The streets seldom furnished + her with a rich mental meal now. When she met a woman with a child, in the + park, her keen eye noted the child's dress before it saw the child itself, + if, indeed, she noticed the child at all. + </p> + <p> + Fascinating Facts, the guileless, pink-cheeked youth who had driven her + home the night of her first visit to the Fengers, shortly after her coming + to Haynes-Cooper's, had proved her faithful slave, and she had not abused + his devotion. Indeed, she hardly considered it that. The sex side of her + was being repressed with the artist side. Most men found her curt, brisk, + businesslike manner a little repellent, though interesting. They never + made love to her, in spite of her undeniable attractiveness. Fascinating + Facts drove her about in his smart little roadster and one night he + established himself in her memory forever as the first man who had ever + asked her to marry him. He did it haltingly, painfully, almost grudgingly. + Fanny was frankly amazed. She had enjoyed going about with him. He rested + and soothed her. He, in turn, had been stimulated by her energy, her + humor, her electric force. Nothing was said for a minute after his awkward + declaration. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he persisted, “you like me, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do. Immensely.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why?” + </p> + <p> + “When a woman of my sort marries it's a miracle. I'm twenty-six, and + intelligent and very successful. A frightful combination. Unmarried women + of my type aren't content just to feel. They must analyze their feelings. + And analysis is death to romance.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott! You expect to marry somebody sometime, don't you, Fanny?” + </p> + <p> + “No one I know now. When I do marry, if I do, it will be with the idea of + making a definite gain. I don't mean necessarily worldly gain, though that + would be a factor, too.” Fascinating Facts had been staring straight + ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with unnecessary rigidity. He relaxed + a little now, and even laughed, though not very successfully. Then he said + something very wise, for him. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, girl. You'll never get away with that vampire stuff. Talons + are things you have to be born with. You'll never learn to grab with + these.” He reached over, and picked up her left hand lying inertly in her + lap, and brought it up to his lips, and kissed it, glove and all. “They're + built on the open-face pattern—for giving. You can't fool me. I + know.” + </p> + <p> + A year and a half after her coming to Haynes-Cooper Fanny's department was + doing a business of a million a year. The need had been there. She had + merely given it the impetus. She was working more or less directly with + Fenger now, with an eye on every one of the departments that had to do + with women's clothing, from shoes to hats. Not that she did any actual + buying, or selling in these departments. She still confined her actual + selecting of goods to the infants' wear section, but she occupied, + unofficially, the position of assistant to the General Merchandise + Manager. They worked well together, she and Fenger, their minds often + marching along without the necessity of a single spoken word. There was no + doubt that Fenger's mind was a marvelous piece of mechanism. Under it the + Haynes-Cooper plant functioned with the clockwork regularity of a gigantic + automaton. System and Results—these were his twin gods. With his + mind intent on them he failed to see that new gods, born of spiritual + unrest, were being set up in the temples of Big Business. Their coming had + been rumored for many years. Words such as Brotherhood, Labor, Rights, + Humanity, Hours, once regarded as the special property of the street + corner ranter, were creeping into our everyday vocabulary. And strangely + enough, Nathan Haynes, the gentle, the bewildered, the uninspired, heard + them, and listened. Nathan Haynes had begun to accustom himself to the + roar of the flood that had formerly deafened him. He was no longer stunned + by the inrush of his millions. The report sheet handed him daily had never + ceased to be a wildly unexpected thing, and he still shrank from it, + sometimes. It was so fantastic, so out of all reason. But he even dared, + now and then, to put out a tentative hand to guide the flood. He began to + realize, vaguely, that Italian Gardens, and marble pools, educational + endowments and pet charities were but poor, ineffectual barriers of mud + and sticks, soon swept away by the torrent. As he sat there in his great, + luxurious office, with the dim, rich old portraits gleaming down on him + from the walls, he began, gropingly, to evolve a new plan; a plan by which + the golden flood was to be curbed, divided, and made to form a sub-stream, + to be utilized for the good of the many; for the good of the Ten Thousand, + who were almost Fifteen Thousand now, with another fifteen thousand in + mills and factories at distant points, whose entire output was swallowed + up by the Haynes-Cooper plant. Michael Fenger, Super-Manager, listened to + the plan, smiled tolerantly, and went on perfecting an already miraculous + System. Sarah Sapinsky, at seven a week, was just so much untrained labor + material, easily replaced by material exactly like it. No, Michael Fenger, + with his head in the sand, heard no talk of new gods. He only knew that + the monster plant under his management was yielding the greatest possible + profit under the least possible outlay. + </p> + <p> + In Fanny Brandeis he had found a stimulating, energizing fellow worker. + That had been from the beginning. In the first month or two of her work, + when her keen brain was darting here and there, into forgotten and + neglected corners, ferreting out dusty scraps of business waste and + holding them up to the light, disdainfully, Fenger had watched her with a + mingling of amusement and a sort of fond pride, as one would a precocious + child. As the months went on the pride and amusement welded into something + more than admiration, such as one expert feels for a fellow-craftsman. + Long before the end of the first year he knew that here was a woman such + as he had dreamed of all his life and never hoped to find. He often found + himself sitting at his office desk, or in his library at home, staring + straight ahead for a longer time than he dared admit, his papers or book + forgotten in his hand. His thoughts applied to her adjectives which proved + her a paradox: Generous, sympathetic, warm-hearted, impulsive, + imaginative; cold, indomitable, brilliant, daring, intuitive. He would + rouse himself almost angrily and force himself to concentrate again upon + the page before him. I don't know how he thought it all would end—he + whose life-habit it was to follow out every process to its ultimate step, + whether mental or mechanical. As for Fanny, there was nothing of the + intriguant about her. She was used to admiration. She was accustomed to + deference from men. Brandeis' Bazaar had insured that. All her life men + had taken orders from her, all the way from Aloysius and the blithe + traveling men of whom she bought goods, to the salesmen and importers in + the Chicago wholesale houses. If they had attempted, occasionally, to + mingle the social and personal with the commercial Fanny had not resented + their attitude. She had accepted their admiration and refused their + invitations with equal good nature, and thus retained their friendship. It + is not exaggeration to say that she looked upon Michael Fenger much as she + had upon these genial fellow-workers. A woman as straightforward and + direct as she has what is known as a single-track mind in such matters. It + is your soft and silken mollusc type of woman whose mind pursues a slimy + and labyrinthine trail. But it is useless to say that she did not feel + something of the intense personal attraction of the man. Often it used to + puzzle and annoy her to find that as they sat arguing in the brisk, + everyday atmosphere of office or merchandise room the air between them + would suddenly become electric, vibrant. They met each other's eyes with + effort. When their hands touched, accidentally, over papers or samples + they snatched them back. Fanny found herself laughing uncertainly, at + nothing, and was furious. When a silence fell between them they would + pounce upon it, breathlessly, and smother it with talk. + </p> + <p> + Do not think that any furtive love-making went on, sandwiched between shop + talk. Their conversation might have taken place between two men. Indeed, + they often were brutally frank to each other. Fanny had the vision, Fenger + the science to apply it. Sometimes her intuition leaped ahead of his + reasoning. Then he would say, “I'm not sold on that,” which is modern + business slang meaning, “You haven't convinced me.” She would go back and + start afresh, covering the ground more slowly. + </p> + <p> + Usually her suggestions were practical and what might be termed human. + They seemed to be founded on an uncanny knowledge of people's frailties. + It was only when she touched upon his beloved System that he was adamant. + </p> + <p> + “None of that socialistic stuff,” he would say. “This isn't a Benevolent + Association we're running. It's the biggest mail order business in the + world, and its back-bone is System. I've been just fifteen years + perfecting that System. It's my job. Hands off.” + </p> + <p> + “A fifteen year old system ought to be scrapped,” Fanny would retort, + boldly. “Anyway, the Simon Legree thing has gone out.” + </p> + <p> + No one in the plant had ever dared to talk to him like that. He would + glare down at Fanny for a moment, like a mastiff on a terrier. Fanny, + seeing his face rage-red, would flash him a cheerful and impudent smile. + The anger, fading slowly, gave way to another look, so that admiration and + resentment mingled for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky for you you're not a man.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you're not.” + </p> + <p> + Not a very thrilling conversation for those of you who are seeking + heartthrobs. + </p> + <p> + In May Fanny made her first trip to Europe for the firm. It was a sudden + plan. Instantly Theodore leaped to her mind and she was startled at the + tumult she felt at the thought of seeing him and his child. The baby, a + girl, was more than a year old. Her business, a matter of two weeks, + perhaps, was all in Berlin and Paris, but she cabled Theodore that she + would come to them in Munich, if only for a day or two. She had very + little curiosity about the woman Theodore had married. The memory of that + first photograph of hers, befrizzed, bejeweled, and asmirk, had never + effaced itself. It had stamped her indelibly in Fanny's mind. + </p> + <p> + The day before she left for New York (she sailed from there) she had a + letter from Theodore. It was evident at once that he had not received her + cable. He was in Russia, giving a series of concerts. Olga and the baby + were with him. He would be back in Munich in June. There was some talk of + America. When Fanny realized that she was not to see him she experienced a + strange feeling that was a mixture of regret and relief. All the family + love in her, a racial trait, had been stirred at the thought of again + seeing that dear blond brother, the self-centered, willful, gifted boy who + had held the little congregation rapt, there in the Jewish house of + worship in Winnebago. But she had recoiled a little from the meeting with + this other unknown person who gave concerts in Russia, who had adopted + Munich as his home, who was the husband of this Olga person, and the + father of a ridiculously German looking baby in a very German looking + dress, all lace and tucks, and wearing bracelets on its chubby arms, and a + locket round its neck. That was what one might expect of Olga's baby. But + not of Theodore's. Besides, what business had that boy with a baby, + anyway? Himself a baby. + </p> + <p> + Fenger had arranged for her cabin, and she rather resented its luxury + until she learned later, that it is the buyers who always occupy the + staterooms de luxe on ocean liners. She learned, too, that the men in + yachting caps and white flannels, and the women in the smartest and most + subdued of blue serge and furs were not millionaires temporarily deprived + of their own private seagoing craft, but buyers like herself, shrewd, + aggressive, wise and incredibly endowed with savoir faire. Merely to watch + one of them dealing with a deck steward was to know for all time the + superiority of mind over matter. + </p> + <p> + Most incongruously, it was Ella Monahan and Clarence Heyl who waved + good-by to her as her ship swung clear of the dock. Ella was in New York + on her monthly trip. Heyl had appeared at the hotel as Fanny was adjusting + her veil and casting a last rather wild look around the room. Molly + Brandeis had been the kind of woman who never misses a train or overlooks + a hairpin. Fanny's early training had proved invaluable more than once in + the last two years. Nevertheless, she was rather flustered, for her, as + the elevator took her down to the main floor. She told herself it was not + the contemplation of the voyage itself that thrilled her. It was the fact + that here was another step definitely marking her progress. Heyl, looking + incredibly limp, was leaning against a gaudy marble pillar, his eyes on + the downcoming elevators. Fanny saw him just an instant before he saw her, + and in that moment she found herself wondering why this boy (she felt + years older than he) should look so fantastically out of place in this + great, glittering, feverish hotel lobby. Just a shy, rather swarthy Jewish + boy, who wore the right kind of clothes in the wrong manner—then + Heyl saw her and came swiftly toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Fan!” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Clancy!” They had not seen each other in six months. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody else going down with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Ella Monahan had a last-minute business appointment, but she promised + to be at the dock, somehow, before the boat leaves. I'm going to be grand, + and taxi all the way.” + </p> + <p> + “I've an open car, waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “But I won't have it! I can't let you do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes you can. Don't take it so hard. That's the trouble with you + business women. You're killing the gallantry of a nation. Some day one of + you will get up and give me a seat in a subway——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll punish you for that, Clancy. If you want the Jane Austen thing I'll + accommodate. I'll drop my handkerchief, gloves, bag, flowers and fur scarf + at intervals of five minutes all the way downtown. Then you may scramble + around on the floor of the cab and feel like a knight.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny had long ago ceased to try to define the charm of this man. She + always meant to be serenely dignified with him. She always ended by + feeling very young, and, somehow, gloriously carefree and lighthearted. + There was about him a naturalness, a simplicity, to which one responded in + kind. + </p> + <p> + Seated beside her he turned and regarded her with disconcerting scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “Like it?” demanded Fanny, pertly. And smoothed her veil, consciously. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for a man who looks negligee even in evening clothes aren't you + overcritical?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not criticizing your clothes. Even I can see that that hat and suit + have the repressed note that means money. And you're the kind of woman who + looks her best in those plain dark things.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then?” + </p> + <p> + “You look like a buyer. In two more years your face will have that hard + finish that never comes off.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a buyer.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not. You're a creator. Remember, I'm not belittling your job. It's + a wonderful job—for Ella Monahan. I wish I had the gift of + eloquence. I wish I had the right to spank you. I wish I could prove to + you, somehow, that with your gift, and heritage, and racial right it's as + criminal for you to be earning your thousands at Haynes-Cooper's as it + would have been for a vestal virgin to desert her altar fire to stoke a + furnace. Your eyes are bright and hard, instead of tolerant. Your mouth is + losing its graciousness. Your whole face is beginning to be stamped with a + look that says shrewdness and experience, and success.” + </p> + <p> + “I am successful. Why shouldn't I look it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you're a failure. I'm sick, I tell you—sick with + disappointment in you. Jane Addams would have been a success in business, + too. She was born with a humanity sense, and a value sense, and a + something else that can't be acquired. Ida Tarbell could have managed your + whole Haynes-Cooper plant, if she'd had to. So could a dozen other women I + could name. You don't see any sign of what you call success on Jane + Addams's face, do you? You wouldn't say, on seeing her, that here was a + woman who looked as if she might afford hundred-dollar tailor suits and a + town car. No. All you see in her face is the reflection of the souls of + all the men and women she has worked to save. She has covered her job—the + job that the Lord intended her to cover. And to me she is the most + radiantly beautiful woman I have ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand in the grip of + the other, as she had since childhood, when deeply disturbed. And suddenly + she began to cry—silently, harrowingly, as a man cries, her + shoulders shaking, her face buried in her furs. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny! Fanny girl!” He was horribly disturbed and contrite. He patted her + arm, awkwardly. She shook free of his hand, childishly. “Don't cry, dear. + I'm sorry. It's just that I care so much. It's just——” + </p> + <p> + She raised an angry, tear-stained face. “It's just that you have an + exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just that you've grown up from + what they used to call a bright little boy to a bright young man, and + you're just as tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, except + when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all those years. Why, + I'll never get over being thrilled at the idea of being able to go to the + theater, or to a concert, whenever I like. Actually whenever I want to. + And to be able to buy a jabot, or a smart hat, or a book. You don't know + how I wanted things, and how tired I got of never having them. I'm happy! + I'm happy! Leave me alone!” + </p> + <p> + “It's an awful price to pay for a hat, and a jabot, and a book and a + theater ticket, Fan.” + </p> + <p> + Ella Monahan had taken the tube, and was standing in the great shed, + watching arrivals with interest, long before they bumped over the + cobblestones of Hoboken. The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had + sent champagne—six cosy pints in a wicker basket. + </p> + <p> + “They say it's good for seasickness,” she announced, cheerfully, “but it's + a lie. Nothing's good for seasickness, except death, or dry land. But even + if you do feel miserable—and you probably will—there's + something about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne alone, + by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing.” + </p> + <p> + Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and exclamatory over her + books and flowers. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's my first trip,” she explained, “and an event in my life, + but I didn't suppose that anybody else would care. What's this? Candy? + Glace fruit.” She glanced around the luxurious little cabin, then up at + Heyl, impudently. “I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy, but I must + say I like this very, very much. Sorry.” + </p> + <p> + They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full of parting + instructions. “And be sure to eat at Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty cents + for lobster. And caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as codfish. And + don't forget to order mai-bowle. It tastes like champagne, but isn't, and + it has the most delicious dwarf strawberries floating on top. This is just + the season for it. You're lucky. If you tip the waiter one mark he's yours + for life. Oh, and remember the plum compote. You'll be disappointed in + their Wertheim's that they're always bragging about. After all, Field's + makes 'em all look like country stores.” + </p> + <p> + “Wertheim's? Is that something to eat, too?” + </p> + <p> + “No, idiot. It's their big department store.” Ella turned to Heyl, for + whom she felt mingled awe and liking. “If this trip of hers is successful, + the firm will probably send her over three or four times a year. It's a + wonderful chance for a kid like her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope,” said Heyl, quietly, “that this trip may be a failure.” + </p> + <p> + Ella smiled, uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't laugh,” said Fanny, sharply. “He means it.” + </p> + <p> + Ella, sensing an unpleasant something in which she had no part, covered + the situation with another rush of conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get the jolt of your life when you come to Paris and find that + you're expected to pay for the lunches, and all the cab fares, and + everything, of those shrimpy little commissionaires. Polite little + fellows, they are, in frock coats, and mustaches, and they just stand + aside, as courtly as you please, while you pay for everything. Their house + expects it. I almost passed away, the first time, but you get used to it. + Say, imagine one of our traveling men letting you pay for his lunch and + taxi.” + </p> + <p> + She rattled on, genially. Heyl listened with unfeigned delight. Ella found + herself suddenly abashed before those clear, far-seeing eyes. “You think + I'm a gabby old girl, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're a wonderful woman,” said Heyl. “Very wise, and very kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—thanks,” faltered Ella. “Why—thanks.” + </p> + <p> + They said their good-bys. Ella hugged Fanny warm-heartedly. Then she + turned away, awkwardly. Heyl put his two hands on Fanny's shoulders and + looked down at her. For a breathless second she thought he was about to + kiss her. She was amazed to find herself hoping that he would. But he + didn't. “Good-by,” he said, simply. And took her hand in his steel grip a + moment, and dropped it. And turned away. A messenger boy, very much out of + breath, came running up to her, a telegram in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “For me?” Fanny opened it, frowned, smiled. “It's from Mr. Fenger. Good + wishes. As if all those flowers weren't enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Mm,” said Ella. She and Heyl descended the gang-way, and stood at the + dock's edge, looking rather foolish and uncertain, as people do at such + times. There followed a few moments of scramble, of absurdly shouted last + messages, of bells, and frantic waving of handkerchiefs. Fanny, at the + rail, found her two among the crowd, and smiled down upon them, mistily. + Ella was waving energetically. Heyl was standing quite still, looking up. + The ship swung clear, crept away from the dock. The good-bys swelled to a + roar. Fanny leaned far over the rail and waved too, a sob in her throat. + Then she saw that she was waving with the hand that held the yellow + telegram. She crumpled it in the other hand, and substituted her + handkerchief. Heyl still stood, hat in hand, motionless. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you wave good-by?” she called, though he could not possibly + hear. “Wave good-by!” And then the hand with the handkerchief went to her + face, and she was weeping. I think it was that old drama-thrill in her, + dormant for so long. But at that Heyl swung his hat above his head, three + times, like a schoolboy, and, grasping Ella's plump and resisting arm, + marched abruptly away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIFTEEN + </h2> + <p> + The first week in June found her back in New York. That month of absence + had worked a subtle change. The two weeks spent in crossing and recrossing + had provided her with a let-down that had been almost jarring in its + completeness. Everything competitive had seemed to fade away with the + receding shore, and to loom up again only when the skyline became a thing + of smoke-banks, spires, and shafts. She had had only two weeks for the + actual transaction of her business. She must have been something of a + revelation to those Paris and Berlin manufacturers, accustomed though they + were to the brisk and irresistible methods of the American business woman. + She was, after all, absurdly young to be talking in terms of millions, and + she was amazingly well dressed. This last passed unnoticed, or was taken + for granted in Paris, but in Berlin, home of the frump and the flour-sack + figure, she was stared at, appreciatively. Her business, except for one or + two unimportant side lines, had to do with two factories on whose product + the Haynes-Cooper company had long had a covetous eye. Quantity, as usual, + was the keynote of their demand, and Fanny's task was that of talking in + six-figure terms to these conservative and over-wary foreign + manufacturers. That she had successfully accomplished this, and that she + had managed to impress them also with the important part that time and + promptness in delivery played in a swift-moving machine like the + Haynes-Cooper concern, was due to many things beside her natural business + ability. Self-confidence was there, and physical vigor, and diplomacy. But + above all there was that sheer love of the game; the dramatic sense that + enabled her to see herself in the part. That alone precluded the + possibility of failure. She knew how youthful she looked, and how glowing. + She anticipated the look that came into their faces when she left polite + small-talk behind and soared up into the cold, rarefied atmosphere of + business. She delighted in seeing the admiring and tolerant smirk vanish + and give way to a startled and defensive attentiveness. + </p> + <p> + It might be mentioned that she managed, somehow, to spend almost half a + day in Petticoat Lane, and its squalid surroundings, while in London. She + actually prowled, alone, at night, in the evil-smelling, narrow streets of + the poorer quarter of Paris, and how she escaped unharmed is a mystery + that never bothered her, because she had never known fear of streets. She + had always walked on the streets of Winnebago, Wisconsin, alone. It never + occurred to her not to do the same in the streets of Chicago, or New York, + or London, or Paris. She found Berlin, with its Adlon, its appalling + cleanliness, its overfed populace, and its omnipresent Kaiser forever + scudding up and down Unter den Linden in his chocolate-colored car, + incredibly dull, and unpicturesque. Something she had temporarily lost + there in the busy atmosphere of the Haynes-Cooper plant, seemed to have + returned, miraculously. + </p> + <p> + New York, on her return, was something of a shock. She remembered how + vividly fresh it had looked to her on the day of that first visit, months + before. Now, to eyes fresh from the crisp immaculateness of Paris and + Berlin, Fifth avenue looked almost grimy, and certainly shabby in spots. + </p> + <p> + Ella Monahan, cheerful, congratulatory, beaming, met her at the pier, and + Fanny was startled at her own sensation of happiness as she saw that pink, + good-natured face looking up at her from the crowd below. The month that + had gone by since last she saw Ella standing just so, seemed to slip away + and fade into nothingness. + </p> + <p> + “I waited over a day,” said Ella, “just to see you. My, you look grand! I + know where you got that hat. Galeries Lafayette. How much?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect you to believe it. Thirty-five francs. Seven dollars. I + couldn't get it for twenty-five here.” + </p> + <p> + They were soon clear of the customs. Ella had engaged a room for her at + the hotel they always used. As they rode uptown together, happily, Ella + opened her bag and laid a little packet of telegrams and letters in + Fanny's lap. + </p> + <p> + “I guess Fenger's pleased, all right, if telegrams mean anything. Not that + I know they're from him. But he said—” + </p> + <p> + But Fanny was looking up from one of them with a startled expression. + “He's here. Fenger's here.” + </p> + <p> + “In New York?” asked Ella, rather dully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She ripped open another letter. It was from Theodore. He was coming + to New York in August. The Russian tour had been a brilliant success. They + had arranged a series of concerts for him in the United States. He could + give his concerto there. It was impossible in Russia, Munich, even Berlin, + because it was distinctly Jewish in theme—as Jewish as the Kol + Nidre, and as somber. They would have none of it in Europe. Prejudice was + too strong. But in America! He was happier than he had been in years. Olga + objected to coming to America, but she would get over that. The little one + was well, and she was learning to talk. Actually! They were teaching her + to say Tante Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” exclaimed Fanny, her eyes shining. She read bits of the letter + aloud to Ella. Ella was such a satisfactory sort of person to whom to read + a letter aloud. She exclaimed in all the right places. Her face was as + radiant as Fanny's. They both had forgotten all about Fenger, their Chief. + But they had been in their hotel scarcely a half hour, and Ella had not + done exclaiming over the bag that Fanny had brought her from Paris, when + his telephone call came. + </p> + <p> + He wasted very little time on preliminaries. + </p> + <p> + “I'll call for you at four. We'll drive through the park, and out by the + river, and have tea somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be wonderful. That is, if Ella's free. I'll ask her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ella?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She's right here. Hold the wire, will you?” She turned away from the + telephone to face Ella. “It's Mr. Fenger. He wants to take us both driving + this afternoon. You can go, can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly CAN,” replied Miss Monahan, with what might have appeared to + be undue force. + </p> + <p> + Fanny turned back to the telephone. “Yes, thanks. We can both go. We'll be + ready at four.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have been what she + thought it was. + </p> + <p> + Ella busied herself with the unpacking of a bag. She showed a disposition + to spoil Fanny. “You haven't asked after your friend, Mr. Heyl. My land! + If I had a friend like that—” “Oh, yes,” said Fanny, vaguely. “I + suppose you and he are great chums by this time. He's a nice boy.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose anything of the kind,” Ella retorted, crisply. “That + boy, as you call him—and it isn't always the man with the biggest + fists that's got the most fight in him—is about as far above me as—as—” + she sat down on the floor, ponderously, beside the open bag, and + gesticulated with a hairbrush, at loss for a simile “as an eagle is above + a waddling old duck. No, I don't mean that, either, because I never did + think much of the eagle, morally. But you get me. Not that he knows it, or + shows it. Heyl, I mean. Lord, no! But he's got something—something + kind of spiritual in him that makes you that way, too. He doesn't say + much, either. That's the funny part of it. I do all the talking, seems, + when I'm with him. But I find myself saying things I didn't know I knew. + He makes you think about things you're afraid to face by yourself. Big + things. Things inside of you.” She fell silent a moment, sitting + cross-legged before the bag. Then she got up, snapped the bag shut, and + bore it across the room to a corner. “You know he's gone, I s'pose.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone?” + </p> + <p> + “To those mountains, or wherever it is he gets that look in his eyes from. + That's my notion of a job. They let him go for the whole summer, roaming + around being a naturalist, just so's he'll come back in the winter.” + </p> + <p> + “And the column?” Fanny asked. “Do they let that go, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's going to do some writing for them up there. After all, he's + the column. It doesn't make much difference where he writes from. Did you + know it's being syndicated now, all over the country? Well, it is. That's + the secret of its success, I suppose. It isn't only a column written about + New York for a New York paper. It's about everything, for anybody. It's + the humanest stuff. And he isn't afraid of anything. New York's crazy + about him. They say he's getting a salary you wouldn't believe. I'm a + tongue-tied old fool when I'm with him, but then, he likes to talk about + you, mostly, so it doesn't matter.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny turned swiftly from the dressing-table, where she was taking the + pins out of her vigorous, abundant hair. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of thing does he say about me, Ellen girl. H'm? What kind of + thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Abuse, mostly. I'll be running along to my own room now. I'll be out for + lunch, but back at four, for that airing Fenger's so wild to have me take. + If I were you I'd lie down for an hour, till you get your land-legs.” She + poked her head in at the door again. “Not that you look as if you needed + it. You've got a different look, somehow. Kind of rested. After all, + there's nothing like an ocean voyage.” + </p> + <p> + She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the room. There was + nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had you seen her standing there, + motionless, you would still have got a sense of action from her. She + looked so splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood + looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not yet turned the + city into a cauldron of stone and steel. From her height she could glimpse + the green of the park, with a glint of silver in its heart, that was the + lake. Her mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far removed from + its usual orderly functioning. Now she thought of Theodore, her little + brother—his promised return. It had been a slow and painful thing, + his climb. Perhaps if she had been more ready to help, if she had not + always waited until he asked the aid that she might have volunteered—she + thrust that thought out of her mind, rudely, and slammed the door on + it.... Fenger. He had said, “Damn!” when she had told him about Ella. And + his voice had been—well—she pushed that thought outside her + mind, too.... Clarence Heyl.... “He makes you think about things you're + afraid to face by yourself. Big things. Things inside of you....” + </p> + <p> + Fanny turned away from the window. She decided she must be tired, after + all. Because here she was, with everything to make her happy: Theodore + coming home; her foreign trip a success; Ella and Fenger to praise her and + make much of her; a drive and tea this afternoon (she wasn't above these + creature comforts)—and still she felt unexhilarated, dull. She + decided to go down for a bit of lunch, and perhaps a stroll of ten or + fifteen minutes, just to see what Fifth avenue was showing. It was + half-past one when she reached that ordinarily well-regulated + thoroughfare. She found its sidewalks packed solid, up and down, as far as + the eye could see, with a quiet, orderly, expectant mass of people. Squads + of mounted police clattered up and down, keeping the middle of the street + cleared. Whatever it was that had called forth that incredible mass, was + scheduled to proceed uptown from far downtown, and that very soon. Heads + were turned that way. Fanny, wedged in the crowd, stood a-tiptoe, but she + could see nothing. It brought to her mind the Circus Day of her Winnebago + childhood, with Elm street packed with townspeople and farmers, all + straining their eyes up toward Cherry street, the first turn in the line + of march. Then, far away, the blare of a band. “Here they come!” Just + then, far down the canyon of Fifth avenue, sounded the cry that had always + swayed Elm street, Winnebago. “Here they come!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Fanny asked a woman against whom she found herself + close-packed. “What are they waiting for?” + </p> + <p> + “It's the suffrage parade,” replied the woman. “The big suffrage parade. + Don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I haven't been here.” Fanny was a little disappointed. The crowd had + surged forward, so that it was impossible for her to extricate herself. + She found herself near the curb. She could see down the broad street now, + and below Twenty-third street it was a moving, glittering mass, pennants, + banners, streamers flying. The woman next her volunteered additional + information. + </p> + <p> + “The mayor refused permission to let them march. But they fought it, and + they say it's the greatest suffrage parade ever held. I'd march myself, + only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only what?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I'm scared to, I think. I'm not a New Yorker.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither am I,” said Fanny. Fanny always became friendly with the woman + next her in a crowd. That was her mother in her. One could hear the music + of the band, now. Fanny glanced at her watch. It was not quite two. Oh, + well, she would wait and see some of it. Her mind was still too freshly + packed with European impressions to receive any real idea of the value of + this pageant, she told herself. She knew she did not feel particularly + interested. But she waited. + </p> + <p> + Another surging forward. It was no longer, “Here they come!” but, “Here + they are!” + </p> + <p> + And here they were. + </p> + <p> + A squad of mounted police, on very prancy horses. The men looked very + ruddy, and well set-up and imposing. Fanny had always thrilled to anything + in uniform, given sufficient numbers of them. Another police squad. A + brass band, on foot. And then, in white, on a snow-white charger, holding + a white banner aloft, her eyes looking straight ahead, her face very + serious and youthful, the famous beauty and suffrage leader, Mildred + Inness. One of the few famous beauties who actually was a beauty. And + after that women, women, women! Hundreds of them, thousands of them, a + river of them flowing up Fifth avenue to the park. More bands. More + horses. Women! Women! They bore banners. This section, that section. + Artists. School teachers. Lawyers. Doctors. Writers. Women in college caps + and gowns. Women in white, from shoes to hats. Young women. Girls. + Gray-haired women. A woman in a wheel chair, smiling. A man next to Fanny + began to jeer. He was a red-faced young man, with a coarse, blotchy skin, + and thick lips. He smoked a cigar, and called to the women in a falsetto + voice, “Hello, Sadie!” he called. “Hello, kid!” And the women marched on, + serious-faced, calm-eyed. There came floats; elaborate affairs, with girls + in Greek robes. Fanny did not care for these. More solid ranks. And then a + strange and pitiful and tragic and eloquent group. Their banner said, + “Garment Workers. Infants' Wear Section.” And at their head marched a + girl, carrying a banner. I don't know how she attained that honor. I think + she must have been one of those fiery, eloquent leaders in her factory + clique. The banner she carried was a large one, and it flapped + prodigiously in the breeze, and its pole was thick and heavy. She was a + very small girl, even in that group of pale-faced, under-sized, under-fed + girls. A Russian Jewess, evidently. Her shoes were ludicrous. They curled + up at the toes, and the heels were run down. Her dress was a sort of + parody on the prevailing fashion. But on her face, as she trudged along, + hugging the pole of the great pennant that flapped in the breeze, was + stamped a look.—well, you see that same look in some pictures of + Joan of Arc. It wasn't merely a look. It was a story. It was tragedy. It + was the history of a people. You saw in it that which told of centuries of + oppression in Russia. You saw eager groups of student Intellectuals, + gathered in secret places for low-voiced, fiery talk. There was in it the + unspeakable misery of Siberia. It spoke eloquently of pogroms, of + massacres, of Kiev and its sister-horror, Kishineff. You saw mean and + narrow streets, and carefully darkened windows, and, on the other side of + those windows the warm yellow glow of the seven-branched Shabbos light. + Above this there shone the courage of a race serene in the knowledge that + it cannot die. And illuminating all, so that her pinched face, beneath the + flapping pennant, was the rapt, uplifted countenance of the Crusader, + there blazed the great glow of hope. This woman movement, spoken of so + glibly as Suffrage, was, to the mind of this over-read, under-fed, + emotional, dreamy little Russian garment worker the glorious means to a + long hoped for end. She had idealized it, with the imagery of her kind. + She had endowed it with promise that it would never actually hold for her, + perhaps. And so she marched on, down the great, glittering avenue, proudly + clutching her unwieldy banner, a stunted, grotesque, magnificent figure. + More than a figure. A symbol. + </p> + <p> + Fanny's eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. She put up her + hand to her cheek, and her face was wet. She stood there, and the parade + went on, endlessly, it seemed, and she saw it through a haze. Bands. More + bands. Pennants. Floats. Women. Women. Women. + </p> + <p> + “I always cry at parades,” said Fanny, to the woman who stood next her—the + woman who wanted to march, but was scared to. “That's all right,” said the + woman. “That's all right.” And she laughed, because she was crying, too. + And then she did a surprising thing. She elbowed her way to the edge of + the crowd, past the red-faced man with the cigar, out to the street, and + fell into line, and marched on up the street, shoulders squared, head + high. + </p> + <p> + Fanny glanced down at her watch. It was quarter after four. With a little + gasp she turned to work her way through the close-packed crowd. It was an + actual physical struggle, from which she emerged disheveled, breathless, + uncomfortably warm, and minus her handkerchief, but she had gained the + comparative quiet of the side street, and she made the short distance that + lay between the Avenue and her hotel a matter of little more than a + minute. In the hotel corridor stood Ella and Fenger, the former looking + worried, the latter savage. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the world—” began Ella. + </p> + <p> + “Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was—it was—glorious!” + She was shaking hands with Fenger, and realizing for the first time that + she must be looking decidedly sketchy and that she had lost her + handkerchief. She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when Fenger + released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said: + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with your eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been crying,” Fanny confessed cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Crying!” + </p> + <p> + “The parade. There was a little girl in it—” she stopped. Fenger + would not be interested in that little girl. Now Clancy would have—but + Ella broke in on that thought. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you don't realize that out in front of this hotel there's a kind + of a glorified taxi waiting, with the top rolled back, and it's been there + half an hour. I never expect to see the time when I could enjoy keeping a + taxi waiting. It goes against me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry. Really. Let's go. I'm ready.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not. Your hair's a sight; and those eyes!” + </p> + <p> + Fenger put a hand on her arm. “Go on up and powder your nose, Miss + Brandeis. And don't hurry. I want you to enjoy this drive.” + </p> + <p> + On her way up in the elevator Fanny thought, “He has lost his waistline. + Now, that couldn't have happened in a month. Queer I didn't notice it + before. And he looks soft. Not enough exercise.” + </p> + <p> + When she rejoined them she was freshly bloused and gloved and all traces + of the tell-tale red had vanished from her eyelids. Fifth avenue was + impossible. Their car sped up Madison avenue, and made for the Park. The + Plaza was a jam of tired marchers. They dispersed from there, but there + seemed no end to the line that still flowed up Fifth avenue. Fenger seemed + scarcely to see it. He had plunged at once into talk of the European trip. + Fanny gave him every detail, omitting nothing. She repeated all that her + letters and cables had told. Fenger was more excited than she had ever + seen him. He questioned, cross-questioned, criticized, probed, exacted an + account of every conversation. Usually it was not method that interested + him, but results. Fanny, having accomplished the thing she had set out to + do, had lost interest in it now. The actual millions so glibly bandied in + the Haynes-Cooper plant had never thrilled her. The methods by which they + were made possible had. + </p> + <p> + Ella had been listening with the shrewd comprehension of one who admires + the superior art of a fellow craftsman. + </p> + <p> + “I'll say this, Mr. Fenger. If I could make you look like that, by going + to Europe and putting it over those foreign boys, I'd feel I'd earned a + year's salary right there, and quit. Not to speak of the cross-examination + you're putting her through.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger laughed, a little self-consciously. “It's just that I want to be + sure it's real. I needn't tell you how important this trick is that Miss + Brandeis has just turned.” He turned to Fanny, with a boyish laugh. “Now + don't pose. You know you can't be as bored as you look.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyway,” put in Ella, briskly, “I move that the witness step down. She + may not be bored, but she certainly must be tired, and she's beginning to + look it. Just lean back, Fanny, and let the green of this park soak in. At + that, it isn't so awfully green, when you get right close, except that one + stretch of meadow. Kind of ugly, Central Park, isn't it? Bare.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny sat forward. There was more sparkle in her face than at any time + during the drive. They were skimming along those green-shaded drives that + are so sophisticatedly sylvan. + </p> + <p> + “I used to think it was bare, too, and bony as an old maid, with no soft + cuddly places like the parks at home; no gracious green stretches, and no + rose gardens. But somehow, it grows on you. The reticence of it. And that + stretch of meadow near the Mall, in the late afternoon, with the mist on + it, and the sky faintly pink, and that electric sign—Somebody's + Tires or other—winking off and on—” + </p> + <p> + “You're a queer child,” interrupted Fenger. “As wooden as an Indian while + talking about a million-a-year deal, and lyrical over a combination of + electric sign, sunset, and moth-eaten park. Oh, well, perhaps that's what + makes you as you are.” + </p> + <p> + Even Ella looked a little startled at that. + </p> + <p> + They had tea at Claremont, at a table overlooking the river and the + Palisades. Fenger was the kind of man to whom waiters always give a table + overlooking anything that should be overlooked. After tea they drove out + along the river and came back in the cool of the evening. Fanny was very + quiet now. Fenger followed her mood. Ella sustained the conversation, + somewhat doggedly. It was almost seven when they reached the plaza exit. + And there Fanny, sitting forward suddenly, gave a little cry. + </p> + <p> + “Why—they're marching yet!” she said, and her voice was high with + wonder. “They're marching yet! All the time we've been driving and teaing, + they've been marching.” + </p> + <p> + And so they had. Thousands upon thousands, they had flowed along as + relentlessly, and seemingly as endlessly as a river. They were marching + yet. For six hours the thousands had poured up that street, making it a + moving mass of white. And the end was not yet. What pen, and tongue, and + sense of justice had failed to do, they were doing now by sheer, crude + force of numbers. The red-faced hooligan, who had stood next to Fanny in + the crowd hours before, had long ago ceased his jibes and slunk away, + bored, if not impressed. After all, one might jeer at ten, or fifty, or a + hundred women, or even five hundred. But not at forty thousand. + </p> + <p> + Their car turned down Madison Avenue, and Fenger twisted about for a last + look at the throng in the plaza. He was plainly impressed. The magnitude + of the thing appealed to him. To a Haynes-Cooper-trained mind, forty + thousand women, marching for whatever the cause, must be impressive. Forty + thousand of anything had the respect of Michael Fenger. His eyes narrowed, + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “They seem to have put it over,” he said. “And yet, what's the idea? Oh, + I'm for suffrage, of course. Naturally. And all those thousands of women, + in white—still, a thing as huge as this parade has to be reduced to + a common denominator, to be really successful. If somebody could take the + whole thing, boil it down, and make the country see what this huge + demonstration stands for.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny leaned forward suddenly. “Tell the man to stop. I want to get out.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger and Ella stared. “What for?” But Fenger obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “I want to get something at this stationer's shop.” She had jumped down + almost before the motor had stopped at the curb. + </p> + <p> + “But let me get it.” + </p> + <p> + “No. You can't. Wait here.” She disappeared within the shop. She was back + in five minutes, a flat, loosely wrapped square under her arm. + “Cardboard,” she explained briefly, in answer to their questions. + </p> + <p> + Fenger, about to leave them at their hotel, presented his plans for the + evening. Fanny, looking up at him, her head full of other plans, thought + he looked and sounded very much like Big Business. And, for the moment at + least, Fanny Brandeis loathed Big Business, and all that it stood for. + </p> + <p> + “It's almost seven,” Fenger was saying. “We'll be rubes in New York, this + evening. You girls will just have time to freshen up a bit—I suppose + you want to—and then we'll have dinner, and go to the theater, and + to supper afterward. What do you want to see?” + </p> + <p> + Ella looked at Fanny. And Fanny shook her head, “Thanks. You're awfully + kind. But—no.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” demanded Fenger, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps because I'm tired. And there's something else I must do.” + </p> + <p> + Ella looked relieved. Fenger's eyes bored down upon Fanny, but she seemed + not to feel them. She held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You're going back to-morrow?” Fenger asked. “I'm not leaving until + Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, with Ella. Good-by. It's been a glorious drive. I feel quite + rested.” + </p> + <p> + “You just said you were tired.” + </p> + <p> + The elevator door clanged, shutting out the sight of Fenger's resentful + frown. + </p> + <p> + “He's as sensitive as a soubrette,” said Ella. “I'm glad you decided not + to go out. I'm dead, myself. A kimono for the rest of the evening.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny seemed scarcely to hear her. With a nod she left Ella, and entered + her own room. There she wasted no time. She threw her hat and coat on the + bed. Her suitcase was on the baggage stand. She turned on all the lights, + swung the closed suitcase up to the table, shoved the table against the + wall, up-ended the suitcase so that its leather side presented a smooth + surface, and propped a firm sheet of white cardboard against the impromptu + rack. She brought her chair up close, fumbled in her bag for the pens she + had just purchased. Her eyes were on the blank white surface of the paper. + The table was the kind that has a sub-shelf. It prevented Fanny from + crossing her legs under it, and that bothered her. While she fitted her + pens, and blocked her paper, she kept on barking her shins in unconscious + protest against the uncomfortable conditions under which she must work. + </p> + <p> + She sat staring at the paper now, after having marked it off into blocks, + with a pencil. She got up, and walked across the room, aimlessly, and + stood there a moment, and came back. She picked up a thread on the floor. + Sat down again. Picked up her pencil, rolled it a moment in her palms, + then, catching her toes behind either foreleg of her chair, in an attitude + that was as workmanlike as it was ungraceful, she began to draw, + nervously, tentatively at first, but gaining in firmness and assurance as + she went on. + </p> + <p> + If you had been standing behind her chair you would have seen, emerging + miraculously from the white surface under Fanny's pencil, a thin, + undersized little figure in sleazy black and white, whose face, under the + cheap hat, was upturned and rapturous. Her skirts were wind-blown, and the + wind tugged, too, at the banner whose pole she hugged so tightly in her + arms. Dimly you could see the crowds that lined the street on either side. + Vaguely, too, you saw the faces and stunted figures of the little group of + girls she led. But she, the central figure, stood out among all the rest. + Fanny Brandeis, the artist, and Fanny Brandeis, the salesman, combined + shrewdly to omit no telling detail. The wrong kind of feet in the wrong + kind of shoes; the absurd hat; the shabby skirt—every bit of + grotesquerie was there, serving to emphasize the glory of the face. Fanny + Brandeis' face, as the figure grew, line by line, was a glorious thing, + too. + </p> + <p> + She was working rapidly. She laid down her pencil, now, and leaned back, + squinting her eyes critically. She looked grimly pleased. Her hair was + rather rumpled, and her cheeks very pink. She took up her pen, now, and + began to ink her drawing with firm black strokes. As she worked a little + crow of delight escaped her—the same absurd crow of triumph that had + sounded that day in Winnebago, years and years before, when she, a school + girl in a red tam o' shanter, had caught the likeness of Schabelitz, the + peasant boy, under the exterior of Schabelitz, the famous. There sounded a + smart little double knock at her door. Fanny did not heed it. She did not + hear it. Her toes were caught behind the chair-legs again. She was slumped + down on the middle of her spine. She had brought the table, with its + ridiculously up-ended suitcase, very near, so that she worked with a + minimum of effort. The door opened. Fanny did not turn her head. Ella + Monahan came in, yawning. She was wearing an expensive looking silk kimono + that fell in straight, simple folds, and gave a certain majesty to her + ample figure. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what in the world—” she began, and yawned again, luxuriously. + She stopped behind Fanny's chair and glanced over her shoulder. The yawn + died. She craned her neck a little, and leaned forward. And the little + girl went marching by, in her cheap and crooked shoes, and her short and + sleazy skirt, with the banner tugging, tugging in the breeze. Fanny + Brandeis had done her with that economy of line, and absence of + sentimentality which is the test separating the artist from the + draughtsman. + </p> + <p> + Silence, except for the scratching of Fanny Brandeis's pen. + </p> + <p> + “Why—the poor little kike!” said Ella Monahan. Then, after another + moment of silence, “I didn't know you could draw like that.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny laid down her pen. “Like what?” She pushed back her chair, and rose, + stiffly. The drawing, still wet, was propped up against the suitcase. + Fanny walked across the room. Ella dropped into her chair, so that when + Fanny came back to the table it was she who looked over Ella's shoulder. + Into Ella's shrewd and heavy face there had come a certain look. + </p> + <p> + “They don't get a square deal, do they? They don't get a square deal.” + </p> + <p> + The two looked at the girl a moment longer, in silence. Then Fanny went + over to the bed, and picked up her hat and coat. She smoothed her hair, + deftly, powdered her nose with care, and adjusted her hat at the smart + angle approved by the Galeries Lafayette. She came back to the table, + picked up her pen, and beneath the drawing wrote, in large print: + </p> + <p> + THE MARCHER. + </p> + <p> + She picked up the drawing, still wet, opened the door, and with a smile at + the bewildered Ella, was gone. + </p> + <p> + It was after eight o'clock when she reached the Star building. She asked + for Lasker's office, and sent in her card. Heyl had told her that Lasker + was always at his desk at eight. Now, Fanny Brandeis knew that the average + young woman, standing outside the office of a man like Lasker, unknown and + at the mercy of office boy or secretary, continues to stand outside until + she leaves in discouragement. But Fanny knew, too, that she was not an + average young woman. She had, on the surface, an air of authority and + distinction. She had that quiet assurance of one accustomed to deference. + She had youth, and beauty, and charm. She had a hat and suit bought in + Paris, France; and a secretary is only human. + </p> + <p> + Carl Lasker's private office was the bare, bright, newspaper-strewn room + of a man who is not only a newspaper proprietor, but a newspaper man. + There's a difference. Carl Lasker had sold papers on the street when he + was ten. He had slept on burlap sacks, paper stuffed, in the basement of a + newspaper office. Ink flowed with the blood in his veins. He could operate + a press. He could manipulate a linotype machine (that almost humanly + intelligent piece of mechanism). He could make up a paper single handed, + and had done it. He knew the newspaper game, did Carl Lasker, from the + composing room to the street, and he was a very great man in his line. And + so he was easy to reach, and simple to talk to, as are all great men. + </p> + <p> + A stocky man, decidedly handsome, surprisingly young, well dressed, smooth + shaven, direct. + </p> + <p> + Fanny entered. Lasker laid down her card. “Brandeis. That's a good name.” + He extended his hand. He wore evening clothes, with a white flower in his + buttonhole. He must have just come from a dinner, or he was to attend a + late affair, somewhere. Perhaps Fanny, taken aback, unconsciously showed + her surprise, because Lasker grinned, as he waved her to a chair. His + quick mind had interpreted her thought. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Miss Brandeis. You think I'm gotten up like the newspaper man + in a Richard Harding Davis short story, don't you? What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny wasted no words. “I saw the parade this afternoon. I did a picture. + I think it's good. If you think so too, I wish you'd use it.” + </p> + <p> + She laid it, face up, on Lasker's desk. Lasker picked it up in his two + hands, held it off, and scrutinized it. All the drama in the world is + concentrated in the confines of a newspaper office every day in the year, + and so you hear very few dramatic exclamations in such a place. Men like + Lasker do not show emotion when impressed. It is too wearing on the + mechanism. Besides, they are trained to self-control. So Lasker said, now: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think it's pretty good, too.” Then, raising his voice to a sudden + bellow, “Boy!” He handed the drawing to a boy, gave a few brief orders, + and turned back to Fanny. “To-morrow morning every other paper in New York + will have pictures showing Mildred Inness, the beauty, on her snow-white + charger, or Sophronisba A. Bannister, A.B., Ph.D., in her cap and gown, or + Mrs. William Van der Welt as Liberty. We'll have that little rat with the + banner, and it'll get 'em. They'll talk about it.” His eyes narrowed a + little. “Do you always get that angle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't a woman cartoonist in New York who does that human stuff. Did + you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Want a job?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no.” + </p> + <p> + His knowing eye missed no detail of the suit, the hat, the gloves, the + shoes. + </p> + <p> + “What's your salary now?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You've hit the heart of that parade. I don't know whether you could do + that every day, or not. But if you struck twelve half the time, it would + be enough. When you want a job, come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Fanny quietly. And held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + She returned in the subway. It was a Bronx train, full of sagging faces, + lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, black-eyed girls in soiled + white shoes; of stoop-shouldered men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew + script; of smells and sounds and glaring light. + </p> + <p> + And though to-morrow would bring its reaction, and common sense would have + her again in its cold grip, she was radiant to-night and glowing with the + exaltation that comes with creation. And over and over a voice within her + was saying: + </p> + <p> + These are my people! These are my people! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SIXTEEN + </h2> + <p> + The ship that brought Theodore Brandeis to America was the last of its + kind to leave German ports for years. The day after he sailed from Bremen + came the war. Fanny Brandeis was only one of the millions of Americans who + refused to accept the idea of war. She took it as a personal affront. It + was uncivilized, it was old fashioned, it was inconvenient. Especially + inconvenient. She had just come from Europe, where she had negotiated a + million-dollar deal. War would mean that she could not get the goods + ordered. Consequently there could be no war. + </p> + <p> + Theodore landed the first week in August. Fanny stole two days from the + ravenous bins to meet him in New York. I think she must have been a very + love-hungry woman in the years since her mother's death. She had never + admitted it. But only emotions denied to the point of starvation could + have been so shaken now at the thought of the feast before them. She had + trained herself to think of him as Theodore the selfish, Theodore the + callous, Theodore the voracious. “An unsuccessful genius,” she told + herself. “He'll be impossible. They're bad enough when they're + successful.” + </p> + <p> + But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent emotions were + straining toward the boat whose great prow was looming toward her, a + terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting the ship was enormous. A dramatic + enough scene at any time, the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled + with an unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning papers + had carried wireless news that the ship had been chased by a French + gunboat and had escaped only through the timely warning of the Dresden, a + German gunboat. That had added the last fillip to an already tense + situation. Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned toward the + crowded decks. And from every side: + </p> + <p> + “Do you see her?” + </p> + <p> + “That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!” + </p> + <p> + “Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. “Ted!” she called, and + choked back a sob. “Teddy!” Still she did not see him. She was searching, + womanlike, for a tall, blondish boy, with a sulky mouth, and humorous + eyes, and an unruly lock of hair that would insist on escaping from the + rest and straggling down over his forehead. I think she was even looking + for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in knickers. Women lose all + sense of time and proportion at such times. Still she did not see him. The + passengers were filing down the gangplank now; rushing down as quickly as + the careful hands of the crew would allow them, and hurling themselves + into the arms of friends and family crowded below. Fanny strained her eyes + toward that narrow passageway, anxious, hopeful, fearful, heartsick. For + the moment Olga and the baby did not exist for her. And then she saw him. + </p> + <p> + She saw him through an unimaginable disguise. She saw him, and knew him in + spite of the fact that the fair-haired, sulky, handsome boy had vanished, + and in his place walked a man. His hair was close-cropped, German-fashion; + his face careworn and older than she had ever thought possible; his + bearing, his features, his whole personality stamped with an unmistakable + distinction. And his clothes were appallingly, inconceivably German. So + she saw him, and he was her brother, and she was his sister, and she + stretched out her arms to him. + </p> + <p> + “Teddy!” She hugged him close, her face buried in his shoulder. “Teddy, + you—you Spitzbube you!” She laughed at that, a little hysterically. + “Not that I know what a Spitzbube is, but it's the Germanest word I can + think of.” That shaven head. Those trousers. That linen. The awful boots. + The tie! “Oh, Teddy, and you're the Germanest thing I ever saw.” She + kissed him again, rapturously. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her, too, wordlessly at first. They moved aside a little, out of + the crowd. Then he spoke for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “God! I'm glad to see you, Fanny.” There was tragedy, not profanation in + his voice. His hand gripped hers. He turned, and now, for the first time, + Fanny saw that at his elbow stood a buxom, peasant woman, evidently a + nurse, and in her arms a child. A child with Molly Brandeis' mouth, and + Ferdinand Brandeis' forehead, and Fanny Brandeis' eyes, and Theodore + Brandeis' roseleaf skin, and over, and above all these, weaving in and out + through the whole, an expression or cast—a vague, undefinable thing + which we call a resemblance—that could only have come from the woman + of the picture, Theodore Brandeis' wife, Olga. + </p> + <p> + “Why—it's the baby!” cried Fanny, and swung her out of the nurse's + protesting arms. Such a German-looking baby. Such an adorably + German-looking baby. “Du kleine, du!” Fanny kissed the roseleaf cheek. “Du + suszes—” She turned suddenly to Theodore. “Olga—where's Olga?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not come.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny tightened her hold of the little squirming bundle in her arms. + “Didn't come?” + </p> + <p> + Theodore shook his head, dumbly. In his eyes was an agony of pain. And + suddenly all those inexplicable things in his face were made clear to + Fanny. She placed the little Mizzi in the nurse's arms again. “Then we'll + go, dear. They won't be a minute over your trunks, I'm sure. Just follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + Her arm was linked through Theodore's. Her hand was on his. Her head was + up. Her chin was thrust out, and she never knew how startlingly she + resembled the Molly Brandeis who used to march so bravely down Norris + street on her way to Brandeis' Bazaar. She was facing a situation, and she + recognized it. There was about her an assurance, a composure, a blithe + capability that imparted itself to the three bewildered and helpless ones + in her charge. Theodore felt it, and the strained look in his face began + to lift just a little. The heavy-witted peasant woman felt it, and trudged + along, cheerfully. The baby in her arms seemed to sense it, and began to + converse volubly and unintelligibly with the blue uniformed customs + inspector. + </p> + <p> + They were out of the great shed in an incredibly short time. Fanny seemed + equal to every situation. She had taken the tube to Hoboken, but now she + found a commodious open car, and drove a shrewd bargain with the + chauffeur. She bundled the three into it. Of the three, perhaps Theodore + seemed the most bewildered and helpless. He clung to his violin and Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “I feel like an immigrant,” he said. “Fan, you're a wonder. You don't know + how much you look and act like mother. I've been watching you. It's + startling.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny laughed and took his hand, and held his hand up to her breast, and + crushed it there. “And you look like an illustration out of the Fliegende + Blaetter. It isn't only your clothes. Your face is German. As for Mizzi + here—” she gathered the child in her arms again—“you've never + explained that name to me. Why, by the way, Mizzi? Of all the names in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore smiled a wry little smile. “Mizzi is named after Olga's chum. You + see, in Vienna every other—well, chorus girl I suppose you'd call + them—is named Mizzi. Like all the Gladyses and Flossies here in + America. Well, Olga's special friend Mizzi—” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Fanny quietly. “Well, anything's better than Fanny. Always + did make me think of an old white horse.” And at that the small German + person in her arms screwed her mouth into a fascinating bunch, and then + unscrewed it and, having made these preparations said, “Tante Fanny. + Shecago. Tante Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mizzi Brandeis, you darling! Teddy, did you hear that! She said + `Tante Fanny' and `Chicago' just as plainly!” “Did I hear it? Have I heard + anything else for weeks?” + </p> + <p> + The plump person on the opposite seat, who had been shaking her head + violently all this time here threatened to burst if not encouraged to + speak. Fanny nodded to her. Whereupon the flood broke. + </p> + <p> + “Wunderbar, nicht war! Ich kuss' die handt, gnadiges Fraulein.” She + actually did it, to Fanny's consternation. “Ich hab' ihr das gelernt, + Gnadige. Selbst. Ist es nicht ganz entzuckend! Tante Fanny. Auch Shecago.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny nodded a number of times, first up and down, signifying assent, then + sideways, signifying unbounded wonder and admiration. She made a gigantic + effort to summon her forgotten German. + </p> + <p> + “Was ist Ihre Name?” she managed to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Otti.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my!” exclaimed Fanny, weakly. “Mizzi and Otti. It sounds like the + first act of the `Merry Widow.'” She turned to Theodore. “I wish you'd sit + back, and relax, and if you must clutch that violin case, do it more + comfortably. I don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is ghastly + in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My apartment in + Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the lake is in the front yard, + practically. To-night, perhaps, we'll talk about—things. And, oh, + Teddy, how glad I am to see you—to have you—to—” she put + out a hand and patted his thin cheek—“to touch you.” + </p> + <p> + And at that the man became a boy again. His face worked a moment, + painfully and then his head came down in her lap that held the baby, and + so she had them both for a moment, one arm about the child, one hand + smoothing the boy's close-cropped hair. And in that moment she was more + splendidly maternal than either of the women who had borne these whom she + now comforted. + </p> + <p> + It was Fanny who attended to the hotel rooms, to the baby's comfort, to + the railroad tickets, to the ordering of the meals. Theodore was like a + stranger in a strange land. Not only that, he seemed dazed. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have it out to-night,” Fanny said to herself. “He'll never get that + look off his face until he has told it all. I knew she was a beast.” + </p> + <p> + She made him lie down while she attended to schedules, tickets, berths. + She was gone for two hours. When she returned she found him looking + amused, terrified and helpless, all at once, while three men reporters and + one woman special writer bombarded him with questions. The woman had + brought a staff artist with her, and he was now engaged in making a + bungling sketch of Theodore's face, with its ludicrous expression. + </p> + <p> + Fanny sensed the situation and saved it. She hadn't sold goods all these + years without learning the value of advertising. She came forward now, + graciously (but not too graciously). Theodore looked relieved. Already he + had learned that one might lean on this sister who was so capable, so + bountifully alive. + </p> + <p> + “Teddy, you're much too tired to talk. Let me talk for you.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister, Miss Brandeis,” said Teddy, and waved a rather feeble hand in + an inclusive gesture at the interrogatory five. + </p> + <p> + Fanny smiled. “Do sit down,” she said, “all of you. Tell me, how did you + happen to get on my brother's trail?” + </p> + <p> + One of the men explained. “We had a list of ship's passengers, of course. + And we knew that Mr. Brandeis was a German violinist. And then the story + of the ship being chased by a French boat. We just missed him down at the + pier—” + </p> + <p> + “But he isn't a German violinist,” interrupted Fanny. “Please get that + straight. He's American. He is THE American violinist—or will be, as + soon as his concert tour here is well started. It was Schabelitz himself + who discovered my brother, and predicted his brilliant career. Here”—she + had been glancing over the artist's shoulder—“will you let me make a + sketch for you—just for the fun of the thing? I do that kind of + thing rather decently. Did you see my picture called `The Marcher,' in the + Star, at the time of the suffrage parade in May? Yes, that was mine. Just + because he has what we call a butcher haircut, don't think he's German, + because he isn't. You wouldn't call Winnebago, Wisconsin, Germany, would + you?” + </p> + <p> + She was sketching him swiftly, daringly, masterfully. She was bringing out + the distinction, the suffering, the boyishness in his face, and toning + down the queer little foreign air he had. Toning it, but not omitting it + altogether. She was too good a showman for that. As she sketched she + talked, and as she talked she drew Theodore into the conversation, deftly, + and just when he was needed. She gave them what they had come for—a + story. And a good one. She brought in Mizzi and Otti, for color, and she + saw to it that they spelled those names as they should be spelled. She + managed to gloss over the question of Olga. Ill. Detained. Last minute. + Too brave to sacrifice her husband's American tour. She finished her + sketch and gave it to the woman reporter. It was an amazingly compelling + little piece of work—and yet, not so amazing, perhaps, when you + consider the thing that Fanny Brandeis had put into it. Then she sent them + away, tactfully. They left, knowing all that Fanny Brandeis had wanted + them to know; guessing little that she had not wanted them to guess. More + than that no human being can accomplish, without the advice of his lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” from Fanny, when the door had closed. + </p> + <p> + “Gott im Himmel!” from Theodore. “I had forgotten that America was like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “But America IS like that. And Teddy, we're going to make it sit up and + take notice.” + </p> + <p> + At that Theodore drooped again. Fanny thought that he looked startlingly + as she remembered her father had looked in those days of her childhood, + when Brandeis' Bazaar was slithering downhill. The sight of him moved her + to a sudden resolve. She crossed swiftly to him, and put one heartening + hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, brother. Out with it. Let's have it all now.” + </p> + <p> + He reached up for her hand and held it, desperately. “Oh, Fan!” began + Theodore, “Fan, I've been through hell.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny said nothing. She only waited, quietly, encouragingly. She had + learned when not to talk. Presently he took up his story, plunging + directly into it, as though sensing that she had already divined much. + </p> + <p> + “She married me for a living. You'll think that's a joke, knowing what I + was earning there, in Vienna, and how you and mother were denying + yourselves everything to keep me. But in a city that circulates a coin + valued at a twentieth of a cent, an American dollar looms up big. Besides, + two of the other girls had got married. Good for nothing officers. She was + jealous, I suppose. I didn't know any of that. I was flattered to think + she'd notice me. She was awfully popular. She has a kind of wit. I suppose + you'd call it that. The other girls were just coarse, and heavy, and—well—animal. + You can't know the rottenness of life there in Vienna. Olga could keep a + whole supper table laughing all evening. I can see, now, that that isn't + difficult when your audience is made up of music hall girls, and stupid, + bullet-headed officers, with their damned high collars, and their gold + braid, and their silly swords, and their corsets, and their glittering + shoes and their miserable petty poverty beneath all the show. I thought I + was a lucky boy. I'd have pitied everybody in Winnebago, if I'd ever + thought of anybody in Winnebago. I never did, except once in a while of + you and mother when I needed money. I kept on with my music. I had sense + enough left, for that. Besides, it was a habit, by that time. Well, we + were married.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, an ugly, abrupt little laugh that ended in a moan, and turned + his head and buried his face in Fanny's breast. And Fanny's arm was there, + about his shoulder. “Fanny, you don't—I can't—” He stopped. + Another silence. Fanny's arm tightened its hold. She bent and kissed the + top of the stubbly head, bowed so low now. “Fan, do you remember that + woman in `The Three Musketeers'? The hellish woman, that all men loved and + loathed? Well, Olga's like that. I'm not whining. I'm not exaggerating. + I'm just trying to make you understand. And yet I don't want you to + understand. Only you don't know what it means to have you to talk to. To + have some one who”—he clutched her hand, fearfully—“You do + love me, don't you, Fanny? You do, don't you, Sis?” + </p> + <p> + “More than any one in the world,” Fanny reassured him, quietly. “The way + mother would have, if she had lived.” + </p> + <p> + A sigh escaped him, at that, as though a load had lifted from him. He went + on, presently. “It would have been all right if I could have earned just a + little more money.” Fanny shrank at that, and shut her eyes for a sick + moment. “But I couldn't. I asked her to be patient. But you don't know the + life there. There is no real home life. They live in the cafes. They go + there to keep warm, in the winter, and to meet their friends, and gossip, + and drink that eternal coffee, and every coffee house—there are + thousands—is a rendezvous. We had two rooms, comfortable ones, for + Vienna, and I tried to explain to her that if I could work hard, and get + into concert, and keep at the composing, we'd be rich some day, and + famous, and happy, and she'd have clothes, and jewels. But she was too + stupid, or too bored. Olga is the kind of woman who only believes what she + sees. Things got worse all the time. She had a temper. So have I—or + I used to have. But when hers was aroused it was—horrible. Words + that—that—unspeakable words. And one day she taunted me with + being a ——with my race. The first time she called me that I + felt that I must kill her. That was my mistake. I should have killed her. + And I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Teddy boy! Don't, brother! You're tired. You're excited and worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not. Just let me talk. I know what I'm saying. There's something + clean about killing.” He brooded a moment over that thought. Then he went + on, doggedly, not raising his voice. His hands were clasped loosely. “You + don't know about the intolerance and the anti-Semitism in Prussia, I + suppose. All through Germany, for that matter. In Bavaria it's bitter. + That's one reason why Olga loathed Munich so. The queer part of it is that + all that opposition seemed to fan something in me; something that had been + smoldering for a long time.” His voice had lost its dull tone now. It had + in it a new timbre. And as he talked he began to interlard his English + with bits of German, the language to which his tongue had accustomed + itself in the past ten years. His sentences, too, took on a German + construction, from time to time. He was plainly excited now. “My playing + began to improve. There would be a ghastly scene with Olga—sickening—degrading. + Then I would go to my work, and I would play, but magnificently! I tell + you, it would be playing. I know. To fool myself I know better. One + morning, after a dreadful quarrel I got the idea for the concerto, and the + psalms. Jewish music. As Jewish as the Kol Nidre. I wanted to express the + passion, and fire, and history of a people. My people. Why was that? Tell + me. Selbst, weiss ich nicht. I felt that if I could put into it just a + millionth part of their humiliation, and their glory; their tragedy and + their triumph; their sorrow, and their grandeur; their persecution, their + weldtschmerz. Volkschmerz. That was it. And through it all, weaving in and + out, one great underlying motif. Indestructibility. The great cry which + says, `We cannot be destroyed!'” + </p> + <p> + He stood up, uncertainly. His eyes were blazing. He began to walk up and + down the luxurious little room. Fanny's eyes matched his. She was staring + at him, fascinated, trembling. + </p> + <p> + She moistened her lips a little with her tongue. “And you've done it? + Teddy! You've done—that!” + </p> + <p> + Theodore Brandeis stood up, very straight and tall. “Yes,” he said, + simply. “Yes, I've done that.” + </p> + <p> + She came over to him then, and put her two hands on his shoulders. “Ted—dear—will + you ever forgive me? I'll try to make up for it now. I didn't know. I've + been blind. Worse than blind. Criminal.” She was weeping now, + broken-heartedly, and he was patting her with little comforting love pats, + and whispering words of tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you? Forgive you what?” + </p> + <p> + “The years of suffering. The years you've had to spend with her. With that + horrible woman—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't—” He sucked his breath between his teeth. His face had gone + haggard again. Fanny, direct as always, made up her mind that she would + have it all. And now. + </p> + <p> + “There's something you haven't told me. Tell me all of it. You're my + brother and I'm your sister. We're all we have in the world.” And at that, + as though timed by some miraculous and supernatural stage manager, there + came a cry from the next room; a sleepy, comfortable, imperious little + cry. Mizzi had awakened. Fanny made a step in the direction of the door. + Then she turned back. “Tell me why Olga didn't come. Why isn't she here + with her husband and baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she's with another man.” + </p> + <p> + “Another—” + </p> + <p> + “It had been going on for a long time. I was the last to know about it. + It's that way, always, isn't it? He's an officer. A fool. He'll have to + take off his silly corsets now, and his velvet collar, and his shiny + boots, and go to war. Damn him! I hope they'll kill him with a hundred + bayonets, one by one, and leave him to rot on the field. She had been + fooling me all the time, and they had been laughing at me, the two of + them. I didn't find it out until just before this American trip. And when + I confronted her with it she laughed in my face. She said she hated me. + She said she'd rather starve than leave him to come to America with me. + She said I was a fiddling fool. She—” he was trembling and sick with + the shame of it—“God! I can't tell you the things she said. She + wanted to keep Mizzi. Isn't that strange? She loves the baby. She neglects + her, and spoils her, and once I saw her beat her, in a rage. But she says + she loves my Mizzi, and I believe she does, in her own dreadful way. I + promised her, and lied to her, and then I ran away with Mizzi and her + nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thank God for that!” Fanny cried. “I thank God for that! And now, + Teddy boy, we'll forget all about those miserable years. We'll forget all + about her, and the life she led you. You're going to have your chance + here. You're going to be repaid for every minute of suffering you've + endured. I'll make it up to you. And when you see them applauding you, + calling for you, adoring you, all those hideous years will fade from your + mind, and you'll be Theodore Brandeis, the successful, Theodore Brandeis, + the gifted, Theodore Brandeis, the great! You need never think of her + again. You'll never see her again. That beast! That woman!” + </p> + <p> + And at that Theodore's face became distorted and dreadful with pain. He + raised two impotent, shaking arms high above his head. “That's just it! + That's just it! You don't know what love is. You don't know what hate is. + You don't know how I hate myself. Loathe myself. She's all that's + miserable, all that's unspeakable, all that's vile. And if she called me + to-day I'd come. That's it.” He covered his shamed face with his two + hands, so that the words came from him slobberingly, sickeningly. “I hate + her! I hate her! And I want her. I want her. I want her!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + </h2> + <p> + If Fanny Brandeis, the deliberately selfish, the calculatingly ambitious, + was aghast at the trick fate had played her, she kept her thoughts to + herself. Knowing her, I think she must have been grimly amused at finding + herself saddled with a helpless baby, a bewildered peasant woman, and an + artist brother both helpless and bewildered. + </p> + <p> + It was out of the question to house them in her small apartment. She found + a furnished apartment near her own, and installed them there, with a + working housekeeper in charge. She had a gift for management, and she + arranged all these details with a brisk capability that swept everything + before it. A sunny bedroom for Mizzi. But then, a bright living room, too, + for Theodore's hours of practice. No noise. Chicago's roar maddened him. + Otti shied at every new contrivance that met her eye. She had to be broken + in to elevators, electric switches, hot and cold faucets, radiators. + </p> + <p> + “No apartment ever built could cover all the requirements,” Fanny confided + to Fenger, after the first harrowing week. “What they really need is a + combination palace, houseboat, sanatorium, and creche.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Fenger. “If I can help, why—” a sudden thought + struck him. “Why don't you bring 'em all down to my place in the country? + We're not there half the time. It's too cool for my wife in September. + Just the thing for the child, and your brother could fiddle his head off.” + </p> + <p> + The Fengers had a roomy, wide-verandaed house near Lake Forest; one of the + many places of its kind that dot the section known as the north shore. Its + lawn sloped gently down to the water's edge. The house was gay with + striped awnings, and scarlet geraniums, and chintz-covered chairs. The + bright, sparkling, luxurious little place seemed to satisfy a certain + beauty-sense in Fenger, as did the etchings on the walls in his office. + Fanny had spent a week-end there in July, with three or four other guests, + including Fascinating Facts. She had been charmed with it, and had + announced that her energies thereafter would be directed solely toward the + possession of just such a house as this, with a lawn that was lipped by + the lake, awnings and geraniums to give it a French cafe air; books and + magazines enough to belie that. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll always wear white,” she promised, gayly, “and there'll be + pitchers on every table, frosty on the outside, and minty on the inside, + and you're all invited.” + </p> + <p> + They had laughed at that, and so had she, but she had been grimly in + earnest just the same. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head now at Fenger's suggestion. “Imagine Mrs. Fenger's face + at sight of Mizzi, and Theodore with his violin, and Otti with her shawls + and paraphernalia. Though,” she added, seriously, “it's mighty kind of + you, and generous—and just like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't kindness nor generosity that makes me want to do things for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Modest,” murmured Fanny, wickedly, “as always.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger bent his look upon her. “Don't try the ingenue on me, Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore's manager, Kurt Stein, was to have followed him in ten days. The + war changed that. The war was to change many things. Fanny seemed to sense + the influx of musicians that was to burst upon the United States following + the first few weeks of the catastrophe, and she set about forestalling it. + Advertising. That was what Theodore needed. She had faith enough in his + genius. But her business sense told her that this genius must be enhanced + by the proper setting. She set about creating this setting. She overlooked + no chance to fix his personality in the kaleidoscopic mind of the American + public—or as much of it as she could reach. His publicity man was a + dignified German-American whose methods were legitimate and uninspired. + Fanny's enthusiasm and superb confidence in Theodore's genius infected + Fenger, Fascinating Facts, even Nathan Haynes himself. Nathan Haynes had + never posed as a patron of the arts, in spite of his fantastic millions. + But by the middle of September there were few of his friends, or his + wife's friends, who had not heard of this Theodore Brandeis. In Chicago, + Illinois, no one lives in houses, it is said, except the city's old + families, and new millionaires. The rest of the vast population is + flat-dwelling. To say that Nathan Haynes' spoken praise reached the city's + house-dwellers would carry with it a significance plain to any Chicagoan. + </p> + <p> + As for Fanny's method; here is a typical example of her somewhat crude + effectiveness in showmanship. Otti had brought with her from Vienna her + native peasant costume. It is a costume seen daily in the Austrian + capital, on the Ring, in the Stadt Park, wherever Viennese nurses convene + with their small charges. To the American eye it is a musical comedy + costume, picturesque, bouffant, amazing. Your Austrian takes it quite for + granted. Regardless of the age of the nurse, the skirt is short, coming a + few inches below the knees, and built like a lamp shade, in color usually + a bright scarlet, with rows of black velvet ribbon at the bottom. Beneath + it are worn skirts and skirts, and skirts, so that the opera-bouffe effect + is complete. The bodice is black velvet, laced over a chemise of white. + The head-gear a soaring winged affair of stiffly starched white, that is a + pass between the Breton peasant woman's cap and an aeroplane. Black + stockings and slippers finish the costume. + </p> + <p> + Otti and Mizzi spent the glorious September days in Lincoln park, Otti + garbed in staid American stripes and apron, Mizzi resplendent in smartest + of children's dresses provided for her lavishly by her aunt. Her fat and + dimpled hands smoothed the blue, or pink or white folds with a complacency + astonishing in one of her years. “That's her mother in her,” Fanny + thought. + </p> + <p> + One rainy autumn day Fanny entered her brother's apartment to find Otti + resplendent in her Viennese nurse's costume. Mizzi had been cross and + fretful, and the sight of the familiar scarlet and black and white, and + the great winged cap seemed to soothe her. + </p> + <p> + “Otti!” Fanny exclaimed. “You gorgeous creature! What is it? A dress + rehearsal?” Otti got the import, if not the English. + </p> + <p> + “So gehen wir im Wien,” she explained, and struck a killing pose. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody? All the nurses? Alle?” + </p> + <p> + “Aber sure,” Otti displayed her half dozen English words whenever + possible. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stared a moment. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “To-morrow's + Saturday,” she said, in German. “If it's fair and warm you put on that + costume and take Mizzi to the park.... Certainly the animal cages, if you + want to. If any one annoys you, come home. If a policeman asks you why you + are dressed that way tell him it is the costume worn by nurses in Vienna. + Give him your name. Tell him who your master is. If he doesn't speak + German—and he won't, in Chicago—some one will translate for + you.” + </p> + <p> + Not a Sunday paper in Chicago that did not carry a startling picture of + the resplendent Otti and the dimpled and smiling Mizzi. The omnipresent + staff photographer seemed to sniff his victim from afar. He pounced on + Theodore Brandeis' baby daughter, accompanied by her Viennese nurse (in + costume) and he played her up in a Sunday special that was worth thousands + of dollars, Fanny assured the bewildered and resentful Theodore, as he + floundered wildly through the billowing waves of the Sunday newspaper + flood. Theodore's first appearance was to be in Chicago as soloist with + the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, in the season's opening program in + October. Any music-wise Chicagoan will tell you that the Chicago Symphony + Orchestra is not only a musical organization functioning marvelously (when + playing Beethoven). It is an institution. Its patrons will admit the + existence, but not the superiority of similar organizations in Boston, + Philadelphia and New York. On Friday afternoons, during the season, + Orchestra Hall, situate on Michigan Boulevard, holds more pretty girls and + fewer men than one might expect to see at any one gathering other than, + perhaps, a wholesale debutante tea crush. A Friday afternoon ticket is as + impossible of attainment for one not a subscriber as a seat in heaven for + a sinner. Saturday night's audience is staider, more masculine, less + staccato. Gallery, balcony, parquet, it represents the city's best. Its + men prefer Beethoven to Berlin. Its women could wear pearl necklaces, and + don't. Between the audience and the solemn black-and-white rows on the + platform there exists an entente cordiale. The Konzert-Meister bows to his + friend in the third row, as he tucks his violin under his chin. The fifth + row, aisle, smiles and nods to the sausage-fingered 'cellist. + </p> + <p> + “Fritz is playing well to-night.” + </p> + <p> + In a rarefied form, it is the atmosphere that existed between audience and + players in the days of the old and famous Daly stock company. + </p> + <p> + Such was the character of the audience Theodore was to face on his first + appearance in America. Fanny explained its nature to him. He shrugged his + shoulders in a gesture as German as it was expressive. + </p> + <p> + Theodore seemed to have become irrevocably German during the years of his + absence from America. He had a queer stock of little foreign tricks. He + lifted his hat to men acquaintances on the street. He had learned to smack + his heels smartly together and to bow stiffly from the waist, and to kiss + the hand of the matrons—and they adored him for it. He was quite + innocent of pose in these things. He seemed to have imbibed them, together + with his queer German haircut, and his incredibly German clothes. + </p> + <p> + Fanny allowed him to retain the bow, and the courtly hand-kiss, but she + insisted that he change the clothes and the haircut. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to let it grow, Ted. I don't mean that I want you to have a + mane, like Ysaye. But I do think you ought to discard that convict cut. + Besides, it isn't becoming. And if you're going to be an American + violinist you'll have to look it—with a foreign finish.” He let his + hair grow. Fanny watched with interest for the appearance of the unruly + lock which had been wont to straggle over his white forehead in his + schoolboy days. The new and well-cut American clothes effected + surprisingly little change. Fanny, surveying him, shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “When you stepped off the ship you looked like a German in German clothes. + Now you look like a German in American clothes. I don't know—I do + believe it's your face, Ted. I wouldn't have thought that ten years or so + in any country could change the shape of one's nose, and mouth and + cheekbones. Do you suppose it's the umlauts?” + </p> + <p> + “Cut it out!” laughed Ted, that being his idea of modern American slang. + He was fascinated by these crisp phrases, but he was ten years or so + behind the times, and he sometimes startled his hearers by an exhibition + of slang so old as to be almost new. It was all the more startling in + contrast with his conversational English, which was as carefully correct + as a born German's. + </p> + <p> + As for the rest, it was plain that he was interested, but unhappy. He + practiced for hours daily. He often took Mizzi to the park and came back + storming about the dirt, the noise, the haste, the rudeness, the crowds, + the mismanagement of the entire city. Dummheit, he called it. They + profaned the lake. They allowed the people to trample the grass. They + threw papers and banana skins about. And they wasted! His years in Germany + had taught him to regard all these things as sacrilege, and the last as + downright criminal. He was lonesome for his Germany. That was plain. He + hated it, and loved it, much as he hated and loved the woman who had so + nearly spoiled his life. The maelstrom known as the southwest corner of + State and Madison streets appalled him. + </p> + <p> + “Gott!” he exclaimed. “Es ist unglaublich! Aber ganz unglaublich! Ich + werde bald veruckt.” He somehow lapsed into German when excited. + </p> + <p> + Fanny took him to the Haynes-Cooper plant one day, and it left him dazed, + and incredulous. She quoted millions at him. He was not interested. He + looked at the office workers, the mail-room girls, and shook his head, + dumbly. They were using bicycles now, with a bundle rack in the front, in + the vast stock rooms, and the roller skates had been discarded as too + slow. The stock boys skimmed around corners on these lightweight bicycles, + up one aisle, and down the next, snatching bundles out of bins, shooting + bundles into bins, as expertly as players in a gymkhana. + </p> + <p> + Theodore saw the uncanny rapidity with which the letter-opening machines + did their work. He watched the great presses that turned out the catalogue—the + catalogue whose message meant millions; he sat in Fenger's office and + stared at the etchings, and said, “Certainly,” with politeness, when + Fenger excused himself in the midst of a conversation to pick up the + telephone receiver and talk to their shoe factory in Maine. He ended up + finally in Fanny's office, no longer a dingy and undesirable corner, but a + quietly brisk center that sent out vibrations over the entire plant. + Slosson, incidentally, was no longer of the infants' wear. He had been + transferred to a subordinate position in the grocery section. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling radiantly + upon her brother. “Well, what do you think of us?” + </p> + <p> + And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the blind, said a + most amazing thing. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions that are lying + about everywhere in this country. And then I'll take you out of this. I + promise you.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you talk as if you were—sorry for me!” + </p> + <p> + “I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time in all her dashing and successful career that Fanny + Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She resented it, hotly. And from + Theodore, the groper, the—“But at any rate,” something within her + said, “he has always been true to himself.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat, on which he + had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin with three others. Kurt + Stein was German born, but American bred, and he had the American love of + luxurious travel. He was still testy when he reached Chicago and his + charge. + </p> + <p> + “How goes the work?” he demanded at once, of Theodore. He eyed him + sharply. “That's better. You have lost some of the look you had when you + left Wien. The ladies would have liked that look, here in America. But it + is bad for the work.” + </p> + <p> + He took Fanny aside before he left. His face was serious. It was plain + that he was disturbed. “That woman,” he began. “Pardon me, Mrs. Brandeis. + She came to me. She says she is starving. She is alone there, in Vienna. + Her—well, she is alone. The war is everywhere. They say it will last + for years. She wept and pleaded with me to take her here.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Fanny. “Don't let him hear it. He mustn't know. He——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. She is a paradox, that woman. I tell you, she almost + prevailed on me. There is something about her; something that repels and + compels.” That struck him as being a very fine phrase indeed, and he + repeated it appreciatively. + </p> + <p> + “I'll send her money, somehow,” said Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But they say that money is not reaching them over there. I don't + know what becomes of it. It vanishes.” He turned to leave. “Oh, a message + for you. On my boat was Schabelitz. It looks very much as if his great + fortune, the accumulation of years, would be swept away by this war. + Already they are tramping up and down his lands in Poland. His money—much + of it—is invested in great hotels in Poland and Russia, and they are + using them for barracks and hospitals.” + </p> + <p> + “Schabelitz! You mean a message for Theodore? From him? That's wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “For Theodore, and for you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “For me! I made a picture of him once when I was a little girl. I didn't + see him again for years. Then I heard him play. It was on his last tour + here. I wanted to speak to him. But I was afraid. And my face was red with + weeping.” + </p> + <p> + “He remembers you. And he means to see Theodore and you. He can do much + for Theodore in this country, and I think he will. His message for you was + this: `Tell her I still have the picture that she made of me, with the + jack-in-the-box in my hand, and that look on my face. Tell her I have + often wondered about that little girl in the red cap and the black curls. + I've wondered if she went on, catching that look back of people's faces. + If she did, she should be more famous than her brother.”' + </p> + <p> + “He said that! About me!” + </p> + <p> + “I am telling you as nearly as I can. He said, `Tell her it was a woman + who ruined Bauer's career, and caused him to end his days a music teacher + in—in—Gott! I can't remember the name of that town——” + </p> + <p> + “Winnebago.” + </p> + <p> + “Winnebago. That was it. `Tell her not to let the brother spoil his life + that way.' So. That is the message. He said you would understand.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore's face was ominous when she returned to him, after Stein had + left. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you and Stein wouldn't stand out there in the hall whispering + about me as if I were an idiot patient. What were you saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, Ted. Really.” + </p> + <p> + He brooded a moment. Then his face lighted up with a flash of intuition. + He flung an accusing finger at Fanny. + </p> + <p> + “He has seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ted! You promised.” + </p> + <p> + “She's in trouble. This war. And she hasn't any money. I know. Look here. + We've got to send her money. Cable it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will. Just leave it all to me.” + </p> + <p> + “If she's here, in this country, and you're lying to me——” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't. My word of honor, Ted.” + </p> + <p> + He relaxed. + </p> + <p> + Life was a very complicated thing for Fanny these days. Ted was leaning on + her; Mizzi, Otti, and now Fenger. Nathan Haynes was poking a disturbing + finger into that delicate and complicated mechanism of System which Fenger + had built up in the Haynes-Cooper plant. And Fenger, snarling, was trying + to guard his treasure. He came to Fanny with his grievance. Fanny had + always stimulated him, reassured him, given him the mental readjustment + that he needed. + </p> + <p> + He strode into her office one morning in late September. Ordinarily he + sent for her. He stood by her desk now, a sheaf of papers in his hand, + palpably stage props, and lifted significant eyebrows in the direction of + the stenographer busy at her typewriter in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “You may leave that, Miss Mahin,” Fanny said. Miss Mahin, a comprehending + young woman, left it, and the room as well. Fenger sat down. He was under + great excitement, though he was quite controlled. Fanny, knowing him, + waited quietly. His eyes held hers. + </p> + <p> + “It's come,” Fenger began. “You know that for the last year Haynes has + been milling around with a herd of sociologists, philanthropists, and + students of economics. He had some scheme in the back of his head, but I + thought it was just another of his impractical ideas. It appears that it + wasn't. Between the lot of them they've evolved a savings and + profit-sharing plan that's founded on a kind of practical universal + brotherhood dream. Haynes's millions are bothering him. If they actually + put this thing through I'll get out. It'll mean that everything I've built + up will be torn down. It will mean that any six-dollar-a-week girl——” + </p> + <p> + “As I understand it,” interrupted Fanny, “it will mean that there will be + no more six-dollar-a-week girls.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. And let me tell you, once you get the ignorant, unskilled type + to believing they're actually capable of earning decent money, actually + worth something, they're worse than useless. They're dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's a theory that belongs to the Dark Ages. We've disproved it. + We've got beyond that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. So was war. We'd got beyond it. But it's here. I tell you, there are + only two classes: the governing and the governed. That has always been + true. It always will be. Let the Socialists rave. It has never got them + anywhere. I know. I come from the mucker class myself. I know what they + stand for. Boost them, and they'll turn on you. If there's anything in any + of them, he'll pull himself up by his own bootstraps.” + </p> + <p> + “They're not all potential Fengers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let 'em stay what they are.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny's pencil was tracing and retracing a tortured and meaningless figure + on the paper before her. “Tell me, do you remember a girl named Sarah + Sapinsky?” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's fitting. Sarah Sapinsky was a very pretty, very dissatisfied girl + who was a slave to the bundle chute. One day there was a period of two + seconds when a bundle didn't pop out at her, and she had time to think. + Anyway, she left. I asked about her. She's on the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to you and your system.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Fanny. I didn't come to you for that kind of talk. Don't, for + heaven's sake, give me any sociological drivel to-day. I'm not here just + to tell you my troubles. You know what my contract is here with + Haynes-Cooper. And you know the amount of stock I hold. If this scheme of + Haynes's goes in, I go out. Voluntarily. But at my own price. The + Haynes-Cooper plant is at the height of its efficiency now.” He dropped + his voice. “But the mail order business is in its infancy. There's no + limit to what can be done with it in the next few years. Understand? Do + you get what I'm trying to tell you?” He leaned forward, tense and + terribly in earnest. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stared at him. Then her hand went to her head in a gesture of + weariness. “Not to-day. Please. And not here. Don't think I'm ungrateful + for your confidence. But—this month has been a terrific strain. Just + let me pass the fifteenth of October. Let me see Theodore on the way——” + </p> + <p> + Fenger's fingers closed about her wrist. Fanny got to her feet angrily. + They glared at each other a moment. Then the humor of the picture they + must be making struck Fanny. She began to laugh. Fenger's glare became a + frown. He turned abruptly and left the office. Fanny looked down at her + wrist ruefully. Four circlets of red marked its smooth whiteness. She + laughed again, a little uncertainly this time. + </p> + <p> + When she got home that night she found, in her mail, a letter for + Theodore, postmarked Vienna, and stamped with the mark of the censor. + Theodore had given her his word of honor that he would not write Olga, or + give her his address. Olga was risking Fanny's address. She stood looking + at the letter now. Theodore was coming in for dinner, as he did five + nights out of the week. As she stood in the hallway, she heard the rattle + of his key in the lock. She flew down the hall and into her bedroom, her + letters in her hand. She opened her dressing table drawer and threw them + into it, switched on the light and turned to face Theodore in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “'Lo, Sis.” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Teddy. Kiss me. Phew! That pipe again. How'd the work go to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “So—so. Any mail for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + That night, when he had gone, she took out the letter and stood turning it + over and over in her hands. She had no thought of reading it. It was its + destruction she was contemplating. Finally she tucked it away in her + handkerchief box. Perhaps, after the fifteenth of October. Everything + depended on that. + </p> + <p> + And the fifteenth of October came. It had dragged for weeks, and then, at + the end, it galloped. By that time Fanny had got used to seeing Theodore's + picture and name outside Orchestra Hall, and in the musical columns of the + papers. Brandeis. Theodore Brandeis, the violinist. The name sang in her + ears. When she walked on Michigan Avenue during that last week she would + force herself to march straight on past Orchestra Hall, contenting herself + with a furtive and oblique glance at the announcement board. The advance + programs hung, a little bundle of them, suspended by a string from a nail + on the wall near the box office, so that ticket purchasers might rip one + off and peruse the week's musical menu. Fanny longed to hear the comment + of the little groups that were constantly forming and dispersing about the + box office window. She never dreamed of allowing herself to hover near it. + She thought sometimes of the woman in the businesslike gray skirt and the + black sateen apron who had drudged so cheerfully in the little shop so + that Theodore Brandeis' name might shine now from the very top of the + program, in heavy black letters: + </p> + <p> + Soloist: MR. THEODORE BRANDEIS, Violin + </p> + <p> + The injustice of it. Fanny had never ceased to rage at that. + </p> + <p> + In the years to come Theodore Brandeis was to have that adulation which + the American public, temperamentally so cold, gives its favorite, once the + ice of its reserve is thawed. He was to look down on that surging, + tempestuous crowd which sometimes packs itself about the foot of the + platform in Carnegie Hall, demanding more, more, more, after a generous + concert is concluded. He had to learn to protect himself from those + hysterical, enraptured, wholly feminine adorers who swarmed about him, + scaling the platform itself. But of all this there was nothing on that + Friday and Saturday in October. Orchestra Hall audiences are not, as a + rule, wildly demonstrative. They were no exception. They listened + attentively, appreciatively. They talked, critically and favorably, on the + way home. They applauded generously. They behaved as an Orchestra Hall + audience always behaves, and would behave, even if it were confronted with + a composite Elman-Kreisler-Ysaye soloist. Theodore's playing was, as a + whole, perhaps the worst of his career. Not that he did not rise to + magnificent heights at times. But it was what is known as uneven playing. + He was torn emotionally, nervously, mentally. His playing showed it. + </p> + <p> + Fanny, seated in the auditorium, her hands clasped tight, her heart + hammering, had a sense of unreality as she waited for Theodore to appear + from the little door at the left. He was to play after the intermission. + Fanny had arrived late, with Theodore, that Friday afternoon. She felt she + could not sit through the first part of the program. They waited together + in the anteroom. Theodore, looking very slim and boyish in his frock coat, + walked up and down, up and down. Fanny wanted to straighten his tie. She + wanted to pick an imaginary thread off his lapel. She wanted to adjust the + white flower in his buttonhole (he jerked it out presently, because it + interfered with his violin, he said). She wanted to do any one of the + foolish, futile things that would have served to relieve her own + surcharged feelings. But she had learned control in these years. And she + yielded to none of them. + </p> + <p> + The things they said and did were, perhaps, almost ludicrous. + </p> + <p> + “How do I look?” Theodore demanded, and stood up before her. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” said Fanny, and meant it. + </p> + <p> + Theodore passed a hand over his cheek. “Cut myself shaving, damn it!” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't show.” + </p> + <p> + He resumed his pacing. Now and then he stopped, and rubbed his hands + together with a motion we use in washing. Finally: + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd go out front,” he said, almost pettishly. Fanny rose, + without a word. She looked very handsome. Excitement had given her color. + The pupils of her eyes were dilated and they shone brilliantly. She looked + at her brother. He stared at her. They swayed together. They kissed, and + clung together for a long moment. Then Fanny turned and walked swiftly + away, and stumbled a little as she groped for the stairway. + </p> + <p> + The bell in the foyer rang. The audience strolled to the auditorium. They + lagged, Fanny thought. They crawled. She told herself that she must not + allow her nerves to tease her like that. She looked about her, with + outward calm. Her eyes met Fenger's. He was seated, alone. It was he who + had got a subscription seat for her from a friend. She had said she + preferred to be alone. She looked at him now and he at her, and they did + not nod nor smile. The house settled itself flutteringly. + </p> + <p> + A man behind Fanny spoke. “Who's this Brandeis?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. A new one. German, I guess. They say he's good. Kreisler's + the boy who can play for me, though.” + </p> + <p> + The orchestra was seated now. Stock, the conductor, came out from the + little side door. Behind him walked Theodore. There was a little, + impersonal burst of applause. Stock mounted his conductor's platform and + glanced paternally down at Theodore, who stood at the left, violin and bow + in hand, bowing. The audience seemed to warm to his boyishness. They + applauded again, and he bowed in a little series of jerky bobs that + waggled his coat-tails. Heels close together, knees close together. A + German bow. And then a polite series of bobs addressed to Stock and his + orchestra. Stock's long, slim hands poised in air. His fingertips seemed + to draw from the men before him the first poignant strains of Theodore's + concerto. Theodore stood, slim and straight. Fanny's face, lifted toward + him, was a prayerful thing. Theodore suddenly jerked back the left lapel + of his coat in a little movement Fanny remembered as typical in his boyish + days, nuzzled his violin tenderly, and began to play. + </p> + <p> + It is the most excruciating of instruments, the violin, or the most + exquisite. I think Fanny actually heard very little of his playing. Her + hands were icy. Her cheeks were hot. The man before her was not Theodore + Brandeis, the violinist, but Teddy, the bright-haired, knickered schoolboy + who played to those people seated in the yellow wooden pews of the temple + in Winnebago. The years seemed to fade away. He crouched over his violin + to get the 'cello tones for which he was to become famous, and it was the + same hunched, almost awkward pose that the boy had used. Fanny found + herself watching his feet as his shifted his position. He was nervous. And + he was not taken out of himself. She knew that because she saw the play of + his muscles about the jaw-bone. It followed that he was not playing his + best. She could not tell that from listening to him. Her music sense was + dulled. She got it from these outward signs. The woman next to her was + reading a program absorbedly, turning the pages regularly, and with care. + Fanny could have killed her with her two hands. She tried to listen + detachedly. The music was familiar to her. Theodore had played it for her, + again and again. The last movement had never failed to shake her + emotionally. It was the glorious and triumphant cry of a people tried and + unafraid. She heard it now, unmoved. + </p> + <p> + And then Theodore was bowing his little jerky bows, and he was shaking + hands with Stock, and with the First Violin. He was gone. Fanny sat with + her hands in her lap. The applause continued. Theodore appeared again. + Bowed. He bent very low now, with his arms hanging straight. There was + something gracious and courtly about him. And foreign. He must keep that, + Fanny thought. They like it. She saw him off again. More applause. Encores + were against the house rules. She knew that. Then it meant they were + pleased. He was to play again. A group of Hungarian dances this time. They + were wild, gypsy things, rising to frenzy at times. He played them with + spirit and poetry. To listen sent the blood singing through the veins. + Fanny found herself thinking clearly and exaltedly. + </p> + <p> + “This is what my mother drudged for, and died for, and it was worth it. + And you must do the same, if necessary. Nothing else matters. What he + needs now is luxury. He's worn out with fighting. Ease. Peace. Leisure. + You've got to give them to him. It's no use, Fanny. You lose.” + </p> + <p> + In that moment she reached a mark in her spiritual career that she was to + outdistance but once. + </p> + <p> + Theodore was bowing again. Fanny had scarcely realized that he had + finished. The concert was over. + </p> + <p> + “... the group of dances,” the man behind her was saying as he helped the + girl next him with her coat, “but I didn't like that first thing. Church + music, not concert.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny found her way back to the ante-room. Theodore was talking to the + conductor, and one or two others. He looked tired, and his eyes found + Fanny's with appeal and relief in them. She came over to him. There were + introductions, congratulations. Fanny slipped her hand over his with a + firm pressure. + </p> + <p> + “Come, dear. You must be tired.” + </p> + <p> + At the door they found Fenger waiting. Theodore received his well-worded + congratulations with an ill-concealed scowl. + </p> + <p> + “My car's waiting,” said Fenger. “Won't you let me take you home?” + </p> + <p> + A warning pressure from Theodore. “Thanks, no. We have a car. Theodore's + very tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I can quite believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not tired,” growled Theodore, like a great boy. “I'm hungry. Starved. I + never eat before playing.” + </p> + <p> + Kurt Stein, Theodore's manager, had been hovering over him solicitously. + “You must remember to-morrow night. I should advise you to rest now, as + quickly as possible.” He, too, glared at Fenger. + </p> + <p> + Fenger fell back, almost humbly. “I've great news for you. I must see you + Sunday. After this is over. I'll telephone you. Don't try to come to work + to-morrow.” All this is a hurried aside to Fanny. + </p> + <p> + Fanny nodded and moved away with Theodore. + </p> + <p> + Theodore leaned back in the car, but there was no hint of relaxation. He + was as tense and vibrant as one of his own violin strings. + </p> + <p> + “It went, didn't it? They're like clods, these American audiences.” It was + on the tip of Fanny's tongue to say that he had professed indifference to + audiences, but she wisely refrained. “Gad! I'm hungry. What makes this + Fenger hang around so? I'm going to tell him to keep away, some day. The + way he stares at you. Let's go somewhere to-night, Fan. Or have some + people in. I can't sit about after I've played. Olga always used to have a + supper party, or something.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Ted. Would you like the theater?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time in her life she felt a little whisper of sympathy for + the despised Olga. Perhaps, after all, she had not been wholly to blame. + </p> + <p> + He was to leave Sunday morning for Cleveland, where he would play Monday. + He had insisted on taking Mizzi with him, though Fanny had railed and + stormed. Theodore had had his way. + </p> + <p> + “She's used to it. She likes to travel, don't you, Mizzi? You should have + seen her in Russia, and all over Germany, and in Sweden. She's a better + traveler than her dad.” + </p> + <p> + Saturday morning's papers were kind, but cool. They used words such as + promising, uneven, overambitious, gifted. Theodore crumpled the lot into a + ball and hurled them across the room, swearing horribly. Then he smoothed + them out, clipped them, and saved them carefully. His playing that night + was tinged with bravado, and the Saturday evening audience rose to it. + There was about his performance a glow, a spirit that had been lacking on + the previous day. + </p> + <p> + Inconsistently enough, he missed the antagonism of the European critics. + He was puzzled and resentful. + </p> + <p> + “They hardly say a word about the meaning of the concerto. They accept it + as a piece of music, Jewish in theme. It might as well be entitled + Springtime.” + </p> + <p> + “This isn't France or Russia,” said Fanny. “Antagonism here isn't + religious. It's personal, almost. You've been away so many years you've + forgotten. They don't object to us as a sect, or a race, but as a type. + That's the trouble, Clarence Heyl says. We're free to build as many + synagogues as we like, and worship in them all day, if we want to. But we + don't want to. The struggle isn't racial any more, but individual. For + some reason or other one flashy, loud-talking Hebrew in a restaurant can + cause more ill feeling than ten thousand of them holding a religious mass + meeting in Union Square.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore pondered a moment. “Then here each one of us is responsible. Is + that it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “But look here. I've been here ten weeks, and I've met your friends, and + not one of them is a Jew. How's that?” + </p> + <p> + Fanny flushed a little. “Oh, it just worked out that way.” + </p> + <p> + Theodore looked at her hard. “You mean you worked it out that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Fan, we're a couple of weaklings, both of us, to have sprung from a + mother like ours. I don't know which is worse; my selfishness, or yours.” + Then, at the hurt that showed in her face, he was all contrition. “Forgive + me, Sis. You've been so wonderful to me, and to Mizzi, and to all of us. + I'm a good-for-nothing fiddler, that's all. You're the strong one.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger had telephoned her on Saturday. He and his wife were at their place + in the country. Fanny was to take the train out there Sunday morning. She + looked forward to it with a certain relief. The weather had turned + unseasonably warm, as Chicago Octobers sometimes do. Up to the last moment + she had tried to shake Theodore's determination to take Mizzi and Otti + with him. But he was stubborn. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to have her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Michael Fenger's voice over the telephone had been as vibrant with + suppressed excitement as Michael Fenger's dry, hard tones could be. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny, it's done—finished,” he said. “We had a meeting to-day. This + is my last month with Haynes-Cooper.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't mean it. Why, you ARE Haynes-Cooper. How can they let you + go?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you now. We'll go over it all to-morrow. I've new plans. + They've bought me out. D'you see? At a price that—well, I thought + I'd got used to juggling millions at Haynes-Cooper. But this surprised + even me. Will you come? Early? Take the eight-ten.” + </p> + <p> + “That's too early. I'll get the ten.” + </p> + <p> + The mid-October country was a lovely thing. Fanny, with the strain of + Theodore's debut and leave-taking behind her, and the prospect of a + high-tension business talk with Fenger ahead, drank in the beauty of the + wayside woods gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Fenger met her at the station. She had never seen him so boyish, so + exuberant. He almost pranced. + </p> + <p> + “Hop in,” he said. He had driven down in a runabout. “Brother get off all + right? Gad! He CAN play. And you've made the whole thing possible.” He + turned to look at her. “You're a wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “In your present frame of mind and state of being,” laughed Fanny, “you'd + consider any one a wonder. You're so pleased with yourself you're fairly + gummy.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger laughed softly and sped the car on. They turned in at the gate. + There was scarlet salvia, now, to take the place of the red geraniums. The + gay awnings, too, were gone. + </p> + <p> + “This is our last week,” Fenger explained. “It's too cold out here for + Katherine. We're moving into town to-morrow. We're more or less camping + out here, with only the Jap to take care of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't apologize, please. I'm grateful just to be here, after the week + I've had. Let's have the news now.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have lunch first. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse Katherine. She + probably won't be down for lunch.” The Jap had spread the luncheon table + on the veranda, but a brisk lake breeze had sprung up, and he was busy now + transferring his table from the porch to the dining room. “Would you have + believed it,” said Fenger, “when you left town? Good old lake. Mrs. Fenger + coming down?” to the man. + </p> + <p> + The Jap shook his head. “Nossa.” + </p> + <p> + Their talk at luncheon was all about Theodore and his future. Fenger said + that what Theodore needed was a firm and guiding hand. “A sort of + combination manager and slave-driver. An ambitious and intelligent wife + would do it. That's what we all need. A woman to work for, and to make us + work.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny smiled. “Mizzi will have to be woman enough, I'm afraid. Poor Ted.” + </p> + <p> + They rose. “Now for the talk,” said Fenger. But the telephone had sounded + shrilly a moment before, and the omnipresent little Jap summoned Fenger. + He was back in a minute, frowning. “It's Haynes. I'm sorry. I'm afraid + it'll take a half hour of telephoning. Don't you want to take a cat-nap? + Or a stroll down to the lake?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't bother about me. I'll probably take a run outdoors.” + </p> + <p> + “Be back in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + But when she returned he was still at the telephone. She got a book and + stretched luxuriously among the cushions of one of the great lounging + chairs, and fell asleep. When she awoke Fenger was seated opposite her. He + was not reading. He was not smoking. He evidently had been sitting there, + looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gracious! Mouth open?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny fought down an impulse to look as cross as she felt. “What time? Why + didn't you wake me?” The house was very quiet. She patted her hair deftly, + straightened her collar. “Where's everybody? Isn't Mrs. Fenger down yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Don't you want to hear about my plans now?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do. That's what I came for. I don't see why you didn't tell + me hours ago. You're as slow in action as a Chinese play. Out with it.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger got up and began to pace the floor, not excitedly, but with an air + of repression. He looked very powerful and compelling, there in the + low-ceilinged, luxurious room. “I'll make it brief. We met yesterday in + Haynes's office. Of course we had discussed the thing before. You know + that. Haynes knew that I'd never run the plant under the new conditions. + Why, it would kill every efficiency rule I've ever made. Here I had + trimmed that enormous plant down to fighting weight. There wasn't a + useless inch or ounce about the whole enormous billionaire bulk of it. And + then to have Haynes come along, with his burdensome notions, and his + socialistic slop. They'd cripple any business, no matter how great a start + it had. I told him all that. We didn't waste much time on argument, + though. We knew we'd never get together. In half an hour we were talking + terms. You know my contract and the amount of stock I hold. Well, we + threshed that out, and Haynes is settling for two million and a half.” + </p> + <p> + He came to a stop before Fanny's chair. + </p> + <p> + “Two million and a half what?” asked Fanny, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Dollars.” He smiled rather grimly. “In a check.” + </p> + <p> + “One—check?” “One check.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny digested that in her orderly mind. “I thought I was used to thinking + in millions. But this—I'd like to touch the check, just once.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall.” He drew up a chair near her. “Now get this, Fanny. There's + nothing that you and I can't do with two millions and a half. Nothing. We + know this mail order game as no two people in the world know it. And it's + in its infancy. I know the technical side of it. You know the human side + of it. I tell you that in five years' time you and I can be a national + power. Not merely the heads of a prosperous mail order business, but + figures in finance. See what's happened to Haynes-Cooper in the last five + years! Why, it's incredible. It's grotesque. And it's nothing to what you + and I can do, working together. You know people, somehow. You've a genius + for sensing their wants, or feelings, or emotions—I don't know just + what it is. And I know facts. And we have two million and a half—I + can make it nearly three millions—to start with. Haynes, fifteen + years ago, had a couple of hundred thousand. In five years we can make the + Haynes-Cooper organization look as modern and competent as a cross-roads + store. This isn't a dream. These are facts. You know how my mind works. + Like a cold chisel. I can see this whole country—and Europe, too, + after the war—God, yes!—stretched out before us like a patient + before expert surgeons. You to attend to its heart, and I to its bones and + ligaments. I can put you where no other woman has ever been. I've a + hundred new plans this minute, and a hundred more waiting to be born. So + have you. I tell you it's just a matter of buildings. Of bricks and stone, + and machinery and people to make the machinery go. Once we get those—and + it's only a matter of months—we can accomplish things I daren't even + dream of. What was Haynes-Cooper fifteen years ago? What was the North + American Cloak and Suit Company? The Peter Johnston Stores, of New York? + Wells-Kayser? Nothing. They didn't exist. And this year Haynes-Cooper is + declaring a twenty-five per cent dividend. Do you get what that means? But + of course you do. That's the wonder of it. I never need explain things to + you. You've a genius for understanding.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny had been sitting back in her chair, crouching almost, her eyes fixed + upon the man's face, so terrible in its earnestness and indomitable + strength. When he stopped talking now, and stood looking down at her, she + rose, too, her eyes still on his face. She was twisting the fingers of one + hand in the fingers of the other, in a frightened sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not really a business woman. I—wait a minute, please—I + have a knack of knowing what people are thinking and wanting. But that + isn't business.” “It isn't, eh? It's the finest kind of business sense. + It's the thing the bugs call psychology, and it's as necessary to-day as + capital was yesterday. You can get along without the last. You can't + without the first. One can be acquired. The other you've got to be born + with.” + </p> + <p> + “But I—you know, of late, it's only the human side of it that has + appealed to me. I don't know why. I seem to have lost interest in the + actual mechanics of it.” + </p> + <p> + Fenger stood looking at her, his head lowered. A scarlet stripe, that she + had never noticed before, seemed to stand out suddenly, like a welt, on + his forehead. Then he came toward her. She raised her hand in a little + futile gesture. She took an involuntary step backward, encountered the + chair she had just left, and sank into it coweringly. She sat there, + looking up at him, fascinated. His hand, on the wing of the great chair, + was shaking. So, too, was his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Fanny, Katherine's not here.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny still looked up at him, wordlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Katherine left here yesterday. She's in town.” Then, at the look in her + face, “She was here when I telephoned you yesterday. Late yesterday + afternoon she had one of her fantastic notions. She insisted that she must + go into town. It was too cold for her here. Too damp. Too—well, she + went. And I let her go. And I didn't telephone you again. I wanted you to + come.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny Brandeis, knowing him, must have felt a great qualm of terror and + helplessness. But she was angry, too, a wholesome ingredient in a + situation such as this. The thing she said and did now was inspired. She + laughed—a little uncertainly, it is true—but still she + laughed. And she said, in a matter-of-fact tone: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must say that's a rather shabby trick. Still, I suppose the tired + business man has got to have his little melodrama. What do I do? H'm? Beat + my breast and howl? Or pound on the door panel?” + </p> + <p> + Fenger stood looking at her. “Don't laugh at me, Fanny.” + </p> + <p> + She stood up, still smiling. It was rather a brilliant piece of work. + Fenger, taken out of himself though he was, still was artist enough to + appreciate it. + </p> + <p> + “Why not laugh,” she said, “if I'm amused? And I am. Come now, Mr. Fenger. + Be serious. And let's get back to the billions. I want to catch the + five-fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “I AM serious.” “Well, if you expect me to play the hunted heroine, I'm + sorry.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “I know now. You're + quitting Haynes-Cooper for the movies. And this is a rehearsal for a + vampire film.” + </p> + <p> + “You nervy little devil, you!” He reached out with one great, irresistible + hand and gripped her shoulder. “You wonderful, glorious girl!” The hand + that gripped her shoulder swung her to him. She saw his face with veins + she had never noticed before standing out, in knots, on his temples, and + his eyes were fixed and queer. And he was talking, rather incoherently, + and rapidly. He was saying the same thing over and over again: “I'm crazy + about you. I've been looking for a woman like you—all my life. I'm + crazy about you. I'm crazy——” + </p> + <p> + And then Fanny's fine composure and self control fled, and she thought of + her mother. She began to struggle, too, and to say, like any other girl, + “Let me go! Let me go! You're hurting me. Let me go! You! You!” + </p> + <p> + And then, quite clearly, from that part of her brain where it had been + tucked away until she should need it, came Clarence Heyl's whimsical bit + of advice. Her mind released it now, complete. + </p> + <p> + “If you double your fist this way, and tuck your thumb alongside, like + that, and aim for this spot right here, about two inches this side of the + chin, bringing your arm back and up quickly, like a piston, the person you + hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve right here that communicates with + the brain. The blow makes you see stars, and bright lights——” + </p> + <p> + She went limp in his arms. She shut her eyes, flutteringly. “All men—like + you—have a yellow streak,” she whispered, and opened her eyes, and + looked up at him, smiling a little. He relaxed his hold, in surprise and + relief. And with her eyes on that spot barely two inches to the side of + the chin she brought her right arm down, slowly, slowly, fist doubled, and + then up like a piston—snap! His teeth came together with a sharp + little crack. His face, in that second, was a comic mask, surprised, + stunned, almost idiotic. Then he went down, as Clarence Heyl had + predicted, limp. Not with a crash, but slowly, crumpingly, so that he + almost dragged her with him. + </p> + <p> + Fanny stood looking down at him a moment. Then she wiped her mouth with + the back of her hand. She walked out of the room, and down the hall. She + saw the little Jap dart suddenly back from a doorway, and she stamped her + foot and said, “S-s-cat!” as if he had been a rat. She gathered up her hat + and bag from the hall table, and so, out of the door, and down the walk, + to the road. And then she began to run. She ran, and ran, and ran. It was + a longish stretch to the pretty, vine-covered station. She seemed + unconscious of fatigue, or distance. She must have been at least a half + hour on the way. When she reached the station the ticket agent told her + there was no train until six. So she waited, quietly. She put on her hat + (she had carried it in her hand all the way) and patted her hair into + place. When the train came she found a seat quite alone, and sank into its + corner, and rested her head against her open palm. It was not until then + that she felt a stab of pain. She looked at her hand, and saw that the + skin of her knuckles was bruised and bleeding. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if this,” she said to herself, “isn't the most idiotic thing that + ever happened to a woman outside a near-novel.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her knuckles, critically, as though the hand belonged to + some one else. Then she smiled. And even as she smiled a great lump came + into her throat, and the bruise blurred before her eyes, and she was + crying rackingly, relievedly, huddled there in her red plush corner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + </h2> + <p> + It was eight o'clock when she let herself into her apartment. She had + given the maid a whole holiday. When Fanny had turned on the light in her + little hallway she stood there a moment, against the door, her hand spread + flat against the panel. It was almost as though she patted it, lovingly, + gratefully. Then she went on into the living room, and stood looking at + its rosy lamplight. Then, still as though seeing it all for the first + time, into her own quiet, cleanly bedroom, with its cream enamel, and the + chaise longue that she had had cushioned in rose because it contrasted so + becomingly with her black hair. And there, on her dressing table, propped + up against the brushes and bottles, was the yellow oblong of a telegram. + From Theodore of course. She opened it with a rush of happiness. It was + like a loving hand held out to her in need. It was a day letter. + </p> + <p> + “We sail Monday on the St. Paul. Mizzi is with me. I broke my word to you. + But you lied to me about the letters. I found them the week before the + concert. I shall bring her back with me or stay to fight for Germany. + Forgive me, dear sister.” + </p> + <p> + Just fifty words. His thrifty German training. + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Fanny, aloud. “No! No!” And the cry quavered and died away, + and another took its place, and it, too, gave way to another, so that she + was moaning as she stood there with the telegram in her shaking hand. She + read it again, her lips moving, as old people sometimes read. Then she + began to whimper, with her closed fist over her mouth, her whole body + shaking. All her fine courage gone now; all her rigid self-discipline; all + her iron determination. She was not a tearful woman. And she had wept much + on the train. So the thing that wrenched and shook her now was all the + more horrible because of its soundlessness. She walked up and down the + room, pushing her hair back from her forehead with the flat of her hand. + From time to time she smoothed out the crumpled yellow slip of paper and + read it again. Her mind, if you could have seen into it, would have + presented a confused and motley picture. Something like this: But his + concert engagements?... That was what had happened to Bauer.... How silly + he had looked when her fist met his jaw.... It had turned cold; why didn't + they have steam on? The middle of October.... Teddy, how could you do it! + How could you do it!... Was he still lying in a heap on the floor? But of + course the sneaking little Jap had found him.... Somebody to talk to. That + was what she wanted. Some one to talk to.... + </p> + <p> + Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her lamp-lighted + living room, and she held out her hands in silent appeal. Some one to talk + to. In her mind she went over the list of those whose lives had touched + hers in the last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, Ella + Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women she had met + from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating Facts. Not one of them + could she turn to now. + </p> + <p> + Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence Heyl. He had helped + her once, to-day. And now, for the second time, something that he had said + long before came from its hiding place in her subconscious mind. She had + said: + </p> + <p> + “Some days I feel I've got to walk out of the office, and down the street, + without a hat, and on and on, walking and walking, and running and running + till I come to the horizon.” + </p> + <p> + And Heyl had answered, in his quiet, reassuring way: “Some day that + feeling will get too strong for you. When that time comes get on a train + marked Denver. From there take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky + Mountains, where the horizon lives and has its being. Ask for Heyl's + place. They'll hand you from one to the other. I may be there, but more + likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a string. You'll find + a fire laid with fat pine knots. My books are there. The bedding's in the + cedar chest. And the mountains will make you clean and whole again; and + the pines...” + </p> + <p> + Fanny went to the telephone. Trains for Denver. She found the road she + wanted, and asked for information. She was on her own ground here. All her + life she had had to find her own trains, check her own trunks, plan her + journeys. Sometimes she had envied the cotton-wool women who had had all + these things done for them, always. + </p> + <p> + One-half of her mind was working clearly and coolly. The other half was + numb. There were things to be done. They would take a day. More than a + day, but she would neglect most of them. She must notify the office. There + were tickets to be got. Reservations. Money at the bank. Packing. When the + maid came in at eleven Fanny had suitcases and bags out, and her bedroom + was strewn with shoes, skirts, coats. + </p> + <p> + Late Monday afternoon Fenger telephoned. She did not answer. There came a + note from him, then a telegram. She did not read them. Tuesday found her + on a train bound for Colorado. She remembered little of the first half of + her journey. She had brought with her books and magazines, and she must + have read hem, but her mind had evidently retained nothing of what she had + read. She must have spent hours looking out of the window, for she + remembered, long afterward, the endlessness and the monotony of the Kansas + prairies. They soothed her. She was glad there were no bits of autumnal + woodland, no tantalizing vistas, nothing to break the flat and boundless + immensity of it. Here was something big, and bountiful, and real, and + primal. Good Kansas dirt. Miles of it. Miles of it. She felt she would + like to get out and tramp on it, hard. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty cold up there in Estes Park,” the conductor had said. “Been + snowing up in the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + She had arranged to stop in Denver only long enough to change trains. A + puffy little branch line was to take her from Denver to Loveland, and + there, she had been told, one of the big mountain-road steam automobiles + would take her up the mountains to her destination. For one as mentally + alert as she normally was, the exact location of that destination was very + hazy in her mind. Heyl's place. That was all. Ordinarily she would have + found the thought ridiculous. But she concentrated on it now; clung to it. + </p> + <p> + At the first glimpse of the foot-hills Fanny's listless gaze became + interested. If you have ever traveled on the jerky, cleanly, meandering + little road that runs between Denver and the Park you know that it winds, + and curves, so that the mountains seem to leap about, friskily, first + confronting you on one side of the car window, then disappearing and + seeming to taunt you from the windows of the opposite side. Fanny laughed + aloud. The mountain steam-car was waiting at Loveland. There were few + passengers at this time of year. The driver was a great tanned giant, + pongee colored from his hair to his puttees and boots. Fanny was to learn, + later, that in Estes Park the male tourist was likely to be puny, pallid, + and unattractive when compared to the tall, slim, straight, khaki-clad + youth, browned by the sun, and the wind, and the dust, who drives his + steamer up and down the perilous mountain roads with more dexterity than + the charioteering gods ever displayed on Olympus. + </p> + <p> + Fanny got the seat beside this glorious person. The steamer was a huge + vehicle, boasting five rows of seats, and looking very much like a small + edition of the sightseeing cars one finds in tourist-infested cities. + </p> + <p> + “Heyl's place,” said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work! + </p> + <p> + Said the blond god, “Stopping at the Inn overnight, I s'pose.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I don't know,” faltered Fanny. “Can't I go right on to—to—Heyl's + place?” + </p> + <p> + “Can.” Mountain steamer men are not loquacious. “Sure. Better not. You + won't get to the Inn till dark. Better stay there over night, and go on up + to Heyl's place in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what appeared to + Fanny's eyes to be a maze of handles, brakes, valves; and the great car + glided smoothly off, without a bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long + breath. + </p> + <p> + There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile. + And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the aspens are turning! Well, + aspens turn gold in October. People who have seen an aspen grove in + October believe in fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive + passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen it? There + shall be no poor weaving together of words. There shall be no description + of orange and mauve and flame-colored sunsets, no juggling with mists and + clouds, and sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain dwellers and mountain + lovers are a laconic tribe. They know the futility of words. + </p> + <p> + But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. That is within our + province. In the first place, they made her hungry. That was the crisp, + heady air. The mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a thing + of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous ribbon of road, + cut in the side of the rock itself; a road all horseshoe curves and + hairpin twists. Fanny found herself gasping. But that passed after a time. + Big Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the pongee person + was so competent, so quietly sure, so angularly graceful among his brakes + and levers. Fanny stole a side glance at him now and then. He looked + straight ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do look straight + ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely to mean death, or at + best a sousing in the Thompson that foams and rushes below. + </p> + <p> + Fanny ventured a question. “Do you know Mr. Heyl?” + </p> + <p> + “Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Down?” + </p> + <p> + “To the village. He's gone back east.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was relief or + consternation. + </p> + <p> + At Estes village the blond god handed her over to a twin charioteer who + would drive her up the mountain road to the Inn that nestled in a valley + nine thousand feet up the mountain. It was a drive Fanny never forgot. + Fenger, Ted, Haynes-Cooper, her work, her plans, her ambitions, seemed to + dwindle to puny insignificance beside the vast grandeur that unfolded + before her at every fresh turn in the road. Up they went, and up, and up, + and the air was cold, but without a sting in it. It was dark when the + lights of the Inn twinkled out at them. The door was thrown open as they + swung up the curve to the porch. A great log fire glowed in the fireplace. + The dining room held only a dozen people, or thereabouts—a dozen + weary, healthy people, in corduroys and sweaters and boots, whose cleanly + talk was all about climbing and fishing, and horseback rides and trails. + And it was fried chicken night at the Inn. Fanny thought she was too + utterly tired to eat, until she began to eat, and then she thought she was + too hungry ever to stop. After dinner she sat, for a moment, before the + log fire in the low-ceilinged room, with its log walls, its rustic + benches, and its soft-toned green and brown cushions. She forgot to be + unhappy. She forgot to be anything but deliciously drowsy. And presently + she climbed the winding stair whose newel post was a fire-marked tree + trunk, richly colored, and curiously twisted. And so to her lamp-lighted + room, very small, very clean, very quiet. She opened her window and looked + out at the towering mass that was Long's Peak, and at the stars, and she + heard the busy little brook that scurries through the Inn yard on its way + from the mountain to the valley. She undressed quickly, and crept into + bed, meaning to be very, very miserable indeed. And the next thing she + knew it was morning. A blue and gold October morning. And the mountains!—but + there is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile. + Fanny viewed them again, from her window, between pauses in dressing. And + she meant, privately, to be miserable again. But she could only think, + somehow, of bacon and eggs, and coffee, and muffins. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER NINETEEN + </h2> + <p> + Heyl's place. Fanny stood before it, key in hand (she had found it in the + mail box, tied to a string), and she had a curious and restful feeling, as + if she had come home, after long wanderings. She smiled, whimsically, and + repeated her lesson to herself: + </p> + <p> + “The fire's laid in the fireplace with fat pine knots that will blaze up + at the touch of a match. My books are there, along the wall. The bedding's + in the cedar chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned stuff in the + pantry. And the mountains are there, girl, to make you clean and whole + again....” + </p> + <p> + She stepped up to the little log-pillared porch and turned the key in the + lock. She opened the door wide, and walked in. And then she shut her eyes + for a moment. Because, if it shouldn't be true—— + </p> + <p> + But there was a fire laid with fat pine knots. She walked straight over to + it, and took her box of matches from her bag, struck one, and held it to + the wood. They blazed like a torch. Books! Along the four walls, books. + Fat, comfortable, used-looking books. Hundreds of them. A lamp on the + table, and beside it a pipe, blackened from much use. Fanny picked it up, + smiling. She held it a moment in her hand, as though she expected to find + it still warm. + </p> + <p> + “It's like one of the fairy tales,” she thought, “the kind that repeats + and repeats. The kind that says, `and she went into the next room, and it + was as the good fairy had said.'” + </p> + <p> + There's tinned stuff in the pantry. She went into the tiny kitchen and + opened the pantry door cautiously, being wary of mice. But it met her eye + in spotless array. Orderly rows of tins. Orderly rows of bottles. Coffee. + Condensed milk. Beans. Spaghetti. Flour. Peaches. Pears. + </p> + <p> + Off the bedroom there was an absurdly adequate little bathroom, with a + zinc tub and an elaborate water-heating arrangement. + </p> + <p> + Fanny threw back her head and laughed as she hadn't laughed in months. + “Wild life in the Rockies,” she said aloud. She went back to the + book-lined living room. The fire was crackling gloriously. It was a + many-windowed room, and each window framed an enchanting glimpse of + mountain, flaming with aspens up to timber-line, and snow-capped at the + top. Fanny decided to wait until the fire had died down to a coal-bed. + Then she banked it carefully, put on a heavy sweater and a cap, and made + for the outdoors. She struck out briskly, tenderfoot that she was. In five + minutes she was panting. Her heart was hammering suffocatingly. Her lungs + ached. She stopped, trembling. Then she remembered. The altitude, of + course. Heyl had boasted that his cabin stood at an altitude of over nine + thousand feet. Well, she would have to get used to it. But she was soon + striding forward as briskly as before. She was a natural mountain dweller. + The air, the altitude, speeded up her heart, her lungs, sent the blood + dancing through her veins. Figuratively, she was on tip-toe. + </p> + <p> + They had warned her, at the Inn, to take it slowly for the first few days. + They had asked no questions. Fanny learned to heed their advice. She + learned many more things in the next few days. She learned how to entice + the chipmunks that crossed her path, streak o' sunshine, streak o' shadow. + She learned to broil bacon over a fire, with a forked stick. She learned + to ride trail ponies, and to bask in a sun-warmed spot on a wind-swept + hill, and to tell time by the sun, and to give thanks for the beauty of + the world about her, and to leave the wild flowers unpicked, to put out + her campfire with scrupulous care, and to destroy all rubbish (your true + woodsman and mountaineer is as painstakingly neat as a French housewife). + </p> + <p> + She was out of doors all day. At night she read for a while before the + fire, but by nine her eyelids were heavy. She walked down to the Inn + sometimes, but not often. One memorable night she went, with half a dozen + others from the Inn, to the tiny one-room cabin of Oscar, the handy man + about the Inn, and there she listened to one of Oscar's far-famed + phonograph concerts. Oscar's phonograph had cost twenty-five dollars in + Denver. It stood in one corner of his cabin, and its base was a tree stump + just five hundred years old, as you could tell for yourself by counting + its rings. His cabin walls were gorgeous with pictures of Maxine Elliott + in her palmy days, and blonde and sophisticated little girls on vinegar + calendars, posing bare-legged and self-conscious in blue calico and + sunbonnets. You sat in the warm yellow glow of Oscar's lamp and were + regaled with everything from the Swedish National Anthem to Mischa Elman's + tenderest crooning. And Oscar sat rapt, his weather-beaten face a rich + deep mahogany, his eyes bluer than any eyes could ever be except in + contrast with that ruddy countenance, his teeth so white that you found + yourself watching for his smile that was so gently sweet and childlike. + Oh, when Oscar put on his black pants and issued invitations for a musical + evening one was sure to find his cabin packed. Eight did it, with + squeezing. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was the atmosphere in which Fanny Brandeis found herself. As + far from Haynes-Cooper as anything could be. At the end of the first week + she found herself able to think clearly and unemotionally about Theodore, + and about Fenger. She had even evolved a certain rather crude philosophy + out of the ruins that had tumbled about her ears. It was so crude, so + unformed in her mind that it can hardly be set down. To justify one's own + existence. That was all that life held or meant. But that included all the + lives that touched on yours. It had nothing to do with success, as she had + counted success heretofore. It was service, really. It was living as—well, + as Molly Brandeis had lived, helpfully, self-effacingly, magnificently. + Fanny gave up trying to form the thing that was growing in her mind. + Perhaps, after all, it was too soon to expect a complete understanding of + that which had worked this change in her from that afternoon in Fenger's + library. + </p> + <p> + After the first few days she found less and less difficulty in climbing. + Her astonished heart and lungs ceased to object so strenuously to the + unaccustomed work. The Cabin Rock trail, for example, whose summit found + her panting and exhausted at first, now seemed a mere stroll. She grew + more daring and ambitious. One day she climbed the Long's Peak trail to + timberline, and had tea at Timberline Cabin with Albert Edward Cobbins. + Albert Edward Cobbins, Englishman, erstwhile sailor, adventurer and + gentleman, was the keeper of Timberline Cabin, and the loneliest man in + the Rockies. It was his duty to house overnight climbers bound for the + Peak, sunrise parties and sunset parties, all too few now in the chill + October season-end. Fanny was his first visitor in three days. He was + pathetically glad to see her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have tea for you,” he said, “in a jiffy. And I baked a pan of French + rolls ten minutes ago. I had a feeling.” + </p> + <p> + A magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet tall slim, + broad-shouldered, long-headed, and scrubbed-looking as only an Englishman + can be, there was something almost pathetic in the sight of him bustling + about the rickety little kitchen stove. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” said Fanny, over her tea, “I'm going to get an early start, + reach here by noon, and go on to Boulder Field and maybe Keyhole.” + </p> + <p> + “Better not, Miss. Not in October, when there's likely to be a snowstorm + up there in a minute's notice.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd come and find me, wouldn't you? They always do, in the books.” + </p> + <p> + “Books are all very well, Miss. But I'm not a mountain man. The truth is I + don't know my way fifty feet from this cabin. I got the job because I'm + used to loneliness, and don't mind it, and because I can cook, d'you see, + having shipped as cook for years. But I'm a seafaring man, Miss. I + wouldn't advise it, Miss. Another cup of tea?” + </p> + <p> + But Long's Peak, king of the range, had fascinated her from the first. She + knew that the climb to the summit would be impossible for her now, but she + had an overwhelming desire to see the terrifying bulk of it from a point + midway of the range. It beckoned her and intrigued her, as the difficult + always did. + </p> + <p> + By noon of the following day she had left Albert Edward's cabin (he stood + looking after her in the doorway until she disappeared around the bend) + and was jauntily following the trail that led to Boulder Field, that sea + of jagged rock a mile across. Soon she had left the tortured, wind-twisted + timberline trees far behind. How pitiful Cabin Rock and Twin Sisters + looked compared to this. She climbed easily and steadily, stopping for + brief rests. Early in the week she had ridden down to the village, where + she had bought climbing breeches and stout leggings. She laughed at Albert + Edward and his fears. By one o'clock she had reached Boulder Field. She + found the rocks glazed with ice. Just over Keyhole, that freakish vent in + a wall of rock, the blue of the sky had changed to the gray of + snow-clouds. Tenderfoot though she was, she knew that the climb over + Boulder Field would be perilous, if not impossible. She went on, from rock + to rock, for half an hour, then decided to turn back. A clap of thunder, + that roared and crashed, and cracked up and down the canyons and over the + peaks, hastened her decision. She looked about her. Peak on peak. Purple + and black and yellow masses, fantastic in their hugeness. Chasms. Canyons. + Pyramids and minarets. And so near. So grim. So ghastly desolate. And yet + so threatening. And then Fanny Brandeis was seized with mountain terror. + It is a disease recognized by mountain men everywhere, and it is panic, + pure and simple. It is fear brought on by the immensity and the silence of + the mountains. A great horror of the vastness and ruggedness came upon + her. It was colossal, it was crushing, it was nauseating. + </p> + <p> + She began to run. A mistake, that, when one is following a mountain trail, + at best an elusive thing. In five minutes she had lost the trail. She + stopped, and scolded herself sternly, and looked about her. She saw the + faint trail line again, or thought she saw it, and made toward it, and + found it to be no trail at all. She knew that she must be not more than an + hour's walk from Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward, and his biscuits and + tea. Why be frightened? It was absurd. But she was frightened, horribly, + harrowingly. The great, grim rock masses seemed to be shaking with silent + laughter. She began to run again. She was very cold, and a piercing wind + had sprung up. She kept on walking, doggedly, reasoning with herself quite + calmly, and proud of her calmness. Which proves how terrified she really + was. Then the snow came, not slowly, not gradually, but a blanket of it, + as it does come in the mountains, shutting off everything. And suddenly + Fanny's terror vanished. She felt quite free from weariness. She was alive + and tingling to her fingertips. The psychology of fear is a fascinating + thing. Fanny had reached the second stage. She was quite taken out of + herself. She forgot her stone-bruised feet. She was no longer conscious of + cold. She ran now, fleetly, lightly, the ground seeming to spur her on. + She had given up the trail completely now. She told herself that if she + ran on, down, down, down, she must come to the valley sometime. Unless she + was turned about, and headed in the direction of one of those hideous + chasms. She stopped a moment, peering through the snow curtain, but she + could see nothing. She ran on lightly, laughing a little. Then her feet + met a projection, she stumbled, and fell flat over a slab of wood that + jutted out of the ground. She lay there a moment, dazed. Then she sat up, + and bent down to look at this thing that had tripped her. Probably a tree + trunk. Then she must be near timberline. She bent closer. It was a rough + wooden slab. Closer still. There were words carved on it. She lay flat and + managed to make them out painfully. + </p> + <p> + “Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest, and died alone, April 26, 1893.” + </p> + <p> + Fanny had heard the story of Sarah Cannon, a stern spinster who had + achieved the climb to the Peak, and who had met with mishap on the down + trail. Her guide had left her to go for help. When the relief party + returned, hours later, they had found her dead. + </p> + <p> + Fanny sprang up, filled with a furious energy. She felt strangely light + and clear-headed. She ran on, stopped, ran again. Now she was making + little short runs here and there. It was snowing furiously, vindictively. + It seemed to her that she had been running for hours. It probably was + minutes. Suddenly she sank down, got to her feet again, stumbled on + perhaps a dozen paces, and sank down again. It was as though her knees had + turned liquid. She lay there, with her eyes shut. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just resting,” she told herself. “In a minute I'll go on. In a + minute. After I've rested.” + </p> + <p> + “Hallo-o-o-o!” from somewhere on the other side of the snow blanket. + “Hallo-o-o-o!” Fanny sat up, helloing shrilly, hysterically. She got to + her feet, staggeringly. And Clarence Heyl walked toward her. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be spanked for this,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Fanny began to cry weakly. She felt no curiosity as to his being there. + She wasn't at all sure that he actually was there, for that matter. At + that thought she dug a frantic hand into his arm. He seemed to understand, + for he said, “It's all right. I'm real enough. Can you walk?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” But she tried it and found she could not. She decided she was too + tired to care. “I stumbled over a thing—a horrible thing—a + gravestone. And I must have hurt my leg. I didn't know——” + </p> + <p> + She leaned against him, a dead weight. “Tell you what,” said Heyl, + cheerfully. “You wait here. I'll go on down to Timberline Cabin for help, + and come back.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't manage it—alone? If I tried? If I tried to walk?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, impossible.” His tone was brisk. “Now you sit right down here.” She + sank down obediently. She felt a little sorry for herself, and glad, too, + and queer, and not at all cold. She looked up at him dumbly. He was + smiling. “All right?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from sight at once. + </p> + <p> + “Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April 26, 1893.” + </p> + <p> + She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew that this was + the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all sad. Happy, if anything. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?” + </p> + <p> + She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and lifted her + lightly to her feet. “Timberline Cabin's not a hundred yards away. I just + did it to try you.” + </p> + <p> + She had spirit enough left to say, “Beast.” + </p> + <p> + Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He carried her, not + in his arms, as they do it in books and in the movies. He could not have + gone a hundred feet that way. He carried her over his shoulder, like a + sack of meal, by one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy scout knows + that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most effectual + carrying method known, though unromantic. + </p> + <p> + And so they came to Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward Cobbins was in the + doorway. Heyl put her down gently on the bench that ran alongside the + table. The hospitable table that bore two smoking cups of tea. Fanny's + lips were cracked, and the skin was peeled from her nose, and her hair was + straggling and her eyes red-rimmed. She drank the tea in great gulps. And + then she went into the tiny bunkroom, and tumbled into one of the + shelf-bunks, and slept. + </p> + <p> + When she awoke she sat up in terror, and bumped her head against the bunk + above, and called, “Clancy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yep!” from the next room. He came to the door. The acrid smell of their + pipes was incense in her nostrils. “Rested?” + </p> + <p> + “What time is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Seven o'clock. Dinner time. Ham and eggs.” + </p> + <p> + She got up stiffly, and bathed her roughened face, and produced a powder + pad (they carry them in the face of danger, death, and dissolution) and + dusted it over her scaly nose. She did her hair—her vigorous, + abundant hair that shone in the lamplight, pulled down her blouse, + surveyed her torn shoes ruefully, donned the khaki skirt that Albert + Edward had magically produced from somewhere to take the place of her + breeches. She dusted her shoes with a bit of rag, regarded herself + steadily in the wavering mirror, and went in. + </p> + <p> + The two men were talking quietly. Albert Edward was moving deftly from + stove to table. They both looked up as she came in, and she looked at + Heyl. Their eyes held. + </p> + <p> + Albert Edward was as sporting a gentleman as the late dear king whose name + he bore. He went out to tend Heyl's horse, he said. It was little he knew + of horses, and he rather feared them, as does a sailing man. But he went, + nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him. + </p> + <p> + “It's absurd,” said Fanny. “It's the kind of thing that doesn't happen.” + </p> + <p> + “It's simple enough, really,” he answered. “I saw Ella Monahan in Chicago, + and she told me all she knew, and something of what she had guessed. I + waited a few days and came back. I had to.” He smiled. “A pretty job + you've made of trying to be selfish.” + </p> + <p> + At that she smiled, too, pitifully enough, for her lower lip trembled. She + caught it between her teeth in a last sharp effort at self-control. + “Don't!” she quavered. And then, in a panic, her two hands came up in a + vain effort to hide the tears. She sank down on the rough bench by the + table, and the proud head came down on her arms so that there was a little + clatter and tinkle among the supper things spread on the table. Then + quiet. + </p> + <p> + Clarence Heyl stared. He stared, helplessly, as does a man who has never, + in all his life, been called upon to comfort a woman in tears. Then + instinct came to his rescue. He made her side of the table in two strides + (your favorite film star couldn't have done it better), put his two hands + on her shoulders and neatly shifted the bowed head from the cold, hard + surface of the table top to the warm, rough, tobacco-scented comfort of + his coat. It rested there quite naturally. Just as naturally Fanny's arm + crept up, and about his neck. So they remained for a moment, until he bent + so that his lips touched her hair. Her head came up at that, sharply, so + that it bumped his chin. They both laughed, looking into each other's + eyes, but at what they saw there they stopped laughing and were serious. + </p> + <p> + “Dear,” said Heyl. “Dearest.” The lids drooped over Fanny's eyes. “Look at + me,” said Heyl. So she tried to lift them again, bravely, and could not. + At that he bent his head and kissed Fanny Brandeis in the way a woman + wants to be kissed for the first time by the man she loves. It hurt her + lips, that kiss, and her teeth, and the back of her neck, and it left her + breathless, and set things whirling. When she opened her eyes (they shut + them at such times) he kissed her again, very tenderly, this time, and + lightly, and reassuringly. She returned that kiss, and, strangely enough, + it was the one that stayed in her memory long, long after the other had + faded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Clancy, I've made such a mess of it all. Such a miserable mess. The + little girl in the red tam was worth ten of me. I don't see how you can—care + for me.” + </p> + <p> + “You're the most wonderful woman in the world,” said Heyl, “and the most + beautiful and splendid.” + </p> + <p> + He must have meant it, for he was looking down at her as he said it, and + we know that the skin had been peeled off her nose by the mountain winds + and sun, that her lips were cracked and her cheeks rough, and that she was + red-eyed and worn-looking. And she must have believed him, for she brought + his cheek down to hers with such a sigh of content, though she said, “But + are we at all suited to each other?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not,” Heyl answered, briskly. “That's why we're going to be so + terrifically happy. Some day I'll be passing the Singer building, and I'll + glance up at it and think how pitiful it would look next to Long's Peak. + And then I'll be off, probably, to these mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “Or some day,” Fanny returned, “we'll be up here, and I'll remember, + suddenly, how Fifth Avenue looks on a bright afternoon between four and + five. And I'll be off, probably, to the Grand Central station.” + </p> + <p> + And then began one of those beautiful and foolish conversations which all + lovers have whose love has been a sure and steady growth. Thus: “When did + you first begin to care,” etc. And, “That day we spent at the dunes, and + you said so and so, did you mean this and that?” + </p> + <p> + Albert Edward Cobbins announced his approach by terrific stampings and + scufflings, ostensibly for the purpose of ridding his boots of snow. He + entered looking casual, and very nipped. + </p> + <p> + “You're here for the night,” he said. “A regular blizzard. The greatest + piece of luck I've had in a month.” He busied himself with the ham and + eggs and the teapot. “Hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” said Fanny and Heyl, together. + </p> + <p> + “H'm,” said Albert Edward, and broke six eggs into the frying pan just the + same. + </p> + <p> + After supper they aided Albert Edward in the process of washing up. When + everything was tidy he lighted his most malignant pipe and told them + seafaring yarns not necessarily true. Then he knocked the ashes out of his + pipe and fell asleep there by the fire, effacing himself as effectually as + one of three people can in a single room. They talked; low-toned + murmurings that they seemed to find exquisitely meaningful or witty, by + turn. Fanny, rubbing a forefinger (his) along her weather-roughened nose, + would say, “At least you've seen me at my worst.” + </p> + <p> + Or he, mock serious: “I think I ought to tell you that I'm the kind of man + who throws wet towels into the laundry hamper.” + </p> + <p> + But there was no mirth in Fanny's voice when she said, “Dear, do you think + Lasker will give me that job? You know he said, `When you want a job, come + back.' Do you think he meant it?” + </p> + <p> + “Lasker always means it.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” fearfully, and shyly, too, “you don't think I may have lost my + drawing hand and my seeing eye, do you? As punishment?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not. I think you've just found them, for keeps. There wasn't a woman + cartoonist in the country—or man, either, for that matter—could + touch you two years ago. In two more I'll be just Fanny Brandeis' husband, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + They laughed together at that, so that Albert Edward Cobbins awoke with a + start and tried to look as if he had not been asleep, and failing, smiled + benignly and drowsily upon them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + +***** This file should be named 350-h.htm or 350-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/350/ + +Produced by Mike Lough and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fanny Herself + +Author: Edna Ferber + +Release Date: July 3, 2008 [EBook #350] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + + + + +Produced by Mike Lough + + + + + +FANNY HERSELF + +By Edna Ferber + + +TO WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + + + + +PREFACE + +It has become the fashion among novelists to introduce their hero in +knee pants, their heroine in pinafore and pigtails. Time was when we +were rushed up to a stalwart young man of twenty-four, who was presented +as the pivot about whom the plot would revolve. Now we are led, +protesting, up to a grubby urchin of five and are invited to watch him +through twenty years of intimate minutiae. In extreme cases we have been +obliged to witness his evolution from swaddling clothes to dresses, from +dresses to shorts (he is so often English), from shorts to Etons. + +The thrill we get for our pains is when, at twenty-five, he jumps over +the traces and marries the young lady we met in her cradle on page two. +The process is known as a psychological study. A publisher's note on +page five hundred and seventy-three assures us that the author is now at +work on Volume Two, dealing with the hero's adult life. A third volume +will present his pleasing senility. The whole is known as a trilogy. +If the chief character is of the other sex we are dragged through her +dreamy girlhood, or hoydenish. We see her in her graduation white, in +her bridal finery. By the time she is twenty we know her better than her +mother ever will, and are infinitely more bored by her. + +Yet who would exchange one page in the life of the boy, David +Copperfield, for whole chapters dealing with Trotwood Copperfield, the +man? Who would relinquish the button-bursting Peggotty for the saintly +Agnes? And that other David--he of the slingshot; one could not love +him so well in his psalm-singing days had one not known him first as the +gallant, dauntless vanquisher of giants. As for Becky Sharp, with her +treachery, her cruelty, her vindicativeness, perhaps we could better +have understood and forgiven her had we known her lonely and neglected +childhood, with the drunken artist father and her mother, the French +opera girl. + +With which modest preamble you are asked to be patient with Miss Fanny +Brandeis, aged thirteen. Not only must you suffer Fanny, but Fanny's +mother as well, without whom there could be no understanding Fanny. For +that matter, we shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Brandeis were to turn out the +heroine in the end. She is that kind of person. + + + + +FANNY HERSELF + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +You could not have lived a week in Winnebago without being aware of Mrs. +Brandeis. In a town of ten thousand, where every one was a personality, +from Hen Cody, the drayman, in blue overalls (magically transformed +on Sunday mornings into a suave black-broadcloth usher at the +Congregational Church), to A. J. Dawes, who owned the waterworks before +the city bought it. Mrs. Brandeis was a super-personality. Winnebago +did not know it. Winnebago, buying its dolls, and china, and Battenberg +braid and tinware and toys of Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, +realized vaguely that here was some one different. + +When you entered the long, cool, narrow store on Elm Street, Mrs. +Brandeis herself came forward to serve you, unless she already was busy +with two customers. There were two clerks--three, if you count Aloysius, +the boy--but to Mrs. Brandeis belonged the privilege of docketing you +first. If you happened in during a moment of business lull, you were +likely to find her reading in the left-hand corner at the front of the +store, near the shelf where were ranged the dolls' heads, the pens, the +pencils, and school supplies. + +You saw a sturdy, well-set-up, alert woman, of the kind that looks +taller than she really is; a woman with a long, straight, clever nose +that indexed her character, as did everything about her, from her crisp, +vigorous, abundant hair to the way she came down hard on her heels in +walking. She was what might be called a very definite person. But first +you remarked her eyes. Will you concede that eyes can be piercing, yet +velvety? Their piercingness was a mental quality, I suppose, and the +velvety softness a physical one. One could only think, somehow, of wild +pansies--the brown kind. If Winnebago had taken the trouble to glance +at the title of the book she laid face down on the pencil boxes as you +entered, it would have learned that the book was one of Balzac's, or, +perhaps, Zangwill's, or Zola's. She never could overcome that habit +of snatching a chapter here and there during dull moments. She was too +tired to read when night came. + +There were many times when the little Wisconsin town lay broiling in +the August sun, or locked in the January drifts, and the main business +street was as silent as that of a deserted village. But more often she +came forward to you from the rear of the store, with bits of excelsior +clinging to her black sateen apron. You knew that she had been helping +Aloysius as he unpacked a consignment of chamber sets or a hogshead of +china or glassware, chalking each piece with the price mark as it was +dug from its nest of straw and paper. + +"How do you do!" she would say. "What can I do for you?" And in that +moment she had you listed, indexed, and filed, were you a farmer woman +in a black shawl and rusty bonnet with a faded rose bobbing grotesquely +atop it, or one of the patronizing East End set who came to Brandeis' +Bazaar because Mrs. Brandeis' party favors, for one thing, were of a +variety that could be got nowhere else this side of Chicago. If, after +greeting you, Mrs. Brandeis called, "Sadie! Stockings!" (supposing +stockings were your quest), you might know that Mrs. Brandeis had +weighed you and found you wanting. + +There had always been a store--at least, ever since Fanny could +remember. She often thought how queer it would seem to have to buy pins, +or needles, or dishes, or soap, or thread. The store held all these +things, and many more. Just to glance at the bewildering display outside +gave you promise of the variety within. Winnebago was rather ashamed of +that display. It was before the day of repression in decoration, and +the two benches in front of the windows overflowed with lamps, and +water sets, and brooms, and boilers and tinware and hampers. Once the +Winnebago Courier had had a sarcastic editorial about what they called +the Oriental bazaar (that was after the editor, Lem Davis, had bumped +his shin against a toy cart that protruded unduly), but Mrs. Brandeis +changed nothing. She knew that the farmer women who stood outside with +their husbands on busy Saturdays would not have understood repression +in display, but they did understand the tickets that marked the wares in +plain figures--this berry set, $1.59; that lamp, $1.23. They talked it +over, outside, and drifted away, and came back, and entered, and bought. + +She knew when to be old-fashioned, did Mrs. Brandeis, and when to be +modern. She had worn the first short walking skirt in Winnebago. It +cleared the ground in a day before germs were discovered, when women's +skirts trailed and flounced behind them in a cloud of dust. One of her +scandalized neighbors (Mrs. Nathan Pereles, it was) had taken her aside +to tell her that no decent woman would dress that way. + +"Next year," said Mrs. Brandeis, "when you are wearing one, I'll remind +you of that." And she did, too. She had worn shirtwaists with a broad +"Gibson" shoulder tuck, when other Winnebago women were still encased +in linings and bodices. Do not get the impression that she stood for +emancipation, or feminism, or any of those advanced things. They had +scarcely been touched on in those days. She was just an extraordinarily +alert woman, mentally and physically, with a shrewd sense of values. +Molly Brandeis never could set a table without forgetting the spoons, or +the salt, or something, but she could add a double column of figures in +her head as fast as her eye could travel. + +There she goes, running off with the story, as we were afraid she would. +Not only that, she is using up whole pages of description when she +should be giving us dialogue. Prospective readers, running their +eyes over a printed page, object to the solid block formation of the +descriptive passage. And yet it is fascinating to weave words about her, +as it is fascinating to turn a fine diamond this way and that in the +sunlight, to catch its prismatic hues. Besides, you want to know--do you +not?--how this woman who reads Balzac should be waiting upon you in a +little general store in Winnebago, Wisconsin? + +In the first place, Ferdinand Brandeis had been a dreamer, and a +potential poet, which is bad equipment for success in the business of +general merchandise. Four times, since her marriage, Molly Brandeis had +packed her household goods, bade her friends good-by, and with her two +children, Fanny and Theodore, had followed her husband to pastures new. +A heart-breaking business, that, but broadening. She knew nothing of the +art of buying and selling at the time of her marriage, but as the +years went by she learned unconsciously the things one should not do +in business, from watching Ferdinand Brandeis do them all. She even +suggested this change and that, but to no avail. Ferdinand Brandeis +was a gentle and lovable man at home; a testy, quick-tempered one in +business. + +That was because he had been miscast from the first, and yet had played +one part too long, even though unsuccessfully, ever to learn another. He +did not make friends with the genial traveling salesmen who breezed in, +slapped him on the back, offered him a cigar, inquired after his health, +opened their sample cases and flirted with the girl clerks, all in a +breath. He was a man who talked little, listened little, learned little. +He had never got the trick of turning his money over quickly--that trick +so necessary to the success of the small-town business. + +So it was that, in the year preceding Ferdinand Brandeis' death, there +came often to the store a certain grim visitor. Herman Walthers, cashier +of the First National Bank of Winnebago, was a kindly-enough, shrewd, +small-town banker, but to Ferdinand Brandeis and his wife his visits, +growing more and more frequent, typified all that was frightful, +presaged misery and despair. He would drop in on a bright summer +morning, perhaps, with a cheerful greeting. He would stand for a moment +at the front of the store, balancing airily from toe to heel, and +glancing about from shelf to bin and back again in a large, speculative +way. Then he would begin to walk slowly and ruminatively about, his +shrewd little German eyes appraising the stock. He would hum a little +absent-minded tune as he walked, up one aisle and down the next (there +were only two), picking up a piece of china there, turning it over to +look at its stamp, holding it up to the light, tapping it a bit with his +knuckles, and putting it down carefully before going musically on down +the aisle to the water sets, the lamps, the stockings, the hardware, the +toys. And so, his hands behind his back, still humming, out the swinging +screen door and into the sunshine of Elm Street, leaving gloom and fear +behind him. + +One year after Molly Brandeis took hold, Herman Walthers' visits ceased, +and in two years he used to rise to greet her from his little cubbyhole +when she came into the bank. + +Which brings us to the plush photograph album. The plush photograph +album is a concrete example of what makes business failure and success. +More than that, its brief history presents a complete characterization +of Ferdinand and Molly Brandeis. + +Ten years before, Ferdinand Brandeis had bought a large bill of +Christmas fancy-goods--celluloid toilette sets, leather collar boxes, +velvet glove cases. Among the lot was a photograph album in the shape of +a huge acorn done in lightning-struck plush. It was a hideous thing, and +expensive. It stood on a brass stand, and its leaves were edged in gilt, +and its color was a nauseous green and blue, and it was altogether the +sort of thing to grace the chill and funereal best room in a Wisconsin +farmhouse. Ferdinand Brandeis marked it at six dollars and stood it +up for the Christmas trade. That had been ten years before. It was too +expensive; or too pretentious, or perhaps even too horrible for the +bucolic purse. At any rate, it had been taken out, brushed, dusted, and +placed on its stand every holiday season for ten years. On the day after +Christmas it was always there, its lightning-struck plush face staring +wildly out upon the ravaged fancy-goods counter. It would be packed +in its box again and consigned to its long summer's sleep. It had seen +three towns, and many changes. The four dollars that Ferdinand Brandeis +had invested in it still remained unturned. + +One snowy day in November (Ferdinand Brandeis died a fortnight later) +Mrs. Brandeis, entering the store, saw two women standing at the +fancy-goods counter, laughing in a stifled sort of way. One of them was +bowing elaborately to a person unseen. Mrs. Brandeis was puzzled. She +watched them for a moment, interested. One of the women was known to +her. She came up to them and put her question, bluntly, though her quick +wits had already given her a suspicion of the truth. + +"What are you bowing to?" + +The one who had done the bowing blushed a little, but giggled too, as +she said, "I'm greeting my old friend, the plush album. I've seen it +here every Christmas for five years." + +Ferdinand Brandeis died suddenly a little more than a week later. It was +a terrible period, and one that might have prostrated a less resolute +and balanced woman. There were long-standing debts, not to speak of the +entire stock of holiday goods to be paid for. The day after the funeral +Winnebago got a shock. The Brandeis house was besieged by condoling +callers. Every member of the little Jewish congregation of Winnebago +came, of course, as they had come before the funeral. Those who had not +brought cakes, and salads, and meats, and pies, brought them now, as was +the invariable custom in time of mourning. + +Others of the townspeople called, too; men and women who had known and +respected Ferdinand Brandeis. And the shock they got was this: Mrs. +Brandeis was out. Any one could have told you that she should have been +sitting at home in a darkened room, wearing a black gown, clasping +Fanny and Theodore to her, and holding a black-bordered handkerchief at +intervals to her reddened eyes. And that is what she really wanted to +do, for she had loved her husband, and she respected the conventions. +What she did was to put on a white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven +o'clock the morning after the funeral. + +The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at seven +forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping out with wet sawdust and a languid +broom. The extra force of holiday clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at +eight or after, expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At +eight-ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph +album, whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck in its place +a neatly printed card bearing these figures: "To-day--79 cents!" The plush +album went home in a farmer's wagon that afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Right here there should be something said about Fanny Brandeis. And yet, +each time I turn to her I find her mother plucking at my sleeve. There +comes to my mind the picture of Mrs. Brandeis turning down Norris Street +at quarter to eight every morning, her walk almost a march, so firm and +measured it was, her head high, her chin thrust forward a little, as a +fighter walks, but not pugnaciously; her short gray skirt clearing the +ground, her shoulders almost consciously squared. Other Winnebago women +were just tying up their daughters' pigtails for school, or sweeping the +front porch, or watering the hanging baskets. Norris Street residents +got into the habit of timing themselves by Mrs. Brandeis. When she +marched by at seven forty-five they hurried a little with the tying of +the hair bow, as they glanced out of the window. When she came by again, +a little before twelve, for her hasty dinner, they turned up the fire +under the potatoes and stirred the flour thickening for the gravy. + +Mrs. Brandeis had soon learned that Fanny and Theodore could manage +their own school toilettes, with, perhaps, some speeding up on the part +of Mattie, the servant girl. But it needed her keen brown eye to detect +corners that Aloysius had neglected to sweep out with wet sawdust, and +her presence to make sure that the counter covers were taken off and +folded, the outside show dusted and arranged, the windows washed, the +whole store shining and ready for business by eight o'clock. So Fanny +had even learned to do her own tight, shiny, black, shoulder-length +curls, which she tied back with a black bow. They were wet, meek, and +tractable curls at eight in the morning. By the time school was out +at four they were as wildly unruly as if charged with electric +currents--which they really were, when you consider the little dynamo +that wore them. + +Mrs. Brandeis took a scant half hour to walk the six blocks between +the store and the house, to snatch a hurried dinner, and traverse the +distance to the store again. It was a program that would have killed a +woman less magnificently healthy and determined. She seemed to thrive on +it, and she kept her figure and her wit when other women of her age grew +dull, and heavy, and ineffectual. On summer days the little town often +lay shimmering in the heat, the yellow road glaring in it, the red +bricks of the high school reflecting it in waves, the very pine knots +in the sidewalks gummy and resinous with heat, and sending up a pungent +smell that was of the woods, and yet stifling. She must have felt an +almost irresistible temptation to sit for a moment on the cool, shady +front porch, with its green-painted flower boxes, its hanging fern +baskets and the catalpa tree looking boskily down upon it. + +But she never did. She had an almost savage energy and determination. +The unpaid debts were ever ahead of her; there were the children to be +dressed and sent to school; there was the household to be kept up; there +were Theodore's violin lessons that must not be neglected--not after +what Professor Bauer had said about him. + +You may think that undue stress is being laid upon this driving force +in her, upon this business ability. But remember that this was fifteen +years or more ago, before women had invaded the world of business by the +thousands, to take their place, side by side, salary for salary, with +men. Oh, there were plenty of women wage earners in Winnebago, as +elsewhere; clerks, stenographers, school teachers, bookkeepers. The +paper mills were full of girls, and the canning factory too. But here +was a woman gently bred, untrained in business, left widowed with two +children at thirty-eight, and worse than penniless--in debt. + +And that was not all. As Ferdinand Brandeis' wife she had occupied a +certain social position in the little Jewish community of Winnebago. +True, they had never been moneyed, while the others of her own faith +in the little town were wealthy, and somewhat purse-proud. They had +carriages, most of them, with two handsome horses, and their houses +were spacious and veranda-encircled, and set in shady lawns. When the +Brandeis family came to Winnebago five years before, these people had +waited, cautiously, and investigated, and then had called. They were +of a type to be found in every small town; prosperous, conservative, +constructive citizens, clannish, but not so much so as their city +cousins, mingling socially with their Gentile neighbors, living well, +spending their money freely, taking a vast pride in the education of +their children. But here was Molly Brandeis, a Jewess, setting out +to earn her living in business, like a man. It was a thing to stir +Congregation Emanu-el to its depths. Jewish women, they would tell you, +did not work thus. Their husbands worked for them, or their sons, or +their brothers. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Brandeis, when she heard of it. "I seem +to remember a Jewess named Ruth who was left widowed, and who gleaned in +the fields for her living, and yet the neighbors didn't talk. For that +matter, she seems to be pretty well thought of, to this day." + +But there is no denying that she lost caste among her own people. Custom +and training are difficult to overcome. But Molly Brandeis was too +deep in her own affairs to care. That Christmas season following her +husband's death was a ghastly time, and yet a grimly wonderful one, for +it applied the acid test to Molly Brandeis and showed her up pure gold. + +The first week in January she, with Sadie and Pearl, the two clerks, +and Aloysius, the boy, took inventory. It was a terrifying thing, +that process of casting up accounts. It showed with such starkness how +hideously the Brandeis ledger sagged on the wrong side. The three women +and the boy worked with a sort of dogged cheerfulness at it, counting, +marking, dusting, washing. They found shelves full of forgotten stock, +dust-covered and profitless. They found many articles of what is known +as hard stock, akin to the plush album; glass and plated condiment +casters for the dining table, in a day when individual salts and +separate vinegar cruets were already the thing; lamps with straight +wicks when round wicks were in demand. + +They scoured shelves, removed the grime of years from boxes, washed +whole battalions of chamber sets, bathed piles of plates, and bins of +cups and saucers. It was a dirty, back-breaking job, that ruined the +finger nails, tried the disposition, and caked the throat with +dust. Besides, the store was stove-heated and, near the front door, +uncomfortably cold. The women wore little shoulder shawls pinned over +their waists, for warmth, and all four, including Aloysius, sniffled for +weeks afterward. That inventory developed a new, grim line around Mrs. +Brandeis' mouth, and carved another at the corner of each eye. After it +was over she washed her hair, steamed her face over a bowl of hot water, +packed two valises, left minute and masterful instructions with Mattie +as to the household, and with Sadie and Pearl as to the store, and was +off to Chicago on her first buying trip. She took Fanny with her, as +ballast. It was a trial at which many men would have quailed. On the +shrewdness and judgment of that buying trip depended the future of +Brandeis' Bazaar, and Mrs. Brandeis, and Fanny, and Theodore. + +Mrs. Brandeis had accompanied her husband on many of his trips to +Chicago. She had even gone with him occasionally to the wholesale houses +around La Salle Street, and Madison, and Fifth Avenue, but she had +never bought a dollar's worth herself. She saw that he bought slowly, +cautiously, and without imagination. She made up her mind that she would +buy quickly, intuitively. She knew slightly some of the salesmen in +the wholesale houses. They had often made presents to her of a vase, +a pocketbook, a handkerchief, or some such trifle, which she accepted +reluctantly, when at all. She was thankful now for these visits. She +found herself remembering many details of them. She made up her mind, +with a canny knowingness, that there should be no presents this time, no +theater invitations, no lunches or dinners. This was business, she told +herself; more than business--it was grim war. + +They still tell of that trip, sometimes, when buyers and jobbers and +wholesale men get together. Don't imagine that she came to be a woman +captain of finance. Don't think that we are to see her at the head of +a magnificent business establishment, with buyers and department heads +below her, and a private office done up in mahogany, and stenographers +and secretaries. No, she was Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, to the +end. The bills she bought were ridiculously small, I suppose, and the +tricks she turned on that first trip were pitiful, perhaps. But they +were magnificent too, in their way. I am even bold enough to think that +she might have made business history, that plucky woman, if she had had +an earlier start, and if she had not, to the very end, had a pack of +unmanageable handicaps yelping at her heels, pulling at her skirts. + +It was only a six-hour trip to Chicago. Fanny Brandeis' eyes, big enough +at any time, were surely twice their size during the entire journey of +two hundred miles or more. They were to have lunch on the train! They +were to stop at an hotel! They were to go to the theater! She would have +lain back against the red plush seat of the car, in a swoon of joy, if +there had not been so much to see in the car itself, and through the car +window. + +"We'll have something for lunch," said Mrs. Brandeis when they were +seated in the dining car, "that we never have at home, shall we?" + +"Oh, yes!" replied Fanny in a whisper of excitement. +"Something--something queer, and different, and not so very healthy!" + +They had oysters (a New Yorker would have sniffed at them), and chicken +potpie, and asparagus, and ice cream. If that doesn't prove Mrs. +Brandeis was game, I should like to know what could! They stopped at +the Windsor-Clifton, because it was quieter and less expensive than the +Palmer House, though quite as full of red plush and walnut. Besides, +she had stopped at the Palmer House with her husband, and she knew how +buyers were likely to be besieged by eager salesmen with cards, and with +tempting lines of goods spread knowingly in the various sample-rooms. + +Fanny Brandeis was thirteen, and emotional, and incredibly receptive +and alive. It is impossible to tell what she learned during that Chicago +trip, it was so crowded, so wonderful. She went with her mother to the +wholesale houses and heard and saw and, unconsciously, remembered. When +she became fatigued with the close air of the dim showrooms, with their +endless aisles piled with every sort of ware, she would sit on a +chair in some obscure corner, watching those sleek, over-lunched, +genial-looking salesmen who were chewing their cigars somewhat wildly +when Mrs. Brandeis finished with them. Sometimes she did not accompany +her mother, but lay in bed, deliciously, until the middle of the +morning, then dressed, and chatted with the obliging Irish chamber maid, +and read until her mother came for her at noon. + +Everything she did was a delightful adventure; everything she saw had +the tang of novelty. Fanny Brandeis was to see much that was beautiful +and rare in her full lifetime, but she never again, perhaps, got +quite the thrill that those ugly, dim, red-carpeted, gas-lighted hotel +corridors gave her, or the grim bedroom, with its walnut furniture and +its Nottingham curtains. As for the Chicago streets themselves, with +their perilous corners (there were no czars in blue to regulate traffic +in those days), older and more sophisticated pedestrians experienced +various emotions while negotiating the corner of State and Madison. + +That buying trip lasted ten days. It was a racking business, physically +and mentally. There were the hours of tramping up one aisle and down the +other in the big wholesale lofts. But that brought bodily fatigue only. +It was the mental strain that left Mrs. Brandeis spent and limp at the +end of the day. Was she buying wisely? Was she over-buying? What did +she know about buying, anyway? She would come back to her hotel at six, +sometimes so exhausted that the dining-room and dinner were unthinkable. +At such times they would have dinner in their room another delicious +adventure for Fanny. She would try to tempt the fagged woman on the bed +with bits of this or that from one of the many dishes that dotted the +dinner tray. But Molly Brandeis, harrowed in spirit and numbed in body, +was too spent to eat. + +But that was not always the case. There was that unforgettable night +when they went to see Bernhardt the divine. Fanny spent the entire +morning following standing before the bedroom mirror, with her hair +pulled out in a wild fluff in front, her mother's old marten-fur +scarf high and choky around her neck, trying to smile that slow, sad, +poignant, tear-compelling smile; but she had to give it up, clever +mimic though she was. She only succeeded in looking as though a pin were +sticking her somewhere. Besides, Fanny's own smile was a quick, broad, +flashing grin, with a generous glint of white teeth in it, and she +always forgot about being exquisitely wistful over it until it was too +late. + +I wonder if the story of the china religious figures will give a wrong +impression of Mrs. Brandeis. Perhaps not, if you will only remember this +woman's white-lipped determination to wrest a livelihood from the world, +for her children and herself. They had been in Chicago a week, and she +was buying at Bauder & Peck's. Now, Bauder & Peck, importers, are known +the world over. It is doubtful if there is one of you who has not been +supplied, indirectly, with some imported bit of china or glassware, with +French opera glasses or cunning toys and dolls, from the great New York +and Chicago showrooms of that company. + +Young Bauder himself was waiting on Mrs. Brandeis, and he was frowning +because he hated to sell women. Young Bauder was being broken into the +Chicago end of the business, and he was not taking gracefully to the +process. + +At the end of a long aisle, on an obscure shelf in a dim corner, Molly +Brandeis' sharp eyes espied a motley collection of dusty, grimy +china figures of the kind one sees on the mantel in the parlor of +the small-town Catholic home. Winnebago's population was two-thirds +Catholic, German and Irish, and very devout. + +Mrs. Brandeis stopped short. "How much for that lot?" She pointed to the +shelf. Young Bauder's gaze followed hers, puzzled. The figures were from +five inches to a foot high, in crude, effective blues, and gold, and +crimson, and white. All the saints were there in assorted sizes, the +Pieta, the cradle in the manger. There were probably two hundred or +more of the little figures. "Oh, those!" said young Bauder vaguely. "You +don't want that stuff. Now, about that Limoges china. As I said, I can +make you a special price on it if you carry it as an open-stock pattern. +You'll find----" + +"How much for that lot?" repeated Mrs. Brandeis. + +"Those are left-over samples, Mrs. Brandeis. Last year's stuff. They're +all dirty. I'd forgotten they were there." + +"How much for the lot?" said Mrs. Brandeis, pleasantly, for the third +time. + +"I really don't know. Three hundred, I should say. But----" + +"I'll give you two hundred," ventured Mrs. Brandeis, her heart in her +mouth and her mouth very firm. + +"Oh, come now, Mrs. Brandeis! Bauder & Peck don't do business that way, +you know. We'd really rather not sell them at all. The things aren't +worth much to us, or to you, for that matter. But three hundred----" + +"Two hundred," repeated Mrs. Brandeis, "or I cancel my order, including +the Limoges. I want those figures." + +And she got them. Which isn't the point of the story. The holy figures +were fine examples of foreign workmanship, their colors, beneath +the coating of dust, as brilliant and fadeless as those found in the +churches of Europe. They reached Winnebago duly, packed in straw and +paper, still dusty and shelf-worn. Mrs. Brandeis and Sadie and Pearl sat +on up-ended boxes at the rear of the store, in the big barn-like room in +which newly arrived goods were unpacked. As Aloysius dived deep into the +crate and brought up figure after figure, the three women plunged them +into warm and soapy water and proceeded to bathe and scour the entire +school of saints, angels, and cherubim. They came out brilliantly fresh +and rosy. + +All the Irish ingenuity and artistry in Aloysius came to the surface +as he dived again and again into the great barrel and brought up the +glittering pieces. + +"It'll make an elegant window," he gasped from the depths of the hay, +his lean, lengthy frame jack-knifed over the edge. "And cheap." His +shrewd wit had long ago divined the store's price mark. "If Father +Fitzpatrick steps by in the forenoon I'll bet they'll be gone before +nighttime to-morrow. You'll be letting me do the trim, Mrs. Brandeis?" + +He came back that evening to do it, and he threw his whole soul into it, +which, considering his ancestry and temperament, was very high voltage +for one small-town store window. He covered the floor of the window with +black crepe paper, and hung it in long folds, like a curtain, against +the rear wall. The gilt of the scepters, and halos, and capes showed up +dazzlingly against this background. The scarlets, and pinks, and blues, +and whites of the robes appeared doubly bright. The whole made a picture +that struck and held you by its vividness and contrast. + +Father Fitzpatrick, very tall and straight, and handsome, with his +iron-gray hair and his cheeks pink as a girl's, did step by next morning +on his way to the post-office. It was whispered that in his youth Father +Fitzpatrick had been an actor, and that he had deserted the footlights +for the altar lights because of a disappointment. The drama's loss was +the Church's gain. You should have heard him on Sunday morning, now +flaying them, now swaying them! He still had the actor's flexible voice, +vibrant, tremulous, or strident, at will. And no amount of fasting or +praying had ever dimmed that certain something in his eye--the something +which makes the matinee idol. + +Not only did he step by now; he turned, came back; stopped before the +window. Then he entered. + +"Madam," he said to Mrs. Brandeis, "you'll probably save more souls with +your window display than I could in a month of hell-fire sermons." He +raised his hand. "You have the sanction of the Church." Which was the +beginning of a queer friendship between the Roman Catholic priest and +the Jewess shopkeeper that lasted as long as Molly Brandeis lived. + +By noon it seemed that the entire population of Winnebago had turned +devout. The figures, a tremendous bargain, though sold at a high profit, +seemed to melt away from the counter that held them. + +By three o'clock, "Only one to a customer!" announced Mrs. Brandeis. By +the middle of the week the window itself was ravished of its show. By +the end of the week there remained only a handful of the duller and less +desirable pieces--the minor saints, so to speak. Saturday night Mrs. +Brandeis did a little figuring on paper. The lot had cost her two +hundred dollars. She had sold for six hundred. Two from six leaves four. +Four hundred dollars! She repeated it to herself, quietly. Her mind +leaped back to the plush photograph album, then to young Bauder and his +cool contempt. And there stole over her that warm, comfortable glow born +of reassurance and triumph. Four hundred dollars. Not much in these +days of big business. We said, you will remember, that it was a pitiful +enough little trick she turned to make it, though an honest one. And--in +the face of disapproval--a rather magnificent one too. For it gave to +Molly Brandeis that precious quality, self-confidence, out of which is +born success. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +By spring Mrs. Brandeis had the farmer women coming to her for their +threshing dishes and kitchenware, and the West End Culture Club for +their whist prizes. She seemed to realize that the days of the general +store were numbered, and she set about making hers a novelty store. +There was something terrible about the earnestness with which she +stuck to business. She was not more than thirty-eight at this time, +intelligent, healthy, fun-loving. But she stayed at it all day. She +listened and chatted to every one, and learned much. There was about her +that human quality that invites confidence. + +She made friends by the hundreds, and friends are a business asset. +Those blithe, dressy, and smooth-spoken gentlemen known as traveling men +used to tell her their troubles, perched on a stool near the stove, and +show her the picture of their girl in the back of their watch, and asked +her to dinner at the Haley House. She listened to their tale of woe, +and advised them; she admired the picture of the girl, and gave some +wholesome counsel on the subject of traveling men's lonely wives; but +she never went to dinner at the Haley House. + +It had not taken these debonair young men long to learn that there was a +woman buyer who bought quickly, decisively, and intelligently, and that +she always demanded a duplicate slip. Even the most unscrupulous could +not stuff an order of hers, and when it came to dating she gave no +quarter. Though they wore clothes that were two leaps ahead of the +styles worn by the Winnebago young men--their straw sailors were likely +to be saw-edged when the local edges were smooth, and their coats were +more flaring, or their trousers wider than the coats and trousers of +the Winnebago boys--they were not, for the most part, the gay dogs that +Winnebago's fancy painted them. Many of them were very lonely married +men who missed their wives and babies, and loathed the cuspidored +discomfort of the small-town hotel lobby. They appreciated Mrs. +Brandeis' good-natured sympathy, and gave her the long end of a deal +when they could. It was Sam Kiser who had begged her to listen to +his advice to put in Battenberg patterns and braid, long before the +Battenberg epidemic had become widespread and virulent. + +"Now listen to me, Mrs. Brandeis," he begged, almost tearfully. "You're +a smart woman. Don't let this get by you. You know that I know that a +salesman would have as much chance to sell you a gold brick as to sell +old John D. Rockefeller a gallon of oil." Mrs. Brandeis eyed his samples +coldly. "But it looks so unattractive. And the average person has +no imagination. A bolt of white braid and a handful of buttons--they +wouldn't get a mental picture of the completed piece. Now, embroidery +silk----" + +"Then give 'em a real picture!" interrupted Sam. "Work up one of these +water-lily pattern table covers. Use No. 100 braid and the smallest +buttons. Stick it in the window and they'll tear their hair to get +patterns." + +She did it, taking turns with Pearl and Sadie at weaving the great, lacy +square during dull moments. When it was finished they placed it in +the window, where it lay like frosted lace, exquisitely graceful and +delicate, with its tracery of curling petals and feathery fern sprays. +Winnebago gazed and was bitten by the Battenberg bug. It wound itself up +in a network of Battenberg braid, in all the numbers. It bought +buttons of every size; it stitched away at Battenberg covers, doilies, +bedspreads, blouses, curtains. Battenberg tumbled, foamed, cascaded over +Winnebago's front porches all that summer. Listening to Sam Kiser had +done it. + +She listened to the farmer women too, and to the mill girls, and to the +scant and precious pearls that dropped from the lips of the East End +society section. There was something about her brown eyes and her +straight, sensible nose that reassured them so that few suspected the +mischievous in her. For she was mischievous. If she had not been I think +she could not have stood the drudgery, and the heartbreaks, and the +struggle, and the terrific manual labor. + +She used to guy people, gently, and they never guessed it. Mrs. G. +Manville Smith, for example, never dreamed of the joy that her patronage +brought Molly Brandeis, who waited on her so demurely. Mrs. G. Manville +Smith (nee Finnegan) scorned the Winnebago shops, and was said to send +to Chicago for her hairpins. It was known that her household was run on +the most niggardly basis, however, and she short-rationed her two maids +outrageously. It was said that she could serve less real food on more +real lace doilies than any other housekeeper in Winnebago. Now, Mrs. +Brandeis sold Scourine two cents cheaper than the grocery stores, using +it as an advertisement to attract housewives, and making no profit on +the article itself. Mrs. G. Manville Smith always patronized Brandeis' +Bazaar for Scourine alone, and thus represented pure loss. Also she +my-good-womaned Mrs. Brandeis. That lady, seeing her enter one day with +her comic, undulating gait, double-actioned like a giraffe's, and her +plumes that would have shamed a Knight of Pythias, decided to put a stop +to these unprofitable visits. + +She waited on Mrs. G. Manville Smith, a dangerous gleam in her eye. + +"Scourine," spake Mrs. G. Manville Smith. + +"How many?" + +"A dozen." + +"Anything else?" + +"No. Send them." + +Mrs. Brandeis, scribbling in her sales book, stopped, pencil poised. "We +cannot send Scourine unless with a purchase of other goods amounting to +a dollar or more." + +Mrs. G. Manville Smith's plumes tossed and soared agitatedly. "But my +good woman, I don't want anything else!" + +"Then you'll have to carry the Scourine?" + +"Certainly not! I'll send for it." + +"The sale closes at five." It was then 4:57. + +"I never heard of such a thing! You can't expect me to carry them." + +Now, Mrs. G. Manville Smith had been a dining-room girl at the old Haley +House before she married George Smith, and long before he made his money +in lumber. + +"You won't find them so heavy," Molly Brandeis said smoothly. + +"I certainly would! Perhaps you would not. You're used to that sort of +thing. Rough work, and all that." + +Aloysius, doubled up behind the lamps, knew what was coming, from the +gleam in his boss's eye. + +"There may be something in that," Molly Brandeis returned sweetly. +"That's why I thought you might not mind taking them. They're really not +much heavier than a laden tray." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the outraged Mrs. G. Manville Smith. And took her plumes +and her patronage out of Brandeis' Bazaar forever. + +That was as malicious as Molly Brandeis ever could be. And it was +forgivable malice. + +Most families must be described against the background of their homes, +but the Brandeis family life was bounded and controlled by the store. +Their meals and sleeping hours and amusements were regulated by it. +It taught them much, and brought them much, and lost them much. Fanny +Brandeis always said she hated it, but it made her wise, and tolerant, +and, in the end, famous. I don't know what more one could ask of any +institution. It brought her in contact with men and women, taught her +how to deal with them. After school she used often to run down to the +store to see her mother, while Theodore went home to practice. Perched +on a high stool in some corner she heard, and saw, and absorbed. It +was a great school for the sensitive, highly-organized, dramatic little +Jewish girl, for, to paraphrase a well-known stage line, there are just +as many kinds of people in Winnebago as there are in Washington. + +It was about this time that Fanny Brandeis began to realize, actively, +that she was different. Of course, other little Winnebago girls' mothers +did not work like a man, in a store. And she and Bella Weinberg were the +only two in her room at school who stayed out on the Day of Atonement, +and on New Year, and the lesser Jewish holidays. Also, she went to +temple on Friday night and Saturday morning, when the other girls she +knew went to church on Sunday. These things set her apart in the little +Middle Western town; but it was not these that constituted the real +difference. She played, and slept, and ate, and studied like the +other healthy little animals of her age. The real difference was +temperamental, or emotional, or dramatic, or historic, or all four. They +would be playing tag, perhaps, in one of the cool, green ravines that +were the beauty spots of the little Wisconsin town. + +They nestled like exquisite emeralds in the embrace of the hills, those +ravines, and Winnebago's civic surge had not yet swept them away in a +deluge of old tin cans, ashes, dirt and refuse, to be sold later for +building lots. The Indians had camped and hunted in them. The one under +the Court Street bridge, near the Catholic church and monastery, was +the favorite for play. It lay, a lovely, gracious thing, below the +hot little town, all green, and lush, and cool, a tiny stream dimpling +through it. The plump Capuchin Fathers, in their coarse brown robes, +knotted about the waist with a cord, their bare feet thrust into +sandals, would come out and sun themselves on the stone bench at the +side of the monastery on the hill, or would potter about the garden. +And suddenly Fanny would stop quite still in the midst of her tag game, +struck with the beauty of the picture it called from the past. + +Little Oriental that she was, she was able to combine the dry text of +her history book with the green of the trees, the gray of the church, +and the brown of the monk's robes, and evolve a thrilling mental picture +therefrom. The tag game and her noisy little companions vanished. She +was peopling the place with stealthy Indians. Stealthy, cunning, yet +savagely brave. They bore no relation to the abject, contemptible, and +rather smelly Oneidas who came to the back door on summer mornings, in +calico, and ragged overalls, with baskets of huckleberries on their +arm, their pride gone, a broken and conquered people. She saw them wild, +free, sovereign, and there were no greasy, berry-peddling Oneidas among +them. They were Sioux, and Pottawatomies (that last had the real Indian +sound), and Winnebagos, and Menomonees, and Outagamis. She made +them taciturn, and beady-eyed, and lithe, and fleet, and every other +adjectival thing her imagination and history book could supply. The +fat and placid Capuchin Fathers on the hill became Jesuits, sinister, +silent, powerful, with France and the Church of Rome behind them. From +the shelter of that big oak would step Nicolet, the brave, first among +Wisconsin explorers, and last to receive the credit for his hardihood. +Jean Nicolet! She loved the sound of it. And with him was La Salle, +straight, and slim, and elegant, and surely wearing ruffles and plumes +and sword even in a canoe. And Tonty, his Italian friend and fellow +adventurer--Tonty of the satins and velvets, graceful, tactful, poised, +a shadowy figure; his menacing iron hand, so feared by the ignorant +savages, encased always in a glove. Surely a perfumed g---- Slap! A rude +shove that jerked her head back sharply and sent her forward, stumbling, +and jarred her like a fall. + +"Ya-a-a! Tag! You're it! Fanny's it!" + +Indians, priests, cavaliers, coureurs de bois, all vanished. Fanny would +stand a moment, blinking stupidly. The next moment she was running +as fleetly as the best of the boys in savage pursuit of one of her +companions in the tag game. + +She was a strange mixture of tomboy and bookworm, which was a mercifully +kind arrangement for both body and mind. The spiritual side of her was +groping and staggering and feeling its way about as does that of any +little girl whose mind is exceptionally active, and whose mother is +unusually busy. It was on the Day of Atonement, known in the Hebrew as +Yom Kippur, in the year following her father's death that that side of +her performed a rather interesting handspring. + +Fanny Brandeis had never been allowed to fast on this, the greatest and +most solemn of Jewish holy days Molly Brandeis' modern side refused +to countenance the practice of withholding food from any child for +twenty-four hours. So it was in the face of disapproval that Fanny, +making deep inroads into the steak and fried sweet potatoes at supper on +the eve of the Day of Atonement, announced her intention of fasting from +that meal to supper on the following evening. She had just passed her +plate for a third helping of potatoes. Theodore, one lap behind her in +the race, had entered his objection. + +"Well, for the land's sakes!" he protested. "I guess you're not the only +one who likes sweet potatoes." + +Fanny applied a generous dab of butter to an already buttery morsel, and +chewed it with an air of conscious virtue. + +"I've got to eat a lot. This is the last bite I'll have until to-morrow +night." + +"What's that?" exclaimed Mrs. Brandeis, sharply. + +"Yes, it is!" hooted Theodore. + +Fanny went on conscientiously eating as she explained. + +"Bella Weinberg and I are going to fast all day. We just want to see if +we can." + +"Betcha can't," Theodore said. + +Mrs. Brandeis regarded her small daughter with a thoughtful gaze. "But +that isn't the object in fasting, Fanny--just to see if you can. If +you're going to think of food all through the Yom Kippur services----" + +"I sha'n't?" protested Fanny passionately. "Theodore would, but I +won't." + +"Wouldn't any such thing," denied Theodore. "But if I'm going to play +a violin solo during the memorial service I guess I've got to eat my +regular meals." + +Theodore sometimes played at temple, on special occasions. The +little congregation, listening to the throbbing rise and fall of this +fifteen-year-old boy's violin playing, realized, vaguely, that here was +something disturbingly, harrowingly beautiful. They did not know that +they were listening to genius. + +Molly Brandeis, in her second best dress, walked to temple Yom Kippur +eve, her son at her right side, her daughter at her left. She had made +up her mind that she would not let this next day, with its poignantly +beautiful service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her +husband's death, and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on his +rendition of the memorial service that came at three in the afternoon. + +A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi Thalmann, +and unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck to the Scriptures +for his texts, finding Moses a greater leader than Roosevelt, and +the miracle of the Burning Bush more wonderful than the marvels of +twentieth-century wizardy in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann, +with hands and feet as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny +found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black broadcloth +and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading, upon his small hooked +nose. He stood very straight in the pulpit, but on the street you saw +that his back was bent just the least bit in the world--or perhaps it +was only his student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the +ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars that looked as +if they had been expressly cut and rolled to fit him. + +The evening service was at seven. The congregation, rustling in silks, +was approaching the little temple from all directions. Inside, there was +a low-toned buzz of conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward +the rear, as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little +congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture of the room in +its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in eagerly, her dark eyes soft +and luminous. The bare, yellow-varnished wooden pews glowed with the +reflection from the chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on +either side of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush +curtain that hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and the red +plush pulpit cover too, were replaced by gleaming white satin edged with +gold fringe and finished at the corners with heavy gold tassels. How the +rich white satin glistened in the light of the electric candles! Fanny +Brandeis loved the lights, and the gleam, and the music, so majestic, +and solemn, and the sight of the little rabbi, sitting so straight and +serious in his high-backed chair, or standing to read from the great +Bible. There came to this emotional little Jewess a thrill that was not +born of religious fervor at all, I am afraid. + +The sheer drama of the thing got her. In fact, the thing she had set +herself to do to-day had in it very little of religion. Mrs. Brandeis +had been right about that. It was a test of endurance, as planned. +Fanny had never fasted in all her healthy life. She would come home from +school to eat formidable stacks of bread and butter, enhanced by brown +sugar or grape jelly, and topped off with three or four apples from the +barrel in the cellar. Two hours later she would attack a supper of fried +potatoes, and liver, and tea, and peach preserve, and more stacks of +bread and butter. Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and +the berry bushes, not to speak of sundry bags of small, hard candies +of the jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and secret munching during +school. She liked good things to eat, this sturdy little girl, as did +her friend, that blonde and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. The two girls +exchanged meaningful glances during the evening service. The Weinbergs, +as befitted their station, sat in the third row at the right, and Bella +had to turn around to convey her silent messages to Fanny. The +evening service was brief, even to the sermon. Rabbi Thalmann and his +congregation would need their strength for to-morrow's trial. + +The Brandeises walked home through the soft September night, and the +children had to use all their Yom Kippur dignity to keep from scuffling +through the piled-up drifts of crackling autumn leaves. Theodore went to +the cellar and got an apple, which he ate with what Fanny considered +an unnecessary amount of scrunching. It was a firm, juicy apple, and it +gave forth a cracking sound when his teeth met in its white meat. Fanny, +after regarding him with gloomy superiority, went to bed. + +She had willed to sleep late, for gastronomic reasons, but the mental +command disobeyed itself, and she woke early, with a heavy feeling. +Early as it was, Molly Brandeis had tiptoed in still earlier to look at +her strange little daughter. She sometimes did that on Saturday mornings +when she left early for the store and Fanny slept late. This morning +Fanny's black hair was spread over the pillow as she lay on her back, +one arm outflung, the other at her breast. She made a rather startlingly +black and white and scarlet picture as she lay there asleep. Fanny +did things very much in that way, too, with broad, vivid, unmistakable +splashes of color. Mrs. Brandeis, looking at the black-haired, +red-lipped child sleeping there, wondered just how much determination +lay back of the broad white brow. She had said little to Fanny about +this feat of fasting, and she told herself that she disapproved of it. +But in her heart she wanted the girl to see it through, once attempted. + +Fanny awoke at half past seven, and her nostrils dilated to that most +exquisite, tantalizing and fragrant of smells--the aroma of simmering +coffee. It permeated the house. It tickled the senses. It carried with +it visions of hot, brown breakfast rolls, and eggs, and butter. Fanny +loved her breakfast. She turned over now, and decided to go to sleep +again. But she could not. She got up and dressed slowly and carefully. +There was no one to hurry her this morning with the call from the foot +of the stairs of, "Fanny! Your egg'll get cold!" + +She put on clean, crisp underwear, and did her hair expertly. She +slipped an all-enveloping pinafore over her head, that the new silk +dress might not be crushed before church time. She thought that Theodore +would surely have finished his breakfast by this time. But when she came +down-stairs he was at the table. Not only that, he had just begun his +breakfast. An egg, all golden, and white, and crisply brown at the +frilly edges, lay on his plate. Theodore always ate his egg in a +mathematical sort of way. He swallowed the white hastily first, because +he disliked it, and Mrs. Brandeis insisted that he eat it. Then he would +brood a moment over the yolk that lay, unmarred and complete, like an +amber jewel in the center of his plate. Then he would suddenly plunge +his fork into the very heart of the jewel, and it would flow over his +plate, mingling with the butter, and he would catch it deftly with +little mops of warm, crisp, buttery roll. + +Fanny passed the breakfast table just as Theodore plunged his fork into +the egg yolk. She caught her breath sharply, and closed her eyes. Then +she turned and fled to the front porch and breathed deeply and windily +of the heady September Wisconsin morning air. As she stood there, with +her stiff, short black curls still damp and glistening, in her best +shoes and stockings, with the all-enveloping apron covering her sturdy +little figure, the light of struggle and renunciation in her face, she +typified something at once fine and earthy. + +But the real struggle was to come later. They went to temple at ten, +Theodore with his beloved violin tucked carefully under his arm. Bella +Weinberg was waiting at the steps. + +"Did you?" she asked eagerly. + +"Of course not," replied Fanny disdainfully. "Do you think I'd eat old +breakfast when I said I was going to fast all day?" Then, with sudden +suspicion, "Did you?" + +"No!" stoutly. + +And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating to watch the +other members of the congregation come in, the women rustling, the men +subdued in the unaccustomed dignity of black on a week day. One glance +at the yellow pews was like reading a complete social and financial +register. The seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de +Gotha of Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among the +Jewish settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an immigrant youth, and +who now owned hundreds of rich farm acres, besides houses, mills and +banks, kinged it from the front seat of the center section. He was a +magnificent old man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of +heavy iron-gray hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a startling and +unexpected dimple in one cheek that gave him a mischievous and boyish +look. + +Behind this dignitary sat his sons, and their wives, and his daughters +and their husbands, and their children, and so on, back to the Brandeis +pew, third from the last, behind which sat only a few obscure families +branded as Russians, as only the German-born Jew can brand those whose +misfortune it is to be born in that region known as hinter-Berlin. + +The morning flew by, with its music, its responses, its sermon in +German, full of four- and five-syllable German words like Barmherzigkeit +and Eigentumlichkeit. All during the sermon Fanny sat and dreamed and +watched the shadow on the window of the pine tree that stood close to +the temple, and was vastly amused at the jaundiced look that the square +of yellow window glass cast upon the face of the vain and overdressed +Mrs. Nathan Pereles. From time to time Bella would turn to bestow upon +her a look intended to convey intense suffering and a resolute though +dying condition. Fanny stonily ignored these mute messages. They +offended something in her, though she could not tell what. + +At the noon intermission she did not go home to the tempting dinner +smells, but wandered off through the little city park and down to the +river, where she sat on the bank and felt very virtuous, and spiritual, +and hollow. She was back in her seat when the afternoon service was +begun. Some of the more devout members had remained to pray all through +the midday. The congregation came straggling in by twos and threes. +Many of the women had exchanged the severely corseted discomfort of the +morning's splendor for the comparative ease of second-best silks. +Mrs. Brandeis, absent from her business throughout this holy day, came +hurrying in at two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon her pale and +resolute little daughter. + +The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and lasted almost +two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped out through the side aisle, +beckoning mysteriously and alluringly to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked +at her mother. + +"Run along," said Mrs. Brandeis. "The air will be good for you. Come +back before the memorial service begins." Fanny and Bella met, giggling, +in the vestibule. + +"Come on over to my house for a minute," Bella suggested. "I want +to show you something." The Weinberg house, a great, comfortable, +well-built home, with encircling veranda, and a well-cared-for lawn, was +just a scant block away. They skipped across the street, down the block, +and in at the back door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted. The house +seemed very quiet and hushed. Over it hung the delicious fragrance of +freshly-baked pastry. Bella, a rather baleful look in her eyes, led the +way to the butler's pantry that was as large as the average kitchen. +And there, ranged on platters, and baking boards, and on snowy-white +napkins, was that which made Tantalus's feast seem a dry and barren +snack. The Weinberg's had baked. It is the custom in the household of +Atonement Day fasters of the old school to begin the evening meal, after +the twenty-four hours of abstainment, with coffee and freshly-baked +coffee cake of every variety. It was a lead-pipe blow at one's +digestion, but delicious beyond imagining. Bella's mother was a famous +cook, and her two maids followed in the ways of their mistress. There +were to be sisters and brothers and out-of-town relations as guests at +the evening meal, and Mrs. Weinberg had outdone herself. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Fanny in a sort of agony and delight. + +"Take some," said Bella, the temptress. + +The pantry was fragrant as a garden with spices, and fruit scents, +and the melting, delectable perfume of brown, freshly-baked dough, +sugar-coated. There was one giant platter devoted wholly to round, plump +cakes, with puffy edges, in the center of each a sunken pool that was +all plum, bearing on its bosom a snowy sifting of powdered sugar. +There were others whose centers were apricot, pure molten gold in +the sunlight. There were speckled expanses of cheese kuchen, the +golden-brown surface showing rich cracks through which one caught +glimpses of the lemon-yellow cheese beneath--cottage cheese that had +been beaten up with eggs, and spices, and sugar, and lemon. Flaky crust +rose, jaggedly, above this plateau. There were cakes with jelly, and +cinnamon kuchen, and cunning cakes with almond slices nestling side by +side. And there was freshly-baked bread--twisted loaf, with poppy seed +freckling its braid, and its sides glistening with the butter that had +been liberally swabbed on it before it had been thrust into the oven. + +Fanny Brandeis gazed, hypnotized. As she gazed Bella selected a plum +tart and bit into it--bit generously, so that her white little teeth met +in the very middle of the oozing red-brown juice and one heard a little +squirt as they closed on the luscious fruit. At the sound Fanny quivered +all through her plump and starved little body. + +"Have one," said Bella generously. "Go on. Nobody'll ever know. Anyway, +we've fasted long enough for our age. I could fast till supper time if +I wanted to, but I don't want to." She swallowed the last morsel of +the plum tart, and selected another--apricot, this time, and opened her +moist red lips. But just before she bit into it (the Inquisition could +have used Bella's talents) she selected its counterpart and held it out +to Fanny. Fanny shook her head slightly. Her hand came up involuntarily. +Her eyes were fastened on Bella's face. + +"Go on," urged Bella. "Take it. They're grand! M-m-m-m!" The first bite +of apricot vanished between her rows of sharp white teeth. Fanny shut +her eyes as if in pain. She was fighting the great fight of her life. +She was to meet other temptations, and perhaps more glittering ones, in +her lifetime, but to her dying day she never forgot that first battle +between the flesh and the spirit, there in the sugar-scented pantry--and +the spirit won. As Bella's lips closed upon the second bite of apricot +tart, the while her eye roved over the almond cakes and her hand still +held the sweet out to Fanny, that young lady turned sharply, like a +soldier, and marched blindly out of the house, down the back steps, +across the street, and so into the temple. + +The evening lights had just been turned on. The little congregation, +relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of them, sat rapt and still +except at those times when the prayer book demanded spoken responses. +The voice of the little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre +that made it startlingly sweet and clear and resonant. Fanny slid very +quietly into the seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped her moist +and cold little hand into her mother's warm, work-roughened palm. The +mother's brown eyes, very bright with unshed tears, left their perusal +of the prayer book to dwell upon the white little face that was smiling +rather wanly up at her. The pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or +more to the left. Just as Fanny remarked this, there was a little moment +of hush in the march of the day's long service. The memorial hour had +begun. + +Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation stirred a +bit, changed its cramped position. Bella, the guilty, came stealing in, +a pink-and-gold picture of angelic virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt +very aloof, and clean, and remote. + +Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened. + +"But you didn't, did you?" she whispered softly. + +Fanny shook her head. + +Rabbi Thalmann was seated in his great carved chair. His eyes were +closed. The wheezy little organ in the choir loft at the rear of the +temple began the opening bars of Schumann's Traumerei. And then, above +the cracked voice of the organ, rose the clear, poignant wail of a +violin. Theodore Brandeis had begun to play. You know the playing of +the average boy of fifteen--that nerve-destroying, uninspired scraping. +There was nothing of this in the sounds that this boy called forth +from the little wooden box and the stick with its taut lines of catgut. +Whatever it was--the length of the thin, sensitive fingers, the turn of +the wrist, the articulation of the forearm, the something in the brain, +or all these combined--Theodore Brandeis possessed that which makes for +greatness. You realized that as he crouched over his violin to get his +cello tones. As he played to-day the little congregation sat very still, +and each was thinking of his ambitions and his failures; of the lover +lost, of the duty left undone, of the hope deferred; of the wrong that +was never righted; of the lost one whose memory spells remorse. It felt +the salt taste on its lips. It put up a furtive, shamed hand to dab at +its cheeks, and saw that the one who sat in the pew just ahead was doing +likewise. This is what happened when this boy of fifteen wedded his bow +to his violin. And he who makes us feel all this has that indefinable, +magic, glorious thing known as Genius. + +When it was over, there swept through the room that sigh following +tension relieved. Rabbi Thalmann passed a hand over his tired eyes, like +one returning from a far mental journey; then rose, and came forward +to the pulpit. He began, in Hebrew, the opening words of the memorial +service, and so on to the prayers in English, with their words of +infinite humility and wisdom. + +"Thou hast implanted in us the capacity for sin, but not sin itself!" + +Fanny stirred. She had learned that a brief half hour ago. The service +marched on, a moving and harrowing thing. The amens rolled out with a +new fervor from the listeners. There seemed nothing comic now in the way +old Ben Reitman, with his slower eyes, always came out five words behind +the rest who tumbled upon the responses and scurried briskly through +them, so that his fine old voice, somewhat hoarse and quavering now, +rolled out its "Amen!" in solitary majesty. They came to that gem of +humility, the mourners' prayer; the ancient and ever-solemn Kaddish +prayer. There is nothing in the written language that, for sheer drama +and magnificence, can equal it as it is chanted in the Hebrew. + +As Rabbi Thalmann began to intone it in its monotonous repetition of +praise, there arose certain black-robed figures from their places and +stood with heads bowed over their prayer books. These were members of +the congregation from whom death had taken a toll during the past year. +Fanny rose with her mother and Theodore, who had left the choir loft to +join them. The little wheezy organ played very softly. The black-robed +figures swayed. Here and there a half-stifled sob rose, and was crushed. +Fanny felt a hot haze that blurred her vision. She winked it away, and +another burned in its place. Her shoulders shook with a sob. She felt +her mother's hand close over her own that held one side of the book. +The prayer, that was not of mourning but of praise, ended with a final +crescendo from the organ, The silent black-robed figures were seated. + +Over the little, spent congregation hung a glorious atmosphere of +detachment. These Jews, listening to the words that had come from the +lips of the prophets in Israel, had been, on this day, thrown back +thousands of years, to the time when the destruction of the temple was +as real as the shattered spires and dome of the cathedral at Rheims. +Old Ben Reitman, faint with fasting, was far removed from his everyday +thoughts of his horses, his lumber mills, his farms, his mortgages. Even +Mrs. Nathan Pereles, in her black satin and bugles and jets, her +cold, hard face usually unlighted by sympathy or love, seemed to feel +something of this emotional wave. Fanny Brandeis was shaken by it. Her +head ached (that was hunger) and her hands were icy. The little Russian +girl in the seat just behind them had ceased to wriggle and squirm, and +slept against her mother's side. Rabbi Thalmann, there on the platform, +seemed somehow very far away and vague. The scent of clove apples and +ammonia salts filled the air. The atmosphere seemed strangely wavering +and luminous. The white satin of the Ark curtain gleamed and shifted. + +The long service swept on to its close. Suddenly organ and choir burst +into a paeon. Little Doctor Thalmann raised his arms. The congregation +swept to its feet with a mighty surge. Fanny rose with them, her face +very white in its frame of black curls, her eyes luminous. She raised +her face for the words of the ancient benediction that rolled, in its +simplicity and grandeur, from the lips of the rabbi: + +"May the blessing of the Lord our God rest upon you all. God bless thee +and keep thee. May God cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be +gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee, and grant +thee peace." + +The Day of Atonement had come to an end. It was a very quiet, subdued +and spent little flock that dispersed to their homes. Fanny walked out +with scarcely a thought of Bella. She felt, vaguely, that she and this +school friend were formed of different stuff. She knew that the bond +between them had been the grubby, physical one of childhood, and that +they never would come together in the finer relation of the spirit, +though she could not have put this new knowledge into words. + +Molly Brandeis put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. + +"Tired, Fanchen?" + +"A little." + +"Bet you're hungry!" from Theodore. + +"I was, but I'm not now." + +"M-m-m--wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!" + +She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's pantry. But now +something within her--something fine, born of this day--kept her from +it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom two and two often made five, guessed +something of what had happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had +Molly Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with the magic +of his music. She had kissed him good night with infinite tenderness and +love. But she came into her daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to +bed, and leaned over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead. + +"Do you feel all right, my darling?" + +"Umhmph," replied Fanny drowsily. + +"Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know that you were +able to do the thing you started out to do?" + +"Umhmph." + +"Only," Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite forgetting that +she was talking to a very little girl, "only, life seems to take +such special delight in offering temptation to those who are able to +withstand it. I don't know why that's true, but it is. I hope--oh, my +little girl, my baby--I hope----" + +But Fanny never knew whether her mother finished that sentence or not. +She remembered waiting for the end of it, to learn what it was her +mother hoped. And she had felt a sudden, scalding drop on her hand where +her mother bent over her. And the next thing she knew it was morning, +with mellow September sunshine. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +It was the week following this feat of fasting that two things happened +to Fanny Brandeis--two seemingly unimportant and childish things--that +were to affect the whole tenor of her life. It is pleasant to +predict thus. It gives a certain weight to a story and a sense of +inevitableness. It should insure, too, the readers's support to the +point, at least, where the prediction is fulfilled. Sometimes a careless +author loses sight altogether of his promise, and then the tricked +reader is likely to go on to the very final page, teased by the +expectation that that which was hinted at will be revealed. + +Fanny Brandeis had a way of going to the public library on Saturday +afternoons (with a bag of very sticky peanut candy in her pocket, the +little sensualist!) and there, huddled in a chair, dreamily and almost +automatically munching peanut brittle, her cheeks growing redder and +redder in the close air of the ill-ventilated room, she would read, +and read, and read. There was no one to censor her reading, so she +read promiscuously, wading gloriously through trash and classic and +historical and hysterical alike, and finding something of interest in +them all. + +She read the sprightly "Duchess" novels, where mad offers of marriage +were always made in flower-scented conservatories; she read Dickens, and +Thelma, and old bound Cosmopolitans, and Zola, and de Maupassant, and +the "Wide, Wide World," and "Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates," +and "Jane Eyre." All of which are merely mentioned as examples of her +catholicism in literature. As she read she was unaware of the giggling +boys and girls who came in noisily, and made dates, and were coldly +frowned on by the austere Miss Perkins, the librarian. She would read +until the fading light would remind her that the short fall or winter +day was drawing to a close. + +She would come, shivering a little after the fetid atmosphere of +the overheated library, into the crisp, cold snap of the astringent +Wisconsin air. Sometimes she would stop at the store for her mother. +Sometimes she would run home alone through the twilight, her heels +scrunching the snow, her whole being filled with a vague and unchildish +sadness and disquiet as she faced the tender rose, and orange, and +mauve, and pale lemon of the winter sunset. There were times when her +very heart ached with the beauty of that color-flooded sky; there were +times, later, when it ached in much the same way at the look in the eyes +of a pushcart peddler; there were times when it ached, seemingly, for no +reason at all--as is sometimes the case when one is a little Jew girl, +with whole centuries of suffering behind one. + +On this day she had taken a book from the library Miss Perkins, at sight +of the title, had glared disapprovingly, and had hesitated a moment +before stamping the card. + +"Is this for yourself?" she had asked. + +"Yes'm." + +"It isn't a book for little girls," snapped Miss Perkins. + +"I've read half of it already," Fanny informed her sweetly. And went out +with it under her arm. It was Zola's "The Ladies' Paradise" (Au Bonheur +des Dames). The story of the shop girl, and the crushing of the little +dealer by the great and moneyed company had thrilled and fascinated her. + +Her mind was full of it as she turned the corner on Norris Street and +ran full-tilt, into a yowling, taunting, torturing little pack of boys. +They were gathered in close formation about some object which they were +teasing, and knocking about in the mud, and otherwise abusing with the +savagery of their years. Fanny, the fiery, stopped short. She pushed +into the ring. The object of their efforts was a weak-kneed and +hollow-chested little boy who could not fight because he was cowardly +as well as weak, and his name (oh, pity!) was Clarence--Clarence Heyl. +There are few things that a mischievous group of small boys cannot +do with a name like Clarence. They whined it, they catcalled it, +they shrieked it in falsetto imitation of Clarence's mother. He was a +wide-mouthed, sallow and pindling little boy, whose pipe-stemmed legs +looked all the thinner for being contrasted with his feet, which were +long and narrow. At that time he wore spectacles, too, to correct a +muscular weakness, so that his one good feature--great soft, liquid +eyes--passed unnoticed. He was the kind of little boy whose mother +insists on dressing him in cloth-top, buttoned, patent-leather shoes for +school. His blue serge suit was never patched or shiny. His stockings +were virgin at the knee. He wore an overcoat on cool autumn days. Fanny +despised and pitied him. We ask you not to, because in this puny, shy +and ugly little boy of fifteen you behold Our Hero. + +He staggered to his feet now, as Fanny came up. His school reefer was +mud-bespattered. His stockings were torn. His cap was gone and his hair +was wild. There was a cut or scratch on one cheek, from which the blood +flowed. + +"I'll tell my mother on you!" he screamed impotently, and shook with +rage and terror. "You'll see, you will! You let me alone, now!" + +Fanny felt a sick sensation at the pit of her stomach and in her throat. +Then: + +"He'll tell his ma!" sneered the boys in chorus. "Oh, mamma!" And called +him the Name. And at that a she wildcat broke loose among them. She +pounced on them without warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and +flying hair, and white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought +fair, or if she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have been +powerless among them. But she had sprung at them with the suddenness +of rage. She kicked, and scratched, and bit, and clawed and spat. She +seemed not to feel the defensive blows that were showered upon her in +turn. Her own hard little fists were now doubled for a thump or opened, +like a claw, for scratching. + +"Go on home!" she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought. And +Clarence, gathering up his tattered school books, went, and stood not on +the order of his going. Whereupon Fanny darted nimbly to one side, out +of the way of boyish brown fists. In that moment she was transformed +from a raging fury into a very meek and trembling little girl, who +looked shyly and pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys were +for rushing at her again. + +"Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl," cried Fanny, her lower +lip trembling ever so little. "Come on! Hit me! Afraid to fight anything +but girls! Cowardy-cats!" A tear, pearly, pathetic, coursed down her +cheek. + +The drive was broken. Five sullen little boys stood and glared at her, +impotently. + +"You hit us first," declared one boy. "What business d' you have +scratching around like that, I'd like to know! You old scratch cat!" + +"He's sickly," said Fanny. "He can't fight. There's something the matter +with his lungs, or something, and they're going to make him quit school. +Besides, he's a billion times better than any of you, anyway." + +At once, "Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence! Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence!" + +Fanny picked up her somewhat battered Zola from where it had flown at +her first onslaught. "It's a lie!" she shouted. And fled, followed by +the hateful chant. + +She came in at the back door, trying to look casual. But Mattie's keen +eye detected the marks of battle, even while her knife turned the frying +potatoes. + +"Fanny Brandeis! Look at your sweater! And your hair!" + +Fanny glanced down at the torn pocket dangling untidily. "Oh, that!" she +said airily. And, passing the kitchen table, deftly filched a slice of +cold veal from the platter, and mounted the back stairs to her room. It +was a hungry business, this fighting. When Mrs. Brandeis came in at six +her small daughter was demurely reading. At supper time Mrs. Brandeis +looked up at her daughter with a sharp exclamation. + +"Fanny! There's a scratch on your cheek from your eye to your chin." + +Fanny put up her hand. "Is there?" + +"Why, you must have felt it. How did you get it?" + +Fanny said nothing. "I'll bet she was fighting," said Theodore with the +intuitive knowledge that one child has of another's ways. + +"Fanny!" The keen brown eyes were upon her. "Some boys were picking on +Clarence Heyl, and it made me mad. They called him names." + +"What names?" + +"Oh, names." + +"Fanny dear, if you're going to fight every time you hear that name----" + +Fanny thought of the torn sweater, the battered Zola, the scratched +cheek. "It is pretty expensive," she said reflectively. + +After supper she settled down at once to her book. Theodore would labor +over his algebra after the dining-room table was cleared. He stuck his +cap on his head now, and slammed out of the door for a half-hour's play +under the corner arc-light. Fanny rarely brought books from school, and +yet she seemed to get on rather brilliantly, especially in the studies +she liked. During that winter following her husband's death Mrs. +Brandeis had a way of playing solitaire after supper; one of the +simpler forms of the game. It seemed to help her to think out the day's +problems, and to soothe her at the same time. She would turn down the +front of the writing desk, and draw up the piano stool. + +All through that winter Fanny seemed to remember reading to the +slap-slap of cards, and the whir of their shuffling. In after years she +was never able to pick up a volume of Dickens without having her mind +hark back to those long, quiet evenings. She read a great deal of +Dickens at that time. She had a fine contempt for his sentiment, and his +great ladies bored her. She did not know that this was because they were +badly drawn. The humor she loved, and she read and reread the passages +dealing with Samuel Weller, and Mr. Micawber, and Sairey Gamp, and Fanny +Squeers. It was rather trying to read Dickens before supper, she had +discovered. Pickwick Papers was fatal, she had found. It sent one to the +pantry in a sort of trance, to ransack for food--cookies, apples, cold +meat, anything. But whatever one found, it always fell short of the +succulent sounding beefsteak pies, and saddles of mutton, and hot +pineapple toddy of the printed page. + +To-night Mrs. Brandeis, coming in from the kitchen after a conference +with Mattie, found her daughter in conversational mood, though book in +hand. + +"Mother, did you ever read this?" She held up "The Ladies' Paradise." + +"Yes; but child alive, what ever made you get it? That isn't the kind of +thing for you to read. Oh, I wish I had more time to give----" + +Fanny leaned forward eagerly. "It made me think a lot of you. You +know--the way the big store was crushing the little one, and everything. +Like the thing you were talking to that man about the other day. You +said it was killing the small-town dealer, and he said some day it would +be illegal, and you said you'd never live to see it." + +"Oh, that! We were talking about the mail-order business, and how hard +it was to compete with it, when the farmers bought everything from a +catalogue, and had whole boxes of household goods expressed to them. I +didn't know you were listening, Fanchen." + +"I was. I almost always do when you and some traveling man or somebody +like that are talking. It--it's interesting." + +Fanny went back to her book then. But Molly Brandeis sat a moment, +eyeing her queer little daughter thoughtfully. Then she sighed, and laid +out her cards for solitaire. By eight o'clock she was usually so sleepy +that she would fall, dead-tired, asleep on the worn leather couch in the +sitting-room. She must have been fearfully exhausted, mind and body. The +house would be very quiet, except for Mattie, perhaps, moving about in +the kitchen or in her corner room upstairs. Sometimes the weary woman +on the couch would start suddenly from her sleep and cry out, choked +and gasping, "No! No! No!" The children would jump, terrified, and come +running to her at first, but later they got used to it, and only looked +up to say, when she asked them, bewildered, what it was that wakened +her, "You had the no-no-nos." + +She had never told of the thing that made her start out of her sleep and +cry out like that. Perhaps it was just the protest of the exhausted +body and the overwrought nerves. Usually, after that, she would sit +up, haggardly, and take the hairpins out of her short thick hair, and +announce her intention of going to bed. She always insisted that the +children go too, though they often won an extra half hour by protesting +and teasing. It was a good thing for them, these nine o'clock bed hours, +for it gave them the tonic sleep that their young, high-strung natures +demanded. + +"Come, children," she would say, yawning. + +"Oh, mother, please just let me finish this chapter!" + +"How much?" + +"Just this little bit. See? Just this." + +"Well, just that, then," for Mrs. Brandeis was a reasonable woman, and +she had the book-lover's knowledge of the fascination of the unfinished +chapter. + +Fanny and Theodore were not always honest about the bargain. They would +gallop, hot-cheeked, through the allotted chapter. Mrs. Brandeis would +have fallen into a doze, perhaps. And the two conspirators would read +on, turning the leaves softly and swiftly, gulping the pages, cramming +them down in an orgy of mental bolting, like naughty children stuffing +cake when their mother's back is turned. But the very concentration of +their dread of waking her often brought about the feared result. Mrs. +Brandeis would start up rather wildly, look about her, and see the two +buried, red-cheeked and eager, in their books. + +"Fanny! Theodore! Come now! Not another minute!" + +Fanny, shameless little glutton, would try it again. "Just to the end of +this chapter! Just this weenty bit!" + +"Fiddlesticks! You've read four chapters since I spoke to you the last +time. Come now!" + +Molly Brandeis would see to the doors, and the windows, and the clock, +and then, waiting for the weary little figures to climb the stairs, +would turn out the light, and, hairpins in one hand, corset in the +other, perhaps, mount to bed. + +By nine o'clock the little household would be sleeping, the children +sweetly and dreamlessly, the tired woman restlessly and fitfully, her +overwrought brain still surging with the day's problems. It was not like +a household at rest, somehow. It was like a spirited thing standing, +quivering for a moment, its nerves tense, its muscles twitching. + +Perhaps you have quite forgotten that here were to be retailed two +epochal events in Fanny Brandeis's life. If you have remembered, you +will have guessed that the one was the reading of that book of social +protest, though its writer has fallen into disfavor in these fickle +days. The other was the wild and unladylike street brawl in which she +took part so that a terrified and tortured little boy might escape his +tormentors. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +There was no hard stock in Brandeis' Bazaar now. The packing-room was +always littered with straw and excelsior dug from hogsheads and great +crates. Aloysius lorded it over a small red-headed satellite who +disappeared inside barrels and dived head first into huge boxes, +coming up again with a lamp, or a doll, or a piece of glassware, like +a magician. Fanny, perched on an overturned box, used to watch him, +fascinated, while he laboriously completed a water set, or a tea set. +A preliminary dive would bring up the first of a half dozen related +pieces, each swathed in tissue paper. A deft twist on the part of +the attendant Aloysius would strip the paper wrappings and disclose +a ruby-tinted tumbler, perhaps. Another dive, and another, until six +gleaming glasses stood revealed, like chicks without a hen mother. A +final dip, much scratching and burrowing, during which armfuls of hay +and excelsior were thrown out, and then the red-headed genie of the +barrel would emerge, flushed and triumphant, with the water pitcher +itself, thus completing the happy family. + +Aloysius, meanwhile, would regale her with one of those choice bits of +gossip he had always about him, like a jewel concealed, and only to be +brought out for the appreciative. Mrs. Brandeis disapproved of store +gossip, and frowned on Sadie and Pearl whenever she found them, their +heads close together, their stifled shrieks testifying to his wit. There +were times when Molly Brandeis herself could not resist the spell of his +tongue. No one knew where Aloysius got his information. He had news that +Winnebago's two daily papers never could get, and wouldn't have dared to +print if they had. + +"Did you hear about Myrtle Krieger," he would begin, "that's marryin' +the Hempel boy next month? The one in the bank. She's exhibiting her +trewsow at the Outagamie County Fair this week, for the handwork and +embroid'ry prize. Ain't it brazen? They say the crowd's so thick around +the table that they had to take down the more pers'nal pieces. The first +day of the fair the grand-stand was, you might say, empty, even when +they was pullin' off the trottin' races and the balloon ascension. It's +funny--ain't it?--how them garmints that you wouldn't turn for a second +look at on the clothesline or in a store winda' becomes kind of wicked +and interestin' the minute they get what they call the human note. There +it lays, that virgin lawnjerie, for all the county to look at, with pink +ribbons run through everything, and the poor Krieger girl never dreamin' +she's doin' somethin' indelicate. She says yesterday if she wins the +prize she's going to put it toward one of these kitchen cabinets." + +I wish we could stop a while with Aloysius. He is well worth it. +Aloysius, who looked a pass between Ichabod Crane and Smike; Aloysius, +with his bit of scandal burnished with wit; who, after a long, hard +Saturday, would go home to scrub the floor of the dingy lodgings where +he lived with his invalid mother, and who rose in the cold dawn of +Sunday morning to go to early mass, so that he might return to cook the +dinner and wait upon the sick woman. Aloysius, whose trousers flapped +grotesquely about his bony legs, and whose thin red wrists hung +awkwardly from his too-short sleeves, had in him that tender, faithful +and courageous stuff of which unsung heroes are made. And he adored his +clever, resourceful boss to the point of imitation. You should have seen +him trying to sell a sled or a doll's go-cart in her best style. But we +cannot stop for Aloysius. He is irrelevant, and irrelevant matter halts +the progress of a story. Any one, from Barrie to Harold Bell Wright, +will tell you that a story, to be successful, must march. + +We'll keep step, then, with Molly Brandeis until she drops out of the +ranks. There is no detouring with Mrs. Brandeis for a leader. She is the +sort that, once her face is set toward her goal, looks neither to right +nor left until she has reached it. + +When Fanny Brandeis was fourteen, and Theodore was not quite sixteen, +a tremendous thing happened. Schabelitz, the famous violinist, came to +Winnebago to give a concert under the auspices of the Young Men's Sunday +Evening Club. + +The Young Men's Sunday Evening Club of the Congregational Church prided +itself (and justifiably) on what the papers called its "auspices." It +scorned to present to Winnebago the usual lyceum attractions--Swiss bell +ringers, negro glee clubs, and Family Fours. Instead, Schumann-Heink +sang her lieder for them; McCutcheon talked and cartooned for them; +Madame Bloomfield-Zeisler played. Winnebago was one of those wealthy +little Mid-Western towns whose people appreciate the best and set out to +acquire it for themselves. + +To the Easterner, Winnebago, and Oshkosh, and Kalamazoo, and Emporia are +names invented to get a laugh from a vaudeville audience. Yet it is the +people from Winnebago and Emporia and the like whom you meet in Egypt, +and the Catalina Islands, and at Honolulu, and St. Moritz. It is in the +Winnebago living-room that you are likely to find a prayer rug got in +Persia, a bit of gorgeous glaze from China, a scarf from some temple in +India, and on it a book, hand-tooled and rare. The Winnebagoans seem to +know what is being served and worn, from salad to veilings, surprisingly +soon after New York has informed itself on those subjects. The +7:52 Northwestern morning train out of Winnebago was always pretty +comfortably crowded with shoppers who were taking a five-hour run down +to Chicago to get a hat and see the new musical show at the Illinois. + +So Schabelitz's coming was an event, but not an unprecedented one. +Except to Theodore. Theodore had a ticket for the concert (his mother +had seen to that), and he talked of nothing else. He was going with his +violin teacher, Emil Bauer. There were strange stories as to why Emil +Bauer, with his gift of teaching, should choose to bury himself in this +obscure little Wisconsin town. It was known that he had acquaintance +with the great and famous of the musical world. The East End set fawned +upon him, and his studio suppers were the exclusive social events in +Winnebago. + +Schabelitz was to play in the evening. At half past three that afternoon +there entered Brandeis' Bazaar a white-faced, wide-eyed boy who was +Theodore Brandeis; a plump, voluble, and excited person who was Emil +Bauer; and a short, stocky man who looked rather like a foreign-born +artisan--plumber or steam-fitter--in his Sunday clothes. This was Levine +Schabelitz. + +Molly Brandeis was selling a wash boiler to a fussy housewife who, in +her anxiety to assure herself of the flawlessness of her purchase, had +done everything but climb inside it. It had early been instilled in the +minds of Mrs. Brandeis's children that she was never to be approached +when busy with a customer. There were times when they rushed into the +store bursting with news or plans, but they had learned to control +their eagerness. This, though, was no ordinary news that had blanched +Theodore's face. At sight of the three, Mrs. Brandeis quietly turned +her boiler purchaser over to Pearl and came forward from the rear of the +store. + +"Oh, Mother!" cried Theodore, an hysterical note in his voice. "Oh, +Mother!" + +And in that moment Molly Brandeis knew. Emil Bauer introduced them, +floridly. Molly Brandeis held out her hand, and her keen brown eyes +looked straight and long into the gifted Russian's pale blue ones. +According to all rules he should have started a dramatic speech, +beginning with "Madame!" hand on heart. But Schabelitz the great had +sprung from Schabelitz the peasant boy, and in the process he had +managed, somehow, to retain the simplicity which was his charm. Still, +there was something queer and foreign in the way he bent over Mrs. +Brandeis's hand. We do not bow like that in Winnebago. + +"Mrs. Brandeis, I am honored to meet you." + +"And I to meet you," replied the shopkeeper in the black sateen apron. + +"I have just had the pleasure of hearing your son play," began +Schabelitz. + +"Mr. Bauer called me out of my economics class at school, Mother, and +said that----" + +"Theodore!" Theodore subsided. "He is only a boy," went on Schabelitz, +and put one hand on Theodore's shoulder. "A very gifted boy. I hear +hundreds. Oh, how I suffer, sometimes, to listen to their devilish +scraping! To-day, my friend Bauer met me with that old plea, `You must +hear this pupil play. He has genius.' `Bah! Genius!' I said, and I swore +at him a little, for he is my friend, Bauer. But I went with him to his +studio--Bauer, that is a remarkably fine place you have there, above +that drug store; a room of exceptional proportions. And those rugs, let +me tell you----" + +"Never mind the rugs, Schabelitz. Mrs. Brandeis here----" + +"Oh, yes, yes! Well, dear lady, this boy of yours will be a great +violinist if he is willing to work, and work, and work. He has what you +in America call the spark. To make it a flame he must work, always work. +You must send him to Dresden, under Auer." + +"Dresden!" echoed Molly Brandeis faintly, and put one hand on the table +that held the fancy cups and saucers, and they jingled a little. + +"A year, perhaps, first, in New York with Wolfsohn." + +Wolfsohn! New York! Dresden! It was too much even for Molly Brandeis' +well-balanced brain. She was conscious of feeling a little dizzy. At +that moment Pearl approached apologetically. "Pardon me, Mis' Brandeis, +but Mrs. Trost wants to know if you'll send the boiler special this +afternoon. She wants it for the washing early to-morrow morning." + +That served to steady her. + +"Tell Mrs. Trost I'll send it before six to-night." Her eyes rested on +Theodore's face, flushed now, and glowing. Then she turned and faced +Schabelitz squarely. "Perhaps you do not know that this store is our +support. I earn a living here for myself and my two children. You see +what it is--just a novelty and notion store in a country town. I speak +of this because it is the important thing. I have known for a long +time that Theodore's playing was not the playing of the average boy, +musically gifted. So what you tell me does not altogether surprise me. +But when you say Dresden--well, from Brandeis' Bazaar in Winnebago, +Wisconsin, to Auer, in Dresden, Germany, is a long journey for one +afternoon." + +"But of course you must have time to think it over. It must be brought +about, somehow." + +"Somehow----" Mrs. Brandeis stared straight ahead, and you could almost +hear that indomitable will of hers working, crashing over obstacles, +plowing through difficulties. Theodore watched her, breathless, as +though expecting an immediate solution. His mother's eyes met his own +intent ones, and at that her mobile mouth quirked in a sudden smile. +"You look as if you expected pearls to pop out of my mouth, son. And, +by the way, if you're going to a concert this evening don't you think +it would be a good idea to squander an hour on study this afternoon? You +may be a musical prodigy, but geometry's geometry." + +"Oh, Mother! Please!" + +"I want to talk to Mr. Schabelitz and Mr. Bauer, alone." She patted his +shoulder, and the last pat ended in a gentle push. "Run along." + +"I'll work, Mother. You know perfectly well I'll work." But he looked +so startlingly like his father as he said it that Mrs. Brandeis felt a +clutching at her heart. + +Theodore out of the way, they seemed to find very little to discuss, +after all. Schabelitz was so quietly certain, Bauer so triumphantly +proud. + +Said Schabelitz, "Wolfsohn, of course, receives ten dollars a lesson +ordinarily." + +"Ten dollars!" + +"But a pupil like Theodore is in the nature of an investment," Bauer +hastened to explain. "An advertisement. After hearing him play, and +after what Schabelitz here will have to say for him, Wolfsohn will +certainly give Theodore lessons for nothing, or next to nothing. You +remember"--proudly--"I offered to teach him without charge, but you +would not have it." + +Schabelitz smote his friend sharply on the shoulder "The true musician! +Oh, Bauer, Bauer! That you should bury yourself in this----" + +But Bauer stopped him with a gesture. "Mrs. Brandeis is a busy woman. +And as she says, this thing needs thinking over." + +"After all," said Mrs. Brandeis, "there isn't much to think about. I +know just where I stand. It's a case of mathematics, that's all. This +business of mine is just beginning to pay. From now on I shall be able +to save something every year. It might be enough to cover his musical +education. It would mean that Fanny--my daughter--and I would have to +give up everything. For myself, I should be only too happy, too proud. +But it doesn't seem fair to her. After all, a girl----" + +"It isn't fair," broke in Schabelitz. "It isn't fair. But that is the +way of genius. It never is fair. It takes, and takes, and takes. I know. +My mother could tell you, if she were alive. She sold the little farm, +and my sisters gave up their dowries, and with them their hopes of +marriage, and they lived on bread and cabbage. That was not to pay for +my lessons. They never could have done that. It was only to send me to +Moscow. We were very poor. They must have starved. I have come to know, +since, that it was not worth it. That nothing could be worth it." + +"But it was worth it. Your mother would do it all over again, if she had +the chance. That's what we're for." + +Bauer pulled out his watch and uttered a horrified exclamation. "Himmel! +Four o'clock! And I have a pupil at four." He turned hastily to Mrs. +Brandeis. "I am giving a little supper in my studio after the concert +to-night." + +"Oh, Gott!" groaned Schabelitz. + +"It is in honor of Schabelitz here. You see how overcome he is. Will you +let me bring Theodore back with me after the concert? There will be some +music, and perhaps he will play for us." + +Schabelitz bent again in his queer little foreign bow. "And you, of +course, will honor us, Mrs. Brandeis." He had never lived in Winnebago. + +"Oh, certainly," Bauer hastened to say. He had. + +"I!" Molly Brandeis looked down at her apron, and stroked it with her +fingers. Then she looked up with a little smile that was not so pleasant +as her smile usually was. There had flashed across her quick mind a +picture of Mrs. G. Manville Smith. Mrs. G. Manville Smith, in an evening +gown whose decolletage was discussed from the Haley House to Gerretson's +department store next morning, was always a guest at Bauer's studio +affairs. "Thank you, but it is impossible. And Theodore is only a +schoolboy. Just now he needs, more than anything else in the world, +nine hours of sleep every night. There will be plenty of time for studio +suppers later. When a boy's voice is changing, and he doesn't know what +to do with his hands and feet, he is better off at home." + +"God! These mothers!" exclaimed Schabelitz. "What do they not know!" + +"I suppose you are right." Bauer was both rueful and relieved. It +would have been fine to show off Theodore as his pupil and Schabelitz's +protege. But Mrs. Brandeis? No, that would never do. "Well, I must go. +We will talk about this again, Mrs. Brandeis. In two weeks Schabelitz +will pass through Winnebago again on his way back to Chicago. Meanwhile +he will write Wolfsohn. I also. So! Come, Schabelitz!" + +He turned to see that gentleman strolling off in the direction of the +notion counter behind which his expert eye had caught a glimpse of Sadie +in her white shirtwaist and her trim skirt. Sadie always knew what they +were wearing on State Street, Chicago, half an hour after Mrs. Brandeis +returned from one of her buying trips. Shirtwaists had just come in, and +with them those neat leather belts with a buckle, and about the throat +they were wearing folds of white satin ribbon, smooth and high and +tight, the two ends tied pertly at the back. Sadie would never be the +saleswoman that Pearl was, but her unfailing good nature and her cheery +self-confidence made her an asset in the store. Besides, she was pretty. +Mrs. Brandeis knew the value of a pretty clerk. + +At the approach of this stranger Sadie leaned coyly against the stocking +rack and patted her paper sleevelets that were secured at wrist and +elbow with elastic bands. Her method was sure death to traveling men. +She prepared now to try it on the world-famous virtuoso. The ease with +which she succeeded surprised even Sadie, accustomed though she was to +conquest. + +"Come, come, Schabelitz!" said Bauer again. "I must get along." + +"Then go, my friend. Go along and make your preparations for that studio +supper. The only interesting woman in Winnebago--" he bowed to Mrs. +Brandeis--"will not be there. I know them, these small-town society +women, with their imitation city ways. And bony! Always! I am enjoying +myself. I shall stay here." + +And he did stay. Sadie, talking it over afterward with Pearl and +Aloysius, put it thus: + +"They say he's the grandest violin player in the world. Not that I care +much for the violin, myself. Kind of squeaky, I always think. But it +just goes to show they're all alike. Ain't it the truth? I jollied him +just like I did Sam Bloom, of Ganz & Pick, Novelties, an hour before. He +laughed just where Sam did. And they both handed me a line of talk about +my hair and eyes, only Sam said I was a doll, and this Schabelitz, or +whatever his name is, said I was as alluring as a Lorelei. I guess he +thought he had me there, but I didn't go through the seventh reader for +nothing. `If you think I'm flattered,' I said to him, `you're mistaken. +She was the mess who used to sit out on a rock with her back hair down, +combing away and singing like mad, and keeping an eye out for sailors up +and down the river. If I had to work that hard to get some attention,' +I said, `I'd give up the struggle, and settle down with a cat and a +teakettle.' At that he just threw back his head and roared. And when +Mrs. Brandeis came up he said something about the wit of these American +women. `Work is a great sharpener of wit--and wits,' Mrs. Brandeis said +to him. `Pearl, did Aloysius send Eddie out with that boiler, special?' +And she didn't pay any more attention to him, or make any more fuss +over him, than she would to a traveler with a line of samples she wasn't +interested in. I guess that's why he had such a good time." + +Sadie was right. That was the reason. Fanny, coming into the store half +an hour later, saw this man who had swayed thousands with his music, +down on his hands and knees in the toy section at the rear of Brandeis' +Bazaar. He and Sadie and Aloysius were winding up toy bears, and clowns, +and engines, and carriages, and sending them madly racing across the +floor. Sometimes their careening career was threatened with disaster +in the form of a clump of brooms or a stack of galvanized pails. But +Schabelitz would scramble forward with a shout and rescue them just +before the crash came, and set them deftly off again in the opposite +direction. + +"This I must have for my boy in New York." He held up a miniature hook +and ladder. "And this windmill that whirls so busily. My Leo is seven, +and his head is full of engines, and motors, and things that run on +wheels. He cares no more for music, the little savage, than the son of a +bricklayer." + +"Who is that man?" Fanny whispered, staring at him. + +"Levine Schabelitz." + +"Schabelitz! Not the--" + +"Yes." + +"But he's playing on the floor like--like a little boy! And laughing! +Why, Mother, he's just like anybody else, only nicer." + +If Fanny had been more than fourteen her mother might have told her that +all really great people are like that, finding joy in simple things. I +think that is the secret of their genius--the child in them that keeps +their viewpoint fresh, and that makes us children again when we listen +to them. It is the Schabelitzes of this world who can shout over a toy +engine that would bore a Bauer to death. + +Fanny stood looking at him thoughtfully. She knew all about him. +Theodore's talk of the past week had accomplished that. Fanny knew that +here was a man who did one thing better than any one else in the world. +She thrilled to that thought. She adored the quality in people that +caused them to excel. Schabelitz had got hold of a jack-in-the-box, and +each time the absurd head popped out, with its grin and its squawk, he +laughed like a boy. Fanny, standing behind the wrapping counter, and +leaning on it with her elbows the better to see this great man, smiled +too, as her flexible spirit and her mobile mind caught his mood. She did +not know she was smiling. Neither did she know why she suddenly frowned +in the intensity of her concentration, reached up for one of the pencils +on the desk next the wrapping counter, and bent over the topmost sheet +of yellow wrapping paper that lay spread out before her. Her tongue-tip +curled excitedly at one corner of her mouth. Her head was cocked to one +side. + +She was rapidly sketching a crude and startling likeness of Levine +Schabelitz as he stood there with the ridiculous toy in his hand. It +was a trick she often amused herself with at school. She had drawn her +school-teacher one day as she had looked when gazing up into the eyes of +the visiting superintendent, who was a married man. Quite innocently +and unconsciously she had caught the adoring look in the eyes of Miss +McCook, the teacher, and that lady, happening upon the sketch later, had +dealt with Fanny in a manner seemingly unwarranted. In the same way it +was not only the exterior likeness of the man which she was catching +now--the pompadour that stood stiffly perpendicular like a brush; the +square, yellow peasant teeth; the strong, slender hands and wrists; the +stocky figure; the high cheek bones; the square-toed, foreign-looking +shoes and the trousers too wide at the instep to have been cut by an +American tailor. She caught and transmitted to paper, in some uncanny +way, the simplicity of the man who was grinning at the jack-in-the-box +that smirked back at him. Behind the veneer of poise and polish born of +success and adulation she had caught a glimpse of the Russian peasant +boy delighted with the crude toy in his hand. And she put it down +eagerly, wetting her pencil between her lips, shading here, erasing +there. + +Mrs. Brandeis, bustling up to the desk for a customer's change, and with +a fancy dish to be wrapped, in her hand, glanced over Fanny's shoulder. +She leaned closer. "Why, Fanny, you witch!" + +Fanny gave a little crow of delight and tossed her head in a way that +switched her short curls back from where they had fallen over her +shoulders. "It's like him, isn't it?" + +"It looks more like him than he does himself." With which Molly Brandeis +unconsciously defined the art of cartooning. + +Fanny looked down at it, a smile curving her lips. Mrs. Brandeis, dish +in hand, counted her change expertly from the till below the desk, and +reached for the sheet of wrapping paper just beneath that on which Fanny +had made her drawing. At that moment Schabelitz, glancing up, saw her, +and came forward, smiling, the jack-in-the-box still in his hand. + +"Dear lady, I hope I have not entirely disorganized your shop. I have +had a most glorious time. Would you believe it, this jack-in-the-box +looks exactly--but exactly--like my manager, Weber, when the box-office +receipts are good. He grins just--" + +And then his eye fell on the drawing that Fanny was trying to cover with +one brown paw. "Hello! What's this?" Then he looked at Fanny. Then he +grasped her wrist in his fingers of steel and looked at the sketch that +grinned back at him impishly. "Well, I'm damned!" exploded Schabelitz in +amusement, and surprise, and appreciation. And did not apologize. "And +who is this young lady with the sense of humor?" + +"This is my little girl, Fanny." + +He looked down at the rough sketch again, with its clean-cut satire, and +up again at the little girl in the school coat and the faded red tam o' +shanter, who was looking at him shyly, and defiantly, and provokingly, +all at once. + +"Your little girl Fanny, h'm? The one who is to give up everything that +the boy Theodore may become a great violinist." He bent again over the +crude, effective cartoon, then put a forefinger gently under the child's +chin and tipped her glowing face up to the light. "I am not so sure now +that it will work. As for its being fair! Why, no! No!" + +Fanny waited for her mother that evening, and they walked home together. +Their step and swing were very much alike, now that Fanny's legs were +growing longer. She was at the backfisch age. + +"What did he mean, Mother, when he said that about Theodore being a +great violinist, and its not being fair? What isn't fair? And how did he +happen to be in the store, anyway? He bought a heap of toys, didn't he? +I suppose he's awfully rich." + +"To-night, when Theodore's at the concert, I'll tell you what he meant, +and all about it." + +"I'd love to hear him play, wouldn't you? I'd just love to." + +Over Molly Brandeis's face there came a curious look. "You could hear +him, Fanny, in Theodore's place. Theodore would have to stay home if I +told him to." + +Fanny's eyes and mouth grew round with horror. "Theodore stay home! Why +Mrs.--Molly--Brandeis!" Then she broke into a little relieved laugh. +"But you're just fooling, of course." + +"No, I'm not. If you really want to go I'll tell Theodore to give up his +ticket to his sister." + +"Well, my goodness! I guess I'm not a pig. I wouldn't have Theodore stay +home, not for a million dollars." + +"I knew you wouldn't," said Molly Brandeis as they swung down Norris +Street. And she told Fanny briefly of what Schabelitz had said about +Theodore. + +It was typical of Theodore that he ate his usual supper that night. He +may have got his excitement vicariously from Fanny. She was thrilled +enough for two. Her food lay almost untouched on her plate. She +chattered incessantly. When Theodore began to eat his second baked apple +with cream, her outraged feelings voiced their protest. + +"But, Theodore, I don't see how you can!" + +"Can what?" + +"Eat like that. When you're going to hear him play. And after what he +said, and everything." + +"Well, is that any reason why I should starve to death?" + +"But I don't see how you can," repeated Fanny helplessly, and looked +at her mother. Mrs. Brandeis reached for the cream pitcher and poured +a little more cream over Theodore's baked apple. Even as she did it +her eyes met Fanny's, and in them was a certain sly amusement, a +little gleam of fun, a look that said, "Neither do I." Fanny sat back, +satisfied. Here, at least, was some one who understood. + +At half past seven Theodore, looking very brushed and sleek, went off to +meet Emil Bauer. Mrs. Brandeis had looked him over, and had said, "Your +nails!" and sent him back to the bathroom, and she had resisted the +desire to kiss him because Theodore disliked demonstration. "He hated to +be pawed over," was the way he put it. After he had gone, Mrs. Brandeis +went into the dining-room where Fanny was sitting. Mattie had cleared +the table, and Fanny was busy over a book and a tablet, by the light +of the lamp that they always used for studying. It was one of the rare +occasions when she had brought home a school lesson. It was arithmetic, +and Fanny loathed arithmetic. She had no head for mathematics. The set +of problems were eighth-grade horrors, in which A is digging a well 20 +feet deep and 9 feet wide; or in which A and B are papering two rooms, +or building two fences, or plastering a wall. If A does his room in 9 +1/2 days, the room being 12 feet high, 20 feet long, and 15 1/2 feet +wide, how long will it take B to do a room 14 feet high, 11 3/4 feet, +etc. + +Fanny hated the indefatigable A and B with a bitter personal hatred. +And as for that occasional person named C, who complicated matters still +more--! + +Sometimes Mrs. Brandeis helped to disentangle Fanny from the mazes of +her wall paper problems, or dragged her up from the bottom of the well +when it seemed that she was down there for eternity unless a friendly +hand rescued her. As a rule she insisted that Fanny crack her own +mathematical nuts. She said it was good mental training, not to speak +of the moral side of it. But to-night she bent her quick mind upon the +problems that were puzzling her little daughter, and cleared them up in +no time. + +When Fanny had folded her arithmetic papers neatly inside her book and +leaned back with a relieved sigh Molly Brandeis bent forward in the +lamplight and began to talk very soberly. Fanny, red-cheeked and +bright-eyed from her recent mental struggles, listened interestedly, +then intently, then absorbedly. She attempted to interrupt, sometimes, +with an occasional, "But, Mother, how--" but Mrs. Brandeis shook her +head and went on. She told Fanny a few things about her early married +life--things that made Fanny look at her with new eyes. She had always +thought of her mother as her mother, in the way a fourteen-year-old +girl does. It never occurred to her that this mother person, who was +so capable, so confident, so worldly-wise, had once been a very young +bride, with her life before her, and her hopes stepping high, and her +love keeping time with her hopes. Fanny heard, fascinated, the story +of this girl who had married against the advice of her family and her +friends. + +Molly Brandeis talked curtly and briefly, and her very brevity and lack +of embroidering details made the story stand out with stark realism. It +was such a story of courage, and pride, and indomitable will, and sheer +pluck as can only be found among the seemingly commonplace. + +"And so," she finished, "I used to wonder, sometimes, whether it +was worth while to keep on, and what it was all for. And now I know. +Theodore is going to make up for everything. Only we'll have to help +him, first. It's going to be hard on you, Fanchen. I'm talking to you as +if you were eighteen, instead of fourteen. But I want you to understand. +That isn't fair to you either--my expecting you to understand. Only I +don't want you to hate me too much when you're a woman, and I'm gone, +and you'll remember--" + +"Why, Mother, what in the world are you talking about? Hate you!" + +"For what I took from you to give to him, Fanny. You don't understand +now. Things must be made easy for Theodore. It will mean that you and +I will have to scrimp and save. Not now and then, but all the time. +It will mean that we can't go to the theater, even occasionally, or to +lectures, or concerts. It will mean that your clothes won't be as pretty +or as new as the other girls' clothes. You'll sit on the front porch +evenings, and watch them go by, and you'll want to go too." + +"As if I cared." + +"But you will care. I know. I know. It's easy enough to talk about +sacrifice in a burst of feeling; but it's the everyday, shriveling grind +that's hard. You'll want clothes, and books, and beaux, and education, +and you ought to have them. They're your right. You ought to have them!" +Suddenly Molly Brandeis' arms were folded on the table, and her head +came down on her arms and she was crying, quietly, horribly, as a man +cries. Fanny stared at her a moment in unbelief. She had not seen her +mother cry since the day of Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled +out of her chair and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her +hot, smooth cheek touched the wet, cold one. "Mother, don't! Don't Molly +dearie. I can't bear it. I'm going to cry too. Do you think I care for +old dresses and things? I should say not. It's going to be fun going +without things. It'll be like having a secret or something. Now stop, +and let's talk about it." + +Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It was a watery +and wavering smile, but it showed that she was mistress of herself +again. + +"No," she said, "we just won't talk about it any more. I'm tired, that's +what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense enough to know it. I'll +tell you what. I'm going to put on my kimono, and you'll make some +fudge. Will you? We'll have a party, all by ourselves, and if Mattie +scolds about the milk to-morrow you just tell her I said you could. And +I think there are some walnut meats in the third cocoa can on the shelf +in the pantry. Use 'em all." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +Theodore came home at twelve o'clock that night. He had gone to Bauer's +studio party after all. It was the first time he had deliberately +disobeyed his mother in a really big thing. Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny had +nibbled fudge all evening (it had turned out deliciously velvety) and +had gone to bed at their usual time. At half past ten Mrs. Brandeis had +wakened with the instinctive feeling that Theodore was not in the house. +She lay there, wide awake, staring into the darkness until eleven. Then +she got up and went into his room, though she knew he was not there. +She was not worried as to his whereabouts or his well-being. That same +instinctive feeling told her where he was. She was very angry, and a +little terrified at the significance of his act. She went back to bed +again, and she felt the blood pounding in her head. Molly Brandeis had a +temper, and it was surging now, and beating against the barriers of her +self-control. + +She told herself, as she lay there, that she must deal with him coolly +and firmly, though she wanted to spank him. The time for spankings was +past. Some one was coming down the street with a quick, light step. She +sat up in bed, listening. The steps passed the house, went on. A half +hour passed. Some one turned the corner, whistling blithely. But, no, he +would not be whistling, she told herself. He would sneak in, quietly. It +was a little after twelve when she heard the front door open (Winnebago +rarely locked its doors). She was surprised to feel her heart beating +rapidly. He was trying to be quiet, and was making a great deal of +noise about it. His shoes and the squeaky fifth stair alone would have +convicted him. The imp of perversity in Molly Brandeis made her smile, +angry as she was, at the thought of how furious he must be at that +stair. + +"Theodore!" she called quietly, just as he was tip-toeing past her room. + +"Yeh." + +"Come in here. And turn on the light." + +He switched on the light and stood there in the doorway. Molly Brandeis, +sitting up in bed in the chilly room, with her covers about her, was +conscious of a little sick feeling, not at what he had done, but that +a son of hers should ever wear the sullen, defiant, hang-dog look that +disfigured Theodore's face now. + +"Bauer's?" + +A pause. "Yes." + +"Why?" + +"I just stopped in there for a minute after the concert. I didn't mean +to stay. And then Bauer introduced me around to everybody. And then they +asked me to play, and--" + +"And you played badly." + +"Well, I didn't have my own violin." + +"No football game Saturday. And no pocket money this week. Go to bed." + +He went, breathing hard, and muttering a little under his breath. At +breakfast next morning Fanny plied him with questions and was furious at +his cool uncommunicativeness. + +"Was it wonderful, Theodore? Did he play--oh--like an angel?" + +"Played all right. Except the `Swan' thing. Maybe he thought it was too +easy, or something, but I thought he murdered it. Pass the toast, unless +you want it all." + + +It was not until the following autumn that Theodore went to New York. +The thing that had seemed so impossible was arranged. He was to live +in Brooklyn with a distant cousin of Ferdinand Brandeis, on a business +basis, and he was to come into New York three times a week for his +lessons. Mrs. Brandeis took him as far as Chicago, treated him to an +extravagant dinner, put him on the train and with difficulty stifled the +impulse to tell all the other passengers in the car to look after her +Theodore. He looked incredibly grown up and at ease in his new suit and +the hat that they had wisely bought in Chicago. She did not cry at all +(in the train), and she kissed him only twice, and no man can ask more +than that of any mother. + +Molly Brandeis went back to Winnebago and the store with her shoulders a +little more consciously squared, her jaw a little more firmly set. There +was something almost terrible about her concentrativeness. Together she +and Fanny began a life of self-denial of which only a woman could be +capable. They saved in ways that only a woman's mind could devise; petty +ways, that included cream and ice, and clothes, and candy. It was rather +fun at first. When that wore off it had become a habit. Mrs. Brandeis +made two resolutions regarding Fanny. One was that she should have at +least a high school education, and graduate. The other that she should +help in the business of the store as little as possible. To the first +Fanny acceded gladly. To the second she objected. + +"But why? If you can work, why can't I? I could help you a lot on +Saturdays and at Christmas time, and after school." + +"I don't want you to," Mrs. Brandeis had replied, almost fiercely. "I'm +giving my life to it. That's enough. I don't want you to know about +buying and selling. I don't want you to know a bill of lading from a +sales slip when you see it. I don't want you to know whether f. o. b. is +a wireless signal or a branch of the Masons." At which Fanny grinned. No +one appreciated her mother's humor more than she. + +"But I do know already. The other day when that fat man was selling you +those go-carts I heard him say. `F. o. b. Buffalo,' and I asked Aloysius +what it meant and he told me." + +It was inevitable that Fanny Brandeis should come to know these things, +for the little household revolved about the store on Elm Street. By the +time she was eighteen and had graduated from the Winnebago high school, +she knew so many things that the average girl of eighteen did not know, +and was ignorant of so many things that the average girl of eighteen did +know, that Winnebago was almost justified in thinking her queer. She +had had a joyous time at school, in spite of algebra and geometry and +physics. She took the part of the heroine in the senior class play given +at the Winnebago opera house, and at the last rehearsal electrified +those present by announcing that if Albert Finkbein (who played the +dashing Southern hero) didn't kiss her properly when the curtain went +down on the first act, just as he was going into battle, she'd rather he +didn't kiss her at all. + +"He just makes it ridiculous," she protested. "He sort of gives a peck +two inches from my nose, and then giggles. Everybody will laugh, and +it'll spoil everything." + +With the rather startled elocution teacher backing her she rehearsed the +bashful Albert in that kiss until she had achieved the effect of realism +that she thought the scene demanded. But when, on the school sleighing +parties and hay rides the boy next her slipped a wooden and uncertain +arm about her waist while they all were singing "Jingle Bells, Jingle +Bells," and "Good Night Ladies," and "Merrily We Roll Along," she sat +up stiffly and unyieldingly until the arm, discouraged, withdrew to its +normal position. Which two instances are quoted as being of a piece with +what Winnebago termed her queerness. + +Not that Fanny Brandeis went beauless through school. On the contrary, +she always had some one to carry her books, and to take her to the +school parties and home from the Friday night debating society meetings. +Her first love affair turned out disastrously. She was twelve, and she +chose as the object of her affections a bullet-headed boy named Simpson. +One morning, as the last bell rang and they were taking their seats, +Fanny passed his desk and gave his coarse and stubbly hair a tweak. It +was really a love tweak, and intended to be playful, but she probably +put more fervor into it than she knew. It brought the tears of pain +to his eyes, and he turned and called her the name at which she shrank +back, horrified. Her shock and unbelief must have been stamped on her +face, for the boy, still smarting, had snarled, "Ya-as, I mean it." + +It was strange how she remembered that incident years after she had +forgotten important happenings in her life. Clarence Heyl, whose very +existence you will have failed to remember, used to hover about her +uncertainly, always looking as if he would like to walk home with her, +but never summoning the courage to do it. They were graduated from the +grammar school together, and Clarence solemnly read a graduation essay +entitled "Where is the Horse?" Automobiles were just beginning to +flash plentifully up and down Elm Street. Clarence had always been +what Winnebago termed sickly, in spite of his mother's noodle soup, and +coddling. He was sent West, to Colorado, or to a ranch in Wyoming, Fanny +was not quite sure which, perhaps because she was not interested. He had +come over one afternoon to bid her good-by, and had dangled about the +front porch until she went into the house and shut the door. + +When she was sixteen there was a blond German boy whose taciturnity +attracted her volubility and vivacity. She mistook his stolidness for +depth, and it was a long time before she realized that his silence +was not due to the weight of his thoughts but to the fact that he +had nothing to say. In her last year at high school she found herself +singled out for the attentions of Harmon Kent, who was the Beau Nash +of the Winnebago high school. His clothes were made by Schwartze, the +tailor, when all the other boys of his age got theirs at the spring and +fall sales of the Golden Eagle Clothing Store. It was always nip and +tuck between his semester standings and his track team and football +possibilities. The faculty refused to allow flunkers to take part in +athletics. + +He was one of those boys who have definite charm, and manner, and poise +at seventeen, and who crib their exams off their cuffs. He was always at +the head of any social plans in the school, and at the dances he rushed +about wearing in his coat lapel a ribbon marked Floor Committee. The +teachers all knew he was a bluff, but his engaging manner carried +him through. When he went away to the state university he made Fanny +solemnly promise to write; to come down to Madison for the football +games; to be sure to remember about the Junior prom. He wrote once--a +badly spelled scrawl--and she answered. But he was the sort of person +who must be present to be felt. He could not project his personality. +When he came home for the Christmas holidays Fanny was helping in the +store. He dropped in one afternoon when she was selling whisky glasses +to Mike Hearn of the Farmers' Rest Hotel. + +They did not write at all during the following semester, and when he +came back for the long summer vacation they met on the street one day +and exchanged a few rather forced pleasantries. It suddenly dawned on +Fanny that he was patronizing her much as the scion of an aristocratic +line banters the housemaid whom he meets on the stairs. She bit an +imaginary apron corner, and bobbed a curtsy right there on Elm Street, +in front of the Courier office and walked off, leaving him staring. +It was shortly after this that she began a queer line of reading for +a girl--lives of Disraeli, Spinoza, Mendelssohn, Mozart--distinguished +Jews who had found their religion a handicap. + +The year of her graduation she did a thing for which Winnebago felt +itself justified in calling her different. Each member of the graduating +class was allowed to choose a theme for a thesis. Fanny Brandeis called +hers "A Piece of Paper." On Winnebago's Fox River were located a number +of the largest and most important paper mills in the country. There were +mills in which paper was made of wood fiber, and others in which paper +was made of rags. You could smell the sulphur as soon as you crossed the +bridge that led to the Flats. Sometimes, when the wind was right, the +pungent odor of it spread all over the town. Strangers sniffed it and +made a wry face, but the natives liked it. + +The mills themselves were great ugly brick buildings, their windows +festooned with dust webs. Some of them boasted high detached tower-like +structures where a secret acid process went on. In the early days the +mills had employed many workers, but newly invented machinery had come +to take the place of hand labor. The rag-rooms alone still employed +hundreds of girls who picked, sorted, dusted over the great suction +bins. The rooms in which they worked were gray with dust. They wore caps +over their hair to protect it from the motes that you could see spinning +and swirling in the watery sunlight that occasionally found its way +through the gray-filmed window panes. It never seemed to occur to them +that the dust cap so carefully pulled down about their heads did not +afford protection for their lungs. They were pale girls, the rag-room +girls, with a peculiarly gray-white pallor. + +Fanny Brandeis had once been through the Winnebago Paper Company's mill +and she had watched, fascinated, while a pair of soiled and greasy old +blue overalls were dusted and cleaned, and put through this acid vat, +and that acid tub, growing whiter and more pulpy with each process until +it was fed into a great crushing roller that pressed the moisture out +of it, flattened it to the proper thinness and spewed it out at last, +miraculously, in the form of rolls of crisp, white paper. On the first +day of the Easter vacation Fanny Brandeis walked down to the office of +the Winnebago Paper Company's mill and applied at the superintendent's +office for a job. She got it. They were generally shorthanded in the +rag-room. When Mrs. Brandeis heard of it there followed one of the few +stormy scenes between mother and daughter. + +"Why did you do it?" demanded Mrs. Brandeis. + +"I had to, to get it right." + +"Oh, don't be silly. You could have visited the mill a dozen times." + +Fanny twisted the fingers of her left hand in the fingers of her right +as was her way when she was terribly in earnest, and rather excited. + +"But I don't want to write about the paper business as a process." + +"Well, then, what do you want?" + +"I want to write about the overalls on some railroad engineer, perhaps; +or the blue calico wrapper that belonged, maybe, to a scrub woman. And +how they came to be spotted, or faded, or torn, and finally all worn +out. And how the rag man got them, and the mill, and how the girls +sorted them. And the room in which they do it. And the bins. And the +machinery. Oh, it's the most fascinating, and--and sort of relentless +machinery. And the acid burns on the hands of the men at the vats. And +their shoes. And then the paper, so white. And the way we tear it up, +or crumple it, and throw it in the waste basket. Just a piece of paper, +don't you see what I mean? Just a piece of paper, and yet all that--" +she stopped and frowned a little, and grew inarticulate, and gave it up +with a final, "Don't you see what I mean, Mother? Don't you see what I +mean?" + +Molly Brandeis looked at her daughter in a startled way, like one who, +walking tranquilly along an accustomed path, finds himself confronting a +new and hitherto unsuspected vista, formed by a peculiar arrangement of +clouds, perhaps, or light, or foliage, or all three blended. "I see +what you mean," she said. "But I wish you wouldn't do it. I--I wish you +didn't feel that you wanted to do it." + +"But how can I make it real if I don't?" + +"You can't," said Molly Brandeis. "That's just it. You can't, ever." + +Fanny got up before six every morning of that Easter vacation, and went +to the mill, lunch box in hand. She came home at night dead-tired. She +did not take the street car to and from the mill, as she might have, +because she said the other girls in the rag-room walked, some of them +from the very edge of town. Mrs. Brandeis said that she was carrying +things too far, but Fanny stuck it out for the two weeks, at the end +of which period she spent an entire Sunday in a hair-washing, +face-steaming, and manicuring bee. She wrote her paper from notes she +had taken, and turned it in at the office of the high school principal +with the feeling that it was not at all what she had meant it to be. A +week later Professor Henning called her into his office. The essay lay +on his desk. + +"I've read your thesis," he began, and stopped, and cleared his throat. +He was not an eloquent man. "Where did you get your information, Miss +Brandeis?" + +"I got it at the mill." + +"From one of the employees?" + +"Oh, no. I worked there, in the rag-room." + +Professor Henning gave a little startled exclamation that he turned +hastily into a cough. "I thought that perhaps the editor of the Courier +might like to see it--it being local. And interesting." + +He brought it down to the office of the little paper himself, and +promised to call for it again in an hour or two, when Lem Davis should +have read it. Lem Davis did read it, and snorted, and scuffled with his +feet in the drift of papers under his desk, which was a way he had when +enraged. + +"Read it!" he echoed, at Professor Henning's question. "Read it! Yes, I +read it. And let me tell you it's socialism of the rankest kind, that's +what! It's anarchism, that's what! Who's this girl? Mrs. Brandeis's +daughter--of the Bazaar? Let me tell you I'd go over there and tell her +what I think of the way she's bringing up that girl--if she wasn't an +advertiser. `A Piece of Paper'! Hell!" And to show his contempt for what +he had read he wadded together a great mass of exchanges that littered +his desk and hurled them, a crumpled heap, to the floor, and then spat +tobacco juice upon them. + +"I'm sorry," said Professor Henning, and rose; but at the door he turned +and said something highly unprofessorial. "It's a darn fine piece +of writing." And slammed the door. At supper that night he told Mrs. +Henning about it. Mrs. Henning was a practical woman, as the wife of a +small-town high school principal must needs be. "But don't you know," +she said, "that Roscoe Moore, who is president of the Outagamie Pulp +Mill and the Winnebago Paper Company, practically owns the Courier?" + +Professor Henning passed a hand over his hair, ruefully, like a school +boy. "No, Martha, I didn't know. If I knew those things, dear, I suppose +we wouldn't be eating sausage for supper to-night." There was a little +silence between them. Then he looked up. "Some day I'm going to brag +about having been that Brandeis girl's teacher." + +Fanny was in the store a great deal now. After she finished high school +they sent Mattie away and Fanny took over the housekeeping duties, but +it was not her milieu. Not that she didn't do it well. She put a perfect +fury of energy and care into the preparation of a pot roast. After she +had iced a cake she enhanced it with cunning arabesques of jelly. The +house shone as it never had, even under Mattie's honest regime. But +it was like hitching a high-power engine to a butter churn. There were +periods of maddening restlessness. At such times she would set +about cleaning the cellar, perhaps. It was a three-roomed cellar, +brick-floored, cool, and having about it that indefinable cellar smell +which is of mold, and coal, and potatoes, and onions, and kindling wood, +and dill pickles and ashes. + +Other girls of Fanny's age, at such times, cleaned out their bureau +drawers and read forbidden novels. Fanny armed herself with the third +best broom, the dust-pan, and an old bushel basket. She swept up chips, +scraped up ashes, scoured the preserve shelves, washed the windows, +cleaned the vegetable bins, and got gritty, and scarlet-cheeked and +streaked with soot. It was a wonderful safety valve, that cellar. A pity +it was that the house had no attic. + +Then there were long, lazy summer afternoons when there was nothing to +do but read. And dream. And watch the town go by to supper. I think that +is why our great men and women so often have sprung from small towns, or +villages. They have had time to dream in their adolescence. No cars +to catch, no matinees, no city streets, none of the teeming, empty, +energy-consuming occupations of the city child. Little that is +competitive, much that is unconsciously absorbed at the most +impressionable period, long evenings for reading, long afternoons in the +fields or woods. With the cloth laid, and the bread cut and covered with +a napkin, and the sauce in the glass bowl, and the cookies on a blue +plate, and the potatoes doing very, very slowly, and the kettle steaming +with a Peerybingle cheerfulness, Fanny would stroll out to the front +porch again to watch for the familiar figure to appear around the corner +of Norris Street. She would wear her blue-and-white checked gingham +apron deftly twisted over one hip, and tucked in, in deference to the +passers-by. And the town would go by--Hen Cody's drays, rattling and +thundering; the high school boys thudding down the road, dog-tired and +sweaty in their football suits, or their track pants and jersies, on +their way from the athletic field to the school shower baths; Mrs. +Mosher flying home, her skirts billowing behind her, after a protracted +afternoon at whist; little Ernie Trost with a napkin-covered peach +basket carefully balanced in his hand, waiting for the six-fifteen +interurban to round the corner near the switch, so that he could hand up +his father's supper; Rudie Mass, the butcher, with a moist little packet +of meat in his hand, and lurching ever so slightly, and looking about +defiantly. Oh, Fanny probably never realized how much she saw and +absorbed, sitting there on Brandeis' front porch, watching Winnebago go +by to supper. + +At Christmas time she helped in the store, afternoons and evenings. +Then, one Christmas, Mrs. Brandeis was ill for three weeks with grippe. +They had to have a helper in the house. When Mrs. Brandeis was able to +come back to the store Sadie left to marry, not one of her traveling-men +victims, but a steady person, in the paper-hanging way, whose suit had +long been considered hopeless. After that Fanny took her place. She +developed a surprising knack at selling. Yet it was not so surprising, +perhaps, when one considered her teacher. She learned as only a woman +can learn who is brought into daily contact with the outside world. +It was not only contact: it was the relation of buyer and seller. She +learned to judge people because she had to. How else could one gauge +their tastes, temperaments, and pocketbooks? They passed in and out +of Brandeis' Bazaar, day after day, in an endless and varied +procession--traveling men, school children, housewives, farmers, worried +hostesses, newly married couples bent on house furnishing, business men. + +She learned that it was the girls from the paper mills who bought +the expensive plates--the ones with the red roses and green leaves +hand-painted in great smears and costing two dollars and a half, while +the golf club crowd selected for a gift or prize one of the little white +plates with the faded-looking blue sprig pattern, costing thirty-nine +cents. One day, after she had spent endless time and patience over the +sale of a nondescript little plate to one of Winnebago's socially elect, +she stared wrathfully after the retreating back of the trying customer. + +"Did you see that? I spent an hour with her. One hour! I showed her +everything from the imported Limoges bowls to the Sevres cups and +saucers, and all she bought was that miserable little bonbon dish with +the cornflower pattern. Cat!" + +Mrs. Brandeis spoke from the depths of her wisdom. + +"Fanny, I didn't miss much that went on during that hour, and I was +dying to come over and take her away from you, but I didn't because I +knew you needed the lesson, and I knew that that McNulty woman never +spends more than twenty-five cents, anyway. But I want to tell you now +that it isn't only a matter of plates. It's a matter of understanding +folks. When you've learned whom to show the expensive hand-painted +things to, and when to suggest quietly the little, vague things, with +what you call the faded look, why, you've learned just about all there +is to know of human nature. Don't expect it, at your age." + +Molly Brandeis had never lost her trick of chatting with customers, or +listening to them, whenever she had a moment's time. People used to drop +in, and perch themselves on one of the stools near the big glowing base +burner and talk to Mrs. Brandeis. It was incredible, the secrets they +revealed of business, and love and disgrace; of hopes and aspirations, +and troubles, and happiness. The farmer women used to fascinate Fanny +by their very drabness. Mrs. Brandeis had a long and loyal following +of these women. It was before the day when every farmhouse boasted an +automobile, a telephone, and a phonograph. + +A worn and dreary lot, these farmer women, living a skimmed milk +existence, putting their youth, and health, and looks into the soil. +They used often to sit back near the stove in winter, or in a cool +corner near the front of the store in summer, and reveal, bit by bit, +the sordid, tragic details of their starved existence. Fanny was often +shocked when they told their age--twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty, +but old and withered from drudgery, and child-bearing, and coarse, +unwholesome food. Ignorant women, and terribly lonely, with the dumb, +lack-luster eyes that bespeak monotony. When they smiled they showed +blue-white, glassily perfect false teeth that flashed incongruously in +the ruin of their wrinkled, sallow, weather-beaten faces. Mrs. Brandeis +would question them gently. + +Children? Ten. Living? Four. Doctor? Never had one in the house. Why? He +didn't believe in them. No proper kitchen utensils, none of the +devices that lighten the deadeningly monotonous drudgery of housework. +Everything went to make his work easier--new harrows, plows, tractors, +wind mills, reapers, barns, silos. The story would come out, bit by +bit, as the woman sat there, a worn, unlovely figure, her +hands--toil-blackened, seamed, calloused, unlovelier than any woman's +hands were ever meant to be--lying in unaccustomed idleness in her lap. + +Fanny learned, too, that the woman with the shawl, and with her money +tied in a corner of her handkerchief, was more likely to buy the +six-dollar doll, with the blue satin dress, and the real hair and +eye-lashes, while the Winnebago East End society woman haggled over the +forty-nine cent kind, which she dressed herself. + +I think their loyalty to Mrs. Brandeis might be explained by her honesty +and her sympathy. She was so square with them. When Minnie Mahler, out +Centerville way, got married, she knew there would be no redundancy of +water sets, hanging lamps, or pickle dishes. + +"I thought like I'd get her a chamber set," Minnie's aunt would confide +to Mrs. Brandeis. + +"Is this for Minnie Mahler, of Centerville?" + +"Yes; she gets married Sunday." + +"I sold a chamber set for that wedding yesterday. And a set of dishes. +But I don't think she's got a parlor lamp. At least I haven't sold one. +Why don't you get her that? If she doesn't like it she can change it. +Now there's that blue one with the pink roses." + +And Minnie's aunt would end by buying the lamp. + +Fanny learned that the mill girls liked the bright-colored and expensive +wares, and why; she learned that the woman with the "fascinator" (tragic +misnomer!) over her head wanted the finest sled for her boy. She learned +to keep her temper. She learned to suggest without seeming to suggest. +She learned to do surprisingly well all those things that her mother did +so surprisingly well--surprisingly because both the women secretly hated +the business of buying and selling. Once, on the Fourth of July, when +there was a stand outside the store laden with all sorts of fireworks, +Fanny came down to find Aloysius and the boy Eddie absent on other work, +and Mrs. Brandeis momentarily in charge. The sight sickened her, then +infuriated her. + +"Come in," she said, between her teeth. "That isn't your work." + +"Somebody had to be there. Pearl's at dinner. And Aloysius and Eddie +were--" + +"Then leave it alone. We're not starving--yet. I won't have you selling +fireworks like that--on the street. I won't have it! I won't have it!" + +The store was paying, now. Not magnificently, but well enough. Most of +the money went to Theodore, in Dresden. He was progressing, though not +so meteorically as Bauer and Schabelitz had predicted. But that sort +of thing took time, Mrs. Brandeis argued. Fanny often found her mother +looking at her these days with a questioning sadness in her eyes. Once +she suggested that Fanny join the class in drawing at the Winnebago +university--a small fresh-water college. Fanny did try it for a few +months, but the work was not what she wanted; they did fruit pictures +and vases, with a book, on a table; or a clump of very pink and very +white flowers. Fanny quit in disgust and boredom. Besides, they were +busy at the store, and needed her. + +There came often to Winnebago a woman whom Fanny Brandeis admired +intensely. She was a traveling saleswoman, successful, magnetic, and +very much alive. Her name was Mrs. Emma McChesney, and between her and +Mrs. Brandeis there existed a warm friendship. She always took dinner +with Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny, and they made a special effort to give her +all those delectable home-cooked dishes denied her in her endless round +of hotels. + +"Noodle soup!" she used to say, almost lyrically. + +"With real hand-made, egg noodles! You don't know what it means. You +haven't been eating vermicelli soup all through Illinois and Wisconsin." + +"We've made a dessert, though, that--" + +"Molly Brandeis, don't you dare to tell me what you've got for dessert. +I couldn't stand it. But, oh, suppose, SUPPOSE it's homemade strawberry +shortcake!" + +Which it more than likely was. + +Fanny Brandeis used to think that she would dress exactly as Mrs. +McChesney dressed, if she too were a successful business woman earning a +man-size salary. Mrs. McChesney was a blue serge sort of woman--and her +blue serge never was shiny in the back. Her collar, or jabot, or tie, +or cuffs, or whatever relieving bit of white she wore, was always of the +freshest and crispest. Her hats were apt to be small and full of what is +known as "line." She usually would try to arrange her schedule so as to +spend a Sunday in Winnebago, and the three alert, humor-loving women, +grown wise and tolerant from much contact with human beings, would have +a delightful day together. + +"Molly," Mrs. McChesney would say, when they were comfortably settled +in the living-room, or on the front porch, "with your shrewdness, +and experience, and brains, you ought to be one of those five or ten +thousand a year buyers. You know how to sell goods and handle people. +And you know values. That's all there is to the whole game of business. +I don't advise you to go on the road. Heaven knows I wouldn't advise my +dearest enemy to do that, much less a friend. But you could do bigger +things, and get bigger results. You know most of the big wholesalers, +and retailers too. Why don't you speak to them about a department +position? Or let me nose around a bit for you." + +Molly Brandeis shook her head, though her expressive eyes were eager +and interested. "Don't you think I've thought of that, Emma? A thousand +times? But I'm--I'm afraid. There's too much at stake. Suppose I +couldn't succeed? There's Theodore. His whole future is dependent on me +for the next few years. And there's Fanny here. No, I guess I'm too old. +And I'm sure of the business here, small as it is." + +Emma McChesney glanced at the girl. "I'm thinking that Fanny has the +making of a pretty capable business woman herself." + +Fanny drew in her breath sharply, and her face sparkled into sudden +life, as always when she was tremendously interested. + +"Do you know what I'd do if I were in Mother's place? I'd take a great, +big running jump for it and land! I'd take a chance. What is there for +her in this town? Nothing! She's been giving things up all her life, and +what has it brought her?" + +"It has brought me a comfortable living, and the love of my two +children, and the respect of my townspeople." + +"Respect? Why shouldn't they respect you? You're the smartest woman in +Winnebago, and the hardest working." + +Emma McChesney frowned a little, in thought. "What do you two girls do +for recreation?" + +"I'm afraid we have too little of that, Emma. I know Fanny has. I'm so +dog-tired at the end of the day. All I want is to take my hairpins out +and go to bed." + +"And Fanny?" + +"Oh, I read. I'm free to pick my book friends, at least." + +"Now, just what do you mean by that, child? It sounds a little bitter." + +"I was thinking of what Chesterfield said in one of his Letters to His +Son. `Choose always to be in the society of those above you,' he wrote. +I guess he lived in Winnebago, Wisconsin. I'm a working woman, and a +Jew, and we haven't any money or social position. And unless she's a +Becky Sharp any small town girl with all those handicaps might as +well choose a certain constellation of stars in the sky to wear as a +breastpin, as try to choose the friends she really wants." + +From Molly Brandeis to Emma McChesney there flashed a look that said, +"You see?" And from Emma McChesney to Molly Brandeis another that said, +"Yes; and it's your fault." + +"Look here, Fanny, don't you see any boys--men?" + +"No. There aren't any. Those who have any sense and initiative leave +to go to Milwaukee, or Chicago, or New York. Those that stay marry the +banker's lovely daughter." + +Emma McChesney laughed at that, and Molly Brandeis too, and Fanny joined +them a bit ruefully. Then quite suddenly, there came into her face a +melting, softening look that made it almost lovely. She crossed swiftly +over to where her mother sat, and put a hand on either cheek (grown +thinner of late) and kissed the tip of her nose. "We don't care--really. +Do we Mother? We're poor wurkin' girruls. But gosh! Ain't we proud? +Mother, your mistake was in not doing as Ruth did." + +"Ruth?" + +"In the Bible. Remember when What's-his-name, her husband, died? Did +she go back to her home town? No, she didn't. She'd lived there all +her life, and she knew better. She said to Naomi, her mother-in-law, +`Whither thou goest I will go.' And she went. And when they got to +Bethlehem, Ruth looked around, knowingly, until she saw Boaz, the +catch of the town. So she went to work in his fields, gleaning, and +she gleaned away, trying to look just as girlish, and dreamy, and +unconscious, but watching him out of the corner of her eye all the +time. Presently Boaz came along, looking over the crops, and he saw her. +`Who's the new damsel?' he asked. `The peach?'" + +"Fanny Brandeis, aren't you ashamed?" + +"But, Mother, that's what it says in the Bible, actually. `Whose damsel +is this?' They told him it was Ruth, the dashing widow. After that it +was all off with the Bethlehem girls. Boaz paid no more attention +to them than if they had never existed. He married Ruth, and she led +society. Just a little careful scheming, that's all." + +"I should say you have been reading, Fanny Brandeis," said Emma +McChesney. She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. "Now listen to +me, child. The very next time a traveling man in a brown suit and a red +necktie asks you to take dinner with him at the Haley House--even one +of those roast pork, queen-fritter-with-rum-sauce, Roman punch Sunday +dinners--I want you to accept." + +"Even if he wears an Elks' pin, and a Masonic charm, and a diamond ring +and a brown derby?" "Even if he shows you the letters from his girl in +Manistee," said Mrs. McChesney solemnly. "You've been seeing too much of +Fanny Brandeis." + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +Theodore had been gone six years. His letters, all too brief, were +events in the lives of the two women. They read and reread them. Fanny +unconsciously embellished them with fascinating details made up out of +her own imagination. + +"They're really triumphs of stupidity and dullness," she said one day +in disgust, after one of Theodore's long-awaited letters had proved +particularly dry and sparse. "Just think of it! Dresden, Munich, +Leipsic, Vienna, Berlin, Frankfurt! And from his letters you would never +know he had left Winnebago. I don't believe he actually sees anything +of these cities--their people, and the queer houses, and the streets. +I suppose a new city means nothing to him but another platform, another +audience, another piano, all intended as a background for his violin. He +could travel all over the world and it wouldn't touch him once. He's got +his mental fingers crossed all the time." + +Theodore had begun to play in concert with some success, but he wrote +that there was no real money in it yet. He was not well enough known. It +took time. He would have to get a name in Europe before he could attempt +an American tour. Just now every one was mad over Greinert. He was +drawing immense audiences. He sent them a photograph at which they +gasped, and then laughed, surprisedly. He looked so awfully German, so +different, somehow. + +"It's the way his hair is clipped, I suppose," said Fanny. "High, like +that, on the temples. And look at his clothes! That tie! And his pants! +And that awful collar! Why, his very features look German, don't they? I +suppose it's the effect of that haberdashery." + +A month after the photograph, came a letter announcing his marriage. +Fanny's quick eye, leaping ahead from line to line, took in the facts +that her mind seemed unable to grasp. Her name was Olga Stumpf. (In the +midst of her horror some imp in Fanny's brain said that her hands would +be red, and thick, with a name like that.) An orphan. She sang. One of +the Vienna concert halls, but so different from the other girls. And he +was so happy. And he hated to ask them for it, but if they could cable a +hundred or so. That would help. And here was her picture. + +And there was her picture. One of the so-called vivacious type of +Viennese of the lower class, smiling a conscious smile, her hair +elaborately waved and dressed, her figure high-busted, narrow-waisted; +earrings, chains, bracelets. You knew that she used a heavy scent. She +was older than Theodore. Or perhaps it was the earrings. + +They cabled the hundred. + +After the first shock of it Molly Brandeis found excuses for him. "He +must have been awfully lonely, Fanny. Often. And perhaps it will steady +him, and make him more ambitious. He'll probably work all the harder +now." + +"No, he won't. But you will. And I will. I didn't mind working for +Theodore, and scrimping, and never having any of the things I wanted, +from blouses to music. But I won't work and deny myself to keep a great, +thick, cheap, German barmaid, or whatever she is in comfort. I won't!" + +But she did. And quite suddenly Molly Brandeis, of the straight, firm +figure and the bright, alert eye, and the buoyant humor, seemed to lose +some of those electric qualities. It was an almost imperceptible letting +down. You have seen a fine race horse suddenly break and lose his stride +in the midst of the field, and pull up and try to gain it again, and go +bravely on, his stride and form still there, but his spirit broken? That +was Molly Brandeis. + +Fanny did much of the buying now. She bought quickly and shrewdly, like +her mother. She even went to the Haley House to buy, when necessary, and +Winnebagoans, passing the hotel, would see her slim, erect figure in one +of the sample-rooms with its white-covered tables laden with china, +or glassware, or Christmas goods, or whatever that particular salesman +happened to carry. They lifted their eye-brows at first, but, somehow, +it was impossible to associate this girl with the blithe, shirt-sleeved, +cigar-smoking traveling men who followed her about the sample-room, +order book in hand. + +As time went on she introduced some new features into the business, +and did away with various old ones. The overflowing benches outside the +store were curbed, and finally disappeared altogether. Fanny took charge +of the window displays, and often came back to the store at night to +spend the evening at work with Aloysius. They would tack a piece +of muslin around the window to keep off the gaze of passers-by, and +together evolve a window that more than made up for the absent show +benches. + +This, I suppose, is no time to stop for a description of Fanny Brandeis. +And yet the impulse to do so is irresistible. Personally, I like to +know about the hair, and eyes, and mouth of the person whose life I am +following. How did she look when she said that? What sort of expression +did she wear when this happened? Perhaps the thing that Fanny Brandeis +said about herself one day, when she was having one of her talks with +Emma McChesney, who was on her fall trip for the Featherbloom Petticoat +Company, might help. + +"No ballroom would ever be hushed into admiring awe when I entered," she +said. "No waiter would ever drop his tray, dazzled, and no diners in a +restaurant would stop to gaze at me, their forks poised halfway, their +eyes blinded by my beauty. I could tramp up and down between the tables +for hours, and no one would know I was there. I'm one of a million women +who look their best in a tailor suit and a hat with a line. Not that I +ever had either. But I have my points, only they're blunted just now." + +Still, that bit of description doesn't do, after all. Because she had +distinct charm, and some beauty. She was not what is known as the Jewish +type, in spite of her coloring. The hair that used to curl, waved +now. In a day when coiffures were a bird's-nest of puffs and curls and +pompadour, she wore her hair straight back from her forehead and wound +in a coil at the neck. Her face in repose was apt to be rather lifeless, +and almost heavy. But when she talked, it flashed into sudden life, and +you found yourself watching her mouth, fascinated. It was the key to +her whole character, that mouth. Mobile, humorous, sensitive, the +sensuousness of the lower lip corrected by the firmness of the upper. +She had large, square teeth, very regular, and of the yellow-white tone +that bespeaks health. She used to make many of her own clothes, and she +always trimmed her hats. Mrs. Brandeis used to bring home material and +styles from her Chicago buying trips, and Fanny's quick mind adapted +them. She managed, somehow, to look miraculously well dressed. + +The Christmas following Theodore's marriage was the most successful +one in the history of Brandeis' Bazaar. And it bred in Fanny Brandeis a +lifelong hatred of the holiday season. In years after she always tried +to get away from the city at Christmas time. The two women did the work +of four men. They had a big stock on hand. Mrs. Brandeis was everywhere +at once. She got an enormous amount of work out of her clerks, and they +did not resent it. It is a gift that all born leaders have. She herself +never sat down, and the clerks unconsciously followed her example. She +never complained of weariness, she never lost her temper, she never lost +patience with a customer, even the tight-fisted farmer type who doled +their money out with that reluctance found only in those who have wrung +it from the soil. + +In the midst of the rush she managed, somehow, never to fail to grasp +the humor of a situation. A farmer woman came in for a doll's head, +which she chose with incredible deliberation and pains. As it was being +wrapped she explained that it was for her little girl, Minnie. She had +promised the head this year. Next Christmas they would buy a body for +it. Molly Brandeis's quick sympathy went out to the little girl who was +to lavish her mother-love on a doll's head for a whole year. She saw the +head, in ghastly decapitation, staring stiffly out from the cushions of +the chill and funereal parlor sofa, and the small Minnie peering in to +feast her eyes upon its blond and waxen beauty. + +"Here," she had said, "take this, and sew it on the head, so Minnie'll +have something she can hold, at least." And she had wrapped a pink +cambric, sawdust-stuffed body in with the head. + +It was a snowy and picturesque Christmas, and intensely cold, with the +hard, dry, cutting cold of Wisconsin. Near the door the little store +was freezing. Every time the door opened it let in a blast. Near the big +glowing stove it was very hot. + +The aisles were packed so that sometimes it was almost impossible to +wedge one's way through. The china plates, stacked high, fairly melted +away, as did the dolls piled on the counters. Mrs. Brandeis imported +her china and dolls, and no store in Winnebago, not even Gerretson's big +department store, could touch them for value. + +The two women scarcely stopped to eat in the last ten days of the +holiday rush. Often Annie, the girl who had taken Mattie's place in the +household, would bring down their supper, hot and hot, and they would +eat it quickly up in the little gallery where they kept the sleds, +and doll buggies, and drums. At night (the store was open until ten or +eleven at Christmas time) they would trudge home through the snow, so +numb with weariness that they hardly minded the cold. The icy wind cut +their foreheads like a knife, and made the temples ache. The snow, hard +and resilient, squeaked beneath their heels. They would open the front +door and stagger in, blinking. The house seemed so weirdly quiet and +peaceful after the rush and clamor of the store. + +"Don't you want a sandwich, Mother, with a glass of beer?" + +"I'm too tired to eat it, Fanny. I just want to get to bed." + +Fanny grew to hate the stock phrases that met her with each customer. "I +want something for a little boy about ten. He's really got everything." +Or, "I'm looking for a present for a lady friend. Do you think a plate +would be nice?" She began to loathe them--these satiated little boys, +these unknown friends, for whom she must rack her brains. + +They cleared a snug little fortune that Christmas. On Christmas Eve they +smiled wanly at each other, like two comrades who have fought and bled +together, and won. When they left the store it was nearly midnight. +Belated shoppers, bundle-laden, carrying holly wreaths, with strange +handles, and painted heads, and sticks protruding from lumpy brown paper +burdens, were hurrying home. + +They stumbled home, too spent to talk. Fanny, groping for the keyhole, +stubbed her toe against a wooden box between the storm door and the +inner door. It had evidently been left there by the expressman or a +delivery boy. It was a very heavy box. + +"A Christmas present!" Fanny exclaimed. "Do you think it is? But it must +be." She looked at the address, "Miss Fanny Brandeis." She went to the +kitchen for a crowbar, and came back, still in her hat and coat. She +pried open the box expertly, tore away the wrappings, and disclosed a +gleaming leather-bound set of Balzac, and beneath that, incongruously +enough, Mark Twain. + +"Why!" exclaimed Fanny, sitting down on the floor rather heavily. Then +her eye fell upon a card tossed aside in the hurry of unpacking. She +picked it up, read it hastily. "Merry Christmas to the best daughter in +the world. From her Mother." + +Mrs. Brandeis had taken off her wraps and was standing over the +sitting-room register, rubbing her numbed hands and smiling a little. + +"Why, Mother!" Fanny scrambled to her feet. "You darling! In all that +rush and work, to take time to think of me! Why--" Her arms were around +her mother's shoulders. She was pressing her glowing cheek against +the pale, cold one. And they both wept a little, from emotion, and +weariness, and relief, and enjoyed it, as women sometimes do. + +Fanny made her mother stay in bed next morning, a thing that Mrs. +Brandeis took to most ungracefully. After the holiday rush and strain +she invariably had a severe cold, the protest of the body she had +over-driven and under-nourished for two or three weeks. As a patient she +was as trying and fractious as a man, tossing about, threatening to get +up, demanding hot-water bags, cold compresses, alcohol rubs. She fretted +about the business, and imagined that things were at a stand-still +during her absence. + +Fanny herself rose early. Her healthy young body, after a night's sleep, +was already recuperating from the month's strain. She had planned a +real Christmas dinner, to banish the memory of the hasty and unpalatable +lunches they had had to gulp during the rush. There was to be a turkey, +and Fanny had warned Annie not to touch it. She wanted to stuff it and +roast it herself. She spent the morning in the kitchen, aside from an +occasional tip-toeing visit to her mother's room. At eleven she found +her mother up, and no amount of coaxing would induce her to go back to +bed. She had read the papers and she said she felt rested already. + +The turkey came out a delicate golden-brown, and deliciously crackly. +Fanny, looking up over a drumstick, noticed, with a shock, that her +mother's eyes looked strangely sunken, and her skin, around the jaws and +just under the chin, where her loose wrapper revealed her throat, was +queerly yellow and shriveled. She had eaten almost nothing. + +"Mother, you're not eating a thing! You really must eat a little." + +Mrs. Brandeis began a pretense of using knife and fork, but gave it up +finally and sat back, smiling rather wanly. "I guess I'm tireder than +I thought I was, dear. I think I've got a cold coming on, too. I'll +lie down again after dinner, and by to-morrow I'll be as chipper as a +sparrow. The turkey's wonderful, isn't it? I'll have some, cold, for +supper." + +After dinner the house felt very warm and stuffy. It was crisply cold +and sunny outdoors. The snow was piled high except on the sidewalks, +where it had been neatly shoveled away by the mufflered Winnebago sons +and fathers. There was no man in the Brandeis household, and Aloysius +had been too busy to perform the chores usually considered his work +about the house. The snow lay in drifts upon the sidewalk in front of +the Brandeis house, except where passing feet had trampled it a bit. + +"I'm going to shovel the walk," Fanny announced suddenly. "Way around +to the woodshed. Where are those old mittens of mine? Annie, where's the +snow shovel? Sure I am. Why not?" + +She shoveled and scraped and pounded, bending rhythmically to the work, +lifting each heaping shovelful with her strong young arms, tossing it to +the side, digging in again, and under. An occasional neighbor passed +by, or a friend, and she waved at them, gayly, and tossed back their +badinage. "Merry Christmas!" she called, again and again, in reply to a +passing acquaintance. "Same to you!" + +At two o'clock Bella Weinberg telephoned to say that a little party of +them were going to the river to skate. The ice was wonderful. Oh, come +on! Fanny skated very well. But she hesitated. Mrs. Brandeis, dozing on +the couch, sensed what was going on in her daughter's mind, and roused +herself with something of her old asperity. + +"Don't be foolish, child. Run along! You don't intend to sit here and +gaze upon your sleeping beauty of a mother all afternoon, do you? Well, +then!" + +So Fanny changed her clothes, got her skates, and ran out into the snap +and sparkle of the day. The winter darkness had settled down before she +returned, all glowing and rosy, and bright-eyed. Her blood was racing +through her body. Her lips were parted. The drudgery of the past three +weeks seemed to have been blotted out by this one radiant afternoon. + +The house was dark when she entered. It seemed very quiet, and close, +and depressing after the sparkle and rush of the afternoon on the river. +"Mother! Mother dear! Still sleeping?" + +Mrs. Brandeis stirred, sighed, awoke. Fanny flicked on the light. Her +mother was huddled in a kimono on the sofa. She sat up rather dazedly +now, and stared at Fanny. + +"Why--what time is it? What? Have I been sleeping all afternoon? Your +mother's getting old." + +She yawned, and in the midst of it caught her breath with a little cry +of pain. + +"What is it? What's the matter?" + +Molly Brandeis pressed a hand to her breast. "A stitch, I guess. It's +this miserable cold coming on. Is there any asperin in the house? I'll +dose myself after supper, and take a hot foot bath and go to bed. I'm +dead." + +She ate less for supper than she had for dinner. She hardly tasted the +cup of tea that Fanny insisted on making for her. She swayed a little as +she sat, and her lids came down over her eyes, flutteringly, as if the +weight of them was too great to keep up. At seven she was up-stairs, in +bed, sleeping, and breathing heavily. + +At eleven, or thereabouts, Fanny woke up with a start. She sat up in +bed, wide-eyed, peering into the darkness and listening. Some one was +talking in a high, queer voice, a voice like her mother's, and yet +unlike. She ran, shivering with the cold, into her mother's bedroom. She +switched on the light. Mrs. Brandeis was lying on the pillow, her eyes +almost closed, except for a terrifying slit of white that showed +between the lids. Her head was tossing to and fro on the pillow. She was +talking, sometimes clearly, and sometimes mumblingly. + +"One gross cups and saucers... and now what do you think you'd like for +a second prize... in the basement, Aloysius... the trains... I'll see +that they get there to-day... yours of the tenth at hand..." + +"Mother! Mother! Molly dear!" She shook her gently, then almost roughly. +The voice ceased. The eyes remained the same. "Oh, God!" She ran to the +back of the house. "Annie! Annie, get up! Mother's sick. She's out of +her head. I'm going to 'phone for the doctor. Go in with her." + +She got the doctor at last. She tried to keep her voice under control, +and thought, with a certain pride, that she was succeeding. She ran +up-stairs again. The voice had begun again, but it seemed thicker now. +She got into her clothes, shaking with cold and terror, and yet thinking +very clearly, as she always did in a crisis. She put clean towels in +the bathroom, pushed the table up to the bed, got a glass of water, +straightened the covers, put away the clothes that the tired woman +had left about the room. Doctor Hertz came. He went through the usual +preliminaries, listened, tapped, counted, straightened up at last. + +"Fresh air," he said. "Cold air. All the windows open." They rigged up +a device of screens and sheets to protect the bed from the drafts. Fanny +obeyed orders silently, like a soldier. But her eyes went from the face +on the pillow to that of the man bent over the bed. Something vague, +cold, clammy, seemed to be closing itself around her heart. It was +like an icy hand, squeezing there. There had suddenly sprung up that +indefinable atmosphere of the sick-room--a sick-room in which a fight is +being waged. Bottles on the table, glasses, a spoon, a paper shade over +the electric light globe. + +"What is it?" said Fanny, at last. "Grip?--grip?" + +Doctor Hertz hesitated a moment. "Pneumonia." + +Fanny's hands grasped the footboard tightly. "Do you think we'd better +have a nurse?" + +"Yes." + +The nurse seemed to be there, somehow, miraculously. And the morning +came. And in the kitchen Annie went about her work, a little more +quietly than usual. And yesterday seemed far away. It was afternoon; it +was twilight. Doctor Hertz had been there for hours. The last time he +brought another doctor with him--Thorn. Mrs. Brandeis was not talking +now. But she was breathing. It filled the room, that breathing; it +filled the house. Fanny took her mother's hand, that hand with the +work-hardened palm and the broken nails. It was very cold. She looked +down at it. The nails were blue. She began to rub it. She looked up into +the faces of the two men. She picked up the other hand--snatched at it. +"Look here!" she said. "Look here!" And then she stood up. The vague, +clammy thing that had been wound about her heart suddenly relaxed. And +at that something icy hot rushed all over her body and shook her. She +came around to the foot of the bed, and gripped it with her two hands. +Her chin was thrust forward, and her eyes were bright and staring. She +looked very much like her mother, just then. It was a fighting face. A +desperate face. + +"Look here," she began, and was surprised to find that she was only +whispering. She wet her lips and smiled, and tried again, forming the +words carefully with her lips. "Look here. She's dying--isn't she? Isn't +she! She's dying, isn't she?" + +Doctor Hertz pursed his lips. The nurse came over to her, and put a hand +on her shoulder. Fanny shook her off. + +"Answer me. I've got a right to know. Look at this!" She reached forward +and picked up that inert, cold, strangely shriveled blue hand again. + +"My dear child--I'm afraid so." + +There came from Fanny's throat a moan that began high, and poignant, and +quavering, and ended in a shiver that seemed to die in her heart. The +room was still again, except for the breathing, and even that was less +raucous. + +Fanny stared at the woman on the bed--at the long, finely-shaped head, +with the black hair wadded up so carelessly now; at the long, straight, +clever nose; the full, generous mouth. There flooded her whole being a +great, blinding rage. What had she had of life? she demanded fiercely. +What? What? Her teeth came together grindingly. She breathed heavily +through her nostrils, as if she had been running. And suddenly she began +to pray, not with the sounding, unctions thees and thous of the Church +and Bible; not elegantly or eloquently, with well-rounded phrases, as +the righteous pray, but threateningly, hoarsely, as a desperate woman +prays. It was not a prayer so much as a cry of defiance---a challenge. + +"Look here, God!" and there was nothing profane as she said it. "Look +here, God! She's done her part. It's up to You now. Don't You let her +die! Look at her. Look at her!" She choked and shook herself angrily, +and went on. "Is that fair? That's a rotten trick to play on a woman +that gave what she gave! What did she ever have of life? Nothing! That +little miserable, dirty store, and those little miserable, dirty people. +You give her a chance, d'You hear? You give her a chance, God, or +I'll----" + +Her voice broke in a thin, cracked quaver. The nurse turned her around, +suddenly and sharply, and led her from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +"You can come down now. They're all here, I guess. Doctor Thalmann's +going to begin." Fanny, huddled in a chair in her bedroom, looked up +into the plump, kindly face of the woman who was bending over her. +Then she stood up, docilely, and walked toward the stairs with a heavy, +stumbling step. + +"I'd put down my veil if I were you," said the neighbor woman. And +reached up for the black folds that draped Fanny's hat. Fanny's fingers +reached for them too, fumblingly. "I'd forgotten about it," she said. +The heavy crape fell about her shoulders, mercifully hiding the swollen, +discolored face. She went down the stairs. There was a little stir, +a swaying toward her, a sibilant murmur of sympathy from the crowded +sitting-room as she passed through to the parlor where Rabbi Thalmann +stood waiting, prayer book in hand, in front of that which was covered +with flowers. Fanny sat down. A feeling of unreality was strong upon +her. Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat and opened the book. + +After all, it was not Rabbi Thalmann's funeral sermon that testified to +Mrs. Brandeis's standing in the community. It was the character of the +gathering that listened to what he had to say. Each had his own opinion +of Molly Brandeis, and needed no final eulogy to confirm it. Father +Fitzpatrick was there, tall, handsome, ruddy, the two wings of white +showing at the temples making him look more than ever like a leading +man. He had been of those who had sat in what he called Mrs. Brandeis's +confessional, there in the quiet little store. The two had talked of +things theological and things earthy. His wit, quick though it was, was +no match for hers, but they both had a humor sense and a drama sense, +and one day they discovered, queerly enough, that they worshiped the +same God. Any one of these things is basis enough for a friendship. +Besides, Molly Brandeis could tell an Irish story inimitably. And you +should have heard Father Fitzpatrick do the one about Ikey and the +nickel. No, I think the Catholic priest, seeming to listen with such +respectful attention, really heard very little of what Rabbi Thalmann +had to say. + +Herman Walthers was there, he of the First National Bank of Winnebago, +whose visits had once brought such terror to Molly Brandeis. Augustus G. +Gerretson was there, and three of his department heads. Emil Bauer sat +just behind him. In a corner was Sadie, the erstwhile coquette, very +subdued now, and months behind the fashions in everything but baby +clothes. Hen Cody, who had done all of Molly Brandeis's draying, sat, +in unaccustomed black, next to Mayor A. J. Dawes. Temple Emmanu-el +was there, almost a unit. The officers of Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid +Society sat in a row. They had never honored Molly Brandeis with office +in the society--she who could have managed its business, politics and +social activities with one hand tied behind her, and both her bright +eyes shut. In the kitchen and on the porch and in the hallway stood +certain obscure people--women whose finger tips stuck out of their +cotton gloves, and whose skirts dipped ludicrously in the back. Only +Molly Brandeis could have identified them for you. Mrs. Brosch, the +butter and egg woman, hovered in the dining-room doorway. She had +brought a pound of butter. It was her contribution to the funeral baked +meats. She had deposited it furtively on the kitchen table. Birdie +Callahan, head waitress at the Haley House, found a seat just next to +the elegant Mrs. Morehouse, who led the Golf Club crowd. A haughty young +lady in the dining-room, Birdie Callahan, in her stiffly starched white, +but beneath the icy crust of her hauteur was a molten mass of good humor +and friendliness. She and Molly Brandeis had had much in common. + +But no one--not even Fanny Brandeis--ever knew who sent the great +cluster of American Beauty roses that had come all the way from +Milwaukee. There had been no card, so who could have guessed that they +came from Blanche Devine. Blanche Devine, of the white powder, and the +minks, and the diamonds, and the high-heeled shoes, and the plumes, +lived in the house with the closed shutters, near the freight depot. +She often came into Brandeis' Bazaar. Molly Brandeis had never allowed +Sadie, or Pearl, or Fanny or Aloysius to wait on her. She had attended +to her herself. And one day, for some reason, Blanche Devine found +herself telling Molly Brandeis how she had come to be Blanche Devine, +and it was a moving and terrible story. And now her cardless flowers, a +great, scarlet sheaf of them, lay next the chaste white roses that had +been sent by the Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid. Truly, death is a great +leveler. + +In a vague way Fanny seemed to realize that all these people were +there. I think she must even have found a certain grim comfort in their +presence. Hers had not been the dry-eyed grief of the strong, such as +you read about. She had wept, night and day, hopelessly, inconsolably, +torturing herself with remorseful questions. If she had not gone +skating, might she not have seen how ill her mother was? Why hadn't +she insisted on the doctor when her mother refused to eat the Christmas +dinner? Blind and selfish, she told herself; blind and selfish. Her face +was swollen and distorted now, and she was thankful for the black veil +that shielded her. Winnebago was scandalized to see that she wore no +other black. Mrs. Brandeis had never wanted Fanny to wear it; she hadn't +enough color, she said. So now she was dressed in her winter suit of +blue, and her hat with the pert blue quill. And the little rabbi's voice +went on and on, and Fanny knew that it could not be true. What had all +this dust-to-dust talk to do with any one as vital, and electric, and +constructive as Molly Brandeis. In the midst of the service there was a +sharp cry, and a little stir, and the sound of stifled sobbing. It was +Aloysius the merry, Aloysius the faithful, whose Irish heart was quite +broken. Fanny ground her teeth together in an effort at self-control. + +And so to the end, and out past the little hushed, respectful group +on the porch, to the Jewish cemetery on the state road. The snow of +Christmas week was quite virgin there, except for that one spot where +the sexton and his men had been at work. Then back at a smart jog trot +through the early dusk of the winter afternoon, the carriage wheels +creaking upon the hard, dry snow. And Fanny Brandeis said to herself +(she must have been a little light-headed from hunger and weeping): + +"Now I'll know whether it's true or not. When I go into the house. If +she's there she'll say, `Well Fanchen! Hungry? Oh, but my little girl's +hands are cold! Come here to the register and warm them.' O God, let her +be there! Let her be there!" + +But she wasn't. The house had been set to rights by brisk and +unaccustomed hands. There was a bustle and stir in the dining-room, and +from the kitchen came the appetizing odors of cooking food. Fanny went +up to a chair that was out of its place, and shoved it back against the +wall where it belonged. She straightened a rug, carried the waste basket +from the desk to the spot near the living-room table where it had always +served to hide the shabby, worn place in the rug. Fanny went up-stairs, +past The Room that was once more just a comfortable, old fashioned +bedroom, instead of a mysterious and awful chamber; bathed her face, +tidied her hair, came down-stairs again, ate and drank things hot and +revivifying. The house was full of kindly women. + +Fanny found herself clinging to them--clinging desperately to these +ample, broad-bosomed, soothing women whom she had scarcely known before. +They were always there, those women, and their husbands too; kindly, +awkward men, who patted her shoulder, and who spoke of Molly Brandeis +with that sincerity of admiration such as men usually give only to men. +People were constantly popping in at the back door with napkin-covered +trays, and dishes and baskets. A wonderful and beautiful thing, that +homely small-town sympathy that knows the value of physical comfort in +time of spiritual anguish. + +Two days after the funeral Fanny Brandeis went back to the store, much +as her mother had done many years before, after her husband's death. She +looked about at the bright, well-stocked shelves and tables with a new +eye--a speculative eye. The Christmas season was over. January was the +time for inventory and for replenishment. Mrs. Brandeis had always +gone to Chicago the second week in January for the spring stock. But +something was forming in Fanny Brandeis's mind--a resolve that grew so +rapidly as to take her breath away. Her brain felt strangely clear and +keen after the crashing storm of grief that had shaken her during the +past week. + +"What are you going to do now?" people had asked her, curious and +interested. "Is Theodore coming back?" + +"I don't know--yet." In answer to the first. And, "No. Why should he? He +has his work." + +"But he could be of such help to you." + +"I'll help myself," said Fanny Brandeis, and smiled a curious smile +that had in it more of bitterness and less of mirth than any smile has a +right to have. + +Mrs. Brandeis had left a will, far-sighted business woman that she was. +It was a terse, clear-headed document, that gave "to Fanny Brandeis, my +daughter," the six-thousand-dollar insurance, the stock, good-will and +fixtures of Brandeis' Bazaar, the house furnishings, the few pieces of +jewelry in their old-fashioned setting. To Theodore was left the sum of +fifteen hundred dollars. He had received his share in the years of his +musical education. + +Fanny Brandeis did not go to Chicago that January. She took inventory +of Brandeis' Bazaar, carefully and minutely. And then, just as carefully +and minutely she took stock of Fanny Brandeis. There was something +relentless and terrible in the way she went about this self-analysis. +She walked a great deal that winter, often out through the drifts to the +little cemetery. As she walked her mind was working, working. She held +long mental conversations with herself during these walks, and once she +was rather frightened to find herself talking aloud. She wondered if she +had done that before. And a plan was maturing in her brain, while the +fight went on within herself, thus: + +"You'll never do it, Fanny. You're not built that way." + +"Oh, won't I! Watch me! Give me time." + +"You'll think of what your mother would have done under the same +conditions, and you'll do that thing." + +"I won't. Not unless it's the long-headed thing to do. I'm through being +sentimental and unselfish. What did it bring her? Nothing!" + +The weeks went by. Fanny worked hard in the store, and bought little. +February came, and with the spring her months of private thinking bore +fruit. There came to Fanny Brandeis a great resolve. She would put +herself in a high place. Every talent she possessed, every advantage, +every scrap of knowledge, every bit of experience, would be used toward +that end. She would make something of herself. It was a worldly, selfish +resolve, born of a bitter sorrow, and ambition, and resentment. She made +up her mind that she would admit no handicaps. Race, religion, training, +natural impulses--she would discard them all if they stood in her way. +She would leave Winnebago behind. At best, if she stayed there, she +could never accomplish more than to make her business a more than +ordinarily successful small-town store. And she would be--nobody. No, +she had had enough of that. She would crush and destroy the little girl +who had fasted on that Day of Atonement; the more mature girl who had +written the thesis about the paper mill rag-room; the young woman who +had drudged in the store on Elm Street. In her place she would mold a +hard, keen-eyed, resolute woman, whose godhead was to be success, and +to whom success would mean money and position. She had not a head for +mathematics, but out of the puzzling problems and syllogisms in geometry +she had retained in her memory this one immovable truth: + +A straight line is the shortest distance between two points. + +With her mental eye she marked her two points, and then, starting from +the first, made directly for the second. But she forgot to reckon with +the law of tangents. She forgot, too, how paradoxical a creature +was this Fanny Brandeis whose eyes filled with tears at sight of a +parade--just the sheer drama of it--were the marchers G. A. R. veterans, +school children in white, soldiers, Foresters, political marching clubs; +and whose eyes burned dry and bright as she stood over the white mound +in the cemetery on the state road. Generous, spontaneous, impulsive, +warm-hearted, she would be cold, calculating, deliberate, she told +herself. + +Thousands of years of persecution behind her made her quick to +appreciate suffering in others, and gave her an innate sense of +fellowship with the downtrodden. She resolved to use that sense as a +searchlight aiding her to see and overcome obstacles. She told herself +that she was done with maudlin sentimentality. On the rare occasions +when she had accompanied her mother to Chicago, the two women had found +delight in wandering about the city's foreign quarters. When other +small-town women buyers snatched occasional moments of leisure for the +theater or personal shopping, these two had spent hours in the ghetto +around Jefferson and Taylor, and Fourteenth Streets. Something in +the sight of these people--alien, hopeful, emotional, often +grotesque--thrilled and interested both the women. And at sight of an +ill-clad Italian, with his slovenly, wrinkled old-young wife, turning +the handle of his grind organ whilst both pairs of eyes searched windows +and porches and doorsteps with a hopeless sort of hopefulness, she lost +her head entirely and emptied her limp pocketbook of dimes, and nickels, +and pennies. Incidentally it might be stated that she loved the cheap +and florid music of the hand organ itself. + +It was rumored that Brandeis' Bazaar was for sale. In the spring +Gerretson's offered Fanny the position of buyer and head of the china, +glassware, and kitchenware sections. Gerretson's showed an imposing +block of gleaming plate-glass front now, and drew custom from a dozen +thrifty little towns throughout the Fox River Valley. Fanny refused the +offer. In March she sold outright the stock, good-will, and fixtures of +Brandeis' Bazaar. The purchaser was a thrifty, farsighted traveling +man who had wearied of the road and wanted to settle down. She sold the +household goods too--those intimate, personal pieces of wood and cloth +that had become, somehow, part of her life. She had grown up with them. +She knew the history of every nick, every scratch and worn spot. Her +mother lived again in every piece. The old couch went off in a farmer's +wagon. Fanny turned away when they joggled it down the front steps and +into the rude vehicle. It was like another funeral. She was furious to +find herself weeping again. She promised herself punishment for that. + +Up in her bedroom she opened the bottom drawer of her bureau. That +bureau and its history and the history of every piece of furniture in +the room bore mute testimony to the character of its occupant; to her +protest against things as she found them, and her determination to +make them over to suit her. She had spent innumerable Sunday mornings +wielding the magic paint brush that had transformed the bedroom from +dingy oak to gleaming cream enamel. She sat down on the floor now, +before the bureau, and opened the bottom drawer. + +In a corner at the back, under the neat pile of garments, was a +tightly-rolled bundle of cloth. Fanny reached for it, took it out, and +held it in her hands a moment. Then she unrolled it slowly, and the +bundle revealed itself to be a faded, stained, voluminous gingham apron, +blue and white. It was the kind of apron women don when they perform +some very special household ritual--baking, preserving, house cleaning. +It crossed over the shoulders with straps, and its generous fullness ran +all the way around the waist. It was discolored in many places with the +brown and reddish stains of fruit juices. It had been Molly Brandeis' +canning apron. Fanny had come upon it hanging on a hook behind the +kitchen door, after that week in December. And at sight of it all her +fortitude and forced calm had fled. She had spread her arms over the +limp, mute, yet speaking thing dangling there, and had wept so wildly +and uncontrollably as to alarm even herself. + +Nothing in connection with her mother's death had power to call up such +poignant memories as did this homely, intimate garment. She saw again +the steamy kitchen, deliciously scented with the perfume of cooking +fruit, or the tantalizing, mouth-watering spiciness of vinegar and +pickles. On the stove the big dishpan, in which the jelly glasses and +fruit jars, with their tops and rubbers, bobbed about in hot water. +In the great granite kettle simmered the cooking fruit Molly Brandeis, +enveloped in the familiar blue-and-white apron, stood over it, like a +priestess, stirring, stirring, slowly, rhythmically. Her face would be +hot and moist with the steam, and very tired too, for she often came +home from the store utterly weary, to stand over the kettle until ten +or eleven o'clock. But the pride in it as she counted the golden or ruby +tinted tumblers gleaming in orderly rows as they cooled on the kitchen +table! + +"Fifteen glasses of grape jell, Fan! And I didn't mix a bit of apple +with it. I didn't think I'd get more than ten. And nine of the quince +preserve. That makes--let me see--eighty-three, ninety-eight--one +hundred and seven altogether." + +"We'll never eat it, Mother." + +"You said that last year, and by April my preserve cupboard looked like +Old Mother Hubbard's." + +But then, Mrs. Brandeis was famous for her preserves, as Father +Fitzpatrick, and Aloysius, and Doctor Thalmann, and a dozen others could +testify. After the strain and flurry of a busy day at the store there +was something about this homely household rite that brought a certain +sense of rest and peace to Molly Brandeis. + +All this moved through Fanny Brandeis's mind as she sat with the +crumpled apron in her lap, her eyes swimming with hot tears. The very +stains that discolored it, the faded blue of the front breadth, the +frayed buttonhole, the little scorched place where she had burned a hole +when trying unwisely to lift a steaming kettle from the stove with the +apron's corner, spoke to her with eloquent lips. That apron had become +a vice with Fanny. She brooded over it as a mother broods over the +shapeless, scuffled bit of leather that was a baby's shoe; as a woman, +widowed, clings to a shabby, frayed old smoking jacket. More than once +she had cried herself to sleep with the apron clasped tightly in her +arms. + +She got up from the floor now, with the apron in her hands, and went +down the stairs, opened the door that led to the cellar, walked heavily +down those steps and over to the furnace. She flung open the furnace +door. Red and purple the coal bed gleamed, with little white flame +sprites dancing over it. Fanny stared at it a moment, fascinated. Her +face was set, her eyes brilliant. Suddenly she flung the tightly-rolled +apron into the heart of the gleaming mass. She shut her eyes then. +The fire seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Then, with a gasp, it +sprang upon its food. The bundle stiffened, writhed, crumpled, sank, lay +a blackened heap, was dissolved. The fire bed glowed red and purple as +before, except for a dark spot in its heart. Fanny shivered a little. +She shut the furnace door and went up-stairs again. + +"Smells like something burning--cloth, or something," called Annie, from +the kitchen. + +"It's only an old apron that was cluttering up my--my bureau drawer." + +Thus she successfully demonstrated the first lesson in the cruel and +rigid course of mental training she had mapped out for herself. + +Leaving Winnebago was not easy. There is something about a small town +that holds you. Your life is so intimately interwoven with that of your +neighbor. Existence is so safe, so sane, so sure. Fanny knew that when +she turned the corner of Elm Street every third person she met would +speak to her. Life was made up of minute details, too trivial for the +notice of the hurrying city crowds. You knew when Milly Glaenzer changed +the baby buggy for a go-cart. The youngest Hupp boy--Sammy--who was +graduated from High School in June, is driving A. J. Dawes's automobile +now. My goodness, how time flies! Doeppler's grocery has put in +plate-glass windows, and they're getting out-of-season vegetables every +day now from Milwaukee. As you pass you get the coral glow of tomatoes, +and the tender green of lettuces. And that vivid green? Fresh young +peas! And in February. Well! They've torn down the old yellow brick +National Bank, and in its place a chaste Greek Temple of a building +looks rather contemptuously down its classic columns upon the farmer's +wagons drawn up along the curb. If Fanny Brandeis' sense of proportion +had not been out of plumb she might have realized that, to Winnebago, +the new First National Bank building was as significant and epochal as +had been the Woolworth Building to New York. + +The very intimacy of these details, Fanny argued, was another reason for +leaving Winnebago. They were like detaining fingers that grasped at your +skirts, impeding your progress. + +She had early set about pulling every wire within her reach that might +lead, directly or indirectly, to the furtherance of her ambition. She +got two offers from Milwaukee retail stores. She did not consider them +for a moment. Even a Chicago department store of the second grade (one +of those on the wrong side of State Street) did not tempt her. She knew +her value. She could afford to wait. There was money enough on which to +live comfortably until the right chance presented itself. She knew every +item of her equipment, and she conned them to herself greedily: +Definite charm of manner; the thing that is called magnetism; brains; +imagination; driving force; health; youth; and, most precious of all, +that which money could not buy, nor education provide--experience. +Experience, a priceless weapon, that is beaten into shape only by +much contact with men and women, and that is sharpened by much rubbing +against the rough edges of this world. + +In April her chance came to her; came in that accidental, haphazard way +that momentous happenings have. She met on Elm Street a traveling man +from whom Molly Brandeis had bought for years. He dropped both sample +cases and shook hands with Fanny, eying her expertly and approvingly, +and yet without insolence. He was a wise, road-weary, skillful member +of his fraternity, grown gray in years of service, and a little bitter. +Though perhaps that was due partly to traveling man's dyspepsia, brought +on by years of small-town hotel food. + +"So you've sold out." + +"Yes. Over a month ago." + +"H'm. That was a nice little business you had there. Your ma built it up +herself. There was a woman! Gosh! Discounted her bills, even during the +panic." + +Fanny smiled a reflective little smile. "That line is a complete +characterization of my mother. Her life was a series of panics. But she +never lost her head. And she always discounted." + +He held out his hand. "Well, glad I met you." He picked up his sample +cases. "You leaving Winnebago?" + +"Yes." + +"Going to the city, I suppose. Well you're a smart girl. And your +mother's daughter. I guess you'll get along all right. What house are +you going with?" + +"I don't know. I'm waiting for the right chance. It's all in starting +right. I'm not going to hurry." + +He put down his cases again, and his eyes grew keen and kindly. He +gesticulated with one broad forefinger. "Listen, m' girl. I'm what they +call an old-timer. They want these high-power, eight-cylinder kids on +the road these days, and it's all we can do to keep up. But I've got +something they haven't got--yet. I never read anybody on the Psychology +of Business, but I know human nature all the way from Elm Street, +Winnebago, to Fifth Avenue, New York." + +"I'm sure you do," said Fanny politely, and took a little step forward, +as though to end the conversation. + +"Now wait a minute. They say the way to learn is to make mistakes. If +that's true, I'm at the head of the class. I've made 'em all. Now get +this. You start out and specialize. Specialize! Tie to one thing, and +make yourself an expert in it. But first be sure it's the right thing." + +"But how is one to be sure?" + +"By squinting up your eyes so you can see ten years ahead. If it looks +good to you at that distance--better, in fact, than it does close +by--then it's right. I suppose that's what they call having imagination. +I never had any. That's why I'm still selling goods on the road. To look +at you I'd say you had too much. Maybe I'm wrong. But I never yet saw +a woman with a mouth like yours who was cut out for business--unless +it was your mother--And her eyes were different. Let's see, what was I +saying?" + +"Specialize." + +"Oh, yes. And that reminds me. Bunch of fellows in the smoker last night +talking about Haynes-Cooper. Your mother hated 'em like poison, the +way every small-town merchant hates the mail-order houses. But I hear +they've got an infants' wear department that's just going to grass for +lack of a proper head. You're only a kid. And they have done you dirt +all these years, of course. But if you could sort of horn in there--why, +say, there's no limit to the distance you could go. No limit! With your +brains and experience." + +That had been the beginning. From then on the thing had moved forward +with a certain inevitableness. There was something about the vastness of +the thing that appealed to Fanny. Here was an organization whose great +arms embraced the world. Haynes-Cooper, giant among mail-order houses, +was said to eat a small-town merchant every morning for breakfast. + +"There's a Haynes-Cooper catalogue in every farmer's kitchen," Molly +Brandeis used to say. "The Bible's in the parlor, but they keep the H. +C. book in the room where they live." + +That she was about to affiliate herself with this house appealed to +Fanny Brandeis's sense of comedy. She had heard her mother presenting +her arguments to the stubborn farmer folk who insisted on ordering their +stove, or dinner set, or plow, or kitchen goods from the fascinating +catalogue. "I honestly think it's just the craving for excitement that +makes them do it," she often said. "They want the thrill they get +when they receive a box from Chicago, and open it, and take off the +wrappings, and dig out the thing they ordered from a picture, not +knowing whether it will be right or wrong." + +Her arguments usually left the farmer unmoved. He would drive into town, +mail his painfully written letter and order at the post-office, dispose +of his load of apples, or butter, or cheese, or vegetables, and drive +cheerfully back again, his empty wagon bumping and rattling down the old +corduroy road. Express, breakage, risk, loyalty to his own region--an +these arguments left him cold. + +In May, after much manipulation, correspondence, two interviews, came a +definite offer from the Haynes-Cooper Company. It was much less than the +State Street store had offered, and there was something tentative about +the whole agreement. Haynes-Cooper proffered little and demanded much, +as is the way of the rich and mighty. But Fanny remembered the ten-year +viewpoint that the weary-wise old traveling man had spoken about. She +took their offer. She was to go to Chicago almost at once, to begin work +June first. + +Two conversations that took place before she left are perhaps worth +recording. One was with Father Fitzpatrick of St. Ignatius Catholic +Church. The other with Rabbi Emil Thalmann of Temple Emanu-el. + +An impulse brought her into Father Fitzpatrick's study. It was a week +before her departure. She was tired. There had been much last signing of +papers, nailing of boxes, strapping of trunks. When things began to come +too thick and fast for her she put on her hat and went for a walk at the +close of the May day. May, in Wisconsin, is a thing all fragrant, and +gold, and blue; and white with cherry blossoms; and pink with apple +blossoms; and tremulous with budding things. + +Fanny struck out westward through the neat streets of the little town, +and found herself on the bridge over the ravine in which she had played +when a little girl--the ravine that her childish imagination had +peopled with such pageantry of redskin, and priests, and voyageurs, +and cavaliers. She leaned over the iron railing and looked down. +Where grass, and brook, and wild flower had been there now oozed great +eruptions of ash heaps, tin cans, broken bottles, mounds of dirt. +Winnebago's growing pains had begun. Fanny turned away with a little +sick feeling. She went on across the bridge past the Catholic church. +Just next the church was the parish house where Father Fitzpatrick +lived. It always looked as if it had been scrubbed, inside and out, with +a scouring brick. Its windows were a reproach and a challenge to every +housekeeper in Winnebago. + +Fanny wanted to talk to somebody about that ravine. She was full of it. +Father Fitzpatrick's study over-looked it. Besides, she wanted to +see him before she left Winnebago. A picture came to her mind of his +handsome, ruddy face, twinkling with humor as she had last seen it when +he had dropped in at Brandeis' Bazaar for a chat with her mother. She +turned in at the gate and ran up the immaculate, gray-painted steps, +that always gleamed as though still wet with the paint brush. + +"I shouldn't wonder if that housekeeper of his comes out with a pail +of paint and does 'em every morning before breakfast," Fanny said to +herself as she rang the bell. + +Usually it was that sparse and spectacled person herself who opened the +parish house door, but to-day Fanny's ring was answered by Father Casey, +parish assistant. A sour-faced and suspicious young man, Father Casey, +thick-spectacled, and pointed of nose. Nothing of the jolly priest about +him. He was new to the town, but he recognized Fanny and surveyed her +darkly. + +"Father Fitzpatrick in? I'm Fanny Brandeis." + +"The reverend father is busy," and the glass door began to close. + +"Who is it?" boomed a voice from within. "Who're you turning away, +Casey?" + +"A woman, not a parishioner." The door was almost shut now. + + +Footsteps down the hall. "Good! Let her in." The door opened ever so +reluctantly. Father Fitzpatrick loomed up beside his puny assistant, +dwarfing him. He looked sharply at the figure on the porch. "For the +love of--! Casey, you're a fool! How you ever got beyond being an +altar-boy is more than I can see. Come in, child. Come in! The man's cut +out for a jailor, not a priest." + +Fanny's two hands were caught in one of his big ones, and she was led +down the hall to the study. It was the room of a scholar and a man, and +the one spot in the house that defied the housekeeper's weapons of broom +and duster. A comfortable and disreputable room, full of books, and +fishing tackle, and chairs with sagging springs, and a sofa that was +dented with friendly hollows. Pipes on the disorderly desk. A copy +of "Mr. Dooley" spread face down on what appeared to be next Sunday's +sermon, rough-drafted. + +"I just wanted to talk to you." Fanny drifted to the shelves, book-lover +that she was, and ran a finger over a half-dozen titles. "Your assistant +was justified, really, in closing the door on me. But I'm glad you +rescued me." She came over to him and stood looking up at him. He seemed +to loom up endlessly, though hers was a medium height. "I think I really +wanted to talk to you about that ravine, though I came to say good-by." + +"Sit down, child, sit down!" He creaked into his great +leather-upholstered desk chair, himself. "If you had left without seeing +me I'd have excommunicated Casey. Between you and me the man's mad. His +job ought to be duenna to a Spanish maiden, not assistant to a priest +with a leaning toward the flesh." + +Now, Father Fitzpatrick talked with a--no, you couldn't call it a +brogue. It was nothing so gross as that. One does not speak of the +flavor of a rare wine; one calls attention to its bouquet. A subtle, +teasing, elusive something that just tickles the senses instead +of punching them in the ribs. So his speech was permeated with a +will-o'-the-wisp, a tingling richness that evaded definition. You will +have to imagine it. There shall be no vain attempt to set it down. +Besides, you always skip dialect. + +"So you're going away. I'd heard. Where to?" + +"Chicago, Haynes-Cooper. It's a wonderful chance. I don't see yet how +I got it. There's only one other woman on their business staff--I mean +working actually in an executive way in the buying and selling end of +the business. Of course there are thousands doing clerical work, and +that kind of thing. Have you ever been through the plant? It's--it's +incredible." + +Father Fitzpatrick drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair, and +looked at Fanny, his handsome eyes half shut. + +"So it's going to be business, h'm? Well, I suppose it's only natural. +Your mother and I used to talk about you often. I don't know if you and +she ever spoke seriously of this little trick of drawing, or cartooning, +or whatever it is you have. She used to think about it. She said once to +me, that it looked to her more than just a knack. An authentic gift of +caricature, she called it--if it could only be developed. But of course +Theodore took everything. That worried her." + +"Oh, nonsense! That! I just amuse myself with it." + +"Yes. But what amuses you might amuse other people. There's all too few +amusing things in the world. Your mother was a smart woman, Fanny. The +smartest I ever knew." + +"There's no money in it, even if I were to get on with it. What could +I do with it? Who ever heard of a woman cartoonist! And I couldn't +illustrate. Those pink cheesecloth pictures the magazines use. I want to +earn money. Lots of it. And now." + +She got up and went to the window, and stood looking down the steep +green slope of the ravine that lay, a natural amphitheater, just below. + +"Money, h'm?" mused Father Fitzpatrick. "Well, it's popular and handy. +And you look to me like the kind of girl who'd get it, once you started +out for it. I've never had much myself. They say it has a way of turning +to dust and ashes in the mouth, once you get a good, satisfying bite of +it. But that's only talk, I suppose." + +Fanny laughed a little, still looking down at the ravine. "I'm fairly +accustomed to dust and ashes by this time. It won't be a new taste to +me." She whirled around suddenly. "And speaking of dust and ashes, isn't +this a shame? A crime? Why doesn't somebody stop it? Why don't you stop +it?" She pointed to the desecrated ravine below. Her eyes were blazing, +her face all animation. + +Father Fitzpatrick came over and stood beside her. His face was sad. +"It's a--" He stopped abruptly, and looked down into her glowing face. +He cleared his throat. "It's a perfectly natural state of affairs," he +said smoothly. "Winnebago's growing. Especially over there on the west +side, since the new mill went up, and they've extended the street car +line. They need the land to build on. It's business. And money." + +"Business! It's a crime! It's wanton! Those ravines are the most +beautiful natural spots in Wisconsin. Why, they're history, and romance, +and beauty!" + +"So that's the way you feel about it?" + +"Of course. Don't you? Can't you stop it? Petitions--" + +"Certainly I feel it's an outrage. But I'm just a poor fool of a priest, +and sentimental, with no head for business. Now you're a business woman, +and different." + +"I! You're joking." + +"Say, listen, m' girl. The world's made up of just two things: ravines +and dump heaps. And the dumpers are forever edging up, and squeedging +up, and trying to grab the ravines and spoil 'em, when nobody's looking. +You've made your choice, and allied yourself with the dump heaps. What +right have you to cry out against the desecration of the ravines?" + +"The right that every one has that loves them." + +"Child, you're going to get so used to seeing your ravines choked up at +Haynes-Cooper that after a while you'll prefer 'em that way." + +Fanny turned on him passionately. "I won't! And if I do, perhaps it's +just as well. There's such a thing as too much ravine. What do you want +me to do? Stay here, and grub away, and become a crabbed old maid like +Irma Klein, thankful to be taken around by the married crowd, joining +the Aid Society and going to the card parties on Sunday nights? Or I +could marry a traveling man, perhaps, or Lee Kohn of the Golden Eagle. +I'm just like any other ambitious woman with brains--" + +"No you're not. You're different. And I'll tell you why. You're a Jew." + +"Yes, I've got that handicap." + +"That isn't a handicap, Fanny. It's an asset. Outwardly you're like +any other girl of your age. Inwardly you've been molded by occupation, +training, religion, history, temperament, race, into something--" + +"Ethnologists have proved that there is no such thing as a Jewish race," +she interrupted pertly. + +"H'm. Maybe. I don't know what you'd call it, then. You can't take a +people and persecute them for thousands of years, hounding them from +place to place, herding them in dark and filthy streets, without leaving +some sort of brand on them--a mark that differentiates. Sometimes it +doesn't show outwardly. But it's there, inside. You know, Fanny, how +it's always been said that no artist can became a genius until he has +suffered. You've suffered, you Jews, for centuries and centuries, until +you're all artists--quick to see drama because you've lived in it, +emotional, oversensitive, cringing, or swaggering, high-strung, +demonstrative, affectionate, generous. + +"Maybe they're right. Perhaps it isn't a race. But what do you call the +thing, then, that made you draw me as you did that morning when you came +to ten o'clock mass and did a caricature of me in the pulpit. You showed +up something that I've been trying to hide for twenty years, till I'd +fooled everybody, including myself. My church is always packed. Nobody +else there ever saw it. I'll tell you, Fanny, what I've always said: the +Irish would be the greatest people in the world--if it weren't for the +Jews." + +They laughed together at that, and the tension was relieved. + +"Well, anyway," said Fanny, and patted his great arm, "I'd rather talk +to you than to any man in the world." + +"I hope you won't be able to say that a year from now, dear girl." + +And so they parted. He took her to the door himself, and watched her +slim figure down the street and across the ravine bridge, and thought +she walked very much like her mother, shoulders squared, chin high, hips +firm. He went back into the house, after surveying the sunset largely, +and encountered the dour Casey in the hall. + +"I'll type your sermon now, sir--if it's done." + +"It isn't done, Casey. And you know it. Oh, Casey,"--(I wish your +imagination would supply that brogue, because it was such a deliciously +soft and racy thing)--"Oh, Casey, Casey! you're a better priest than I +am--but a poorer man." + +Fanny was to leave Winnebago the following Saturday. She had sold the +last of the household furniture, and had taken a room at the Haley +House. She felt very old and experienced--and sad. That, she told +herself, was only natural. Leaving things to which one is accustomed is +always hard. Queerly enough, it was her good-by to Aloysius that most +unnerved her. Aloysius had been taken on at Gerretson's, and the dignity +of his new position sat heavily upon him. You should have seen his ties. +Fanny sought him out at Gerretson's. + +"It's flure-manager of the basement I am," he said, and struck an +elegant attitude against the case of misses'-ready-to-wear coats. "And +when you come back to Winnebago, Miss Fanny,--and the saints send it +be soon--I'll bet ye'll see me on th' first flure, keepin' a stern but +kindly eye on the swellest trade in town. Ev'ry last thing I know I +learned off yur poor ma." + +"I hope it will serve you here, Aloysius." + +"Sarve me!" He bent closer. "Meanin' no offense, Miss Fanny; but say, +listen: Oncet ye get a Yiddish business education into an Irish head, +and there's no limit to the length ye can go. If I ain't a dry-goods +king be th' time I'm thirty I hope a packin' case'll fall on me." + +The sight of Aloysius seemed to recall so vividly all that was happy and +all that was hateful about Brandeis' Bazaar; all the bravery and pluck, +and resourcefulness of the bright-eyed woman he had admiringly called +his boss, that Fanny found her self-control slipping. She put out her +hand rather blindly to meet his great red paw (a dressy striped cuff +seemed to make it all the redder), murmured a word of thanks in return +for his fervent good wishes, and fled up the basement stairs. + +On Friday night (she was to leave next day) she went to the temple. The +evening service began at seven. At half past six Fanny had finished her +early supper. She would drop in at Doctor Thalmann's house and walk with +him to temple, if he had not already gone. + +"Nein, der Herr Rabbi ist noch hier--sure," the maid said in answer +to Fanny's question. The Thalmann's had a German maid--one Minna--who +bullied the invalid Mrs. Thalmann, was famous for her cookies with +walnuts on the top, and who made life exceedingly difficult for +unlinguistic callers. + +Rabbi Thalmann was up in his study. Fanny ran lightly up the stairs. + +"Who is it, Emil? That Minna! Next Monday her week is up. She goes." + +"It's I, Mrs. Thalmann. Fanny Brandeis." + +"Na, Fanny! Now what do you think!" + +In the brightly-lighted doorway of his little study appeared Rabbi +Thalmann, on one foot a comfortable old romeo, on the other a street +shoe. He held out both hands. "Only at supper we talked about you. Isn't +that so, Harriet?" He called into the darkened room. + +"I came to say good-by. And I thought we might walk to temple together. +How's Mrs. Thalmann tonight?" + +The little rabbi shook his head darkly, and waved a dismal hand. But +that was for Fanny alone. What he said was: "She's really splendid +to-day. A little tired, perhaps; but what is that?" + +"Emil!" from the darkened bedroom. "How can you say that? But how! What +I have suffered to-day, only! Torture! And because I say nothing I'm not +sick." + +"Go in," said Rabbi Thalmann. + +So Fanny went in to the woman lying, yellow-faced, on the pillows of the +dim old-fashioned bedroom with its walnut furniture, and its red plush +mantel drape. Mrs. Thalmann held out a hand. Fanny took it in hers, and +perched herself on the edge of the bed. She patted the dry, devitalized +hand, and pressed it in her own strong, electric grip. Mrs. Thalmann +raised her head from the pillow. + +"Tell me, did she have her white apron on?" + +"White apron?" + +"Minna, the girl." + +"Oh!" Fanny's mind jerked back to the gingham-covered figure that had +opened the door for her. "Yes," she lied, "a white one--with crochet +around the bottom. Quite grand." + +Mrs. Thalmann sank back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh. "A wonder." +She shook her head. "What that girl wastes alone, when I am helpless +here." + +Rabbi Thalmann came into the room, both feet booted now, and placed his +slippers neatly, toes out, under the bed. "Ach, Harriet, the girl is all +right. You imagine. Come, Fanny." He took a great, fat watch out of his +pocket. "It is time to go." + +Mrs. Thalmann laid a detaining hand on Fanny's arm. "You will come often +back here to Winnebago?" + +"I'm afraid not. Once a year, perhaps, to visit my graves." + +The sick eyes regarded the fresh young face. "Your mother, Fanny, +we didn't understand her so well, here in Winnebago, among us Jewish +ladies. She was different." + +Fanny's face hardened. She stood up. "Yes, she was different." + +"She comes often into my mind now, when I am here alone, with only the +four walls. We were aber dumm, we women--but how dumm! She was too smart +for us, your mother. Too smart. Und eine sehr brave frau." + +And suddenly Fanny, she who had resolved to set her face against all +emotion, and all sentiment, found herself with her glowing cheek pressed +against the withered one, and it was the weak old hand that patted her +now. So she lay for a moment, silent. Then she got up, straightened her +hat, smiled. + +"Auf Wiedersehen," she said in her best German. "Und gute Besserung." + +But the rabbi's wife shook her head. "Good-by." + +From the hall below Doctor Thalmann called to her. "Come, child, come!" +Then, "Ach, the light in my study! I forgot to turn it out, Fanny, be so +good, yes?" + +Fanny entered the bright little room, reached up to turn off the light, +and paused a moment to glance about her. It was an ugly, comfortable, +old-fashioned room that had never progressed beyond the what-not period. +Fanny's eye was caught by certain framed pictures on the walls. +They were photographs of Rabbi Thalmann's confirmation classes. +Spindling-legged little boys in the splendor of patent-leather buttoned +shoes, stiff white shirts, black broadcloth suits with satin lapels; +self-conscious and awkward little girls--these in the minority--in white +dresses and stiff white hair bows. In the center of each group sat the +little rabbi, very proud and alert. Fanny was not among these. She had +never formally taken the vows of her creed. As she turned down the light +now, and found her way down the stairs, she told herself that she was +glad this was so. + +It was a matter of only four blocks to the temple. But they were late, +and so they hurried, and there was little conversation. Fanny's arm was +tucked comfortably in his. It felt, somehow, startlingly thin, that arm. +And as they hurried along there was a jerky feebleness about his gait. +It was with difficulty that Fanny restrained herself from supporting him +when they came to a rough bit of walk or a sudden step. Something fine +in her prompted her not to. But the alert mind in that old frame sensed +what was going on in her thoughts. + +"He's getting feeble, the old rabbi, h'm?" + +"Not a bit of it. I've got all I can do to keep up with you. You set +such a pace." + +"I know. I know. They are not all so kind, Fanny. They are too +prosperous, this congregation of mine. And some day, `Off with his +head!' And in my place there will step a young man, with eye-glasses +instead of spectacles. They are tired of hearing about the prophets. +Texts from the Bible have gone out of fashion. You think I do not see +them giggling, h'm? The young people. And the whispering in the choir +loft. And the buzz when I get up from my chair after the second hymn. +`Is he going to have a sermon? Is he? Sure enough!' Na, he will make +them sit up, my successor. Sex sermons! Political lectures. That's it. +Lectures." They were turning in at the temple now. "The race is to the +young, Fanny. To the young. And I am old." + +She squeezed the frail old arm in hers. "My dear!" she said. "My dear!" +A second breaking of her new resolutions. + +One by one, two by two, they straggled in for the Friday evening +service, these placid, prosperous people, not unkind, but careless, +perhaps, in their prosperity. + +"He's worth any ten of them," Fanny said hotly to herself, as she sat +in her pew that, after to-morrow, would no longer be hers. "The dear +old thing. `Sex sermons.' And the race is to the young. How right he is. +Well, no one can say I'm not getting an early start." + +The choir had begun the first hymn when there came down the aisle a +stranger. There was a little stir among the congregation. Visitors were +rare. He was dark and very slim--with the slimness of steel wire. +He passed down the aisle rather uncertainly. A traveling man, Fanny +thought, dropped in, as sometimes they did, to say Kaddish for a +departed father or mother. Then she changed her mind. Her quick +eye noted his walk; a peculiar walk, with a spring in it. Only one +unfamiliar with cement pavements could walk like that. The Indians must +have had that same light, muscular step. He chose an empty pew halfway +down the aisle and stumbled into it rather awkwardly. Fanny thought he +was unnecessarily ugly, even for a man. Then he looked up, and nodded +and smiled at Lee Kohn, across the aisle. His teeth were very white, +and the smile was singularly sweet. Fanny changed her mind again. Not +so bad-looking, after all. Different, anyway. And then--why, of course! +Little Clarence Heyl, come back from the West. Clarence Heyl, the +cowardy-cat. + +Her mind went back to that day of the street fight. She smiled. At that +moment Clarence Heyl, who had been screwing about most shockingly, as +though searching for some one, turned and met her smile, intended for +no one, with a startlingly radiant one of his own, intended most plainly +for her. He half started forward in his pew, and then remembered, and +sat back again, but with an effect of impermanence that was ludicrous. +It had been years since he had left Winnebago. At the time of his +mother's death they had tried to reach him, and had been unable to +get in touch with him for weeks. He had been off on some mountain +expedition, hundreds of miles from railroad or telegraph. Fanny +remembered having read about him in the Winnebago Courier. He seemed +to be climbing mountains a great deal--rather difficult mountains, +evidently, from the fuss they made over it. A queer enough occupation +for a cowardy-cat. There had been a book, too. About the Rockies. She +had not read it. She rather disliked these nature books, as do most +nature lovers. She told herself that when she came upon a flaming golden +maple in October she was content to know it was a maple, and to warm her +soul at its blaze. + +There had been something in the Chicago Herald, though--oh, yes; it had +spoken of him as the brilliant young naturalist, Clarence Heyl. He was +to have gone on an expedition with Roosevelt. A sprained ankle, or some +such thing, had prevented. Fanny smiled again, to herself. His mother, +the fussy person who had been responsible for his boyhood reefers and +too-shiny shoes, and his cowardice too, no doubt, had dreamed of seeing +her Clarence a rabbi. + +From that point Fanny's thoughts wandered to the brave old man in the +pulpit. She had heard almost nothing of the service. She looked at him +now--at him, and then at his congregation, inattentive and palpably +bored. As always with her, the thing stamped itself on her mind as a +picture. She was forever seeing a situation in terms of its human value. +How small he looked, how frail, against the background of the massive +Ark with its red velvet curtain. And how bravely he glared over his +blue glasses at the two Aarons girls who were whispering and giggling +together, eyes on the newcomer. + +So this was what life did to you, was it? Squeezed you dry, and then +cast you aside in your old age, a pulp, a bit of discard. Well, they'd +never catch her that way. + +Unchurchly thoughts, these. The little place was very peaceful and +quiet, lulling one like a narcotic. The rabbi's voice had in it that +soothing monotony bred of years in the pulpit. Fanny found her thoughts +straying back to the busy, bright little store on Elm Street, then +forward, to the Haynes-Cooper plant and the fight that was before her. +There settled about her mouth a certain grim line that sat strangely on +so young a face. The service marched on. There came the organ prelude +that announced the mourners' prayer. Then Rabbi Thalmann began to intone +the Kaddish. Fanny rose, prayer book in hand. At that Clarence Heyl +rose too, hurriedly, as one unaccustomed to the service, and stood +with unbowed head, looking at the rabbi interestedly, thoughtfully, +reverently. The two stood alone. Death had been kind to Congregation +Emanu-el this year. The prayer ended. Fanny winked the tears from +her eyes, almost wrathfully. She sat down, and there swept over her a +feeling of finality. It was like the closing of Book One in a volume +made up of three parts. + +She said to herself: "Winnebago is ended, and my life here. How +interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is like the first +movement in one of the concertos Theodore was forever playing. Now for +the second movement! It's got to be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!" + +For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid conclusion at +which to arrive. How could she think it possible to shed her past +life, like a garment? Those impressionable years, between fourteen and +twenty-four, could never be cast off. She might don a new cloak to cover +the old dress beneath, but the old would always be there, its folds +peeping out here and there, its outlines plainly to be seen. She might +eat of things rare, and drink of things costly, but the sturdy, stocky +little girl in the made-over silk dress, who had resisted the Devil in +Weinberg's pantry on that long-ago Day of Atonement, would always be +there at the feast. Myself, I confess I am tired of these stories of +young women who go to the big city, there to do battle with failure, to +grapple with temptation, sin and discouragement. So it may as well +be admitted that Fanny Brandeis' story was not that of a painful +hand-over-hand climb. She was made for success. What she attempted, she +accomplished. That which she strove for, she won. She was too sure, too +vital, too electric, for failure. No, Fanny Brandeis' struggle went on +inside. And in trying to stifle it she came near making the blackest +failure that a woman can make. In grubbing for the pot of gold she +almost missed the rainbow. + +Rabbi Thalmann raised his arms for the benediction. Fanny looked +straight up at him as though stamping a picture on her mind. His eyes +were resting gently on her--or perhaps she just fancied that he spoke to +her alone as he began the words of the ancient closing prayer: + +"May the blessings of the Lord Our God rest upon you. God bless thee +and keep thee. May He cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be +gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee..." + +At the last word she hurried up the aisle, and down the stairs, into the +soft beauty of the May night. She felt she could stand no good-bys. In +her hotel room she busied herself with the half-packed trunks and bags. +So it was she altogether failed to see the dark young man who hurried +after her eagerly, and who was stopped by a dozen welcoming hands there +in the temple vestibule. He swore a deep inward "Damn!" as he saw her +straight, slim figure disappear down the steps and around the corner, +even while he found himself saying, politely, "Why, thanks! It's good to +BE back." And, "Yes, things have changed. All but the temple, and Rabbi +Thalmann." + +Fanny left Winnebago at eight next morning. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +"Mr. Fenger will see you now." Mr. Fenger, general manager, had been +a long time about it. This heel-cooling experience was new to Fanny +Brandeis. It had always been her privilege to keep others waiting. +Still, she felt no resentment as she sat in Michael Fenger's outer +office. For as she sat there, waiting, she was getting a distinct +impression of this unseen man whose voice she could just hear as he +talked over the telephone in his inner office. It was characteristic of +Michael Fenger that his personality reached out and touched you before +you came into actual contact with the man. Fanny had heard of him long +before she came to Haynes-Cooper. He was the genie of that glittering +lamp. All through the gigantic plant (she had already met department +heads, buyers, merchandise managers) one heard his name, and felt the +impress of his mind: + +"You'll have to see Mr. Fenger about that." + +"Yes,"--pointing to a new conveyor, perhaps,--"that has just been +installed. It's a great help to us. Doubles our shipping-room +efficiency. We used to use baskets, pulled by a rope. It's Mr. Fenger's +idea." + +Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. Fenger had made it a slogan in the +Haynes-Cooper plant long before the German nation forced it into our +everyday vocabulary. Michael Fenger was System. He could take a muddle +of orders, a jungle of unfilled contracts, a horde of incompetent +workers, and of them make a smooth-running and effective unit. +Untangling snarls was his pastime. Esprit de corps was his shibboleth. +Order and management his idols. And his war-cry was "Results!" + +It was eleven o'clock when Fanny came into his outer office. The very +atmosphere was vibrant with his personality. There hung about the place +an air of repressed expectancy. The room was electrically charged with +the high-voltage of the man in the inner office. His secretary was a +spare, middle-aged, anxious-looking woman in snuff-brown and spectacles; +his stenographer a blond young man, also spectacled and anxious; his +office boy a stern youth in knickers, who bore no relation to the +slangy, gum-chewing, redheaded office boy of the comic sections. + +The low-pitched, high-powered voice went on inside, talking over the +long-distance telephone. Fenger was the kind of man who is always +talking to New York when he is in Chicago, and to Chicago when he is in +New York. Trains with the word Limited after them were invented for +him and his type. A buzzer sounded. It galvanized the office boy into +instant action. It brought the anxious-looking stenographer to the +doorway, notebook in hand, ready. It sent the lean secretary out, and up +to Fanny. + +"Temper," said Fanny, to herself, "or horribly nervous and high-keyed. +They jump like a set of puppets on a string." + +It was then that the lean secretary had said, "Mr. Fenger will see you +now." + +Fanny was aware of a pleasant little tingle of excitement. She entered +the inner office. + +It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that he employed no cheap +tricks. He was not writing as Fanny Brandeis came in. He was not +telephoning. He was not doing anything but standing at his desk, waiting +for Fanny Brandeis. As she came in he looked at her, through her, and +she seemed to feel her mental processes laid open to him as a skilled +surgeon cuts through skin and flesh and fat, to lay bare the muscles +and nerves and vital organs beneath. He put out his hand. Fanny extended +hers. They met in a silent grip. It was like a meeting between two +men. Even as he indexed her, Fanny's alert mind was busy docketing, +numbering, cataloguing him. They had in common a certain force, a +driving power. Fanny seated herself opposite him, in obedience to a +gesture. He crossed his legs comfortably and sat back in his big desk +chair. A great-bodied man, with powerful square shoulders, a long head, +a rugged crest of a nose--the kind you see on the type of Englishman +who has the imagination and initiative to go to Canada, or Australia, or +America. He wore spectacles, not the fashionable horn-rimmed sort, but +the kind with gold ear pieces. They were becoming, and gave a certain +humanness to a face that otherwise would have been too rugged, too +strong. A man of forty-five, perhaps. + +He spoke first. "You're younger than I thought." + +"So are you." + +"Old inside." + +"So am I." + +He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, folded his arms on the desk. + +"You've been through the plant, Miss Brandeis?" + +"Yes. Twice. Once with a regular tourist party. And once with the +special guide." "Good. Go through the plant whenever you can. Don't +stick to your own department. It narrows one." He paused a moment. "Did +you think that this opportunity to come to Haynes-Cooper, as assistant +to the infants' wear department buyer was just a piece of luck, +augmented by a little pulling on your part?" + +"Yes." + +"It wasn't. You were carefully picked by me, and I don't expect to find +I've made a mistake. I suppose you know very little about buying and +selling infants' wear?" + +"Less than about almost any other article in the world--at least, in the +department store, or mail order world." + +"I thought so. And it doesn't matter. I pretty well know your history, +which means that I know your training. You're young; you're ambitious, +you're experienced; you're imaginative. There's no length you can't go, +with these. It just depends on how farsighted your mental vision is. +Now listen, Miss Brandeis: I'm not going to talk to you in millions. The +guides do enough of that. But you know we do buy and sell in terms of +millions, don't you? Well, our infants' wear department isn't helping +to roll up the millions; and it ought to, because there are millions of +babies born every year, and the golden-spoon kind are in the minority. +I've decided that that department needs a woman, your kind of woman. +Now, as a rule, I never employ a woman when I can use a man. There's +only one other woman filling a really important position in the +merchandise end of this business. That's Ella Monahan, head of the glove +department, and she's a genius. She is a woman who is limited in every +other respect--just average; but she knows glove materials in a way +that's uncanny. I'd rather have a man in her place; but I don't happen +to know any men glove-geniuses. Tell me, what do you think of that +etching?" + +Fanny tried--and successfully--not to show the jolt her mind had +received as she turned to look at the picture to which his finger +pointed. She got up and strolled over to it, and she was glad her suit +fitted and hung as it did in the back. + +"I don't like it particularly. I like it less than any other etching you +have here." The walls were hung with them. "Of course you understand I +know nothing about them. But it's too flowery, isn't it, to be good? +Too many lines. Like a writer who spoils his effect by using too many +words." + +Fenger came over and stood beside her, staring at the black and white +and gray thing in its frame. "I felt that way, too." He stared down at +her, then. "Jew?" he asked. + +A breathless instant. "No," said Fanny Brandeis. + +Michael Fenger smiled for the first time. Fanny Brandeis would have +given everything she had, everything she hoped to be, to be able to +take back that monosyllable. She was gripped with horror at what she had +done. She had spoken almost mechanically. And yet that monosyllable must +have been the fruit of all these months of inward struggle and thought. +"Now I begin to understand you," Fenger went on. "You've decided to +lop off all the excrescences, eh? Well, I can't say that I blame you. A +woman in business is handicapped enough by the very fact of her sex." He +stared at her again. "Too bad you're so pretty." + +"I'm not!" said Fanny hotly, like a school-girl. + +"That's a thing that can't be argued, child. Beauty's subjective, you +know." + +"I don't see what difference it makes, anyway." + +"Oh, yes, you do." He stopped. "Or perhaps you don't, after all. I +forget how young you are. Well, now, Miss Brandeis, you and your woman's +mind, and your masculine business experience and sense are to be turned +loose on our infants' wear department. The buyer, Mr. Slosson, is going +to resent you. Naturally. I don't know whether we'll get results from +you in a month, or six months or a year. Or ever. But something tells me +we're going to get them. You've lived in a small town most of your life. +And we want that small-town viewpoint. D'you think you've got it?" + +Fanny was on her own ground here. "If knowing the Wisconsin small-town +woman, and the Wisconsin farmer woman--and man too, for that +matter--means knowing the Oregon, and Wyoming, and Pennsylvania, and +Iowa people of the same class, then I've got it." + +"Good!" Michael Fenger stood up. "I'm not going to load you down with +instructions, or advice. I think I'll let you grope your own way around, +and bump your head a few times. Then you'll learn where the low places +are. And, Miss Brandeis, remember that suggestions are welcome in this +plant. We take suggestions all the way from the elevator starter to the +president." His tone was kindly, but not hopeful. + +Fanny was standing too, her mental eye on the door. But now she turned +to face him squarely. + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Absolutely." + +"Well, then, I've one to make. Your stock boys and stock girls walk +miles and miles every day, on every floor of this fifteen-story +building. I watched them yesterday, filling up the bins, carrying +orders, covering those enormous distances from one bin to another, up +one aisle and down the next, to the office, back again. Your floors are +concrete, or cement, or some such mixture, aren't they? I just happened +to think of the boy who used to deliver our paper on Norris Street, in +Winnebago, Wisconsin. He covered his route on roller skates. It saved +him an hour. Why don't you put roller skates on your stock boys and +girls?" + +Fenger stared at her. You could almost hear that mind of his +working, like a thing on ball bearings. "Roller skates." It wasn't an +exclamation. It was a decision. He pressed a buzzer--the snuff-brown +secretary buzzer. "Tell Clancy I want him. Now." He had not glanced +up, or taken his eyes from Fanny. She was aware of feeling a little +uncomfortable, but elated, too. She moved toward the door. Fenger stood +at his desk. "Wait a minute." Fanny waited. Still Fenger did not speak. +Finally, "I suppose you know you've earned six months' salary in the +last five minutes." + +Fanny eyed him coolly. "Considering the number of your stock force, the +time, energy, and labor saved, including wear and tear on department +heads and their assistants, I should say that was a conservative +statement." And she nodded pleasantly, and left him. + +Two days later every stock clerk in the vast plant was equipped with +light-weight roller skates. They made a sort of carnival of it at first. +There were some spills, too, going around corners, and a little too much +hilarity. That wore off in a week. In two weeks their roller skates were +part of them; just shop labor-savers. The report presented to Fenger was +this: Time and energy saved, fifty-five per cent; stock staff decreased +by one third. The picturesqueness of it, the almost ludicrous simplicity +of the idea appealed to the entire plant. It tickled the humor sense in +every one of the ten thousand employees in that vast organization. In +the first week of her association with Haynes-Cooper Fanny Brandeis was +actually more widely known than men who had worked there for years. The +president, Nathan Haynes himself, sent for her, chuckling. + +Nathan Haynes--but then, why stop for him? Nathan Haynes had been +swallowed, long ago, by this monster plant that he himself had +innocently created. You must have visited it, this Gargantuan thing that +sprawls its length in the very center of Chicago, the giant son of +a surprised father. It is one of the city's show places, like the +stockyards, the Art Institute, and Field's. Fifteen years before, +a building had been erected to accommodate a prosperous mail order +business. It had been built large and roomy, with plenty of seams, +planned amply, it was thought, to allow the boy to grow. It would do for +twenty-five years, surely. In ten years Haynes-Cooper was bursting its +seams. In twelve it was shamelessly naked, its arms and legs +sticking out of its inadequate garments. New red brick buildings +another--another. Five stories added to this one, six stories to that, +a new fifteen story merchandise building. + +The firm began to talk in tens of millions. Its stock became gilt-edged, +unattainable. Lucky ones who had bought of it diffidently, discreetly, +with modest visions of four and a half per cent in their unimaginative +minds, saw their dividends doubling, trebling, quadrupling, finally +soaring gymnastically beyond all reason. Listen to the old guide who (at +fifteen a week) takes groups of awed visitors through the great plant. +How he juggles figures; how grandly they roll off his tongue. How glib +he is with Nathan Haynes's millions. + +"This, ladies and gentlemen, is our mail department. From two thousand +to twenty-five hundred pounds of mail, comprising over one hundred +thousand letters, are received here every day. Yes, madam, I said every +day. About half of these letters are orders. Last year the banking +department counted one hundred and thirty millions of dollars. One +hundred and thirty millions!" He stands there in his ill-fitting coat, +and his star, and rubs one bony hand over the other. + +"Dear me!" says a lady tourist from Idaho, rather inadequately. And yet, +not so inadequately. What exclamation is there, please, that fits a sum +like one hundred and thirty millions of anything? + +Fanny Brandeis, fresh from Winnebago, Wisconsin, slipped into the great +scheme of things at the Haynes-Cooper plant like part of a perfectly +planned blue print. It was as though she had been thought out and +shaped for this particular corner. And the reason for it was, primarily, +Winnebago, Wisconsin. For Haynes-Cooper grew and thrived on just such +towns, with their surrounding farms and villages. Haynes-Cooper had +their fingers on the pulse and heart of the country as did no other +industry. They were close, close. When rugs began to take the place of +ingrain carpets it was Haynes-Cooper who first sensed the change. Oh, +they had had them in New York years before, certainly. But after all, +it isn't New York's artistic progress that shows the development of this +nation. It is the thing they are thinking, and doing, and learning in +Backwash, Nebraska, that marks time for these United States. There may +be a certain significance in the announcement that New York has dropped +the Russian craze and has gone in for that quaint Chinese stuff. My +dear, it makes the loveliest hangings and decorations. When Fifth +Avenue takes down its filet lace and eyelet embroidered curtains, and +substitutes severe shantung and chaste net, there is little in the +act to revolutionize industry, or stir the art-world. But when the +Haynes-Cooper company, by referring to its inventory ledgers, learns +that it is selling more Alma Gluck than Harry Lauder records; when its +statistics show that Tchaikowsky is going better than Irving Berlin, +something epochal is happening in the musical progress of a nation. And +when the orders from Noose Gulch, Nevada, are for those plain dimity +curtains instead of the cheap and gaudy Nottingham atrocities, there is +conveyed to the mind a fact of immense, of overwhelming significance. +The country has taken a step toward civilization and good taste. + +So. You have a skeleton sketch of Haynes-Cooper, whose feelers reach the +remotest dugout in the Yukon, the most isolated cabin in the Rockies, +the loneliest ranch-house in Wyoming; the Montana mining shack, the +bleak Maine farm, the plantation in Virginia. + +And the man who had so innocently put life into this monster? A +plumpish, kindly-faced man; a bewildered, gentle, unimaginative and +somewhat frightened man, fresh-cheeked, eye-glassed. In his suite of +offices in the new Administration Building--built two years ago--marble +and oak throughout--twelve stories, and we're adding three already; +offices all two-toned rugs, and leather upholstery, with dim, rich, +brown-toned Dutch masterpieces on the walls, he sat helpless and +defenseless while the torrent of millions rushed, and swirled, and +foamed about him. I think he had fancied, fifteen years ago, that he +would some day be a fairly prosperous man; not rich, as riches are +counted nowadays, but with a comfortable number of tens of thousands +tucked away. Two or three hundred thousand; perhaps five hundred +thousand!--perhaps a--but, nonsense! Nonsense! + +And then the thing had started. It was as when a man idly throws a +pebble into a chasm, or shoves a bit of ice with the toe of his boot, +and starts a snow-slide that grows as it goes. He had started this +avalanche of money, and now it rushed on of its own momentum, plunging, +rolling, leaping, crashing, and as it swept on it gathered rocks, trees, +stones, houses, everything that lay in its way. It was beyond the power +of human hand to stop this tumbling, roaring slide. In the midst of it +sat Nathan Haynes, deafened, stunned, terrified at the immensity of what +he had done. + +He began giving away huge sums, incredible sums. It piled up faster than +he could give it away. And so he sat there in the office hung with the +dim old masterpieces, and tried to keep simple, tried to keep sane, with +that austerity that only mad wealth can afford--or bitter poverty. He +caused the land about the plant to be laid out in sunken gardens and +baseball fields and tennis courts, so that one approached this monster +of commerce through enchanted grounds, glowing with tulips and heady +hyacinths in spring, with roses in June, blazing with salvia and +golden-glow and asters in autumn. There was something apologetic about +these grounds. + +This, then, was the environment that Fanny Brandeis had chosen. On the +face of things you would have said she had chosen well. The inspiration +of the roller skates had not been merely a lucky flash. That idea had +been part of the consistent whole. Her mind was her mother's mind raised +to the nth power, and enhanced by the genius she was trying to crush. +Refusing to die, it found expression in a hundred brilliant plans, of +which the roller skate idea was only one. + +Fanny had reached Chicago on Sunday. She had entered the city as a +queen enters her domain, authoritatively, with no fear upon her, no +trepidation, no doubts. She had gone at once to the Mendota Hotel, +on Michigan Avenue, up-town, away from the roar of the loop. It was a +residential hotel, very quiet, decidedly luxurious. She had no idea of +making it her home. But she would stay there until she could find an +apartment that was small, bright, near the lake, and yet within fairly +reasonable transportation facilities for her work. Her room was on the +ninth floor, not on the Michigan Avenue side, but east, overlooking the +lake. She spent hours at the windows, fascinated by the stone and steel +city that lay just below with the incredible blue of the sail-dotted +lake beyond, and at night, with the lights spangling the velvety +blackness, the flaring blaze of Thirty-first Street's chop-suey +restaurants and moving picture houses at the right; and far, far away, +the red and white eye of the lighthouse winking, blinking, winking, +blinking, the rumble and clank of a flat-wheeled Indiana avenue car, the +sound of high laughter and a snatch of song that came faintly up to her +from the speeding car of some midnight joy-riders! + +But all this had to do with her other side. It had no bearing on +Haynes-Cooper, and business. Business! That was it. She had trained +herself for it, like an athlete. Eight hours of sleep. A cold plunge on +arising. Sane food. Long walks. There was something terrible about her +earnestness. + +On Monday she presented herself at the Haynes-Cooper plant. Monday and +Tuesday were spent in going over the great works. It was an exhausting +process, but fascinating beyond belief. It was on Wednesday that she had +been summoned for the talk with Michael Fenger. Thursday morning she was +at her desk at eight-thirty. It was an obscure desk, in a dingy corner +of the infants' wear department, the black sheep section of the great +plant. Her very presence in that corner seemed to change it magically. +You must remember how young she was, how healthy, how vigorous, with the +freshness of the small town still upon her. It was health and youth, +and vigor that gave that gloss to her hair (conscientious brushing too, +perhaps), that color to her cheeks and lips, that brightness to her +eyes. But crafty art and her dramatic instinct were responsible for the +tailored severity of her costume, for the whiteness of her blouse, the +trim common-sense expensiveness of her shoes and hat and gloves. + +Slosson, buyer and head of the department, came in at nine. Fanny rose +to greet him. She felt a little sorry for Slosson. In her mind she +already knew him for a doomed man. + +"Well, well!"--he was the kind of person who would say, well, +well!--"You're bright and early, Miss--ah--" + +"Brandeis." + +"Yes, certainly; Miss Brandeis. Well, nothing like making a good start." + +"I wanted to go through the department by myself," said Fanny. "The +shelves and bins, and the numbering system. I see that your new +maternity dresses have just come in." + +"Oh, yes. How do you like them?" + +"I think they're unnecessarily hideous, Mr. Slosson." + +"My dear young lady, a plain garment is what they want. Unnoticeable." + +"Unnoticeable, yes; but becoming. At such a time a woman is at her +worst. If she can get it, she at least wants a dress that doesn't add to +her unattractiveness." + +"Let me see--you are not--ah--married, I believe, Miss Brandeis?" + +"No." + +"I am. Three children. All girls." He passed a nervous hand over his +head, rumpling his hair a little. "An expensive proposition, let me tell +you, three girls. But there's very little I don't know about babies, as +you may imagine." + +But there settled over Fanny Brandeis' face the mask of hardness that +was so often to transform it. + +The morning mail was in--the day's biggest grist, deluge of it, a flood. +Buyer and assistant buyer never saw the actual letters, or attended to +their enclosed orders. It was only the unusual letter, the complaint or +protest that reached their desk. Hundreds of hands downstairs sorted, +stamped, indexed, filed, after the letter-opening machines had slit the +envelopes. Those letter-openers! Fanny had hung over them, enthralled. +The unopened envelopes were fed into them. Flip! Zip! Flip! Out! Opened! +Faster than eye could follow. It was uncanny. It was, somehow, humorous, +like the clever antics of a trained dog. You could not believe that this +little machine actually performed what your eyes beheld. Two years later +they installed the sand-paper letter-opener, marvel of simplicity. +It made the old machine seem cumbersome and slow. Guided by Izzy, the +expert, its rough tongue was capable of licking open six hundred and +fifty letters a minute. + +Ten minutes after the mail came in the orders were being filled; bins, +shelves, warehouses, were emptying their contents. Up and down the +aisles went the stock clerks; into the conveyors went the bundles, down +the great spiral bundle chute, into the shipping room, out by mail, by +express, by freight. This leghorn hat for a Nebraska country belle; a +tombstone for a rancher's wife; a plow, brave in its red paint; coffee, +tea, tinned fruit, bound for Alaska; lace, muslin, sheeting, toweling, +all intended for the coarse trousseau of a Georgia bride. + +It was not remarkable that Fanny Brandeis fitted into this scheme of +things. For years she had ministered to the wants of just this type of +person. The letters she saw at Haynes-Cooper's read exactly as customers +had worded their wants at Brandeis' Bazaar. The magnitude of the thing +thrilled her, the endless possibilities of her own position. + +During the first two months of her work there she was as unaggressive +as possible. She opened the very pores of her mind and absorbed every +detail of her department. But she said little, followed Slosson's +instructions in her position as assistant buyer, and suggested no +changes. Slosson's wrinkle of anxiety smoothed itself away, and his +manner became patronizingly authoritative again. Fanny seemed to have +become part of the routine of the place. Fenger did not send for her. +June and July were insufferably hot. Fanny seemed to thrive, to expand +like a flower in the heat, when others wilted and shriveled. The +spring catalogue was to be made up in October, as always, six months +in advance. The first week in August Fanny asked for an interview with +Fenger. Slosson was to be there. At ten o'clock she entered Fenger's +inner office. He was telephoning--something about dinner at the Union +League Club. His voice was suave, his tone well modulated, his accent +correct, his English faultless. And yet Fanny Brandeis, studying the +etchings on his wall, her back turned to him, smiled to herself. The +voice, the tone, the accent, the English, did not ring true They were +acquired graces, exquisite imitations of the real thing. Fanny Brandeis +knew. She was playing the same game herself. She understood this man +now, after two months in the Haynes-Cooper plant. These marvelous +examples of the etcher's art, for example. They were the struggle for +expression of a man whose youth had been bare of such things. His love +for them was much the same as that which impels the new made millionaire +to buy rare pictures, rich hangings, tapestries, rugs, not so much +in the desire to impress the world with his wealth as to satisfy the +craving for beauty, the longing to possess that which is exquisite, and +fine, and almost unobtainable. You have seen how a woman, long denied +luxuries, feeds her starved senses on soft silken things, on laces and +gleaming jewels, for pure sensuous delight in their feel and look. + +Thus Fanny mused as she eyed these treasures--grim, deft, repressed +things, done with that economy of line which is the test of the etcher's +art. + +Fenger hung up the receiver. + +"So it's taken you two months, Miss Brandeis. I was awfully afraid, from +the start you made, that you'd be back here in a week, bursting with +ideas." + +Fanny smiled, appreciatively. He had come very near the truth. "I had to +use all my self-control, that first week. After that it wasn't so hard." + +Fenger's eyes narrowed upon her. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" + +"Yes," said Fanny. She came over to his desk. + +"I wish we needn't have Mr. Slosson here this morning. After all, he's +been here for years, and I'm practically an upstart. He's so much older, +too. I--I hate to hurt him. I wish you'd--" + +But Fenger shook his head. "Slosson's due now. And he has got to take +his medicine. This is business, Miss Brandeis. You ought to know what +that means. For that matter, it may be that you haven't hit upon an +idea. In that case, Slosson would have the laugh, wouldn't he?" + +Slosson entered at that moment. And there was a chip on his shoulder. +It was evident in the way he bristled, in the way he seated himself. +His fingers drummed his knees. He was like a testy, hum-ha stage father +dealing with a willful child. + +Fenger took out his watch. + +"Now, Miss Brandeis." + +Fanny took a chair facing the two men, and crossed her trim blue serge +knees, and folded her hands in her lap. A deep pink glowed in her +cheeks. Her eyes were very bright. All the Molly Brandeis in her was +at the surface, sparkling there. And she looked almost insultingly +youthful. + +"You--you want me to talk?" + +"We want you to talk. We have time for just three-quarters of an hour of +uninterrupted conversation. If you've got anything to say you ought to +say it in that time. Now, Miss Brandeis, what's the trouble with the +Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department?" + +And Fanny Brandeis took a long breath + +"The trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department is that it +doesn't understand women. There are millions of babies born every year. +An incredible number of them are mail order babies. I mean by that they +are born to tired, clumsy-fingered immigrant women, to women in mills +and factories, to women on farms, to women in remote villages. They're +the type who use the mail order method. I've learned this one thing +about that sort of woman: she may not want that baby, but either before +or after it's born she'll starve, and save, and go without proper +clothing, and even beg, and steal to give it clothes--clothes with +lace on them, with ribbon on them, sheer white things. I don't know why +that's true, but it is. Well, we're not reaching them. Our goods are +unattractive. They're packed and shipped unattractively. Why, all this +department needs is a little psychology--and some lace that doesn't +look as if it had been chopped out with an ax. It's the little, silly, +intimate things that will reach these women. No, not silly, either. +Quite understandable. She wants fine things for her baby, just as the +silver-spoon mother does. The thing we'll have to do is to give her +silver-spoon models at pewter prices." + +"It can't be done," said Slosson. + +"Now, wait a minute, Slosson," Fenger put in, smoothly. "Miss Brandeis +has given us a very fair general statement. We'll have some facts. Are +you prepared to give us an actual working plan?" + +"Yes. At least, it sounds practical to me. And if it does to you--and to +Mr. Slosson--" + +"Humph!" snorted that gentleman, in expression of defiance, unbelief, +and a determination not to be impressed. + +It acted as a goad to Fanny. She leaned forward in her chair and talked +straight at the big, potent force that sat regarding her in silent +attention. + +"I still say that we can copy the high-priced models in low-priced +materials because, in almost every case, it isn't the material that +makes the expensive model; it's the line, the cut, the little trick that +gives it style. We can get that. We've been giving them stuff that might +have been made by prison labor, for all the distinction it had. Then +I think we ought to make a feature of the sanitary methods used in our +infants' department. Every article intended for a baby's use should be +wrapped or boxed as it lies in the bin or on the shelf. And those bins +ought to be glassed. We would advertise that, and it would advertise +itself. Our visitors would talk about it. This department hasn't been +getting a square deal in the catalogue. Not enough space. It ought to +have not only more catalogue space, but a catalogue all its own--the +Baby Book. Full of pictures. Good ones. Illustrations that will make +every mother think her baby will look like that baby, once it is wearing +our No. 29E798--chubby babies, curly-headed, and dimply. And the feature +of that catalogue ought to be, not separate garments, but complete +outfits. Outfits boxed, ready for shipping, and ranging in price all the +way from twenty-five dollars to three-ninety-eight--" + +"It can't be done!" yelled Slosson. "Three-ninety-eight! Outfits!" + +"It can be done. I've figured it out, down to a packet of assorted size +safety pins. We'll call it our emergency outfit. Thirty pieces. And +while we're about it, every outfit over five dollars ought to be packed +in a pink or a pale blue pasteboard box. The outfits trimmed in pink, +pink boxes; the outfits trimmed in blue, blue boxes. In eight cases out +of ten their letters will tell us whether it's a pink or blue baby. And +when they get our package, and take out that pink or blue box, they'll +be as pleased as if we'd made them a present. It's the personal note--" + +"Personal slop!" growled Slosson. "It isn't business. It's sentimental +slush!" + +"Sentimental, yes," agreed Fanny pleasantly, "but then, we're running +the only sentimental department in this business. And we ought to be +doing it at the rate of a million and a quarter a year. If you think +these last suggestions sentimental, I'm afraid the next one--" + +"Let's have it, Miss Brandeis," Fenger encouraged her quietly. + +"It's"--she flashed a mischievous smile at Slosson--"it's a mother's +guide and helper, and adviser. A woman who'll answer questions, give +advice. Some one they'll write to, with a picture in their minds of a +large, comfortable, motherly-looking person in gray. You know we get +hundreds of letters asking whether they ought to order flannel bands, +or the double-knitted kind. That sort of thing. And who's been answering +them? Some sixteen-year-old girl in the mailing department who doesn't +know a flannel band from a bootee when she sees it. We could call our +woman something pleasant and everydayish, like Emily Brand. Easy to +remember. And until we can find her, I'll answer those letters myself. +They're important to us as well as to the woman who writes them. And +now, there's the matter of obstetrical outfits. Three grades, packed +ready for shipment, practical, simple, and complete. Our drug section +has the separate articles, but we ought to--" + +"Oh, lord!" groaned Slosson, and slumped disgustedly in his seat. + +But Fenger got up, came over to Fanny, and put a hand on her shoulder +for a moment. He looked down at her. "I knew you'd do it." He smiled +queerly. "Tell me, where did you learn all this?" + +"I don't know," faltered Fanny happily. "Brandeis' Bazaar, perhaps. It's +just another case of plush photograph album." + +"Plush--?" + +Fanny told him that story. Even the discomfited Slosson grinned at it. + +But after ten minutes more of general discussion Slosson left. Fenger, +without putting it in words, had conveyed that to him. Fanny stayed. +They did things that way at Haynes-Cooper. No waste. No delay. That she +had accomplished in two months that which ordinarily takes years was not +surprising. They did things that way, too, at Haynes-Cooper. Take the +case of Nathan Haynes himself. And Michael Fenger too who, not so many +years before, had been a machine-boy in a Racine woolen mill. + +For my part, I confess that Fanny Brandeis begins to lose interest +for me. Big Business seems to dwarf the finer things in her. That +red-cheeked, shabby little schoolgirl, absorbed in Zola and peanut +brittle in the Winnebago library, was infinitely more appealing than +this glib and capable young woman. The spitting wildcat of the street +fight so long ago was gentler by far than this cool person who was so +deliberately taking his job away from Slosson. You, too, feel that way +about her? That is as it should be. It is the penalty they pay who, +given genius, sympathy, and understanding as their birthright, trade +them for the tawdry trinkets money brings. + +Perhaps the last five minutes of that conference between Fanny and +Michael Fenger reveals a new side, and presents something of interest. +It was a harrowing and unexpected five minutes. + +You may remember how Michael Fenger had a way of looking at one, +silently. It was an intent and concentrated gaze that had the effect of +an actual physical hold. Most people squirmed under it. Fanny, feeling +it on her now, frowned and rose to leave. + +"Shall you want to talk these things over again? Of course I've only +outlined them, roughly. You gave me so little time." + +Fenger, at his desk, did not answer, or turn away his gaze. A little +blaze of wrath flamed into Fanny's face. + +"General manager or not," she said, very low-voiced, "I wish +you wouldn't sit and glower at me like that. It's rude, and it's +disconcerting," which was putting it forthrightly. + +"I beg your pardon!" Fenger came swiftly around the desk, and over to +her. "I was thinking very hard. Miss Brandeis, will you dine with me +somewhere tonight? Then to-morrow night? But I want to talk to you." + +"Here I am. Talk." + +"But I want to talk to--you." + +It was then that Fanny Brandeis saved an ugly situation. For she +laughed, a big, wholesome, outdoors sort of laugh. She was honestly +amused. + +"My dear Mr. Fenger, you've been reading the murky magazines. Very bad +for you." + +Fenger was unsmiling: "Why won't you dine with me?" + +"Because it would be unconventional and foolish. I respect the +conventions. They're so sensible. And because it would be unfair to you, +and to Mrs. Fenger, and to me." + +"Rot! It's you who have the murky magazine viewpoint, as you call it, +when you imply--" + +"Now, look here, Mr. Fenger," Fanny interrupted, quietly. "Let's be +square with each other, even if we're not being square with ourselves. +You're the real power in this plant, because you've the brains. You +can make any person in this organization, or break them. That sounds +melodramatic, but it's true. I've got a definite life plan, and it's as +complete and detailed as an engineering blue print. I don't intend to +let you spoil it. I've made a real start here. If you want to, I've no +doubt you can end it. But before you do, I want to warn you that I'll +make a pretty stiff fight for it. I'm no silent sufferer. I'll say +things. And people usually believe me when I talk." + +Still the silent, concentrated gaze. With a little impatient exclamation +Fanny walked toward the door. Fenger, startlingly light and agile for +his great height, followed. + +"I'm sorry, Miss Brandeis, terribly sorry. You see, you interest me very +much. Very much." + +"Thanks," dryly. + +"Don't go just yet. Please. I'm not a villain. Really. That is, not a +deliberate villain. But when I find something very fine, very intricate, +very fascinating and complex--like those etchings, for example--I am +intrigued. I want it near me. I want to study it." + +Fanny said nothing. But she thought, "This is a dangerously clever man. +Too clever for you. You know so little about them." Fenger waited. Most +women would have found refuge in words. The wrong words. It is only the +strong who can be silent when in doubt. + +"Perhaps you will dine with Mrs. Fenger and me at our home some evening? +Mrs. Fenger will speak to you about it." + +"I'm afraid I'm usually too tired for further effort at the end of the +day. I'm sorry----" + +"Some Sunday night perhaps, then. Tea." + +"Thank you." And so out, past the spare secretary, the anxious-browed +stenographer, the academic office boy, to the hallway, the elevator, and +finally the refuge of her own orderly desk. Slosson was at lunch in one +of the huge restaurants provided for employees in the building across +the street. She sat there, very still, for some minutes; for more +minutes than she knew. Her hands were clasped tightly on the desk, and +her eyes stared ahead in a puzzled, resentful, bewildered way. Something +inside her was saying over and over again: + +"You lied to him on that very first day. That placed you. That stamped +you. Now he thinks you're rotten all the way through. You lied on the +very first day." + +Ella Monahan poked her head in at the door. The Gloves were on that +floor, at the far end. The two women rarely saw each other, except at +lunch time. + +"Missed you at lunch," said Ella Monahan. She was a pink-cheeked, +bright-eyed woman of forty-one or two, prematurely gray and therefore +excessively young in her manner, as women often are who have grown gray +before their time. + +Fanny stood up, hurriedly. "I was just about to go." + +"Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious." And strolled off down the +aisle that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. + +Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though meaning to call +her back. But she must have changed her mind, because she said, "Oh, +nonsense!" aloud. And went across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And +enjoyed it. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A thin, +querulous voice over the telephone prepared one for the thin, querulous +Mrs. Fenger herself. A sallow, plaintive woman, with a misbehaving +valve. The valve, she confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also +it made her susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a scarf +that was constantly slipping and constantly being retrieved by Michael +Fenger. The sight of this man, a physical and mental giant, performing +this task ever so gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity +through Fanny, as Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived in +an apartment on the Lake Shore Drive--an apartment such as only Chicago +boasts. A view straight across the lake, rooms huge and many-windowed, +a glass-enclosed sun-porch gay with chintz and wicker, an incredible +number of bathrooms. The guests, besides Fanny, included a young pair, +newly married and interested solely in rents, hangings, linen closets, +and the superiority of the Florentine over the Jacobean for dining +room purposes; and a very scrubbed looking, handsome, spectacled man of +thirty-two or three who was a mechanical engineer. Fanny failed to +catch his name, though she learned it later. Privately, she dubbed him +Fascinating Facts, and he always remained that. His conversation was +invariably prefaced with, "Funny thing happened down at the works +to-day." The rest of it sounded like something one reads at the foot of +each page of a loose-leaf desk calendar. + +At tea there was a great deal of silver, and lace, but Fanny thought +she could have improved on the chicken a la king. It lacked paprika and +personality. Mrs. Fenger was constantly directing one or the other of +the neat maids in an irritating aside. + +After tea Michael Fenger showed Fanny his pictures, not boastfully, but +as one who loves them reveals his treasures to an appreciative friend. +He showed her his library, too, and it was the library of a reader. +Fanny nibbled at it, hungrily. She pulled out a book here, a book +there, read a paragraph, skimmed a page. There was no attempt at +classification. Lever rubbed elbows with Spinoza; Mark Twain dug a +facetious thumb into Haeckel's ribs. Fanny wanted to sit down on the +floor, legs crossed, before the open shelves, and read, and read, and +read. Fenger, watching the light in her face, seemed himself to take on +a certain glow, as people generally did who found this girl in sympathy +with them. + +They were deep in book talk when Fascinating Facts strolled in, looking +aggrieved, and spoiled it with the thoroughness of one who never reads, +and is not ashamed of it. + +"My word, I'm having a rotten time, Fenger," he said, plaintively. +"They've got a tape-measure out of your wife's sewing basket, those +two in there, and they're down on their hands and knees, measuring +something. It has to do with their rug, over your rug, or some such rot. +And then you take Miss Brandeis and go off into the library." + +"Then stay here," said Fanny, "and talk books." + +"My book's a blue-print," admitted Fascinating Facts, cheerfully. +"I never get time to read. There's enough fiction, and romance, and +adventure in my job to give me all the thrill I want. Why, just last +Tuesday--no, Thursday it was--down at the works----" + +Between Fanny and Fenger there flashed a look made up of dismay, and +amusement, and secret sympathy. It was a look that said, "We both see +the humor of this. Most people wouldn't. Our angle is the same." Such a +glance jumps the gap between acquaintance and friendship that whole days +of spoken conversation cannot cover. + +"Cigar?" asked Fenger, hoping to stay the flood. + +"No, thanks. Say, Fenger, would there be a row if I smoked my pipe?" + +"That black one? With the smell?" + +"The black one, yes." + +"There would." Fenger glanced in toward his wife, and smiled, dryly. +Fascinating Facts took his hand out of his pocket, regretfully. + +"Wouldn't it sour a fellow on marriage! Wouldn't it! First those two +in there, with their damned linen closets, and their rugs--I beg your +pardon, Miss Brandeis! And now your missus objects to my pipe. You +wouldn't treat me like that, would you, Miss Brandeis?" + +There was about him something that appealed--something boyish and +likeable. + +"No, I wouldn't. I'd let you smoke a nargileh, if you wanted to, +surrounded by rolls of blue prints." + +"I knew it. I'm going to drive you home for that." + +And he did, in his trim little roadster. It is a fairy road at night, +that lake drive between the north and south sides. Even the Rush street +bridge cannot quite spoil it. Fanny sat back luxuriously and let the +soft splendor of the late August night enfold her. She was intelligently +monosyllabic, while Fascinating Facts talked. At the door of her +apartment house (she had left the Mendota weeks before) Fascinating +Facts surprised her. + +"I--I'd like to see you again, Miss Brandeis. If you'll let me." + +"I'm so busy," faltered Fanny. Then it came to her that perhaps he did +not know. "I'm with Haynes-Cooper, you know. Assistant buyer in the +infants' wear department." + +"Yes, I know. I suppose a girl like you couldn't be interested in seeing +a chap like me again, but I thought maybe----" + +"But I would," interrupted Fanny, impulsively. "Indeed I would." + +"Really! Perhaps you'll drive, some evening. Over to the Bismarck +Gardens, or somewhere. It would rest you." + +"I'm sure it would. Suppose you telephone me." + +That was her honest, forthright, Winnebago Wisconsin self talking. +But up in her apartment the other Fanny Brandeis, the calculating, +ambitious, determined woman, said: "Now why did I say that! I never want +to see the boy again. + +"Use him. Experiment with him. Evidently men are going to enter into +this thing. Michael Fenger has, already. And now this boy. Why not try +certain tests with them as we used to follow certain formulae in the +chemistry laboratory at high school? This compound, that compound, what +reaction? Then, when the time comes to apply your knowledge, you'll +know." + +Which shows how ignorant she was of this dangerous phase of her +experiment. If she had not been, she must have known that these were not +chemicals, but explosives with which she proposed to play. + +The trouble was that Fanny Brandeis, the creative, was not being fed. +And the creative fire requires fuel. Fanny Brandeis fed on people, not +things. And her work at Haynes-Cooper was all with inanimate objects. +The three months since her coming to Chicago had been crowded and +eventful. Haynes-Cooper claimed every ounce of her energy, every atom +of her wit and resourcefulness. In return it gave--salary. Not too much +salary. That would come later, perhaps. Unfortunately, Fanny Brandeis +did not thrive on that kind of fare. She needed people. She craved +contact. All these millions whom she served--these unseen, unheard men +and women, and children--she wanted to see them. She wanted to touch +them. She wanted to talk with them. It was as though a lover of the +drama, eager to see his favorite actress in her greatest part, were to +find himself viewing her in a badly constructed film play. + +So Fanny Brandeis took to prowling. There are people who have a penchant +for cities--more than that, a talent for them, a gift of sensing +them, of feeling their rhythm and pulse-beats, as others have a highly +developed music sense, or color reaction. It is a thing that cannot +be acquired. In Fanny Brandeis there was this abnormal response to the +color and tone of any city. And Chicago was a huge, polyglot orchestra, +made up of players in every possible sort of bizarre costume, performing +on every known instrument, leaderless, terrifyingly discordant, yet with +an occasional strain, exquisite and poignant, to be heard through the +clamor and din. + +A walk along State street (the wrong side) or Michigan avenue at five, +or through one of the city's foreign quarters, or along the lake front +at dusk, stimulated her like strong wine. She was drunk with it. And all +the time she would say to herself, little blind fool that she was: + +"Don't let it get you. Look at it, but don't think about it. Don't let +the human end of it touch you. There's nothing in it." + +And meanwhile she was feasting on those faces in the crowds. Those faces +in the crowds! They seemed to leap out at her. They called to her. So +she sketched them, telling herself that she did it by way of relaxation, +and diversion. One afternoon she left her desk early, and perched +herself on one of the marble benches that lined the sunken garden just +across from the main group of Haynes-Cooper buildings. She wanted to see +what happened when those great buildings emptied. Even her imagination +did not meet the actuality. At 5:30 the streets about the plant were +empty, except for an occasional passerby. At 5:31 there trickled +down the broad steps of building after building thin dark streams of +humanity, like the first slow line of lava that crawls down the side of +an erupting volcano. The trickle broadened into a stream, spread into +a flood, became a torrent that inundated the streets, the sidewalks, +filling every nook and crevice, a moving mass. Ten thousand people! A +city! Fanny found herself shaking with excitement, and something like +terror at the immensity of it. She tried to get a picture of it, a +sketch, with the gleaming windows of the red brick buildings as a +background. Amazingly enough, she succeeded in doing it. That was +because she tried for broad effects, and relied on one bit of detail for +her story. It was the face of a girl--a very tired and tawdry girl, of +sixteen, perhaps. On her face the look that the day's work had stamped +there was being wiped gently away by another look; a look that said +release, and a sweetheart, and an evening at the movies. Fanny, in some +miraculous way, got it. + +She prowled in the Ghetto, and sketched those patient Jewish faces, +often grotesque, sometimes repulsive, always mobile. She wandered down +South Clark street, flaring with purple-white arc-lights, and looked in +at its windows that displayed a pawnbroker's glittering wares, or, just +next door, a flat-topped stove over which a white-capped magician whose +face smacked of the galley, performed deft tricks with a pancake turner. +"Southern chicken dinner," a lying sign read, "with waffles and real +maple syrup, 35 cents each." Past these windows promenaded the Clark +street women, hard-eyed, high-heeled, aigretted; on the street corners +loafed the Clark street men, blue-shaven, wearing checked suits, soiled +faun-topped shoes, and diamond scarf pins. And even as she watched them, +fascinated, they vanished. Clark street changed overnight, and became a +business thoroughfare, lined with stately office buildings, boasting +marble and gold-leaf banks, filled with hurrying clerks, stenographers, +and prosperous bond salesmen. It was like a sporting man who, thriving +in middle age, endeavors to live down his shady past. + +Fanny discovered Cottage Grove avenue, and Halsted street, and +Jefferson, and South State, where she should never have walked. There +is an ugliness about Chicago's ugly streets that, for sheer, naked +brutality, is equaled nowhere in the world. London has its foul streets, +smoke-blackened, sinister. But they are ugly as crime is ugly--and as +fascinating. It is like the ugliness of an old hag who has lived a life, +and who could tell you strange tales, if she would. Walking through them +you think of Fagin, of Children of the Ghetto, of Tales of Mean Streets. +Naples is honeycombed with narrow, teeming alleys, grimed with the +sediment of centuries, colored like old Stilton, and smelling much +worse. But where is there another Cottage Grove avenue! Sylvan misnomer! +A hideous street, and sordid. A street of flat-wheeled cars, of +delicatessen shops and moving picture houses, of clanging bells, of +frowsy women, of men who dart around corners with pitchers, their coat +collars turned up to hide the absence of linen. One day Fanny found +herself at Fifty-first street, and there before her lay Washington Park, +with its gracious meadow, its Italian garden, its rose walk, its lagoon, +and drooping willows. But then, that was Chicago. All contrast. The +Illinois Central railroad puffed contemptuous cinders into the great +blue lake. And almost in the shadow of the City Hall nestled Bath-House +John's groggery. + +Michigan Avenue fascinated her most. Here was a street developing before +one's eyes. To walk on it was like being present at a birth. It is one +of the few streets in the world. New York has two, Paris a hundred, +London none, Vienna one. Berlin, before the war, knew that no one walked +Unter den Linden but American tourists and German shopkeepers from the +provinces, with their fat wives. But this Michigan Boulevard, unfinished +as Chicago itself, shifting and changing daily, still manages to take on +a certain form and rugged beauty. It has about it a gracious breadth. As +you turn into it from the crash and thunder of Wabash there comes to you +a sense of peace. That's the sweep of it, and the lake just beyond, for +Michigan avenue is a one-side street. It's west side is a sheer mountain +wall of office buildings, clubs, and hotels, whose ground floors are +fascinating with specialty shops. A milliner tantalizes the passer-by +with a single hat stuck knowingly on a carved stick. An art store shows +two etchings, and a vase. A jeweler's window holds square blobs of +emeralds, on velvet, and perhaps a gold mesh bag, sprawling limp and +invertebrate, or a diamond and platinum la valliere, chastely barbaric. +Past these windows, from Randolph to Twelfth surges the crowd: matinee +girls, all white fox, and giggles and orchids; wise-eyed saleswomen from +the smart specialty shops, dressed in next week's mode; art students, +hugging their precious flat packages under their arms; immigrants, +in corduroys and shawls, just landed at the Twelfth street station; +sightseeing families, dazed and weary, from Kansas; tailored and sabled +Lake Shore Drive dwellers; convention delegates spilling out of the +Auditorium hotel, red-faced, hoarse, with satin badges pinned on their +coats, and their hats (the wrong kind) stuck far back on their heads; +music students to whom Michigan Avenue means the Fine Arts Building. +There you have the west side. But just across the street the walk is +as deserted as though a pestilence lurked there. Here the Art Institute +rears its smoke-blackened face, and Grant Park's greenery struggles +bravely against the poisonous breath of the Illinois Central engines. + +Just below Twelfth street block after block shows the solid plate glass +of the automobile shops, their glittering wares displayed against an +absurd background of oriental rugs, Tiffany lamps, potted plants, and +mahogany. In the windows pose the salesmen, no less sleek and glittering +than their wares. Just below these, for a block or two, rows of sinister +looking houses, fallen into decay, with slatternly women lolling +at their windows, and gas jets flaring blue in dim hallways. Below +Eighteenth still another change, where the fat stone mansions of +Chicago's old families (save the mark!) hide their diminished heads +behind signs that read: + +"Marguerite. Robes et Manteaux." And, "Smolkin. Tailor." + +Now, you know that women buyers for mail order houses do not spend their +Saturday afternoons and Sundays thus, prowling about a city's streets. +Fanny Brandeis knew it too, in her heart. She knew that the Ella +Monahans of her world spent their holidays in stayless relaxation, +manicuring, mending a bit, skimming the Sunday papers, massaging +crows'-feet somewhat futilely. She knew that women buyers do not, as a +rule, catch their breath with delight at sight of the pock-marked old +Field Columbian museum in Jackson Park, softened and beautified by the +kindly gray chiffon of the lake mist, and tinted by the rouge of the +sunset glow, so that it is a thing of spectral loveliness. Successful +mercantile women, seeing the furnace glare of the South Chicago steel +mills flaring a sullen red against the lowering sky, do not draw a +disquieting mental picture of men toiling there, naked to the waist, and +glistening with sweat in the devouring heat of the fires. + +I don't know how she tricked herself. I suppose she said it was the +city's appeal to the country dweller, but she lied, and she knew she was +lying. She must have known it was the spirit of Molly Brandeis in her, +and of Molly Brandeis' mother, and of her mother's mother's mother, +down the centuries to Sarah; repressed women, suffering women, troubled, +patient, nomadic women, struggling now in her for expression. + +And Fanny Brandeis went doggedly on, buying and selling infants' wear, +and doing it expertly. Her office desk would have interested you. It was +so likely to be littered with the most appealing bits of apparel--a +pair of tiny, crocheted bootees, pink and white; a sturdy linen smock; a +silken hood so small that one's doubled fist filled it. + +The new catalogue was on the presses. Fanny had slaved over it, hampered +by Slosson. Fenger had given her practically a free hand. Results would +not come in for many days. The Christmas trade would not tell the +tale, for that was always a time of abnormal business. The dull season +following the holiday rush would show the real returns. Slosson was +discouragement itself. His attitude was not resentful; it was pitying, +and that frightened Fanny. She wished that he would storm a little. Then +she read her department catalogue proof sheets, and these reassured her. +They were attractive. And the new baby book had turned out very well, +with a colored cover that would appeal to any one who had ever been or +seen a baby. + +September brought a letter from Theodore. A letter from Theodore meant +just one thing. Fanny hesitated a moment before opening it. She always +hesitated before opening Theodore's letters. While she hesitated the old +struggle would rage in her. + +"I don't owe him anything," the thing within her would say. "God knows I +don't. What have I done all my life but give, and give, and give to him! +I'm a woman. He's a man. Let him work with his hands, as I do. He's had +his share. More than his share." + +Nevertheless she had sent him one thousand of the six thousand her +mother had bequeathed to her. She didn't want to do it. She fought doing +it. But she did it. + +Now, as she held this last letter in her hands, and stared at the +Bavarian stamp, she said to herself: + +"He wants something. Money. If I send him some I can't have that new +tailor suit, or the furs. And I need them. I'm going to have them." + +She tore open the letter. + +"Dear Old Fan: + +"Olga and I are back in Munich, as you see. I think we'll be here all +winter, though Olga hates it. She says it isn't lustig. Well, it isn't +Vienna, but I think there's a chance for a class here of American +pupils. Munich's swarming with Americans--whole families who come here +to live for a year or two. I think I might get together a very decent +class, backed by Auer's recommendations. Teaching! Good God, how I hate +it! But Auer is planning a series of twenty concerts for me. They ought +to be a success, if slaving can do it. I worked six hours a day all +summer. I wanted to spend the summer--most of it, that is--in Holzhausen +Am Ammersee, which is a little village, or artist's colony in the +valley, an hour's ride from here, and within sight of the Bavarian Alps. +We had Kurt Stein's little villa for almost nothing. But Olga was bored, +and she wasn't well, poor girl, so we went to Interlaken and it was +awful. And that brings me to what I want to tell you. + +"There's going to be a baby. No use saying I'm glad, because I'm not, +and neither is Olga. About February, I think. Olga has been simply +wretched, but the doctor says she'll feel better from now on. The truth +of it is she needs a lot of things and I can't give them to her. I told +you I'd been working on this concerto of mine. Sometimes I think it's +the real thing, if only I could get the leisure and the peace of mind +I need to work on it. You don't know what it means to be eaten up with +ambition and to be handicapped." + +"Oh, don't I!" said Fanny Brandeis, between her teeth, and crumpled the +letter in her strong fingers. "Don't I!" She got up from her chair and +began to walk up and down her little office, up and down. A man often +works off his feelings thus; a woman rarely. Fenger, who had not been +twice in her office since her coming to the Haynes-Cooper plant, chose +this moment to visit her, his hands full of papers, his head full of +plans. He sensed something wrong at once, as a highly organized human +instrument responds to a similarly constructed one. + +"What's wrong, girl?" + +"Everything. And don't call me girl." + +Fenger saw the letter crushed in her hand. + +"Brother?" She had told him about Theodore and he had been tremendously +interested. + +"Yes." + +"Money again, I suppose?" + +"Yes, but----" + +"You know your salary's going up, after Christmas." + +"Catalogue or no catalogue?" + +"Catalogue or no catalogue." + +"Why?" + +"Because you've earned it." + +Fanny faced him squarely. "I know that Haynes-Cooper isn't exactly a +philanthropic institution. A salary raise here usually means a battle. +I've only been here three months." Fenger seated himself in the chair +beside her desk and ran a cool finger through the sheaf of papers in his +hand. "My dear girl--I beg your pardon. I forgot. My good woman +then--if you like that better--you've transfused red blood into a dying +department. It may suffer a relapse after Christmas, but I don't think +so. That's why you're getting more money, and not because I happen to be +tremendously interested in you, personally." + +Fanny's face flamed scarlet. "I didn't mean that." + +"Yes you did. Here are those comparative lists you sent me. If I didn't +know Slosson to be as honest as Old Dog Tray I'd think he had been +selling us to the manufacturers. No wonder this department hasn't paid. +He's been giving 'em top prices for shoddy. Now what's this new plan of +yours?" + +In an instant Fanny forgot about Theodore, the new winter suit and furs, +everything but the idea that was clamoring to be born. She sat at her +desk, her fingers folding and unfolding a bit of paper, her face all +light and animation as she talked. + +"My idea is to have a person known as a selector for each important +department. It would mean a boiling down of the products of every +manufacturer we deal with, and skimming the cream off the top. As it is +now a department buyer has to do the selecting and buying too. He can't +do both and get results. We ought to set aside an entire floor for the +display of manufacturers' samples. The selector would make his choice +among these, six months in advance of the season. The selector would +go to the eastern markets too, of course. Not to buy. Merely to select. +Then, with the line chosen as far as style, quality, and value +is concerned, the buyer would be free to deal directly with the +manufacturer as to quantity, time, and all that. You know as well as I +that that's enough of a job for any one person, with the labor situation +what it is. He wouldn't need to bother about styles or colors, or any of +that. It would all have been done for him. The selector would have the +real responsibility. Don't you see the simplicity of it, and the way it +would grease the entire machinery?" + +Something very like jealousy came into Michael Fenger's face as he +looked at her. But it was gone in an instant. "Gad! You'll have my job +away from me in two years. You're a super-woman, do you know that?" + +"Super nothing! It's just a perfectly good idea, founded on common sense +and economy." + +"M-m-m, but that's all Columbus had in mind when he started out to find +a short cut to India." + +Fanny laughed out at that. "Yes, but see where he landed!" + +But Fenger was serious. "We'll have to have a meeting on this. Are you +prepared to go into detail on it, before Mr. Haynes and the two Coopers, +at a real meeting in a real mahogany directors' room? Wednesday, say?" + +"I think so." + +Fenger got up. "Look here, Miss Brandeis. You need a day in the country. +Why don't you run up to your home town over Sunday? Wisconsin, wasn't +it?" + +"Oh, no! No. I mean yes it was Wisconsin, but no I don't want to go." + +"Then let me send you my car." + +"Car! No, thanks. That's not my idea of the country." + +"It was just a suggestion. What do you call going to the country, then?" + +"Tramping all day, and getting lost, if possible. Lying down under +a tree for hours, and letting the ants amble over you. Dreaming. And +coming back tired, hungry, dusty, and refreshed." + +"It sounds awfully uncomfortable. But I wish you'd try it, this week." + +"Do I look such a wreck?" Fanny demanded, rather pettishly. + +"You!" Fenger's voice was vibrant. "You're the most splendidly alive +looking woman I ever saw. When you came into my office that first day +you seemed to spark with health, and repressed energy, and electricity, +so that you radiated them. People who can do that, stimulate. That's +what you are to me--a stimulant." + +What can one do with a man who talks like that? After all, what he said +was harmless enough. His tone was quietly sincere. One can't resent an +expression of the eyes. Then, too, just as she made up her mind to be +angry she remembered the limp and querulous Mrs. Fenger, and the valve +and the scarf. And her anger became pity. There flashed back to her +the illuminating bit of conversation with which Fascinating Facts had +regaled her on the homeward drive that night of the tea. + +"Nice chap, Fenger. And a wiz in business. Get's a king's salary; Must +be hell for a man to be tied, hand and foot, the way he is." + +"Tied?" + +"Mrs. Fenger's a semi-invalid. At that I don't believe she's as helpless +as she seems. I think she just holds him by that shawl of hers, that's +forever slipping. You know he was a machine boy in her father's woolen +mill. She met him after he'd worked his way up to an office job. He has +forged ahead like a locomotive ever since." + +That had been their conversation, gossipy, but tremendously enlightening +for Fanny. She looked up at him now. + +"Thanks for the vacation suggestion. I may go off somewhere. Just a +last-minute leap. It usually turns out better, that way. I'll be ready +for the Wednesday discussion." + +She sounded very final and busy. The crumpled letter lay on her desk. +She smoothed it out, and the crumple transferred itself to her forehead. +Fenger stood a moment, looking down at her. Then he turned, abruptly and +left the office. Fanny did not look up. + +That was Friday. On Saturday her vacation took a personally conducted +turn. She had planned to get away at noon, as most office heads did on +Saturday, during the warm weather. When her 'phone rang at eleven she +answered it mechanically as does one whose telephone calls mean a row +with a tardy manufacturer, an argument with a merchandise man, or a +catalogue query from the printer's. + +The name that came to her over the telephone conveyed nothing to her. + +"Who?" Again the name. "Heyl?" She repeated the name uncertainly. "I'm +afraid I--O, of course! Clarence Heyl. Howdy-do." + +"I want to see you," said the voice, promptly. + +There rose up in Fanny's mind a cruelly clear picture of the little, +sallow, sniveling school boy of her girlhood. The little boy with the +big glasses and the shiny shoes, and the weak lungs. + +"Sorry," she replied, promptly, "but I'm afraid it's impossible. I'm +leaving the office early, and I'm swamped." Which was a lie. + +"This evening?" + +"I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a rule." + +"Too tired to drive?" + +"I'm afraid so." + +A brief silence. Then, "I'm coming out there to see you." + +"Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl. I'm terribly +sorry, but I can't----" + +"Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you it will be +over your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him. I'm coming. Good-by." + +"Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!" + +A jiggling of the hook. "Number, please?" droned the voice of the +operator. + +Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her work, lips +compressed, a frown forming a double cleft between her eyes. + +Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in his card, as +she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that it was the wrong kind of +card. She would show him what happened to pushers who pestered business +women during office hours. + +"Bring him in in twenty minutes," she said, grimly. Her office boy (and +slave) always took his cue from her. She hoped he wouldn't be too rude +to Heyl, and turned back to her work again. Thirty-nine seconds later +Clarence Heyl walked in. + +"Hello, Fan!" he said, and had her limp hand in a grip that made her +wince. + +"But I told----" + +"Yes, I know. But he's a crushed and broken office boy by now. I had to +be real harsh with him." + +Fanny stood up, really angry now. She looked up at Clarence Heyl, and +her eyes were flashing. Clarence Heyl looked down at her, and his +eyes were the keenest, kindest, most gently humorous eyes she had ever +encountered. You know that picture of Lincoln that shows us his eyes +with much that expression in them? That's as near as I can come to +conveying to you the whimsical pathos in this man. They were the eyes of +a lonely little boy grown up. And they had seen much in the process. + +Fanny felt her little blaze of anger flicker and die. + +"That's the girl," said Heyl, and patted her hand. "You'll like +me--presently. After you've forgotten about that sniveling kid you +hated." He stepped back a pace and threw back his coat senatorially. +"How do I look?" he demanded. + +"Look?" repeated Fanny, feebly. + +"I've been hours preparing for this. Years! And now something tells +me--This tie, for instance." + +Fanny bit her lip in a vain effort to retain her solemnity. Then she +gave it up and giggled, frankly. "Well, since you ask me, that tie!----" + +"What's the matter with it?" + +Fanny giggled again. "It's red, that's what." + +"Well, what of it! Red's all right. I've always considered red one of +our leading colors." + +"But you can't wear it." + +"Can't! Why can't I?" + +"Because you're the brunest kind of brunette. And dark people have a +special curse hanging over them that makes them want to wear red. +It's fatal. That tie makes you look like a Mafia murderer dressed for +business." + +"I knew it," groaned Heyl. "Something told me." He sank into a chair +at the side of her desk, a picture of mock dejection. "And I chose it. +Deliberately. I had black ones, and blue ones, and green ones. And I +chose--this." He covered his face with a shaking hand. + +Fanny Brandeis leaned back in her chair, and laughed, and laughed, and +laughed. Surely she hadn't laughed like that in a year at least. + +"You're a madman," she said, finally. + +At that Heyl looked up with his singularly winning smile. "But +different. Concede that, Fanny. Be fair, now. Refreshingly different." + +"Different," said Fanny, "doesn't begin to cover it. Well, now you're +here, tell me what you're doing here." + +"Seeing you." + +"I mean here, in Chicago." + +"So do I. I'm on my way from Winnebago to New York, and I'm in Chicago +to see Fanny Brandeis." + +"Don't expect me to believe that." + +Heyl put an arm on Fanny's desk and learned forward, his face very +earnest. "I do expect you to believe it. I expect you to believe +everything I say to you. Not only that, I expect you not to be surprised +at anything I say. I've done such a mass of private thinking about you +in the last ten years that I'm likely to forget I've scarcely seen you +in that time. Just remember, will you, that like the girl in the sob +song, `You made me what I am to-day?'" + +"I! You're being humorous again." + +"Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly, sickly little boy +you fought for in the street, that day in Winnebago, showed every sign +of growing up a cowardly, sickly man. You're the real reason for his +not doing so. Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, +I guess. Sickly ones are apt to be. I worshiped you and hated you from +that day. Worshiped you for the blazing, generous, whole-souled little +devil of a spitfire that you were. Hated you because--well, what boy +wouldn't hate a girl who had to fight for him. Gosh! It makes me sick to +think of it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!" + +"What nonsense! I'd forgotten all about it." + +"No you hadn't. Tell me, what flashed into your mind when you saw me in +Temple that night before you left Winnebago? The truth, now." + +She learned, later, that people did not lie to him. She tried it now, +and found herself saying, rather shamefacedly, "I thought `Why, it's +Clarence Heyl, the Cowardy-Cat!'" + +"There! That's why I'm here to-day. I knew you were thinking that. I +knew it all the time I was in Colorado, growing up from a sickly kid, +with a bum lung, to a heap big strong man. It forced me to do things I +was afraid to do. It goaded me on to stunts at the very thought of which +I'd break out in a clammy sweat. Don't you see how I'll have to turn +handsprings in front of you, like the school-boy in the McCutcheon +cartoon? Don't you see how I'll have to flex my muscles--like this--to +show you how strong I am? I may even have to beat you, eventually. Why, +child, I've chummed with lions, and bears, and wolves, and everything, +because of you, you little devil in the red cap! I've climbed +unclimbable mountains. I've frozen my feet in blizzards. I've wandered +for days on a mountain top, lost, living on dried currants and milk +chocolate,--and Lord! how I hate milk chocolate! I've dodged snowslides, +and slept in trees; I've endured cold, and hunger and thirst, through +you. It took me years to get used to the idea of passing a timber wolf +without looking around, but I learned to do it--because of you. You made +me. They sent me to Colorado, a lonely kid, with a pretty fair chance +of dying, and I would have, if it hadn't been for you. There! How's that +for a burst of speech, young woman! And wait a minute. Remember, too, my +name was Clarence. I had that to live down." + +Fanny was staring at him eyes round, lips parted. "But why?" she said, +faintly. "Why?" + +Heyl smiled that singularly winning smile of his. "Since you force me to +it, I think I'm in love with that little, warm-hearted spitfire in the +red cap. That's why." + +Fanny sat forward now. She had been leaning back in her chair, her +hands grasping its arms, her face a lovely, mobile thing, across which +laughter, and pity, and sympathy and surprise rippled and played. It +hardened now, and set. She looked down at her hands, and clasped them +in her lap, then up at him. "In that case, you can forsake the strenuous +life with a free conscience. You need never climb another mountain, or +wrestle with another--er--hippopotamus. That little girl in the red cap +is dead." + +"Dead?" + +"Yes. She died a year ago. If the one who has taken her place were to +pass you on the street today, and see you beset by forty thieves, she'd +not even stop. Not she. She'd say, `Let him fight it out alone. It's +none of your business. You've got your own fights to handle.'" + +"Why--Fanny. You don't mean that, do you? What could have made her like +that?" + +"She just discovered that fighting for others didn't pay. She just +happened to know some one else who had done that all her life and--it +killed her." + +"Her mother?" + +"Yes." + +A little silence. "Fanny, let's play outdoors tomorrow, will you? All +day." + +Involuntarily Fanny glanced around the room. Papers, catalogues, files, +desk, chair, typewriter. "I'm afraid I've forgotten how." + +"I'll teach you. You look as if you could stand a little of it." + +"I must be a pretty sight. You're the second man to tell me that in two +days." + +Heyl leaned forward a little. "That so? Who's the other one?" + +"Fenger, the General Manager." + +"Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I don't know what +he had in mind, but you're going to spend Sunday at the dunes of Indiana +with me." + +"Dunes? Of Indiana?" + +"There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In September +that combination of yellow sand, and blue lake, and the woods beyond +is--well, you'll see what it is. It's only a little more than an hour's +ride by train. And it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, +Fan." He stood up. "I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, or +thereabouts. That's early for Sunday, but it's going to be worth it." + +"I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to. I----" + +"I promise not to lecture on Nature, if that's what's worrying you." He +took her hand in a parting grip. "Bring some sandwiches, will you? Quite +a lot of 'em. I'll have some other stuff in my rucksack. And wear some +clothes you don't mind wrecking. I suppose you haven't got a red tam o' +shanter?" + +"Heavens, no!" + +"I just thought it might help to keep me humble." He was at the door, +and so was she, somehow, her hand still in his. "Eight o'clock. How do +you stand it in this place, Fan? Oh, well--I'll find that out to-morrow. +Good-by." + +Fanny went back to her desk and papers. The room seemed all at once +impossibly stuffy, her papers and letters dry, meaningless things. In +the next office, separated from her by a partition half glass, half +wood, she saw the top of Slosson's bald head as he stood up to shut +his old-fashioned roll-top desk. He was leaving. She looked out of the +window. Ella Monahan, in hat and suit, passed and came back to poke her +head in the door. + +"Run along!" she said. "It's Saturday afternoon. You'll work overtime +enough when the Christmas rush begins. Come on, child, and call it a +day!" + +And Fanny gathered papers, figures, catalogue proofs into a glorious +heap, thrust them into a drawer, locked the drawer, pushed back her +chair, and came. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +Fanny told herself, before she went to bed Saturday night, that she +hoped it would rain Sunday morning from seven to twelve. But when +Princess woke her at seven-thirty, as per instructions left in penciled +scrawl on the kitchen table, she turned to the window at once, and was +glad, somehow, to find it sun-flooded. Princess, if you're mystified, +was royal in name only--a biscuit-tinted lady, with a very black and +no-account husband whose habits made it necessary for Princess to let +herself into Fanny's four-room flat at seven every morning, and let +herself out at eight every evening. She had an incredibly soft and +musical voice, had Princess, and a cooking hand. She kept Fanny mended, +fed and comfortable, and her only cross was that Fanny's taste in +blouses (ultimately her property) ran to the severe and tailored. + +"Mawnin', Miss Fanny. There's a gep'mun waitin' to see yo'." + +Fanny choked on a yawn. "A what!" + +"Gep'mun. Says yo-all goin' picnickin'. He's in the settin' room, +a-lookin' at yo' pictchah papahs. Will Ah fry yo' up a li'l chicken to +pack along? San'wiches ain't no eatin' fo' Sunday." + +Fanny flung back her covers, swung around to the side of the bed, and +stood up, all, seemingly, in one sweeping movement. "Do you mean to tell +me he's in there, now?" + +From the sitting room. "I think I ought to tell you I can hear +everything you're saying. Say. Fanny, those sketches of yours +are----Why, Gee Whiz! I didn't know you did that kind of thing. This one +here, with that girl's face in the crowd----" + +"For heaven's sake!" Fanny demanded, "what are you doing here at +seven-thirty? And I don't allow people to look at those sketches. You +said eight-thirty." + +"I was afraid you'd change your mind, or something. Besides, it's +now twenty-two minutes to eight. And will you tell the lady that's a +wonderful idea about the chicken? Only she'd better start now." + +Goaded by time bulletins shouted through the closed door, Fanny found +herself tubbed, clothed, and ready for breakfast by eight-ten. When +she opened the door Clarence was standing in the center of her little +sitting room, waiting, a sheaf of loose sketches in his hand. + +"Say, look here! These are the real thing. Why, they're great! They get +you. This old geezer with the beard, selling fish and looking like one +of the Disciples. And this. What the devil are you doing in a mail order +house, or whatever it is? Tell me that! When you can draw like this!" + +"Good morning," said Fanny, calmly. "And I'll tell you nothing before +breakfast. The one thing that interests me this moment is hot coffee. +Will you have some breakfast? Oh, well, a second one won't hurt you. +You must have got up at three, or thereabouts." She went toward the tiny +kitchen. "Never mind, Princess. I'll wait on myself. You go on with that +chicken." + +Princess was the kind of person who can fry a chicken, wrap it in +cool, crisp lettuce leaves, box it, cut sandwiches, and come out of the +process with an unruffled temper and an immaculate kitchen. Thanks to +her, Fanny and Heyl found themselves on the eight fifty-three train, +bound for the dunes. + +Clarence swung his rucksack up to the bundle rack. He took off his cap, +and stuffed it into his pocket. He was grinning like a schoolboy. Fanny +turned from the window and smiled at what she saw in his face. At that +he gave an absurd little bounce in his place, like an overgrown child, +and reached over and patted her hand. + +"I've dreamed of this for years." + +"You're just fourteen, going on fifteen," Fanny reproved him. + +"I know it. And it's great! Won't you be, too? Forget you're a fair +financier, or whatever they call it. Forget you earn more in a month +than I do in six. Relax. Unbend. Loosen up. Don't assume that hardshell +air with me. Just remember that I knew you when the frill of your +panties showed below your skirt." + +"Clarence Heyl!" + +But he was leaning past her, and pointing out of the window. "See that +curtain of smoke off there? That's the South Chicago, and the Hammond +and Gary steel mills. Wait till you see those smokestacks against the +sky, and the iron scaffoldings that look like giant lacework, and the +slag heaps, and the coal piles, and those huge, grim tanks. Gad! It's +awful and beautiful. Like the things Pennell does." "I came out here on +the street car one day," said Fanny, quietly. "One Sunday." + +"You did!" He stared at her. + +"It was hot, and they were all spilling out into the street. You know, +the women in wrappers, just blobs of flesh trying to get cool. And the +young girls in their pink silk dresses and white shoes, and the boys on +the street corners, calling to them. Babies all over the sidewalks and +streets, and the men who weren't in the mills--you know how they look in +their Sunday shirtsleeves, with their flat faces, and high cheekbones, +and their great brown hands with the broken nails. Hunkies. Well, at +five the motor cars began whizzing by from the country roads back +to Chicago. You have to go back that way. Just then the five o'clock +whistles blew and the day shift came off. There was a great army of +them, clumping down the road the way they do. Their shoulders were +slack, and their lunch pails dangled, empty, and they were wet and +reeking with sweat. The motor cars were full of wild phlox and daisies +and spiderwort." + +Clarence was still turned sideways, looking at her. "Get a picture of +it?" + +"Yes. I tried, at least." + +"Is that the way you usually spend your Sundays?" + +"Well, I--I like snooping about." + +"M-m," mused Clarence. Then, "How's business, Fanny?" + +"Business?" You could almost feel her mind jerk back. "Oh, let's not +talk about business on Sunday." + +"I thought so," said Clarence, enigmatically. "Now listen to me, Fanny." + +"I'll listen," interrupted she, "if you'll talk about yourself. I +want to know what you're doing, and why you're going to New York. What +business can a naturalist have in New York, anyway?" + +"I didn't intend to be a naturalist. You can tell that by looking at me. +But you can't have your very nose rubbed up against trees, and rocks, +and mountains, and snow for years and years without learning something +about 'em. There were whole weeks when I hadn't anything to chum with +but a timber-line pine and an odd assortment of mountain peaks. We just +had to get acquainted." + +"But you're going back, aren't you? Don't they talk about the spell of +the mountains, or some such thing?" "They do. And they're right. And +I've got to have them six months in the year, at least. But I'm going +to try spending the other six in the bosom of the human race. Not only +that, I'm going to write about it. Writing's my job, really. At least, +it's the thing I like best." + +"Nature?" + +"Human nature. I went out to Colorado just a lonesome little kid with +a bum lung. The lung's all right, but I never did quite get over the +other. Two years ago, in the mountains, I met Carl Lasker, who owns +the New York Star. It's said to be the greatest morning paper in the +country. Lasker's a genius. And he fries the best bacon I ever tasted. +I took him on a four-weeks' horseback trip through the mountains. We got +pretty well acquainted. At the end of it he offered me a job. You see, +I'd never seen a chorus girl, or the Woolworth building, or a cabaret, +or a broiled lobster, or a subway. But I was interested and curious +about all of them. And Lasker said, `A man who can humanize a rock, or +a tree, or a chipmunk ought to be able to make even those things seem +human. You've got what they call the fresh viewpoint. New York's full of +people with a scum over their eyes, but a lot of them came to New York +from Winnebago, or towns just like it, and you'd be surprised at the +number of them who still get their home town paper. One day, when I +came into Lee Kohl's office, with stars, and leading men, and all that +waiting outside to see him, he was sitting with his feet on the desk +reading the Sheffield, Illinois, Gazette.' You see, the thing he thinks +I can do is to give them a picture of New York as they used to see it, +before they got color blind. A column or so a day, about anything that +hits me. How does that strike you as a job for a naturalist?" + +"It's a job for a human naturalist. I think you'll cover it." + +If you know the dunes, which you probably don't, you know why they did +not get off at Millers, with the crowd, but rode on until they were +free of the Sunday picnickers. Then they got off, and walked across the +tracks, past saloons, and a few huddled houses, hideous in yellow paint, +and on, and on down a road that seemed endless. A stretch of cinders, +then dust, a rather stiff little hill, a great length of yellow sand +and--the lake! We say, the lake! like that, with an exclamation point +after it, because it wasn't at all the Lake Michigan that Chicagoans +know. This vast blue glory bore no relation to the sullen, gray, turbid +thing that the city calls the lake. It was all the blues of which you've +ever heard, and every passing cloud gave it a new shade. Sapphire. No, +cobalt. No, that's too cold. Mediterranean. Turquoise. And the sand in +golden contrast. Miles of sand along the beach, and back of that the +dunes. Now, any dictionary or Scotchman will tell you that a dune is +a hill of loose sand. But these dunes are done in American fashion, +lavishly. Mountains of sand, as far as the eye can see, and on the top +of them, incredibly, great pine trees that clutch at their perilous, +shifting foothold with frantic root-toes. And behind that, still more +incredibly, the woods, filled with wild flowers, with strange growths +found nowhere else in the whole land, with trees, and vines, and brush, +and always the pungent scent of the pines. And there you have the +dunes--blue lake, golden sand-hills, green forest, in one. + +Fanny and Clarence stood there on the sand, in silence, two ridiculously +diminutive figures in that great wilderness of beauty. I wish I could +get to you, somehow, the clear sparkle of it, the brilliance of it, and +yet the peace of it. They stood there a long while, those two, without +speaking. Then Fanny shut her eyes, and I think her lower lip trembled +just a little. And Clarence patted her hand just twice. + +"I thank you," he said, "in the name of that much-abused lady known as +Nature." + +Said Fanny, "I want to scramble up to the top of one of those dunes--the +high one--and just sit there." + +And that is what they did. A poor enough Sunday, I suppose, in the minds +of those of you who spend yours golfing at the club, or motoring along +grease-soaked roads that lead to a shore dinner and a ukulele band. But +it turned Fanny Brandeis back a dozen years or more, so that she was +again the little girl whose heart had ached at sight of the pale rose +and, orange of the Wisconsin winter sunsets. She forgot all about +layettes, and obstetrical outfits, and flannel bands, and safety pins; +her mind was a blank in the matter of bootees, and catalogues, and our +No. 29E8347, and those hungry bins that always yawned for more. She +forgot about Michael Fenger, and Theodore, and the new furs. They +scrambled up dunes, digging into the treacherous sand with heels, toes, +and the side of the foot, and clutching at fickle roots with frantic +fingers. Forward a step, and back two--that's dune climbing. A +back-breaking business, unless you're young and strong, as were these +two. They explored the woods, and Heyl had a fascinating way of talking +about stones and shrubs and trees as if they were endowed with human +qualities--as indeed they were for him. They found a hill-slope carpeted +with dwarf huckleberry plants, still bearing tiny clusters of the +blue-black fruit. Fanny's heart was pounding, her lungs ached, her +cheeks were scarlet, her eyes shining. Heyl, steel-muscled, took the +hills like a chamois. Once they crossed hands atop a dune and literally +skated down it, right, left, right, left, shrieking with laughter, and +ending in a heap at the bottom. "In the name of all that's idiotic!" +shouted Heyl. "Silk stockings! What in thunder made you wear silk +stockings! At the sand dunes! Gosh!" + +They ate their dinner in olympic splendor, atop a dune. Heyl produced +unexpected things from the rucksack--things that ranged all the way from +milk chocolate to literature, and from grape juice to cigarettes. +They ate ravenously, but at Heyl's thrifty suggestion they saved a few +sandwiches for the late afternoon. It was he, too, who made a little +bonfire of papers, crusts, and bones, as is the cleanly habit of your +true woodsman. Then they stretched out, full length, in the noon sun, on +the warm, clean sand. + +"What's your best price on one-sixth doz. flannel vests?" inquired Heyl. + +And, "Oh, shut up!" said Fanny, elegantly. Heyl laughed as one who hugs +a secret. + +"We'll work our way down the beach," he announced, "toward Millers. +There'll be northern lights to-night; did you know that? Want to stay +and see them?" + +"Do I want to! I won't go home till I have." + +These were the things they did on that holiday; childish, happy, tiring +things, such as people do who love the outdoors. + +The charm of Clarence Heyl--for he had charm--is difficult to transmit. +His lovableness and appeal lay in his simplicity. It was not so much +what he said as in what he didn't say. He was staring unwinkingly now at +the sunset that had suddenly burst upon them. His were the eyes of one +accustomed to the silent distances. + +"Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that color?" said +Fanny, her face toward the blaze. + +"Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more subdued, +myself." They were atop a dune, and he stretched himself flat on the +sand, still keeping his bright brown eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat +up, excitedly. "Heh, try that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing. +Like this. Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in. +And you can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a balloon on a +string." + +They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the orange +faded to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to mauve, to gray. +The first pale star came out, and the brazen lights of Gary, far to the +north, defied it. Fanny sat up with a sigh and a little shiver. + +"Fasten up that sweater around your throat," said Heyl. "Got a pin?" +They munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by now, and drank the last +of the grape juice. "We'll have a bite of hot supper in town, at a +restaurant that doesn't mind Sunday trampers. Come on, Fan. We'll start +down the beach until the northern lights begin to show." + +"It's been the most accommodating day," murmured Fanny. "Sunshine, +sunset, northern lights, everything. If we were to demand a rainbow and +an eclipse they'd turn those on, too." + +They started to walk down the beach in the twilight, keeping close to +the water's edge where the sand was moist and firm. It was hard going. +They plunged along arm in arm, in silence. Now and again they stopped, +with one accord, and looked out over the great gray expanse that lay +before them, and then up at the hills and the pines etched in black +against the sky. Nothing competitive here, Fanny thought, and took a +deep breath. She thought of to-morrow's work, with day after to-morrow's +biting and snapping at its heels. + +Clarence seemed to sense her thoughts. "Doesn't this make you feel you +want to get away from those damned bins that you're forever feeding? +I watched those boys for a minute, the other day, outside your office. +Jove!" + +Fanny dug a heel into the sand, savagely. "Some days I feel that I've +got to walk out of the office, and down the street, without a hat, and +on, and on, walking and walking, and running now and then, till I come +to the horizon. That's how I feel, some days." + +"Then some day, Fanny, that feeling will get too strong for you, and +you'll do it. Now listen to me. Tuck this away in your subconscious +mind, and leave it there until you need it. When that time comes get on +a train for Denver. From Denver take another to Estes Park. That's the +Rocky Mountains, and they're your destination, because that's where +the horizon lives and has its being. When you get there ask for Heyl's +place. They'll just hand you from one to the other, gently, until you +get there. I may be there, but more likely I shan't. The key's in the +mail box, tied to a string. You'll find a fire already laid, in the +fireplace, with fat pine knots that will blaze up at the touch of a +match. My books are there, along the walls. The bedding's in the cedar +chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And +the mountains are there, girl, to make you clean and whole again. And +the pines that are nature's prophylactic brushes. And the sky. And +peace. That sounds like a railway folder, but it's true. I know." They +trudged along in silence for a little while. "Got that?" + +"M-m," replied Fanny, disinterestedly, without looking at him. + +Heyl's jaw set. You could see the muscles show white for an instant. +Then he said: "It has been a wonderful day, Fanny, but you haven't told +me a thing about yourself. I'd like to know about your work. I'd like to +know what you're doing; what your plan is. You looked so darned +definite up there in that office. Whom do you play with? And who's this +Fenger--wasn't that the name?--who saw that you looked tired?" + +"All right, Clancy. I'll tell you all about it," Fanny agreed, briskly. + +"All right--who!" + +"Well, I can't call you Clarence. It doesn't fit. So just for the rest +of the day let's make it Clancy, even if you do look like one of the +minor Hebrew prophets, minus the beard." + +And so she began to tell him of her work and her aims. I think that she +had been craving just this chance to talk. That which she told him was, +unconsciously, a confession. She told him of Theodore and his marriage; +of her mother's death; of her coming to Haynes-Cooper, and the changes +she had brought about there. She showed him the infinite possibilities +for advancement there. Slosson she tossed aside. Then, rather haltingly, +she told him of Fenger, of his business genius, his magnetic qualities, +of his career. She even sketched a deft word-picture of the limp and +irritating Mrs. Fenger. + +"Is this Fenger in love with you?" asked Heyl, startlingly. + +Fanny recoiled at the idea with a primness that did credit to Winnebago. + +"Clancy! Please! He's married." + +"Now don't sneak, Fanny. And don't talk like an ingenue. So far, you've +outlined a life-plan that makes Becky Sharp look like a cooing dove. So +just answer this straight, will you?" + +"Why, I suppose I attract him, as any man of his sort, with a wife like +that, would be attracted to a healthily alert woman, whose ideas match +his. And I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that. It hurts." + +"I'm glad of that. I was afraid you'd passed that stage. Well now, how +about those sketches of yours? I suppose you know that they're as +good, in a crude, effective sort of way, as anything that's being done +to-day." + +"Oh, nonsense!" But then she stopped, suddenly, and put both hands on +his arm, and looked up at him, her face radiant in the gray twilight. +"Do you really think they're good!" + +"You bet they're good. There isn't a newspaper in the country that +couldn't use that kind of stuff. And there aren't three people in the +country who can do it. It isn't a case of being able to draw. It's being +able to see life in a peculiar light, and to throw that light so that +others get the glow. Those sketches I saw this morning are life, served +up raw. That's your gift, Fanny. Why the devil don't you use it!" + +But Fanny had got herself in hand again. "It isn't a gift," she said, +lightly. "It's just a little knack that amuses me. There's no money in +it. Besides, it's too late now. One's got to do a thing superlatively, +nowadays, to be recognized. I don't draw superlatively, but I do handle +infants' wear better than any woman I know. In two more years I'll be +getting ten thousand a year at Haynes-Cooper. In five years----" + +"Then what?" + +Fanny's hands became fists, gripping the power she craved. "Then I shall +have arrived. I shall be able to see the great and beautiful things of +this world, and mingle with the people who possess them." + +"When you might be making them yourself, you little fool. Don't glare at +me like that. I tell you that those pictures are the real expression +of you. That's why you turn to them as relief from the shop grind. You +can't help doing them. They're you." + +"I can stop if I want to. They amuse me, that's all." + +"You can't stop. It's in your blood. It's the Jew in you." + +"The----Here, I'll show you. I won't do another sketch for a year. I'll +prove to you that my ancestors' religion doesn't influence my work, or +my play." + +"Dear, you can't prove that, because the contrary has been proven long +ago. You yourself proved it when you did that sketch of the old fish +vender in the Ghetto. The one with the beard. It took a thousand years +of suffering and persecution and faith to stamp that look on his face, +and it took a thousand years to breed in you the genius to see it, and +put it down on paper. Fan, did you ever read Fishberg's book?" + +"No," said Fanny, low-voiced. + +"Sometime, when you can snatch a moment from the fascinations of the +mail order catalogue, read it. Fishberg says--I wish I could remember +his exact words--`It isn't the body that marks the Jew. It's his Soul. +The type is not anthropological, or physical; it's social or psychic. It +isn't the complexion, the nose, the lips, the head. It's his Soul which +betrays his faith. Centuries of Ghetto confinement, ostracism, ceaseless +suffering, have produced a psychic type. The thing that is stamped on +the Soul seeps through the veins and works its way magically to the +face----'" + +"But I don't want to talk about souls! Please! You're spoiling a +wonderful day." + +"And you're spoiling a wonderful life. I don't object to this driving +ambition in you. I don't say that you're wrong in wanting to make a +place for yourself in the world. But don't expect me to stand by and let +you trample over your own immortal soul to get there. Your head is busy +enough on this infants' wear job, but how about the rest of you--how +about You? What do you suppose all those years of work, and suppression, +and self-denial, and beauty-hunger there in Winnebago were meant for! +Not to develop the mail order business. They were given you so that you +might recognize hunger, and suppression, and self-denial in others. The +light in the face of that girl in the crowd pouring out of the plant. +What's that but the reflection of the light in you! I tell you, Fanny, +we Jews have got a money-grubbing, loud-talking, diamond-studded, +get-there-at-any-price reputation, and perhaps we deserve it. But every +now and then, out of the mass of us, one lifts his head and stands +erect, and the great white light is in his face. And that person has +suffered, for suffering breeds genius. It expands the soul just as +over-prosperity shrivels it. You see it all the way from Lew Fields to +Sarah Bernhardt; from Mendelssohn to Irving Berlin; from Mischa Elman +to Charlie Chaplin. You were a person set apart in Winnebago. Instead of +thanking your God for that, you set out to be something you aren't. No, +it's worse than that. You're trying not to be what you are. And it's +going to do for you." + +"Stop!" cried Fanny. "My head's whirling. It sounds like something out +of `Alice in Wonderland.'" + +"And you," retorted Heyl, "sound like some one who's afraid to talk or +think about herself. You're suppressing the thing that is you. You're +cutting yourself off from your own people--a dramatic, impulsive, +emotional people. By doing those things you're killing the goose that +lays the golden egg. What's that old copy-book line? `To thine own self +be true,' and the rest of it." + +"Yes; like Theodore, for example," sneered Fanny. + +At which unpleasant point Nature kindly supplied a diversion. Across +the black sky there shot two luminous shafts of lights. Northern lights, +pale sisters of the chromatic glory one sees in the far north, but still +weirdly beautiful. Fanny and Heyl stopped short, faces upturned. The +ghostly radiance wavered, expanded, glowed palely, like celestial +searchlights. Suddenly, from the tip of each shaft, there burst a +cluster of slender, pin-point lines, like aigrettes set in a band of +silver. Then these slowly wavered, faded, combined to form a third and +fourth slender shaft of light. It was like the radiance one sees in the +old pictures of the Holy Family. Together Fanny and Heyl watched it in +silence until the last pale glimmer faded and was gone, and only the +brazen lights of Gary, far, far down the beach, cast a fiery glow +against the sky. + +They sighed, simultaneously. Then they laughed, each at the other. + +"Curtain," said Fanny. They raced for the station, despite the sand. +Their car was filled with pudgy babies lying limp in parental arms; +with lunch baskets exuding the sickly scent of bananas; with disheveled +vandals whose moist palms grasped bunches of wilted wild flowers. Past +the belching chimneys of Gary, through South Chicago, the back yard of a +metropolis, past Jackson Park that breathed coolly upon them, and so to +the city again. They looked at it with the shock that comes to eyes +that have rested for hours on long stretches of sand and sky and water. +Monday, that had seemed so far away, became an actuality of to-morrow. + +Tired as they were, they stopped at one of those frank little +restaurants that brighten Chicago's drab side streets. Its windows were +full of pans that held baked beans, all crusty and brown, and falsely +tempting, and of baked apples swimming in a pool of syrup. These flanked +by ketchup bottles and geometrical pyramids of golden grape-fruit. + +Coffee and hot roast beef sandwiches, of course, in a place like that. +"And," added Fanny, "one of those baked apples. Just to prove they can't +be as good as they look." + +They weren't, but she was too hungry to care. Not too hungry, though, to +note with quick eye all that the little restaurant held of interest, nor +too sleepy to respond to the friendly waitress who, seeing their dusty +boots, and the sprig of sumac stuck in Fanny's coat, said, "My, it +must have been swell in the country today!" as her flapping napkin +precipitated crumbs into their laps. + +"It was," said Fanny, and smiled up at the girl with her generous, +flashing smile. "Here's a bit of it I brought back for you." And she +stuck the scarlet sumac sprig into the belt of the white apron. + +They finished the day incongruously by taking a taxi home, Fanny yawning +luxuriously all the way. "Do you know," she said, as they parted, "we've +talked about everything from souls to infants' wear. We're talked out. +It's a mercy you're going to New York. There won't be a next time." + +"Young woman," said Heyl, forcefully, "there will. That young devil +in the red tam isn't dead. She's alive. And kicking. There's a kick in +every one of those Chicago sketches in your portfolio upstairs. You said +she wouldn't fight anybody's battles to-day. You little idiot, she's +fighting one in each of those pictures, from the one showing that girl's +face in the crowd, to the old chap with the fish-stall. She'll never die +that one. Because she's the spirit. It's the other one who's dead--and +she doesn't know it. But some day she'll find herself buried. And I want +to be there to shovel on the dirt." + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +From the first of December the floor of the Haynes-Cooper mail room +looked like the New York Stock Exchange, after a panic. The aisles were +drifts of paper against which a squad of boys struggled as vainly as a +gang of snow-shovelers against a blizzard. The guide talked in terms of +tons of mail, instead of thousands. And smacked his lips after it. The +Ten Thousand were working at night now, stopping for a hasty bite of +supper at six, then back to desk, or bin or shelf until nine, so that +Oklahoma and Minnesota might have its Christmas box in time. + +Fanny Brandeis, working under the light of her green-shaded desk lamp, +wondered, a little bitterly, if Christmas would ever mean anything to +her but pressure, weariness, work. She told herself that she would not +think of that Christmas of one year ago. One year! As she glanced around +the orderly little office, and out to the stock room beyond, then back +to her desk again, she had an odd little feeling of unreality. Surely it +had been not one year, but many years--a lifetime--since she had elbowed +her way up and down those packed aisles of the busy little store in +Winnebago--she and that brisk, alert, courageous woman. + +"Mrs. Brandeis, lady wants to know if you can't put this blue satin +dress on the dark-haired doll, and the pink satin.... Well, I did tell +her, but she said for me to ask you, anyway." + +"Mis' Brandeis, this man says he paid a dollar down on a go-cart last +month and he wants to pay the rest and take it home with him." + +And then the reassuring, authoritative voice, "Coming! I'll be right +there." + +"Coming!" That had been her whole life. Service. And now she lay so +quietly beneath the snow of the bitter northern winter. + +At that point Fanny's fist would come down hard on her desk, and the +quick, indrawn breath of mutinous resentment would hiss through her +teeth. + +She kept away from the downtown shops and their crowds. She scowled at +sight of the holly and mistletoe wreaths, with their crimson streamers. +There was something almost ludicrous in the way she shut her eyes to the +holiday pageant all around her, and doubled and redoubled her work. It +seemed that she had a new scheme for her department every other day, and +every other one was a good one. + +Slosson had long ago abandoned the attempt to keep up with her. He did +not even resent her, as he had at first. "I'm a buyer," he said, rather +pathetically, "and a pret-ty good one, too. But I'm not a genius, and +I never will be. And I guess you've got to be a genius, these days, +to keep up. It used to be enough for an infants' wear buyer to +know muslins, cottons, woolens, silks, and embroideries. But that's +old-fashioned now. These days, when you hire an office boy you don't ask +him if he can read and write. You tell him he's got to have personality, +magnetism, and imagination. Makes me sick!" + +The Baby Book came off the presses and it was good. Even Slosson +admitted it, grudgingly. The cover was a sunny, breezy seashore picture, +all blue and gold, with plump, dimpled youngsters playing, digging in +the sand, romping (and wearing our No. 13E1269, etc., of course). Inside +were displayed the complete baby outfits, with a smiling mother, and a +chubby, crowing baby as a central picture, and each piece of each outfit +separately pictured. Just below this, the outfit number and price, and a +list of the pieces that went to make it up. From the emergency outfit at +$3.98 to the outfit de luxe (for Haynes-Cooper patrons) at $28.50, each +group was comprehensive, practical, complete. In the back of the book +was a personal service plea. "Use us," it said. "We are here to assist +you, not only in the matter of merchandise, but with information and +advice. Mothers in particular are in need of such service. This book +will save you weariness and worry. Use us." + +Fanny surveyed the book with pardonable pride. But she was not +satisfied. "We lack style," she said. "The practical garments are all +right. But what we need is a little snap. That means cut and line. And +I'm going to New York to get it." That had always been Slosson's work. + +She and Ella Monahan were to go to the eastern markets together. Ella +Monahan went to New York regularly every three weeks. Fanny had never +been east of Chicago. She envied Ella her knowledge of the New York +wholesalers and manufacturers. Ella had dropped into Fanny's office for +a brief moment. The two women had little in common, except their work, +but they got on very well, and each found the other educating. + +"Seems to me you're putting an awful lot into this," observed Ella +Monahan, her wise eyes on Fanny's rather tense face. + +"You've got to," replied Fanny, "to get anything out of it." + +"I guess you're right," Ella agreed, and laughed a rueful little laugh. +"I know I've given 'em everything I've got--and a few things I didn't +know I had. It's a queer game--life. Now if my old father hadn't run a +tannery in Racine, and if I hadn't run around there all the day, so that +I got so the smell and feel of leather and hides were part of me, why, +I'd never be buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper. And you----" + +"Brandeis' Bazaar." And was going on, when her office boy came in with a +name. Ella rose to go, but Fanny stopped her. "Father Fitzpatrick! Bring +him right in! Miss Monahan, you've got to meet him. He's"--then, as the +great frame of the handsome old priest filled the doorway--"he's just +Father Fitzpatrick. Ella Monahan." + +The white-haired Irishman, and the white-haired Irish woman clasped +hands. + +"And who are you, daughter, besides being Ella Monahan?" + +"Buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper, Father." + +"You don't tell me, now!" He turned to Fanny, put his two big hands +on her shoulders, and swung her around to face the light. "Hm," he +murmured, noncommittally, after that. + +"Hm--what?" demanded Fanny. "It sounds unflattering, whatever it means." +"Gloves!" repeated Father Fitzpatrick, unheeding her. "Well, now, what +d'you think of that! Millions of dollars' worth, I'll wager, in your +time." + +"Two million and a half in my department last year," replied Ella, +without the least trace of boastfulness. One talked only in terms of +millions at Haynes-Cooper's. + +"What an age it is! When two slips of women can earn salaries that would +make the old kings of Ireland look like beggars." He twinkled upon the +older woman. "And what a feeling it must be--independence, and all." + +"I've earned my own living since I was seventeen," said Ella Monahan. +"I'd hate to tell you how long that is." A murmur from the gallant +Irishman. "Thanks, Father, for the compliment I see in your eyes. But +what I mean is this: You're right about independence. It is a grand +thing. At first. But after a while it begins to pall on you. Don't ask +me why. I don't know. I only hope you won't think I'm a wicked woman +when I say I could learn to love any man who'd hang a silver fox scarf +and a string of pearls around my neck, and ask me if I didn't feel a +draft." + +"Wicked! Not a bit of it, my girl. It's only natural, and +commendable--barrin' the pearls." + +"I'd forego them," laughed Ella, and with a parting handshake left the +two alone. + +Father Fitzpatrick looked after her. "A smart woman, that." He took out +his watch, a fat silver one. "It's eleven-thirty. My train leaves at +four. Now, Fanny, if you'll get on your hat, and arrange to steal an +hour or so from this Brobdingnagian place a grand word that, my girl, +and nearer to swearing than any word I know--I'll take you to the +Blackstone, no less, for lunch. How's that for a poor miserable old +priest!" + +"You dear, I couldn't think of it. Oh, yes, I could get away, but let's +lunch right here at the plant, in the grill----" + +"Never! I couldn't. Don't ask it of me. This place scares me. I came up +in the elevator with a crowd and a guide, and he was juggling millions, +that chap, the way a newsboy flips a cent. I'm but a poor parish priest, +but I've got my pride. We'll go to the Blackstone, which I've passed, +humbly, but never been in, with its rose silk shades and its window +boxes. And we'll be waited on by velvet-footed servitors, me girl. Get +your hat." + +Fanny, protesting, but laughing, too, got it. They took the L. Michigan +avenue, as they approached it from Wabash, was wind-swept and bleak as +only Michigan avenue can be in December. They entered the warm radiance +of the luxurious foyer with a little breathless rush, as wind-blown +Chicagoans generally do. The head waiter must have thought Father +Fitzpatrick a cardinal, at least, for he seated them at a window table +that looked out upon the icy street, with Grant Park, crusted with sooty +snow, just across the way, and beyond that the I. C. tracks and the +great gray lake. The splendid room was all color, and perfume, and +humming conversation. A fountain tinkled in the center, and upon its +waters there floated lily pads and blossoms, weirdly rose, and mauve, +and lavender. The tables were occupied by deliciously slim young +girls and very self-conscious college boys, home for the holidays, and +marcelled matrons, furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks +deepened. She loved luxury. She smiled and flashed at the handsome old +priest opposite her. + +"You're a wastrel," she said, "but isn't it nice!" And tasted the first +delicious sip of soup. + +"It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us, now and then." +He glanced leisurely about the brilliant room, then out to the street, +bleakly windswept. He leaned back and drummed a bit with his fingers on +the satin-smooth cloth. "Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you +say, off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here? You +used to have a trick of picking out what they call the human side. Your +mother had it, too." + +Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes unconsciously following +the track his had taken. About the room, and out, to the icy street. +"The most interesting thing?" Back to the flower-scented room, with its +music, and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. "You see +that man, standing at the curb, across the street. He's sort of crouched +against the lamp post. See him? Yes, there, just this side of that big +gray car? He's all drawn up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He +looks as if he were trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever +since we came in I've noticed him staring straight across at these +windows where we're all sitting so grandly, lunching. I know what he's +thinking, don't you? And I wish I didn't feel so uncomfortable, knowing +it. I wish we hadn't ordered lobster thermidor. I wish--there! the +policeman's moving him on." + +Father Fitzpatrick reached over and took her hand, as it lay on the +table, in his great grasp. "Fanny, girl, you've told me what I wanted to +know. Haynes-Cooper or no Haynes-Cooper, millions or no millions, your +ravines aren't choked up with ashes yet, my dear. Thank God." + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +From now on Fanny Brandeis' life became such a swift-moving thing that +your trilogist would have regarded her with disgust. Here was no slow +unfolding, petal by petal. Here were two processes going on, side by +side. Fanny, the woman of business, flourished and throve like a weed, +arrogantly flaunting its head above the timid, white flower that lay +close to the soil, and crept, and spread, and multiplied. Between the +two the fight went on silently. + +Fate, or Chance, or whatever it is that directs our movements, was +forever throwing tragic or comic little life-groups in her path, and +then, pointing an arresting finger at her, implying, "This means you!" +Fanny stepped over these obstructions, or walked around them, or stared +straight through them. + +She had told herself that she would observe the first anniversary of her +mother's death with none of those ancient customs by which your pious +Jew honors his dead. There would be no Yahrzeit light burning for +twenty-four hours. She would not go to Temple for Kaddish prayer. But +the thing was too strong for her, too anciently inbred. Her ancestors +would have lighted a candle, or an oil lamp. Fanny, coming home at six, +found herself turning on the shaded electric lamp in her hall. She went +through to the kitchen. + +"Princess, when you come in to-morrow morning you'll find a light in the +hall. Don't turn it off until to-morrow evening at six." + +"All day long, Miss Fan! Mah sakes, wa' foh?" + +"It's just a religious custom." + +"Didn't know yo' had no relijin, Miss Fan. Leastways, Ah nevah could +figgah----" + +"I haven't," said Fanny, shortly. "Dinner ready soon, Princess? I'm +starved." + +She had entered a Jewish house of worship only once in this year. It was +the stately, white-columned edifice on Grand Boulevard that housed the +congregation presided over by the famous Kirsch. She had heard of him, +naturally. She was there out of curiosity, like any other newcomer to +Chicago. The beauty of the auditorium enchanted her--a magnificently +proportioned room, and restful without being in the least gloomy. +Then she had been interested in the congregation as it rustled in. She +thought she had never seen so many modishly gowned women in one room +in all her life. The men were sleekly broadclothed, but they lacked the +well-dressed air, somehow. The women were slimly elegant in tailor suits +and furs. They all looked as if they had been turned out by the same +tailor. An artist, in his line, but of limited imagination. Dr. Kirsch, +sociologist and savant, aquiline, semi-bald, grimly satiric, sat in +his splendid, high-backed chair, surveying his silken flock through +half-closed lids. He looked tired, and rather ill, Fanny thought, but +distinctly a personage. She wondered if he held them or they him. That +recalled to her the little Winnebago Temple and Rabbi Thalmann. +She remembered the frequent rudeness and open inattention of that +congregation. No doubt Mrs. Nathan Pereles had her counterpart here, and +the hypocritical Bella Weinberg, too, and the giggling Aarons girls, +and old Ben Reitman. Here Dr. Kirsch had risen, and, coming forward, had +paused to lean over his desk and, with an awful geniality, had looked +down upon two rustling, exquisitely gowned late-comers. They sank into +their seats, cowed. Fanny grinned. He began his lecture something +about modern politics. Fanny was fascinated and resentful by turns. His +brilliant satire probed, cut, jabbed like a surgeon's scalpel; or he +railed, scolded, snarled, like a dyspeptic schoolmaster. Often he was +in wretched taste. He mimicked, postured, sneered. But he had this +millionaire congregation of his in hand. Fanny found herself smiling +up at him, delightedly. Perhaps this wasn't religion, as she had been +taught to look upon it, but it certainly was tonic. She told herself +that she would have come to the same conclusion if Kirsch had occupied a +Methodist pulpit. + +There were no Kaddish prayers in Kirsch's Temple. On the Friday +following the first anniversary of Molly Brandeis's death Fanny did not +go home after working hours, but took a bite of supper in a neighborhood +restaurant. Then she found her way to one of the orthodox Russian Jewish +synagogues on the west side. It was a dim, odorous, bare little place, +this house of worship. Fanny had never seen one like it before. She was +herded up in the gallery, where the women sat. And when the patriarchal +rabbi began to intone the prayer for the dead Fanny threw the gallery +into wild panic by rising for it--a thing that no woman is allowed to +do in an orthodox Jewish church. She stood, calmly, though the beshawled +women to right and left of her yanked at her coat. + +In January Fanny discovered New York. She went as selector for her +department. Hereafter Slosson would do only the actual buying. Styles, +prices, and materials would be decided by her. Ella Monahan accompanied +her, it being the time for her monthly trip. Fanny openly envied her her +knowledge of New York's wholesale district. Ella offered to help her. + +"No," Fanny had replied, "I think not, thanks. You've your own work. And +besides I know pretty well what I want, and where to go to get it. It's +making them give it to me that will be hard." + +They went to the same hotel, and took connecting rooms. Each went her +own way, not seeing the other from morning until night, but they often +found kimonoed comfort in each other's presence. + +Fanny had spent weeks outlining her plan of attack. She had determined +to retain the cheap grades, but to add a finer line as well. She +recalled those lace-bedecked bundles that the farmer women and mill +hands had born so tenderly in their arms. Here was one direction in +which they allowed extravagance free rein. As a canny business woman, +she would trade on her knowledge of their weakness. + +At Haynes-Cooper order is never a thing to be despised by a wholesaler. +Fanny, knowing this, had made up her mind to go straight to Horn & +Udell. Now, Horn & Udell are responsible for the bloomers your small +daughter wears under her play frock, in place of the troublesome and +extravagant petticoat of the old days. It was they who introduced +smocked pinafores to you; and those modish patent-leather belts for +children at which your grandmothers would have raised horrified hands. +They taught you that an inch of hand embroidery is worth a yard of cheap +lace. And as for style, cut, line--you can tell a Horn & Udell child +from among a flock of thirty. + +Fanny, entering their office, felt much as Molly Brandeis had felt that +January many, many years before, when she had made that first terrifying +trip to the Chicago market. The engagement had been made days before. +Fanny never knew the shock that her youthfully expectant face gave old +Sid Udell. He turned from his desk to greet her, his polite smile of +greeting giving way to a look of bewilderment. + +"But you are not the buyer, are you, Miss Brandeis?" + +"No, Mr. Slosson buys." + +"I thought so." + +"But I select for my entire department. I decide on our styles, +materials, and prices, six months in advance. Then Mr. Slosson does the +actual bulk buying." + +"Something new-fangled?" inquired Sid Udell. "Of course, we've never +sold much to you people. Our stuff is----" + +"Yes, I know. But you'd like to, wouldn't you?" + +"Our class of goods isn't exactly suited to your wants." + +"Yes, it is. Exactly. That's why I'm here. We'll be doing a business of +a million and a quarter in my department in another two years. No firm, +not even Horn & Udell, can afford to ignore an account like that." + +Sid Udell smiled a little. "You've made up your mind to that million and +a quarter, young lady?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I've dealt with buyers for a quarter of a century or more. And +I'd say that you're going to get it." + +Whereupon Fanny began to talk. Ten minutes later Udell interrupted her +to summon Horn, whose domain was the factory. Horn came, was introduced, +looked doubtful. Fanny had statistics. Fanny had arguments. She had +determination. "And what we want," she went on, in her quiet, assured +way, "is style. The Horn & Udell clothes have chic. Now, material can't +be imitated successfully, but style can. Our goods lack just that. +I could copy any model you have, turn the idea over to a cheap +manufacturer, and get a million just like it, at one-fifth the price. +That isn't a threat. It's just a business statement that you know to be +true. I can sketch from memory anything I've seen once. What I want to +know is this: Will you make it necessary for me to do that, or will you +undertake to furnish us with cheaper copies of your high-priced designs? +We could use your entire output. I know the small-town woman of the +poorer class, and I know she'll wear a shawl in order to give her child +a cloth coat with fancy buttons and a velvet collar." + +And Horn & Udell, whose attitude at first had been that of two seasoned +business men dealing with a precocious child, found themselves quoting +prices to her, shipments, materials, quality, quantities. Then came the +question of time. + +"We'll get out a special catalogue for the summer," Fanny said. "A small +one, to start them our way. Then the big Fall catalogue will contain the +entire line." + +"That doesn't give us time!" exclaimed both men, in a breath. + +"But you must manage, somehow. Can't you speed up the workroom? Put on +extra hands? It's worth it." + +They might, under normal conditions. But there was this strike-talk, its +ugly head bobbing up in a hundred places. And their goods were the kind +that required high-class workers. Their girls earned all the way from +twelve to twenty-five dollars. But Fanny knew she had driven home +the entering wedge. She left them after making an engagement for +the following day. The Horn & Udell factory was in New York's newer +loft-building section, around Madison, Fifth avenue, and the Thirties. +Her hotel was very near. She walked up Fifth avenue a little way, and as +she walked she wondered why she did not feel more elated. Her day's work +had exceeded her expectations. It was a brilliant January afternoon, +with a snap in the air that was almost western. Fifth avenue flowed up, +flowed down, and Fanny fought the impulse to stare after every second or +third woman she passed. They were so invariably well-dressed. There was +none of the occasional shabbiness or dowdiness of Michigan Avenue. Every +woman seemed to have emerged fresh from the hands of masseuse and maid. +Their hair was coiffed to suit the angle of the hat, and the hat had +been chosen to enhance the contour of the head, and the head was carried +with regard for the dark furs that encircled the throat. They were +amazingly well shod. Their white gloves were white. (A fact remarkable +to any soot-haunted Chicagoan.) Their coloring rivaled the rose leaf. +And nobody's nose was red. + +"Goodness knows I've never pretended to be a beauty," Fanny said that +evening, in conversation with Ella Monahan. "But I've always thought +I had my good points. By the time I'd reached Forty-second street I +wouldn't have given two cents for my chances of winning a cave man on a +desert island." + +She made up her mind that she would go back to the hotel, get a thick +coat, and ride outside one of those fascinating Fifth avenue 'buses. It +struck her as an ideal way to see this amazing street. She was back at +her hotel in ten minutes. Ella had not yet come in. Their rooms were on +the tenth floor. Fanny got her coat, peered at her own reflection in +the mirror, sighed, shook her head, and was off down the hall toward the +elevators. The great hall window looked toward Fifth avenue, but between +it and the avenue rose a yellow-brick building that housed tier on +tier of manufacturing lofts. Cloaks, suits, blouses, petticoats, hats, +dresses--it was just such a building as Fanny had come from when she +left the offices of Horn & Udell. It might be their very building, for +all she knew. She looked straight into its windows as she stood waiting +for the lift. And window after window showed women, sewing. They were +sewing at machines, and at hand-work, but not as women are accustomed +to sew, with leisurely stitches, stopping to pat a seam here, to run +a calculating eye along hem or ruffle. It was a dreadful, mechanical +motion, that sewing, a machine-like, relentless motion, with no waste in +it, no pause. Fanny's mind leaped back to Winnebago, with its pleasant +porches on which leisurely women sat stitching peacefully at a fine +seam. + +What was it she had said to Udell? "Can't you speed up the workroom? It's +worth it." + +Fanny turned abruptly from the window as the door of the bronze and +mirrored lift opened for her. She walked over to Fifth avenue again and +up to Forty-fifth street. Then she scrambled up the spiral stairs of a +Washington Square 'bus. The air was crisp, clear, intoxicating. To her +Chicago eyes the buildings, the streets, the very sky looked startlingly +fresh and new-washed. As the 'bus lurched down Fifth avenue she leaned +over the railing to stare, fascinated, at the colorful, shifting, +brilliant panorama of the most amazing street in the world. Block after +block, as far as the eye could see, the gorgeous procession moved up, +moved down, and the great, gleaming motor cars crept, and crawled, and +writhed in and out, like nothing so much as swollen angle worms in a +fishing can, Fanny thought. Her eye was caught by one limousine that +stood out, even in that crush of magnificence. It was all black, as +though scorning to attract the eye with vulgar color, and it was lined +with white. Fanny thought it looked very much like Siegel & Cowan's +hearse, back in Winnebago. In it sat a woman, all furs, and orchids, +and complexion. She was holding up to the window a little dog with a +wrinkled and weary face, like that of an old, old man. He was sticking +his little evil, eager red tongue out at the world. And he wore a very +smart and woolly white sweater, of the imported kind--with a monogram +done in black. + +The traffic policeman put up his hand. The 'bus rumbled on down the +street. Names that had always been remotely mythical to her now met her +eye and became realities. Maillard's. And that great red stone +castle was the Waldorf. Almost historic, and it looked newer than the +smoke-grimed Blackstone. And straight ahead--why, that must be the +Flatiron building! It loomed up like the giant prow of an unimaginable +ship. Brentano's. The Holland House. Madison Square. Why there never was +anything so terrifying, and beautiful, and palpitating, and exquisite +as this Fifth avenue in the late winter afternoon, with the sky ahead a +rosy mist, and the golden lights just beginning to spangle the gray. At +Madison Square she decided to walk. She negotiated the 'bus steps with +surprising skill for a novice, and scurried along the perilous crossing +to the opposite side. She entered Madison Square. But why hadn't O. +Henry emphasized its beauty, instead of its squalor? It lay, a purple +pool of shadow, surrounded by the great, gleaming, many-windowed office +buildings, like an amethyst sunk in a circle of diamonds. "It's a +fairyland!" Fanny told herself. "Who'd have thought a city could be so +beautiful!" + +And then, at her elbow, a voice said, "Oh, lady, for the lova God!" +She turned with a jerk and looked up into the unshaven face of a great, +blue-eyed giant who pulled off his cap and stood twisting it in his +swollen blue fingers. "Lady, I'm cold. I'm hungry. I been sittin' here +hours." + +Fanny clutched her bag a little fearfully. She looked at his huge frame. +"Why don't you work?" + +"Work!" He laughed. "There ain't any. Looka this!" He turned up his +foot, and you saw the bare sole, blackened and horrible, and fringed, +comically, by the tattered leather upper. + +"Oh--my dear!" said Fanny. And at that the man began to cry, weakly, +sickeningly, like a little boy. + +"Don't do that! Don't! Here." She was emptying her purse, and something +inside her was saying, "You fool, he's only a professional beggar." + +And then the man wiped his face with his cap, and swallowed hard, and +said, "I don't want all you got. I ain't holdin' you up. Just gimme +that. I been sittin' here, on that bench, lookin' at that sign across +the street. Over there. It says, `EAT.' It goes off an' on. Seemed like +it was drivin' me crazy." + +Fanny thrust a crumpled five-dollar bill into his hand. And was off. She +fairly flew along, so that it was not until she had reached Thirty-third +street that she said aloud, as was her way when moved, "I don't care. +Don't blame me. It was that miserable little beast of a dog in the white +sweater that did it." + +It was almost seven when she reached her room. A maid, in neat black and +white, was just coming out with an armful of towels. + +"I just brought you a couple of extra towels. We were short this +morning," she said. + +The room was warm, and quiet, and bright. In her bathroom, that +glistened with blue and white tiling, were those redundant towels. Fanny +stood in the doorway and counted them, whimsically. Four great fuzzy +bath towels. Eight glistening hand towels. A blue and white bath rug +hung at the side of the tub. Her telephone rang. It was Ella. + +"Where in the world have you been, child? I was worried about you. I +thought you were lost in the streets of New York." + +"I took a 'bus ride," Fanny explained. + +"See anything of New York?" + +"I saw all of it," replied Fanny. Ella laughed at that, but Fanny's face +was serious. + +"How did you make out at Horn & Udell's? Never mind, I'm coming in for a +minute; can I?" + +"Please do. I need you." + +A moment later Ella bounced in, fresh as to blouse, pink as to cheeks, +her whole appearance a testimony to the revivifying effects of a warm +bath, a brief nap, clean clothes. + +"Dear child, you look tired. I'm not going to stay. You get dressed and +I'll meet you for dinner. Or do you want yours up here?" + +"Oh, no!" + +"'Phone me when you're dressed. But tell me, isn't it a wonder, this +town? I'll never forget my first trip here. I spent one whole evening +standing in front of the mirror trying to make those little spit-curls +the women were wearing then. I'd seen 'em on Fifth avenue, and it seemed +I'd die if I couldn't have 'em, too. And I dabbed on rouge, and touched +up my eyebrows. I don't know. It's a kind of a crazy feeling gets you. +The minute I got on the train for Chicago I washed my face and took my +hair down and did it plain again." + +"Why, that's the way I felt!" laughed Fanny. "I didn't care anything +about infants' wear, or Haynes-Cooper, or anything. I just wanted to be +beautiful, as they all were." + +"Sure! It gets us all!" + +Fanny twisted her hair into the relentless knob women assume preparatory +to bathing. "It seems to me you have to come from Winnebago, or +thereabouts, to get New York--really get it, I mean." + +"That's so," agreed Ella. "There's a man on the New York Star who writes +a column every day that everybody reads. If he isn't a small-town man +then we're both wrong." + +Fanny, bathward bound, turned to stare at Ella. "A column about what?" + +"Oh, everything. New York, mostly. Say, it's the humanest stuff. He +says the kind of thing we'd all say, if we knew how. Reading him is like +getting a letter from home. I'll bet he went to a country school and +wore his mittens sewed to a piece of tape that ran through his coat +sleeves." + +"You're right," said Fanny; "he did. That man's from Winnebago, +Wisconsin." + +"No!" + +"Yes." + +"Do you mean you know him? Honestly? What's he like?" + +But Fanny had vanished. "I'm a tired business woman," she called, above +the splashing that followed, "and I won't converse until I'm fed." + +"But how about Horn & Udell?" demanded Ella, her mouth against the +crack. + +"Practically mine," boasted Fanny. + +"You mean--landed!" + +"Well, hooked, at any rate, and putting up a very poor struggle." + +"Why, you clever little divil, you! You'll be making me look like a +stock girl next." + +Fanny did not telephone Heyl until the day she left New York. She had +told herself she would not telephone him at all. He had sent her his New +York address and telephone number months before, after that Sunday +at the dunes. Ella Monahan had finished her work and had gone back to +Chicago four days before Fanny was ready to leave. In those four days +Fanny had scoured the city from the Palisades to Pell street. I don't +know how she found her way about. It was a sort of instinct with her. +She seemed to scent the picturesque. She never for a moment neglected +her work. But she had found it was often impossible to see these New +York business men until ten--sometimes eleven--o'clock. She awoke at +seven, a habit formed in her Winnebago days. Eight-thirty one morning +found her staring up at the dim vastness of the dome of the cathedral of +St. John the Divine. The great gray pile, mountainous, almost ominous, +looms up in the midst of the dingy commonplaceness of Amsterdam avenue +and 110th street. New Yorkers do not know this, or if they know it, the +fact does not interest them. New Yorkers do not go to stare up into the +murky shadows of this glorious edifice. They would if it were situate +in Rome. Bare, crude, unfinished, chaotic, it gives rich promise of +magnificent fulfillment. In an age when great structures are thrown up +to-day, to be torn down to-morrow, this slow-moving giant is at once a +reproach and an example. Twenty-five years in building, twenty-five +more for completion, it has elbowed its way, stone by stone, into such +company as St. Peter's at Rome, and the marvel at Milan. Fanny found her +way down the crude cinder paths that made an alley-like approach to +the cathedral. She entered at the side door that one found by following +arrows posted on the rough wooden fence. Once inside she stood a moment, +awed by the immensity of the half-finished nave. As she stood there, +hands clasped, her face turned raptly up to where the massive granite +columns reared their height to frame the choir, she was, for the moment, +as devout as any Episcopalian whose money had helped make the great +building. Not only devout, but prayerful, ecstatic. That was partly due +to the effect of the pillars, the lights, the tapestries, the great, +unfinished chunks of stone that loomed out from the side walls, and the +purple shadow cast by the window above the chapels at the far end; and +partly to the actress in her that responded magically to any mood, and +always to surroundings. Later she walked softly down the deserted nave, +past the choir, to the cluster of chapels, set like gems at one end, +and running from north to south, in a semi-circle. A placard outside one +said, "St. Saviour's chapel. For those who wish to rest and pray." All +white marble, this little nook, gleaming softly in the gray half-light. +Fanny entered, and sat down. She was quite alone. The roar and crash +of the Eighth avenue L, the Amsterdam cars, the motors drumming up +Morningside hill, were softened here to a soothing hum. + +For those who wish to rest and pray. + +Fanny Brandeis had neither rested nor prayed since that hideous day when +she had hurled her prayer of defiance at Him. But something within her +now began a groping for words; for words that should follow an ancient +plea beginning, "O God of my Fathers----" But at that the picture of the +room came back to her mental vision--the room so quiet except for the +breathing of the woman on the bed; the woman with the tolerant, humorous +mouth, and the straight, clever nose, and the softly bright brown eyes, +all so strangely pinched and shrunken-looking now---- + +Fanny got to her feet, with a noisy scraping of the chair on the stone +floor. The vague, half-formed prayer died at birth. She found her way +out of the dim, quiet little chapel, up the long aisle and out the great +door. She shivered a little in the cold of the early January morning as +she hurried toward the Broadway subway. + +At nine-thirty she was standing at a counter in the infants' wear +section at Best's, making mental notes while the unsuspecting saleswoman +showed her how the pink ribbon in this year's models was brought +under the beading, French fashion, instead of weaving through it, +as heretofore. At ten-thirty she was saying to Sid Udell, "I think +a written contract is always best. Then we'll all know just where we +stand. Mr. Fenger will be on next week to arrange the details, but just +now a very brief written understanding to show him on my return would +do." + +And she got it, and tucked it away in her bag, in triumph. + +She tried to leave New York without talking to Heyl, but some quiet, +insistent force impelled her to act contrary to her resolution. It was, +after all, the urge of the stronger wish against the weaker. + +When he heard her voice over the telephone Heyl did not say, "Who is +this?" Neither did he put those inevitable questions of the dweller to +the transient, "Where are you? How long have you been here?" What he +said was, "How're you going to avoid dining with me to-night?" + +To which Fanny replied, promptly, "By taking the Twentieth Century back +to Chicago to-day." + +A little silence. A hurt silence. Then, "When they get the Twentieth +Century habit they're as good as lost. How's the infants' wear business, +Fanny?" + +"Booming, thank you. I want to tell you I've read the column every day. +It's wonderful stuff." + +"It's a wonderful job. I'm a lucky boy. I'm doing the thing I'd rather +do than anything else in the world. There are mighty few who can say +that." There was another silence, awkward, heavy. Then, "Fanny, you're +not really leaving to-day?" + +"I'll be in Chicago to-morrow, barring wrecks." + +"You might have let me show you our more or less fair city." + +"I've shown it to myself. I've seen Riverside Drive at sunset, and at +night. That alone would have been enough. But I've seen Fulton market, +too, and the Grand street stalls, and Washington Square, and Central +Park, and Lady Duff-Gordon's inner showroom, and the Night Court, and +the Grand Central subway horror at six p. m., and the gambling on +the Curb, and the bench sleepers in Madison Square--Oh, Clancy, the +misery----" + +"Heh, wait a minute! All this, alone?" + +"Yes. And one more thing. I've landed Horn & Udell, which means nothing +to you, but to me it means that by Spring my department will be a credit +to its stepmother; a real success." + +"I knew it would be a success. So did you. Anything you might attempt +would be successful. You'd have made a successful lawyer, or cook, or +actress, or hydraulic engineer, because you couldn't do a thing badly. +It isn't in you. You're a superlative sort of person. But that's no +reason for being any of those things. If you won't admit a debt to +humanity, surely you'll acknowledge you've an obligation to yourself." + +"Preaching again. Good-by." + +"Fanny, you're afraid to see me." + +"Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be?" + +"Because I say aloud the things you daren't let yourself think. If I +were to promise not to talk about anything but flannel bands----" + +"Will you promise?" + +"No. But I'm going to meet you at the clock at the Grand Central Station +fifteen minutes before train time. I don't care if every infants' wear +manufacturer in New York had a prior claim on your time. You may as well +be there, because if you're not I'll get on the train and stay on as far +as Albany. Take your choice." + +He was there before her. Fanny, following the wake of a redcap, picked +him at once from among the crowd of clock-waiters. He saw her at the +same time, and started forward with that singularly lithe, springy step +which was, after all, just the result of perfectly trained muscles in +coordination. He was wearing New York clothes--the right kind, Fanny +noted. + +Their hands met. "How well you look," said Fanny, rather lamely. + +"It's the clothes," said Heyl, and began to revolve slowly, coyly, +hands out, palms down, eyelids drooping, in delicious imitation of those +ladies whose business it is to revolve thus for fashion. + +"Clancy, you idiot! All these people! Stop it!" + +"But get the grace! Get the easy English hang, at once so loose and so +clinging." + +Fanny grinned, appreciatively, and led the way through the gate to the +train. She was surprisingly glad to be with him again. On discovering +that, she began to talk rapidly, and about him. + +"Tell me, how do you manage to keep that fresh viewpoint? Everybody else +who comes to New York to write loses his identity. The city swallows him +up. I mean by that, that things seem to strike you as freshly as they +did when you first came. I remember you wrote me an amazing letter." + +"For one thing, I'll never be anything but a foreigner in New York. +I'll never quite believe Broadway. I'll never cease to marvel at Fifth +avenue, and Cooper Union, and the Bronx. The time may come when I can +take the subway for granted, but don't ask it of me just yet." + +"But the other writers--and all those people who live down in Washington +Square?" + +"I never see them. It's sure death. Those Greenwichers are always taking +out their own feelings and analyzing them, and pawing them over, +and passing them around. When they get through with them they're so +thumb-marked and greasy that no one else wants them. They don't get +enough golf, those Greenwichers. They don't get enough tennis. They +don't get enough walking in the open places. Gosh, no! I know better +than to fall for that kind of thing. They spend hours talking to each +other, in dim-lighted attics, about Souls, and Society, and the Joy +of Life, and the Greater Good. And they know all about each other's +insides. They talk themselves out, and there's nothing left to write +about. A little of that kind of thing purges and cleanses. Too much of +it poisons, and clogs. No, ma'am! When I want to talk I go down and chin +with the foreman of our composing room. There's a chap that has what +I call conversation. A philosopher, and knows everything in the world. +Composing room foremen always are and do. Now, that's all of that. How +about Fanny Brandeis? Any sketches? Come on. Confess. Grand street, +anyway." + +"I haven't touched a pencil, except to add up a column of figures or +copy an order, since last September, when you were so sure I couldn't +stop." + +"You've done a thousand in your head. And if you haven't done one on +paper so much the better. You'll jam them back, and stifle them, and +screw the cover down tight on every natural impulse, and then, some day, +the cover will blow off with a loud report. You can't kill that kind +of thing, Fanny. It would have to be a wholesale massacre of all the +centuries behind you. I don't so much mind your being disloyal to your +tribe, or race, or whatever you want to call it. But you've turned your +back on yourself; you've got an obligation to humanity, and I'll nag +you till you pay it. I don't care if I lose you, so long as you find +yourself. The thing you've got isn't merely racial. God, no! It's +universal. And you owe it to the world. Pay up, Fanny! Pay up!" + +"Look here!" began Fanny, her voice low with anger; "the last time I saw +you I said I'd never again put myself in a position to be lectured by +you, like a schoolgirl. I mean it, this time. If you have anything +else to say to me, say it now. The train leaves"--she glanced at +her wrist--"in two minutes, thank Heaven, and this will be your last +chance." + +"All right," said Heyl. "I have got something to say. Do you wear +hatpins?" + +"Hatpins!" blankly. "Not with this small hat, but what----" + +"That means you're defenseless. If you're going to prowl the streets of +Chicago alone get this: If you double your fist this way, and tuck your +thumb alongside, like that, and aim for this spot right here, about two +inches this side of the chin, bringing your arm back, and up, quickly, +like a piston, the person you hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve +right here that communicates with the brain. That blow makes you +see stars, bright lights, and fancy colors. They use it in the comic +papers." + +"You ARE crazy," said Fanny, as though at last assured of a +long-suspected truth. The train began to move, almost imperceptibly. +"Run!" she cried. + +Heyl sped up the aisle. At the door he turned. "It's called an +uppercut," he shouted to the amazement of the other passengers. And +leaped from the train. + +Fanny sank into her seat, weakly. Then she began to laugh, and there was +a dash of hysteria in it. He had left a paper on the car seat. It was +the Star. Fanny crumpled it, childishly, and kicked it under the seat. +She took off her hat, arranged her belongings, and sat back with eyes +closed. After a few moments she opened them, fished about under the seat +for the crumpled copy of the Star, and read it, turning at once to his +column. She thought it was a very unpretentious thing, that column, and +yet so full of insight, and sagacity, and whimsical humor. Not a guffaw +in it, but a smile in every fifth line. She wondered if those years +of illness, and loneliness, with weeks of reading, and tramping, and +climbing in the Colorado mountains had kept him strangely young, or made +him strangely old. + +She welcomed the hours that lay between New York and Chicago. They would +give her an opportunity to digest the events of the past ten days. +In her systematic mind she began to range them in the order of their +importance. Horn & Udell came first, of course, and then the line of +maternity dresses she had selected to take the place of the hideous +models carried under Slosson's regime. And then the slip-over pinafores. +But somehow her thoughts became jumbled here, so that faces instead of +garments filled her mind's eye. Again and again there swam into her ken +the face of that woman of fifty, in decent widow's weeds, who had stood +there in the Night Court, charged with drunkenness on the streets. And +the man with the frost-bitten fingers in Madison Square. And the dog in +the sweater. And the feverish concentration of the piece-work sewers in +the window of the loft building. + +She gave it up, selected a magazine, and decided to go in to lunch. + +There was nothing spectacular about the welcome she got on her return +to the office after this first trip. A firm that counts its employees by +the thousands, and its profits in tens of millions, cannot be expected +to draw up formal resolutions of thanks when a heretofore flabby +department begins to show signs of red blood. + +Ella Monahan said, "They'll make light of it--all but Fenger. That's +their way." + +Slosson drummed with his fingers all the time she was giving him the +result of her work in terms of style, material, quantity, time, and +price. When she had finished he said, "Well, all I can say is we seem +to be going out of the mail order business and into the imported novelty +line, de luxe. I suppose by next Christmas the grocery department will +be putting in artichoke hearts, and truffles and French champagne by the +keg for community orders." + +To which Fanny had returned, sweetly, "If Oregon and Wyoming show any +desire for artichokes and champagne I don't see why we shouldn't." + +Fenger, strangely enough, said little. He was apt to be rather curt +these days, and almost irritable. Fanny attributed it to the reaction +following the strain of the Christmas rush. + +One did not approach Fenger's office except by appointment. Fanny sent +word to him of her return. For two days she heard nothing from him. Then +the voice of the snuff-brown secretary summoned her. She did not have +to wait this time, but passed directly through the big bright outer room +into the smaller room. The Power House, Fanny called it. + +Fenger was facing the door. "Missed you," he said. + +"You must have," Fanny laughed, "with only nine thousand nine hundred +and ninety-nine to look after." + +"You look as if you'd been on a vacation, instead of a test trip." + +"So I have. Why didn't you warn me that business, as transacted in New +York, is a series of social rites? I didn't have enough white kid gloves +to go round. No one will talk business in an office. I don't see what +they use offices for, except as places in which to receive their mail. +You utter the word `Business,' and the other person immediately says, +`Lunch.' No wholesaler seems able to quote you his prices until he +has been sustained by half a dozen Cape Cods. I don't want to see a +restaurant or a rose silk shade for weeks." + +Fenger tapped the little pile of papers on his desk. "I've read your +reports. If you can do that on lunches, I'd like to see what you could +put over in a series of dinners." + +"Heaven forbid," said Fanny, fervently. Then, for a very concentrated +fifteen minutes they went over the reports together. Fanny's voice grew +dry and lifeless as she went into figures. + +"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic," Fenger said, when they had +finished, "considering that you've accomplished what you set out to do." + +"That's just it," quickly. "I like the uncertainty. It was interesting +to deal directly with those people, to stack one's arguments, and +personality, and mentality and power over theirs, until they had to give +way. But after that! Well, you can't expect me to be vitally interested +in gross lots, and carloads and dating." + +"It's part of business." + +"It's the part I hate." + +Fenger stacked the papers neatly. "You came in June, didn't you?" + +"Yes." + +"It has been a remarkable eight-months' record, even at Haynes-Cooper's, +where records are the rule. Have you been through the plant since the +time you first went through?" + +"Through it! Goodness, no! It would take a day." + +"Then I wish you'd take it. I like to have the heads of departments +go through the plant at least twice a year. You'll find the fourteenth +floor has been cleared and is being used entirely by the selectors. The +manufacturers' samples are spread on the tables in the various sections. +You'll find your place ready for you. You'll be amused at Daly's +section. He took your suggestion about trying the blouses on live models +instead of selecting them as he used to. You remember you said that one +could tell about the lines and style of a dress merely by looking at it, +but that a blouse is just a limp rag until it's on." + +"It's true of the flimsy Georgette things women want now. They may be +lovely in the box and hideously unbecoming when worn. If Daly's going in +for the higher grade stuff he can't risk choosing unbecoming models." + +"Wait till you see him!" smiled Fenger, "sitting there like a sultan +while the pinks and blues, and whites and plaids parade before him." He +turned to his desk again. "That's all, Miss Brandeis. Thank you." Then, +at a sudden thought. "Do you know that all your suggestions have been +human suggestions? I mean they all have had to do with people. Tell me, +how do you happen to have learned so much about what people feel and +think, in such a short time?" + +The thing that Clarence Heyl had said flashed through her mind, and she +was startled to find herself quoting it. "It hasn't been a short time," +she said. + +"It took a thousand years." And left Fenger staring, puzzled. + +She took next morning for her tour of the plant as Fenger had suggested. +She went through it, not as the startled, wide-eyed girl of eight months +before had gone, but critically, and with a little unconscious air of +authority. For, this organization, vast though it was, actually showed +her imprint. She could have put her finger on this spot, and that, +saying, "Here is the mark of my personality." And she thought, as she +passed from department to department, "Ten thousand a year, if you keep +on as you've started." Up one aisle and down the next. Bundles, bundles, +bundles. And everywhere you saw the yellow order-slips. In the hands of +the stock boys whizzing by on roller skates; in the filing department; +in the traffic department. The very air seemed jaundiced with those +clouds of yellow order-slips. She stopped a moment, fascinated as always +before the main spiral gravity chute down which the bundles--hundreds +of them, thousands of them daily--chased each other to--to what? Fanny +asked herself. She knew, vaguely, that hands caught these bundles +halfway, and redirected them toward the proper channel, where they were +assembled and made ready for shipping or mailing. She turned to a stock +boy. + +"Where does this empty?" she asked. + +"Floor below," said the boy, "on the platform." + +Fanny walked down a flight of iron stairs, and around to face the spiral +chute again. In front of the chute, and connected with it by a great +metal lip, was a platform perhaps twelve feet above the floor and +looking very much like the pilot's deck of a ship. A little flight of +steps led up to it--very steep steps, that trembled a little under a +repetition of shocks that came from above. Fanny climbed them warily, +gained the top, and found herself standing next to the girl whose face +had gleamed out at her from among those thousands in the crowd pouring +out of the plant. The girl glanced up at Fanny for a second--no, for the +fraction of a second. Her job was the kind that permitted no more than +that. Fanny watched her for one breathless moment. In that moment she +understood the look that had been stamped on the girl's face that night; +the look that had cried: "Release!" For this platform, shaking under the +thud of bundles, bundles, bundles, was the stomach of the Haynes-Cooper +plant. Sixty per cent of the forty-five thousand daily orders passed +through the hands of this girl and her assistants. Down the chutes +swished the bundles, stamped with their section mark, and here they were +caught deftly and hurled into one of the dozen conveyers that flowed +out from this main stream. The wrong bundle into the wrong conveyer? +Confusion in the shipping room. It only took a glance of the eye and a +motion of the arms. But that glance and that motion had been boiled down +to the very concentrated essence of economy. They seemed to be working +with fury, but then, so does a pile-driver until you get the simplicity +of it. + +Fanny bent over the girl (it was a noisy corner) and put a question. The +girl did not pause in her work as she answered it. She caught a bundle +with one hand, hurled one into a conveyer with the other. + +"Seven a week," she said. And deftly caught the next slithering bundle. + +Fanny watched her for another moment. Then she turned and went down the +steep stairs. + +"None of your business," she said to herself, and continued her tour. +"None of your business." She went up to the new selectors' floor, and +found the plan running as smoothly as if it had been part of the plant's +system for years. The elevator whisked her up to the top floor, where +she met the plant's latest practical fad, the new textile chemist--a +charming youth, disguised in bone-rimmed glasses, who did the honors of +his little laboratory with all the manner of a Harvard host. This was +the fusing oven for silks. Here was the drying oven. This delicate scale +weighed every ounce of the cloth swatches that came in for inspection, +to get the percentage of wool and cotton. Not a chance for the +manufacturer to slip shoddy into his goods, now. + +"Mm," said Fanny, politely. She hated complicated processes that had to +do with scales, and weights, and pounds, and acids. She crossed over +to the Administration Building, and stopped at the door marked, "Mrs. +Knowles." If you had been an employee of the Haynes-Cooper company, and +had been asked to define Mrs. Knowles's position the chances are that +you would have found yourself floundering, wordless. Haynes-Cooper +was reluctant to acknowledge the need of Mrs. Knowles. Still, when you +employ ten thousand people, and more than half of these are girls, and +fifty per cent of these girls are unskilled, ignorant, and terribly +human you find that a Mrs. Knowles saves the equivalent of ten times her +salary in wear and tear and general prevention. She could have told you +tragic stories, could Mrs. Knowles, and sordid stories, and comic too; +she knew how to deal with terror, and shame, and stubborn silence, and +hopeless misery. Gray-haired and motherly? Not at all. An astonishingly +young, pleasingly plumpish woman, with nothing remarkable about her +except a certain splendid calm. Four years out of Vassar, and already +she had learned that if you fold your hands in your lap and wait, +quietly, asking no questions, almost any one will tell you almost +anything. + +"Hello!" called Fanny. "How are our morals this morning?" + +"Going up!" answered Esther Knowles, "considering that it's Tuesday. +Come in. How's the infant prodigy, I lunched with Ella Monahan, and she +told me your first New York trip was a whirlwind. Congratulations!" + +"Thanks. I can't stop. I haven't touched my desk to-day. I just want +to ask you if you know the name of that girl who has charge of the main +chute in the merchandise building." + +"Good Lord, child! There are thousands of girls." + +"But this one's rather special. She is awfully pretty, and rather +different looking. Exquisite coloring, a discontented expression, and a +blouse that's too low in the neck." + +"Which might be a description of Fanny Brandeis herself, barring the +blouse," laughed Mrs. Knowles. Then, at the startled look in Fanny's +face, "Do forgive me. And don't look so horrified. I think I know which +one you mean. Her name is Sarah Sapinsky--yes, isn't it a pity!--and +it's queer that you should ask me about her because I've been having +trouble with that particular girl." + +"Trouble?" + +"She knows she's pretty, and she knows she's different, and she knows +she's handicapped, and that accounts for the discontented expression. +That, and some other things. She gets seven a week here, and they take +just about all of it at home. She says she's sick of it. She has left +home twice. I don't blame the child, but I've always managed to bring +her back. Some day there'll be a third time--and I'm afraid of it. She's +not bad. She's really rather splendid, and she has a certain dreadful +philosophy of her own. Her theory is that there are only two kinds of +people in the world. Those that give, and those that take. And she's +tired of giving. Sarah didn't put it just that way; but you know what +she means, don't you?" + +"I know what she means," said Fanny, grimly. + +So it was Sarah she saw above all else in her trip through the gigantic +plant; Sarah's face shone out from among the thousands; the thud-thud +of Sarah's bundle-chute beat a dull accompaniment to the hum of the big +hive; above the rustle of those myriad yellow order-slips, through +the buzz of the busy mail room; beneath the roar of the presses in the +printing building, the crash of the dishes in the cafeteria, ran the +leid-motif of Sarah-at-seven-a-week. Back in her office once more Fanny +dictated a brief observation-report for Fenger's perusal. + +"It seems to me there's room for improvement in our card index file +system. It's thorough, but unwieldy. It isn't a system any more. It's +a ceremony. Can't you get a corps of system sharks to simplify things +there?" + +She went into detail and passed on to the next suggestion. + +"If the North American Cloak & Suit Company can sell mail order dresses +that are actually smart and in good taste, I don't see why we have to +go on carrying only the most hideous crudities in our women's dress +department. I know that the majority of our women customers wouldn't +wear a plain, good looking little blue serge dress with a white +collar, and some tailored buttons. They want cerise satin revers on a +plum-colored foulard, and that's what we've been giving them. But there +are plenty of other women living miles from anywhere who know what's +being worn on Fifth avenue. I don't know how they know it, but they +do. And they want it. Why can't we reach those women, as well as their +shoddier sisters? The North American people do it. I'd wear one of +their dresses myself. I wouldn't be found dead in one of ours. Here's a +suggestion: + +"Why can't we get Camille to design half a dozen models a season for +us? Now don't roar at that. And don't think that the women on western +ranches haven't heard of Camille. They have. They may know nothing of +Mrs. Pankhurst, and Lillian Russell may be a myth to them, but I'll +swear that every one of them knows that Camille is a dressmaker who +makes super-dresses. She is as much a household word among them as +Roosevelt used to be to their men folks. And if we can promise them a +Camille-designed dress for $7.85 (which we could) then why don't we?" + +At the very end, to her stenographer's mystification, she added this +irrelevant line. + +"Seven dollars a week is not a living wage." + +The report went to Fenger. He hurdled lightly over the first suggestion, +knowing that the file system was as simple as a monster of its bulk +could be. He ignored the third hint. The second suggestion amused, +then interested, then convinced him. Within six months Camille's name +actually appeared in the Haynes-Cooper catalogue. Not that alone, the +Haynes-Cooper company broke its rule as to outside advertising, and +announced in full-page magazine ads the news of the $7.85 gowns designed +by Camille especially for the Haynes-Cooper company. There went up +a nationwide shout of amusement and unbelief, but the announcement +continued. Camille (herself a frump with a fringe) whose frocks were +worn by queens, and dancers and matrons with millions, and debutantes; +Camille, who had introduced the slouch, revived the hoop, discovered the +sunset chiffon, had actually consented to design six models every +season for the mail order millions of the Haynes-Cooper women's dress +department--at a price that made even Michael Fenger wince. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +Fanny Brandeis' blouses showed real Cluny now, and her hats were nothing +but line. A scant two years before she had wondered if she would ever +reach a pinnacle of success lofty enough to enable her to wear blue +tailor suits as smart as the well-cut garments worn by her mother's +friend, Mrs. Emma McChesney. Mrs. McChesney's trig little suits had cost +fifty dollars, and had looked sixty. Fanny's now cost one hundred and +twenty-five, and looked one hundred and twenty-five. Her sleeves alone +gave it away. If you would test the soul of a tailor you have only to +glance at shoulder-seam, elbow and wrist. Therein lies the wizardry. +Fanny's sleeve flowed from arm-pit to thumb-bone without a ripple. +Also she moved from the South side to the North side, always a sign of +prosperity or social ambition, in Chicago. Her new apartment was near +the lake, exhilaratingly high, correspondingly expensive. And she was +hideously lonely. She was earning a man-size salary now, and she was +working like a man. A less magnificently healthy woman could not have +stood the strain, for Fanny Brandeis was working with her head, not her +heart. When we say heart we have come to mean something more than the +hollow muscular structure that propels the blood through the veins. +That, in the dictionary, is the primary definition. The secondary +definition has to do with such words as emotion, sympathy, tenderness, +courage, conviction. She was working, now, as Michael Fenger worked, +relentlessly, coldly, indomitably, using all the material at hand as +a means to an end, with never a thought of the material itself, as a +builder reaches for a brick, or stone, and fits it into place, smoothly, +almost without actually seeing the brick itself, except as something +which will help to make a finished wall. She rarely prowled the city +now. She told herself she was too tired at night, and on Sundays and +holidays, and I suppose she was. Indeed, she no longer saw things with +her former vision. It was as though her soul had shriveled in direct +proportion to her salary's expansion. The streets seldom furnished her +with a rich mental meal now. When she met a woman with a child, in +the park, her keen eye noted the child's dress before it saw the child +itself, if, indeed, she noticed the child at all. + +Fascinating Facts, the guileless, pink-cheeked youth who had driven +her home the night of her first visit to the Fengers, shortly after her +coming to Haynes-Cooper's, had proved her faithful slave, and she had +not abused his devotion. Indeed, she hardly considered it that. The sex +side of her was being repressed with the artist side. Most men found her +curt, brisk, businesslike manner a little repellent, though interesting. +They never made love to her, in spite of her undeniable attractiveness. +Fascinating Facts drove her about in his smart little roadster and one +night he established himself in her memory forever as the first man who +had ever asked her to marry him. He did it haltingly, painfully, almost +grudgingly. Fanny was frankly amazed. She had enjoyed going about with +him. He rested and soothed her. He, in turn, had been stimulated by her +energy, her humor, her electric force. Nothing was said for a minute +after his awkward declaration. + +"But," he persisted, "you like me, don't you?" + +"Of course I do. Immensely." + +"Then why?" + +"When a woman of my sort marries it's a miracle. I'm twenty-six, and +intelligent and very successful. A frightful combination. Unmarried +women of my type aren't content just to feel. They must analyze their +feelings. And analysis is death to romance." + +"Great Scott! You expect to marry somebody sometime, don't you, Fanny?" + +"No one I know now. When I do marry, if I do, it will be with the idea +of making a definite gain. I don't mean necessarily worldly gain, +though that would be a factor, too." Fascinating Facts had been staring +straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with unnecessary rigidity. +He relaxed a little now, and even laughed, though not very successfully. +Then he said something very wise, for him. + +"Listen to me, girl. You'll never get away with that vampire stuff. +Talons are things you have to be born with. You'll never learn to grab +with these." He reached over, and picked up her left hand lying inertly +in her lap, and brought it up to his lips, and kissed it, glove and all. +"They're built on the open-face pattern--for giving. You can't fool me. +I know." + +A year and a half after her coming to Haynes-Cooper Fanny's department +was doing a business of a million a year. The need had been there. She +had merely given it the impetus. She was working more or less directly +with Fenger now, with an eye on every one of the departments that had +to do with women's clothing, from shoes to hats. Not that she did any +actual buying, or selling in these departments. She still confined +her actual selecting of goods to the infants' wear section, but she +occupied, unofficially, the position of assistant to the General +Merchandise Manager. They worked well together, she and Fenger, their +minds often marching along without the necessity of a single spoken +word. There was no doubt that Fenger's mind was a marvelous piece +of mechanism. Under it the Haynes-Cooper plant functioned with the +clockwork regularity of a gigantic automaton. System and Results--these +were his twin gods. With his mind intent on them he failed to see that +new gods, born of spiritual unrest, were being set up in the temples of +Big Business. Their coming had been rumored for many years. Words such +as Brotherhood, Labor, Rights, Humanity, Hours, once regarded as the +special property of the street corner ranter, were creeping into our +everyday vocabulary. And strangely enough, Nathan Haynes, the gentle, +the bewildered, the uninspired, heard them, and listened. Nathan Haynes +had begun to accustom himself to the roar of the flood that had formerly +deafened him. He was no longer stunned by the inrush of his millions. +The report sheet handed him daily had never ceased to be a wildly +unexpected thing, and he still shrank from it, sometimes. It was so +fantastic, so out of all reason. But he even dared, now and then, to put +out a tentative hand to guide the flood. He began to realize, vaguely, +that Italian Gardens, and marble pools, educational endowments and pet +charities were but poor, ineffectual barriers of mud and sticks, soon +swept away by the torrent. As he sat there in his great, luxurious +office, with the dim, rich old portraits gleaming down on him from the +walls, he began, gropingly, to evolve a new plan; a plan by which the +golden flood was to be curbed, divided, and made to form a sub-stream, +to be utilized for the good of the many; for the good of the Ten +Thousand, who were almost Fifteen Thousand now, with another fifteen +thousand in mills and factories at distant points, whose entire +output was swallowed up by the Haynes-Cooper plant. Michael Fenger, +Super-Manager, listened to the plan, smiled tolerantly, and went on +perfecting an already miraculous System. Sarah Sapinsky, at seven a +week, was just so much untrained labor material, easily replaced by +material exactly like it. No, Michael Fenger, with his head in the sand, +heard no talk of new gods. He only knew that the monster plant under +his management was yielding the greatest possible profit under the least +possible outlay. + +In Fanny Brandeis he had found a stimulating, energizing fellow worker. +That had been from the beginning. In the first month or two of her +work, when her keen brain was darting here and there, into forgotten +and neglected corners, ferreting out dusty scraps of business waste and +holding them up to the light, disdainfully, Fenger had watched her +with a mingling of amusement and a sort of fond pride, as one would a +precocious child. As the months went on the pride and amusement welded +into something more than admiration, such as one expert feels for a +fellow-craftsman. Long before the end of the first year he knew that +here was a woman such as he had dreamed of all his life and never hoped +to find. He often found himself sitting at his office desk, or in his +library at home, staring straight ahead for a longer time than he dared +admit, his papers or book forgotten in his hand. His thoughts applied +to her adjectives which proved her a paradox: Generous, sympathetic, +warm-hearted, impulsive, imaginative; cold, indomitable, brilliant, +daring, intuitive. He would rouse himself almost angrily and force +himself to concentrate again upon the page before him. I don't know how +he thought it all would end--he whose life-habit it was to follow out +every process to its ultimate step, whether mental or mechanical. As for +Fanny, there was nothing of the intriguant about her. She was used to +admiration. She was accustomed to deference from men. Brandeis' Bazaar +had insured that. All her life men had taken orders from her, all the +way from Aloysius and the blithe traveling men of whom she bought goods, +to the salesmen and importers in the Chicago wholesale houses. If they +had attempted, occasionally, to mingle the social and personal with the +commercial Fanny had not resented their attitude. She had accepted their +admiration and refused their invitations with equal good nature, and +thus retained their friendship. It is not exaggeration to say that +she looked upon Michael Fenger much as she had upon these genial +fellow-workers. A woman as straightforward and direct as she has what is +known as a single-track mind in such matters. It is your soft and silken +mollusc type of woman whose mind pursues a slimy and labyrinthine trail. +But it is useless to say that she did not feel something of the intense +personal attraction of the man. Often it used to puzzle and annoy her +to find that as they sat arguing in the brisk, everyday atmosphere of +office or merchandise room the air between them would suddenly become +electric, vibrant. They met each other's eyes with effort. When their +hands touched, accidentally, over papers or samples they snatched them +back. Fanny found herself laughing uncertainly, at nothing, and was +furious. When a silence fell between them they would pounce upon it, +breathlessly, and smother it with talk. + +Do not think that any furtive love-making went on, sandwiched between +shop talk. Their conversation might have taken place between two men. +Indeed, they often were brutally frank to each other. Fanny had the +vision, Fenger the science to apply it. Sometimes her intuition leaped +ahead of his reasoning. Then he would say, "I'm not sold on that," which +is modern business slang meaning, "You haven't convinced me." She would +go back and start afresh, covering the ground more slowly. + +Usually her suggestions were practical and what might be termed human. +They seemed to be founded on an uncanny knowledge of people's frailties. +It was only when she touched upon his beloved System that he was +adamant. + +"None of that socialistic stuff," he would say. "This isn't a Benevolent +Association we're running. It's the biggest mail order business in +the world, and its back-bone is System. I've been just fifteen years +perfecting that System. It's my job. Hands off." + +"A fifteen year old system ought to be scrapped," Fanny would retort, +boldly. "Anyway, the Simon Legree thing has gone out." + +No one in the plant had ever dared to talk to him like that. He would +glare down at Fanny for a moment, like a mastiff on a terrier. Fanny, +seeing his face rage-red, would flash him a cheerful and impudent smile. +The anger, fading slowly, gave way to another look, so that admiration +and resentment mingled for a moment. + +"Lucky for you you're not a man." + +"I wish I were." + +"I'm glad you're not." + +Not a very thrilling conversation for those of you who are seeking +heartthrobs. + +In May Fanny made her first trip to Europe for the firm. It was a sudden +plan. Instantly Theodore leaped to her mind and she was startled at the +tumult she felt at the thought of seeing him and his child. The baby, +a girl, was more than a year old. Her business, a matter of two weeks, +perhaps, was all in Berlin and Paris, but she cabled Theodore that she +would come to them in Munich, if only for a day or two. She had very +little curiosity about the woman Theodore had married. The memory of +that first photograph of hers, befrizzed, bejeweled, and asmirk, had +never effaced itself. It had stamped her indelibly in Fanny's mind. + +The day before she left for New York (she sailed from there) she had a +letter from Theodore. It was evident at once that he had not received +her cable. He was in Russia, giving a series of concerts. Olga and the +baby were with him. He would be back in Munich in June. There was some +talk of America. When Fanny realized that she was not to see him she +experienced a strange feeling that was a mixture of regret and relief. +All the family love in her, a racial trait, had been stirred at the +thought of again seeing that dear blond brother, the self-centered, +willful, gifted boy who had held the little congregation rapt, there in +the Jewish house of worship in Winnebago. But she had recoiled a little +from the meeting with this other unknown person who gave concerts in +Russia, who had adopted Munich as his home, who was the husband of this +Olga person, and the father of a ridiculously German looking baby in a +very German looking dress, all lace and tucks, and wearing bracelets on +its chubby arms, and a locket round its neck. That was what one might +expect of Olga's baby. But not of Theodore's. Besides, what business had +that boy with a baby, anyway? Himself a baby. + +Fenger had arranged for her cabin, and she rather resented its luxury +until she learned later, that it is the buyers who always occupy the +staterooms de luxe on ocean liners. She learned, too, that the men in +yachting caps and white flannels, and the women in the smartest and +most subdued of blue serge and furs were not millionaires temporarily +deprived of their own private seagoing craft, but buyers like herself, +shrewd, aggressive, wise and incredibly endowed with savoir faire. +Merely to watch one of them dealing with a deck steward was to know for +all time the superiority of mind over matter. + +Most incongruously, it was Ella Monahan and Clarence Heyl who waved +good-by to her as her ship swung clear of the dock. Ella was in New +York on her monthly trip. Heyl had appeared at the hotel as Fanny was +adjusting her veil and casting a last rather wild look around the room. +Molly Brandeis had been the kind of woman who never misses a train or +overlooks a hairpin. Fanny's early training had proved invaluable more +than once in the last two years. Nevertheless, she was rather flustered, +for her, as the elevator took her down to the main floor. She told +herself it was not the contemplation of the voyage itself that thrilled +her. It was the fact that here was another step definitely marking her +progress. Heyl, looking incredibly limp, was leaning against a gaudy +marble pillar, his eyes on the downcoming elevators. Fanny saw him +just an instant before he saw her, and in that moment she found herself +wondering why this boy (she felt years older than he) should look so +fantastically out of place in this great, glittering, feverish hotel +lobby. Just a shy, rather swarthy Jewish boy, who wore the right kind of +clothes in the wrong manner--then Heyl saw her and came swiftly toward +her. + +"Hello, Fan!" + +"Hello, Clancy!" They had not seen each other in six months. + +"Anybody else going down with you?" + +"No. Ella Monahan had a last-minute business appointment, but she +promised to be at the dock, somehow, before the boat leaves. I'm going +to be grand, and taxi all the way." + +"I've an open car, waiting." + +"But I won't have it! I can't let you do that." + +"Oh, yes you can. Don't take it so hard. That's the trouble with you +business women. You're killing the gallantry of a nation. Some day one +of you will get up and give me a seat in a subway----" + +"I'll punish you for that, Clancy. If you want the Jane Austen thing +I'll accommodate. I'll drop my handkerchief, gloves, bag, flowers and +fur scarf at intervals of five minutes all the way downtown. Then you +may scramble around on the floor of the cab and feel like a knight." + +Fanny had long ago ceased to try to define the charm of this man. She +always meant to be serenely dignified with him. She always ended by +feeling very young, and, somehow, gloriously carefree and lighthearted. +There was about him a naturalness, a simplicity, to which one responded +in kind. + +Seated beside her he turned and regarded her with disconcerting +scrutiny. + +"Like it?" demanded Fanny, pertly. And smoothed her veil, consciously. + +"No." + +"Well, for a man who looks negligee even in evening clothes aren't you +overcritical?" + +"I'm not criticizing your clothes. Even I can see that that hat and suit +have the repressed note that means money. And you're the kind of woman +who looks her best in those plain dark things." + +"Well, then?" + +"You look like a buyer. In two more years your face will have that hard +finish that never comes off." + +"I am a buyer." + +"You're not. You're a creator. Remember, I'm not belittling your +job. It's a wonderful job--for Ella Monahan. I wish I had the gift of +eloquence. I wish I had the right to spank you. I wish I could prove to +you, somehow, that with your gift, and heritage, and racial right it's +as criminal for you to be earning your thousands at Haynes-Cooper's as +it would have been for a vestal virgin to desert her altar fire to stoke +a furnace. Your eyes are bright and hard, instead of tolerant. Your +mouth is losing its graciousness. Your whole face is beginning to be +stamped with a look that says shrewdness and experience, and success." + +"I am successful. Why shouldn't I look it?" + +"Because you're a failure. I'm sick, I tell you--sick with +disappointment in you. Jane Addams would have been a success in +business, too. She was born with a humanity sense, and a value sense, +and a something else that can't be acquired. Ida Tarbell could have +managed your whole Haynes-Cooper plant, if she'd had to. So could a +dozen other women I could name. You don't see any sign of what you call +success on Jane Addams's face, do you? You wouldn't say, on seeing her, +that here was a woman who looked as if she might afford hundred-dollar +tailor suits and a town car. No. All you see in her face is the +reflection of the souls of all the men and women she has worked to save. +She has covered her job--the job that the Lord intended her to cover. +And to me she is the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever seen." + +Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand in the grip +of the other, as she had since childhood, when deeply disturbed. And +suddenly she began to cry--silently, harrowingly, as a man cries, her +shoulders shaking, her face buried in her furs. + +"Fanny! Fanny girl!" He was horribly disturbed and contrite. He patted +her arm, awkwardly. She shook free of his hand, childishly. "Don't cry, +dear. I'm sorry. It's just that I care so much. It's just----" + +She raised an angry, tear-stained face. "It's just that you have an +exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just that you've grown up +from what they used to call a bright little boy to a bright young man, +and you're just as tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, +except when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all those +years. Why, I'll never get over being thrilled at the idea of being +able to go to the theater, or to a concert, whenever I like. Actually +whenever I want to. And to be able to buy a jabot, or a smart hat, or a +book. You don't know how I wanted things, and how tired I got of never +having them. I'm happy! I'm happy! Leave me alone!" + +"It's an awful price to pay for a hat, and a jabot, and a book and a +theater ticket, Fan." + +Ella Monahan had taken the tube, and was standing in the great shed, +watching arrivals with interest, long before they bumped over the +cobblestones of Hoboken. The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had +sent champagne--six cosy pints in a wicker basket. + +"They say it's good for seasickness," she announced, cheerfully, "but +it's a lie. Nothing's good for seasickness, except death, or dry land. +But even if you do feel miserable--and you probably will--there's +something about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne +alone, by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing." + +Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and exclamatory over +her books and flowers. + +"Of course it's my first trip," she explained, "and an event in my life, +but I didn't suppose that anybody else would care. What's this? Candy? +Glace fruit." She glanced around the luxurious little cabin, then up at +Heyl, impudently. "I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy, but I +must say I like this very, very much. Sorry." + +They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full of parting +instructions. "And be sure to eat at Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty +cents for lobster. And caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as +codfish. And don't forget to order mai-bowle. It tastes like champagne, +but isn't, and it has the most delicious dwarf strawberries floating on +top. This is just the season for it. You're lucky. If you tip the waiter +one mark he's yours for life. Oh, and remember the plum compote. You'll +be disappointed in their Wertheim's that they're always bragging about. +After all, Field's makes 'em all look like country stores." + +"Wertheim's? Is that something to eat, too?" + +"No, idiot. It's their big department store." Ella turned to Heyl, +for whom she felt mingled awe and liking. "If this trip of hers is +successful, the firm will probably send her over three or four times a +year. It's a wonderful chance for a kid like her." + +"Then I hope," said Heyl, quietly, "that this trip may be a failure." + +Ella smiled, uncertainly. + +"Don't laugh," said Fanny, sharply. "He means it." + +Ella, sensing an unpleasant something in which she had no part, covered +the situation with another rush of conversation. + +"You'll get the jolt of your life when you come to Paris and find that +you're expected to pay for the lunches, and all the cab fares, and +everything, of those shrimpy little commissionaires. Polite little +fellows, they are, in frock coats, and mustaches, and they just stand +aside, as courtly as you please, while you pay for everything. Their +house expects it. I almost passed away, the first time, but you get used +to it. Say, imagine one of our traveling men letting you pay for his +lunch and taxi." + +She rattled on, genially. Heyl listened with unfeigned delight. Ella +found herself suddenly abashed before those clear, far-seeing eyes. "You +think I'm a gabby old girl, don't you?" + +"I think you're a wonderful woman," said Heyl. "Very wise, and very +kind." + +"Why--thanks," faltered Ella. "Why--thanks." + +They said their good-bys. Ella hugged Fanny warm-heartedly. Then she +turned away, awkwardly. Heyl put his two hands on Fanny's shoulders and +looked down at her. For a breathless second she thought he was about to +kiss her. She was amazed to find herself hoping that he would. But he +didn't. "Good-by," he said, simply. And took her hand in his steel grip +a moment, and dropped it. And turned away. A messenger boy, very much +out of breath, came running up to her, a telegram in his hand. + +"For me?" Fanny opened it, frowned, smiled. "It's from Mr. Fenger. Good +wishes. As if all those flowers weren't enough." + +"Mm," said Ella. She and Heyl descended the gang-way, and stood at the +dock's edge, looking rather foolish and uncertain, as people do at such +times. There followed a few moments of scramble, of absurdly shouted +last messages, of bells, and frantic waving of handkerchiefs. Fanny, +at the rail, found her two among the crowd, and smiled down upon them, +mistily. Ella was waving energetically. Heyl was standing quite still, +looking up. The ship swung clear, crept away from the dock. The good-bys +swelled to a roar. Fanny leaned far over the rail and waved too, a sob +in her throat. Then she saw that she was waving with the hand that held +the yellow telegram. She crumpled it in the other hand, and substituted +her handkerchief. Heyl still stood, hat in hand, motionless. + +"Why don't you wave good-by?" she called, though he could not possibly +hear. "Wave good-by!" And then the hand with the handkerchief went to +her face, and she was weeping. I think it was that old drama-thrill in +her, dormant for so long. But at that Heyl swung his hat above his head, +three times, like a schoolboy, and, grasping Ella's plump and resisting +arm, marched abruptly away. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +The first week in June found her back in New York. That month of +absence had worked a subtle change. The two weeks spent in crossing and +recrossing had provided her with a let-down that had been almost jarring +in its completeness. Everything competitive had seemed to fade away with +the receding shore, and to loom up again only when the skyline became a +thing of smoke-banks, spires, and shafts. She had had only two weeks for +the actual transaction of her business. She must have been something of +a revelation to those Paris and Berlin manufacturers, accustomed though +they were to the brisk and irresistible methods of the American business +woman. She was, after all, absurdly young to be talking in terms +of millions, and she was amazingly well dressed. This last passed +unnoticed, or was taken for granted in Paris, but in Berlin, home of the +frump and the flour-sack figure, she was stared at, appreciatively. Her +business, except for one or two unimportant side lines, had to do with +two factories on whose product the Haynes-Cooper company had long had a +covetous eye. Quantity, as usual, was the keynote of their demand, +and Fanny's task was that of talking in six-figure terms to these +conservative and over-wary foreign manufacturers. That she had +successfully accomplished this, and that she had managed to impress them +also with the important part that time and promptness in delivery played +in a swift-moving machine like the Haynes-Cooper concern, was due to +many things beside her natural business ability. Self-confidence was +there, and physical vigor, and diplomacy. But above all there was that +sheer love of the game; the dramatic sense that enabled her to see +herself in the part. That alone precluded the possibility of failure. +She knew how youthful she looked, and how glowing. She anticipated the +look that came into their faces when she left polite small-talk behind +and soared up into the cold, rarefied atmosphere of business. She +delighted in seeing the admiring and tolerant smirk vanish and give way +to a startled and defensive attentiveness. + +It might be mentioned that she managed, somehow, to spend almost half +a day in Petticoat Lane, and its squalid surroundings, while in London. +She actually prowled, alone, at night, in the evil-smelling, narrow +streets of the poorer quarter of Paris, and how she escaped unharmed is +a mystery that never bothered her, because she had never known fear of +streets. She had always walked on the streets of Winnebago, Wisconsin, +alone. It never occurred to her not to do the same in the streets of +Chicago, or New York, or London, or Paris. She found Berlin, with +its Adlon, its appalling cleanliness, its overfed populace, and its +omnipresent Kaiser forever scudding up and down Unter den Linden in his +chocolate-colored car, incredibly dull, and unpicturesque. Something she +had temporarily lost there in the busy atmosphere of the Haynes-Cooper +plant, seemed to have returned, miraculously. + +New York, on her return, was something of a shock. She remembered how +vividly fresh it had looked to her on the day of that first visit, +months before. Now, to eyes fresh from the crisp immaculateness of Paris +and Berlin, Fifth avenue looked almost grimy, and certainly shabby in +spots. + +Ella Monahan, cheerful, congratulatory, beaming, met her at the pier, +and Fanny was startled at her own sensation of happiness as she saw +that pink, good-natured face looking up at her from the crowd below. The +month that had gone by since last she saw Ella standing just so, seemed +to slip away and fade into nothingness. + +"I waited over a day," said Ella, "just to see you. My, you look grand! +I know where you got that hat. Galeries Lafayette. How much?" + +"I don't expect you to believe it. Thirty-five francs. Seven dollars. I +couldn't get it for twenty-five here." + +They were soon clear of the customs. Ella had engaged a room for her at +the hotel they always used. As they rode uptown together, happily, Ella +opened her bag and laid a little packet of telegrams and letters in +Fanny's lap. + +"I guess Fenger's pleased, all right, if telegrams mean anything. Not +that I know they're from him. But he said--" + +But Fanny was looking up from one of them with a startled expression. +"He's here. Fenger's here." + +"In New York?" asked Ella, rather dully. + +"Yes." She ripped open another letter. It was from Theodore. He was +coming to New York in August. The Russian tour had been a brilliant +success. They had arranged a series of concerts for him in the United +States. He could give his concerto there. It was impossible in Russia, +Munich, even Berlin, because it was distinctly Jewish in theme--as +Jewish as the Kol Nidre, and as somber. They would have none of it in +Europe. Prejudice was too strong. But in America! He was happier than he +had been in years. Olga objected to coming to America, but she would +get over that. The little one was well, and she was learning to talk. +Actually! They were teaching her to say Tante Fanny. + +"Well!" exclaimed Fanny, her eyes shining. She read bits of the letter +aloud to Ella. Ella was such a satisfactory sort of person to whom to +read a letter aloud. She exclaimed in all the right places. Her face was +as radiant as Fanny's. They both had forgotten all about Fenger, their +Chief. But they had been in their hotel scarcely a half hour, and Ella +had not done exclaiming over the bag that Fanny had brought her from +Paris, when his telephone call came. + +He wasted very little time on preliminaries. + +"I'll call for you at four. We'll drive through the park, and out by the +river, and have tea somewhere." + +"That would be wonderful. That is, if Ella's free. I'll ask her." + +"Ella?" + +"Yes. She's right here. Hold the wire, will you?" She turned away from +the telephone to face Ella. "It's Mr. Fenger. He wants to take us both +driving this afternoon. You can go, can't you?" + +"I certainly CAN," replied Miss Monahan, with what might have appeared +to be undue force. + +Fanny turned back to the telephone. "Yes, thanks. We can both go. We'll +be ready at four." + +Fanny decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have been what she +thought it was. + +Ella busied herself with the unpacking of a bag. She showed a +disposition to spoil Fanny. "You haven't asked after your friend, Mr. +Heyl. My land! If I had a friend like that--" "Oh, yes," said Fanny, +vaguely. "I suppose you and he are great chums by this time. He's a nice +boy." + +"You don't suppose anything of the kind," Ella retorted, crisply. "That +boy, as you call him--and it isn't always the man with the biggest fists +that's got the most fight in him--is about as far above me as--as--" +she sat down on the floor, ponderously, beside the open bag, and +gesticulated with a hairbrush, at loss for a simile "as an eagle is +above a waddling old duck. No, I don't mean that, either, because I +never did think much of the eagle, morally. But you get me. Not that +he knows it, or shows it. Heyl, I mean. Lord, no! But he's got +something--something kind of spiritual in him that makes you that way, +too. He doesn't say much, either. That's the funny part of it. I do all +the talking, seems, when I'm with him. But I find myself saying things +I didn't know I knew. He makes you think about things you're afraid to +face by yourself. Big things. Things inside of you." She fell silent a +moment, sitting cross-legged before the bag. Then she got up, snapped +the bag shut, and bore it across the room to a corner. "You know he's +gone, I s'pose." + +"Gone?" + +"To those mountains, or wherever it is he gets that look in his eyes +from. That's my notion of a job. They let him go for the whole summer, +roaming around being a naturalist, just so's he'll come back in the +winter." + +"And the column?" Fanny asked. "Do they let that go, too?" + +"I guess he's going to do some writing for them up there. After all, +he's the column. It doesn't make much difference where he writes from. +Did you know it's being syndicated now, all over the country? Well, it +is. That's the secret of its success, I suppose. It isn't only a column +written about New York for a New York paper. It's about everything, for +anybody. It's the humanest stuff. And he isn't afraid of anything. New +York's crazy about him. They say he's getting a salary you wouldn't +believe. I'm a tongue-tied old fool when I'm with him, but then, he +likes to talk about you, mostly, so it doesn't matter." + +Fanny turned swiftly from the dressing-table, where she was taking the +pins out of her vigorous, abundant hair. + +"What kind of thing does he say about me, Ellen girl. H'm? What kind of +thing?" + +"Abuse, mostly. I'll be running along to my own room now. I'll be out +for lunch, but back at four, for that airing Fenger's so wild to have +me take. If I were you I'd lie down for an hour, till you get your +land-legs." She poked her head in at the door again. "Not that you +look as if you needed it. You've got a different look, somehow. Kind of +rested. After all, there's nothing like an ocean voyage." + +She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the room. There +was nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had you seen her standing there, +motionless, you would still have got a sense of action from her. She +looked so splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood +looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not yet turned +the city into a cauldron of stone and steel. From her height she could +glimpse the green of the park, with a glint of silver in its heart, that +was the lake. Her mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far +removed from its usual orderly functioning. Now she thought of Theodore, +her little brother--his promised return. It had been a slow and painful +thing, his climb. Perhaps if she had been more ready to help, if she +had not always waited until he asked the aid that she might have +volunteered--she thrust that thought out of her mind, rudely, and +slammed the door on it.... Fenger. He had said, "Damn!" when she had +told him about Ella. And his voice had been--well--she pushed that +thought outside her mind, too.... Clarence Heyl.... "He makes you think +about things you're afraid to face by yourself. Big things. Things +inside of you...." + +Fanny turned away from the window. She decided she must be tired, after +all. Because here she was, with everything to make her happy: Theodore +coming home; her foreign trip a success; Ella and Fenger to praise her +and make much of her; a drive and tea this afternoon (she wasn't above +these creature comforts)--and still she felt unexhilarated, dull. She +decided to go down for a bit of lunch, and perhaps a stroll of ten +or fifteen minutes, just to see what Fifth avenue was showing. It +was half-past one when she reached that ordinarily well-regulated +thoroughfare. She found its sidewalks packed solid, up and down, as far +as the eye could see, with a quiet, orderly, expectant mass of people. +Squads of mounted police clattered up and down, keeping the middle +of the street cleared. Whatever it was that had called forth that +incredible mass, was scheduled to proceed uptown from far downtown, and +that very soon. Heads were turned that way. Fanny, wedged in the crowd, +stood a-tiptoe, but she could see nothing. It brought to her mind the +Circus Day of her Winnebago childhood, with Elm street packed with +townspeople and farmers, all straining their eyes up toward Cherry +street, the first turn in the line of march. Then, far away, the blare +of a band. "Here they come!" Just then, far down the canyon of Fifth +avenue, sounded the cry that had always swayed Elm street, Winnebago. +"Here they come!" + +"What is it?" Fanny asked a woman against whom she found herself +close-packed. "What are they waiting for?" + +"It's the suffrage parade," replied the woman. "The big suffrage parade. +Don't you know?" + +"No. I haven't been here." Fanny was a little disappointed. The crowd +had surged forward, so that it was impossible for her to extricate +herself. She found herself near the curb. She could see down the broad +street now, and below Twenty-third street it was a moving, glittering +mass, pennants, banners, streamers flying. The woman next her +volunteered additional information. + +"The mayor refused permission to let them march. But they fought it, and +they say it's the greatest suffrage parade ever held. I'd march myself, +only--" + +"Only what?" + +"I don't know. I'm scared to, I think. I'm not a New Yorker." + +"Neither am I," said Fanny. Fanny always became friendly with the woman +next her in a crowd. That was her mother in her. One could hear the +music of the band, now. Fanny glanced at her watch. It was not quite +two. Oh, well, she would wait and see some of it. Her mind was still too +freshly packed with European impressions to receive any real idea of +the value of this pageant, she told herself. She knew she did not feel +particularly interested. But she waited. + +Another surging forward. It was no longer, "Here they come!" but, "Here +they are!" + +And here they were. + +A squad of mounted police, on very prancy horses. The men looked very +ruddy, and well set-up and imposing. Fanny had always thrilled to +anything in uniform, given sufficient numbers of them. Another police +squad. A brass band, on foot. And then, in white, on a snow-white +charger, holding a white banner aloft, her eyes looking straight ahead, +her face very serious and youthful, the famous beauty and suffrage +leader, Mildred Inness. One of the few famous beauties who actually +was a beauty. And after that women, women, women! Hundreds of them, +thousands of them, a river of them flowing up Fifth avenue to the park. +More bands. More horses. Women! Women! They bore banners. This section, +that section. Artists. School teachers. Lawyers. Doctors. Writers. Women +in college caps and gowns. Women in white, from shoes to hats. Young +women. Girls. Gray-haired women. A woman in a wheel chair, smiling. A +man next to Fanny began to jeer. He was a red-faced young man, with a +coarse, blotchy skin, and thick lips. He smoked a cigar, and called to +the women in a falsetto voice, "Hello, Sadie!" he called. "Hello, kid!" +And the women marched on, serious-faced, calm-eyed. There came floats; +elaborate affairs, with girls in Greek robes. Fanny did not care for +these. More solid ranks. And then a strange and pitiful and tragic +and eloquent group. Their banner said, "Garment Workers. Infants' Wear +Section." And at their head marched a girl, carrying a banner. I don't +know how she attained that honor. I think she must have been one of +those fiery, eloquent leaders in her factory clique. The banner she +carried was a large one, and it flapped prodigiously in the breeze, and +its pole was thick and heavy. She was a very small girl, even in that +group of pale-faced, under-sized, under-fed girls. A Russian Jewess, +evidently. Her shoes were ludicrous. They curled up at the toes, and the +heels were run down. Her dress was a sort of parody on the prevailing +fashion. But on her face, as she trudged along, hugging the pole of the +great pennant that flapped in the breeze, was stamped a look.--well, you +see that same look in some pictures of Joan of Arc. It wasn't merely a +look. It was a story. It was tragedy. It was the history of a people. +You saw in it that which told of centuries of oppression in Russia. You +saw eager groups of student Intellectuals, gathered in secret places +for low-voiced, fiery talk. There was in it the unspeakable misery of +Siberia. It spoke eloquently of pogroms, of massacres, of Kiev and its +sister-horror, Kishineff. You saw mean and narrow streets, and carefully +darkened windows, and, on the other side of those windows the warm +yellow glow of the seven-branched Shabbos light. Above this there shone +the courage of a race serene in the knowledge that it cannot die. +And illuminating all, so that her pinched face, beneath the flapping +pennant, was the rapt, uplifted countenance of the Crusader, there +blazed the great glow of hope. This woman movement, spoken of so glibly +as Suffrage, was, to the mind of this over-read, under-fed, emotional, +dreamy little Russian garment worker the glorious means to a long hoped +for end. She had idealized it, with the imagery of her kind. She had +endowed it with promise that it would never actually hold for her, +perhaps. And so she marched on, down the great, glittering avenue, +proudly clutching her unwieldy banner, a stunted, grotesque, magnificent +figure. More than a figure. A symbol. + +Fanny's eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. She put up her +hand to her cheek, and her face was wet. She stood there, and the parade +went on, endlessly, it seemed, and she saw it through a haze. Bands. +More bands. Pennants. Floats. Women. Women. Women. + +"I always cry at parades," said Fanny, to the woman who stood next +her--the woman who wanted to march, but was scared to. "That's all +right," said the woman. "That's all right." And she laughed, because she +was crying, too. And then she did a surprising thing. She elbowed her +way to the edge of the crowd, past the red-faced man with the cigar, +out to the street, and fell into line, and marched on up the street, +shoulders squared, head high. + +Fanny glanced down at her watch. It was quarter after four. With a +little gasp she turned to work her way through the close-packed crowd. +It was an actual physical struggle, from which she emerged disheveled, +breathless, uncomfortably warm, and minus her handkerchief, but she had +gained the comparative quiet of the side street, and she made the short +distance that lay between the Avenue and her hotel a matter of little +more than a minute. In the hotel corridor stood Ella and Fenger, the +former looking worried, the latter savage. + +"Where in the world--" began Ella. + +"Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was--it +was--glorious!" She was shaking hands with Fenger, and realizing for the +first time that she must be looking decidedly sketchy and that she had +lost her handkerchief. She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when +Fenger released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said: + +"What's the matter with your eyes?" + +"I've been crying," Fanny confessed cheerfully. + +"Crying!" + +"The parade. There was a little girl in it--" she stopped. Fenger would +not be interested in that little girl. Now Clancy would have--but Ella +broke in on that thought. + +"I guess you don't realize that out in front of this hotel there's a +kind of a glorified taxi waiting, with the top rolled back, and it's +been there half an hour. I never expect to see the time when I could +enjoy keeping a taxi waiting. It goes against me." + +"I'm sorry. Really. Let's go. I'm ready." + +"You are not. Your hair's a sight; and those eyes!" + +Fenger put a hand on her arm. "Go on up and powder your nose, Miss +Brandeis. And don't hurry. I want you to enjoy this drive." + +On her way up in the elevator Fanny thought, "He has lost his waistline. +Now, that couldn't have happened in a month. Queer I didn't notice it +before. And he looks soft. Not enough exercise." + +When she rejoined them she was freshly bloused and gloved and all traces +of the tell-tale red had vanished from her eyelids. Fifth avenue was +impossible. Their car sped up Madison avenue, and made for the Park. The +Plaza was a jam of tired marchers. They dispersed from there, but there +seemed no end to the line that still flowed up Fifth avenue. Fenger +seemed scarcely to see it. He had plunged at once into talk of the +European trip. Fanny gave him every detail, omitting nothing. She +repeated all that her letters and cables had told. Fenger was more +excited than she had ever seen him. He questioned, cross-questioned, +criticized, probed, exacted an account of every conversation. Usually +it was not method that interested him, but results. Fanny, having +accomplished the thing she had set out to do, had lost interest in it +now. The actual millions so glibly bandied in the Haynes-Cooper plant +had never thrilled her. The methods by which they were made possible +had. + +Ella had been listening with the shrewd comprehension of one who admires +the superior art of a fellow craftsman. + +"I'll say this, Mr. Fenger. If I could make you look like that, by going +to Europe and putting it over those foreign boys, I'd feel I'd earned +a year's salary right there, and quit. Not to speak of the +cross-examination you're putting her through." + +Fenger laughed, a little self-consciously. "It's just that I want to be +sure it's real. I needn't tell you how important this trick is that Miss +Brandeis has just turned." He turned to Fanny, with a boyish laugh. "Now +don't pose. You know you can't be as bored as you look." + +"Anyway," put in Ella, briskly, "I move that the witness step down. She +may not be bored, but she certainly must be tired, and she's beginning +to look it. Just lean back, Fanny, and let the green of this park soak +in. At that, it isn't so awfully green, when you get right close, except +that one stretch of meadow. Kind of ugly, Central Park, isn't it? Bare." + +Fanny sat forward. There was more sparkle in her face than at any time +during the drive. They were skimming along those green-shaded drives +that are so sophisticatedly sylvan. + +"I used to think it was bare, too, and bony as an old maid, with no soft +cuddly places like the parks at home; no gracious green stretches, and +no rose gardens. But somehow, it grows on you. The reticence of it. And +that stretch of meadow near the Mall, in the late afternoon, with the +mist on it, and the sky faintly pink, and that electric sign--Somebody's +Tires or other--winking off and on--" + +"You're a queer child," interrupted Fenger. "As wooden as an Indian +while talking about a million-a-year deal, and lyrical over a +combination of electric sign, sunset, and moth-eaten park. Oh, well, +perhaps that's what makes you as you are." + +Even Ella looked a little startled at that. + +They had tea at Claremont, at a table overlooking the river and the +Palisades. Fenger was the kind of man to whom waiters always give a +table overlooking anything that should be overlooked. After tea they +drove out along the river and came back in the cool of the evening. +Fanny was very quiet now. Fenger followed her mood. Ella sustained the +conversation, somewhat doggedly. It was almost seven when they reached +the plaza exit. And there Fanny, sitting forward suddenly, gave a little +cry. + +"Why--they're marching yet!" she said, and her voice was high with +wonder. "They're marching yet! All the time we've been driving and +teaing, they've been marching." + +And so they had. Thousands upon thousands, they had flowed along as +relentlessly, and seemingly as endlessly as a river. They were marching +yet. For six hours the thousands had poured up that street, making it a +moving mass of white. And the end was not yet. What pen, and tongue, and +sense of justice had failed to do, they were doing now by sheer, crude +force of numbers. The red-faced hooligan, who had stood next to Fanny +in the crowd hours before, had long ago ceased his jibes and slunk away, +bored, if not impressed. After all, one might jeer at ten, or fifty, or +a hundred women, or even five hundred. But not at forty thousand. + +Their car turned down Madison Avenue, and Fenger twisted about for a +last look at the throng in the plaza. He was plainly impressed. The +magnitude of the thing appealed to him. To a Haynes-Cooper-trained +mind, forty thousand women, marching for whatever the cause, must +be impressive. Forty thousand of anything had the respect of Michael +Fenger. His eyes narrowed, thoughtfully. + +"They seem to have put it over," he said. "And yet, what's the idea? +Oh, I'm for suffrage, of course. Naturally. And all those thousands of +women, in white--still, a thing as huge as this parade has to be reduced +to a common denominator, to be really successful. If somebody could take +the whole thing, boil it down, and make the country see what this huge +demonstration stands for." + +Fanny leaned forward suddenly. "Tell the man to stop. I want to get +out." + +Fenger and Ella stared. "What for?" But Fenger obeyed. + +"I want to get something at this stationer's shop." She had jumped down +almost before the motor had stopped at the curb. + +"But let me get it." + +"No. You can't. Wait here." She disappeared within the shop. She was +back in five minutes, a flat, loosely wrapped square under her arm. +"Cardboard," she explained briefly, in answer to their questions. + +Fenger, about to leave them at their hotel, presented his plans for the +evening. Fanny, looking up at him, her head full of other plans, thought +he looked and sounded very much like Big Business. And, for the moment +at least, Fanny Brandeis loathed Big Business, and all that it stood +for. + +"It's almost seven," Fenger was saying. "We'll be rubes in New York, +this evening. You girls will just have time to freshen up a bit--I +suppose you want to--and then we'll have dinner, and go to the theater, +and to supper afterward. What do you want to see?" + +Ella looked at Fanny. And Fanny shook her head, "Thanks. You're awfully +kind. But--no." + +"Why not?" demanded Fenger, gruffly. + +"Perhaps because I'm tired. And there's something else I must do." + +Ella looked relieved. Fenger's eyes bored down upon Fanny, but she +seemed not to feel them. She held out her hand. + +"You're going back to-morrow?" Fenger asked. "I'm not leaving until +Thursday." + +"To-morrow, with Ella. Good-by. It's been a glorious drive. I feel quite +rested." + +"You just said you were tired." + +The elevator door clanged, shutting out the sight of Fenger's resentful +frown. + +"He's as sensitive as a soubrette," said Ella. "I'm glad you decided not +to go out. I'm dead, myself. A kimono for the rest of the evening." + +Fanny seemed scarcely to hear her. With a nod she left Ella, and entered +her own room. There she wasted no time. She threw her hat and coat on +the bed. Her suitcase was on the baggage stand. She turned on all the +lights, swung the closed suitcase up to the table, shoved the table +against the wall, up-ended the suitcase so that its leather side +presented a smooth surface, and propped a firm sheet of white cardboard +against the impromptu rack. She brought her chair up close, fumbled in +her bag for the pens she had just purchased. Her eyes were on the blank +white surface of the paper. The table was the kind that has a sub-shelf. +It prevented Fanny from crossing her legs under it, and that bothered +her. While she fitted her pens, and blocked her paper, she kept on +barking her shins in unconscious protest against the uncomfortable +conditions under which she must work. + +She sat staring at the paper now, after having marked it off into +blocks, with a pencil. She got up, and walked across the room, +aimlessly, and stood there a moment, and came back. She picked up a +thread on the floor. Sat down again. Picked up her pencil, rolled it a +moment in her palms, then, catching her toes behind either foreleg of +her chair, in an attitude that was as workmanlike as it was ungraceful, +she began to draw, nervously, tentatively at first, but gaining in +firmness and assurance as she went on. + +If you had been standing behind her chair you would have seen, emerging +miraculously from the white surface under Fanny's pencil, a thin, +undersized little figure in sleazy black and white, whose face, under +the cheap hat, was upturned and rapturous. Her skirts were wind-blown, +and the wind tugged, too, at the banner whose pole she hugged so tightly +in her arms. Dimly you could see the crowds that lined the street on +either side. Vaguely, too, you saw the faces and stunted figures of the +little group of girls she led. But she, the central figure, stood out +among all the rest. Fanny Brandeis, the artist, and Fanny Brandeis, the +salesman, combined shrewdly to omit no telling detail. The wrong kind of +feet in the wrong kind of shoes; the absurd hat; the shabby skirt--every +bit of grotesquerie was there, serving to emphasize the glory of the +face. Fanny Brandeis' face, as the figure grew, line by line, was a +glorious thing, too. + +She was working rapidly. She laid down her pencil, now, and leaned back, +squinting her eyes critically. She looked grimly pleased. Her hair was +rather rumpled, and her cheeks very pink. She took up her pen, now, and +began to ink her drawing with firm black strokes. As she worked a little +crow of delight escaped her--the same absurd crow of triumph that had +sounded that day in Winnebago, years and years before, when she, +a school girl in a red tam o' shanter, had caught the likeness of +Schabelitz, the peasant boy, under the exterior of Schabelitz, the +famous. There sounded a smart little double knock at her door. Fanny +did not heed it. She did not hear it. Her toes were caught behind the +chair-legs again. She was slumped down on the middle of her spine. She +had brought the table, with its ridiculously up-ended suitcase, very +near, so that she worked with a minimum of effort. The door opened. +Fanny did not turn her head. Ella Monahan came in, yawning. She was +wearing an expensive looking silk kimono that fell in straight, simple +folds, and gave a certain majesty to her ample figure. + +"Well, what in the world--" she began, and yawned again, luxuriously. +She stopped behind Fanny's chair and glanced over her shoulder. The yawn +died. She craned her neck a little, and leaned forward. And the little +girl went marching by, in her cheap and crooked shoes, and her short +and sleazy skirt, with the banner tugging, tugging in the breeze. +Fanny Brandeis had done her with that economy of line, and absence +of sentimentality which is the test separating the artist from the +draughtsman. + +Silence, except for the scratching of Fanny Brandeis's pen. + +"Why--the poor little kike!" said Ella Monahan. Then, after another +moment of silence, "I didn't know you could draw like that." + +Fanny laid down her pen. "Like what?" She pushed back her chair, and +rose, stiffly. The drawing, still wet, was propped up against the +suitcase. Fanny walked across the room. Ella dropped into her chair, so +that when Fanny came back to the table it was she who looked over Ella's +shoulder. Into Ella's shrewd and heavy face there had come a certain +look. + +"They don't get a square deal, do they? They don't get a square deal." + +The two looked at the girl a moment longer, in silence. Then Fanny went +over to the bed, and picked up her hat and coat. She smoothed her hair, +deftly, powdered her nose with care, and adjusted her hat at the smart +angle approved by the Galeries Lafayette. She came back to the table, +picked up her pen, and beneath the drawing wrote, in large print: + +THE MARCHER. + + +She picked up the drawing, still wet, opened the door, and with a smile +at the bewildered Ella, was gone. + +It was after eight o'clock when she reached the Star building. She asked +for Lasker's office, and sent in her card. Heyl had told her that Lasker +was always at his desk at eight. Now, Fanny Brandeis knew that the +average young woman, standing outside the office of a man like Lasker, +unknown and at the mercy of office boy or secretary, continues to stand +outside until she leaves in discouragement. But Fanny knew, too, that +she was not an average young woman. She had, on the surface, an air +of authority and distinction. She had that quiet assurance of one +accustomed to deference. She had youth, and beauty, and charm. She had a +hat and suit bought in Paris, France; and a secretary is only human. + +Carl Lasker's private office was the bare, bright, newspaper-strewn room +of a man who is not only a newspaper proprietor, but a newspaper man. +There's a difference. Carl Lasker had sold papers on the street when he +was ten. He had slept on burlap sacks, paper stuffed, in the basement +of a newspaper office. Ink flowed with the blood in his veins. He could +operate a press. He could manipulate a linotype machine (that almost +humanly intelligent piece of mechanism). He could make up a paper single +handed, and had done it. He knew the newspaper game, did Carl Lasker, +from the composing room to the street, and he was a very great man in +his line. And so he was easy to reach, and simple to talk to, as are all +great men. + +A stocky man, decidedly handsome, surprisingly young, well dressed, +smooth shaven, direct. + +Fanny entered. Lasker laid down her card. "Brandeis. That's a good +name." He extended his hand. He wore evening clothes, with a white +flower in his buttonhole. He must have just come from a dinner, or he +was to attend a late affair, somewhere. Perhaps Fanny, taken aback, +unconsciously showed her surprise, because Lasker grinned, as he waved +her to a chair. His quick mind had interpreted her thought. + +"Sit down, Miss Brandeis. You think I'm gotten up like the newspaper +man in a Richard Harding Davis short story, don't you? What can I do for +you?" + +Fanny wasted no words. "I saw the parade this afternoon. I did a +picture. I think it's good. If you think so too, I wish you'd use it." + +She laid it, face up, on Lasker's desk. Lasker picked it up in his two +hands, held it off, and scrutinized it. All the drama in the world is +concentrated in the confines of a newspaper office every day in the +year, and so you hear very few dramatic exclamations in such a place. +Men like Lasker do not show emotion when impressed. It is too wearing +on the mechanism. Besides, they are trained to self-control. So Lasker +said, now: + +"Yes, I think it's pretty good, too." Then, raising his voice to a +sudden bellow, "Boy!" He handed the drawing to a boy, gave a few brief +orders, and turned back to Fanny. "To-morrow morning every other paper +in New York will have pictures showing Mildred Inness, the beauty, on +her snow-white charger, or Sophronisba A. Bannister, A.B., Ph.D., in her +cap and gown, or Mrs. William Van der Welt as Liberty. We'll have that +little rat with the banner, and it'll get 'em. They'll talk about it." +His eyes narrowed a little. "Do you always get that angle?" + +"Yes." + +"There isn't a woman cartoonist in New York who does that human stuff. +Did you know that?" + +"Yes." + +"Want a job?" + +"N-no." + +His knowing eye missed no detail of the suit, the hat, the gloves, the +shoes. + +"What's your salary now?" + +"Ten thousand." + +"Satisfied?" + +"No." + +"You've hit the heart of that parade. I don't know whether you could do +that every day, or not. But if you struck twelve half the time, it would +be enough. When you want a job, come back." + +"Thanks," said Fanny quietly. And held out her hand. + +She returned in the subway. It was a Bronx train, full of sagging faces, +lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, black-eyed girls in soiled +white shoes; of stoop-shouldered men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew +script; of smells and sounds and glaring light. + +And though to-morrow would bring its reaction, and common sense would +have her again in its cold grip, she was radiant to-night and glowing +with the exaltation that comes with creation. And over and over a voice +within her was saying: + +These are my people! These are my people! + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +The ship that brought Theodore Brandeis to America was the last of +its kind to leave German ports for years. The day after he sailed from +Bremen came the war. Fanny Brandeis was only one of the millions of +Americans who refused to accept the idea of war. She took it as a +personal affront. It was uncivilized, it was old fashioned, it was +inconvenient. Especially inconvenient. She had just come from Europe, +where she had negotiated a million-dollar deal. War would mean that she +could not get the goods ordered. Consequently there could be no war. + +Theodore landed the first week in August. Fanny stole two days from the +ravenous bins to meet him in New York. I think she must have been a very +love-hungry woman in the years since her mother's death. She had never +admitted it. But only emotions denied to the point of starvation could +have been so shaken now at the thought of the feast before them. She had +trained herself to think of him as Theodore the selfish, Theodore the +callous, Theodore the voracious. "An unsuccessful genius," she +told herself. "He'll be impossible. They're bad enough when they're +successful." + +But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent emotions +were straining toward the boat whose great prow was looming toward her, +a terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting the ship was enormous. A dramatic +enough scene at any time, the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled +with an unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning +papers had carried wireless news that the ship had been chased by a +French gunboat and had escaped only through the timely warning of the +Dresden, a German gunboat. That had added the last fillip to an already +tense situation. Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned +toward the crowded decks. And from every side: + +"Do you see her?" + +"That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!" + +"Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!" + +Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. "Ted!" she called, +and choked back a sob. "Teddy!" Still she did not see him. She was +searching, womanlike, for a tall, blondish boy, with a sulky mouth, and +humorous eyes, and an unruly lock of hair that would insist on escaping +from the rest and straggling down over his forehead. I think she was +even looking for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in knickers. +Women lose all sense of time and proportion at such times. Still she did +not see him. The passengers were filing down the gangplank now; rushing +down as quickly as the careful hands of the crew would allow them, and +hurling themselves into the arms of friends and family crowded below. +Fanny strained her eyes toward that narrow passageway, anxious, hopeful, +fearful, heartsick. For the moment Olga and the baby did not exist for +her. And then she saw him. + +She saw him through an unimaginable disguise. She saw him, and knew +him in spite of the fact that the fair-haired, sulky, handsome boy had +vanished, and in his place walked a man. His hair was close-cropped, +German-fashion; his face careworn and older than she had ever thought +possible; his bearing, his features, his whole personality stamped +with an unmistakable distinction. And his clothes were appallingly, +inconceivably German. So she saw him, and he was her brother, and she +was his sister, and she stretched out her arms to him. + +"Teddy!" She hugged him close, her face buried in his shoulder. "Teddy, +you--you Spitzbube you!" She laughed at that, a little hysterically. +"Not that I know what a Spitzbube is, but it's the Germanest word I +can think of." That shaven head. Those trousers. That linen. The awful +boots. The tie! "Oh, Teddy, and you're the Germanest thing I ever saw." +She kissed him again, rapturously. + +He kissed her, too, wordlessly at first. They moved aside a little, out +of the crowd. Then he spoke for the first time. + +"God! I'm glad to see you, Fanny." There was tragedy, not profanation +in his voice. His hand gripped hers. He turned, and now, for the +first time, Fanny saw that at his elbow stood a buxom, peasant woman, +evidently a nurse, and in her arms a child. A child with Molly Brandeis' +mouth, and Ferdinand Brandeis' forehead, and Fanny Brandeis' eyes, and +Theodore Brandeis' roseleaf skin, and over, and above all these, +weaving in and out through the whole, an expression or cast--a vague, +undefinable thing which we call a resemblance--that could only have come +from the woman of the picture, Theodore Brandeis' wife, Olga. + +"Why--it's the baby!" cried Fanny, and swung her out of the nurse's +protesting arms. Such a German-looking baby. Such an adorably +German-looking baby. "Du kleine, du!" Fanny kissed the roseleaf cheek. +"Du suszes--" She turned suddenly to Theodore. "Olga--where's Olga?" + +"She did not come." + +Fanny tightened her hold of the little squirming bundle in her arms. +"Didn't come?" + +Theodore shook his head, dumbly. In his eyes was an agony of pain. And +suddenly all those inexplicable things in his face were made clear to +Fanny. She placed the little Mizzi in the nurse's arms again. "Then +we'll go, dear. They won't be a minute over your trunks, I'm sure. Just +follow me." + +Her arm was linked through Theodore's. Her hand was on his. Her head +was up. Her chin was thrust out, and she never knew how startlingly she +resembled the Molly Brandeis who used to march so bravely down Norris +street on her way to Brandeis' Bazaar. She was facing a situation, and +she recognized it. There was about her an assurance, a composure, a +blithe capability that imparted itself to the three bewildered and +helpless ones in her charge. Theodore felt it, and the strained look +in his face began to lift just a little. The heavy-witted peasant woman +felt it, and trudged along, cheerfully. The baby in her arms seemed to +sense it, and began to converse volubly and unintelligibly with the blue +uniformed customs inspector. + +They were out of the great shed in an incredibly short time. Fanny +seemed equal to every situation. She had taken the tube to Hoboken, but +now she found a commodious open car, and drove a shrewd bargain with the +chauffeur. She bundled the three into it. Of the three, perhaps Theodore +seemed the most bewildered and helpless. He clung to his violin and +Fanny. + +"I feel like an immigrant," he said. "Fan, you're a wonder. You don't +know how much you look and act like mother. I've been watching you. It's +startling." + +Fanny laughed and took his hand, and held his hand up to her breast, +and crushed it there. "And you look like an illustration out of the +Fliegende Blaetter. It isn't only your clothes. Your face is German. +As for Mizzi here--" she gathered the child in her arms again--"you've +never explained that name to me. Why, by the way, Mizzi? Of all the +names in the world." + +Theodore smiled a wry little smile. "Mizzi is named after Olga's chum. +You see, in Vienna every other--well, chorus girl I suppose you'd +call them--is named Mizzi. Like all the Gladyses and Flossies here in +America. Well, Olga's special friend Mizzi--" + +"I see," said Fanny quietly. "Well, anything's better than Fanny. Always +did make me think of an old white horse." And at that the small German +person in her arms screwed her mouth into a fascinating bunch, and then +unscrewed it and, having made these preparations said, "Tante Fanny. +Shecago. Tante Fanny." + +"Why, Mizzi Brandeis, you darling! Teddy, did you hear that! She said +`Tante Fanny' and `Chicago' just as plainly!" "Did I hear it? Have I +heard anything else for weeks?" + +The plump person on the opposite seat, who had been shaking her head +violently all this time here threatened to burst if not encouraged to +speak. Fanny nodded to her. Whereupon the flood broke. + +"Wunderbar, nicht war! Ich kuss' die handt, gnadiges Fraulein." She +actually did it, to Fanny's consternation. "Ich hab' ihr das gelernt, +Gnadige. Selbst. Ist es nicht ganz entzuckend! Tante Fanny. Auch +Shecago." + +Fanny nodded a number of times, first up and down, signifying assent, +then sideways, signifying unbounded wonder and admiration. She made a +gigantic effort to summon her forgotten German. + +"Was ist Ihre Name?" she managed to ask. + +"Otti." + +"Oh, my!" exclaimed Fanny, weakly. "Mizzi and Otti. It sounds like the +first act of the `Merry Widow.'" She turned to Theodore. "I wish you'd +sit back, and relax, and if you must clutch that violin case, do it +more comfortably. I don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is +ghastly in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My apartment +in Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the lake is in the front +yard, practically. To-night, perhaps, we'll talk about--things. And, oh, +Teddy, how glad I am to see you--to have you--to--" she put out a hand +and patted his thin cheek--"to touch you." + +And at that the man became a boy again. His face worked a moment, +painfully and then his head came down in her lap that held the baby, +and so she had them both for a moment, one arm about the child, one hand +smoothing the boy's close-cropped hair. And in that moment she was more +splendidly maternal than either of the women who had borne these whom +she now comforted. + +It was Fanny who attended to the hotel rooms, to the baby's comfort, to +the railroad tickets, to the ordering of the meals. Theodore was like a +stranger in a strange land. Not only that, he seemed dazed. + +"We'll have it out to-night," Fanny said to herself. "He'll never +get that look off his face until he has told it all. I knew she was a +beast." + +She made him lie down while she attended to schedules, tickets, berths. +She was gone for two hours. When she returned she found him looking +amused, terrified and helpless, all at once, while three men reporters +and one woman special writer bombarded him with questions. The woman +had brought a staff artist with her, and he was now engaged in making a +bungling sketch of Theodore's face, with its ludicrous expression. + +Fanny sensed the situation and saved it. She hadn't sold goods all these +years without learning the value of advertising. She came forward now, +graciously (but not too graciously). Theodore looked relieved. Already +he had learned that one might lean on this sister who was so capable, so +bountifully alive. + +"Teddy, you're much too tired to talk. Let me talk for you." + +"My sister, Miss Brandeis," said Teddy, and waved a rather feeble hand +in an inclusive gesture at the interrogatory five. + +Fanny smiled. "Do sit down," she said, "all of you. Tell me, how did you +happen to get on my brother's trail?" + +One of the men explained. "We had a list of ship's passengers, of +course. And we knew that Mr. Brandeis was a German violinist. And then +the story of the ship being chased by a French boat. We just missed him +down at the pier--" + +"But he isn't a German violinist," interrupted Fanny. "Please get that +straight. He's American. He is THE American violinist--or will be, as +soon as his concert tour here is well started. It was Schabelitz +himself who discovered my brother, and predicted his brilliant career. +Here"--she had been glancing over the artist's shoulder--"will you let +me make a sketch for you--just for the fun of the thing? I do that kind +of thing rather decently. Did you see my picture called `The Marcher,' +in the Star, at the time of the suffrage parade in May? Yes, that was +mine. Just because he has what we call a butcher haircut, don't think +he's German, because he isn't. You wouldn't call Winnebago, Wisconsin, +Germany, would you?" + +She was sketching him swiftly, daringly, masterfully. She was bringing +out the distinction, the suffering, the boyishness in his face, and +toning down the queer little foreign air he had. Toning it, but not +omitting it altogether. She was too good a showman for that. As she +sketched she talked, and as she talked she drew Theodore into the +conversation, deftly, and just when he was needed. She gave them what +they had come for--a story. And a good one. She brought in Mizzi and +Otti, for color, and she saw to it that they spelled those names as they +should be spelled. She managed to gloss over the question of Olga. Ill. +Detained. Last minute. Too brave to sacrifice her husband's American +tour. She finished her sketch and gave it to the woman reporter. It was +an amazingly compelling little piece of work--and yet, not so amazing, +perhaps, when you consider the thing that Fanny Brandeis had put into +it. Then she sent them away, tactfully. They left, knowing all that +Fanny Brandeis had wanted them to know; guessing little that she had +not wanted them to guess. More than that no human being can accomplish, +without the advice of his lawyer. + +"Whew!" from Fanny, when the door had closed. + +"Gott im Himmel!" from Theodore. "I had forgotten that America was like +that." + +"But America IS like that. And Teddy, we're going to make it sit up and +take notice." + +At that Theodore drooped again. Fanny thought that he looked startlingly +as she remembered her father had looked in those days of her childhood, +when Brandeis' Bazaar was slithering downhill. The sight of him moved +her to a sudden resolve. She crossed swiftly to him, and put one +heartening hand on his shoulder. + +"Come on, brother. Out with it. Let's have it all now." + +He reached up for her hand and held it, desperately. "Oh, Fan!" began +Theodore, "Fan, I've been through hell." + +Fanny said nothing. She only waited, quietly, encouragingly. She had +learned when not to talk. Presently he took up his story, plunging +directly into it, as though sensing that she had already divined much. + +"She married me for a living. You'll think that's a joke, knowing what +I was earning there, in Vienna, and how you and mother were denying +yourselves everything to keep me. But in a city that circulates a +coin valued at a twentieth of a cent, an American dollar looms up +big. Besides, two of the other girls had got married. Good for nothing +officers. She was jealous, I suppose. I didn't know any of that. I was +flattered to think she'd notice me. She was awfully popular. She has +a kind of wit. I suppose you'd call it that. The other girls were just +coarse, and heavy, and--well--animal. You can't know the rottenness of +life there in Vienna. Olga could keep a whole supper table laughing all +evening. I can see, now, that that isn't difficult when your audience +is made up of music hall girls, and stupid, bullet-headed officers, with +their damned high collars, and their gold braid, and their silly swords, +and their corsets, and their glittering shoes and their miserable petty +poverty beneath all the show. I thought I was a lucky boy. I'd have +pitied everybody in Winnebago, if I'd ever thought of anybody in +Winnebago. I never did, except once in a while of you and mother when +I needed money. I kept on with my music. I had sense enough left, for +that. Besides, it was a habit, by that time. Well, we were married." + +He laughed, an ugly, abrupt little laugh that ended in a moan, and +turned his head and buried his face in Fanny's breast. And Fanny's arm +was there, about his shoulder. "Fanny, you don't--I can't--" He stopped. +Another silence. Fanny's arm tightened its hold. She bent and kissed the +top of the stubbly head, bowed so low now. "Fan, do you remember that +woman in `The Three Musketeers'? The hellish woman, that all men +loved and loathed? Well, Olga's like that. I'm not whining. I'm not +exaggerating. I'm just trying to make you understand. And yet I don't +want you to understand. Only you don't know what it means to have you to +talk to. To have some one who"--he clutched her hand, fearfully--"You do +love me, don't you, Fanny? You do, don't you, Sis?" + +"More than any one in the world," Fanny reassured him, quietly. "The way +mother would have, if she had lived." + +A sigh escaped him, at that, as though a load had lifted from him. He +went on, presently. "It would have been all right if I could have earned +just a little more money." Fanny shrank at that, and shut her eyes for +a sick moment. "But I couldn't. I asked her to be patient. But you don't +know the life there. There is no real home life. They live in the cafes. +They go there to keep warm, in the winter, and to meet their friends, +and gossip, and drink that eternal coffee, and every coffee house--there +are thousands--is a rendezvous. We had two rooms, comfortable ones, for +Vienna, and I tried to explain to her that if I could work hard, and +get into concert, and keep at the composing, we'd be rich some day, and +famous, and happy, and she'd have clothes, and jewels. But she was too +stupid, or too bored. Olga is the kind of woman who only believes what +she sees. Things got worse all the time. She had a temper. So have +I--or I used to have. But when hers was aroused it was--horrible. Words +that--that--unspeakable words. And one day she taunted me with being a +----with my race. The first time she called me that I felt that I must +kill her. That was my mistake. I should have killed her. And I didn't." + +"Teddy boy! Don't, brother! You're tired. You're excited and worn out." + +"No, I'm not. Just let me talk. I know what I'm saying. There's +something clean about killing." He brooded a moment over that thought. +Then he went on, doggedly, not raising his voice. His hands were clasped +loosely. "You don't know about the intolerance and the anti-Semitism +in Prussia, I suppose. All through Germany, for that matter. In Bavaria +it's bitter. That's one reason why Olga loathed Munich so. The queer +part of it is that all that opposition seemed to fan something in me; +something that had been smoldering for a long time." His voice had lost +its dull tone now. It had in it a new timbre. And as he talked he began +to interlard his English with bits of German, the language to which his +tongue had accustomed itself in the past ten years. His sentences, too, +took on a German construction, from time to time. He was plainly excited +now. "My playing began to improve. There would be a ghastly scene with +Olga--sickening--degrading. Then I would go to my work, and I would +play, but magnificently! I tell you, it would be playing. I know. To +fool myself I know better. One morning, after a dreadful quarrel I got +the idea for the concerto, and the psalms. Jewish music. As Jewish as +the Kol Nidre. I wanted to express the passion, and fire, and history of +a people. My people. Why was that? Tell me. Selbst, weiss ich nicht. +I felt that if I could put into it just a millionth part of their +humiliation, and their glory; their tragedy and their triumph; their +sorrow, and their grandeur; their persecution, their weldtschmerz. +Volkschmerz. That was it. And through it all, weaving in and out, one +great underlying motif. Indestructibility. The great cry which says, `We +cannot be destroyed!'" + +He stood up, uncertainly. His eyes were blazing. He began to walk up +and down the luxurious little room. Fanny's eyes matched his. She was +staring at him, fascinated, trembling. + +She moistened her lips a little with her tongue. "And you've done it? +Teddy! You've done--that!" + +Theodore Brandeis stood up, very straight and tall. "Yes," he said, +simply. "Yes, I've done that." + +She came over to him then, and put her two hands on his shoulders. +"Ted--dear--will you ever forgive me? I'll try to make up for it now. +I didn't know. I've been blind. Worse than blind. Criminal." She was +weeping now, broken-heartedly, and he was patting her with little +comforting love pats, and whispering words of tenderness. + +"Forgive you? Forgive you what?" + +"The years of suffering. The years you've had to spend with her. With +that horrible woman--" + +"Don't--" He sucked his breath between his teeth. His face had gone +haggard again. Fanny, direct as always, made up her mind that she would +have it all. And now. + +"There's something you haven't told me. Tell me all of it. You're my +brother and I'm your sister. We're all we have in the world." And at +that, as though timed by some miraculous and supernatural stage manager, +there came a cry from the next room; a sleepy, comfortable, imperious +little cry. Mizzi had awakened. Fanny made a step in the direction of +the door. Then she turned back. "Tell me why Olga didn't come. Why isn't +she here with her husband and baby?" + +"Because she's with another man." + +"Another--" + +"It had been going on for a long time. I was the last to know about it. +It's that way, always, isn't it? He's an officer. A fool. He'll have +to take off his silly corsets now, and his velvet collar, and his shiny +boots, and go to war. Damn him! I hope they'll kill him with a hundred +bayonets, one by one, and leave him to rot on the field. She had been +fooling me all the time, and they had been laughing at me, the two of +them. I didn't find it out until just before this American trip. And +when I confronted her with it she laughed in my face. She said she hated +me. She said she'd rather starve than leave him to come to America with +me. She said I was a fiddling fool. She--" he was trembling and sick +with the shame of it--"God! I can't tell you the things she said. +She wanted to keep Mizzi. Isn't that strange? She loves the baby. She +neglects her, and spoils her, and once I saw her beat her, in a rage. +But she says she loves my Mizzi, and I believe she does, in her own +dreadful way. I promised her, and lied to her, and then I ran away with +Mizzi and her nurse." + +"Oh, I thank God for that!" Fanny cried. "I thank God for that! And now, +Teddy boy, we'll forget all about those miserable years. We'll forget +all about her, and the life she led you. You're going to have your +chance here. You're going to be repaid for every minute of suffering +you've endured. I'll make it up to you. And when you see them applauding +you, calling for you, adoring you, all those hideous years will fade +from your mind, and you'll be Theodore Brandeis, the successful, +Theodore Brandeis, the gifted, Theodore Brandeis, the great! You need +never think of her again. You'll never see her again. That beast! That +woman!" + +And at that Theodore's face became distorted and dreadful with pain. He +raised two impotent, shaking arms high above his head. "That's just it! +That's just it! You don't know what love is. You don't know what hate +is. You don't know how I hate myself. Loathe myself. She's all that's +miserable, all that's unspeakable, all that's vile. And if she called +me to-day I'd come. That's it." He covered his shamed face with his two +hands, so that the words came from him slobberingly, sickeningly. "I +hate her! I hate her! And I want her. I want her. I want her!" + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +If Fanny Brandeis, the deliberately selfish, the calculatingly +ambitious, was aghast at the trick fate had played her, she kept her +thoughts to herself. Knowing her, I think she must have been grimly +amused at finding herself saddled with a helpless baby, a bewildered +peasant woman, and an artist brother both helpless and bewildered. + +It was out of the question to house them in her small apartment. She +found a furnished apartment near her own, and installed them there, with +a working housekeeper in charge. She had a gift for management, and she +arranged all these details with a brisk capability that swept everything +before it. A sunny bedroom for Mizzi. But then, a bright living room, +too, for Theodore's hours of practice. No noise. Chicago's roar maddened +him. Otti shied at every new contrivance that met her eye. She had to +be broken in to elevators, electric switches, hot and cold faucets, +radiators. + +"No apartment ever built could cover all the requirements," Fanny +confided to Fenger, after the first harrowing week. "What they really +need is a combination palace, houseboat, sanatorium, and creche." + +"Look here," said Fenger. "If I can help, why--" a sudden thought struck +him. "Why don't you bring 'em all down to my place in the country? We're +not there half the time. It's too cool for my wife in September. Just +the thing for the child, and your brother could fiddle his head off." + +The Fengers had a roomy, wide-verandaed house near Lake Forest; one +of the many places of its kind that dot the section known as the north +shore. Its lawn sloped gently down to the water's edge. The house was +gay with striped awnings, and scarlet geraniums, and chintz-covered +chairs. The bright, sparkling, luxurious little place seemed to satisfy +a certain beauty-sense in Fenger, as did the etchings on the walls in +his office. Fanny had spent a week-end there in July, with three or four +other guests, including Fascinating Facts. She had been charmed with it, +and had announced that her energies thereafter would be directed solely +toward the possession of just such a house as this, with a lawn that was +lipped by the lake, awnings and geraniums to give it a French cafe air; +books and magazines enough to belie that. + +"And I'll always wear white," she promised, gayly, "and there'll be +pitchers on every table, frosty on the outside, and minty on the inside, +and you're all invited." + +They had laughed at that, and so had she, but she had been grimly in +earnest just the same. + +She shook her head now at Fenger's suggestion. "Imagine Mrs. Fenger's +face at sight of Mizzi, and Theodore with his violin, and Otti with her +shawls and paraphernalia. Though," she added, seriously, "it's mighty +kind of you, and generous--and just like a man." + +"It isn't kindness nor generosity that makes me want to do things for +you." + +"Modest," murmured Fanny, wickedly, "as always." + +Fenger bent his look upon her. "Don't try the ingenue on me, Fanny." + +Theodore's manager, Kurt Stein, was to have followed him in ten days. +The war changed that. The war was to change many things. Fanny seemed to +sense the influx of musicians that was to burst upon the United States +following the first few weeks of the catastrophe, and she set about +forestalling it. Advertising. That was what Theodore needed. She had +faith enough in his genius. But her business sense told her that this +genius must be enhanced by the proper setting. She set about creating +this setting. She overlooked no chance to fix his personality in the +kaleidoscopic mind of the American public--or as much of it as she could +reach. His publicity man was a dignified German-American whose methods +were legitimate and uninspired. Fanny's enthusiasm and superb confidence +in Theodore's genius infected Fenger, Fascinating Facts, even Nathan +Haynes himself. Nathan Haynes had never posed as a patron of the arts, +in spite of his fantastic millions. But by the middle of September there +were few of his friends, or his wife's friends, who had not heard of +this Theodore Brandeis. In Chicago, Illinois, no one lives in houses, it +is said, except the city's old families, and new millionaires. The rest +of the vast population is flat-dwelling. To say that Nathan Haynes' +spoken praise reached the city's house-dwellers would carry with it a +significance plain to any Chicagoan. + +As for Fanny's method; here is a typical example of her somewhat crude +effectiveness in showmanship. Otti had brought with her from Vienna +her native peasant costume. It is a costume seen daily in the Austrian +capital, on the Ring, in the Stadt Park, wherever Viennese nurses +convene with their small charges. To the American eye it is a musical +comedy costume, picturesque, bouffant, amazing. Your Austrian takes +it quite for granted. Regardless of the age of the nurse, the skirt is +short, coming a few inches below the knees, and built like a lamp shade, +in color usually a bright scarlet, with rows of black velvet ribbon at +the bottom. Beneath it are worn skirts and skirts, and skirts, so that +the opera-bouffe effect is complete. The bodice is black velvet, laced +over a chemise of white. The head-gear a soaring winged affair of +stiffly starched white, that is a pass between the Breton peasant +woman's cap and an aeroplane. Black stockings and slippers finish the +costume. + +Otti and Mizzi spent the glorious September days in Lincoln park, +Otti garbed in staid American stripes and apron, Mizzi resplendent in +smartest of children's dresses provided for her lavishly by her aunt. +Her fat and dimpled hands smoothed the blue, or pink or white folds with +a complacency astonishing in one of her years. "That's her mother in +her," Fanny thought. + +One rainy autumn day Fanny entered her brother's apartment to find Otti +resplendent in her Viennese nurse's costume. Mizzi had been cross and +fretful, and the sight of the familiar scarlet and black and white, and +the great winged cap seemed to soothe her. + +"Otti!" Fanny exclaimed. "You gorgeous creature! What is it? A dress +rehearsal?" Otti got the import, if not the English. + +"So gehen wir im Wien," she explained, and struck a killing pose. + +"Everybody? All the nurses? Alle?" + +"Aber sure," Otti displayed her half dozen English words whenever +possible. + +Fanny stared a moment. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "To-morrow's +Saturday," she said, in German. "If it's fair and warm you put on that +costume and take Mizzi to the park.... Certainly the animal cages, if +you want to. If any one annoys you, come home. If a policeman asks you +why you are dressed that way tell him it is the costume worn by nurses +in Vienna. Give him your name. Tell him who your master is. If he +doesn't speak German--and he won't, in Chicago--some one will translate +for you." + +Not a Sunday paper in Chicago that did not carry a startling picture of +the resplendent Otti and the dimpled and smiling Mizzi. The omnipresent +staff photographer seemed to sniff his victim from afar. He pounced on +Theodore Brandeis' baby daughter, accompanied by her Viennese nurse +(in costume) and he played her up in a Sunday special that was worth +thousands of dollars, Fanny assured the bewildered and resentful +Theodore, as he floundered wildly through the billowing waves of the +Sunday newspaper flood. Theodore's first appearance was to be in Chicago +as soloist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, in the season's opening +program in October. Any music-wise Chicagoan will tell you that +the Chicago Symphony Orchestra is not only a musical organization +functioning marvelously (when playing Beethoven). It is an institution. +Its patrons will admit the existence, but not the superiority of +similar organizations in Boston, Philadelphia and New York. On Friday +afternoons, during the season, Orchestra Hall, situate on Michigan +Boulevard, holds more pretty girls and fewer men than one might expect +to see at any one gathering other than, perhaps, a wholesale debutante +tea crush. A Friday afternoon ticket is as impossible of attainment for +one not a subscriber as a seat in heaven for a sinner. Saturday night's +audience is staider, more masculine, less staccato. Gallery, balcony, +parquet, it represents the city's best. Its men prefer Beethoven to +Berlin. Its women could wear pearl necklaces, and don't. Between the +audience and the solemn black-and-white rows on the platform there +exists an entente cordiale. The Konzert-Meister bows to his friend in +the third row, as he tucks his violin under his chin. The fifth row, +aisle, smiles and nods to the sausage-fingered 'cellist. + +"Fritz is playing well to-night." + +In a rarefied form, it is the atmosphere that existed between audience +and players in the days of the old and famous Daly stock company. + +Such was the character of the audience Theodore was to face on his first +appearance in America. Fanny explained its nature to him. He shrugged +his shoulders in a gesture as German as it was expressive. + +Theodore seemed to have become irrevocably German during the years of +his absence from America. He had a queer stock of little foreign tricks. +He lifted his hat to men acquaintances on the street. He had learned to +smack his heels smartly together and to bow stiffly from the waist, +and to kiss the hand of the matrons--and they adored him for it. He was +quite innocent of pose in these things. He seemed to have imbibed +them, together with his queer German haircut, and his incredibly German +clothes. + +Fanny allowed him to retain the bow, and the courtly hand-kiss, but she +insisted that he change the clothes and the haircut. + +"You'll have to let it grow, Ted. I don't mean that I want you to have a +mane, like Ysaye. But I do think you ought to discard that convict +cut. Besides, it isn't becoming. And if you're going to be an American +violinist you'll have to look it--with a foreign finish." He let his +hair grow. Fanny watched with interest for the appearance of the unruly +lock which had been wont to straggle over his white forehead in +his schoolboy days. The new and well-cut American clothes effected +surprisingly little change. Fanny, surveying him, shook her head. + +"When you stepped off the ship you looked like a German in German +clothes. Now you look like a German in American clothes. I don't know--I +do believe it's your face, Ted. I wouldn't have thought that ten years +or so in any country could change the shape of one's nose, and mouth and +cheekbones. Do you suppose it's the umlauts?" + +"Cut it out!" laughed Ted, that being his idea of modern American slang. +He was fascinated by these crisp phrases, but he was ten years or so +behind the times, and he sometimes startled his hearers by an exhibition +of slang so old as to be almost new. It was all the more startling in +contrast with his conversational English, which was as carefully correct +as a born German's. + +As for the rest, it was plain that he was interested, but unhappy. He +practiced for hours daily. He often took Mizzi to the park and came back +storming about the dirt, the noise, the haste, the rudeness, the crowds, +the mismanagement of the entire city. Dummheit, he called it. They +profaned the lake. They allowed the people to trample the grass. They +threw papers and banana skins about. And they wasted! His years in +Germany had taught him to regard all these things as sacrilege, and the +last as downright criminal. He was lonesome for his Germany. That was +plain. He hated it, and loved it, much as he hated and loved the woman +who had so nearly spoiled his life. The maelstrom known as the southwest +corner of State and Madison streets appalled him. + +"Gott!" he exclaimed. "Es ist unglaublich! Aber ganz unglaublich! Ich +werde bald veruckt." He somehow lapsed into German when excited. + +Fanny took him to the Haynes-Cooper plant one day, and it left +him dazed, and incredulous. She quoted millions at him. He was not +interested. He looked at the office workers, the mail-room girls, and +shook his head, dumbly. They were using bicycles now, with a bundle rack +in the front, in the vast stock rooms, and the roller skates had been +discarded as too slow. The stock boys skimmed around corners on these +lightweight bicycles, up one aisle, and down the next, snatching bundles +out of bins, shooting bundles into bins, as expertly as players in a +gymkhana. + +Theodore saw the uncanny rapidity with which the letter-opening machines +did their work. He watched the great presses that turned out the +catalogue--the catalogue whose message meant millions; he sat in +Fenger's office and stared at the etchings, and said, "Certainly," with +politeness, when Fenger excused himself in the midst of a conversation +to pick up the telephone receiver and talk to their shoe factory in +Maine. He ended up finally in Fanny's office, no longer a dingy and +undesirable corner, but a quietly brisk center that sent out vibrations +over the entire plant. Slosson, incidentally, was no longer of the +infants' wear. He had been transferred to a subordinate position in the +grocery section. + +"Well," said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling radiantly +upon her brother. "Well, what do you think of us?" + +And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the blind, said a +most amazing thing. + +"Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions that are lying +about everywhere in this country. And then I'll take you out of this. I +promise you." + +Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment. + +"Why, you talk as if you were--sorry for me!" + +"I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you, somehow." + +It was the first time in all her dashing and successful career that +Fanny Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She resented it, hotly. And +from Theodore, the groper, the--"But at any rate," something within her +said, "he has always been true to himself." + +Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat, on which he +had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin with three others. Kurt +Stein was German born, but American bred, and he had the American love +of luxurious travel. He was still testy when he reached Chicago and his +charge. + +"How goes the work?" he demanded at once, of Theodore. He eyed him +sharply. "That's better. You have lost some of the look you had when you +left Wien. The ladies would have liked that look, here in America. But +it is bad for the work." + +He took Fanny aside before he left. His face was serious. It was +plain that he was disturbed. "That woman," he began. "Pardon me, Mrs. +Brandeis. She came to me. She says she is starving. She is alone there, +in Vienna. Her--well, she is alone. The war is everywhere. They say it +will last for years. She wept and pleaded with me to take her here." + +"No!" cried Fanny. "Don't let him hear it. He mustn't know. He----" + +"Yes, I know. She is a paradox, that woman. I tell you, she almost +prevailed on me. There is something about her; something that repels +and compels." That struck him as being a very fine phrase indeed, and he +repeated it appreciatively. + +"I'll send her money, somehow," said Fanny. + +"Yes. But they say that money is not reaching them over there. I don't +know what becomes of it. It vanishes." He turned to leave. "Oh, a +message for you. On my boat was Schabelitz. It looks very much as if his +great fortune, the accumulation of years, would be swept away by this +war. Already they are tramping up and down his lands in Poland. His +money--much of it--is invested in great hotels in Poland and Russia, and +they are using them for barracks and hospitals." + +"Schabelitz! You mean a message for Theodore? From him? That's +wonderful." + +"For Theodore, and for you, too." + +"For me! I made a picture of him once when I was a little girl. I didn't +see him again for years. Then I heard him play. It was on his last tour +here. I wanted to speak to him. But I was afraid. And my face was red +with weeping." + +"He remembers you. And he means to see Theodore and you. He can do much +for Theodore in this country, and I think he will. His message for you +was this: `Tell her I still have the picture that she made of me, with +the jack-in-the-box in my hand, and that look on my face. Tell her I +have often wondered about that little girl in the red cap and the black +curls. I've wondered if she went on, catching that look back of people's +faces. If she did, she should be more famous than her brother."' + +"He said that! About me!" + +"I am telling you as nearly as I can. He said, `Tell her it was a +woman who ruined Bauer's career, and caused him to end his days a music +teacher in--in--Gott! I can't remember the name of that town----" + +"Winnebago." + +"Winnebago. That was it. `Tell her not to let the brother spoil his life +that way.' So. That is the message. He said you would understand." + +Theodore's face was ominous when she returned to him, after Stein had +left. + +"I wish you and Stein wouldn't stand out there in the hall whispering +about me as if I were an idiot patient. What were you saying?" + +"Nothing, Ted. Really." + +He brooded a moment. Then his face lighted up with a flash of intuition. +He flung an accusing finger at Fanny. + +"He has seen her." + +"Ted! You promised." + +"She's in trouble. This war. And she hasn't any money. I know. Look +here. We've got to send her money. Cable it." + +"I will. Just leave it all to me." + +"If she's here, in this country, and you're lying to me----" + +"She isn't. My word of honor, Ted." + +He relaxed. + +Life was a very complicated thing for Fanny these days. Ted was +leaning on her; Mizzi, Otti, and now Fenger. Nathan Haynes was poking a +disturbing finger into that delicate and complicated mechanism of +System which Fenger had built up in the Haynes-Cooper plant. And Fenger, +snarling, was trying to guard his treasure. He came to Fanny with his +grievance. Fanny had always stimulated him, reassured him, given him the +mental readjustment that he needed. + +He strode into her office one morning in late September. Ordinarily he +sent for her. He stood by her desk now, a sheaf of papers in his hand, +palpably stage props, and lifted significant eyebrows in the direction +of the stenographer busy at her typewriter in the corner. + +"You may leave that, Miss Mahin," Fanny said. Miss Mahin, a +comprehending young woman, left it, and the room as well. Fenger sat +down. He was under great excitement, though he was quite controlled. +Fanny, knowing him, waited quietly. His eyes held hers. + +"It's come," Fenger began. "You know that for the last year Haynes has +been milling around with a herd of sociologists, philanthropists, and +students of economics. He had some scheme in the back of his head, but I +thought it was just another of his impractical ideas. It appears that +it wasn't. Between the lot of them they've evolved a savings and +profit-sharing plan that's founded on a kind of practical universal +brotherhood dream. Haynes's millions are bothering him. If they actually +put this thing through I'll get out. It'll mean that everything I've +built up will be torn down. It will mean that any six-dollar-a-week +girl----" + +"As I understand it," interrupted Fanny, "it will mean that there will +be no more six-dollar-a-week girls." + +"That's it. And let me tell you, once you get the ignorant, unskilled +type to believing they're actually capable of earning decent money, +actually worth something, they're worse than useless. They're +dangerous." + +"You don't believe that." + +"I do." + +"But it's a theory that belongs to the Dark Ages. We've disproved it. +We've got beyond that." + +"Yes. So was war. We'd got beyond it. But it's here. I tell you, there +are only two classes: the governing and the governed. That has always +been true. It always will be. Let the Socialists rave. It has never got +them anywhere. I know. I come from the mucker class myself. I know what +they stand for. Boost them, and they'll turn on you. If there's anything +in any of them, he'll pull himself up by his own bootstraps." + +"They're not all potential Fengers." + +"Then let 'em stay what they are." + +Fanny's pencil was tracing and retracing a tortured and meaningless +figure on the paper before her. "Tell me, do you remember a girl named +Sarah Sapinsky?" + +"Never heard of her." + +"That's fitting. Sarah Sapinsky was a very pretty, very dissatisfied +girl who was a slave to the bundle chute. One day there was a period +of two seconds when a bundle didn't pop out at her, and she had time to +think. Anyway, she left. I asked about her. She's on the streets." + +"Well?" + +"Thanks to you and your system." + +"Look here, Fanny. I didn't come to you for that kind of talk. Don't, +for heaven's sake, give me any sociological drivel to-day. I'm not here +just to tell you my troubles. You know what my contract is here with +Haynes-Cooper. And you know the amount of stock I hold. If this scheme +of Haynes's goes in, I go out. Voluntarily. But at my own price. The +Haynes-Cooper plant is at the height of its efficiency now." He dropped +his voice. "But the mail order business is in its infancy. There's no +limit to what can be done with it in the next few years. Understand? +Do you get what I'm trying to tell you?" He leaned forward, tense and +terribly in earnest. + +Fanny stared at him. Then her hand went to her head in a gesture of +weariness. "Not to-day. Please. And not here. Don't think I'm ungrateful +for your confidence. But--this month has been a terrific strain. +Just let me pass the fifteenth of October. Let me see Theodore on the +way----" + +Fenger's fingers closed about her wrist. Fanny got to her feet angrily. +They glared at each other a moment. Then the humor of the picture they +must be making struck Fanny. She began to laugh. Fenger's glare became a +frown. He turned abruptly and left the office. Fanny looked down at her +wrist ruefully. Four circlets of red marked its smooth whiteness. She +laughed again, a little uncertainly this time. + +When she got home that night she found, in her mail, a letter for +Theodore, postmarked Vienna, and stamped with the mark of the censor. +Theodore had given her his word of honor that he would not write Olga, +or give her his address. Olga was risking Fanny's address. She stood +looking at the letter now. Theodore was coming in for dinner, as he did +five nights out of the week. As she stood in the hallway, she heard +the rattle of his key in the lock. She flew down the hall and into her +bedroom, her letters in her hand. She opened her dressing table drawer +and threw them into it, switched on the light and turned to face +Theodore in the doorway. + +"'Lo, Sis." + +"Hello, Teddy. Kiss me. Phew! That pipe again. How'd the work go +to-day?" + +"So--so. Any mail for me?" + +"No." + +That night, when he had gone, she took out the letter and stood turning +it over and over in her hands. She had no thought of reading it. It was +its destruction she was contemplating. Finally she tucked it away in her +handkerchief box. Perhaps, after the fifteenth of October. Everything +depended on that. + +And the fifteenth of October came. It had dragged for weeks, and then, +at the end, it galloped. By that time Fanny had got used to seeing +Theodore's picture and name outside Orchestra Hall, and in the musical +columns of the papers. Brandeis. Theodore Brandeis, the violinist. The +name sang in her ears. When she walked on Michigan Avenue during that +last week she would force herself to march straight on past Orchestra +Hall, contenting herself with a furtive and oblique glance at the +announcement board. The advance programs hung, a little bundle of them, +suspended by a string from a nail on the wall near the box office, so +that ticket purchasers might rip one off and peruse the week's musical +menu. Fanny longed to hear the comment of the little groups that were +constantly forming and dispersing about the box office window. She never +dreamed of allowing herself to hover near it. She thought sometimes of +the woman in the businesslike gray skirt and the black sateen apron who +had drudged so cheerfully in the little shop so that Theodore Brandeis' +name might shine now from the very top of the program, in heavy black +letters: + +Soloist: MR. THEODORE BRANDEIS, Violin + +The injustice of it. Fanny had never ceased to rage at that. + +In the years to come Theodore Brandeis was to have that adulation which +the American public, temperamentally so cold, gives its favorite, once +the ice of its reserve is thawed. He was to look down on that surging, +tempestuous crowd which sometimes packs itself about the foot of the +platform in Carnegie Hall, demanding more, more, more, after a generous +concert is concluded. He had to learn to protect himself from those +hysterical, enraptured, wholly feminine adorers who swarmed about him, +scaling the platform itself. But of all this there was nothing on that +Friday and Saturday in October. Orchestra Hall audiences are not, as +a rule, wildly demonstrative. They were no exception. They listened +attentively, appreciatively. They talked, critically and favorably, on +the way home. They applauded generously. They behaved as an Orchestra +Hall audience always behaves, and would behave, even if it were +confronted with a composite Elman-Kreisler-Ysaye soloist. Theodore's +playing was, as a whole, perhaps the worst of his career. Not that he +did not rise to magnificent heights at times. But it was what is known +as uneven playing. He was torn emotionally, nervously, mentally. His +playing showed it. + +Fanny, seated in the auditorium, her hands clasped tight, her heart +hammering, had a sense of unreality as she waited for Theodore to appear +from the little door at the left. He was to play after the intermission. +Fanny had arrived late, with Theodore, that Friday afternoon. She felt +she could not sit through the first part of the program. They waited +together in the anteroom. Theodore, looking very slim and boyish in his +frock coat, walked up and down, up and down. Fanny wanted to straighten +his tie. She wanted to pick an imaginary thread off his lapel. She +wanted to adjust the white flower in his buttonhole (he jerked it out +presently, because it interfered with his violin, he said). She wanted +to do any one of the foolish, futile things that would have served to +relieve her own surcharged feelings. But she had learned control in +these years. And she yielded to none of them. + +The things they said and did were, perhaps, almost ludicrous. + +"How do I look?" Theodore demanded, and stood up before her. + +"Beautiful!" said Fanny, and meant it. + +Theodore passed a hand over his cheek. "Cut myself shaving, damn it!" + +"It doesn't show." + +He resumed his pacing. Now and then he stopped, and rubbed his hands +together with a motion we use in washing. Finally: + +"I wish you'd go out front," he said, almost pettishly. Fanny rose, +without a word. She looked very handsome. Excitement had given her +color. The pupils of her eyes were dilated and they shone brilliantly. +She looked at her brother. He stared at her. They swayed together. They +kissed, and clung together for a long moment. Then Fanny turned and +walked swiftly away, and stumbled a little as she groped for the +stairway. + +The bell in the foyer rang. The audience strolled to the auditorium. +They lagged, Fanny thought. They crawled. She told herself that she must +not allow her nerves to tease her like that. She looked about her, with +outward calm. Her eyes met Fenger's. He was seated, alone. It was he +who had got a subscription seat for her from a friend. She had said she +preferred to be alone. She looked at him now and he at her, and they did +not nod nor smile. The house settled itself flutteringly. + +A man behind Fanny spoke. "Who's this Brandeis?" + +"I don't know. A new one. German, I guess. They say he's good. +Kreisler's the boy who can play for me, though." + +The orchestra was seated now. Stock, the conductor, came out from +the little side door. Behind him walked Theodore. There was a little, +impersonal burst of applause. Stock mounted his conductor's platform and +glanced paternally down at Theodore, who stood at the left, violin and +bow in hand, bowing. The audience seemed to warm to his boyishness. +They applauded again, and he bowed in a little series of jerky bobs that +waggled his coat-tails. Heels close together, knees close together. A +German bow. And then a polite series of bobs addressed to Stock and his +orchestra. Stock's long, slim hands poised in air. His fingertips seemed +to draw from the men before him the first poignant strains of Theodore's +concerto. Theodore stood, slim and straight. Fanny's face, lifted toward +him, was a prayerful thing. Theodore suddenly jerked back the left lapel +of his coat in a little movement Fanny remembered as typical in his +boyish days, nuzzled his violin tenderly, and began to play. + +It is the most excruciating of instruments, the violin, or the most +exquisite. I think Fanny actually heard very little of his playing. Her +hands were icy. Her cheeks were hot. The man before her was not Theodore +Brandeis, the violinist, but Teddy, the bright-haired, knickered +schoolboy who played to those people seated in the yellow wooden pews of +the temple in Winnebago. The years seemed to fade away. He crouched over +his violin to get the 'cello tones for which he was to become famous, +and it was the same hunched, almost awkward pose that the boy had used. +Fanny found herself watching his feet as his shifted his position. He +was nervous. And he was not taken out of himself. She knew that because +she saw the play of his muscles about the jaw-bone. It followed that he +was not playing his best. She could not tell that from listening to him. +Her music sense was dulled. She got it from these outward signs. The +woman next to her was reading a program absorbedly, turning the pages +regularly, and with care. Fanny could have killed her with her two +hands. She tried to listen detachedly. The music was familiar to her. +Theodore had played it for her, again and again. The last movement +had never failed to shake her emotionally. It was the glorious and +triumphant cry of a people tried and unafraid. She heard it now, +unmoved. + +And then Theodore was bowing his little jerky bows, and he was shaking +hands with Stock, and with the First Violin. He was gone. Fanny sat with +her hands in her lap. The applause continued. Theodore appeared again. +Bowed. He bent very low now, with his arms hanging straight. There was +something gracious and courtly about him. And foreign. He must keep +that, Fanny thought. They like it. She saw him off again. More applause. +Encores were against the house rules. She knew that. Then it meant they +were pleased. He was to play again. A group of Hungarian dances this +time. They were wild, gypsy things, rising to frenzy at times. He played +them with spirit and poetry. To listen sent the blood singing through +the veins. Fanny found herself thinking clearly and exaltedly. + +"This is what my mother drudged for, and died for, and it was worth it. +And you must do the same, if necessary. Nothing else matters. What he +needs now is luxury. He's worn out with fighting. Ease. Peace. Leisure. +You've got to give them to him. It's no use, Fanny. You lose." + +In that moment she reached a mark in her spiritual career that she was +to outdistance but once. + +Theodore was bowing again. Fanny had scarcely realized that he had +finished. The concert was over. + +"... the group of dances," the man behind her was saying as he helped +the girl next him with her coat, "but I didn't like that first thing. +Church music, not concert." + +Fanny found her way back to the ante-room. Theodore was talking to the +conductor, and one or two others. He looked tired, and his eyes found +Fanny's with appeal and relief in them. She came over to him. There were +introductions, congratulations. Fanny slipped her hand over his with a +firm pressure. + +"Come, dear. You must be tired." + +At the door they found Fenger waiting. Theodore received his well-worded +congratulations with an ill-concealed scowl. + +"My car's waiting," said Fenger. "Won't you let me take you home?" + +A warning pressure from Theodore. "Thanks, no. We have a car. Theodore's +very tired." + +"I can quite believe that." + +"Not tired," growled Theodore, like a great boy. "I'm hungry. Starved. I +never eat before playing." + +Kurt Stein, Theodore's manager, had been hovering over him solicitously. +"You must remember to-morrow night. I should advise you to rest now, as +quickly as possible." He, too, glared at Fenger. + +Fenger fell back, almost humbly. "I've great news for you. I must see +you Sunday. After this is over. I'll telephone you. Don't try to come to +work to-morrow." All this is a hurried aside to Fanny. + +Fanny nodded and moved away with Theodore. + +Theodore leaned back in the car, but there was no hint of relaxation. He +was as tense and vibrant as one of his own violin strings. + +"It went, didn't it? They're like clods, these American audiences." +It was on the tip of Fanny's tongue to say that he had professed +indifference to audiences, but she wisely refrained. "Gad! I'm hungry. +What makes this Fenger hang around so? I'm going to tell him to keep +away, some day. The way he stares at you. Let's go somewhere to-night, +Fan. Or have some people in. I can't sit about after I've played. Olga +always used to have a supper party, or something." + +"All right, Ted. Would you like the theater?" + +For the first time in her life she felt a little whisper of sympathy for +the despised Olga. Perhaps, after all, she had not been wholly to blame. + +He was to leave Sunday morning for Cleveland, where he would play +Monday. He had insisted on taking Mizzi with him, though Fanny had +railed and stormed. Theodore had had his way. + +"She's used to it. She likes to travel, don't you, Mizzi? You should +have seen her in Russia, and all over Germany, and in Sweden. She's a +better traveler than her dad." + +Saturday morning's papers were kind, but cool. They used words such as +promising, uneven, overambitious, gifted. Theodore crumpled the lot +into a ball and hurled them across the room, swearing horribly. Then he +smoothed them out, clipped them, and saved them carefully. His playing +that night was tinged with bravado, and the Saturday evening audience +rose to it. There was about his performance a glow, a spirit that had +been lacking on the previous day. + +Inconsistently enough, he missed the antagonism of the European critics. +He was puzzled and resentful. + +"They hardly say a word about the meaning of the concerto. They accept +it as a piece of music, Jewish in theme. It might as well be entitled +Springtime." + +"This isn't France or Russia," said Fanny. "Antagonism here isn't +religious. It's personal, almost. You've been away so many years you've +forgotten. They don't object to us as a sect, or a race, but as a type. +That's the trouble, Clarence Heyl says. We're free to build as many +synagogues as we like, and worship in them all day, if we want to. But +we don't want to. The struggle isn't racial any more, but individual. +For some reason or other one flashy, loud-talking Hebrew in a restaurant +can cause more ill feeling than ten thousand of them holding a religious +mass meeting in Union Square." + +Theodore pondered a moment. "Then here each one of us is responsible. Is +that it?" + +"I suppose so." + +"But look here. I've been here ten weeks, and I've met your friends, and +not one of them is a Jew. How's that?" + +Fanny flushed a little. "Oh, it just worked out that way." + +Theodore looked at her hard. "You mean you worked it out that way?" + +"Yes." + +"Fan, we're a couple of weaklings, both of us, to have sprung from +a mother like ours. I don't know which is worse; my selfishness, +or yours." Then, at the hurt that showed in her face, he was all +contrition. "Forgive me, Sis. You've been so wonderful to me, and to +Mizzi, and to all of us. I'm a good-for-nothing fiddler, that's all. +You're the strong one." + +Fenger had telephoned her on Saturday. He and his wife were at their +place in the country. Fanny was to take the train out there Sunday +morning. She looked forward to it with a certain relief. The weather had +turned unseasonably warm, as Chicago Octobers sometimes do. Up to the +last moment she had tried to shake Theodore's determination to take +Mizzi and Otti with him. But he was stubborn. + +"I've got to have her," he said. + +Michael Fenger's voice over the telephone had been as vibrant with +suppressed excitement as Michael Fenger's dry, hard tones could be. + +"Fanny, it's done--finished," he said. "We had a meeting to-day. This is +my last month with Haynes-Cooper." + +"But you can't mean it. Why, you ARE Haynes-Cooper. How can they let you +go?" + +"I can't tell you now. We'll go over it all to-morrow. I've new plans. +They've bought me out. D'you see? At a price that--well, I thought I'd +got used to juggling millions at Haynes-Cooper. But this surprised even +me. Will you come? Early? Take the eight-ten." + +"That's too early. I'll get the ten." + +The mid-October country was a lovely thing. Fanny, with the strain of +Theodore's debut and leave-taking behind her, and the prospect of a +high-tension business talk with Fenger ahead, drank in the beauty of the +wayside woods gratefully. + +Fenger met her at the station. She had never seen him so boyish, so +exuberant. He almost pranced. + +"Hop in," he said. He had driven down in a runabout. "Brother get off +all right? Gad! He CAN play. And you've made the whole thing possible." +He turned to look at her. "You're a wonder." + +"In your present frame of mind and state of being," laughed Fanny, +"you'd consider any one a wonder. You're so pleased with yourself you're +fairly gummy." + +Fenger laughed softly and sped the car on. They turned in at the gate. +There was scarlet salvia, now, to take the place of the red geraniums. +The gay awnings, too, were gone. + +"This is our last week," Fenger explained. "It's too cold out here for +Katherine. We're moving into town to-morrow. We're more or less camping +out here, with only the Jap to take care of us." + +"Don't apologize, please. I'm grateful just to be here, after the week +I've had. Let's have the news now." + +"We'll have lunch first. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse Katherine. She +probably won't be down for lunch." The Jap had spread the luncheon table +on the veranda, but a brisk lake breeze had sprung up, and he was busy +now transferring his table from the porch to the dining room. "Would you +have believed it," said Fenger, "when you left town? Good old lake. Mrs. +Fenger coming down?" to the man. + +The Jap shook his head. "Nossa." + +Their talk at luncheon was all about Theodore and his future. Fenger +said that what Theodore needed was a firm and guiding hand. "A sort of +combination manager and slave-driver. An ambitious and intelligent wife +would do it. That's what we all need. A woman to work for, and to make +us work." + +Fanny smiled. "Mizzi will have to be woman enough, I'm afraid. Poor +Ted." + +They rose. "Now for the talk," said Fenger. But the telephone had +sounded shrilly a moment before, and the omnipresent little Jap summoned +Fenger. He was back in a minute, frowning. "It's Haynes. I'm sorry. I'm +afraid it'll take a half hour of telephoning. Don't you want to take a +cat-nap? Or a stroll down to the lake?" + +"Don't bother about me. I'll probably take a run outdoors." + +"Be back in half an hour." + +But when she returned he was still at the telephone. She got a book and +stretched luxuriously among the cushions of one of the great lounging +chairs, and fell asleep. When she awoke Fenger was seated opposite her. +He was not reading. He was not smoking. He evidently had been sitting +there, looking at her. + +"Oh, gracious! Mouth open?" + +"No." + +Fanny fought down an impulse to look as cross as she felt. "What time? +Why didn't you wake me?" The house was very quiet. She patted her hair +deftly, straightened her collar. "Where's everybody? Isn't Mrs. Fenger +down yet?" + +"No. Don't you want to hear about my plans now?" + +"Of course I do. That's what I came for. I don't see why you didn't tell +me hours ago. You're as slow in action as a Chinese play. Out with it." + +Fenger got up and began to pace the floor, not excitedly, but with an +air of repression. He looked very powerful and compelling, there in the +low-ceilinged, luxurious room. "I'll make it brief. We met yesterday in +Haynes's office. Of course we had discussed the thing before. You know +that. Haynes knew that I'd never run the plant under the new conditions. +Why, it would kill every efficiency rule I've ever made. Here I had +trimmed that enormous plant down to fighting weight. There wasn't a +useless inch or ounce about the whole enormous billionaire bulk of it. +And then to have Haynes come along, with his burdensome notions, and +his socialistic slop. They'd cripple any business, no matter how great +a start it had. I told him all that. We didn't waste much time on +argument, though. We knew we'd never get together. In half an hour we +were talking terms. You know my contract and the amount of stock I hold. +Well, we threshed that out, and Haynes is settling for two million and a +half." + +He came to a stop before Fanny's chair. + +"Two million and a half what?" asked Fanny, feebly. + +"Dollars." He smiled rather grimly. "In a check." + +"One--check?" "One check." + +Fanny digested that in her orderly mind. "I thought I was used to +thinking in millions. But this--I'd like to touch the check, just once." + +"You shall." He drew up a chair near her. "Now get this, Fanny. There's +nothing that you and I can't do with two millions and a half. Nothing. +We know this mail order game as no two people in the world know it. And +it's in its infancy. I know the technical side of it. You know the +human side of it. I tell you that in five years' time you and I can be +a national power. Not merely the heads of a prosperous mail order +business, but figures in finance. See what's happened to Haynes-Cooper +in the last five years! Why, it's incredible. It's grotesque. And it's +nothing to what you and I can do, working together. You know people, +somehow. You've a genius for sensing their wants, or feelings, or +emotions--I don't know just what it is. And I know facts. And we have +two million and a half--I can make it nearly three millions--to start +with. Haynes, fifteen years ago, had a couple of hundred thousand. In +five years we can make the Haynes-Cooper organization look as modern and +competent as a cross-roads store. This isn't a dream. These are facts. +You know how my mind works. Like a cold chisel. I can see this whole +country--and Europe, too, after the war--God, yes!--stretched out before +us like a patient before expert surgeons. You to attend to its heart, +and I to its bones and ligaments. I can put you where no other woman +has ever been. I've a hundred new plans this minute, and a hundred +more waiting to be born. So have you. I tell you it's just a matter of +buildings. Of bricks and stone, and machinery and people to make the +machinery go. Once we get those--and it's only a matter of months--we +can accomplish things I daren't even dream of. What was Haynes-Cooper +fifteen years ago? What was the North American Cloak and Suit Company? +The Peter Johnston Stores, of New York? Wells-Kayser? Nothing. They +didn't exist. And this year Haynes-Cooper is declaring a twenty-five per +cent dividend. Do you get what that means? But of course you do. That's +the wonder of it. I never need explain things to you. You've a genius +for understanding." + +Fanny had been sitting back in her chair, crouching almost, her +eyes fixed upon the man's face, so terrible in its earnestness and +indomitable strength. When he stopped talking now, and stood looking +down at her, she rose, too, her eyes still on his face. She was twisting +the fingers of one hand in the fingers of the other, in a frightened +sort of way. + +"I'm not really a business woman. I--wait a minute, please--I have a +knack of knowing what people are thinking and wanting. But that isn't +business." "It isn't, eh? It's the finest kind of business sense. It's +the thing the bugs call psychology, and it's as necessary to-day as +capital was yesterday. You can get along without the last. You can't +without the first. One can be acquired. The other you've got to be born +with." + +"But I--you know, of late, it's only the human side of it that has +appealed to me. I don't know why. I seem to have lost interest in the +actual mechanics of it." + +Fenger stood looking at her, his head lowered. A scarlet stripe, that +she had never noticed before, seemed to stand out suddenly, like a +welt, on his forehead. Then he came toward her. She raised her hand in +a little futile gesture. She took an involuntary step backward, +encountered the chair she had just left, and sank into it coweringly. +She sat there, looking up at him, fascinated. His hand, on the wing of +the great chair, was shaking. So, too, was his voice. + +"Fanny, Katherine's not here." + +Fanny still looked up at him, wordlessly. + +"Katherine left here yesterday. She's in town." Then, at the look in +her face, "She was here when I telephoned you yesterday. Late yesterday +afternoon she had one of her fantastic notions. She insisted that she +must go into town. It was too cold for her here. Too damp. Too--well, +she went. And I let her go. And I didn't telephone you again. I wanted +you to come." + +Fanny Brandeis, knowing him, must have felt a great qualm of terror +and helplessness. But she was angry, too, a wholesome ingredient in a +situation such as this. The thing she said and did now was inspired. She +laughed--a little uncertainly, it is true--but still she laughed. And +she said, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +"Well, I must say that's a rather shabby trick. Still, I suppose the +tired business man has got to have his little melodrama. What do I do? +H'm? Beat my breast and howl? Or pound on the door panel?" + +Fenger stood looking at her. "Don't laugh at me, Fanny." + +She stood up, still smiling. It was rather a brilliant piece of work. +Fenger, taken out of himself though he was, still was artist enough to +appreciate it. + +"Why not laugh," she said, "if I'm amused? And I am. Come now, Mr. +Fenger. Be serious. And let's get back to the billions. I want to catch +the five-fifteen." + +"I AM serious." "Well, if you expect me to play the hunted heroine, +I'm sorry." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "I know now. You're +quitting Haynes-Cooper for the movies. And this is a rehearsal for a +vampire film." + +"You nervy little devil, you!" He reached out with one great, +irresistible hand and gripped her shoulder. "You wonderful, glorious +girl!" The hand that gripped her shoulder swung her to him. She saw his +face with veins she had never noticed before standing out, in knots, +on his temples, and his eyes were fixed and queer. And he was talking, +rather incoherently, and rapidly. He was saying the same thing over and +over again: "I'm crazy about you. I've been looking for a woman like +you--all my life. I'm crazy about you. I'm crazy----" + +And then Fanny's fine composure and self control fled, and she thought +of her mother. She began to struggle, too, and to say, like any other +girl, "Let me go! Let me go! You're hurting me. Let me go! You! You!" + +And then, quite clearly, from that part of her brain where it had been +tucked away until she should need it, came Clarence Heyl's whimsical bit +of advice. Her mind released it now, complete. + +"If you double your fist this way, and tuck your thumb alongside, like +that, and aim for this spot right here, about two inches this side of +the chin, bringing your arm back and up quickly, like a piston, the +person you hit will go down, limp. There's a nerve right here that +communicates with the brain. The blow makes you see stars, and bright +lights----" + +She went limp in his arms. She shut her eyes, flutteringly. "All +men--like you--have a yellow streak," she whispered, and opened her +eyes, and looked up at him, smiling a little. He relaxed his hold, in +surprise and relief. And with her eyes on that spot barely two inches +to the side of the chin she brought her right arm down, slowly, slowly, +fist doubled, and then up like a piston--snap! His teeth came together +with a sharp little crack. His face, in that second, was a comic mask, +surprised, stunned, almost idiotic. Then he went down, as Clarence Heyl +had predicted, limp. Not with a crash, but slowly, crumpingly, so that +he almost dragged her with him. + +Fanny stood looking down at him a moment. Then she wiped her mouth with +the back of her hand. She walked out of the room, and down the hall. She +saw the little Jap dart suddenly back from a doorway, and she stamped +her foot and said, "S-s-cat!" as if he had been a rat. She gathered up +her hat and bag from the hall table, and so, out of the door, and down +the walk, to the road. And then she began to run. She ran, and ran, and +ran. It was a longish stretch to the pretty, vine-covered station. She +seemed unconscious of fatigue, or distance. She must have been at least +a half hour on the way. When she reached the station the ticket agent +told her there was no train until six. So she waited, quietly. She put +on her hat (she had carried it in her hand all the way) and patted her +hair into place. When the train came she found a seat quite alone, and +sank into its corner, and rested her head against her open palm. It was +not until then that she felt a stab of pain. She looked at her hand, and +saw that the skin of her knuckles was bruised and bleeding. + +"Well, if this," she said to herself, "isn't the most idiotic thing that +ever happened to a woman outside a near-novel." + +She looked at her knuckles, critically, as though the hand belonged to +some one else. Then she smiled. And even as she smiled a great lump came +into her throat, and the bruise blurred before her eyes, and she was +crying rackingly, relievedly, huddled there in her red plush corner. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +It was eight o'clock when she let herself into her apartment. She had +given the maid a whole holiday. When Fanny had turned on the light in +her little hallway she stood there a moment, against the door, her hand +spread flat against the panel. It was almost as though she patted it, +lovingly, gratefully. Then she went on into the living room, and stood +looking at its rosy lamplight. Then, still as though seeing it all for +the first time, into her own quiet, cleanly bedroom, with its cream +enamel, and the chaise longue that she had had cushioned in rose because +it contrasted so becomingly with her black hair. And there, on her +dressing table, propped up against the brushes and bottles, was the +yellow oblong of a telegram. From Theodore of course. She opened it with +a rush of happiness. It was like a loving hand held out to her in need. +It was a day letter. + +"We sail Monday on the St. Paul. Mizzi is with me. I broke my word to +you. But you lied to me about the letters. I found them the week +before the concert. I shall bring her back with me or stay to fight for +Germany. Forgive me, dear sister." + + +Just fifty words. His thrifty German training. + +"No!" cried Fanny, aloud. "No! No!" And the cry quavered and died away, +and another took its place, and it, too, gave way to another, so that +she was moaning as she stood there with the telegram in her shaking +hand. She read it again, her lips moving, as old people sometimes read. +Then she began to whimper, with her closed fist over her mouth, her +whole body shaking. All her fine courage gone now; all her rigid +self-discipline; all her iron determination. She was not a tearful +woman. And she had wept much on the train. So the thing that +wrenched and shook her now was all the more horrible because of its +soundlessness. She walked up and down the room, pushing her hair back +from her forehead with the flat of her hand. From time to time she +smoothed out the crumpled yellow slip of paper and read it again. Her +mind, if you could have seen into it, would have presented a confused +and motley picture. Something like this: But his concert engagements?... +That was what had happened to Bauer.... How silly he had looked when her +fist met his jaw.... It had turned cold; why didn't they have steam on? +The middle of October.... Teddy, how could you do it! How could you +do it!... Was he still lying in a heap on the floor? But of course the +sneaking little Jap had found him.... Somebody to talk to. That was what +she wanted. Some one to talk to.... + +Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her lamp-lighted +living room, and she held out her hands in silent appeal. Some one to +talk to. In her mind she went over the list of those whose lives had +touched hers in the last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, +Ella Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women she had +met from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating Facts. Not one of +them could she turn to now. + +Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence Heyl. He had +helped her once, to-day. And now, for the second time, something that +he had said long before came from its hiding place in her subconscious +mind. She had said: + +"Some days I feel I've got to walk out of the office, and down the +street, without a hat, and on and on, walking and walking, and running +and running till I come to the horizon." + +And Heyl had answered, in his quiet, reassuring way: "Some day that +feeling will get too strong for you. When that time comes get on a train +marked Denver. From there take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky +Mountains, where the horizon lives and has its being. Ask for Heyl's +place. They'll hand you from one to the other. I may be there, but more +likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a string. You'll +find a fire laid with fat pine knots. My books are there. The bedding's +in the cedar chest. And the mountains will make you clean and whole +again; and the pines..." + +Fanny went to the telephone. Trains for Denver. She found the road she +wanted, and asked for information. She was on her own ground here. All +her life she had had to find her own trains, check her own trunks, plan +her journeys. Sometimes she had envied the cotton-wool women who had had +all these things done for them, always. + +One-half of her mind was working clearly and coolly. The other half was +numb. There were things to be done. They would take a day. More than +a day, but she would neglect most of them. She must notify the office. +There were tickets to be got. Reservations. Money at the bank. Packing. +When the maid came in at eleven Fanny had suitcases and bags out, and +her bedroom was strewn with shoes, skirts, coats. + +Late Monday afternoon Fenger telephoned. She did not answer. There came +a note from him, then a telegram. She did not read them. Tuesday found +her on a train bound for Colorado. She remembered little of the first +half of her journey. She had brought with her books and magazines, and +she must have read hem, but her mind had evidently retained nothing of +what she had read. She must have spent hours looking out of the window, +for she remembered, long afterward, the endlessness and the monotony of +the Kansas prairies. They soothed her. She was glad there were no bits +of autumnal woodland, no tantalizing vistas, nothing to break the flat +and boundless immensity of it. Here was something big, and bountiful, +and real, and primal. Good Kansas dirt. Miles of it. Miles of it. She +felt she would like to get out and tramp on it, hard. + +"Pretty cold up there in Estes Park," the conductor had said. "Been +snowing up in the mountains." + +She had arranged to stop in Denver only long enough to change trains. +A puffy little branch line was to take her from Denver to Loveland, and +there, she had been told, one of the big mountain-road steam automobiles +would take her up the mountains to her destination. For one as mentally +alert as she normally was, the exact location of that destination was +very hazy in her mind. Heyl's place. That was all. Ordinarily she would +have found the thought ridiculous. But she concentrated on it now; clung +to it. + +At the first glimpse of the foot-hills Fanny's listless gaze became +interested. If you have ever traveled on the jerky, cleanly, meandering +little road that runs between Denver and the Park you know that it +winds, and curves, so that the mountains seem to leap about, friskily, +first confronting you on one side of the car window, then disappearing +and seeming to taunt you from the windows of the opposite side. Fanny +laughed aloud. The mountain steam-car was waiting at Loveland. There +were few passengers at this time of year. The driver was a great tanned +giant, pongee colored from his hair to his puttees and boots. Fanny was +to learn, later, that in Estes Park the male tourist was likely to +be puny, pallid, and unattractive when compared to the tall, slim, +straight, khaki-clad youth, browned by the sun, and the wind, and the +dust, who drives his steamer up and down the perilous mountain roads +with more dexterity than the charioteering gods ever displayed on +Olympus. + +Fanny got the seat beside this glorious person. The steamer was a huge +vehicle, boasting five rows of seats, and looking very much like a small +edition of the sightseeing cars one finds in tourist-infested cities. + +"Heyl's place," said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work! + +Said the blond god, "Stopping at the Inn overnight, I s'pose." + +"Why--I don't know," faltered Fanny. "Can't I go right on to--to--Heyl's +place?" + +"Can." Mountain steamer men are not loquacious. "Sure. Better not. You +won't get to the Inn till dark. Better stay there over night, and go on +up to Heyl's place in the morning." + +Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what appeared to +Fanny's eyes to be a maze of handles, brakes, valves; and the great car +glided smoothly off, without a bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long +breath. + +There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile. +And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the aspens are turning! Well, +aspens turn gold in October. People who have seen an aspen grove in +October believe in fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive +passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen it? +There shall be no poor weaving together of words. There shall be no +description of orange and mauve and flame-colored sunsets, no juggling +with mists and clouds, and sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain +dwellers and mountain lovers are a laconic tribe. They know the futility +of words. + +But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. That is within our +province. In the first place, they made her hungry. That was the crisp, +heady air. The mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a +thing of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous ribbon +of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road all horseshoe curves +and hairpin twists. Fanny found herself gasping. But that passed after +a time. Big Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the +pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so angularly graceful +among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole a side glance at him now and +then. He looked straight ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do +look straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely to mean +death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that foams and rushes below. + +Fanny ventured a question. "Do you know Mr. Heyl?" + +"Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday." + +"Down?" + +"To the village. He's gone back east." + +Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was relief or +consternation. + +At Estes village the blond god handed her over to a twin charioteer who +would drive her up the mountain road to the Inn that nestled in a valley +nine thousand feet up the mountain. It was a drive Fanny never forgot. +Fenger, Ted, Haynes-Cooper, her work, her plans, her ambitions, seemed +to dwindle to puny insignificance beside the vast grandeur that unfolded +before her at every fresh turn in the road. Up they went, and up, and +up, and the air was cold, but without a sting in it. It was dark when +the lights of the Inn twinkled out at them. The door was thrown open +as they swung up the curve to the porch. A great log fire glowed in the +fireplace. The dining room held only a dozen people, or thereabouts--a +dozen weary, healthy people, in corduroys and sweaters and boots, whose +cleanly talk was all about climbing and fishing, and horseback rides and +trails. And it was fried chicken night at the Inn. Fanny thought she was +too utterly tired to eat, until she began to eat, and then she thought +she was too hungry ever to stop. After dinner she sat, for a moment, +before the log fire in the low-ceilinged room, with its log walls, its +rustic benches, and its soft-toned green and brown cushions. She forgot +to be unhappy. She forgot to be anything but deliciously drowsy. +And presently she climbed the winding stair whose newel post was a +fire-marked tree trunk, richly colored, and curiously twisted. And so +to her lamp-lighted room, very small, very clean, very quiet. She opened +her window and looked out at the towering mass that was Long's Peak, and +at the stars, and she heard the busy little brook that scurries through +the Inn yard on its way from the mountain to the valley. She undressed +quickly, and crept into bed, meaning to be very, very miserable indeed. +And the next thing she knew it was morning. A blue and gold October +morning. And the mountains!--but there is no describing a mountain. +One uses words, and they are futile. Fanny viewed them again, from her +window, between pauses in dressing. And she meant, privately, to be +miserable again. But she could only think, somehow, of bacon and eggs, +and coffee, and muffins. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +Heyl's place. Fanny stood before it, key in hand (she had found it +in the mail box, tied to a string), and she had a curious and restful +feeling, as if she had come home, after long wanderings. She smiled, +whimsically, and repeated her lesson to herself: + +"The fire's laid in the fireplace with fat pine knots that will blaze +up at the touch of a match. My books are there, along the wall. The +bedding's in the cedar chest, and the lamps are filled. There's tinned +stuff in the pantry. And the mountains are there, girl, to make you +clean and whole again...." + +She stepped up to the little log-pillared porch and turned the key in +the lock. She opened the door wide, and walked in. And then she shut her +eyes for a moment. Because, if it shouldn't be true---- + +But there was a fire laid with fat pine knots. She walked straight over +to it, and took her box of matches from her bag, struck one, and held +it to the wood. They blazed like a torch. Books! Along the four walls, +books. Fat, comfortable, used-looking books. Hundreds of them. A lamp on +the table, and beside it a pipe, blackened from much use. Fanny picked +it up, smiling. She held it a moment in her hand, as though she expected +to find it still warm. + +"It's like one of the fairy tales," she thought, "the kind that repeats +and repeats. The kind that says, `and she went into the next room, and +it was as the good fairy had said.'" + +There's tinned stuff in the pantry. She went into the tiny kitchen and +opened the pantry door cautiously, being wary of mice. But it met her +eye in spotless array. Orderly rows of tins. Orderly rows of bottles. +Coffee. Condensed milk. Beans. Spaghetti. Flour. Peaches. Pears. + +Off the bedroom there was an absurdly adequate little bathroom, with a +zinc tub and an elaborate water-heating arrangement. + +Fanny threw back her head and laughed as she hadn't laughed in months. +"Wild life in the Rockies," she said aloud. She went back to the +book-lined living room. The fire was crackling gloriously. It was a +many-windowed room, and each window framed an enchanting glimpse of +mountain, flaming with aspens up to timber-line, and snow-capped at the +top. Fanny decided to wait until the fire had died down to a coal-bed. +Then she banked it carefully, put on a heavy sweater and a cap, and made +for the outdoors. She struck out briskly, tenderfoot that she was. In +five minutes she was panting. Her heart was hammering suffocatingly. Her +lungs ached. She stopped, trembling. Then she remembered. The altitude, +of course. Heyl had boasted that his cabin stood at an altitude of over +nine thousand feet. Well, she would have to get used to it. But she was +soon striding forward as briskly as before. She was a natural mountain +dweller. The air, the altitude, speeded up her heart, her lungs, sent +the blood dancing through her veins. Figuratively, she was on tip-toe. + +They had warned her, at the Inn, to take it slowly for the first few +days. They had asked no questions. Fanny learned to heed their advice. +She learned many more things in the next few days. She learned how to +entice the chipmunks that crossed her path, streak o' sunshine, streak +o' shadow. She learned to broil bacon over a fire, with a forked stick. +She learned to ride trail ponies, and to bask in a sun-warmed spot on a +wind-swept hill, and to tell time by the sun, and to give thanks for the +beauty of the world about her, and to leave the wild flowers unpicked, +to put out her campfire with scrupulous care, and to destroy all rubbish +(your true woodsman and mountaineer is as painstakingly neat as a French +housewife). + +She was out of doors all day. At night she read for a while before the +fire, but by nine her eyelids were heavy. She walked down to the Inn +sometimes, but not often. One memorable night she went, with half a +dozen others from the Inn, to the tiny one-room cabin of Oscar, the +handy man about the Inn, and there she listened to one of Oscar's +far-famed phonograph concerts. Oscar's phonograph had cost twenty-five +dollars in Denver. It stood in one corner of his cabin, and its base was +a tree stump just five hundred years old, as you could tell for yourself +by counting its rings. His cabin walls were gorgeous with pictures of +Maxine Elliott in her palmy days, and blonde and sophisticated little +girls on vinegar calendars, posing bare-legged and self-conscious in +blue calico and sunbonnets. You sat in the warm yellow glow of Oscar's +lamp and were regaled with everything from the Swedish National +Anthem to Mischa Elman's tenderest crooning. And Oscar sat rapt, his +weather-beaten face a rich deep mahogany, his eyes bluer than any eyes +could ever be except in contrast with that ruddy countenance, his teeth +so white that you found yourself watching for his smile that was so +gently sweet and childlike. Oh, when Oscar put on his black pants and +issued invitations for a musical evening one was sure to find his cabin +packed. Eight did it, with squeezing. + +This, then, was the atmosphere in which Fanny Brandeis found herself. +As far from Haynes-Cooper as anything could be. At the end of the first +week she found herself able to think clearly and unemotionally about +Theodore, and about Fenger. She had even evolved a certain rather crude +philosophy out of the ruins that had tumbled about her ears. It was +so crude, so unformed in her mind that it can hardly be set down. To +justify one's own existence. That was all that life held or meant. But +that included all the lives that touched on yours. It had nothing to +do with success, as she had counted success heretofore. It was service, +really. It was living as--well, as Molly Brandeis had lived, helpfully, +self-effacingly, magnificently. Fanny gave up trying to form the thing +that was growing in her mind. Perhaps, after all, it was too soon to +expect a complete understanding of that which had worked this change in +her from that afternoon in Fenger's library. + +After the first few days she found less and less difficulty in climbing. +Her astonished heart and lungs ceased to object so strenuously to the +unaccustomed work. The Cabin Rock trail, for example, whose summit found +her panting and exhausted at first, now seemed a mere stroll. She grew +more daring and ambitious. One day she climbed the Long's Peak trail to +timberline, and had tea at Timberline Cabin with Albert Edward Cobbins. +Albert Edward Cobbins, Englishman, erstwhile sailor, adventurer and +gentleman, was the keeper of Timberline Cabin, and the loneliest man in +the Rockies. It was his duty to house overnight climbers bound for the +Peak, sunrise parties and sunset parties, all too few now in the chill +October season-end. Fanny was his first visitor in three days. He was +pathetically glad to see her. + +"I'll have tea for you," he said, "in a jiffy. And I baked a pan of +French rolls ten minutes ago. I had a feeling." + +A magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet tall slim, +broad-shouldered, long-headed, and scrubbed-looking as only an +Englishman can be, there was something almost pathetic in the sight of +him bustling about the rickety little kitchen stove. + +"To-morrow," said Fanny, over her tea, "I'm going to get an early start, +reach here by noon, and go on to Boulder Field and maybe Keyhole." + +"Better not, Miss. Not in October, when there's likely to be a snowstorm +up there in a minute's notice." + +"You'd come and find me, wouldn't you? They always do, in the books." + +"Books are all very well, Miss. But I'm not a mountain man. The truth +is I don't know my way fifty feet from this cabin. I got the job because +I'm used to loneliness, and don't mind it, and because I can cook, d'you +see, having shipped as cook for years. But I'm a seafaring man, Miss. I +wouldn't advise it, Miss. Another cup of tea?" + +But Long's Peak, king of the range, had fascinated her from the first. +She knew that the climb to the summit would be impossible for her now, +but she had an overwhelming desire to see the terrifying bulk of it from +a point midway of the range. It beckoned her and intrigued her, as the +difficult always did. + +By noon of the following day she had left Albert Edward's cabin (he +stood looking after her in the doorway until she disappeared around the +bend) and was jauntily following the trail that led to Boulder Field, +that sea of jagged rock a mile across. Soon she had left the tortured, +wind-twisted timberline trees far behind. How pitiful Cabin Rock and +Twin Sisters looked compared to this. She climbed easily and steadily, +stopping for brief rests. Early in the week she had ridden down to the +village, where she had bought climbing breeches and stout leggings. She +laughed at Albert Edward and his fears. By one o'clock she had reached +Boulder Field. She found the rocks glazed with ice. Just over Keyhole, +that freakish vent in a wall of rock, the blue of the sky had changed +to the gray of snow-clouds. Tenderfoot though she was, she knew that the +climb over Boulder Field would be perilous, if not impossible. She went +on, from rock to rock, for half an hour, then decided to turn back. A +clap of thunder, that roared and crashed, and cracked up and down the +canyons and over the peaks, hastened her decision. She looked about her. +Peak on peak. Purple and black and yellow masses, fantastic in their +hugeness. Chasms. Canyons. Pyramids and minarets. And so near. So grim. +So ghastly desolate. And yet so threatening. And then Fanny Brandeis was +seized with mountain terror. It is a disease recognized by mountain men +everywhere, and it is panic, pure and simple. It is fear brought on by +the immensity and the silence of the mountains. A great horror of the +vastness and ruggedness came upon her. It was colossal, it was crushing, +it was nauseating. + +She began to run. A mistake, that, when one is following a mountain +trail, at best an elusive thing. In five minutes she had lost the trail. +She stopped, and scolded herself sternly, and looked about her. She saw +the faint trail line again, or thought she saw it, and made toward it, +and found it to be no trail at all. She knew that she must be not more +than an hour's walk from Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward, and +his biscuits and tea. Why be frightened? It was absurd. But she was +frightened, horribly, harrowingly. The great, grim rock masses seemed +to be shaking with silent laughter. She began to run again. She was very +cold, and a piercing wind had sprung up. She kept on walking, doggedly, +reasoning with herself quite calmly, and proud of her calmness. Which +proves how terrified she really was. Then the snow came, not slowly, +not gradually, but a blanket of it, as it does come in the mountains, +shutting off everything. And suddenly Fanny's terror vanished. She felt +quite free from weariness. She was alive and tingling to her fingertips. +The psychology of fear is a fascinating thing. Fanny had reached +the second stage. She was quite taken out of herself. She forgot her +stone-bruised feet. She was no longer conscious of cold. She ran now, +fleetly, lightly, the ground seeming to spur her on. She had given up +the trail completely now. She told herself that if she ran on, down, +down, down, she must come to the valley sometime. Unless she was turned +about, and headed in the direction of one of those hideous chasms. She +stopped a moment, peering through the snow curtain, but she could see +nothing. She ran on lightly, laughing a little. Then her feet met a +projection, she stumbled, and fell flat over a slab of wood that jutted +out of the ground. She lay there a moment, dazed. Then she sat up, and +bent down to look at this thing that had tripped her. Probably a tree +trunk. Then she must be near timberline. She bent closer. It was a rough +wooden slab. Closer still. There were words carved on it. She lay flat +and managed to make them out painfully. + +"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest, and died alone, April 26, 1893." + +Fanny had heard the story of Sarah Cannon, a stern spinster who had +achieved the climb to the Peak, and who had met with mishap on the down +trail. Her guide had left her to go for help. When the relief party +returned, hours later, they had found her dead. + +Fanny sprang up, filled with a furious energy. She felt strangely light +and clear-headed. She ran on, stopped, ran again. Now she was +making little short runs here and there. It was snowing furiously, +vindictively. It seemed to her that she had been running for hours. It +probably was minutes. Suddenly she sank down, got to her feet again, +stumbled on perhaps a dozen paces, and sank down again. It was as though +her knees had turned liquid. She lay there, with her eyes shut. + +"I'm just resting," she told herself. "In a minute I'll go on. In a +minute. After I've rested." + +"Hallo-o-o-o!" from somewhere on the other side of the snow blanket. +"Hallo-o-o-o!" Fanny sat up, helloing shrilly, hysterically. She got to +her feet, staggeringly. And Clarence Heyl walked toward her. + +"You ought to be spanked for this," he said. + +Fanny began to cry weakly. She felt no curiosity as to his being there. +She wasn't at all sure that he actually was there, for that matter. +At that thought she dug a frantic hand into his arm. He seemed to +understand, for he said, "It's all right. I'm real enough. Can you +walk?" + +"Yes." But she tried it and found she could not. She decided she was too +tired to care. "I stumbled over a thing--a horrible thing--a gravestone. +And I must have hurt my leg. I didn't know----" + +She leaned against him, a dead weight. "Tell you what," said Heyl, +cheerfully. "You wait here. I'll go on down to Timberline Cabin for +help, and come back." + +"You couldn't manage it--alone? If I tried? If I tried to walk?" + +"Oh, impossible." His tone was brisk. "Now you sit right down here." +She sank down obediently. She felt a little sorry for herself, and glad, +too, and queer, and not at all cold. She looked up at him dumbly. He was +smiling. "All right?" + +She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from sight at once. + +"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April 26, 1893." + +She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew that this was +the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all sad. Happy, if anything. + +"You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?" + +She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and lifted her +lightly to her feet. "Timberline Cabin's not a hundred yards away. I +just did it to try you." + +She had spirit enough left to say, "Beast." + +Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He carried her, +not in his arms, as they do it in books and in the movies. He could not +have gone a hundred feet that way. He carried her over his shoulder, +like a sack of meal, by one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy +scout knows that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most +effectual carrying method known, though unromantic. + +And so they came to Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward Cobbins was in +the doorway. Heyl put her down gently on the bench that ran alongside +the table. The hospitable table that bore two smoking cups of tea. +Fanny's lips were cracked, and the skin was peeled from her nose, and +her hair was straggling and her eyes red-rimmed. She drank the tea in +great gulps. And then she went into the tiny bunkroom, and tumbled into +one of the shelf-bunks, and slept. + +When she awoke she sat up in terror, and bumped her head against the +bunk above, and called, "Clancy!" + +"Yep!" from the next room. He came to the door. The acrid smell of their +pipes was incense in her nostrils. "Rested?" + +"What time is it?" + +"Seven o'clock. Dinner time. Ham and eggs." + +She got up stiffly, and bathed her roughened face, and produced a powder +pad (they carry them in the face of danger, death, and dissolution) and +dusted it over her scaly nose. She did her hair--her vigorous, abundant +hair that shone in the lamplight, pulled down her blouse, surveyed +her torn shoes ruefully, donned the khaki skirt that Albert Edward had +magically produced from somewhere to take the place of her breeches. +She dusted her shoes with a bit of rag, regarded herself steadily in the +wavering mirror, and went in. + +The two men were talking quietly. Albert Edward was moving deftly from +stove to table. They both looked up as she came in, and she looked at +Heyl. Their eyes held. + +Albert Edward was as sporting a gentleman as the late dear king whose +name he bore. He went out to tend Heyl's horse, he said. It was little +he knew of horses, and he rather feared them, as does a sailing man. But +he went, nevertheless. + +Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him. + +"It's absurd," said Fanny. "It's the kind of thing that doesn't happen." + +"It's simple enough, really," he answered. "I saw Ella Monahan in +Chicago, and she told me all she knew, and something of what she had +guessed. I waited a few days and came back. I had to." He smiled. "A +pretty job you've made of trying to be selfish." + +At that she smiled, too, pitifully enough, for her lower lip trembled. +She caught it between her teeth in a last sharp effort at self-control. +"Don't!" she quavered. And then, in a panic, her two hands came up in a +vain effort to hide the tears. She sank down on the rough bench by the +table, and the proud head came down on her arms so that there was a +little clatter and tinkle among the supper things spread on the table. +Then quiet. + +Clarence Heyl stared. He stared, helplessly, as does a man who has +never, in all his life, been called upon to comfort a woman in tears. +Then instinct came to his rescue. He made her side of the table in two +strides (your favorite film star couldn't have done it better), put his +two hands on her shoulders and neatly shifted the bowed head from the +cold, hard surface of the table top to the warm, rough, tobacco-scented +comfort of his coat. It rested there quite naturally. Just as naturally +Fanny's arm crept up, and about his neck. So they remained for a moment, +until he bent so that his lips touched her hair. Her head came up at +that, sharply, so that it bumped his chin. They both laughed, looking +into each other's eyes, but at what they saw there they stopped laughing +and were serious. + +"Dear," said Heyl. "Dearest." The lids drooped over Fanny's eyes. "Look +at me," said Heyl. So she tried to lift them again, bravely, and could +not. At that he bent his head and kissed Fanny Brandeis in the way a +woman wants to be kissed for the first time by the man she loves. It +hurt her lips, that kiss, and her teeth, and the back of her neck, and +it left her breathless, and set things whirling. When she opened her +eyes (they shut them at such times) he kissed her again, very tenderly, +this time, and lightly, and reassuringly. She returned that kiss, and, +strangely enough, it was the one that stayed in her memory long, long +after the other had faded. + +"Oh, Clancy, I've made such a mess of it all. Such a miserable mess. +The little girl in the red tam was worth ten of me. I don't see how you +can--care for me." + +"You're the most wonderful woman in the world," said Heyl, "and the most +beautiful and splendid." + +He must have meant it, for he was looking down at her as he said it, and +we know that the skin had been peeled off her nose by the mountain winds +and sun, that her lips were cracked and her cheeks rough, and that she +was red-eyed and worn-looking. And she must have believed him, for she +brought his cheek down to hers with such a sigh of content, though she +said, "But are we at all suited to each other?" + +"Probably not," Heyl answered, briskly. "That's why we're going to be +so terrifically happy. Some day I'll be passing the Singer building, and +I'll glance up at it and think how pitiful it would look next to Long's +Peak. And then I'll be off, probably, to these mountains." + +"Or some day," Fanny returned, "we'll be up here, and I'll remember, +suddenly, how Fifth Avenue looks on a bright afternoon between four and +five. And I'll be off, probably, to the Grand Central station." + +And then began one of those beautiful and foolish conversations which +all lovers have whose love has been a sure and steady growth. Thus: +"When did you first begin to care," etc. And, "That day we spent at the +dunes, and you said so and so, did you mean this and that?" + +Albert Edward Cobbins announced his approach by terrific stampings and +scufflings, ostensibly for the purpose of ridding his boots of snow. He +entered looking casual, and very nipped. + +"You're here for the night," he said. "A regular blizzard. The greatest +piece of luck I've had in a month." He busied himself with the ham and +eggs and the teapot. "Hungry?" + +"Not a bit," said Fanny and Heyl, together. + +"H'm," said Albert Edward, and broke six eggs into the frying pan just +the same. + +After supper they aided Albert Edward in the process of washing up. When +everything was tidy he lighted his most malignant pipe and told them +seafaring yarns not necessarily true. Then he knocked the ashes out +of his pipe and fell asleep there by the fire, effacing himself as +effectually as one of three people can in a single room. They talked; +low-toned murmurings that they seemed to find exquisitely meaningful +or witty, by turn. Fanny, rubbing a forefinger (his) along her +weather-roughened nose, would say, "At least you've seen me at my +worst." + +Or he, mock serious: "I think I ought to tell you that I'm the kind of +man who throws wet towels into the laundry hamper." + +But there was no mirth in Fanny's voice when she said, "Dear, do you +think Lasker will give me that job? You know he said, `When you want a +job, come back.' Do you think he meant it?" + +"Lasker always means it." + +"But," fearfully, and shyly, too, "you don't think I may have lost my +drawing hand and my seeing eye, do you? As punishment?" + +"I do not. I think you've just found them, for keeps. There wasn't a +woman cartoonist in the country--or man, either, for that matter--could +touch you two years ago. In two more I'll be just Fanny Brandeis' +husband, that's all." + +They laughed together at that, so that Albert Edward Cobbins awoke with +a start and tried to look as if he had not been asleep, and failing, +smiled benignly and drowsily upon them. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny Herself, by Edna Ferber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY HERSELF *** + +***** This file should be named 350.txt or 350.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/350/ + +Produced by Mike Lough + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +Scanned with OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + + +FANNY +HERSELF +BY +EDNA FERBER + + + +TO +WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE + + +PREFACE + +It has become the fashion among novelists to introduce their +hero in knee pants, their heroine in pinafore and pigtails. +Time was when we were rushed up to a stalwart young man of +twenty-four, who was presented as the pivot about whom the +plot would revolve. Now we are led, protesting, up to a +grubby urchin of five and are invited to watch him through +twenty years of intimate minutiae. In extreme cases we have +been obliged to witness his evolution from swaddling clothes +to dresses, from dresses to shorts (he is so often English), +from shorts to Etons. + +The thrill we get for our pains is when, at twenty-five, he +jumps over the traces and marries the young lady we met in +her cradle on page two. The process is known as a +psychological study. A publisher's note on page five +hundred and seventy-three assures us that the author is now +at work on Volume Two, dealing with the hero's adult life. +A third volume will present his pleasing senility. The +whole is known as a trilogy. If the chief character is of +the other sex we are dragged through her dreamy girlhood, or +hoydenish. We see her in her graduation white, in her +bridal finery. By the time she is twenty we know her better +than her mother ever will, and are infinitely more bored by +her. + +Yet who would exchange one page in the life of the boy, +David Copperfield, for whole chapters dealing with Trotwood +Copperfield, the man? Who would relinquish the button- +bursting Peggotty for the saintly Agnes? And that other +David--he of the slingshot; one could not love him so well +in his psalm-singing days had one not known him first as +the gallant, dauntless vanquisher of giants. As for Becky +Sharp, with her treachery, her cruelty, her vindicativeness, +perhaps we could better have understood and forgiven her had +we known her lonely and neglected childhood, with the +drunken artist father and her mother, the French opera girl. + +With which modest preamble you are asked to be patient with +Miss Fanny Brandeis, aged thirteen. Not only must you +suffer Fanny, but Fanny's mother as well, without whom there +could be no understanding Fanny. For that matter, we +shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Brandeis were to turn out the +heroine in the end. She is that kind of person. + + + +FANNY HERSELF + +CHAPTER ONE + +You could not have lived a week in Winnebago without being +aware of Mrs. Brandeis. In a town of ten thousand, where +every one was a personality, from Hen Cody, the drayman, in +blue overalls (magically transformed on Sunday mornings into +a suave black-broadcloth usher at the Congregational +Church), to A. J. Dawes, who owned the waterworks before the +city bought it. Mrs. Brandeis was a super-personality. +Winnebago did not know it. Winnebago, buying its dolls, and +china, and Battenberg braid and tinware and toys of Mrs. +Brandeis, of Brandeis' Bazaar, realized vaguely that here +was some one different. + +When you entered the long, cool, narrow store on Elm Street, +Mrs. Brandeis herself came forward to serve you, unless she +already was busy with two customers. There were two +clerks--three, if you count Aloysius, the boy--but to Mrs. +Brandeis belonged the privilege of docketing you first. If +you happened in during a moment of business lull, you were +likely to find her reading in the left-hand corner at the +front of the store, near the shelf where were ranged the +dolls' heads, the pens, the pencils, and school supplies. + +You saw a sturdy, well-set-up, alert woman, of the kind that +looks taller than she really is; a woman with a long, +straight, clever nose that indexed her character, as did +everything about her, from her crisp, vigorous, abundant +hair to the way she came down hard on her heels in +walking. She was what might be called a very definite +person. But first you remarked her eyes. Will you concede +that eyes can be piercing, yet velvety? Their piercingness +was a mental quality, I suppose, and the velvety softness a +physical one. One could only think, somehow, of wild +pansies--the brown kind. If Winnebago had taken the trouble +to glance at the title of the book she laid face down on the +pencil boxes as you entered, it would have learned that the +book was one of Balzac's, or, perhaps, Zangwill's, or +Zola's. She never could overcome that habit of snatching a +chapter here and there during dull moments. She was too +tired to read when night came. + +There were many times when the little Wisconsin town lay +broiling in the August sun, or locked in the January drifts, +and the main business street was as silent as that of a +deserted village. But more often she came forward to you +from the rear of the store, with bits of excelsior clinging +to her black sateen apron. You knew that she had been +helping Aloysius as he unpacked a consignment of chamber +sets or a hogshead of china or glassware, chalking each +piece with the price mark as it was dug from its nest of +straw and paper. + +"How do you do!" she would say. "What can I do for you?" +And in that moment she had you listed, indexed, and filed, +were you a farmer woman in a black shawl and rusty bonnet +with a faded rose bobbing grotesquely atop it, or one of the +patronizing East End set who came to Brandeis' Bazaar +because Mrs. Brandeis' party favors, for one thing, were of +a variety that could be got nowhere else this side of +Chicago. If, after greeting you, Mrs. Brandeis called, +"Sadie! Stockings!" (supposing stockings were your quest), +you might know that Mrs. Brandeis had weighed you and found +you wanting. + +There had always been a store--at least, ever since Fanny +could remember. She often thought how queer it would seem +to have to buy pins, or needles, or dishes, or soap, or +thread. The store held all these things, and many more. +Just to glance at the bewildering display outside gave you +promise of the variety within. Winnebago was rather ashamed +of that display. It was before the day of repression in +decoration, and the two benches in front of the windows +overflowed with lamps, and water sets, and brooms, and +boilers and tinware and hampers. Once the Winnebago +Courier had had a sarcastic editorial about what they +called the Oriental bazaar (that was after the editor, Lem +Davis, had bumped his shin against a toy cart that protruded +unduly), but Mrs. Brandeis changed nothing. She knew that +the farmer women who stood outside with their husbands on +busy Saturdays would not have understood repression in +display, but they did understand the tickets that marked the +wares in plain figures--this berry set, $1.59; that lamp, +$1.23. They talked it over, outside, and drifted away, and +came back, and entered, and bought. + +She knew when to be old-fashioned, did Mrs. Brandeis, and +when to be modern. She had worn the first short walking +skirt in Winnebago. It cleared the ground in a day before +germs were discovered, when women's skirts trailed and +flounced behind them in a cloud of dust. One of her +scandalized neighbors (Mrs. Nathan Pereles, it was) had +taken her aside to tell her that no decent woman would dress +that way. + +"Next year," said Mrs. Brandeis, "when you are wearing one, +I'll remind you of that." And she did, too. She had worn +shirtwaists with a broad "Gibson" shoulder tuck, when other +Winnebago women were still encased in linings and bodices. +Do not get the impression that she stood for emancipation, +or feminism, or any of those advanced things. They had +scarcely been touched on in those days. She was just an +extraordinarily alert woman, mentally and physically, +with a shrewd sense of values. Molly Brandeis never could +set a table without forgetting the spoons, or the salt, or +something, but she could add a double column of figures in +her head as fast as her eye could travel. + +There she goes, running off with the story, as we were +afraid she would. Not only that, she is using up whole +pages of description when she should be giving us dialogue. +Prospective readers, running their eyes over a printed page, +object to the solid block formation of the descriptive +passage. And yet it is fascinating to weave words about +her, as it is fascinating to turn a fine diamond this way +and that in the sunlight, to catch its prismatic hues. +Besides, you want to know--do you not?--how this woman who +reads Balzac should be waiting upon you in a little general +store in Winnebago, Wisconsin? + +In the first place, Ferdinand Brandeis had been a dreamer, +and a potential poet, which is bad equipment for success in +the business of general merchandise. Four times, since her +marriage, Molly Brandeis had packed her household goods, +bade her friends good-by, and with her two children, Fanny +and Theodore, had followed her husband to pastures new. A +heart-breaking business, that, but broadening. She knew +nothing of the art of buying and selling at the time of her +marriage, but as the years went by she learned unconsciously +the things one should not do in business, from watching +Ferdinand Brandeis do them all. She even suggested this +change and that, but to no avail. Ferdinand Brandeis was a +gentle and lovable man at home; a testy, quick-tempered one +in business. + +That was because he had been miscast from the first, and yet +had played one part too long, even though unsuccessfully, +ever to learn another. He did not make friends with the +genial traveling salesmen who breezed in, slapped him on +the back, offered him a cigar, inquired after his health, +opened their sample cases and flirted with the girl clerks, +all in a breath. He was a man who talked little, listened +little, learned little. He had never got the trick of +turning his money over quickly--that trick so necessary to +the success of the small-town business. + +So it was that, in the year preceding Ferdinand Brandeis' +death, there came often to the store a certain grim visitor. +Herman Walthers, cashier of the First National Bank of +Winnebago, was a kindly-enough, shrewd, small-town banker, +but to Ferdinand Brandeis and his wife his visits, growing +more and more frequent, typified all that was frightful, +presaged misery and despair. He would drop in on a bright +summer morning, perhaps, with a cheerful greeting. He would +stand for a moment at the front of the store, balancing +airily from toe to heel, and glancing about from shelf to +bin and back again in a large, speculative way. Then he +would begin to walk slowly and ruminatively about, his +shrewd little German eyes appraising the stock. He would +hum a little absent-minded tune as he walked, up one aisle +and down the next (there were only two), picking up a piece +of china there, turning it over to look at its stamp, +holding it up to the light, tapping it a bit with his +knuckles, and putting it down carefully before going +musically on down the aisle to the water sets, the lamps, +the stockings, the hardware, the toys. And so, his hands +behind his back, still humming, out the swinging screen door +and into the sunshine of Elm Street, leaving gloom and fear +behind him. + +One year after Molly Brandeis took hold, Herman Walthers' +visits ceased, and in two years he used to rise to greet her +from his little cubbyhole when she came into the bank. + +Which brings us to the plush photograph album. The plush +photograph album is a concrete example of what makes +business failure and success. More than that, its brief +history presents a complete characterization of Ferdinand +and Molly Brandeis. + +Ten years before, Ferdinand Brandeis had bought a large bill +of Christmas fancy-goods--celluloid toilette sets, leather +collar boxes, velvet glove cases. Among the lot was a +photograph album in the shape of a huge acorn done in +lightning-struck plush. It was a hideous thing, and +expensive. It stood on a brass stand, and its leaves were +edged in gilt, and its color was a nauseous green and blue, +and it was altogether the sort of thing to grace the chill +and funereal best room in a Wisconsin farmhouse. Ferdinand +Brandeis marked it at six dollars and stood it up for the +Christmas trade. That had been ten years before. It was +too expensive; or too pretentious, or perhaps even too +horrible for the bucolic purse. At any rate, it had been +taken out, brushed, dusted, and placed on its stand every +holiday season for ten years. On the day after Christmas it +was always there, its lightning-struck plush face staring +wildly out upon the ravaged fancy-goods counter. It would +be packed in its box again and consigned to its long +summer's sleep. It had seen three towns, and many changes. +The four dollars that Ferdinand Brandeis had invested in it +still remained unturned. + +One snowy day in November (Ferdinand Brandeis died a +fortnight later) Mrs. Brandeis, entering the store, saw two +women standing at the fancy-goods counter, laughing in a +stifled sort of way. One of them was bowing elaborately to +a person unseen. Mrs. Brandeis was puzzled. She watched +them for a moment, interested. One of the women was known +to her. She came up to them and put her question, bluntly, +though her quick wits had already given her a suspicion of +the truth. + +"What are you bowing to?" + +The one who had done the bowing blushed a little, but +giggled too, as she said, "I'm greeting my old friend, the +plush album. I've seen it here every Christmas for five +years." + +Ferdinand Brandeis died suddenly a little more than a week +later. It was a terrible period, and one that might have +prostrated a less resolute and balanced woman. There were +long-standing debts, not to speak of the entire stock of +holiday goods to be paid for. The day after the funeral +Winnebago got a shock. The Brandeis house was besieged by +condoling callers. Every member of the little Jewish +congregation of Winnebago came, of course, as they had come +before the funeral. Those who had not brought cakes, and +salads, and meats, and pies, brought them now, as was the +invariable custom in time of mourning. + +Others of the townspeople called, too; men and women who had +known and respected Ferdinand Brandeis. And the shock they +got was this: Mrs. Brandeis was out. Any one could have +told you that she should have been sitting at home in a +darkened room, wearing a black gown, clasping Fanny and +Theodore to her, and holding a black-bordered handkerchief +at intervals to her reddened eyes. And that is what she +really wanted to do, for she had loved her husband, and she +respected the conventions. What she did was to put on a +white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven o'clock the +morning after the funeral. + +The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at +seven forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping out with wet +sawdust and a languid broom. The extra force of holiday +clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at eight or after, +expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At eight- +ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph +album, whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck +in its place a neatly printed card bearing these figures: +"To-day-- 79@!" The plush album went home in a farmer's +wagon that afternoon. + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Right here there should be something said about Fanny +Brandeis. And yet, each time I turn to her I find her +mother plucking at my sleeve. There comes to my mind the +picture of Mrs. Brandeis turning down Norris Street at +quarter to eight every morning, her walk almost a march, so +firm and measured it was, her head high, her chin thrust +forward a little, as a fighter walks, but not pugnaciously; +her short gray skirt clearing the ground, her shoulders +almost consciously squared. Other Winnebago women were just +tying up their daughters' pigtails for school, or sweeping +the front porch, or watering the hanging baskets. Norris +Street residents got into the habit of timing themselves by +Mrs. Brandeis. When she marched by at seven forty-five they +hurried a little with the tying of the hair bow, as they +glanced out of the window. When she came by again, a little +before twelve, for her hasty dinner, they turned up the fire +under the potatoes and stirred the flour thickening for the +gravy. + +Mrs. Brandeis had soon learned that Fanny and Theodore could +manage their own school toilettes, with, perhaps, some +speeding up on the part of Mattie, the servant girl. But it +needed her keen brown eye to detect corners that Aloysius +had neglected to sweep out with wet sawdust, and her +presence to make sure that the counter covers were taken off +and folded, the outside show dusted and arranged, the +windows washed, the whole store shining and ready for +business by eight o'clock. So Fanny had even learned to do +her own tight, shiny, black, shoulder-length curls, which +she tied back with a black bow. They were wet, meek, +and tractable curls at eight in the morning. By the time +school was out at four they were as wildly unruly as if +charged with electric currents--which they really were, when +you consider the little dynamo that wore them. + +Mrs. Brandeis took a scant half hour to walk the six blocks +between the store and the house, to snatch a hurried dinner, +and traverse the distance to the store again. It was a +program that would have killed a woman less magnificently +healthy and determined. She seemed to thrive on it, and she +kept her figure and her wit when other women of her age grew +dull, and heavy, and ineffectual. On summer days the little +town often lay shimmering in the heat, the yellow road +glaring in it, the red bricks of the high school reflecting +it in waves, the very pine knots in the sidewalks gummy and +resinous with heat, and sending up a pungent smell that was +of the woods, and yet stifling. She must have felt an +almost irresistible temptation to sit for a moment on the +cool, shady front porch, with its green-painted flower +boxes, its hanging fern baskets and the catalpa tree looking +boskily down upon it. + +But she never did. She had an almost savage energy and +determination. The unpaid debts were ever ahead of her; +there were the children to be dressed and sent to school; +there was the household to be kept up; there were Theodore's +violin lessons that must not be neglected--not after what +Professor Bauer had said about him. + +You may think that undue stress is being laid upon this +driving force in her, upon this business ability. But +remember that this was fifteen years or more ago, before +women had invaded the world of business by the thousands, to +take their place, side by side, salary for salary, with men. +Oh, there were plenty of women wage earners in Winnebago, as +elsewhere; clerks, stenographers, school teachers, +bookkeepers. The paper mills were full of girls, and the +canning factory too. But here was a woman gently bred, +untrained in business, left widowed with two children at +thirty-eight, and worse than penniless--in debt. + +And that was not all. As Ferdinand Brandeis' wife she had +occupied a certain social position in the little Jewish +community of Winnebago. True, they had never been moneyed, +while the others of her own faith in the little town were +wealthy, and somewhat purse-proud. They had carriages, most +of them, with two handsome horses, and their houses were +spacious and veranda-encircled, and set in shady lawns. +When the Brandeis family came to Winnebago five years +before, these people had waited, cautiously, and +investigated, and then had called. They were of a type to +be found in every small town; prosperous, conservative, +constructive citizens, clannish, but not so much so as their +city cousins, mingling socially with their Gentile +neighbors, living well, spending their money freely, taking +a vast pride in the education of their children. But here +was Molly Brandeis, a Jewess, setting out to earn her living +in business, like a man. It was a thing to stir +Congregation Emanu-el to its depths. Jewish women, they +would tell you, did not work thus. Their husbands worked +for them, or their sons, or their brothers. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Brandeis, when she heard of +it. "I seem to remember a Jewess named Ruth who was left +widowed, and who gleaned in the fields for her living, and +yet the neighbors didn't talk. For that matter, she seems +to be pretty well thought of, to this day." + +But there is no denying that she lost caste among her own +people. Custom and training are difficult to overcome. But +Molly Brandeis was too deep in her own affairs to care. +That Christmas season following her husband's death was +a ghastly time, and yet a grimly wonderful one, for it +applied the acid test to Molly Brandeis and showed her up +pure gold. + +The first week in January she, with Sadie and Pearl, the two +clerks, and Aloysius, the boy, took inventory. It was a +terrifying thing, that process of casting up accounts. It +showed with such starkness how hideously the Brandeis ledger +sagged on the wrong side. The three women and the boy +worked with a sort of dogged cheerfulness at it, counting, +marking, dusting, washing. They found shelves full of +forgotten stock, dust-covered and profitless. They found +many articles of what is known as hard stock, akin to the +plush album; glass and plated condiment casters for the +dining table, in a day when individual salts and separate +vinegar cruets were already the thing; lamps with straight +wicks when round wicks were in demand. + +They scoured shelves, removed the grime of years from boxes, +washed whole battalions of chamber sets, bathed piles of +plates, and bins of cups and saucers. It was a dirty, back- +breaking job, that ruined the finger nails, tried the +disposition, and caked the throat with dust. Besides, the +store was stove-heated and, near the front door, +uncomfortably cold. The women wore little shoulder shawls +pinned over their waists, for warmth, and all four, +including Aloysius, sniffled for weeks afterward. +That inventory developed a new, grim line around Mrs. +Brandeis' mouth, and carved another at the corner of each +eye. After it was over she washed her hair, steamed her +face over a bowl of hot water, packed two valises, left +minute and masterful instructions with Mattie as to the +household, and with Sadie and Pearl as to the store, and was +off to Chicago on her first buying trip. She took Fanny +with her, as ballast. It was a trial at which many men +would have quailed. On the shrewdness and judgment of that +buying trip depended the future of Brandeis' Bazaar, and +Mrs. Brandeis, and Fanny, and Theodore. + +Mrs. Brandeis had accompanied her husband on many of his +trips to Chicago. She had even gone with him occasionally +to the wholesale houses around La Salle Street, and Madison, +and Fifth Avenue, but she had never bought a dollar's worth +herself. She saw that he bought slowly, cautiously, and +without imagination. She made up her mind that she would +buy quickly, intuitively. She knew slightly some of the +salesmen in the wholesale houses. They had often made +presents to her of a vase, a pocketbook, a handkerchief, or +some such trifle, which she accepted reluctantly, when at +all. She was thankful now for these visits. She found +herself remembering many details of them. She made up her +mind, with a canny knowingness, that there should be no +presents this time, no theater invitations, no lunches or +dinners. This was business, she told herself; more than +business--it was grim war. + +They still tell of that trip, sometimes, when buyers and +jobbers and wholesale men get together. Don't imagine that +she came to be a woman captain of finance. Don't think that +we are to see her at the head of a magnificent business +establishment, with buyers and department heads below her, +and a private office done up in mahogany, and stenographers +and secretaries. No, she was Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis' +Bazaar, to the end. The bills she bought were ridiculously +small, I suppose, and the tricks she turned on that first +trip were pitiful, perhaps. But they were magnificent too, +in their way. I am even bold enough to think that she might +have made business history, that plucky woman, if she had +had an earlier start, and if she had not, to the very end, +had a pack of unmanageable handicaps yelping at her heels, +pulling at her skirts. + +It was only a six-hour trip to Chicago. Fanny Brandeis' +eyes, big enough at any time, were surely twice their size +during the entire journey of two hundred miles or more. +They were to have lunch on the train! They were to stop at +an hotel! They were to go to the theater! She would have +lain back against the red plush seat of the car, in a swoon +of joy, if there had not been so much to see in the car +itself, and through the car window. + +"We'll have something for lunch," said Mrs. Brandeis when +they were seated in the dining car, "that we never have at +home, shall we?" + +"Oh, yes!" replied Fanny in a whisper of excitement. +"Something--something queer, and different, and not so very +healthy!" + +They had oysters (a New Yorker would have sniffed at them), +and chicken potpie, and asparagus, and ice cream. If that +doesn't prove Mrs. Brandeis was game, I should like to know +what could! They stopped at the Windsor-Clifton, because it +was quieter and less expensive than the Palmer House, though +quite as full of red plush and walnut. Besides, she had +stopped at the Palmer House with her husband, and she knew +how buyers were likely to be besieged by eager salesmen with +cards, and with tempting lines of goods spread knowingly in +the various sample-rooms. + +Fanny Brandeis was thirteen, and emotional, and incredibly +receptive and alive. It is impossible to tell what she +learned during that Chicago trip, it was so crowded, so +wonderful. She went with her mother to the wholesale houses +and heard and saw and, unconsciously, remembered. When she +became fatigued with the close air of the dim showrooms, +with their endless aisles piled with every sort of ware, she +would sit on a chair in some obscure corner, watching those +sleek, over-lunched, genial-looking salesmen who were +chewing their cigars somewhat wildly when Mrs. Brandeis +finished with them. Sometimes she did not accompany her +mother, but lay in bed, deliciously, until the middle of the +morning, then dressed, and chatted with the obliging Irish +chamber maid, and read until her mother came for her at +noon. + +Everything she did was a delightful adventure; everything +she saw had the tang of novelty. Fanny Brandeis was to see +much that was beautiful and rare in her full lifetime, but +she never again, perhaps, got quite the thrill that those +ugly, dim, red-carpeted, gas-lighted hotel corridors gave +her, or the grim bedroom, with its walnut furniture and its +Nottingham curtains. As for the Chicago streets themselves, +with their perilous corners (there were no czars in blue to +regulate traffic in those days), older and more +sophisticated pedestrians experienced various emotions while +negotiating the corner of State and Madison. + +That buying trip lasted ten days. It was a racking +business, physically and mentally. There were the hours of +tramping up one aisle and down the other in the big +wholesale lofts. But that brought bodily fatigue only. It +was the mental strain that left Mrs. Brandeis spent and limp +at the end of the day. Was she buying wisely? Was she +over-buying? What did she know about buying, anyway? She +would come back to her hotel at six, sometimes so exhausted +that the dining-room and dinner were unthinkable. At such +times they would have dinner in their room another delicious +adventure for Fanny. She would try to tempt the fagged +woman on the bed with bits of this or that from one of the +many dishes that dotted the dinner tray. But Molly +Brandeis, harrowed in spirit and numbed in body, was too +spent to eat. + +But that was not always the case. There was that +unforgettable night when they went to see Bernhardt the +divine. Fanny spent the entire morning following standing +before the bedroom mirror, with her hair pulled out in a +wild fluff in front, her mother's old marten-fur scarf high +and choky around her neck, trying to smile that slow, sad, +poignant, tear-compelling smile; but she had to give it up, +clever mimic though she was. She only succeeded in looking +as though a pin were sticking her somewhere. Besides, +Fanny's own smile was a quick, broad, flashing grin, with a +generous glint of white teeth in it, and she always forgot +about being exquisitely wistful over it until it was too +late. + +I wonder if the story of the china religious figures will +give a wrong impression of Mrs. Brandeis. Perhaps not, if +you will only remember this woman's white-lipped +determination to wrest a livelihood from the world, for her +children and herself. They had been in Chicago a week, and +she was buying at Bauder & Peck's. Now, Bauder & Peck, +importers, are known the world over. It is doubtful if +there is one of you who has not been supplied, indirectly, +with some imported bit of china or glassware, with French +opera glasses or cunning toys and dolls, from the great New +York and Chicago showrooms of that company. + +Young Bauder himself was waiting on Mrs. Brandeis, and he +was frowning because he hated to sell women. Young Bauder +was being broken into the Chicago end of the business, and +he was not taking gracefully to the process. + +At the end of a long aisle, on an obscure shelf in a dim +corner, Molly Brandeis' sharp eyes espied a motley +collection of dusty, grimy china figures of the kind one +sees on the mantel in the parlor of the small-town Catholic +home. Winnebago's population was two-thirds Catholic, +German and Irish, and very devout. + +Mrs. Brandeis stopped short. "How much for that lot?" She +pointed to the shelf. Young Bauder's gaze followed hers, +puzzled. The figures were from five inches to a foot high, +in crude, effective blues, and gold, and crimson, and +white. All the saints were there in assorted sizes, the +Pieta, the cradle in the manger. There were probably two +hundred or more of the little figures. +"Oh, those!" said young Bauder vaguely. "You don't want +that stuff. Now, about that Limoges china. As I said, I +can make you a special price on it if you carry it as an +open-stock pattern. You'll find----" + +"How much for that lot?" repeated Mrs. Brandeis. + +"Those are left-over samples, Mrs. Brandeis. Last year's +stuff. They're all dirty. I'd forgotten they were there." + +"How much for the lot?" said Mrs. Brandeis, pleasantly, for +the third time. + +"I really don't know. Three hundred, I should say. +But----" + +"I'll give you two hundred," ventured Mrs. Brandeis, her +heart in her mouth and her mouth very firm. + +"Oh, come now, Mrs. Brandeis! Bauder & Peck don't do +business that way, you know. We'd really rather not sell +them at all. The things aren't worth much to us, or to you, +for that matter. But three hundred----" + +"Two hundred," repeated Mrs. Brandeis, "or I cancel my +order, including the Limoges. I want those figures." + +And she got them. Which isn't the point of the story. The +holy figures were fine examples of foreign workmanship, +their colors, beneath the coating of dust, as brilliant and +fadeless as those found in the churches of Europe. They +reached Winnebago duly, packed in straw and paper, still +dusty and shelf-worn. Mrs. Brandeis and Sadie and Pearl sat +on up-ended boxes at the rear of the store, in the big barn- +like room in which newly arrived goods were unpacked. As +Aloysius dived deep into the crate and brought up figure +after figure, the three women plunged them into warm and +soapy water and proceeded to bathe and scour the entire +school of saints, angels, and cherubim. They came out +brilliantly fresh and rosy. + +All the Irish ingenuity and artistry in Aloysius came to the +surface as he dived again and again into the great barrel +and brought up the glittering pieces. + +"It'll make an elegant window," he gasped from the depths of +the hay, his lean, lengthy frame jack-knifed over the edge. +"And cheap." His shrewd wit had long ago divined the +store's price mark. "If Father Fitzpatrick steps by in the +forenoon I'll bet they'll be gone before nighttime to- +morrow. You'll be letting me do the trim, Mrs. Brandeis?" + +He came back that evening to do it, and he threw his whole +soul into it, which, considering his ancestry and +temperament, was very high voltage for one small-town store +window. He covered the floor of the window with black crepe +paper, and hung it in long folds, like a curtain, against +the rear wall. The gilt of the scepters, and halos, and +capes showed up dazzlingly against this background. The +scarlets, and pinks, and blues, and whites of the robes +appeared doubly bright. The whole made a picture that +struck and held you by its vividness and contrast. + +Father Fitzpatrick, very tall and straight, and handsome, +with his iron-gray hair and his cheeks pink as a girl's, did +step by next morning on his way to the post-office. It was +whispered that in his youth Father Fitzpatrick had been an +actor, and that he had deserted the footlights for the altar +lights because of a disappointment. The drama's loss was +the Church's gain. You should have heard him on Sunday +morning, now flaying them, now swaying them! He still had +the actor's flexible voice, vibrant, tremulous, or strident, +at will. And no amount of fasting or praying had ever +dimmed that certain something in his eye--the something +which makes the matinee idol. + +Not only did he step by now; he turned, came back; stopped +before the window. Then he entered. + +"Madam," he said to Mrs. Brandeis, "you'll probably save +more souls with your window display than I could in a month +of hell-fire sermons." He raised his hand. "You have the +sanction of the Church." Which was the beginning of a queer +friendship between the Roman Catholic priest and the Jewess +shopkeeper that lasted as long as Molly Brandeis lived. + +By noon it seemed that the entire population of Winnebago +had turned devout. The figures, a tremendous bargain, +though sold at a high profit, seemed to melt away from the +counter that held them. + +By three o'clock, "Only one to a customer!" announced Mrs. +Brandeis. By the middle of the week the window itself was +ravished of its show. By the end of the week there remained +only a handful of the duller and less desirable pieces--the +minor saints, so to speak. Saturday night Mrs. Brandeis did +a little figuring on paper. The lot had cost her two +hundred dollars. She had sold for six hundred. Two from +six leaves four. Four hundred dollars! She repeated it to +herself, quietly. Her mind leaped back to the plush +photograph album, then to young Bauder and his cool +contempt. And there stole over her that warm, comfortable +glow born of reassurance and triumph. Four hundred dollars. +Not much in these days of big business. We said, you will +remember, that it was a pitiful enough little trick she +turned to make it, though an honest one. And--in the face +of disapproval--a rather magnificent one too. For it gave +to Molly Brandeis that precious quality, self-confidence, +out of which is born success. + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +By spring Mrs. Brandeis had the farmer women coming to her +for their threshing dishes and kitchenware, and the West End +Culture Club for their whist prizes. She seemed to realize +that the days of the general store were numbered, and she +set about making hers a novelty store. There was something +terrible about the earnestness with which she stuck to +business. She was not more than thirty-eight at this time, +intelligent, healthy, fun-loving. But she stayed at it all +day. She listened and chatted to every one, and learned +much. There was about her that human quality that invites +confidence. + +She made friends by the hundreds, and friends are a business +asset. Those blithe, dressy, and smooth-spoken gentlemen +known as traveling men used to tell her their troubles, +perched on a stool near the stove, and show her the picture +of their girl in the back of their watch, and asked her to +dinner at the Haley House. She listened to their tale of +woe, and advised them; she admired the picture of the girl, +and gave some wholesome counsel on the subject of traveling +men's lonely wives; but she never went to dinner at the +Haley House. + +It had not taken these debonair young men long to learn that +there was a woman buyer who bought quickly, decisively, and +intelligently, and that she always demanded a duplicate +slip. Even the most unscrupulous could not stuff an order +of hers, and when it came to dating she gave no quarter. +Though they wore clothes that were two leaps ahead of the +styles worn by the Winnebago young men--their straw +sailors were likely to be saw-edged when the local edges +were smooth, and their coats were more flaring, or their +trousers wider than the coats and trousers of the Winnebago +boys--they were not, for the most part, the gay dogs that +Winnebago's fancy painted them. Many of them were very +lonely married men who missed their wives and babies, and +loathed the cuspidored discomfort of the small-town hotel +lobby. They appreciated Mrs. Brandeis' good-natured +sympathy, and gave her the long end of a deal when they +could. It was Sam Kiser who had begged her to listen to his +advice to put in Battenberg patterns and braid, long before +the Battenberg epidemic had become widespread and virulent. + +"Now listen to me, Mrs. Brandeis," he begged, almost +tearfully. "You're a smart woman. Don't let this get by +you. You know that I know that a salesman would have as +much chance to sell you a gold brick as to sell old John D. +Rockefeller a gallon of oil." +Mrs. Brandeis eyed his samples coldly. "But it looks so +unattractive. And the average person has no imagination. A +bolt of white braid and a handful of buttons--they wouldn't +get a mental picture of the completed piece. Now, +embroidery silk----" + +"Then give 'em a real picture!" interrupted Sam. "Work up +one of these water-lily pattern table covers. Use No. 100 +braid and the smallest buttons. Stick it in the window and +they'll tear their hair to get patterns." + +She did it, taking turns with Pearl and Sadie at weaving the +great, lacy square during dull moments. When it was +finished they placed it in the window, where it lay like +frosted lace, exquisitely graceful and delicate, with its +tracery of curling petals and feathery fern sprays. +Winnebago gazed and was bitten by the Battenberg bug. It +wound itself up in a network of Battenberg braid, in all +the numbers. It bought buttons of every size; it stitched +away at Battenberg covers, doilies, bedspreads, blouses, +curtains. Battenberg tumbled, foamed, cascaded over +Winnebago's front porches all that summer. Listening to Sam +Kiser had done it. + +She listened to the farmer women too, and to the mill girls, +and to the scant and precious pearls that dropped from the +lips of the East End society section. There was something +about her brown eyes and her straight, sensible nose that +reassured them so that few suspected the mischievous in her. +For she was mischievous. If she had not been I think she +could not have stood the drudgery, and the heartbreaks, and +the struggle, and the terrific manual labor. + +She used to guy people, gently, and they never guessed it. +Mrs. G. Manville Smith, for example, never dreamed of the +joy that her patronage brought Molly Brandeis, who waited on +her so demurely. Mrs. G. Manville Smith (nee Finnegan) +scorned the Winnebago shops, and was said to send to Chicago +for her hairpins. It was known that her household was run +on the most niggardly basis, however, and she short-rationed +her two maids outrageously. It was said that she could +serve less real food on more real lace doilies than any +other housekeeper in Winnebago. Now, Mrs. Brandeis sold +Scourine two cents cheaper than the grocery stores, using it +as an advertisement to attract housewives, and making no +profit on the article itself. Mrs. G. Manville Smith always +patronized Brandeis' Bazaar for Scourine alone, and thus +represented pure loss. Also she my-good-womaned Mrs. +Brandeis. That lady, seeing her enter one day with her +comic, undulating gait, double-actioned like a giraffe's, +and her plumes that would have shamed a Knight of Pythias, +decided to put a stop to these unprofitable visits. + +She waited on Mrs. G. Manville Smith, a dangerous gleam in +her eye. + +"Scourine," spake Mrs. G. Manville Smith. + +"How many?" + +"A dozen." + +"Anything else?" + +"No. Send them." + +Mrs. Brandeis, scribbling in her sales book, stopped, pencil +poised. "We cannot send Scourine unless with a purchase of +other goods amounting to a dollar or more." + +Mrs. G. Manville Smith's plumes tossed and soared +agitatedly. "But my good woman, I don't want anything +else!" + +"Then you'll have to carry the Scourine?" + +"Certainly not! I'll send for it." + +"The sale closes at five." It was then 4:57. + +"I never heard of such a thing! You can't expect me to +carry them." + +Now, Mrs. G. Manville Smith had been a dining-room girl at +the old Haley House before she married George Smith, and +long before he made his money in lumber. + +"You won't find them so heavy," Molly Brandeis said +smoothly. + +"I certainly would! Perhaps you would not. You're used to +that sort of thing. Rough work, and all that." + +Aloysius, doubled up behind the lamps, knew what was coming, +from the gleam in his boss's eye. + +"There may be something in that," Molly Brandeis returned +sweetly. "That's why I thought you might not mind taking +them. They're really not much heavier than a laden tray." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the outraged Mrs. G. Manville Smith. And +took her plumes and her patronage out of Brandeis' Bazaar +forever. + +That was as malicious as Molly Brandeis ever could be. And +it was forgivable malice. + +Most families must be described against the background of +their homes, but the Brandeis family life was bounded and +controlled by the store. Their meals and sleeping hours and +amusements were regulated by it. It taught them much, and +brought them much, and lost them much. Fanny Brandeis +always said she hated it, but it made her wise, and +tolerant, and, in the end, famous. I don't know what more +one could ask of any institution. It brought her in contact +with men and women, taught her how to deal with them. After +school she used often to run down to the store to see her +mother, while Theodore went home to practice. Perched on a +high stool in some corner she heard, and saw, and absorbed. +It was a great school for the sensitive, highly-organized, +dramatic little Jewish girl, for, to paraphrase a well-known +stage line, there are just as many kinds of people in +Winnebago as there are in Washington. + +It was about this time that Fanny Brandeis began to realize, +actively, that she was different. Of course, other little +Winnebago girls' mothers did not work like a man, in a +store. And she and Bella Weinberg were the only two in her +room at school who stayed out on the Day of Atonement, and +on New Year, and the lesser Jewish holidays. Also, she went +to temple on Friday night and Saturday morning, when the +other girls she knew went to church on Sunday. These things +set her apart in the little Middle Western town; but it was +not these that constituted the real difference. She played, +and slept, and ate, and studied like the other healthy +little animals of her age. The real difference was +temperamental, or emotional, or dramatic, or historic, or +all four. They would be playing tag, perhaps, in one of the +cool, green ravines that were the beauty spots of the little +Wisconsin town. + +They nestled like exquisite emeralds in the embrace of the +hills, those ravines, and Winnebago's civic surge had not +yet swept them away in a deluge of old tin cans, ashes, dirt +and refuse, to be sold later for building lots. The Indians +had camped and hunted in them. The one under the Court +Street bridge, near the Catholic church and monastery, was +the favorite for play. It lay, a lovely, gracious thing, +below the hot little town, all green, and lush, and cool, a +tiny stream dimpling through it. The plump Capuchin +Fathers, in their coarse brown robes, knotted about the +waist with a cord, their bare feet thrust into sandals, +would come out and sun themselves on the stone bench at the +side of the monastery on the hill, or would potter about the +garden. And suddenly Fanny would stop quite still in the +midst of her tag game, struck with the beauty of the picture +it called from the past. + +Little Oriental that she was, she was able to combine the +dry text of her history book with the green of the trees, +the gray of the church, and the brown of the monk's robes, +and evolve a thrilling mental picture therefrom. The tag +game and her noisy little companions vanished. She was +peopling the place with stealthy Indians. Stealthy, +cunning, yet savagely brave. They bore no relation to the +abject, contemptible, and rather smelly Oneidas who came to +the back door on summer mornings, in calico, and ragged +overalls, with baskets of huckleberries on their arm, their +pride gone, a broken and conquered people. She saw them +wild, free, sovereign, and there were no greasy, berry- +peddling Oneidas among them. They were Sioux, and +Pottawatomies (that last had the real Indian sound), and +Winnebagos, and Menomonees, and Outagamis. She made them +taciturn, and beady-eyed, and lithe, and fleet, and every +other adjectival thing her imagination and history book +could supply. The fat and placid Capuchin Fathers on the +hill became Jesuits, sinister, silent, powerful, with +France and the Church of Rome behind them. From the shelter +of that big oak would step Nicolet, the brave, first among +Wisconsin explorers, and last to receive the credit for his +hardihood. Jean Nicolet! She loved the sound of it. And +with him was La Salle, straight, and slim, and elegant, and +surely wearing ruffles and plumes and sword even in a canoe. +And Tonty, his Italian friend and fellow adventurer--Tonty +of the satins and velvets, graceful, tactful, poised, a +shadowy figure; his menacing iron hand, so feared by the +ignorant savages, encased always in a glove. Surely a +perfumed g--- Slap! A rude shove that jerked her head back +sharply and sent her forward, stumbling, and jarred her like +a fall. + +"Ya-a-a! Tag! You're it! Fanny's it!" + +Indians, priests, cavaliers, coureurs de bois, all +vanished. Fanny would stand a moment, blinking stupidly. +The next moment she was running as fleetly as the best of +the boys in savage pursuit of one of her companions in the +tag game. + +She was a strange mixture of tomboy and bookworm, which was +a mercifully kind arrangement for both body and mind. The +spiritual side of her was groping and staggering and feeling +its way about as does that of any little girl whose mind is +exceptionally active, and whose mother is unusually busy. +It was on the Day of Atonement, known in the Hebrew as Yom +Kippur, in the year following her father's death that that +side of her performed a rather interesting handspring. + +Fanny Brandeis had never been allowed to fast on this, the +greatest and most solemn of Jewish holy days Molly Brandeis' +modern side refused to countenance the practice of +withholding food from any child for twenty-four hours. So +it was in the face of disapproval that Fanny, making deep +inroads into the steak and fried sweet potatoes at +supper on the eve of the Day of Atonement, announced her +intention of fasting from that meal to supper on the +following evening. She had just passed her plate for a +third helping of potatoes. Theodore, one lap behind her in +the race, had entered his objection. + +"Well, for the land's sakes!" he protested. "I guess you're +not the only one who likes sweet potatoes." + +Fanny applied a generous dab of butter to an already buttery +morsel, and chewed it with an air of conscious virtue. + +"I've got to eat a lot. This is the last bite I'll have +until to-morrow night." + +"What's that?" exclaimed Mrs. Brandeis, sharply. + +"Yes, it is!" hooted Theodore. + +Fanny went on conscientiously eating as she explained. + +"Bella Weinberg and I are going to fast all day. We just +want to see if we can." + +"Betcha can't," Theodore said. + +Mrs. Brandeis regarded her small daughter with a thoughtful +gaze. "But that isn't the object in fasting, Fanny--just to +see if you can. If you're going to think of food all +through the Yom Kippur services----" + +"I sha'n't?" protested Fanny passionately. "Theodore would, +but I won't." + +"Wouldn't any such thing," denied Theodore. "But if I'm +going to play a violin solo during the memorial service I +guess I've got to eat my regular meals." + +Theodore sometimes played at temple, on special occasions. +The little congregation, listening to the throbbing rise and +fall of this fifteen-year-old boy's violin playing, +realized, vaguely, that here was something disturbingly, +harrowingly beautiful. They did not know that they were +listening to genius. + +Molly Brandeis, in her second best dress, walked to +temple Yom Kippur eve, her son at her right side, her +daughter at her left. She had made up her mind that she +would not let this next day, with its poignantly beautiful +service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her +husband's death, and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on +his rendition of the memorial service that came at three in +the afternoon. + +A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi +Thalmann, and unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck +to the Scriptures for his texts, finding Moses a greater +leader than Roosevelt, and the miracle of the Burning Bush +more wonderful than the marvels of twentieth-century wizardy +in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann, with hands +and feet as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny +found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black +broadcloth and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading, +upon his small hooked nose. He stood very straight in the +pulpit, but on the street you saw that his back was bent +just the least bit in the world--or perhaps it was only his +student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the +ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars +that looked as if they had been expressly cut and rolled to +fit him. + +The evening service was at seven. The congregation, +rustling in silks, was approaching the little temple from +all directions. Inside, there was a low-toned buzz of +conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward the rear, +as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little +congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture +of the room in its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in +eagerly, her dark eyes soft and luminous. The bare, yellow- +varnished wooden pews glowed with the reflection from the +chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on either side +of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush +curtain that hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and +the red plush pulpit cover too, were replaced by +gleaming white satin edged with gold fringe and finished at +the corners with heavy gold tassels. How the rich white +satin glistened in the light of the electric candles! Fanny +Brandeis loved the lights, and the gleam, and the music, so +majestic, and solemn, and the sight of the little rabbi, +sitting so straight and serious in his high-backed chair, or +standing to read from the great Bible. There came to this +emotional little Jewess a thrill that was not born of +religious fervor at all, I am afraid. + +The sheer drama of the thing got her. In fact, the thing +she had set herself to do to-day had in it very little of +religion. Mrs. Brandeis had been right about that. It was +a test of endurance, as planned. Fanny had never fasted in +all her healthy life. She would come home from school to +eat formidable stacks of bread and butter, enhanced by brown +sugar or grape jelly, and topped off with three or four +apples from the barrel in the cellar. Two hours later she +would attack a supper of fried potatoes, and liver, and tea, +and peach preserve, and more stacks of bread and butter. +Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and the +berry bushes, not to speak of sundry bags of small, hard +candies of the jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and +secret munching during school. She liked good things to +eat, this sturdy little girl, as did her friend, that blonde +and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. +The two girls exchanged meaningful glances during the +evening service. The Weinbergs, as befitted their station, +sat in the third row at the right, and Bella had to turn +around to convey her silent messages to Fanny. The evening +service was brief, even to the sermon. Rabbi Thalmann and +his congregation would need their strength for to-morrow's +trial. + +The Brandeises walked home through the soft September +night, and the children had to use all their Yom Kippur +dignity to keep from scuffling through the piled-up drifts +of crackling autumn leaves. Theodore went to the cellar and +got an apple, which he ate with what Fanny considered an +unnecessary amount of scrunching. It was a firm, juicy +apple, and it gave forth a cracking sound when his teeth met +in its white meat. Fanny, after regarding him with gloomy +superiority, went to bed. + +She had willed to sleep late, for gastronomic reasons, but +the mental command disobeyed itself, and she woke early, +with a heavy feeling. Early as it was, Molly Brandeis had +tiptoed in still earlier to look at her strange little +daughter. She sometimes did that on Saturday mornings when +she left early for the store and Fanny slept late. This +morning Fanny's black hair was spread over the pillow as she +lay on her back, one arm outflung, the other at her breast. +She made a rather startlingly black and white and scarlet +picture as she lay there asleep. Fanny did things very much +in that way, too, with broad, vivid, unmistakable splashes +of color. Mrs. Brandeis, looking at the black-haired, red- +lipped child sleeping there, wondered just how much +determination lay back of the broad white brow. She had +said little to Fanny about this feat of fasting, and she +told herself that she disapproved of it. But in her heart +she wanted the girl to see it through, once attempted. + +Fanny awoke at half past seven, and her nostrils dilated to +that most exquisite, tantalizing and fragrant of smells--the +aroma of simmering coffee. It permeated the house. It +tickled the senses. It carried with it visions of hot, +brown breakfast rolls, and eggs, and butter. Fanny loved +her breakfast. She turned over now, and decided to go to +sleep again. But she could not. She got up and dressed +slowly and carefully. There was no one to hurry her this +morning with the call from the foot of the stairs of, +"Fanny! Your egg'll get cold!" + +She put on clean, crisp underwear, and did her hair +expertly. She slipped an all-enveloping pinafore over her +head, that the new silk dress might not be crushed before +church time. She thought that Theodore would surely have +finished his breakfast by this time. But when she came +down-stairs he was at the table. Not only that, he had just +begun his breakfast. An egg, all golden, and white, and +crisply brown at the frilly edges, lay on his plate. +Theodore always ate his egg in a mathematical sort of way. +He swallowed the white hastily first, because he disliked +it, and Mrs. Brandeis insisted that he eat it. Then he +would brood a moment over the yolk that lay, unmarred and +complete, like an amber jewel in the center of his plate. +Then he would suddenly plunge his fork into the very heart +of the jewel, and it would flow over his plate, mingling +with the butter, and he would catch it deftly with little +mops of warm, crisp, buttery roll. + +Fanny passed the breakfast table just as Theodore plunged +his fork into the egg yolk. She caught her breath sharply, +and closed her eyes. Then she turned and fled to the front +porch and breathed deeply and windily of the heady September +Wisconsin morning air. As she stood there, with her stiff, +short black curls still damp and glistening, in her best +shoes and stockings, with the all-enveloping apron covering +her sturdy little figure, the light of struggle and +renunciation in her face, she typified something at once +fine and earthy. + +But the real struggle was to come later. They went to +temple at ten, Theodore with his beloved violin tucked +carefully under his arm. Bella Weinberg was waiting at the +steps. + +"Did you?" she asked eagerly. + +"Of course not," replied Fanny disdainfully. "Do you +think I'd eat old breakfast when I said I was going to fast +all day?" Then, with sudden suspicion, "Did you?" + +"No!" stoutly. + +And they entered, and took their seats. It was fascinating +to watch the other members of the congregation come in, the +women rustling, the men subdued in the unaccustomed dignity +of black on a week day. One glance at the yellow pews was +like reading a complete social and financial register. The +seating arrangement of the temple was the Almanach de Gotha +of Congregation Emanu-el. Old Ben Reitman, patriarch among +the Jewish settlers of Winnebago, who had come over an +immigrant youth, and who now owned hundreds of rich farm +acres, besides houses, mills and banks, kinged it from the +front seat of the center section. He was a magnificent old +man, with a ruddy face, and a fine head with a shock of +heavy iron-gray hair, keen eyes, undimmed by years, and a +startling and unexpected dimple in one cheek that gave him a +mischievous and boyish look. + +Behind this dignitary sat his sons, and their wives, and his +daughters and their husbands, and their children, and so on, +back to the Brandeis pew, third from the last, behind which +sat only a few obscure families branded as Russians, as only +the German-born Jew can brand those whose misfortune it is +to be born in that region known as hinter-Berlin. + +The morning flew by, with its music, its responses, its +sermon in German, full of four- and five-syllable German +words like Barmherzigkeit and Eigentumlichkeit. All +during the sermon Fanny sat and dreamed and watched the +shadow on the window of the pine tree that stood close to +the temple, and was vastly amused at the jaundiced look that +the square of yellow window glass cast upon the face of the +vain and overdressed Mrs. Nathan Pereles. From time to time +Bella would turn to bestow upon her a look intended to +convey intense suffering and a resolute though dying +condition. Fanny stonily ignored these mute messages. They +offended something in her, though she could not tell what. + +At the noon intermission she did not go home to the tempting +dinner smells, but wandered off through the little city park +and down to the river, where she sat on the bank and felt +very virtuous, and spiritual, and hollow. She was back in +her seat when the afternoon service was begun. Some of the +more devout members had remained to pray all through the +midday. The congregation came straggling in by twos and +threes. Many of the women had exchanged the severely +corseted discomfort of the morning's splendor for the +comparative ease of second-best silks. Mrs. Brandeis, +absent from her business throughout this holy day, came +hurrying in at two, to look with a rather anxious eye upon +her pale and resolute little daughter. + +The memorial service was to begin shortly after three, and +lasted almost two hours. At quarter to three Bella slipped +out through the side aisle, beckoning mysteriously and +alluringly to Fanny as she went. Fanny looked at her +mother. + +"Run along," said Mrs. Brandeis. "The air will be good for +you. Come back before the memorial service begins." +Fanny and Bella met, giggling, in the vestibule. + +"Come on over to my house for a minute," Bella suggested. +"I want to show you something." The Weinberg house, a +great, comfortable, well-built home, with encircling +veranda, and a well-cared-for lawn, was just a scant block +away. They skipped across the street, down the block, and +in at the back door. The big sunny kitchen was deserted. +The house seemed very quiet and hushed. Over it hung the +delicious fragrance of freshly-baked pastry. Bella, a +rather baleful look in her eyes, led the way to the +butler's pantry that was as large as the average kitchen. +And there, ranged on platters, and baking boards, and on +snowy-white napkins, was that which made Tantalus's feast +seem a dry and barren snack. The Weinberg's had baked. +It is the custom in the household of Atonement Day fasters +of the old school to begin the evening meal, after the +twenty-four hours of abstainment, with coffee and freshly- +baked coffee cake of every variety. It was a lead-pipe blow +at one's digestion, but delicious beyond imagining. Bella's +mother was a famous cook, and her two maids followed in the +ways of their mistress. There were to be sisters and +brothers and out-of-town relations as guests at the evening +meal, and Mrs. Weinberg had outdone herself. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Fanny in a sort of agony and delight. + +"Take some," said Bella, the temptress. + +The pantry was fragrant as a garden with spices, and fruit +scents, and the melting, delectable perfume of brown, +freshly-baked dough, sugar-coated. There was one giant +platter devoted wholly to round, plump cakes, with puffy +edges, in the center of each a sunken pool that was all +plum, bearing on its bosom a snowy sifting of powdered +sugar. There were others whose centers were apricot, pure +molten gold in the sunlight. There were speckled expanses +of cheese kuchen, the golden-brown surface showing rich +cracks through which one caught glimpses of the lemon-yellow +cheese beneath--cottage cheese that had been beaten up with +eggs, and spices, and sugar, and lemon. Flaky crust rose, +jaggedly, above this plateau. There were cakes with jelly, +and cinnamon kuchen, and cunning cakes with almond slices +nestling side by side. And there was freshly-baked bread-- +twisted loaf, with poppy seed freckling its braid, and its +sides glistening with the butter that had been liberally +swabbed on it before it had been thrust into the oven. + +Fanny Brandeis gazed, hypnotized. As she gazed Bella +selected a plum tart and bit into it--bit generously, so +that her white little teeth met in the very middle of the +oozing red-brown juice and one heard a little squirt as they +closed on the luscious fruit. At the sound Fanny quivered +all through her plump and starved little body. + +"Have one," said Bella generously. "Go on. Nobody'll ever +know. Anyway, we've fasted long enough for our age. I +could fast till supper time if I wanted to, but I don't want +to." She swallowed the last morsel of the plum tart, and +selected another--apricot, this time, and opened her moist +red lips. But just before she bit into it (the Inquisition +could have used Bella's talents) she selected its +counterpart and held it out to Fanny. Fanny shook her head +slightly. Her hand came up involuntarily. Her eyes were +fastened on Bella's face. + +"Go on," urged Bella. "Take it. They're grand! M-m-m-m!" +The first bite of apricot vanished between her rows of sharp +white teeth. Fanny shut her eyes as if in pain. She was +fighting the great fight of her life. She was to meet other +temptations, and perhaps more glittering ones, in her +lifetime, but to her dying day she never forgot that first +battle between the flesh and the spirit, there in the sugar- +scented pantry--and the spirit won. As Bella's lips closed +upon the second bite of apricot tart, the while her eye +roved over the almond cakes and her hand still held the +sweet out to Fanny, that young lady turned sharply, like a +soldier, and marched blindly out of the house, down the back +steps, across the street, and so into the temple. + +The evening lights had just been turned on. The little +congregation, relaxed, weary, weak from hunger, many of +them, sat rapt and still except at those times when the +prayer book demanded spoken responses. The voice of the +little rabbi, rather weak now, had in it a timbre that made +it startlingly sweet and clear and resonant. Fanny slid +very quietly into the seat beside Mrs. Brandeis, and slipped +her moist and cold little hand into her mother's warm, work- +roughened palm. The mother's brown eyes, very bright with +unshed tears, left their perusal of the prayer book to dwell +upon the white little face that was smiling rather wanly up +at her. The pages of the prayer book lay two-thirds or more +to the left. Just as Fanny remarked this, there was a +little moment of hush in the march of the day's long +service. The memorial hour had begun. + +Little Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat. The congregation +stirred a bit, changed its cramped position. Bella, the +guilty, came stealing in, a pink-and-gold picture of angelic +virtue. Fanny, looking at her, felt very aloof, and clean, +and remote. + +Molly Brandeis seemed to sense what had happened. + +"But you didn't, did you?" she whispered softly. + +Fanny shook her head. + +Rabbi Thalmann was seated in his great carved chair. His +eyes were closed. The wheezy little organ in the choir loft +at the rear of the temple began the opening bars of +Schumann's Traumerei. And then, above the cracked voice of +the organ, rose the clear, poignant wail of a violin. +Theodore Brandeis had begun to play. You know the playing +of the average boy of fifteen--that nerve-destroying, +uninspired scraping. There was nothing of this in the +sounds that this boy called forth from the little wooden box +and the stick with its taut lines of catgut. Whatever it +was--the length of the thin, sensitive fingers, the turn of +the wrist, the articulation of the forearm, the something in +the brain, or all these combined--Theodore Brandeis +possessed that which makes for greatness. You realized +that as he crouched over his violin to get his cello tones. +As he played to-day the little congregation sat very still, +and each was thinking of his ambitions and his failures; of +the lover lost, of the duty left undone, of the hope +deferred; of the wrong that was never righted; of the lost +one whose memory spells remorse. It felt the salt taste on +its lips. It put up a furtive, shamed hand to dab at its +cheeks, and saw that the one who sat in the pew just ahead +was doing likewise. This is what happened when this boy of +fifteen wedded his bow to his violin. And he who makes us +feel all this has that indefinable, magic, glorious thing +known as Genius. + +When it was over, there swept through the room that sigh +following tension relieved. Rabbi Thalmann passed a hand +over his tired eyes, like one returning from a far mental +journey; then rose, and came forward to the pulpit. He +began, in Hebrew, the opening words of the memorial service, +and so on to the prayers in English, with their words of +infinite humility and wisdom. + +"Thou hast implanted in us the capacity for sin, but not sin +itself!" + +Fanny stirred. She had learned that a brief half hour ago. +The service marched on, a moving and harrowing thing. The +amens rolled out with a new fervor from the listeners. +There seemed nothing comic now in the way old Ben Reitman, +with his slower eyes, always came out five words behind the +rest who tumbled upon the responses and scurried briskly +through them, so that his fine old voice, somewhat hoarse +and quavering now, rolled out its "Amen!" in solitary +majesty. They came to that gem of humility, the mourners' +prayer; the ancient and ever-solemn Kaddish prayer. There +is nothing in the written language that, for sheer drama and +magnificence, can equal it as it is chanted in the Hebrew. + +As Rabbi Thalmann began to intone it in its monotonous +repetition of praise, there arose certain black-robed +figures from their places and stood with heads bowed over +their prayer books. These were members of the congregation +from whom death had taken a toll during the past year. +Fanny rose with her mother and Theodore, who had left the +choir loft to join them. The little wheezy organ played +very softly. The black-robed figures swayed. Here and +there a half-stifled sob rose, and was crushed. Fanny felt +a hot haze that blurred her vision. She winked it away, and +another burned in its place. Her shoulders shook with a +sob. She felt her mother's hand close over her own that +held one side of the book. The prayer, that was not of +mourning but of praise, ended with a final crescendo from +the organ, The silent black-robed figures were seated. + +Over the little, spent congregation hung a glorious +atmosphere of detachment. These Jews, listening to the +words that had come from the lips of the prophets in Israel, +had been, on this day, thrown back thousands of years, to +the time when the destruction of the temple was as real as +the shattered spires and dome of the cathedral at Rheims. +Old Ben Reitman, faint with fasting, was far removed from +his everyday thoughts of his horses, his lumber mills, his +farms, his mortgages. Even Mrs. Nathan Pereles, in her +black satin and bugles and jets, her cold, hard face usually +unlighted by sympathy or love, seemed to feel something of +this emotional wave. Fanny Brandeis was shaken by it. Her +head ached (that was hunger) and her hands were icy. The +little Russian girl in the seat just behind them had ceased +to wriggle and squirm, and slept against her mother's side. +Rabbi Thalmann, there on the platform, seemed somehow very +far away and vague. The scent of clove apples and ammonia +salts filled the air. The atmosphere seemed strangely +wavering and luminous. The white satin of the Ark +curtain gleamed and shifted. + +The long service swept on to its close. Suddenly organ and +choir burst into a paeon. Little Doctor Thalmann raised his +arms. The congregation swept to its feet with a mighty +surge. Fanny rose with them, her face very white in its +frame of black curls, her eyes luminous. She raised her +face for the words of the ancient benediction that rolled, +in its simplicity and grandeur, from the lips of the rabbi: + +"May the blessing of the Lord our God rest upon you all. +God bless thee and keep thee. May God cause His countenance +to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. May God lift +up His countenance unto thee, and grant thee peace." + +The Day of Atonement had come to an end. It was a very +quiet, subdued and spent little flock that dispersed to +their homes. Fanny walked out with scarcely a thought of +Bella. She felt, vaguely, that she and this school friend +were formed of different stuff. She knew that the bond +between them had been the grubby, physical one of childhood, +and that they never would come together in the finer +relation of the spirit, though she could not have put this +new knowledge into words. + +Molly Brandeis put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. + +"Tired, Fanchen?" + +"A little." + +"Bet you're hungry!" from Theodore. + +"I was, but I'm not now." + +"M-m-m--wait! Noodle soup. And chicken!" + +She had intended to tell of the trial in the Weinberg's +pantry. But now something within her--something fine, born +of this day--kept her from it. But Molly Brandeis, to whom +two and two often made five, guessed something of what had +happened. She had felt a great surge of pride, had Molly +Brandeis, when her son had swayed the congregation with +the magic of his music. She had kissed him good night with +infinite tenderness and love. But she came into her +daughter's tiny room after Fanny had gone to bed, and leaned +over, and put a cool hand on the hot forehead. + +"Do you feel all right, my darling?" + +"Umhmph," replied Fanny drowsily. + +"Fanchen, doesn't it make you feel happy and clean to know +that you were able to do the thing you started out to do?" + +"Umhmph." + +"Only," Molly Brandeis was thinking aloud now, quite +forgetting that she was talking to a very little girl, +"only, life seems to take such special delight in offering +temptation to those who are able to withstand it. I don't +know why that's true, but it is. I hope--oh, my little +girl, my baby--I hope----" + +But Fanny never knew whether her mother finished that +sentence or not. She remembered waiting for the end of it, +to learn what it was her mother hoped. And she had felt a +sudden, scalding drop on her hand where her mother bent over +her. And the next thing she knew it was morning, with +mellow September sunshine. + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +It was the week following this feat of fasting that two +things happened to Fanny Brandeis--two seemingly unimportant +and childish things--that were to affect the whole tenor of +her life. It is pleasant to predict thus. It gives a +certain weight to a story and a sense of inevitableness. It +should insure, too, the readers's support to the point, at +least, where the prediction is fulfilled. Sometimes a +careless author loses sight altogether of his promise, and +then the tricked reader is likely to go on to the very final +page, teased by the expectation that that which was hinted +at will be revealed. + +Fanny Brandeis had a way of going to the public library on +Saturday afternoons (with a bag of very sticky peanut candy +in her pocket, the little sensualist!) and there, huddled in +a chair, dreamily and almost automatically munching peanut +brittle, her cheeks growing redder and redder in the close +air of the ill-ventilated room, she would read, and read, +and read. There was no one to censor her reading, so she +read promiscuously, wading gloriously through trash and +classic and historical and hysterical alike, and finding +something of interest in them all. + +She read the sprightly "Duchess" novels, where mad offers of +marriage were always made in flower-scented conservatories; +she read Dickens, and Thelma, and old bound Cosmopolitans, +and Zola, and de Maupassant, and the "Wide, Wide World," and +"Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates," and "Jane Eyre." All +of which are merely mentioned as examples of her +catholicism in literature. As she read she was unaware +of the giggling boys and girls who came in noisily, and made +dates, and were coldly frowned on by the austere Miss +Perkins, the librarian. She would read until the fading +light would remind her that the short fall or winter day was +drawing to a close. + +She would come, shivering a little after the fetid +atmosphere of the overheated library, into the crisp, cold +snap of the astringent Wisconsin air. Sometimes she would +stop at the store for her mother. Sometimes she would run +home alone through the twilight, her heels scrunching the +snow, her whole being filled with a vague and unchildish +sadness and disquiet as she faced the tender rose, and +orange, and mauve, and pale lemon of the winter sunset. +There were times when her very heart ached with the beauty +of that color-flooded sky; there were times, later, when it +ached in much the same way at the look in the eyes of a +pushcart peddler; there were times when it ached, seemingly, +for no reason at all--as is sometimes the case when one is a +little Jew girl, with whole centuries of suffering behind +one. + +On this day she had taken a book from the library Miss +Perkins, at sight of the title, had glared disapprovingly, +and had hesitated a moment before stamping the card. + +"Is this for yourself?" she had asked. + +"Yes'm." + +"It isn't a book for little girls," snapped Miss Perkins. + +"I've read half of it already," Fanny informed her sweetly. +And went out with it under her arm. It was Zola's "The +Ladies' Paradise" (Au Bonheur des Dames). The story of +the shop girl, and the crushing of the little dealer by the +great and moneyed company had thrilled and fascinated her. + +Her mind was full of it as she turned the corner on Norris Street +and ran full-tilt, into a yowling, taunting, torturing little pack +of boys. They were gathered in close formation about some object +which they were teasing, and knocking about in the mud, and +otherwise abusing with the savagery of their years. Fanny, the +fiery, stopped short. She pushed into the ring. The object of +their efforts was a weak-kneed and hollow-chested little boy +who could not fight because he was cowardly as well as weak, +and his name (oh, pity!) was Clarence--Clarence Heyl. There +are few things that a mischievous group of small boys cannot +do with a name like Clarence. They whined it, they +catcalled it, they shrieked it in falsetto imitation of +Clarence's mother. He was a wide-mouthed, sallow and +pindling little boy, whose pipe-stemmed legs looked all the +thinner for being contrasted with his feet, which were long +and narrow. At that time he wore spectacles, too, to +correct a muscular weakness, so that his one good feature-- +great soft, liquid eyes--passed unnoticed. He was the kind +of little boy whose mother insists on dressing him in cloth- +top, buttoned, patent-leather shoes for school. His blue +serge suit was never patched or shiny. His stockings were +virgin at the knee. He wore an overcoat on cool autumn +days. Fanny despised and pitied him. We ask you not to, +because in this puny, shy and ugly little boy of fifteen you +behold Our Hero. + +He staggered to his feet now, as Fanny came up. His school +reefer was mud-bespattered. His stockings were torn. His +cap was gone and his hair was wild. There was a cut or +scratch on one cheek, from which the blood flowed. + +"I'll tell my mother on you!" he screamed impotently, and +shook with rage and terror. "You'll see, you will! You let +me alone, now!" + +Fanny felt a sick sensation at the pit of her stomach and in +her throat. Then: + +"He'll tell his ma!" sneered the boys in chorus. "Oh, +mamma!" And called him the Name. And at that a she wildcat +broke loose among them. She pounced on them without +warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and flying hair, and +white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought fair, or +if she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have +been powerless among them. But she had sprung at them with +the suddenness of rage. She kicked, and scratched, and bit, +and clawed and spat. She seemed not to feel the defensive +blows that were showered upon her in turn. Her own hard +little fists were now doubled for a thump or opened, like a +claw, for scratching. + +"Go on home!" she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought. +And Clarence, gathering up his tattered school books, went, +and stood not on the order of his going. Whereupon Fanny +darted nimbly to one side, out of the way of boyish brown +fists. In that moment she was transformed from a raging +fury into a very meek and trembling little girl, who looked +shyly and pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys +were for rushing at her again. + +"Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl," cried Fanny, +her lower lip trembling ever so little. "Come on! Hit me! +Afraid to fight anything but girls! Cowardy-cats!" A tear, +pearly, pathetic, coursed down her cheek. + +The drive was broken. Five sullen little boys stood and +glared at her, impotently. + +"You hit us first," declared one boy. "What business d' you +have scratching around like that, I'd like to know! You old +scratch cat!" + +"He's sickly," said Fanny. "He can't fight. There's +something the matter with his lungs, or something, and +they're going to make him quit school. Besides, he's a +billion times better than any of you, anyway." + +At once, "Fanny's stuck on Clar-ence! Fanny's stuck on +Clar-ence!" + +Fanny picked up her somewhat battered Zola from where it had +flown at her first onslaught. "It's a lie!" she shouted. +And fled, followed by the hateful chant. + +She came in at the back door, trying to look casual. But +Mattie's keen eye detected the marks of battle, even while +her knife turned the frying potatoes. + +"Fanny Brandeis! Look at your sweater! And your hair!" + +Fanny glanced down at the torn pocket dangling untidily. +"Oh, that!" she said airily. And, passing the kitchen +table, deftly filched a slice of cold veal from the platter, +and mounted the back stairs to her room. It was a hungry +business, this fighting. When Mrs. Brandeis came in at six +her small daughter was demurely reading. At supper time +Mrs. Brandeis looked up at her daughter with a sharp +exclamation. + +"Fanny! There's a scratch on your cheek from your eye to +your chin." + +Fanny put up her hand. "Is there?" + +"Why, you must have felt it. How did you get it?" + +Fanny said nothing. "I'll bet she was fighting," said +Theodore with the intuitive knowledge that one child has of +another's ways. + +"Fanny!" The keen brown eyes were upon her. +"Some boys were picking on Clarence Heyl, and it made me +mad. They called him names." + +"What names?" + +"Oh, names." + +"Fanny dear, if you're going to fight every time you hear +that name----" + +Fanny thought of the torn sweater, the battered Zola, the +scratched cheek. "It is pretty expensive," she said +reflectively. + +After supper she settled down at once to her book. Theodore +would labor over his algebra after the dining-room table +was cleared. He stuck his cap on his head now, and slammed +out of the door for a half-hour's play under the corner arc- +light. Fanny rarely brought books from school, and yet she +seemed to get on rather brilliantly, especially in the +studies she liked. During that winter following her +husband's death Mrs. Brandeis had a way of playing solitaire +after supper; one of the simpler forms of the game. It +seemed to help her to think out the day's problems, and to +soothe her at the same time. She would turn down the front +of the writing desk, and draw up the piano stool. + +All through that winter Fanny seemed to remember reading to +the slap-slap of cards, and the whir of their shuffling. In +after years she was never able to pick up a volume of +Dickens without having her mind hark back to those long, +quiet evenings. She read a great deal of Dickens at that +time. She had a fine contempt for his sentiment, and his +great ladies bored her. She did not know that this was +because they were badly drawn. The humor she loved, and she +read and reread the passages dealing with Samuel Weller, and +Mr. Micawber, and Sairey Gamp, and Fanny Squeers. It was +rather trying to read Dickens before supper, she had +discovered. Pickwick Papers was fatal, she had found. It +sent one to the pantry in a sort of trance, to ransack for +food--cookies, apples, cold meat, anything. But whatever +one found, it always fell short of the succulent sounding +beefsteak pies, and saddles of mutton, and hot pineapple +toddy of the printed page. + +To-night Mrs. Brandeis, coming in from the kitchen after a +conference with Mattie, found her daughter in conversational +mood, though book in hand. + +"Mother, did you ever read this?" She held up "The Ladies' +Paradise." + +"Yes; but child alive, what ever made you get it? That +isn't the kind of thing for you to read. Oh, I wish I had +more time to give----" + +Fanny leaned forward eagerly. "It made me think a lot of +you. You know--the way the big store was crushing the +little one, and everything. Like the thing you were talking +to that man about the other day. You said it was killing +the small-town dealer, and he said some day it would be +illegal, and you said you'd never live to see it." + +"Oh, that! We were talking about the mail-order business, +and how hard it was to compete with it, when the farmers +bought everything from a catalogue, and had whole boxes of +household goods expressed to them. I didn't know you were +listening, Fanchen." + +"I was. I almost always do when you and some traveling man +or somebody like that are talking. It--it's interesting." + +Fanny went back to her book then. But Molly Brandeis sat a +moment, eyeing her queer little daughter thoughtfully. Then +she sighed, and laid out her cards for solitaire. By eight +o'clock she was usually so sleepy that she would fall, dead- +tired, asleep on the worn leather couch in the sitting-room. +She must have been fearfully exhausted, mind and body. The +house would be very quiet, except for Mattie, perhaps, +moving about in the kitchen or in her corner room upstairs. +Sometimes the weary woman on the couch would start suddenly +from her sleep and cry out, choked and gasping, "No! No! +No!" The children would jump, terrified, and come running +to her at first, but later they got used to it, and only +looked up to say, when she asked them, bewildered, what it +was that wakened her, "You had the no-no-nos." + +She had never told of the thing that made her start out of +her sleep and cry out like that. Perhaps it was just the +protest of the exhausted body and the overwrought nerves. +Usually, after that, she would sit up, haggardly, and take +the hairpins out of her short thick hair, and announce her +intention of going to bed. She always insisted that the +children go too, though they often won an extra half hour by +protesting and teasing. It was a good thing for them, these +nine o'clock bed hours, for it gave them the tonic sleep +that their young, high-strung natures demanded. + +"Come, children," she would say, yawning. + +"Oh, mother, please just let me finish this chapter!" + +"How much?" + +"Just this little bit. See? Just this." + +"Well, just that, then," for Mrs. Brandeis was a reasonable +woman, and she had the book-lover's knowledge of the +fascination of the unfinished chapter. + +Fanny and Theodore were not always honest about the bargain. +They would gallop, hot-cheeked, through the allotted +chapter. Mrs. Brandeis would have fallen into a doze, +perhaps. And the two conspirators would read on, turning +the leaves softly and swiftly, gulping the pages, cramming +them down in an orgy of mental bolting, like naughty +children stuffing cake when their mother's back is turned. +But the very concentration of their dread of waking her +often brought about the feared result. Mrs. Brandeis would +start up rather wildly, look about her, and see the two +buried, red-cheeked and eager, in their books. + +"Fanny! Theodore! Come now! Not another minute!" + +Fanny, shameless little glutton, would try it again. "Just +to the end of this chapter! Just this weenty bit!" + +"Fiddlesticks! You've read four chapters since I spoke to +you the last time. Come now!" + +Molly Brandeis would see to the doors, and the windows, and +the clock, and then, waiting for the weary little figures to +climb the stairs, would turn out the light, and, hairpins in +one hand, corset in the other, perhaps, mount to bed. + +By nine o'clock the little household would be sleeping, the +children sweetly and dreamlessly, the tired woman +restlessly and fitfully, her overwrought brain still surging +with the day's problems. It was not like a household at +rest, somehow. It was like a spirited thing standing, +quivering for a moment, its nerves tense, its muscles +twitching. + +Perhaps you have quite forgotten that here were to be +retailed two epochal events in Fanny Brandeis's life. If +you have remembered, you will have guessed that the one was +the reading of that book of social protest, though its +writer has fallen into disfavor in these fickle days. The +other was the wild and unladylike street brawl in which she +took part so that a terrified and tortured little boy might +escape his tormentors. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +There was no hard stock in Brandeis' Bazaar now. The +packing-room was always littered with straw and excelsior +dug from hogsheads and great crates. Aloysius lorded it +over a small red-headed satellite who disappeared inside +barrels and dived head first into huge boxes, coming up +again with a lamp, or a doll, or a piece of glassware, like +a magician. Fanny, perched on an overturned box, used to +watch him, fascinated, while he laboriously completed a +water set, or a tea set. A preliminary dive would bring up +the first of a half dozen related pieces, each swathed in +tissue paper. A deft twist on the part of the attendant +Aloysius would strip the paper wrappings and disclose a +ruby-tinted tumbler, perhaps. Another dive, and another, +until six gleaming glasses stood revealed, like chicks +without a hen mother. A final dip, much scratching and +burrowing, during which armfuls of hay and excelsior were +thrown out, and then the red-headed genie of the barrel +would emerge, flushed and triumphant, with the water pitcher +itself, thus completing the happy family. + +Aloysius, meanwhile, would regale her with one of those +choice bits of gossip he had always about him, like a jewel +concealed, and only to be brought out for the appreciative. +Mrs. Brandeis disapproved of store gossip, and frowned on +Sadie and Pearl whenever she found them, their heads close +together, their stifled shrieks testifying to his wit. +There were times when Molly Brandeis herself could not +resist the spell of his tongue. No one knew where Aloysius +got his information. He had news that Winnebago's +two daily papers never could get, and wouldn't have dared to +print if they had. + +"Did you hear about Myrtle Krieger," he would begin, "that's +marryin' the Hempel boy next month? The one in the bank. +She's exhibiting her trewsow at the Outagamie County Fair +this week, for the handwork and embroid'ry prize. Ain't it +brazen? They say the crowd's so thick around the table that +they had to take down the more pers'nal pieces. The first +day of the fair the grand-stand was, you might say, empty, +even when they was pullin' off the trottin' races and the +balloon ascension. It's funny--ain't it?--how them garmints +that you wouldn't turn for a second look at on the +clothesline or in a store winda' becomes kind of wicked and +interestin' the minute they get what they call the human +note. There it lays, that virgin lawnjerie, for all the +county to look at, with pink ribbons run through everything, +and the poor Krieger girl never dreamin' she's doin' +somethin' indelicate. She says yesterday if she wins the +prize she's going to put it toward one of these kitchen +cabinets." + +I wish we could stop a while with Aloysius. He is well +worth it. Aloysius, who looked a pass between Ichabod Crane +and Smike; Aloysius, with his bit of scandal burnished with +wit; who, after a long, hard Saturday, would go home to +scrub the floor of the dingy lodgings where he lived with +his invalid mother, and who rose in the cold dawn of Sunday +morning to go to early mass, so that he might return to cook +the dinner and wait upon the sick woman. Aloysius, whose +trousers flapped grotesquely about his bony legs, and whose +thin red wrists hung awkwardly from his too-short sleeves, +had in him that tender, faithful and courageous stuff of +which unsung heroes are made. And he adored his clever, +resourceful boss to the point of imitation. You should have +seen him trying to sell a sled or a doll's go-cart in +her best style. But we cannot stop for Aloysius. He is +irrelevant, and irrelevant matter halts the progress of a +story. Any one, from Barrie to Harold Bell Wright, will +tell you that a story, to be successful, must march. + +We'll keep step, then, with Molly Brandeis until she drops +out of the ranks. There is no detouring with Mrs. Brandeis +for a leader. She is the sort that, once her face is set +toward her goal, looks neither to right nor left until she +has reached it. + +When Fanny Brandeis was fourteen, and Theodore was not quite +sixteen, a tremendous thing happened. Schabelitz, the +famous violinist, came to Winnebago to give a concert under +the auspices of the Young Men's Sunday Evening Club. + +The Young Men's Sunday Evening Club of the Congregational +Church prided itself (and justifiably) on what the papers +called its "auspices." It scorned to present to Winnebago +the usual lyceum attractions--Swiss bell ringers, negro glee +clubs, and Family Fours. Instead, Schumann-Heink sang her +lieder for them; McCutcheon talked and cartooned for them; +Madame Bloomfield-Zeisler played. Winnebago was one of +those wealthy little Mid-Western towns whose people +appreciate the best and set out to acquire it for +themselves. + +To the Easterner, Winnebago, and Oshkosh, and Kalamazoo, and +Emporia are names invented to get a laugh from a vaudeville +audience. Yet it is the people from Winnebago and Emporia +and the like whom you meet in Egypt, and the Catalina +Islands, and at Honolulu, and St. Moritz. It is in the +Winnebago living-room that you are likely to find a prayer +rug got in Persia, a bit of gorgeous glaze from China, a +scarf from some temple in India, and on it a book, hand- +tooled and rare. The Winnebagoans seem to know what is +being served and worn, from salad to veilings, +surprisingly soon after New York has informed itself on +those subjects. The 7:52 Northwestern morning train out of +Winnebago was always pretty comfortably crowded with +shoppers who were taking a five-hour run down to Chicago to +get a hat and see the new musical show at the Illinois. + +So Schabelitz's coming was an event, but not an +unprecedented one. Except to Theodore. Theodore had a +ticket for the concert (his mother had seen to that), and he +talked of nothing else. He was going with his violin +teacher, Emil Bauer. There were strange stories as to why +Emil Bauer, with his gift of teaching, should choose to bury +himself in this obscure little Wisconsin town. It was known +that he had acquaintance with the great and famous of the +musical world. The East End set fawned upon him, and his +studio suppers were the exclusive social events in +Winnebago. + +Schabelitz was to play in the evening. At half past three +that afternoon there entered Brandeis' Bazaar a white-faced, +wide-eyed boy who was Theodore Brandeis; a plump, voluble, +and excited person who was Emil Bauer; and a short, stocky +man who looked rather like a foreign-born artisan--plumber +or steam-fitter--in his Sunday clothes. This was Levine +Schabelitz. + +Molly Brandeis was selling a wash boiler to a fussy +housewife who, in her anxiety to assure herself of the +flawlessness of her purchase, had done everything but climb +inside it. It had early been instilled in the minds of Mrs. +Brandeis's children that she was never to be approached when +busy with a customer. There were times when they rushed +into the store bursting with news or plans, but they had +learned to control their eagerness. This, though, was no +ordinary news that had blanched Theodore's face. At sight +of the three, Mrs. Brandeis quietly turned her boiler +purchaser over to Pearl and came forward from the rear of +the store. + +"Oh, Mother!" cried Theodore, an hysterical note in his +voice. "Oh, Mother!" + +And in that moment Molly Brandeis knew. Emil Bauer +introduced them, floridly. Molly Brandeis held out her +hand, and her keen brown eyes looked straight and long into +the gifted Russian's pale blue ones. According to all rules +he should have started a dramatic speech, beginning with +"Madame!" hand on heart. But Schabelitz the great had +sprung from Schabelitz the peasant boy, and in the process +he had managed, somehow, to retain the simplicity which was +his charm. Still, there was something queer and foreign in +the way he bent over Mrs. Brandeis's hand. We do not bow +like that in Winnebago. + +"Mrs. Brandeis, I am honored to meet you." + +"And I to meet you," replied the shopkeeper in the black +sateen apron. + +"I have just had the pleasure of hearing your son play," +began Schabelitz. + +"Mr. Bauer called me out of my economics class at school, +Mother, and said that----" + +"Theodore!" Theodore subsided. +"He is only a boy," went on Schabelitz, and put one hand on +Theodore's shoulder. "A very gifted boy. I hear hundreds. +Oh, how I suffer, sometimes, to listen to their devilish +scraping! To-day, my friend Bauer met me with that old +plea, `You must hear this pupil play. He has genius.' +`Bah! Genius!' I said, and I swore at him a little, for he +is my friend, Bauer. But I went with him to his studio-- +Bauer, that is a remarkably fine place you have there, above +that drug store; a room of exceptional proportions. And +those rugs, let me tell you----" + +"Never mind the rugs, Schabelitz. Mrs. Brandeis here----" + +"Oh, yes, yes! Well, dear lady, this boy of yours will be a +great violinist if he is willing to work, and work, and +work. He has what you in America call the spark. To make +it a flame he must work, always work. You must send him to +Dresden, under Auer." + +"Dresden!" echoed Molly Brandeis faintly, and put one hand +on the table that held the fancy cups and saucers, and they +jingled a little. + +"A year, perhaps, first, in New York with Wolfsohn." + +Wolfsohn! New York! Dresden! It was too much even for +Molly Brandeis' well-balanced brain. She was conscious of +feeling a little dizzy. At that moment Pearl approached +apologetically. "Pardon me, Mis' Brandeis, but Mrs. Trost +wants to know if you'll send the boiler special this +afternoon. She wants it for the washing early to-morrow +morning." + +That served to steady her. + +"Tell Mrs. Trost I'll send it before six to-night." Her +eyes rested on Theodore's face, flushed now, and glowing. +Then she turned and faced Schabelitz squarely. "Perhaps you +do not know that this store is our support. I earn a living +here for myself and my two children. You see what it is-- +just a novelty and notion store in a country town. I speak +of this because it is the important thing. I have known for +a long time that Theodore's playing was not the playing of +the average boy, musically gifted. So what you tell me does +not altogether surprise me. But when you say Dresden--well, +from Brandeis' Bazaar in Winnebago, Wisconsin, to Auer, in +Dresden, Germany, is a long journey for one afternoon." + +"But of course you must have time to think it over. It must +be brought about, somehow." + +"Somehow----" Mrs. Brandeis stared straight ahead, and you +could almost hear that indomitable will of hers working, +crashing over obstacles, plowing through difficulties. +Theodore watched her, breathless, as though expecting an +immediate solution. His mother's eyes met his own +intent ones, and at that her mobile mouth quirked in a +sudden smile. "You look as if you expected pearls to pop +out of my mouth, son. And, by the way, if you're going to a +concert this evening don't you think it would be a good idea +to squander an hour on study this afternoon? You may be a +musical prodigy, but geometry's geometry." + +"Oh, Mother! Please!" + +"I want to talk to Mr. Schabelitz and Mr. Bauer, alone." +She patted his shoulder, and the last pat ended in a gentle +push. "Run along." + +"I'll work, Mother. You know perfectly well I'll work." +But he looked so startlingly like his father as he said it +that Mrs. Brandeis felt a clutching at her heart. + +Theodore out of the way, they seemed to find very little to +discuss, after all. Schabelitz was so quietly certain, +Bauer so triumphantly proud. + +Said Schabelitz, "Wolfsohn, of course, receives ten dollars +a lesson ordinarily." + +"Ten dollars!" + +"But a pupil like Theodore is in the nature of an +investment," Bauer hastened to explain. "An advertisement. +After hearing him play, and after what Schabelitz here will +have to say for him, Wolfsohn will certainly give Theodore +lessons for nothing, or next to nothing. You remember" -- +proudly-- "I offered to teach him without charge, but you +would not have it." + +Schabelitz smote his friend sharply on the shoulder "The +true musician! Oh, Bauer, Bauer! That you should bury +yourself in this----" + +But Bauer stopped him with a gesture. "Mrs. Brandeis is a +busy woman. And as she says, this thing needs thinking +over." + +"After all," said Mrs. Brandeis, "there isn't much to think +about. I know just where I stand. It's a case of +mathematics, that's all. This business of mine is just +beginning to pay. From now on I shall be able to save +something every year. It might be enough to cover his +musical education. It would mean that Fanny--my daughter-- +and I would have to give up everything. For myself, I +should be only too happy, too proud. But it doesn't seem +fair to her. After all, a girl----" + +"It isn't fair," broke in Schabelitz. "It isn't fair. But +that is the way of genius. It never is fair. It takes, and +takes, and takes. I know. My mother could tell you, if she +were alive. She sold the little farm, and my sisters gave +up their dowries, and with them their hopes of marriage, and +they lived on bread and cabbage. That was not to pay for my +lessons. They never could have done that. It was only to +send me to Moscow. We were very poor. They must have +starved. I have come to know, since, that it was not worth +it. That nothing could be worth it." + +"But it was worth it. Your mother would do it all over +again, if she had the chance. That's what we're for." + +Bauer pulled out his watch and uttered a horrified +exclamation. "Himmel! Four o'clock! And I have a pupil at +four." He turned hastily to Mrs. Brandeis. "I am giving a +little supper in my studio after the concert to-night." + +"Oh, Gott!" groaned Schabelitz. + +"It is in honor of Schabelitz here. You see how overcome he +is. Will you let me bring Theodore back with me after the +concert? There will be some music, and perhaps he will play +for us." + +Schabelitz bent again in his queer little foreign bow. "And +you, of course, will honor us, Mrs. Brandeis." He had never +lived in Winnebago. + +"Oh, certainly," Bauer hastened to say. He had. + +"I!" Molly Brandeis looked down at her apron, and +stroked it with her fingers. Then she looked up with a +little smile that was not so pleasant as her smile usually +was. There had flashed across her quick mind a picture of +Mrs. G. Manville Smith. Mrs. G. Manville Smith, in an +evening gown whose decolletage was discussed from the Haley +House to Gerretson's department store next morning, was +always a guest at Bauer's studio affairs. "Thank you, but +it is impossible. And Theodore is only a schoolboy. Just +now he needs, more than anything else in the world, nine +hours of sleep every night. There will be plenty of time +for studio suppers later. When a boy's voice is changing, +and he doesn't know what to do with his hands and feet, he +is better off at home." + +"God! These mothers!" exclaimed Schabelitz. "What do they +not know!" + +"I suppose you are right." Bauer was both rueful and +relieved. It would have been fine to show off Theodore as +his pupil and Schabelitz's protege. But Mrs. Brandeis? No, +that would never do. "Well, I must go. We will talk about +this again, Mrs. Brandeis. In two weeks Schabelitz will +pass through Winnebago again on his way back to Chicago. +Meanwhile he will write Wolfsohn. I also. So! Come, +Schabelitz!" + +He turned to see that gentleman strolling off in the +direction of the notion counter behind which his expert eye +had caught a glimpse of Sadie in her white shirtwaist and +her trim skirt. Sadie always knew what they were wearing on +State Street, Chicago, half an hour after Mrs. Brandeis +returned from one of her buying trips. Shirtwaists had just +come in, and with them those neat leather belts with a +buckle, and about the throat they were wearing folds of +white satin ribbon, smooth and high and tight, the two ends +tied pertly at the back. Sadie would never be the +saleswoman that Pearl was, but her unfailing good nature and +her cheery self-confidence made her an asset in the store. +Besides, she was pretty. Mrs. Brandeis knew the value +of a pretty clerk. + +At the approach of this stranger Sadie leaned coyly against +the stocking rack and patted her paper sleevelets that were +secured at wrist and elbow with elastic bands. Her method +was sure death to traveling men. She prepared now to try it +on the world-famous virtuoso. The ease with which she +succeeded surprised even Sadie, accustomed though she was to +conquest. + +"Come, come, Schabelitz!" said Bauer again. "I must get +along." + +"Then go, my friend. Go along and make your preparations +for that studio supper. The only interesting woman in +Winnebago--" he bowed to Mrs. Brandeis-- "will not be there. +I know them, these small-town society women, with their +imitation city ways. And bony! Always! I am enjoying +myself. I shall stay here." + +And he did stay. Sadie, talking it over afterward with +Pearl and Aloysius, put it thus: + +"They say he's the grandest violin player in the world. Not +that I care much for the violin, myself. Kind of squeaky, I +always think. But it just goes to show they're all alike. +Ain't it the truth? I jollied him just like I did Sam +Bloom, of Ganz & Pick, Novelties, an hour before. He +laughed just where Sam did. And they both handed me a line +of talk about my hair and eyes, only Sam said I was a doll, +and this Schabelitz, or whatever his name is, said I was as +alluring as a Lorelei. I guess he thought he had me there, +but I didn't go through the seventh reader for nothing. `If +you think I'm flattered,' I said to him, `you're mistaken. +She was the mess who used to sit out on a rock with her back +hair down, combing away and singing like mad, and keeping an +eye out for sailors up and down the river. If I had to work +that hard to get some attention,' I said, `I'd give up the +struggle, and settle down with a cat and a teakettle.' +At that he just threw back his head and roared. And when +Mrs. Brandeis came up he said something about the wit of +these American women. `Work is a great sharpener of wit-- +and wits,' Mrs. Brandeis said to him. `Pearl, did Aloysius +send Eddie out with that boiler, special?' And she didn't +pay any more attention to him, or make any more fuss over +him, than she would to a traveler with a line of samples she +wasn't interested in. I guess that's why he had such a good +time." + +Sadie was right. That was the reason. Fanny, coming into +the store half an hour later, saw this man who had swayed +thousands with his music, down on his hands and knees in the +toy section at the rear of Brandeis' Bazaar. He and Sadie +and Aloysius were winding up toy bears, and clowns, and +engines, and carriages, and sending them madly racing across +the floor. Sometimes their careening career was threatened +with disaster in the form of a clump of brooms or a stack of +galvanized pails. But Schabelitz would scramble forward +with a shout and rescue them just before the crash came, and +set them deftly off again in the opposite direction. + +"This I must have for my boy in New York." He held up a +miniature hook and ladder. "And this windmill that whirls +so busily. My Leo is seven, and his head is full of +engines, and motors, and things that run on wheels. He +cares no more for music, the little savage, than the son of +a bricklayer." + +"Who is that man?" Fanny whispered, staring at him. + +"Levine Schabelitz." + +"Schabelitz! Not the--" + +"Yes." + +"But he's playing on the floor like--like a little boy! And +laughing! Why, Mother, he's just like anybody else, only +nicer." + +If Fanny had been more than fourteen her mother might have +told her that all really great people are like that, finding +joy in simple things. I think that is the secret of their +genius--the child in them that keeps their viewpoint fresh, +and that makes us children again when we listen to them. It +is the Schabelitzes of this world who can shout over a toy +engine that would bore a Bauer to death. + +Fanny stood looking at him thoughtfully. She knew all about +him. Theodore's talk of the past week had accomplished +that. Fanny knew that here was a man who did one thing +better than any one else in the world. She thrilled to that +thought. She adored the quality in people that caused them +to excel. Schabelitz had got hold of a jack-in-the-box, and +each time the absurd head popped out, with its grin and its +squawk, he laughed like a boy. Fanny, standing behind the +wrapping counter, and leaning on it with her elbows the +better to see this great man, smiled too, as her flexible +spirit and her mobile mind caught his mood. She did not +know she was smiling. Neither did she know why she suddenly +frowned in the intensity of her concentration, reached up +for one of the pencils on the desk next the wrapping +counter, and bent over the topmost sheet of yellow wrapping +paper that lay spread out before her. Her tongue-tip curled +excitedly at one corner of her mouth. Her head was cocked +to one side. + +She was rapidly sketching a crude and startling likeness of +Levine Schabelitz as he stood there with the ridiculous toy +in his hand. It was a trick she often amused herself with +at school. She had drawn her school-teacher one day as she +had looked when gazing up into the eyes of the visiting +superintendent, who was a married man. Quite innocently and +unconsciously she had caught the adoring look in the eyes of +Miss McCook, the teacher, and that lady, happening upon the +sketch later, had dealt with Fanny in a manner seemingly +unwarranted. In the same way it was not only the exterior +likeness of the man which she was catching now--the +pompadour that stood stiffly perpendicular like a brush; the +square, yellow peasant teeth; the strong, slender hands and +wrists; the stocky figure; the high cheek bones; the square- +toed, foreign-looking shoes and the trousers too wide at the +instep to have been cut by an American tailor. She caught +and transmitted to paper, in some uncanny way, the +simplicity of the man who was grinning at the jack-in-the- +box that smirked back at him. Behind the veneer of poise +and polish born of success and adulation she had caught a +glimpse of the Russian peasant boy delighted with the crude +toy in his hand. And she put it down eagerly, wetting her +pencil between her lips, shading here, erasing there. + +Mrs. Brandeis, bustling up to the desk for a customer's +change, and with a fancy dish to be wrapped, in her hand, +glanced over Fanny's shoulder. She leaned closer. "Why, +Fanny, you witch!" + +Fanny gave a little crow of delight and tossed her head in a +way that switched her short curls back from where they had +fallen over her shoulders. "It's like him, isn't it?" + +"It looks more like him than he does himself." With which +Molly Brandeis unconsciously defined the art of cartooning. + +Fanny looked down at it, a smile curving her lips. Mrs. +Brandeis, dish in hand, counted her change expertly from the +till below the desk, and reached for the sheet of wrapping +paper just beneath that on which Fanny had made her drawing. +At that moment Schabelitz, glancing up, saw her, and came +forward, smiling, the jack-in-the-box still in his hand. + +"Dear lady, I hope I have not entirely disorganized your +shop. I have had a most glorious time. Would you believe +it, this jack-in-the-box looks exactly--but exactly-- +like my manager, Weber, when the box-office receipts are +good. He grins just--" + +And then his eye fell on the drawing that Fanny was trying +to cover with one brown paw. "Hello! What's this?" Then +he looked at Fanny. Then he grasped her wrist in his +fingers of steel and looked at the sketch that grinned back +at him impishly. "Well, I'm damned!" exploded Schabelitz in +amusement, and surprise, and appreciation. And did not +apologize. "And who is this young lady with the sense of +humor?" + +"This is my little girl, Fanny." + +He looked down at the rough sketch again, with its clean-cut +satire, and up again at the little girl in the school coat +and the faded red tam o' shanter, who was looking at him +shyly, and defiantly, and provokingly, all at once. + +"Your little girl Fanny, h'm? The one who is to give up +everything that the boy Theodore may become a great +violinist." He bent again over the crude, effective +cartoon, then put a forefinger gently under the child's chin +and tipped her glowing face up to the light. "I am not so +sure now that it will work. As for its being fair! Why, +no! No!" + +Fanny waited for her mother that evening, and they walked +home together. Their step and swing were very much alike, +now that Fanny's legs were growing longer. She was at the +backfisch age. + +"What did he mean, Mother, when he said that about Theodore +being a great violinist, and its not being fair? What isn't +fair? And how did he happen to be in the store, anyway? He +bought a heap of toys, didn't he? I suppose he's awfully +rich." + +"To-night, when Theodore's at the concert, I'll tell you +what he meant, and all about it." + +"I'd love to hear him play, wouldn't you? I'd just love +to." + +Over Molly Brandeis's face there came a curious look. +"You could hear him, Fanny, in Theodore's place. Theodore +would have to stay home if I told him to." + +Fanny's eyes and mouth grew round with horror. "Theodore +stay home! Why Mrs.--Molly--Brandeis!" Then she broke into +a little relieved laugh. "But you're just fooling, of +course." + +"No, I'm not. If you really want to go I'll tell Theodore +to give up his ticket to his sister." + +"Well, my goodness! I guess I'm not a pig. I wouldn't have +Theodore stay home, not for a million dollars." + +"I knew you wouldn't," said Molly Brandeis as they swung +down Norris Street. And she told Fanny briefly of what +Schabelitz had said about Theodore. + +It was typical of Theodore that he ate his usual supper that +night. He may have got his excitement vicariously from +Fanny. She was thrilled enough for two. Her food lay +almost untouched on her plate. She chattered incessantly. +When Theodore began to eat his second baked apple with +cream, her outraged feelings voiced their protest. + +"But, Theodore, I don't see how you can!" + +"Can what?" + +"Eat like that. When you're going to hear him play. And +after what he said, and everything." + +"Well, is that any reason why I should starve to death?" + +"But I don't see how you can," repeated Fanny helplessly, +and looked at her mother. Mrs. Brandeis reached for the +cream pitcher and poured a little more cream over Theodore's +baked apple. Even as she did it her eyes met Fanny's, and +in them was a certain sly amusement, a little gleam of fun, +a look that said, "Neither do I." Fanny sat back, +satisfied. Here, at least, was some one who understood. + +At half past seven Theodore, looking very brushed and +sleek, went off to meet Emil Bauer. Mrs. Brandeis had +looked him over, and had said, "Your nails!" and sent him +back to the bathroom, and she had resisted the desire to +kiss him because Theodore disliked demonstration. "He hated +to be pawed over," was the way he put it. After he had +gone, Mrs. Brandeis went into the dining-room where Fanny +was sitting. Mattie had cleared the table, and Fanny was +busy over a book and a tablet, by the light of the lamp that +they always used for studying. It was one of the rare +occasions when she had brought home a school lesson. It was +arithmetic, and Fanny loathed arithmetic. She had no head +for mathematics. The set of problems were eighth-grade +horrors, in which A is digging a well 20 feet deep and 9 +feet wide; or in which A and B are papering two rooms, or +building two fences, or plastering a wall. If A does his +room in 9 1/2 days, the room being 12 feet high, 20 feet +long, and 15 1/2 feet wide, how long will it take B to do a +room 14 feet high, 11 3/4 feet, etc. + +Fanny hated the indefatigable A and B with a bitter personal +hatred. And as for that occasional person named C, who +complicated matters still more--! + +Sometimes Mrs. Brandeis helped to disentangle Fanny from the +mazes of her wall paper problems, or dragged her up from the +bottom of the well when it seemed that she was down there +for eternity unless a friendly hand rescued her. As a rule +she insisted that Fanny crack her own mathematical nuts. +She said it was good mental training, not to speak of the +moral side of it. But to-night she bent her quick mind upon +the problems that were puzzling her little daughter, and +cleared them up in no time. + +When Fanny had folded her arithmetic papers neatly inside +her book and leaned back with a relieved sigh Molly Brandeis +bent forward in the lamplight and began to talk very +soberly. Fanny, red-cheeked and bright-eyed from her +recent mental struggles, listened interestedly, then +intently, then absorbedly. She attempted to interrupt, +sometimes, with an occasional, "But, Mother, how--" but Mrs. +Brandeis shook her head and went on. She told Fanny a few +things about her early married life--things that made Fanny +look at her with new eyes. She had always thought of her +mother as her mother, in the way a fourteen-year-old girl +does. It never occurred to her that this mother person, who +was so capable, so confident, so worldly-wise, had once been +a very young bride, with her life before her, and her hopes +stepping high, and her love keeping time with her hopes. +Fanny heard, fascinated, the story of this girl who had +married against the advice of her family and her friends. + +Molly Brandeis talked curtly and briefly, and her very +brevity and lack of embroidering details made the story +stand out with stark realism. It was such a story of +courage, and pride, and indomitable will, and sheer pluck as +can only be found among the seemingly commonplace. + +"And so," she finished, "I used to wonder, sometimes, +whether it was worth while to keep on, and what it was all +for. And now I know. Theodore is going to make up for +everything. Only we'll have to help him, first. It's going +to be hard on you, Fanchen. I'm talking to you as if you +were eighteen, instead of fourteen. But I want you to +understand. That isn't fair to you either--my expecting you +to understand. Only I don't want you to hate me too much +when you're a woman, and I'm gone, and you'll remember--" + +"Why, Mother, what in the world are you talking about? Hate +you!" + +"For what I took from you to give to him, Fanny. You don't +understand now. Things must be made easy for Theodore. It +will mean that you and I will have to scrimp and save. Not +now and then, but all the time. It will mean that we +can't go to the theater, even occasionally, or to lectures, +or concerts. It will mean that your clothes won't be as +pretty or as new as the other girls' clothes. You'll sit on +the front porch evenings, and watch them go by, and you'll +want to go too." + +"As if I cared." + +"But you will care. I know. I know. It's easy enough to +talk about sacrifice in a burst of feeling; but it's the +everyday, shriveling grind that's hard. You'll want +clothes, and books, and beaux, and education, and you ought +to have them. They're your right. You ought to have them!" +Suddenly Molly Brandeis' arms were folded on the table, and +her head came down on her arms and she was crying, quietly, +horribly, as a man cries. Fanny stared at her a moment in +unbelief. She had not seen her mother cry since the day of +Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled out of her chair +and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her hot, +smooth cheek touched the wet, cold one. "Mother, don't! +Don't Molly dearie. I can't bear it. I'm going to cry too. +Do you think I care for old dresses and things? I should +say not. It's going to be fun going without things. It'll +be like having a secret or something. Now stop, and let's +talk about it." + +Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It +was a watery and wavering smile, but it showed that she was +mistress of herself again. + +"No," she said, "we just won't talk about it any more. I'm +tired, that's what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense +enough to know it. I'll tell you what. I'm going to put on +my kimono, and you'll make some fudge. Will you? We'll +have a party, all by ourselves, and if Mattie scolds about +the milk to-morrow you just tell her I said you could. And +I think there are some walnut meats in the third cocoa can +on the shelf in the pantry. Use 'em all." + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +Theodore came home at twelve o'clock that night. He had +gone to Bauer's studio party after all. It was the first +time he had deliberately disobeyed his mother in a really +big thing. Mrs. Brandeis and Fanny had nibbled fudge all +evening (it had turned out deliciously velvety) and had gone +to bed at their usual time. At half past ten Mrs. Brandeis +had wakened with the instinctive feeling that Theodore was +not in the house. She lay there, wide awake, staring into +the darkness until eleven. Then she got up and went into +his room, though she knew he was not there. She was not +worried as to his whereabouts or his well-being. That same +instinctive feeling told her where he was. She was very +angry, and a little terrified at the significance of his +act. She went back to bed again, and she felt the blood +pounding in her head. Molly Brandeis had a temper, and it +was surging now, and beating against the barriers of her +self-control. + +She told herself, as she lay there, that she must deal with +him coolly and firmly, though she wanted to spank him. The +time for spankings was past. Some one was coming down the +street with a quick, light step. She sat up in bed, +listening. The steps passed the house, went on. A half +hour passed. Some one turned the corner, whistling +blithely. But, no, he would not be whistling, she told +herself. He would sneak in, quietly. It was a little after +twelve when she heard the front door open (Winnebago rarely +locked its doors). She was surprised to feel her heart +beating rapidly. He was trying to be quiet, and was making +a great deal of noise about it. His shoes and the squeaky +fifth stair alone would have convicted him. The imp +of perversity in Molly Brandeis made her smile, angry as she +was, at the thought of how furious he must be at that stair. + +"Theodore!" she called quietly, just as he was tip-toeing +past her room. + +"Yeh." + +"Come in here. And turn on the light." + +He switched on the light and stood there in the doorway. +Molly Brandeis, sitting up in bed in the chilly room, with +her covers about her, was conscious of a little sick +feeling, not at what he had done, but that a son of hers +should ever wear the sullen, defiant, hang-dog look that +disfigured Theodore's face now. + +"Bauer's?" + +A pause. "Yes." + +"Why?" + +"I just stopped in there for a minute after the concert. I +didn't mean to stay. And then Bauer introduced me around to +everybody. And then they asked me to play, and--" + +"And you played badly." + +"Well, I didn't have my own violin." + +"No football game Saturday. And no pocket money this week. +Go to bed." + +He went, breathing hard, and muttering a little under his +breath. At breakfast next morning Fanny plied him with +questions and was furious at his cool uncommunicativeness. + +"Was it wonderful, Theodore? Did he play--oh--like an +angel?" + +"Played all right. Except the `Swan' thing. Maybe he +thought it was too easy, or something, but I thought he +murdered it. Pass the toast, unless you want it all." + + +It was not until the following autumn that Theodore went +to New York. The thing that had seemed so impossible was +arranged. He was to live in Brooklyn with a distant cousin +of Ferdinand Brandeis, on a business basis, and he was to +come into New York three times a week for his lessons. Mrs. +Brandeis took him as far as Chicago, treated him to an +extravagant dinner, put him on the train and with difficulty +stifled the impulse to tell all the other passengers in the +car to look after her Theodore. He looked incredibly grown +up and at ease in his new suit and the hat that they had +wisely bought in Chicago. She did not cry at all (in the +train), and she kissed him only twice, and no man can ask +more than that of any mother. + +Molly Brandeis went back to Winnebago and the store with her +shoulders a little more consciously squared, her jaw a +little more firmly set. There was something almost terrible +about her concentrativeness. Together she and Fanny began a +life of self-denial of which only a woman could be capable. +They saved in ways that only a woman's mind could devise; +petty ways, that included cream and ice, and clothes, and +candy. It was rather fun at first. When that wore off it +had become a habit. Mrs. Brandeis made two resolutions +regarding Fanny. One was that she should have at least a +high school education, and graduate. The other that she +should help in the business of the store as little as +possible. To the first Fanny acceded gladly. To the second +she objected. + +"But why? If you can work, why can't I? I could help you a +lot on Saturdays and at Christmas time, and after school." + +"I don't want you to," Mrs. Brandeis had replied, almost +fiercely. "I'm giving my life to it. That's enough. I +don't want you to know about buying and selling. I don't +want you to know a bill of lading from a sales slip when you +see it. I don't want you to know whether f. o. b. is a +wireless signal or a branch of the Masons." At which +Fanny grinned. No one appreciated her mother's humor more +than she. + +"But I do know already. The other day when that fat man was +selling you those go-carts I heard him say. `F. o. b. +Buffalo,' and I asked Aloysius what it meant and he told +me." + +It was inevitable that Fanny Brandeis should come to know +these things, for the little household revolved about the +store on Elm Street. By the time she was eighteen and had +graduated from the Winnebago high school, she knew so many +things that the average girl of eighteen did not know, and +was ignorant of so many things that the average girl of +eighteen did know, that Winnebago was almost justified in +thinking her queer. She had had a joyous time at school, in +spite of algebra and geometry and physics. She took the +part of the heroine in the senior class play given at the +Winnebago opera house, and at the last rehearsal electrified +those present by announcing that if Albert Finkbein (who +played the dashing Southern hero) didn't kiss her properly +when the curtain went down on the first act, just as he was +going into battle, she'd rather he didn't kiss her at all. + +"He just makes it ridiculous," she protested. "He sort of +gives a peck two inches from my nose, and then giggles. +Everybody will laugh, and it'll spoil everything." + +With the rather startled elocution teacher backing her she +rehearsed the bashful Albert in that kiss until she had +achieved the effect of realism that she thought the scene +demanded. But when, on the school sleighing parties and hay +rides the boy next her slipped a wooden and uncertain arm +about her waist while they all were singing "Jingle Bells, +Jingle Bells," and "Good Night Ladies," and "Merrily We Roll +Along," she sat up stiffly and unyieldingly until the arm, +discouraged, withdrew to its normal position. Which two +instances are quoted as being of a piece with what +Winnebago termed her queerness. + +Not that Fanny Brandeis went beauless through school. On +the contrary, she always had some one to carry her books, +and to take her to the school parties and home from the +Friday night debating society meetings. Her first love +affair turned out disastrously. She was twelve, and she +chose as the object of her affections a bullet-headed boy +named Simpson. One morning, as the last bell rang and they +were taking their seats, Fanny passed his desk and gave his +coarse and stubbly hair a tweak. It was really a love +tweak, and intended to be playful, but she probably put more +fervor into it than she knew. It brought the tears of pain +to his eyes, and he turned and called her the name at which +she shrank back, horrified. Her shock and unbelief must +have been stamped on her face, for the boy, still smarting, +had snarled, "Ya-as, I mean it, + +It was strange how she remembered that incident years after +she had forgotten important happenings in her life. +Clarence Heyl, whose very existence you will have failed to +remember, used to hover about her uncertainly, always +looking as if he would like to walk home with her, but never +summoning the courage to do it. They were graduated from +the grammar school together, and Clarence solemnly read a +graduation essay entitled "Where is the Horse?" Automobiles +were just beginning to flash plentifully up and down Elm +Street. Clarence had always been what Winnebago termed +sickly, in spite of his mother's noodle soup, and coddling. +He was sent West, to Colorado, or to a ranch in Wyoming, +Fanny was not quite sure which, perhaps because she was not +interested. He had come over one afternoon to bid her good- +by, and had dangled about the front porch until she went +into the house and shut the door. + +When she was sixteen there was a blond German boy whose +taciturnity attracted her volubility and vivacity. She +mistook his stolidness for depth, and it was a long time +before she realized that his silence was not due to the +weight of his thoughts but to the fact that he had nothing +to say. In her last year at high school she found herself +singled out for the attentions of Harmon Kent, who was the +Beau Nash of the Winnebago high school. His clothes were +made by Schwartze, the tailor, when all the other boys of +his age got theirs at the spring and fall sales of the +Golden Eagle Clothing Store. It was always nip and tuck +between his semester standings and his track team and +football possibilities. The faculty refused to allow +flunkers to take part in athletics. + +He was one of those boys who have definite charm, and +manner, and poise at seventeen, and who crib their exams off +their cuffs. He was always at the head of any social plans +in the school, and at the dances he rushed about wearing in +his coat lapel a ribbon marked Floor Committee. The +teachers all knew he was a bluff, but his engaging manner +carried him through. When he went away to the state +university he made Fanny solemnly promise to write; to come +down to Madison for the football games; to be sure to +remember about the Junior prom. He wrote once--a badly +spelled scrawl--and she answered. But he was the sort of +person who must be present to be felt. He could not project +his personality. When he came home for the Christmas +holidays Fanny was helping in the store. He dropped in one +afternoon when she was selling whisky glasses to Mike Hearn +of the Farmers' Rest Hotel. + +They did not write at all during the following semester, and +when he came back for the long summer vacation they met on +the street one day and exchanged a few rather forced +pleasantries. It suddenly dawned on Fanny that he was +patronizing her much as the scion of an aristocratic line +banters the housemaid whom he meets on the stairs. She bit +an imaginary apron corner, and bobbed a curtsy right there +on Elm Street, in front of the Courier office and walked +off, leaving him staring. It was shortly after this that +she began a queer line of reading for a girl--lives of +Disraeli, Spinoza, Mendelssohn, Mozart--distinguished Jews +who had found their religion a handicap. + +The year of her graduation she did a thing for which +Winnebago felt itself justified in calling her different. +Each member of the graduating class was allowed to choose a +theme for a thesis. Fanny Brandeis called hers "A Piece of +Paper." On Winnebago's Fox River were located a number of +the largest and most important paper mills in the country. +There were mills in which paper was made of wood fiber, and +others in which paper was made of rags. You could smell the +sulphur as soon as you crossed the bridge that led to the +Flats. Sometimes, when the wind was right, the pungent odor +of it spread all over the town. Strangers sniffed it and +made a wry face, but the natives liked it. + +The mills themselves were great ugly brick buildings, their +windows festooned with dust webs. Some of them boasted high +detached tower-like structures where a secret acid process +went on. In the early days the mills had employed many +workers, but newly invented machinery had come to take the +place of hand labor. The rag-rooms alone still employed +hundreds of girls who picked, sorted, dusted over the great +suction bins. The rooms in which they worked were gray with +dust. They wore caps over their hair to protect it from the +motes that you could see spinning and swirling in the watery +sunlight that occasionally found its way through the gray- +filmed window panes. It never seemed to occur to them that +the dust cap so carefully pulled down about their heads +did not afford protection for their lungs. They were pale +girls, the rag-room girls, with a peculiarly gray-white +pallor. + +Fanny Brandeis had once been through the Winnebago Paper +Company's mill and she had watched, fascinated, while a pair +of soiled and greasy old blue overalls were dusted and +cleaned, and put through this acid vat, and that acid tub, +growing whiter and more pulpy with each process until it was +fed into a great crushing roller that pressed the moisture +out of it, flattened it to the proper thinness and spewed it +out at last, miraculously, in the form of rolls of crisp, +white paper. +On the first day of the Easter vacation Fanny Brandeis +walked down to the office of the Winnebago Paper Company's +mill and applied at the superintendent's office for a job. +She got it. They were generally shorthanded in the rag- +room. When Mrs. Brandeis heard of it there followed one of +the few stormy scenes between mother and daughter. + +"Why did you do it?" demanded Mrs. Brandeis. + +"I had to, to get it right." + +"Oh, don't be silly. You could have visited the mill a +dozen times." + +Fanny twisted the fingers of her left hand in the fingers of +her right as was her way when she was terribly in earnest, +and rather excited. + +"But I don't want to write about the paper business as a +process." + +"Well, then, what do you want?" + +"I want to write about the overalls on some railroad +engineer, perhaps; or the blue calico wrapper that belonged, +maybe, to a scrub woman. And how they came to be spotted, +or faded, or torn, and finally all worn out. And how the +rag man got them, and the mill, and how the girls sorted +them. And the room in which they do it. And the bins. And +the machinery. Oh, it's the most fascinating, and--and sort +of relentless machinery. And the acid burns on the +hands of the men at the vats. And their shoes. And then +the paper, so white. And the way we tear it up, or crumple +it, and throw it in the waste basket. Just a piece of +paper, don't you see what I mean? Just a piece of paper, +and yet all that--" she stopped and frowned a little, and +grew inarticulate, and gave it up with a final, "Don't you +see what I mean, Mother? Don't you see what I mean?" + +Molly Brandeis looked at her daughter in a startled way, +like one who, walking tranquilly along an accustomed path, +finds himself confronting a new and hitherto unsuspected +vista, formed by a peculiar arrangement of clouds, perhaps, +or light, or foliage, or all three blended. "I see what you +mean," she said. "But I wish you wouldn't do it. I--I wish +you didn't feel that you wanted to do it." + +"But how can I make it real if I don't?" + +"You can't," said Molly Brandeis. "That's just it. You +can't, ever." + +Fanny got up before six every morning of that Easter +vacation, and went to the mill, lunch box in hand. She came +home at night dead-tired. She did not take the street car +to and from the mill, as she might have, because she said +the other girls in the rag-room walked, some of them from +the very edge of town. Mrs. Brandeis said that she was +carrying things too far, but Fanny stuck it out for the two +weeks, at the end of which period she spent an entire Sunday +in a hair-washing, face-steaming, and manicuring bee. She +wrote her paper from notes she had taken, and turned it in +at the office of the high school principal with the feeling +that it was not at all what she had meant it to be. A week +later Professor Henning called her into his office. The +essay lay on his desk. + +"I've read your thesis," he began, and stopped, and cleared +his throat. He was not an eloquent man. "Where did you +get your information, Miss Brandeis?" + +"I got it at the mill." + +"From one of the employees?" + +"Oh, no. I worked there, in the rag-room." + +Professor Henning gave a little startled exclamation that he +turned hastily into a cough. "I thought that perhaps the +editor of the Courier might like to see it--it being +local. And interesting." + +He brought it down to the office of the little paper +himself, and promised to call for it again in an hour or +two, when Lem Davis should have read it. Lem Davis did read +it, and snorted, and scuffled with his feet in the drift of +papers under his desk, which was a way he had when enraged. + +"Read it!" he echoed, at Professor Henning's question. +"Read it! Yes, I read it. And let me tell you it's +socialism of the rankest kind, that's what! It's anarchism, +that's what! Who's this girl? Mrs. Brandeis's daughter--of +the Bazaar? Let me tell you I'd go over there and tell her +what I think of the way she's bringing up that girl--if she +wasn't an advertiser. `A Piece of Paper'! Hell!" And to +show his contempt for what he had read he wadded together a +great mass of exchanges that littered his desk and hurled +them, a crumpled heap, to the floor, and then spat tobacco +juice upon them. + +"I'm sorry," said Professor Henning, and rose; but at the +door he turned and said something highly unprofessorial. +"It's a darn fine piece of writing." And slammed the door. +At supper that night he told Mrs. Henning about it. Mrs. +Henning was a practical woman, as the wife of a small-town +high school principal must needs be. "But don't you know," +she said, "that Roscoe Moore, who is president of the +Outagamie Pulp Mill and the Winnebago Paper Company, +practically owns the Courier?" + +Professor Henning passed a hand over his hair, ruefully, +like a school boy. "No, Martha, I didn't know. If I knew +those things, dear, I suppose we wouldn't be eating sausage +for supper to-night." There was a little silence between +them. Then he looked up. "Some day I'm going to brag about +having been that Brandeis girl's teacher." + +Fanny was in the store a great deal now. After she finished +high school they sent Mattie away and Fanny took over the +housekeeping duties, but it was not her milieu. Not that +she didn't do it well. She put a perfect fury of energy and +care into the preparation of a pot roast. After she had +iced a cake she enhanced it with cunning arabesques of +jelly. The house shone as it never had, even under Mattie's +honest regime. But it was like hitching a high-power engine +to a butter churn. There were periods of maddening +restlessness. At such times she would set about cleaning +the cellar, perhaps. It was a three-roomed cellar, brick- +floored, cool, and having about it that indefinable cellar +smell which is of mold, and coal, and potatoes, and onions, +and kindling wood, and dill pickles and ashes. + +Other girls of Fanny's age, at such times, cleaned out their +bureau drawers and read forbidden novels. Fanny armed +herself with the third best broom, the dust-pan, and an old +bushel basket. She swept up chips, scraped up ashes, +scoured the preserve shelves, washed the windows, cleaned +the vegetable bins, and got gritty, and scarlet-cheeked and +streaked with soot. It was a wonderful safety valve, that +cellar. A pity it was that the house had no attic. + +Then there were long, lazy summer afternoons when there was +nothing to do but read. And dream. And watch the town go +by to supper. I think that is why our great men and women +so often have sprung from small towns, or villages. They +have had time to dream in their adolescence. No cars to +catch, no matinees, no city streets, none of the teeming, +empty, energy-consuming occupations of the city child. +Little that is competitive, much that is unconsciously +absorbed at the most impressionable period, long evenings +for reading, long afternoons in the fields or woods. With +the cloth laid, and the bread cut and covered with a napkin, +and the sauce in the glass bowl, and the cookies on a blue +plate, and the potatoes doing very, very slowly, and the +kettle steaming with a Peerybingle cheerfulness, Fanny would +stroll out to the front porch again to watch for the +familiar figure to appear around the corner of Norris +Street. She would wear her blue-and-white checked gingham +apron deftly twisted over one hip, and tucked in, in +deference to the passers-by. And the town would go by--Hen +Cody's drays, rattling and thundering; the high school boys +thudding down the road, dog-tired and sweaty in their +football suits, or their track pants and jersies, on their +way from the athletic field to the school shower baths; Mrs. +Mosher flying home, her skirts billowing behind her, after a +protracted afternoon at whist; little Ernie Trost with a +napkin-covered peach basket carefully balanced in his hand, +waiting for the six-fifteen interurban to round the corner +near the switch, so that he could hand up his father's +supper; Rudie Mass, the butcher, with a moist little packet +of meat in his hand, and lurching ever so slightly, and +looking about defiantly. Oh, Fanny probably never realized +how much she saw and absorbed, sitting there on Brandeis' +front porch, watching Winnebago go by to supper. + +At Christmas time she helped in the store, afternoons and +evenings. Then, one Christmas, Mrs. Brandeis was ill for +three weeks with grippe. They had to have a helper in the +house. When Mrs. Brandeis was able to come back to the +store Sadie left to marry, not one of her traveling-men +victims, but a steady person, in the paper-hanging way, +whose suit had long been considered hopeless. After that +Fanny took her place. She developed a surprising knack +at selling. Yet it was not so surprising, perhaps, when one +considered her teacher. She learned as only a woman can +learn who is brought into daily contact with the outside +world. It was not only contact: it was the relation of +buyer and seller. She learned to judge people because she +had to. How else could one gauge their tastes, +temperaments, and pocketbooks? They passed in and out of +Brandeis' Bazaar, day after day, in an endless and varied +procession--traveling men, school children, housewives, +farmers, worried hostesses, newly married couples bent on +house furnishing, business men. + +She learned that it was the girls from the paper mills who +bought the expensive plates--the ones with the red roses and +green leaves hand-painted in great smears and costing two +dollars and a half, while the golf club crowd selected for a +gift or prize one of the little white plates with the faded- +looking blue sprig pattern, costing thirty-nine cents. One +day, after she had spent endless time and patience over the +sale of a nondescript little plate to one of Winnebago's +socially elect, she stared wrathfully after the retreating +back of the trying customer. + +"Did you see that? I spent an hour with her. One hour! I +showed her everything from the imported Limoges bowls to the +Sevres cups and saucers, and all she bought was that +miserable little bonbon dish with the cornflower pattern. +Cat!" + +Mrs. Brandeis spoke from the depths of her wisdom. + +"Fanny, I didn't miss much that went on during that hour, +and I was dying to come over and take her away from you, +but I didn't because I knew you needed the lesson, and I +knew that that McNulty woman never spends more than +twenty-five cents, anyway. But I want to tell you now +that it isn't only a matter of plates. It's a matter of +understanding folks. When you've learned whom to show +the expensive hand-painted things to, and when to +suggest quietly the little, vague things, with what you +call the faded look, why, you've learned just about all +there is to know of human nature. Don't expect it, at +your age." + +Molly Brandeis had never lost her trick of chatting with +customers, or listening to them, whenever she had a moment's +time. People used to drop in, and perch themselves on one +of the stools near the big glowing base burner and talk to +Mrs. Brandeis. It was incredible, the secrets they revealed +of business, and love and disgrace; of hopes and +aspirations, and troubles, and happiness. The farmer women +used to fascinate Fanny by their very drabness. Mrs. +Brandeis had a long and loyal following of these women. It +was before the day when every farmhouse boasted an +automobile, a telephone, and a phonograph. + +A worn and dreary lot, these farmer women, living a skimmed +milk existence, putting their youth, and health, and looks +into the soil. They used often to sit back near the stove +in winter, or in a cool corner near the front of the store +in summer, and reveal, bit by bit, the sordid, tragic +details of their starved existence. Fanny was often shocked +when they told their age--twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty, +but old and withered from drudgery, and child-bearing, and +coarse, unwholesome food. Ignorant women, and terribly +lonely, with the dumb, lack-luster eyes that bespeak +monotony. When they smiled they showed blue-white, glassily +perfect false teeth that flashed incongruously in the ruin +of their wrinkled, sallow, weather-beaten faces. Mrs. +Brandeis would question them gently. + +Children? Ten. Living? Four. Doctor? Never had one in +the house. Why? He didn't believe in them. No proper +kitchen utensils, none of the devices that lighten the +deadeningly monotonous drudgery of housework. Everything +went to make his work easier--new harrows, plows, tractors, +wind mills, reapers, barns, silos. The story would come +out, bit by bit, as the woman sat there, a worn, unlovely +figure, her hands--toil-blackened, seamed, calloused, +unlovelier than any woman's hands were ever meant to be-- +lying in unaccustomed idleness in her lap. + +Fanny learned, too, that the woman with the shawl, and with +her money tied in a corner of her handkerchief, was more +likely to buy the six-dollar doll, with the blue satin +dress, and the real hair and eye-lashes, while the Winnebago +East End society woman haggled over the forty-nine cent +kind, which she dressed herself. + +I think their loyalty to Mrs. Brandeis might be explained by +her honesty and her sympathy. She was so square with them. +When Minnie Mahler, out Centerville way, got married, she +knew there would be no redundancy of water sets, hanging +lamps, or pickle dishes. + +"I thought like I'd get her a chamber set," Minnie's aunt +would confide to Mrs. Brandeis. + +"Is this for Minnie Mahler, of Centerville?" + +"Yes; she gets married Sunday." + +"I sold a chamber set for that wedding yesterday. And a set +of dishes. But I don't think she's got a parlor lamp. At +least I haven't sold one. Why don't you get her that? If +she doesn't like it she can change it. Now there's that +blue one with the pink roses." + +And Minnie's aunt would end by buying the lamp. + +Fanny learned that the mill girls liked the bright-colored +and expensive wares, and why; she learned that the woman +with the "fascinator" (tragic misnomer!) over her head +wanted the finest sled for her boy. She learned to keep her +temper. She learned to suggest without seeming to suggest. +She learned to do surprisingly well all those things that +her mother did so surprisingly well--surprisingly because +both the women secretly hated the business of buying and +selling. Once, on the Fourth of July, when there was a +stand outside the store laden with all sorts of fireworks, +Fanny came down to find Aloysius and the boy Eddie absent on +other work, and Mrs. Brandeis momentarily in charge. The +sight sickened her, then infuriated her. + +"Come in," she said, between her teeth. "That isn't your +work." + +"Somebody had to be there. Pearl's at dinner. And Aloysius +and Eddie were--" + +"Then leave it alone. We're not starving--yet. I won't +have you selling fireworks like that--on the street. I +won't have it! I won't have it!" + +The store was paying, now. Not magnificently, but well +enough. Most of the money went to Theodore, in Dresden. He +was progressing, though not so meteorically as Bauer and +Schabelitz had predicted. But that sort of thing took time, +Mrs. Brandeis argued. Fanny often found her mother looking +at her these days with a questioning sadness in her eyes. +Once she suggested that Fanny join the class in drawing at +the Winnebago university--a small fresh-water college. +Fanny did try it for a few months, but the work was not what +she wanted; they did fruit pictures and vases, with a book, +on a table; or a clump of very pink and very white flowers. +Fanny quit in disgust and boredom. Besides, they were busy +at the store, and needed her. + +There came often to Winnebago a woman whom Fanny Brandeis +admired intensely. She was a traveling saleswoman, +successful, magnetic, and very much alive. Her name was +Mrs. Emma McChesney, and between her and Mrs. Brandeis there +existed a warm friendship. She always took dinner with Mrs. +Brandeis and Fanny, and they made a special effort to give +her all those delectable home-cooked dishes denied her in +her endless round of hotels. + +"Noodle soup!" she used to say, almost lyrically. + +"With real hand-made, egg noodles! You don't know what it +means. You haven't been eating vermicelli soup all through +Illinois and Wisconsin." + +"We've made a dessert, though, that--" + +"Molly Brandeis, don't you dare to tell me what you've got +for dessert. I couldn't stand it. But, oh, suppose, +SUPPOSE it's homemade strawberry shortcake!" + +Which it more than likely was. + +Fanny Brandeis used to think that she would dress exactly as +Mrs. McChesney dressed, if she too were a successful +business woman earning a man-size salary. Mrs. McChesney +was a blue serge sort of woman--and her blue serge never was +shiny in the back. Her collar, or jabot, or tie, or cuffs, +or whatever relieving bit of white she wore, was always of +the freshest and crispest. Her hats were apt to be small +and full of what is known as "line." She usually would try +to arrange her schedule so as to spend a Sunday in +Winnebago, and the three alert, humor-loving women, grown +wise and tolerant from much contact with human beings, would +have a delightful day together. + +"Molly," Mrs. McChesney would say, when they were +comfortably settled in the living-room, or on the front +porch, "with your shrewdness, and experience, and brains, +you ought to be one of those five or ten thousand a year +buyers. You know how to sell goods and handle people. And +you know values. That's all there is to the whole game of +business. I don't advise you to go on the road. Heaven +knows I wouldn't advise my dearest enemy to do that, much +less a friend. But you could do bigger things, and get +bigger results. You know most of the big wholesalers, and +retailers too. Why don't you speak to them about a +department position? Or let me nose around a bit for you." + +Molly Brandeis shook her head, though her expressive eyes +were eager and interested. "Don't you think I've thought of +that, Emma? A thousand times? But I'm--I'm afraid. +There's too much at stake. Suppose I couldn't succeed? +There's Theodore. His whole future is dependent on me for +the next few years. And there's Fanny here. No, I guess +I'm too old. And I'm sure of the business here, small as it +is." + +Emma McChesney glanced at the girl. "I'm thinking that +Fanny has the making of a pretty capable business woman +herself." + +Fanny drew in her breath sharply, and her face sparkled into +sudden life, as always when she was tremendously interested. + +"Do you know what I'd do if I were in Mother's place? I'd +take a great, big running jump for it and land! I'd take a +chance. What is there for her in this town? Nothing! +She's been giving things up all her life, and what has it +brought her?" + +"It has brought me a comfortable living, and the love of my +two children, and the respect of my townspeople." + +"Respect? Why shouldn't they respect you? You're the +smartest woman in Winnebago, and the hardest working." + +Emma McChesney frowned a little, in thought. "What do you +two girls do for recreation?" + +"I'm afraid we have too little of that, Emma. I know Fanny +has. I'm so dog-tired at the end of the day. All I want is +to take my hairpins out and go to bed." + +"And Fanny?" + +"Oh, I read. I'm free to pick my book friends, at least." + +"Now, just what do you mean by that, child? It sounds a +little bitter." + +"I was thinking of what Chesterfield said in one of his +Letters to His Son. `Choose always to be in the society of +those above you,' he wrote. I guess he lived in Winnebago, +Wisconsin. I'm a working woman, and a Jew, and we +haven't any money or social position. And unless she's a +Becky Sharp any small town girl with all those handicaps +might as well choose a certain constellation of stars in the +sky to wear as a breastpin, as try to choose the friends she +really wants." + +From Molly Brandeis to Emma McChesney there flashed a look +that said, "You see?" And from Emma McChesney to Molly +Brandeis another that said, "Yes; and it's your fault." + +"Look here, Fanny, don't you see any boys--men?" + +"No. There aren't any. Those who have any sense and +initiative leave to go to Milwaukee, or Chicago, or New +York. Those that stay marry the banker's lovely daughter." + +Emma McChesney laughed at that, and Molly Brandeis too, and +Fanny joined them a bit ruefully. Then quite suddenly, +there came into her face a melting, softening look that made +it almost lovely. She crossed swiftly over to where her +mother sat, and put a hand on either cheek (grown thinner of +late) and kissed the tip of her nose. "We don't care-- +really. Do we Mother? We're poor wurkin' girruls. But +gosh! Ain't we proud? Mother, your mistake was in not +doing as Ruth did." + +"Ruth?" + +"In the Bible. Remember when What's-his-name, her husband, +died? Did she go back to her home town? No, she didn't. +She'd lived there all her life, and she knew better. She +said to Naomi, her mother-in-law, `Whither thou goest I will +go.' And she went. And when they got to Bethlehem, Ruth +looked around, knowingly, until she saw Boaz, the catch of +the town. So she went to work in his fields, gleaning, and +she gleaned away, trying to look just as girlish, and +dreamy, and unconscious, but watching him out of the corner +of her eye all the time. Presently Boaz came along, looking +over the crops, and he saw her. `Who's the new damsel?' +he asked. `The peach?'" + +"Fanny Brandeis, aren't you ashamed?" + +"But, Mother, that's what it says in the Bible, actually. +`Whose damsel is this?' They told him it was Ruth, the +dashing widow. After that it was all off with the Bethlehem +girls. Boaz paid no more attention to them than if they had +never existed. He married Ruth, and she led society. Just +a little careful scheming, that's all." + +"I should say you have been reading, Fanny Brandeis," said +Emma McChesney. She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. +"Now listen to me, child. The very next time a traveling +man in a brown suit and a red necktie asks you to take +dinner with him at the Haley House--even one of those roast +pork, queen-fritter-with-rum-sauce, Roman punch Sunday +dinners--I want you to accept." + +"Even if he wears an Elks' pin, and a Masonic charm, and a +diamond ring and a brown derby?" +"Even if he shows you the letters from his girl in +Manistee," said Mrs. McChesney solemnly. "You've been +seeing too much of Fanny Brandeis." + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +Theodore had been gone six years. His letters, all too +brief, were events in the lives of the two women. They read +and reread them. Fanny unconsciously embellished them with +fascinating details made up out of her own imagination. + +"They're really triumphs of stupidity and dullness," she +said one day in disgust, after one of Theodore's long- +awaited letters had proved particularly dry and sparse. +"Just think of it! Dresden, Munich, Leipsic, Vienna, +Berlin, Frankfurt! And from his letters you would never +know he had left Winnebago. I don't believe he actually +sees anything of these cities--their people, and the queer +houses, and the streets. I suppose a new city means nothing +to him but another platform, another audience, another +piano, all intended as a background for his violin. He +could travel all over the world and it wouldn't touch him +once. He's got his mental fingers crossed all the time." + +Theodore had begun to play in concert with some success, but +he wrote that there was no real money in it yet. He was not +well enough known. It took time. He would have to get a +name in Europe before he could attempt an American tour. +Just now every one was mad over Greinert. He was drawing +immense audiences. He sent them a photograph at which they +gasped, and then laughed, surprisedly. He looked so awfully +German, so different, somehow. + +"It's the way his hair is clipped, I suppose," said Fanny. +"High, like that, on the temples. And look at his clothes! +That tie! And his pants! And that awful collar! +Why, his very features look German, don't they? I suppose +it's the effect of that haberdashery." + +A month after the photograph, came a letter announcing his +marriage. Fanny's quick eye, leaping ahead from line to +line, took in the facts that her mind seemed unable to +grasp. Her name was Olga Stumpf. (In the midst of her +horror some imp in Fanny's brain said that her hands would +be red, and thick, with a name like that.) An orphan. She +sang. One of the Vienna concert halls, but so different +from the other girls. And he was so happy. And he hated to +ask them for it, but if they could cable a hundred or so. +That would help. And here was her picture. + +And there was her picture. One of the so-called vivacious +type of Viennese of the lower class, smiling a conscious +smile, her hair elaborately waved and dressed, her figure +high-busted, narrow-waisted; earrings, chains, bracelets. +You knew that she used a heavy scent. She was older than +Theodore. Or perhaps it was the earrings. + +They cabled the hundred. + +After the first shock of it Molly Brandeis found excuses for +him. "He must have been awfully lonely, Fanny. Often. And +perhaps it will steady him, and make him more ambitious. +He'll probably work all the harder now." + +"No, he won't. But you will. And I will. I didn't mind +working for Theodore, and scrimping, and never having any of +the things I wanted, from blouses to music. But I won't +work and deny myself to keep a great, thick, cheap, German +barmaid, or whatever she is in comfort. I won't!" + +But she did. And quite suddenly Molly Brandeis, of the +straight, firm figure and the bright, alert eye, and the +buoyant humor, seemed to lose some of those electric +qualities. It was an almost imperceptible letting down. +You have seen a fine race horse suddenly break and lose his +stride in the midst of the field, and pull up and try to +gain it again, and go bravely on, his stride and form still +there, but his spirit broken? That was Molly Brandeis. + +Fanny did much of the buying now. She bought quickly and +shrewdly, like her mother. She even went to the Haley House +to buy, when necessary, and Winnebagoans, passing the hotel, +would see her slim, erect figure in one of the sample-rooms +with its white-covered tables laden with china, or +glassware, or Christmas goods, or whatever that particular +salesman happened to carry. They lifted their eye-brows at +first, but, somehow, it was impossible to associate this +girl with the blithe, shirt-sleeved, cigar-smoking traveling +men who followed her about the sample-room, order book in +hand. + +As time went on she introduced some new features into the +business, and did away with various old ones. The +overflowing benches outside the store were curbed, and +finally disappeared altogether. Fanny took charge of the +window displays, and often came back to the store at night +to spend the evening at work with Aloysius. They would tack +a piece of muslin around the window to keep off the gaze of +passers-by, and together evolve a window that more than made +up for the absent show benches. + +This, I suppose, is no time to stop for a description of +Fanny Brandeis. And yet the impulse to do so is +irresistible. Personally, I like to know about the hair, +and eyes, and mouth of the person whose life I am following. +How did she look when she said that? What sort of +expression did she wear when this happened? Perhaps the +thing that Fanny Brandeis said about herself one day, when +she was having one of her talks with Emma McChesney, who was +on her fall trip for the Featherbloom Petticoat Company, +might help. + +"No ballroom would ever be hushed into admiring awe when I +entered," she said. "No waiter would ever drop his tray, +dazzled, and no diners in a restaurant would stop to gaze at +me, their forks poised halfway, their eyes blinded by my +beauty. I could tramp up and down between the tables for +hours, and no one would know I was there. I'm one of a +million women who look their best in a tailor suit and a hat +with a line. Not that I ever had either. But I have my +points, only they're blunted just now." + +Still, that bit of description doesn't do, after all. +Because she had distinct charm, and some beauty. She was +not what is known as the Jewish type, in spite of her +coloring. The hair that used to curl, waved now. In a day +when coiffures were a bird's-nest of puffs and curls and +pompadour, she wore her hair straight back from her forehead +and wound in a coil at the neck. Her face in repose was apt +to be rather lifeless, and almost heavy. But when she +talked, it flashed into sudden life, and you found yourself +watching her mouth, fascinated. It was the key to her whole +character, that mouth. Mobile, humorous, sensitive, the +sensuousness of the lower lip corrected by the firmness of +the upper. She had large, square teeth, very regular, and +of the yellow-white tone that bespeaks health. She used to +make many of her own clothes, and she always trimmed her +hats. Mrs. Brandeis used to bring home material and styles +from her Chicago buying trips, and Fanny's quick mind +adapted them. She managed, somehow, to look miraculously +well dressed. + +The Christmas following Theodore's marriage was the most +successful one in the history of Brandeis' Bazaar. And it +bred in Fanny Brandeis a lifelong hatred of the holiday +season. In years after she always tried to get away from +the city at Christmas time. The two women did the work of +four men. They had a big stock on hand. Mrs. Brandeis was +everywhere at once. She got an enormous amount of work +out of her clerks, and they did not resent it. It is a gift +that all born leaders have. She herself never sat down, and +the clerks unconsciously followed her example. She never +complained of weariness, she never lost her temper, she +never lost patience with a customer, even the tight-fisted +farmer type who doled their money out with that reluctance +found only in those who have wrung it from the soil. + +In the midst of the rush she managed, somehow, never to fail +to grasp the humor of a situation. A farmer woman came in +for a doll's head, which she chose with incredible +deliberation and pains. As it was being wrapped she +explained that it was for her little girl, Minnie. She had +promised the head this year. Next Christmas they would buy +a body for it. Molly Brandeis's quick sympathy went out to +the little girl who was to lavish her mother-love on a +doll's head for a whole year. She saw the head, in ghastly +decapitation, staring stiffly out from the cushions of the +chill and funereal parlor sofa, and the small Minnie peering +in to feast her eyes upon its blond and waxen beauty. + +"Here," she had said, "take this, and sew it on the head, so +Minnie'll have something she can hold, at least." And she +had wrapped a pink cambric, sawdust-stuffed body in with the +head. + +It was a snowy and picturesque Christmas, and intensely +cold, with the hard, dry, cutting cold of Wisconsin. Near +the door the little store was freezing. Every time the door +opened it let in a blast. Near the big glowing stove it was +very hot. + +The aisles were packed so that sometimes it was almost +impossible to wedge one's way through. The china plates, +stacked high, fairly melted away, as did the dolls piled on +the counters. Mrs. Brandeis imported her china and dolls, +and no store in Winnebago, not even Gerretson's big +department store, could touch them for value. + +The two women scarcely stopped to eat in the last ten days +of the holiday rush. Often Annie, the girl who had taken +Mattie's place in the household, would bring down their +supper, hot and hot, and they would eat it quickly up in the +little gallery where they kept the sleds, and doll buggies, +and drums. At night (the store was open until ten or eleven +at Christmas time) they would trudge home through the snow, +so numb with weariness that they hardly minded the cold. +The icy wind cut their foreheads like a knife, and made the +temples ache. The snow, hard and resilient, squeaked +beneath their heels. They would open the front door and +stagger in, blinking. The house seemed so weirdly quiet and +peaceful after the rush and clamor of the store. + +"Don't you want a sandwich, Mother, with a glass of beer?" + +"I'm too tired to eat it, Fanny. I just want to get to +bed." + +Fanny grew to hate the stock phrases that met her with each +customer. "I want something for a little boy about ten. +He's really got everything." Or, "I'm looking for a present +for a lady friend. Do you think a plate would be nice?" +She began to loathe them--these satiated little boys, these +unknown friends, for whom she must rack her brains. + +They cleared a snug little fortune that Christmas. On +Christmas Eve they smiled wanly at each other, like two +comrades who have fought and bled together, and won. When +they left the store it was nearly midnight. Belated +shoppers, bundle-laden, carrying holly wreaths, with strange +handles, and painted heads, and sticks protruding from lumpy +brown paper burdens, were hurrying home. + +They stumbled home, too spent to talk. Fanny, groping +for the keyhole, stubbed her toe against a wooden box +between the storm door and the inner door. It had evidently +been left there by the expressman or a delivery boy. It was +a very heavy box. + +"A Christmas present!" Fanny exclaimed. "Do you think it +is? But it must be." She looked at the address, "Miss +Fanny Brandeis." She went to the kitchen for a crowbar, and +came back, still in her hat and coat. She pried open the +box expertly, tore away the wrappings, and disclosed a +gleaming leather-bound set of Balzac, and beneath that, +incongruously enough, Mark Twain. + +"Why!" exclaimed Fanny, sitting down on the floor rather +heavily. Then her eye fell upon a card tossed aside in the +hurry of unpacking. She picked it up, read it hastily. +"Merry Christmas to the best daughter in the world. From +her Mother." + +Mrs. Brandeis had taken off her wraps and was standing over +the sitting-room register, rubbing her numbed hands and +smiling a little. + +"Why, Mother!" Fanny scrambled to her feet. "You darling! +In all that rush and work, to take time to think of me! +Why--" Her arms were around her mother's shoulders. She was +pressing her glowing cheek against the pale, cold one. And +they both wept a little, from emotion, and weariness, and +relief, and enjoyed it, as women sometimes do. + +Fanny made her mother stay in bed next morning, a thing that +Mrs. Brandeis took to most ungracefully. After the holiday +rush and strain she invariably had a severe cold, the +protest of the body she had over-driven and under-nourished +for two or three weeks. As a patient she was as trying and +fractious as a man, tossing about, threatening to get up, +demanding hot-water bags, cold compresses, alcohol rubs. +She fretted about the business, and imagined that things +were at a stand-still during her absence. + +Fanny herself rose early. Her healthy young body, after a +night's sleep, was already recuperating from the month's +strain. She had planned a real Christmas dinner, to banish +the memory of the hasty and unpalatable lunches they had had +to gulp during the rush. There was to be a turkey, and +Fanny had warned Annie not to touch it. She wanted to stuff +it and roast it herself. She spent the morning in the +kitchen, aside from an occasional tip-toeing visit to her +mother's room. At eleven she found her mother up, and no +amount of coaxing would induce her to go back to bed. She +had read the papers and she said she felt rested already. + +The turkey came out a delicate golden-brown, and deliciously +crackly. Fanny, looking up over a drumstick, noticed, with +a shock, that her mother's eyes looked strangely sunken, and +her skin, around the jaws and just under the chin, where her +loose wrapper revealed her throat, was queerly yellow and +shriveled. She had eaten almost nothing. + +"Mother, you're not eating a thing! You really must eat a +little." + +Mrs. Brandeis began a pretense of using knife and fork, but +gave it up finally and sat back, smiling rather wanly. "I +guess I'm tireder than I thought I was, dear. I think I've +got a cold coming on, too. I'll lie down again after +dinner, and by to-morrow I'll be as chipper as a sparrow. +The turkey's wonderful, isn't it? I'll have some, cold, for +supper." + +After dinner the house felt very warm and stuffy. It was +crisply cold and sunny outdoors. The snow was piled high +except on the sidewalks, where it had been neatly shoveled +away by the mufflered Winnebago sons and fathers. There was +no man in the Brandeis household, and Aloysius had been too +busy to perform the chores usually considered his work about +the house. The snow lay in drifts upon the sidewalk in +front of the Brandeis house, except where passing feet +had trampled it a bit. + +"I'm going to shovel the walk," Fanny announced suddenly. +"Way around to the woodshed. Where are those old mittens of +mine? Annie, where's the snow shovel? Sure I am. Why +not?" + +She shoveled and scraped and pounded, bending rhythmically +to the work, lifting each heaping shovelful with her strong +young arms, tossing it to the side, digging in again, and +under. An occasional neighbor passed by, or a friend, and +she waved at them, gayly, and tossed back their badinage. +"Merry Christmas!" she called, again and again, in reply to +a passing acquaintance. "Same to you!" + +At two o'clock Bella Weinberg telephoned to say that a +little party of them were going to the river to skate. The +ice was wonderful. Oh, come on! Fanny skated very well. +But she hesitated. Mrs. Brandeis, dozing on the couch, +sensed what was going on in her daughter's mind, and roused +herself with something of her old asperity. + +"Don't be foolish, child. Run along! You don't intend to +sit here and gaze upon your sleeping beauty of a mother all +afternoon, do you? Well, then!" + +So Fanny changed her clothes, got her skates, and ran out +into the snap and sparkle of the day. The winter darkness +had settled down before she returned, all glowing and rosy, +and bright-eyed. Her blood was racing through her body. +Her lips were parted. The drudgery of the past three weeks +seemed to have been blotted out by this one radiant +afternoon. + +The house was dark when she entered. It seemed very quiet, +and close, and depressing after the sparkle and rush of the +afternoon on the river. "Mother! Mother dear! Still +sleeping?" + +Mrs. Brandeis stirred, sighed, awoke. Fanny flicked on the +light. Her mother was huddled in a kimono on the sofa. +She sat up rather dazedly now, and stared at Fanny. + +"Why--what time is it? What? Have I been sleeping all +afternoon? Your mother's getting old." + +She yawned, and in the midst of it caught her breath with a +little cry of pain. + +"What is it? What's the matter?" + +Molly Brandeis pressed a hand to her breast. "A stitch, I +guess. It's this miserable cold coming on. Is there any +asperin in the house? I'll dose myself after supper, and +take a hot foot bath and go to bed. I'm dead." + +She ate less for supper than she had for dinner. She hardly +tasted the cup of tea that Fanny insisted on making for her. +She swayed a little as she sat, and her lids came down over +her eyes, flutteringly, as if the weight of them was too +great to keep up. At seven she was up-stairs, in bed, +sleeping, and breathing heavily. + +At eleven, or thereabouts, Fanny woke up with a +start. She sat up in bed, wide-eyed, peering into the +darkness and listening. Some one was talking in a high, +queer voice, a voice like her mother's, and yet unlike. She +ran, shivering with the cold, into her mother's bedroom. +She switched on the light. Mrs. Brandeis was lying on the +pillow, her eyes almost closed, except for a terrifying slit +of white that showed between the lids. Her head was tossing +to and fro on the pillow. She was talking, sometimes +clearly, and sometimes mumblingly. + +"One gross cups and saucers . . . and now what do you think +you'd like for a second prize . . . in the basement, +Aloysius . . . the trains . . . I'll see that they get there +to-day . . . yours of the tenth at hand . . ." + +"Mother! Mother! Molly dear!" She shook her gently, then +almost roughly. The voice ceased. The eyes remained the +same. "Oh, God!" She ran to the back of the house. +"Annie! Annie, get up! Mother's sick. She's out of her +head. I'm going to 'phone for the doctor. Go in with her." + +She got the doctor at last. She tried to keep her voice +under control, and thought, with a certain pride, that she +was succeeding. She ran up-stairs again. The voice had +begun again, but it seemed thicker now. She got into her +clothes, shaking with cold and terror, and yet thinking very +clearly, as she always did in a crisis. She put clean +towels in the bathroom, pushed the table up to the bed, got +a glass of water, straightened the covers, put away the +clothes that the tired woman had left about the room. +Doctor Hertz came. He went through the usual preliminaries, +listened, tapped, counted, straightened up at last. + +"Fresh air," he said. "Cold air. All the windows open." +They rigged up a device of screens and sheets to protect the +bed from the drafts. Fanny obeyed orders silently, like a +soldier. But her eyes went from the face on the pillow to +that of the man bent over the bed. Something vague, cold, +clammy, seemed to be closing itself around her heart. It +was like an icy hand, squeezing there. There had suddenly +sprung up that indefinable atmosphere of the sick-room--a +sick-room in which a fight is being waged. Bottles on the +table, glasses, a spoon, a paper shade over the electric +light globe. + +"What is it?" said Fanny, at last. "Grip?--grip?" + +Doctor Hertz hesitated a moment. "Pneumonia." + +Fanny's hands grasped the footboard tightly. "Do you think +we'd better have a nurse?" + +"Yes." + +The nurse seemed to be there, somehow, miraculously. And +the morning came. And in the kitchen Annie went about her +work, a little more quietly than usual. And yesterday +seemed far away. It was afternoon; it was twilight. Doctor +Hertz had been there for hours. The last time he +brought another doctor with him--Thorn. Mrs. Brandeis was +not talking now. But she was breathing. It filled the +room, that breathing; it filled the house. Fanny took her +mother's hand, that hand with the work-hardened palm and the +broken nails. It was very cold. She looked down at it. +The nails were blue. She began to rub it. She looked up +into the faces of the two men. She picked up the other +hand--snatched at it. "Look here!" she said. "Look here!" +And then she stood up. The vague, clammy thing that had +been wound about her heart suddenly relaxed. And at that +something icy hot rushed all over her body and shook her. +She came around to the foot of the bed, and gripped it with +her two hands. Her chin was thrust forward, and her eyes +were bright and staring. She looked very much like her +mother, just then. It was a fighting face. A desperate +face. + +"Look here," she began, and was surprised to find that she +was only whispering. She wet her lips and smiled, and tried +again, forming the words carefully with her lips. "Look +here. She's dying--isn't she? Isn't she! She's dying, +isn't she?" + +Doctor Hertz pursed his lips. The nurse came over to her, +and put a hand on her shoulder. Fanny shook her off. + +"Answer me. I've got a right to know. Look at this!" She +reached forward and picked up that inert, cold, strangely +shriveled blue hand again. + +"My dear child--I'm afraid so." + +There came from Fanny's throat a moan that began high, and +poignant, and quavering, and ended in a shiver that seemed +to die in her heart. The room was still again, except for +the breathing, and even that was less raucous. + +Fanny stared at the woman on the bed--at the long, finely- +shaped head, with the black hair wadded up so carelessly +now; at the long, straight, clever nose; the full, +generous mouth. There flooded her whole being a great, +blinding rage. What had she had of life? she demanded +fiercely. What? What? Her teeth came together grindingly. +She breathed heavily through her nostrils, as if she had +been running. And suddenly she began to pray, not with the +sounding, unctions thees and thous of the Church and Bible; +not elegantly or eloquently, with well-rounded phrases, as +the righteous pray, but threateningly, hoarsely, as a +desperate woman prays. It was not a prayer so much as a cry +of defiance---a challenge. + +"Look here, God!" and there was nothing profane as she said +it. "Look here, God! She's done her part. It's up to You +now. Don't You let her die! Look at her. Look at her!" +She choked and shook herself angrily, and went on. "Is that +fair? That's a rotten trick to play on a woman that gave +what she gave! What did she ever have of life? Nothing! +That little miserable, dirty store, and those little +miserable, dirty people. You give her a chance, d'You hear? +You give her a chance, God, or I'll----" + +Her voice broke in a thin, cracked quaver. The nurse turned +her around, suddenly and sharply, and led her from the room. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +"You can come down now. They're all here, I guess. Doctor +Thalmann's going to begin." Fanny, huddled in a chair in +her bedroom, looked up into the plump, kindly face of the +woman who was bending over her. Then she stood up, +docilely, and walked toward the stairs with a heavy, +stumbling step. + +"I'd put down my veil if I were you," said the neighbor +woman. And reached up for the black folds that draped +Fanny's hat. Fanny's fingers reached for them too, +fumblingly. "I'd forgotten about it," she said. The heavy +crape fell about her shoulders, mercifully hiding the +swollen, discolored face. She went down the stairs. There +was a little stir, a swaying toward her, a sibilant murmur +of sympathy from the crowded sitting-room as she passed +through to the parlor where Rabbi Thalmann stood waiting, +prayer book in hand, in front of that which was covered with +flowers. Fanny sat down. A feeling of unreality was strong +upon her. Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat and opened the +book. + +After all, it was not Rabbi Thalmann's funeral sermon that +testified to Mrs. Brandeis's standing in the community. It +was the character of the gathering that listened to what he +had to say. Each had his own opinion of Molly Brandeis, and +needed no final eulogy to confirm it. Father Fitzpatrick +was there, tall, handsome, ruddy, the two wings of white +showing at the temples making him look more than ever like a +leading man. He had been of those who had sat in what he +called Mrs. Brandeis's confessional, there in the quiet +little store. The two had talked of things +theological and things earthy. His wit, quick though it +was, was no match for hers, but they both had a humor sense +and a drama sense, and one day they discovered, queerly +enough, that they worshiped the same God. Any one of these +things is basis enough for a friendship. Besides, Molly +Brandeis could tell an Irish story inimitably. And you +should have heard Father Fitzpatrick do the one about Ikey +and the nickel. No, I think the Catholic priest, seeming to +listen with such respectful attention, really heard very +little of what Rabbi Thalmann had to say. + +Herman Walthers was there, he of the First National Bank of +Winnebago, whose visits had once brought such terror to +Molly Brandeis. Augustus G. Gerretson was there, and three +of his department heads. Emil Bauer sat just behind him. +In a corner was Sadie, the erstwhile coquette, very subdued +now, and months behind the fashions in everything but baby +clothes. Hen Cody, who had done all of Molly Brandeis's +draying, sat, in unaccustomed black, next to Mayor A. J. +Dawes. Temple Emmanu-el was there, almost a unit. The +officers of Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid Society sat in a +row. They had never honored Molly Brandeis with office in +the society--she who could have managed its business, +politics and social activities with one hand tied behind +her, and both her bright eyes shut. In the kitchen and on +the porch and in the hallway stood certain obscure people-- +women whose finger tips stuck out of their cotton gloves, +and whose skirts dipped ludicrously in the back. Only Molly +Brandeis could have identified them for you. Mrs. Brosch, +the butter and egg woman, hovered in the dining-room +doorway. She had brought a pound of butter. It was her +contribution to the funeral baked meats. She had deposited +it furtively on the kitchen table. Birdie Callahan, head +waitress at the Haley House, found a seat just next to +the elegant Mrs. Morehouse, who led the Golf Club crowd. A +haughty young lady in the dining-room, Birdie Callahan, in +her stiffly starched white, but beneath the icy crust of her +hauteur was a molten mass of good humor and friendliness. +She and Molly Brandeis had had much in common. + +But no one--not even Fanny Brandeis--ever knew who sent the +great cluster of American Beauty roses that had come all the +way from Milwaukee. There had been no card, so who could +have guessed that they came from Blanche Devine. Blanche +Devine, of the white powder, and the minks, and the +diamonds, and the high-heeled shoes, and the plumes, lived +in the house with the closed shutters, near the freight +depot. She often came into Brandeis' Bazaar. Molly +Brandeis had never allowed Sadie, or Pearl, or Fanny or +Aloysius to wait on her. She had attended to her herself. +And one day, for some reason, Blanche Devine found herself +telling Molly Brandeis how she had come to be Blanche +Devine, and it was a moving and terrible story. And now her +cardless flowers, a great, scarlet sheaf of them, lay next +the chaste white roses that had been sent by the Temple +Emanu-el Ladies' Aid. Truly, death is a great leveler. + +In a vague way Fanny seemed to realize that all these people +were there. I think she must even have found a certain grim +comfort in their presence. Hers had not been the dry-eyed +grief of the strong, such as you read about. She had wept, +night and day, hopelessly, inconsolably, torturing herself +with remorseful questions. If she had not gone skating, +might she not have seen how ill her mother was? Why hadn't +she insisted on the doctor when her mother refused to eat +the Christmas dinner? Blind and selfish, she told herself; +blind and selfish. Her face was swollen and distorted now, +and she was thankful for the black veil that shielded +her. Winnebago was scandalized to see that she wore no +other black. Mrs. Brandeis had never wanted Fanny to wear +it; she hadn't enough color, she said. So now she was +dressed in her winter suit of blue, and her hat with the +pert blue quill. And the little rabbi's voice went on and +on, and Fanny knew that it could not be true. What had all +this dust-to-dust talk to do with any one as vital, and +electric, and constructive as Molly Brandeis. In the midst +of the service there was a sharp cry, and a little stir, and +the sound of stifled sobbing. It was Aloysius the merry, +Aloysius the faithful, whose Irish heart was quite broken. +Fanny ground her teeth together in an effort at self- +control. + +And so to the end, and out past the little hushed, +respectful group on the porch, to the Jewish cemetery on the +state road. The snow of Christmas week was quite virgin +there, except for that one spot where the sexton and his men +had been at work. Then back at a smart jog trot through the +early dusk of the winter afternoon, the carriage wheels +creaking upon the hard, dry snow. And Fanny Brandeis said +to herself (she must have been a little light-headed from +hunger and weeping): + +"Now I'll know whether it's true or not. When I go into the +house. If she's there she'll say, `Well Fanchen! Hungry? +Oh, but my little girl's hands are cold! Come here to the +register and warm them.' O God, let her be there! Let her +be there!" + +But she wasn't. The house had been set to rights by brisk +and unaccustomed hands. There was a bustle and stir in the +dining-room, and from the kitchen came the appetizing odors +of cooking food. Fanny went up to a chair that was out of +its place, and shoved it back against the wall where it +belonged. She straightened a rug, carried the waste basket +from the desk to the spot near the living-room table where +it had always served to hide the shabby, worn place in +the rug. Fanny went up-stairs, past The Room that was once +more just a comfortable, old fashioned bedroom, instead of a +mysterious and awful chamber; bathed her face, tidied her +hair, came down-stairs again, ate and drank things hot and +revivifying. The house was full of kindly women. + +Fanny found herself clinging to them--clinging desperately +to these ample, broad-bosomed, soothing women whom she had +scarcely known before. They were always there, those women, +and their husbands too; kindly, awkward men, who patted her +shoulder, and who spoke of Molly Brandeis with that +sincerity of admiration such as men usually give only to +men. People were constantly popping in at the back door +with napkin-covered trays, and dishes and baskets. A +wonderful and beautiful thing, that homely small-town +sympathy that knows the value of physical comfort in time of +spiritual anguish. + +Two days after the funeral Fanny Brandeis went back to the +store, much as her mother had done many years before, after +her husband's death. She looked about at the bright, well- +stocked shelves and tables with a new eye--a speculative +eye. The Christmas season was over. January was the time +for inventory and for replenishment. Mrs. Brandeis had +always gone to Chicago the second week in January for the +spring stock. But something was forming in Fanny Brandeis's +mind--a resolve that grew so rapidly as to take her breath +away. Her brain felt strangely clear and keen after the +crashing storm of grief that had shaken her during the past +week. + +"What are you going to do now?" people had asked her, +curious and interested. "Is Theodore coming back?" + +"I don't know--yet." In answer to the first. And, "No. +Why should he? He has his work." + +"But he could be of such help to you." + +"I'll help myself," said Fanny Brandeis, and smiled a +curious smile that had in it more of bitterness and less of +mirth than any smile has a right to have. + +Mrs. Brandeis had left a will, far-sighted business woman +that she was. It was a terse, clear-headed document, that +gave "to Fanny Brandeis, my daughter," the six-thousand- +dollar insurance, the stock, good-will and fixtures of +Brandeis' Bazaar, the house furnishings, the few pieces of +jewelry in their old-fashioned setting. To Theodore was +left the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. He had received +his share in the years of his musical education. + +Fanny Brandeis did not go to Chicago that January. She took +inventory of Brandeis' Bazaar, carefully and minutely. And +then, just as carefully and minutely she took stock of Fanny +Brandeis. There was something relentless and terrible in +the way she went about this self-analysis. She walked a +great deal that winter, often out through the drifts to the +little cemetery. As she walked her mind was working, +working. She held long mental conversations with herself +during these walks, and once she was rather frightened to +find herself talking aloud. She wondered if she had done +that before. And a plan was maturing in her brain, while +the fight went on within herself, thus: + +"You'll never do it, Fanny. You're not built that way." + +"Oh, won't I! Watch me! Give me time." + +"You'll think of what your mother would have done under the +same conditions, and you'll do that thing." + +"I won't. Not unless it's the long-headed thing to do. I'm +through being sentimental and unselfish. What did it bring +her? Nothing!" + +The weeks went by. Fanny worked hard in the store, and +bought little. February came, and with the spring her +months of private thinking bore fruit. There came to Fanny +Brandeis a great resolve. She would put herself in a high +place. Every talent she possessed, every advantage, every +scrap of knowledge, every bit of experience, would be used +toward that end. She would make something of herself. It +was a worldly, selfish resolve, born of a bitter sorrow, and +ambition, and resentment. She made up her mind that she +would admit no handicaps. Race, religion, training, natural +impulses--she would discard them all if they stood in her +way. She would leave Winnebago behind. At best, if she +stayed there, she could never accomplish more than to make +her business a more than ordinarily successful small-town +store. And she would be--nobody. No, she had had enough of +that. She would crush and destroy the little girl who had +fasted on that Day of Atonement; the more mature girl who +had written the thesis about the paper mill rag-room; the +young woman who had drudged in the store on Elm Street. In +her place she would mold a hard, keen-eyed, resolute woman, +whose godhead was to be success, and to whom success would +mean money and position. She had not a head for +mathematics, but out of the puzzling problems and syllogisms +in geometry she had retained in her memory this one +immovable truth: + +A straight line is the shortest distance between two points. + +With her mental eye she marked her two points, and then, +starting from the first, made directly for the second. But +she forgot to reckon with the law of tangents. She forgot, +too, how paradoxical a creature was this Fanny Brandeis +whose eyes filled with tears at sight of a parade--just the +sheer drama of it--were the marchers G. A. R. veterans, +school children in white, soldiers, Foresters, political +marching clubs; and whose eyes burned dry and bright as she +stood over the white mound in the cemetery on the state +road. Generous, spontaneous, impulsive, warm-hearted, +she would be cold, calculating, deliberate, she told +herself. + +Thousands of years of persecution behind her made her quick +to appreciate suffering in others, and gave her an innate +sense of fellowship with the downtrodden. She resolved to +use that sense as a searchlight aiding her to see and +overcome obstacles. She told herself that she was done with +maudlin sentimentality. On the rare occasions when she had +accompanied her mother to Chicago, the two women had found +delight in wandering about the city's foreign quarters. +When other small-town women buyers snatched occasional +moments of leisure for the theater or personal shopping, +these two had spent hours in the ghetto around Jefferson and +Taylor, and Fourteenth Streets. Something in the sight of +these people--alien, hopeful, emotional, often grotesque-- +thrilled and interested both the women. And at sight of an +ill-clad Italian, with his slovenly, wrinkled old-young +wife, turning the handle of his grind organ whilst both +pairs of eyes searched windows and porches and doorsteps +with a hopeless sort of hopefulness, she lost her head +entirely and emptied her limp pocketbook of dimes, and +nickels, and pennies. Incidentally it might be stated that +she loved the cheap and florid music of the hand organ +itself. + +It was rumored that Brandeis' Bazaar was for sale. In the +spring Gerretson's offered Fanny the position of buyer and +head of the china, glassware, and kitchenware sections. +Gerretson's showed an imposing block of gleaming plate-glass +front now, and drew custom from a dozen thrifty little towns +throughout the Fox River Valley. Fanny refused the offer. +In March she sold outright the stock, good-will, and +fixtures of Brandeis' Bazaar. The purchaser was a thrifty, +farsighted traveling man who had wearied of the road +and wanted to settle down. She sold the household +goods too--those intimate, personal pieces of wood and cloth +that had become, somehow, part of her life. She had grown +up with them. She knew the history of every nick, every +scratch and worn spot. Her mother lived again in every +piece. The old couch went off in a farmer's wagon. Fanny +turned away when they joggled it down the front steps and +into the rude vehicle. It was like another funeral. She +was furious to find herself weeping again. She promised +herself punishment for that. + +Up in her bedroom she opened the bottom drawer of her +bureau. That bureau and its history and the history of +every piece of furniture in the room bore mute testimony to +the character of its occupant; to her protest against things +as she found them, and her determination to make them over +to suit her. She had spent innumerable Sunday mornings +wielding the magic paint brush that had transformed the +bedroom from dingy oak to gleaming cream enamel. She sat +down on the floor now, before the bureau, and opened the +bottom drawer. + +In a corner at the back, under the neat pile of garments, +was a tightly-rolled bundle of cloth. Fanny reached for it, +took it out, and held it in her hands a moment. Then she +unrolled it slowly, and the bundle revealed itself to be a +faded, stained, voluminous gingham apron, blue and white. +It was the kind of apron women don when they perform some +very special household ritual--baking, preserving, house +cleaning. It crossed over the shoulders with straps, and +its generous fullness ran all the way around the waist. It +was discolored in many places with the brown and reddish +stains of fruit juices. It had been Molly Brandeis' canning +apron. Fanny had come upon it hanging on a hook behind the +kitchen door, after that week in December. And at sight of +it all her fortitude and forced calm had fled. She had +spread her arms over the limp, mute, yet speaking thing +dangling there, and had wept so wildly and uncontrollably as +to alarm even herself. + +Nothing in connection with her mother's death had power to +call up such poignant memories as did this homely, intimate +garment. She saw again the steamy kitchen, deliciously +scented with the perfume of cooking fruit, or the +tantalizing, mouth-watering spiciness of vinegar and +pickles. On the stove the big dishpan, in which the jelly +glasses and fruit jars, with their tops and rubbers, bobbed +about in hot water. In the great granite kettle simmered +the cooking fruit Molly Brandeis, enveloped in the familiar +blue-and-white apron, stood over it, like a priestess, +stirring, stirring, slowly, rhythmically. Her face would be +hot and moist with the steam, and very tired too, for she +often came home from the store utterly weary, to stand over +the kettle until ten or eleven o'clock. But the pride in it +as she counted the golden or ruby tinted tumblers gleaming +in orderly rows as they cooled on the kitchen table! + +"Fifteen glasses of grape jell, Fan! And I didn't mix a bit +of apple with it. I didn't think I'd get more than ten. +And nine of the quince preserve. That makes--let me see-- +eighty-three, ninety-eight--one hundred and seven +altogether." + +"We'll never eat it, Mother." + +"You said that last year, and by April my preserve cupboard +looked like Old Mother Hubbard's." + +But then, Mrs. Brandeis was famous for her preserves, as +Father Fitzpatrick, and Aloysius, and Doctor Thalmann, and a +dozen others could testify. After the strain and flurry of +a busy day at the store there was something about this +homely household rite that brought a certain sense of rest +and peace to Molly Brandeis. + +All this moved through Fanny Brandeis's mind as she sat with +the crumpled apron in her lap, her eyes swimming with hot +tears. The very stains that discolored it, the faded blue +of the front breadth, the frayed buttonhole, the little +scorched place where she had burned a hole when trying +unwisely to lift a steaming kettle from the stove with the +apron's corner, spoke to her with eloquent lips. That apron +had become a vice with Fanny. She brooded over it as a +mother broods over the shapeless, scuffled bit of leather +that was a baby's shoe; as a woman, widowed, clings to a +shabby, frayed old smoking jacket. More than once she had +cried herself to sleep with the apron clasped tightly in her +arms. + +She got up from the floor now, with the apron in her hands, +and went down the stairs, opened the door that led to the +cellar, walked heavily down those steps and over to the +furnace. She flung open the furnace door. Red and purple +the coal bed gleamed, with little white flame sprites +dancing over it. Fanny stared at it a moment, fascinated. +Her face was set, her eyes brilliant. Suddenly she flung +the tightly-rolled apron into the heart of the gleaming +mass. She shut her eyes then. The fire seemed to hold its +breath for a moment. Then, with a gasp, it sprang upon its +food. The bundle stiffened, writhed, crumpled, sank, lay a +blackened heap, was dissolved. The fire bed glowed red and +purple as before, except for a dark spot in its heart. +Fanny shivered a little. She shut the furnace door and went +up-stairs again. + +"Smells like something burning--cloth, or something," called +Annie, from the kitchen. + +"It's only an old apron that was cluttering up my--my bureau +drawer." + +Thus she successfully demonstrated the first lesson in the +cruel and rigid course of mental training she had mapped out +for herself. + +Leaving Winnebago was not easy. There is something about a +small town that holds you. Your life is so intimately +interwoven with that of your neighbor. Existence is so +safe, so sane, so sure. Fanny knew that when she turned the +corner of Elm Street every third person she met would speak +to her. Life was made up of minute details, too trivial for +the notice of the hurrying city crowds. You knew when Milly +Glaenzer changed the baby buggy for a go-cart. The youngest +Hupp boy--Sammy--who was graduated from High School in June, +is driving A. J. Dawes's automobile now. My goodness, how +time flies! Doeppler's grocery has put in plate-glass +windows, and they're getting out-of-season vegetables every +day now from Milwaukee. As you pass you get the coral glow +of tomatoes, and the tender green of lettuces. And that +vivid green? Fresh young peas! And in February. Well! +They've torn down the old yellow brick National Bank, and in +its place a chaste Greek Temple of a building looks rather +contemptuously down its classic columns upon the farmer's +wagons drawn up along the curb. If Fanny Brandeis' sense of +proportion had not been out of plumb she might have realized +that, to Winnebago, the new First National Bank building was +as significant and epochal as had been the Woolworth +Building to New York. + +The very intimacy of these details, Fanny argued, was +another reason for leaving Winnebago. They were like +detaining fingers that grasped at your skirts, impeding your +progress. + +She had early set about pulling every wire within her reach +that might lead, directly or indirectly, to the furtherance +of her ambition. She got two offers from Milwaukee retail +stores. She did not consider them for a moment. Even a +Chicago department store of the second grade (one of those +on the wrong side of State Street) did not tempt her. She +knew her value. She could afford to wait. There was +money enough on which to live comfortably until the right +chance presented itself. She knew every item of her +equipment, and she conned them to herself greedily: +Definite charm of manner; the thing that is called +magnetism; brains; imagination; driving force; health; +youth; and, most precious of all, that which money could not +buy, nor education provide--experience. Experience, a +priceless weapon, that is beaten into shape only by much +contact with men and women, and that is sharpened by much +rubbing against the rough edges of this world. + +In April her chance came to her; came in that accidental, +haphazard way that momentous happenings have. She met on +Elm Street a traveling man from whom Molly Brandeis had +bought for years. He dropped both sample cases and shook +hands with Fanny, eying her expertly and approvingly, and +yet without insolence. He was a wise, road-weary, skillful +member of his fraternity, grown gray in years of service, +and a little bitter. Though perhaps that was due partly to +traveling man's dyspepsia, brought on by years of small-town +hotel food. + +"So you've sold out." + +"Yes. Over a month ago." + +"H'm. That was a nice little business you had there. Your +ma built it up herself. There was a woman! Gosh! +Discounted her bills, even during the panic." + +Fanny smiled a reflective little smile. "That line is a +complete characterization of my mother. Her life was a +series of panics. But she never lost her head. And she +always discounted." + +He held out his hand. "Well, glad I met you." He picked up +his sample cases. "You leaving Winnebago?" + +"Yes." + +"Going to the city, I suppose. Well you're a smart girl. +And your mother's daughter. I guess you'll get along all +right. What house are you going with?" + +"I don't know. I'm waiting for the right chance. It's all +in starting right. I'm not going to hurry." + +He put down his cases again, and his eyes grew keen and +kindly. He gesticulated with one broad forefinger. +"Listen, m' girl. I'm what they call an old-timer. They +want these high-power, eight-cylinder kids on the road these +days, and it's all we can do to keep up. But I've got +something they haven't got--yet. I never read anybody on +the Psychology of Business, but I know human nature all the +way from Elm Street, Winnebago, to Fifth Avenue, New York." + +"I'm sure you do," said Fanny politely, and took a little +step forward, as though to end the conversation. + +"Now wait a minute. They say the way to learn is to make +mistakes. If that's true, I'm at the head of the class. +I've made 'em all. Now get this. You start out and +specialize. Specialize! Tie to one thing, and make +yourself an expert in it. But first be sure it's the right +thing." + +"But how is one to be sure?" + +"By squinting up your eyes so you can see ten years ahead. +If it looks good to you at that distance--better, in fact, +than it does close by--then it's right. I suppose that's +what they call having imagination. I never had any. That's +why I'm still selling goods on the road. To look at you I'd +say you had too much. Maybe I'm wrong. But I never yet saw +a woman with a mouth like yours who was cut out for +business--unless it was your mother--And her eyes were +different. Let's see, what was I saying?" + +"Specialize." + +"Oh, yes. And that reminds me. Bunch of fellows in the +smoker last night talking about Haynes-Cooper. Your mother +hated 'em like poison, the way every small-town +merchant hates the mail-order houses. But I hear they've +got an infants' wear department that's just going to grass +for lack of a proper head. You're only a kid. And they +have done you dirt all these years, of course. But if you +could sort of horn in there--why, say, there's no limit to +the distance you could go. No limit! With your brains and +experience." + +That had been the beginning. From then on the thing had +moved forward with a certain inevitableness. There was +something about the vastness of the thing that appealed to +Fanny. Here was an organization whose great arms embraced +the world. Haynes-Cooper, giant among mail-order houses, +was said to eat a small-town merchant every morning for +breakfast. + +"There's a Haynes-Cooper catalogue in every farmer's +kitchen," Molly Brandeis used to say. "The Bible's in the +parlor, but they keep the H. C. book in the room where they +live." + +That she was about to affiliate herself with this house +appealed to Fanny Brandeis's sense of comedy. She had heard +her mother presenting her arguments to the stubborn farmer +folk who insisted on ordering their stove, or dinner set, or +plow, or kitchen goods from the fascinating catalogue. "I +honestly think it's just the craving for excitement that +makes them do it," she often said. "They want the thrill +they get when they receive a box from Chicago, and open it, +and take off the wrappings, and dig out the thing they +ordered from a picture, not knowing whether it will be right +or wrong." + +Her arguments usually left the farmer unmoved. He would +drive into town, mail his painfully written letter and order +at the post-office, dispose of his load of apples, or +butter, or cheese, or vegetables, and drive cheerfully back +again, his empty wagon bumping and rattling down the +old corduroy road. Express, breakage, risk, loyalty to his +own region--an these arguments left him cold. + +In May, after much manipulation, correspondence, two +interviews, came a definite offer from the Haynes-Cooper +Company. It was much less than the State Street store had +offered, and there was something tentative about the whole +agreement. Haynes-Cooper proffered little and demanded +much, as is the way of the rich and mighty. But Fanny +remembered the ten-year viewpoint that the weary-wise old +traveling man had spoken about. She took their offer. She +was to go to Chicago almost at once, to begin work June +first. + +Two conversations that took place before she left are +perhaps worth recording. One was with Father Fitzpatrick of +St. Ignatius Catholic Church. The other with Rabbi Emil +Thalmann of Temple Emanu-el. + +An impulse brought her into Father Fitzpatrick's study. It +was a week before her departure. She was tired. There had +been much last signing of papers, nailing of boxes, +strapping of trunks. When things began to come too thick +and fast for her she put on her hat and went for a walk at +the close of the May day. May, in Wisconsin, is a thing all +fragrant, and gold, and blue; and white with cherry +blossoms; and pink with apple blossoms; and tremulous with +budding things. + +Fanny struck out westward through the neat streets of the +little town, and found herself on the bridge over the ravine +in which she had played when a little girl--the ravine that +her childish imagination had peopled with such pageantry of +redskin, and priests, and voyageurs, and cavaliers. She +leaned over the iron railing and looked down. Where grass, +and brook, and wild flower had been there now oozed great +eruptions of ash heaps, tin cans, broken bottles, mounds of +dirt. Winnebago's growing pains had begun. Fanny +turned away with a little sick feeling. She went on across +the bridge past the Catholic church. Just next the church +was the parish house where Father Fitzpatrick lived. It +always looked as if it had been scrubbed, inside and out, +with a scouring brick. Its windows were a reproach and a +challenge to every housekeeper in Winnebago. + +Fanny wanted to talk to somebody about that ravine. She was +full of it. Father Fitzpatrick's study over-looked it. +Besides, she wanted to see him before she left Winnebago. A +picture came to her mind of his handsome, ruddy face, +twinkling with humor as she had last seen it when he had +dropped in at Brandeis' Bazaar for a chat with her mother. +She turned in at the gate and ran up the immaculate, gray- +painted steps, that always gleamed as though still wet with +the paint brush. + +"I shouldn't wonder if that housekeeper of his comes out +with a pail of paint and does 'em every morning before +breakfast," Fanny said to herself as she rang the bell. + +Usually it was that sparse and spectacled person herself who +opened the parish house door, but to-day Fanny's ring was +answered by Father Casey, parish assistant. A sour-faced +and suspicious young man, Father Casey, thick-spectacled, +and pointed of nose. Nothing of the jolly priest about him. +He was new to the town, but he recognized Fanny and surveyed +her darkly. + +"Father Fitzpatrick in? I'm Fanny Brandeis." + +"The reverend father is busy," and the glass door began to +close. + +"Who is it?" boomed a voice from within. "Who're you +turning away, Casey?" + +"A woman, not a parishioner." The door was almost shut now. + + +Footsteps down the hall. "Good! Let her in." The door +opened ever so reluctantly. Father Fitzpatrick loomed up +beside his puny assistant, dwarfing him. He looked sharply +at the figure on the porch. "For the love of--! Casey, +you're a fool! How you ever got beyond being an altar-boy +is more than I can see. Come in, child. Come in! The +man's cut out for a jailor, not a priest." + +Fanny's two hands were caught in one of his big ones, and +she was led down the hall to the study. It was the room of +a scholar and a man, and the one spot in the house that +defied the housekeeper's weapons of broom and duster. A +comfortable and disreputable room, full of books, and +fishing tackle, and chairs with sagging springs, and a sofa +that was dented with friendly hollows. Pipes on the +disorderly desk. A copy of "Mr. Dooley" spread face down on +what appeared to be next Sunday's sermon, rough-drafted. + +"I just wanted to talk to you." Fanny drifted to the +shelves, book-lover that she was, and ran a finger over a +half-dozen titles. "Your assistant was justified, really, +in closing the door on me. But I'm glad you rescued me." +She came over to him and stood looking up at him. He seemed +to loom up endlessly, though hers was a medium height. "I +think I really wanted to talk to you about that ravine, +though I came to say good-by." + +"Sit down, child, sit down!" He creaked into his great +leather-upholstered desk chair, himself. "If you had left +without seeing me I'd have excommunicated Casey. Between +you and me the man's mad. His job ought to be duenna to a +Spanish maiden, not assistant to a priest with a leaning +toward the flesh." + +Now, Father Fitzpatrick talked with a--no, you couldn't call +it a brogue. It was nothing so gross as that. One does not +speak of the flavor of a rare wine; one calls attention +to its bouquet. A subtle, teasing, elusive something that +just tickles the senses instead of punching them in the +ribs. So his speech was permeated with a will-o'-the-wisp, +a tingling richness that evaded definition. You will have +to imagine it. There shall be no vain attempt to set it +down. Besides, you always skip dialect. + +"So you're going away. I'd heard. Where to?" + +"Chicago, Haynes-Cooper. It's a wonderful chance. I don't +see yet how I got it. There's only one other woman on their +business staff--I mean working actually in an executive way +in the buying and selling end of the business. Of course +there are thousands doing clerical work, and that kind of +thing. Have you ever been through the plant? It's--it's +incredible." + +Father Fitzpatrick drummed with his fingers on the arm of +his chair, and looked at Fanny, his handsome eyes half shut. + +"So it's going to be business, h'm? Well, I suppose it's +only natural. Your mother and I used to talk about you +often. I don't know if you and she ever spoke seriously of +this little trick of drawing, or cartooning, or whatever it +is you have. She used to think about it. She said once to +me, that it looked to her more than just a knack. An +authentic gift of caricature, she called it--if it could +only be developed. But of course Theodore took everything. +That worried her." + +"Oh, nonsense! That! I just amuse myself with it." + +"Yes. But what amuses you might amuse other people. +There's all too few amusing things in the world. Your +mother was a smart woman, Fanny. The smartest I ever knew." + +"There's no money in it, even if I were to get on with it. +What could I do with it? Who ever heard of a woman +cartoonist! And I couldn't illustrate. Those pink +cheesecloth pictures the magazines use. I want to earn +money. Lots of it. And now." + +She got up and went to the window, and stood looking down +the steep green slope of the ravine that lay, a natural +amphitheater, just below. + +"Money, h'm?" mused Father Fitzpatrick. "Well, it's popular +and handy. And you look to me like the kind of girl who'd +get it, once you started out for it. I've never had much +myself. They say it has a way of turning to dust and ashes +in the mouth, once you get a good, satisfying bite of it. +But that's only talk, I suppose." + +Fanny laughed a little, still looking down at the ravine. +"I'm fairly accustomed to dust and ashes by this time. It +won't be a new taste to me." She whirled around suddenly. +"And speaking of dust and ashes, isn't this a shame? A +crime? Why doesn't somebody stop it? Why don't you stop +it?" She pointed to the desecrated ravine below. Her eyes +were blazing, her face all animation. + +Father Fitzpatrick came over and stood beside her. His face +was sad. "It's a--" He stopped abruptly, and looked down +into her glowing face. He cleared his throat. "It's a +perfectly natural state of affairs," he said smoothly. +"Winnebago's growing. Especially over there on the west +side, since the new mill went up, and they've extended the +street car line. They need the land to build on. It's +business. And money." + +"Business! It's a crime! It's wanton! Those ravines are +the most beautiful natural spots in Wisconsin. Why, they're +history, and romance, and beauty!" + +"So that's the way you feel about it?" + +"Of course. Don't you? Can't you stop it? Petitions--" + +"Certainly I feel it's an outrage. But I'm just a poor fool +of a priest, and sentimental, with no head for +business. Now you're a business woman, and different." + +"I! You're joking." + +"Say, listen, m' girl. The world's made up of just two +things: ravines and dump heaps. And the dumpers are forever +edging up, and squeedging up, and trying to grab the ravines +and spoil 'em, when nobody's looking. You've made your +choice, and allied yourself with the dump heaps. What right +have you to cry out against the desecration of the ravines?" + +"The right that every one has that loves them." + +"Child, you're going to get so used to seeing your ravines +choked up at Haynes-Cooper that after a while you'll prefer +'em that way." + +Fanny turned on him passionately. "I won't! And if I do, +perhaps it's just as well. There's such a thing as too much +ravine. What do you want me to do? Stay here, and grub +away, and become a crabbed old maid like Irma Klein, +thankful to be taken around by the married crowd, joining +the Aid Society and going to the card parties on Sunday +nights? Or I could marry a traveling man, perhaps, or Lee +Kohn of the Golden Eagle. I'm just like any other ambitious +woman with brains--" + +"No you're not. You're different. And I'll tell you why. +You're a Jew." + +"Yes, I've got that handicap." + +"That isn't a handicap, Fanny. It's an asset. Outwardly +you're like any other girl of your age. Inwardly you've +been molded by occupation, training, religion, history, +temperament, race, into something--" + +"Ethnologists have proved that there is no such thing as a +Jewish race," she interrupted pertly. + +"H'm. Maybe. I don't know what you'd call it, then. You +can't take a people and persecute them for thousands of +years, hounding them from place to place, herding them in +dark and filthy streets, without leaving some sort of +brand on them--a mark that differentiates. Sometimes it +doesn't show outwardly. But it's there, inside. You know, +Fanny, how it's always been said that no artist can became a +genius until he has suffered. You've suffered, you Jews, +for centuries and centuries, until you're all artists--quick +to see drama because you've lived in it, emotional, +oversensitive, cringing, or swaggering, high-strung, +demonstrative, affectionate, generous. + +"Maybe they're right. Perhaps it isn't a race. But what do +you call the thing, then, that made you draw me as you did +that morning when you came to ten o'clock mass and did a +caricature of me in the pulpit. You showed up something +that I've been trying to hide for twenty years, till I'd +fooled everybody, including myself. My church is always +packed. Nobody else there ever saw it. I'll tell you, +Fanny, what I've always said: the Irish would be the +greatest people in the world--if it weren't for the +Jews." + +They laughed together at that, and the tension was relieved. + +"Well, anyway," said Fanny, and patted his great arm, "I'd +rather talk to you than to any man in the world." + +"I hope you won't be able to say that a year from now, dear +girl." + +And so they parted. He took her to the door himself, and +watched her slim figure down the street and across the +ravine bridge, and thought she walked very much like her +mother, shoulders squared, chin high, hips firm. He went +back into the house, after surveying the sunset largely, and +encountered the dour Casey in the hall. + +"I'll type your sermon now, sir--if it's done." + +"It isn't done, Casey. And you know it. Oh, Casey,"--(I +wish your imagination would supply that brogue, because it +was such a deliciously soft and racy thing)--"Oh, +Casey, Casey! you're a better priest than I am--but a poorer +man." + +Fanny was to leave Winnebago the following Saturday. She +had sold the last of the household furniture, and had taken +a room at the Haley House. She felt very old and +experienced--and sad. That, she told herself, was only +natural. Leaving things to which one is accustomed is +always hard. Queerly enough, it was her good-by to Aloysius +that most unnerved her. Aloysius had been taken on at +Gerretson's, and the dignity of his new position sat heavily +upon him. You should have seen his ties. Fanny sought him +out at Gerretson's. + +"It's flure-manager of the basement I am," he said, and +struck an elegant attitude against the case of misses'- +ready-to-wear coats. "And when you come back to Winnebago, +Miss Fanny,--and the saints send it be soon--I'll bet ye'll +see me on th' first flure, keepin' a stern but kindly eye on +the swellest trade in town. Ev'ry last thing I know I learned +off yur poor ma." + +"I hope it will serve you here, Aloysius." + +"Sarve me!" He bent closer. "Meanin' no offense, Miss +Fanny; but say, listen: Oncet ye get a Yiddish business +education into an Irish head, and there's no limit to the +length ye can go. If I ain't a dry-goods king be th' time +I'm thirty I hope a packin' case'll fall on me." + +The sight of Aloysius seemed to recall so vividly all that +was happy and all that was hateful about Brandeis' Bazaar; +all the bravery and pluck, and resourcefulness of the +bright-eyed woman he had admiringly called his boss, that +Fanny found her self-control slipping. She put out her hand +rather blindly to meet his great red paw (a dressy striped +cuff seemed to make it all the redder), murmured a word of +thanks in return for his fervent good wishes, and fled up +the basement stairs. + +On Friday night (she was to leave next day) she went to the +temple. The evening service began at seven. At half past +six Fanny had finished her early supper. She would drop in +at Doctor Thalmann's house and walk with him to temple, if +he had not already gone. + +"Nein, der Herr Rabbi ist noch hier--sure," the maid said +in answer to Fanny's question. The Thalmann's had a German +maid--one Minna--who bullied the invalid Mrs. Thalmann, was +famous for her cookies with walnuts on the top, and who made +life exceedingly difficult for unlinguistic callers. + +Rabbi Thalmann was up in his study. Fanny ran lightly up +the stairs. + +"Who is it, Emil? That Minna! Next Monday her week is up. +She goes." + +"It's I, Mrs. Thalmann. Fanny Brandeis." + +"Na, Fanny! Now what do you think!" + +In the brightly-lighted doorway of his little study appeared +Rabbi Thalmann, on one foot a comfortable old romeo, on the +other a street shoe. He held out both hands. "Only at +supper we talked about you. Isn't that so, Harriet?" He +called into the darkened room. + +"I came to say good-by. And I thought we might walk to +temple together. How's Mrs. Thalmann tonight?" + +The little rabbi shook his head darkly, and waved a dismal +hand. But that was for Fanny alone. What he said was: +"She's really splendid to-day. A little tired, perhaps; but +what is that?" + +"Emil!" from the darkened bedroom. "How can you say that? +But how! What I have suffered to-day, only! Torture! And +because I say nothing I'm not sick." + +"Go in," said Rabbi Thalmann. + +So Fanny went in to the woman lying, yellow-faced, on +the pillows of the dim old-fashioned bedroom with its walnut +furniture, and its red plush mantel drape. Mrs. Thalmann +held out a hand. Fanny took it in hers, and perched herself +on the edge of the bed. She patted the dry, devitalized +hand, and pressed it in her own strong, electric grip. Mrs. +Thalmann raised her head from the pillow. + +"Tell me, did she have her white apron on?" + +"White apron?" + +"Minna, the girl." + +"Oh!" Fanny's mind jerked back to the gingham-covered +figure that had opened the door for her. "Yes," she lied, +"a white one--with crochet around the bottom. Quite grand." + +Mrs. Thalmann sank back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh. +"A wonder." She shook her head. "What that girl wastes +alone, when I am helpless here." + +Rabbi Thalmann came into the room, both feet booted now, and +placed his slippers neatly, toes out, under the bed. "Ach, +Harriet, the girl is all right. You imagine. Come, Fanny." +He took a great, fat watch out of his pocket. "It is time +to go." + +Mrs. Thalmann laid a detaining hand on Fanny's arm. "You +will come often back here to Winnebago?" + +"I'm afraid not. Once a year, perhaps, to visit my graves." + +The sick eyes regarded the fresh young face. "Your mother, +Fanny, we didn't understand her so well, here in Winnebago, +among us Jewish ladies. She was different." + +Fanny's face hardened. She stood up. "Yes, she was +different." + +"She comes often into my mind now, when I am here alone, +with only the four walls. We were aber dumm, we women-- +but how dumm! She was too smart for us, your mother. Too +smart. Und eine sehr brave frau." + +And suddenly Fanny, she who had resolved to set her face +against all emotion, and all sentiment, found herself with +her glowing cheek pressed against the withered one, and it +was the weak old hand that patted her now. So she lay for a +moment, silent. Then she got up, straightened her hat, +smiled. + +"Auf Wiedersehen," she said in her best German. "Und +gute Besserung." + +But the rabbi's wife shook her head. "Good-by." + +From the hall below Doctor Thalmann called to her. "Come, +child, come!" Then, "Ach, the light in my study! I forgot +to turn it out, Fanny, be so good, yes?" + +Fanny entered the bright little room, reached up to turn off +the light, and paused a moment to glance about her. It was +an ugly, comfortable, old-fashioned room that had never +progressed beyond the what-not period. Fanny's eye was +caught by certain framed pictures on the walls. They were +photographs of Rabbi Thalmann's confirmation classes. +Spindling-legged little boys in the splendor of patent- +leather buttoned shoes, stiff white shirts, black broadcloth +suits with satin lapels; self-conscious and awkward little +girls--these in the minority--in white dresses and stiff +white hair bows. In the center of each group sat the little +rabbi, very proud and alert. Fanny was not among these. +She had never formally taken the vows of her creed. As she +turned down the light now, and found her way down the +stairs, she told herself that she was glad this was so. + +It was a matter of only four blocks to the temple. But they +were late, and so they hurried, and there was little +conversation. Fanny's arm was tucked comfortably in his. +It felt, somehow, startlingly thin, that arm. And as they +hurried along there was a jerky feebleness about his gait. +It was with difficulty that Fanny restrained herself from +supporting him when they came to a rough bit of walk or +a sudden step. Something fine in her prompted her not to. +But the alert mind in that old frame sensed what was going +on in her thoughts. + +"He's getting feeble, the old rabbi, h'm?" + +"Not a bit of it. I've got all I can do to keep up with +you. You set such a pace." + +"I know. I know. They are not all so kind, Fanny. They +are too prosperous, this congregation of mine. And some +day, `Off with his head!' And in my place there will step a +young man, with eye-glasses instead of spectacles. They are +tired of hearing about the prophets. Texts from the Bible +have gone out of fashion. You think I do not see them +giggling, h'm? The young people. And the whispering in the +choir loft. And the buzz when I get up from my chair after +the second hymn. `Is he going to have a sermon? Is he? +Sure enough!' Na, he will make them sit up, my successor. +Sex sermons! Political lectures. That's it. Lectures." +They were turning in at the temple now. "The race is to the +young, Fanny. To the young. And I am old." + +She squeezed the frail old arm in hers. "My dear!" she +said. "My dear!" A second breaking of her new resolutions. + +One by one, two by two, they straggled in for the Friday +evening service, these placid, prosperous people, not +unkind, but careless, perhaps, in their prosperity. + +"He's worth any ten of them," Fanny said hotly to herself, +as she sat in her pew that, after to-morrow, would no longer +be hers. "The dear old thing. `Sex sermons.' And the race +is to the young. How right he is. Well, no one can say I'm +not getting an early start." + +The choir had begun the first hymn when there came down the +aisle a stranger. There was a little stir among the +congregation. Visitors were rare. He was dark and very +slim--with the slimness of steel wire. He passed down the +aisle rather uncertainly. A traveling man, Fanny thought, +dropped in, as sometimes they did, to say Kaddish for a +departed father or mother. Then she changed her mind. Her +quick eye noted his walk; a peculiar walk, with a spring in +it. Only one unfamiliar with cement pavements could walk +like that. The Indians must have had that same light, +muscular step. He chose an empty pew halfway down the aisle +and stumbled into it rather awkwardly. Fanny thought he was +unnecessarily ugly, even for a man. Then he looked up, and +nodded and smiled at Lee Kohn, across the aisle. His teeth +were very white, and the smile was singularly sweet. Fanny +changed her mind again. Not so bad-looking, after all. +Different, anyway. And then--why, of course! Little +Clarence Heyl, come back from the West. Clarence Heyl, the +cowardy-cat. + +Her mind went back to that day of the street fight. She +smiled. At that moment Clarence Heyl, who had been screwing +about most shockingly, as though searching for some one, +turned and met her smile, intended for no one, with a +startlingly radiant one of his own, intended most plainly +for her. He half started forward in his pew, and then +remembered, and sat back again, but with an effect of +impermanence that was ludicrous. It had been years since he +had left Winnebago. At the time of his mother's death they +had tried to reach him, and had been unable to get in touch +with him for weeks. He had been off on some mountain +expedition, hundreds of miles from railroad or telegraph. +Fanny remembered having read about him in the Winnebago +Courier. He seemed to be climbing mountains a great +deal--rather difficult mountains, evidently, from the fuss +they made over it. A queer enough occupation for a cowardy- +cat. There had been a book, too. About the Rockies. +She had not read it. She rather disliked these nature +books, as do most nature lovers. She told herself that when +she came upon a flaming golden maple in October she was +content to know it was a maple, and to warm her soul at its +blaze. + +There had been something in the Chicago Herald, though-- +oh, yes; it had spoken of him as the brilliant young +naturalist, Clarence Heyl. He was to have gone on an +expedition with Roosevelt. A sprained ankle, or some such +thing, had prevented. Fanny smiled again, to herself. His +mother, the fussy person who had been responsible for his +boyhood reefers and too-shiny shoes, and his cowardice too, +no doubt, had dreamed of seeing her Clarence a rabbi. + +From that point Fanny's thoughts wandered to the brave old +man in the pulpit. She had heard almost nothing of the +service. She looked at him now--at him, and then at his +congregation, inattentive and palpably bored. As always +with her, the thing stamped itself on her mind as a picture. +She was forever seeing a situation in terms of its human +value. How small he looked, how frail, against the +background of the massive Ark with its red velvet curtain. +And how bravely he glared over his blue glasses at the two +Aarons girls who were whispering and giggling together, eyes +on the newcomer. + +So this was what life did to you, was it? Squeezed you dry, +and then cast you aside in your old age, a pulp, a bit of +discard. Well, they'd never catch her that way. + +Unchurchly thoughts, these. The little place was very +peaceful and quiet, lulling one like a narcotic. The +rabbi's voice had in it that soothing monotony bred of years +in the pulpit. Fanny found her thoughts straying back to +the busy, bright little store on Elm Street, then forward, +to the Haynes-Cooper plant and the fight that was +before her. There settled about her mouth a certain grim +line that sat strangely on so young a face. The service +marched on. There came the organ prelude that announced the +mourners' prayer. Then Rabbi Thalmann began to intone the +Kaddish. Fanny rose, prayer book in hand. At that Clarence +Heyl rose too, hurriedly, as one unaccustomed to the +service, and stood with unbowed head, looking at the rabbi +interestedly, thoughtfully, reverently. The two stood +alone. Death had been kind to Congregation Emanu-el this +year. The prayer ended. Fanny winked the tears from her +eyes, almost wrathfully. She sat down, and there swept over +her a feeling of finality. It was like the closing of Book +One in a volume made up of three parts. + +She said to herself: "Winnebago is ended, and my life here. +How interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is +like the first movement in one of the concertos Theodore was +forever playing. Now for the second movement! It's got to +be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!" + +For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid +conclusion at which to arrive. How could she think it +possible to shed her past life, like a garment? Those +impressionable years, between fourteen and twenty-four, +could never be cast off. She might don a new cloak to cover +the old dress beneath, but the old would always be there, +its folds peeping out here and there, its outlines plainly +to be seen. She might eat of things rare, and drink of +things costly, but the sturdy, stocky little girl in the +made-over silk dress, who had resisted the Devil in +Weinberg's pantry on that long-ago Day of Atonement, would +always be there at the feast. Myself, I confess I am tired +of these stories of young women who go to the big city, +there to do battle with failure, to grapple with temptation, +sin and discouragement. So it may as well be admitted +that Fanny Brandeis' story was not that of a painful hand- +over-hand climb. She was made for success. What she +attempted, she accomplished. That which she strove for, she +won. She was too sure, too vital, too electric, for +failure. No, Fanny Brandeis' struggle went on inside. And +in trying to stifle it she came near making the blackest +failure that a woman can make. In grubbing for the pot of +gold she almost missed the rainbow. + +Rabbi Thalmann raised his arms for the benediction. Fanny +looked straight up at him as though stamping a picture on +her mind. His eyes were resting gently on her--or perhaps +she just fancied that he spoke to her alone as he began the +words of the ancient closing prayer: + +"May the blessings of the Lord Our God rest upon you. God +bless thee and keep thee. May He cause His countenance to +shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. May God lift up +His countenance unto thee . . ." + +At the last word she hurried up the aisle, and down the +stairs, into the soft beauty of the May night. She felt she +could stand no good-bys. In her hotel room she busied +herself with the half-packed trunks and bags. So it was she +altogether failed to see the dark young man who hurried +after her eagerly, and who was stopped by a dozen welcoming +hands there in the temple vestibule. He swore a deep inward +"Damn!" as he saw her straight, slim figure disappear down +the steps and around the corner, even while he found himself +saying, politely, "Why, thanks! It's good to BE back." +And, "Yes, things have changed. All but the temple, and +Rabbi Thalmann." + +Fanny left Winnebago at eight next morning. + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +"Mr. Fenger will see you now." Mr. Fenger, general manager, +had been a long time about it. This heel-cooling experience +was new to Fanny Brandeis. It had always been her privilege +to keep others waiting. Still, she felt no resentment as +she sat in Michael Fenger's outer office. For as she sat +there, waiting, she was getting a distinct impression of +this unseen man whose voice she could just hear as he talked +over the telephone in his inner office. It was +characteristic of Michael Fenger that his personality +reached out and touched you before you came into actual +contact with the man. Fanny had heard of him long before +she came to Haynes-Cooper. He was the genie of that +glittering lamp. All through the gigantic plant (she had +already met department heads, buyers, merchandise managers) +one heard his name, and felt the impress of his mind: + +"You'll have to see Mr. Fenger about that." + +"Yes,"--pointing to a new conveyor, perhaps,--"that has just +been installed. It's a great help to us. Doubles our +shipping-room efficiency. We used to use baskets, pulled by +a rope. It's Mr. Fenger's idea." + +Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. Fenger had made it a +slogan in the Haynes-Cooper plant long before the German +nation forced it into our everyday vocabulary. Michael +Fenger was System. He could take a muddle of orders, a +jungle of unfilled contracts, a horde of incompetent +workers, and of them make a smooth-running and effective +unit. Untangling snarls was his pastime. Esprit de corps +was his shibboleth. Order and management his +idols. And his war-cry was "Results!" + +It was eleven o'clock when Fanny came into his outer office. +The very atmosphere was vibrant with his personality. There +hung about the place an air of repressed expectancy. The +room was electrically charged with the high-voltage of the +man in the inner office. His secretary was a spare, middle- +aged, anxious-looking woman in snuff-brown and spectacles; +his stenographer a blond young man, also spectacled and +anxious; his office boy a stern youth in knickers, who bore +no relation to the slangy, gum-chewing, redheaded office boy +of the comic sections. + +The low-pitched, high-powered voice went on inside, talking +over the long-distance telephone. Fenger was the kind of +man who is always talking to New York when he is in Chicago, +and to Chicago when he is in New York. Trains with the word +Limited after them were invented for him and his type. A +buzzer sounded. It galvanized the office boy into instant +action. It brought the anxious-looking stenographer to the +doorway, notebook in hand, ready. It sent the lean +secretary out, and up to Fanny. + +"Temper," said Fanny, to herself, "or horribly nervous and +high-keyed. They jump like a set of puppets on a string." + +It was then that the lean secretary had said, "Mr. Fenger +will see you now." + +Fanny was aware of a pleasant little tingle of excitement. +She entered the inner office. + +It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that he employed no +cheap tricks. He was not writing as Fanny Brandeis came in. +He was not telephoning. He was not doing anything but +standing at his desk, waiting for Fanny Brandeis. As she +came in he looked at her, through her, and she seemed to +feel her mental processes laid open to him as a skilled +surgeon cuts through skin and flesh and fat, to lay +bare the muscles and nerves and vital organs beneath. He +put out his hand. Fanny extended hers. They met in a +silent grip. It was like a meeting between two men. Even +as he indexed her, Fanny's alert mind was busy docketing, +numbering, cataloguing him. They had in common a certain +force, a driving power. Fanny seated herself opposite him, +in obedience to a gesture. He crossed his legs comfortably +and sat back in his big desk chair. A great-bodied man, +with powerful square shoulders, a long head, a rugged crest +of a nose--the kind you see on the type of Englishman who +has the imagination and initiative to go to Canada, or +Australia, or America. He wore spectacles, not the +fashionable horn-rimmed sort, but the kind with gold ear +pieces. They were becoming, and gave a certain humanness to +a face that otherwise would have been too rugged, too +strong. A man of forty-five, perhaps. + +He spoke first. "You're younger than I thought." + +"So are you." + +"Old inside." + +"So am I." + +He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, folded his arms on +the desk. + +"You've been through the plant, Miss Brandeis?" + +"Yes. Twice. Once with a regular tourist party. And once +with the special guide." +"Good. Go through the plant whenever you can. Don't stick +to your own department. It narrows one." He paused a +moment. "Did you think that this opportunity to come to +Haynes-Cooper, as assistant to the infants' wear department +buyer was just a piece of luck, augmented by a little +pulling on your part?" + +"Yes." + +"It wasn't. You were carefully picked by me, and I don't +expect to find I've made a mistake. I suppose you know +very little about buying and selling infants' wear?" + +"Less than about almost any other article in the world--at +least, in the department store, or mail order world." + +"I thought so. And it doesn't matter. I pretty well know +your history, which means that I know your training. You're +young; you're ambitious, you're experienced; you're +imaginative. There's no length you can't go, with these. +It just depends on how farsighted your mental vision is. +Now listen, Miss Brandeis: I'm not going to talk to you in +millions. The guides do enough of that. But you know we do +buy and sell in terms of millions, don't you? Well, our +infants' wear department isn't helping to roll up the +millions; and it ought to, because there are millions of +babies born every year, and the golden-spoon kind are in the +minority. I've decided that that department needs a woman, +your kind of woman. Now, as a rule, I never employ a woman +when I can use a man. There's only one other woman filling +a really important position in the merchandise end of this +business. That's Ella Monahan, head of the glove +department, and she's a genius. She is a woman who is +limited in every other respect--just average; but she knows +glove materials in a way that's uncanny. I'd rather have a +man in her place; but I don't happen to know any men glove- +geniuses. Tell me, what do you think of that etching?" + +Fanny tried--and successfully--not to show the jolt her mind +had received as she turned to look at the picture to which +his finger pointed. She got up and strolled over to it, and +she was glad her suit fitted and hung as it did in the back. + +"I don't like it particularly. I like it less than any +other etching you have here." The walls were hung with +them. "Of course you understand I know nothing about +them. But it's too flowery, isn't it, to be good? Too many +lines. Like a writer who spoils his effect by using too +many words." + +Fenger came over and stood beside her, staring at the black +and white and gray thing in its frame. "I felt that way, +too." He stared down at her, then. "Jew?" he asked. + +A breathless instant. "No," said Fanny Brandeis. + +Michael Fenger smiled for the first time. Fanny Brandeis +would have given everything she had, everything she hoped to +be, to be able to take back that monosyllable. She was +gripped with horror at what she had done. She had spoken +almost mechanically. And yet that monosyllable must have +been the fruit of all these months of inward struggle and +thought. "Now I begin to understand you," Fenger went on. +"You've decided to lop off all the excrescences, eh? Well, +I can't say that I blame you. A woman in business is +handicapped enough by the very fact of her sex." He stared +at her again. "Too bad you're so pretty." + +"I'm not!" said Fanny hotly, like a school-girl. + +"That's a thing that can't be argued, child. Beauty's +subjective, you know." + +"I don't see what difference it makes, anyway." + +"Oh, yes, you do." He stopped. "Or perhaps you don't, +after all. I forget how young you are. Well, now, Miss +Brandeis, you and your woman's mind, and your masculine +business experience and sense are to be turned loose on our +infants' wear department. The buyer, Mr. Slosson, is going +to resent you. Naturally. I don't know whether we'll get +results from you in a month, or six months or a year. Or +ever. But something tells me we're going to get them. +You've lived in a small town most of your life. And we want +that small-town viewpoint. D'you think you've got it?" + +Fanny was on her own ground here. "If knowing the +Wisconsin small-town woman, and the Wisconsin farmer woman-- +and man too, for that matter--means knowing the Oregon, and +Wyoming, and Pennsylvania, and Iowa people of the same +class, then I've got it." + +"Good!" Michael Fenger stood up. "I'm not going to load you +down with instructions, or advice. I think I'll let you +grope your own way around, and bump your head a few times. +Then you'll learn where the low places are. And, Miss +Brandeis, remember that suggestions are welcome in this +plant. We take suggestions all the way from the elevator +starter to the president." His tone was kindly, but not +hopeful. + +Fanny was standing too, her mental eye on the door. But now +she turned to face him squarely. + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Absolutely." + +"Well, then, I've one to make. Your stock boys and stock +girls walk miles and miles every day, on every floor of this +fifteen-story building. I watched them yesterday, filling +up the bins, carrying orders, covering those enormous +distances from one bin to another, up one aisle and down the +next, to the office, back again. Your floors are concrete, +or cement, or some such mixture, aren't they? I just +happened to think of the boy who used to deliver our paper +on Norris Street, in Winnebago, Wisconsin. He covered his +route on roller skates. It saved him an hour. Why don't +you put roller skates on your stock boys and girls?" + +Fenger stared at her. You could almost hear that mind of +his working, like a thing on ball bearings. "Roller +skates." It wasn't an exclamation. It was a decision. He +pressed a buzzer--the snuff-brown secretary buzzer. "Tell +Clancy I want him. Now." He had not glanced up, or taken +his eyes from Fanny. She was aware of feeling a little +uncomfortable, but elated, too. She moved toward the door. +Fenger stood at his desk. "Wait a minute." Fanny +waited. Still Fenger did not speak. Finally, "I suppose +you know you've earned six months' salary in the last five +minutes." + +Fanny eyed him coolly. "Considering the number of your +stock force, the time, energy, and labor saved, including +wear and tear on department heads and their assistants, I +should say that was a conservative statement." And she +nodded pleasantly, and left him. + +Two days later every stock clerk in the vast plant was +equipped with light-weight roller skates. They made a sort +of carnival of it at first. There were some spills, too, +going around corners, and a little too much hilarity. That +wore off in a week. In two weeks their roller skates were +part of them; just shop labor-savers. The report presented +to Fenger was this: Time and energy saved, fifty-five per +cent; stock staff decreased by one third. The +picturesqueness of it, the almost ludicrous simplicity of +the idea appealed to the entire plant. It tickled the humor +sense in every one of the ten thousand employees in that +vast organization. In the first week of her association +with Haynes-Cooper Fanny Brandeis was actually more widely +known than men who had worked there for years. The +president, Nathan Haynes himself, sent for her, chuckling. + +Nathan Haynes--but then, why stop for him? Nathan Haynes +had been swallowed, long ago, by this monster plant that he +himself had innocently created. You must have visited it, +this Gargantuan thing that sprawls its length in the very +center of Chicago, the giant son of a surprised father. It +is one of the city's show places, like the stockyards, the +Art Institute, and Field's. Fifteen years before, a +building had been erected to accommodate a prosperous mail +order business. It had been built large and roomy, with +plenty of seams, planned amply, it was thought, to allow the +boy to grow. It would do for twenty-five years, +surely. In ten years Haynes-Cooper was bursting its seams. +In twelve it was shamelessly naked, its arms and legs +sticking out of its inadequate garments. New red brick +buildings--another--another. Five stories added to this +one, six stories to that, a new fifteen story merchandise +building. + +The firm began to talk in tens of millions. Its stock +became gilt-edged, unattainable. Lucky ones who had bought +of it diffidently, discreetly, with modest visions of four +and a half per cent in their unimaginative minds, saw their +dividends doubling, trebling, quadrupling, finally soaring +gymnastically beyond all reason. Listen to the old guide +who (at fifteen a week) takes groups of awed visitors +through the great plant. How he juggles figures; how +grandly they roll off his tongue. How glib he is with +Nathan Haynes's millions. + +"This, ladies and gentlemen, is our mail department. From +two thousand to twenty-five hundred pounds of mail, +comprising over one hundred thousand letters, are received +here every day. Yes, madam, I said every day. About half +of these letters are orders. Last year the banking +department counted one hundred and thirty millions of +dollars. One hundred and thirty millions!" He stands there +in his ill-fitting coat, and his star, and rubs one bony +hand over the other. + +"Dear me!" says a lady tourist from Idaho, rather +inadequately. And yet, not so inadequately. What +exclamation is there, please, that fits a sum like one +hundred and thirty millions of anything? + +Fanny Brandeis, fresh from Winnebago, Wisconsin, slipped +into the great scheme of things at the Haynes-Cooper plant +like part of a perfectly planned blue print. It was as +though she had been thought out and shaped for this +particular corner. And the reason for it was, primarily, +Winnebago, Wisconsin. For Haynes-Cooper grew and +thrived on just such towns, with their surrounding farms and +villages. Haynes-Cooper had their fingers on the pulse and +heart of the country as did no other industry. They were +close, close. When rugs began to take the place of ingrain +carpets it was Haynes-Cooper who first sensed the change. +Oh, they had had them in New York years before, certainly. +But after all, it isn't New York's artistic progress that +shows the development of this nation. It is the thing they +are thinking, and doing, and learning in Backwash, Nebraska, +that marks time for these United States. There may be a +certain significance in the announcement that New York has +dropped the Russian craze and has gone in for that quaint +Chinese stuff. My dear, it makes the loveliest hangings and +decorations. When Fifth Avenue takes down its filet lace +and eyelet embroidered curtains, and substitutes severe +shantung and chaste net, there is little in the act to +revolutionize industry, or stir the art-world. But when the +Haynes-Cooper company, by referring to its inventory +ledgers, learns that it is selling more Alma Gluck than +Harry Lauder records; when its statistics show that +Tchaikowsky is going better than Irving Berlin, something +epochal is happening in the musical progress of a nation. +And when the orders from Noose Gulch, Nevada, are for those +plain dimity curtains instead of the cheap and gaudy +Nottingham atrocities, there is conveyed to the mind a fact +of immense, of overwhelming significance. The country has +taken a step toward civilization and good taste. + +So. You have a skeleton sketch of Haynes-Cooper, whose +feelers reach the remotest dugout in the Yukon, the most +isolated cabin in the Rockies, the loneliest ranch-house in +Wyoming; the Montana mining shack, the bleak Maine farm, the +plantation in Virginia. + +And the man who had so innocently put life into this +monster? A plumpish, kindly-faced man; a bewildered, +gentle, unimaginative and somewhat frightened man, fresh- +cheeked, eye-glassed. In his suite of offices in the new +Administration Building--built two years ago--marble and oak +throughout--twelve stories, and we're adding three already; +offices all two-toned rugs, and leather upholstery, with +dim, rich, brown-toned Dutch masterpieces on the walls, he +sat helpless and defenseless while the torrent of millions +rushed, and swirled, and foamed about him. I think he had +fancied, fifteen years ago, that he would some day be a +fairly prosperous man; not rich, as riches are counted +nowadays, but with a comfortable number of tens of thousands +tucked away. Two or three hundred thousand; perhaps five +hundred thousand!--perhaps a--but, nonsense! Nonsense! + +And then the thing had started. It was as when a man idly +throws a pebble into a chasm, or shoves a bit of ice with +the toe of his boot, and starts a snow-slide that grows as +it goes. He had started this avalanche of money, and now it +rushed on of its own momentum, plunging, rolling, leaping, +crashing, and as it swept on it gathered rocks, trees, +stones, houses, everything that lay in its way. It was +beyond the power of human hand to stop this tumbling, +roaring slide. In the midst of it sat Nathan Haynes, +deafened, stunned, terrified at the immensity of what he had +done. + +He began giving away huge sums, incredible sums. It piled +up faster than he could give it away. And so he sat there +in the office hung with the dim old masterpieces, and tried +to keep simple, tried to keep sane, with that austerity that +only mad wealth can afford--or bitter poverty. He caused +the land about the plant to be laid out in sunken gardens +and baseball fields and tennis courts, so that one +approached this monster of commerce through enchanted +grounds, glowing with tulips and heady hyacinths in +spring, with roses in June, blazing with salvia and golden- +glow and asters in autumn. There was something apologetic +about these grounds. + +This, then, was the environment that Fanny Brandeis had +chosen. On the face of things you would have said she had +chosen well. The inspiration of the roller skates had not +been merely a lucky flash. That idea had been part of the +consistent whole. Her mind was her mother's mind raised to +the nth power, and enhanced by the genius she was trying +to crush. Refusing to die, it found expression in a hundred +brilliant plans, of which the roller skate idea was only +one. + +Fanny had reached Chicago on Sunday. She had entered the +city as a queen enters her domain, authoritatively, with no +fear upon her, no trepidation, no doubts. She had gone at +once to the Mendota Hotel, on Michigan Avenue, up-town, away +from the roar of the loop. It was a residential hotel, very +quiet, decidedly luxurious. She had no idea of making it +her home. But she would stay there until she could find an +apartment that was small, bright, near the lake, and yet +within fairly reasonable transportation facilities for her +work. Her room was on the ninth floor, not on the Michigan +Avenue side, but east, overlooking the lake. She spent +hours at the windows, fascinated by the stone and steel city +that lay just below with the incredible blue of the sail- +dotted lake beyond, and at night, with the lights spangling +the velvety blackness, the flaring blaze of Thirty-first +Street's chop-suey restaurants and moving picture houses at +the right; and far, far away, the red and white eye of the +lighthouse winking, blinking, winking, blinking, the rumble +and clank of a flat-wheeled Indiana avenue car, the sound of +high laughter and a snatch of song that came faintly up to +her from the speeding car of some midnight joy-riders! + +But all this had to do with her other side. It had no +bearing on Haynes-Cooper, and business. Business! That was +it. She had trained herself for it, like an athlete. Eight +hours of sleep. A cold plunge on arising. Sane food. Long +walks. There was something terrible about her earnestness. + +On Monday she presented herself at the Haynes-Cooper plant. +Monday and Tuesday were spent in going over the great works. +It was an exhausting process, but fascinating beyond belief. +It was on Wednesday that she had been summoned for the talk +with Michael Fenger. Thursday morning she was at her desk +at eight-thirty. It was an obscure desk, in a dingy corner +of the infants' wear department, the black sheep section of +the great plant. Her very presence in that corner seemed to +change it magically. You must remember how young she was, +how healthy, how vigorous, with the freshness of the small +town still upon her. It was health and youth, and vigor +that gave that gloss to her hair (conscientious brushing +too, perhaps), that color to her cheeks and lips, that +brightness to her eyes. But crafty art and her dramatic +instinct were responsible for the tailored severity of her +costume, for the whiteness of her blouse, the trim common- +sense expensiveness of her shoes and hat and gloves. + +Slosson, buyer and head of the department, came in at nine. +Fanny rose to greet him. She felt a little sorry for +Slosson. In her mind she already knew him for a doomed man. + +"Well, well!"--he was the kind of person who would say, +well, well!--"You're bright and early, Miss--ah--" + +"Brandeis." + +"Yes, certainly; Miss Brandeis. Well, nothing like making a +good start." + +"I wanted to go through the department by myself," said +Fanny. "The shelves and bins, and the numbering system. I +see that your new maternity dresses have just come in." + +"Oh, yes. How do you like them?" + +"I think they're unnecessarily hideous, Mr. Slosson." + +"My dear young lady, a plain garment is what they want. +Unnoticeable." + +"Unnoticeable, yes; but becoming. At such a time a woman is +at her worst. If she can get it, she at least wants a dress +that doesn't add to her unattractiveness." + +"Let me see--you are not--ah--married, I believe, Miss +Brandeis?" + +"No." + +"I am. Three children. All girls." He passed a nervous +hand over his head, rumpling his hair a little. "An +expensive proposition, let me tell you, three girls. But +there's very little I don't know about babies, as you may +imagine." + +But there settled over Fanny Brandeis' face the mask of +hardness that was so often to transform it. + +The morning mail was in--the day's biggest grist, deluge of +it, a flood. Buyer and assistant buyer never saw the actual +letters, or attended to their enclosed orders. It was only +the unusual letter, the complaint or protest that reached +their desk. Hundreds of hands downstairs sorted, stamped, +indexed, filed, after the letter-opening machines had slit +the envelopes. Those letter-openers! Fanny had hung over +them, enthralled. The unopened envelopes were fed into +them. Flip! Zip! Flip! Out! Opened! Faster than eye +could follow. It was uncanny. It was, somehow, humorous, +like the clever antics of a trained dog. You could not +believe that this little machine actually performed what +your eyes beheld. Two years later they installed the sand- +paper letter-opener, marvel of simplicity. It made the +old machine seem cumbersome and slow. Guided by Izzy, the +expert, its rough tongue was capable of licking open six +hundred and fifty letters a minute. + +Ten minutes after the mail came in the orders were being +filled; bins, shelves, warehouses, were emptying their +contents. Up and down the aisles went the stock clerks; +into the conveyors went the bundles, down the great spiral +bundle chute, into the shipping room, out by mail, by +express, by freight. This leghorn hat for a Nebraska +country belle; a tombstone for a rancher's wife; a plow, +brave in its red paint; coffee, tea, tinned fruit, bound for +Alaska; lace, muslin, sheeting, toweling, all intended for +the coarse trousseau of a Georgia bride. + +It was not remarkable that Fanny Brandeis fitted into this +scheme of things. For years she had ministered to the wants +of just this type of person. The letters she saw at Haynes- +Cooper's read exactly as customers had worded their wants at +Brandeis' Bazaar. The magnitude of the thing thrilled her, +the endless possibilities of her own position. + +During the first two months of her work there she was as +unaggressive as possible. She opened the very pores of her +mind and absorbed every detail of her department. But she +said little, followed Slosson's instructions in her position +as assistant buyer, and suggested no changes. Slosson's +wrinkle of anxiety smoothed itself away, and his manner +became patronizingly authoritative again. Fanny seemed to +have become part of the routine of the place. Fenger did +not send for her. June and July were insufferably hot. +Fanny seemed to thrive, to expand like a flower in the heat, +when others wilted and shriveled. The spring catalogue was +to be made up in October, as always, six months in advance. +The first week in August Fanny asked for an interview with +Fenger. Slosson was to be there. At ten o'clock she +entered Fenger's inner office. He was telephoning-- +something about dinner at the Union League Club. His voice +was suave, his tone well modulated, his accent correct, his +English faultless. And yet Fanny Brandeis, studying the +etchings on his wall, her back turned to him, smiled to +herself. The voice, the tone, the accent, the English, did +not ring true They were acquired graces, exquisite +imitations of the real thing. Fanny Brandeis knew. She was +playing the same game herself. She understood this man now, +after two months in the Haynes-Cooper plant. These +marvelous examples of the etcher's art, for example. They +were the struggle for expression of a man whose youth had +been bare of such things. His love for them was much the +same as that which impels the new made millionaire to buy +rare pictures, rich hangings, tapestries, rugs, not so much +in the desire to impress the world with his wealth as to +satisfy the craving for beauty, the longing to possess that +which is exquisite, and fine, and almost unobtainable. You +have seen how a woman, long denied luxuries, feeds her +starved senses on soft silken things, on laces and gleaming +jewels, for pure sensuous delight in their feel and look. + +Thus Fanny mused as she eyed these treasures--grim, deft, +repressed things, done with that economy of line which is +the test of the etcher's art. + +Fenger hung up the receiver. + +"So it's taken you two months, Miss Brandeis. I was awfully +afraid, from the start you made, that you'd be back here in +a week, bursting with ideas." + +Fanny smiled, appreciatively. He had come very near the +truth. "I had to use all my self-control, that first week. +After that it wasn't so hard." + +Fenger's eyes narrowed upon her. "Pretty sure of yourself, +aren't you?" + +"Yes," said Fanny. She came over to his desk. + +"I wish we needn't have Mr. Slosson here this morning. +After all, he's been here for years, and I'm practically an +upstart. He's so much older, too. I--I hate to hurt him. +I wish you'd--" + +But Fenger shook his head. "Slosson's due now. And he has +got to take his medicine. This is business, Miss Brandeis. +You ought to know what that means. For that matter, it may +be that you haven't hit upon an idea. In that case, Slosson +would have the laugh, wouldn't he?" + +Slosson entered at that moment. And there was a chip on his +shoulder. It was evident in the way he bristled, in the way +he seated himself. His fingers drummed his knees. He was +like a testy, hum-ha stage father dealing with a willful +child. + +Fenger took out his watch. + +"Now, Miss Brandeis." + +Fanny took a chair facing the two men, and crossed her trim +blue serge knees, and folded her hands in her lap. A deep +pink glowed in her cheeks. Her eyes were very bright. All +the Molly Brandeis in her was at the surface, sparkling +there. And she looked almost insultingly youthful. + +"You--you want me to talk?" + +"We want you to talk. We have time for just three-quarters +of an hour of uninterrupted conversation. If you've got +anything to say you ought to say it in that time. Now, Miss +Brandeis, what's the trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' +wear department?" + +And Fanny Brandeis took a long breath + +"The trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department +is that it doesn't understand women. There are millions of +babies born every year. An incredible number of them are +mail order babies. I mean by that they are born to tired, +clumsy-fingered immigrant women, to women in mills and +factories, to women on farms, to women in remote +villages. They're the type who use the mail order method. +I've learned this one thing about that sort of woman: she +may not want that baby, but either before or after it's born +she'll starve, and save, and go without proper clothing, and +even beg, and steal to give it clothes--clothes with lace on +them, with ribbon on them, sheer white things. I don't know +why that's true, but it is. Well, we're not reaching them. +Our goods are unattractive. They're packed and shipped +unattractively. Why, all this department needs is a little +psychology--and some lace that doesn't look as if it had +been chopped out with an ax. It's the little, silly, +intimate things that will reach these women. No, not silly, +either. Quite understandable. She wants fine things for +her baby, just as the silver-spoon mother does. The thing +we'll have to do is to give her silver-spoon models at +pewter prices." + +"It can't be done," said Slosson. + +"Now, wait a minute, Slosson," Fenger put in, smoothly. +"Miss Brandeis has given us a very fair general statement. +We'll have some facts. Are you prepared to give us an +actual working plan?" + +"Yes. At least, it sounds practical to me. And if it does +to you--and to Mr. Slosson--" + +"Humph!" snorted that gentleman, in expression of defiance, +unbelief, and a determination not to be impressed. + +It acted as a goad to Fanny. She leaned forward in her +chair and talked straight at the big, potent force that sat +regarding her in silent attention. + +"I still say that we can copy the high-priced models in low- +priced materials because, in almost every case, it isn't the +material that makes the expensive model; it's the line, the +cut, the little trick that gives it style. We can get that. +We've been giving them stuff that might have been made by +prison labor, for all the distinction it had. Then +I think we ought to make a feature of the sanitary +methods used in our infants' department. +Every article intended for a baby's use should +be wrapped or boxed as it lies in the bin or on the shelf. +And those bins ought to be glassed. We would advertise +that, and it would advertise itself. Our visitors would +talk about it. This department hasn't been getting a square +deal in the catalogue. Not enough space. It ought to have +not only more catalogue space, but a catalogue all its own-- +the Baby Book. Full of pictures. Good ones. Illustrations +that will make every mother think her baby will look like +that baby, once it is wearing our No. 29E798--chubby babies, +curly-headed, and dimply. And the feature of that catalogue +ought to be, not separate garments, but complete outfits. +Outfits boxed, ready for shipping, and ranging in price all +the way from twenty-five dollars to three-ninety-eight--" + +"It can't be done!" yelled Slosson. "Three-ninety-eight! +Outfits!" + +"It can be done. I've figured it out, down to a packet of +assorted size safety pins. We'll call it our emergency +outfit. Thirty pieces. And while we're about it, every +outfit over five dollars ought to be packed in a pink or a +pale blue pasteboard box. The outfits trimmed in pink, pink +boxes; the outfits trimmed in blue, blue boxes. In eight +cases out of ten their letters will tell us whether it's a +pink or blue baby. And when they get our package, and take +out that pink or blue box, they'll be as pleased as if we'd +made them a present. It's the personal note--" + +"Personal slop!" growled Slosson. "It isn't business. It's +sentimental slush!" + +"Sentimental, yes," agreed Fanny pleasantly, "but then, +we're running the only sentimental department in this +business. And we ought to be doing it at the rate of a +million and a quarter a year. If you think these last +suggestions sentimental, I'm afraid the next one--" + +"Let's have it, Miss Brandeis," Fenger encouraged her +quietly. + +"It's"--she flashed a mischievous smile at Slosson--"it's a +mother's guide and helper, and adviser. A woman who'll +answer questions, give advice. Some one they'll write to, +with a picture in their minds of a large, comfortable, +motherly-looking person in gray. You know we get hundreds +of letters asking whether they ought to order flannel bands, +or the double-knitted kind. That sort of thing. And who's +been answering them? Some sixteen-year-old girl in the +mailing department who doesn't know a flannel band from a +bootee when she sees it. We could call our woman something +pleasant and everydayish, like Emily Brand. Easy to +remember. And until we can find her, I'll answer those +letters myself. They're important to us as well as to the +woman who writes them. And now, there's the matter of +obstetrical outfits. Three grades, packed ready for +shipment, practical, simple, and complete. Our drug section +has the separate articles, but we ought to--" + +"Oh, lord!" groaned Slosson, and slumped disgustedly in his +seat. + +But Fenger got up, came over to Fanny, and put a hand on her +shoulder for a moment. He looked down at her. "I knew +you'd do it." He smiled queerly. "Tell me, where did you +learn all this?" + +"I don't know," faltered Fanny happily. "Brandeis' Bazaar, +perhaps. It's just another case of plush photograph album." + +"Plush--?" + +Fanny told him that story. Even the discomfited Slosson +grinned at it. + +But after ten minutes more of general discussion Slosson +left. Fenger, without putting it in words, had +conveyed that to him. Fanny stayed. They did things +that way at Haynes-Cooper. No waste. No delay. That she +had accomplished in two months that which ordinarily takes +years was not surprising. They did things that way, too, at +Haynes-Cooper. Take the case of Nathan Haynes himself. And +Michael Fenger too who, not so many years before, had been a +machine-boy in a Racine woolen mill. + +For my part, I confess that Fanny Brandeis begins to lose +interest for me. Big Business seems to dwarf the finer +things in her. That red-cheeked, shabby little schoolgirl, +absorbed in Zola and peanut brittle in the Winnebago +library, was infinitely more appealing than this glib and +capable young woman. The spitting wildcat of the street +fight so long ago was gentler by far than this cool person +who was so deliberately taking his job away from Slosson. +You, too, feel that way about her? That is as it should be. +It is the penalty they pay who, given genius, sympathy, and +understanding as their birthright, trade them for the tawdry +trinkets money brings. + +Perhaps the last five minutes of that conference between +Fanny and Michael Fenger reveals a new side, and presents +something of interest. It was a harrowing and unexpected +five minutes. + +You may remember how Michael Fenger had a way of looking at +one, silently. It was an intent and concentrated gaze that +had the effect of an actual physical hold. Most people +squirmed under it. Fanny, feeling it on her now, frowned +and rose to leave. + +"Shall you want to talk these things over again? Of course +I've only outlined them, roughly. You gave me so little +time." + +Fenger, at his desk, did not answer, or turn away his gaze. +A little blaze of wrath flamed into Fanny's face. + +"General manager or not," she said, very low-voiced, +"I wish you wouldn't sit and glower at me like that. It's +rude, and it's disconcerting," which was putting it +forthrightly. + +"I beg your pardon!" Fenger came swiftly around the desk, +and over to her. "I was thinking very hard. Miss Brandeis, +will you dine with me somewhere tonight? Then to-morrow +night? But I want to talk to you." + +"Here I am. Talk." + +"But I want to talk to--you." + +It was then that Fanny Brandeis saved an ugly situation. +For she laughed, a big, wholesome, outdoors sort of laugh. +She was honestly amused. + +"My dear Mr. Fenger, you've been reading the murky +magazines. Very bad for you." + +Fenger was unsmiling: "Why won't you dine with me?" + +"Because it would be unconventional and foolish. I respect +the conventions. They're so sensible. And because it would +be unfair to you, and to Mrs. Fenger, and to me." + +"Rot! It's you who have the murky magazine viewpoint, as +you call it, when you imply--" + +"Now, look here, Mr. Fenger," Fanny interrupted, quietly. +"Let's be square with each other, even if we're not being +square with ourselves. You're the real power in this plant, +because you've the brains. You can make any person in this +organization, or break them. That sounds melodramatic, but +it's true. I've got a definite life plan, and it's as +complete and detailed as an engineering blue print. I don't +intend to let you spoil it. I've made a real start here. +If you want to, I've no doubt you can end it. But before +you do, I want to warn you that I'll make a pretty stiff +fight for it. I'm no silent sufferer. I'll say things. +And people usually believe me when I talk." + +Still the silent, concentrated gaze. With a little +impatient exclamation Fanny walked toward the door. +Fenger, startlingly light and agile for his great height, +followed. + +"I'm sorry, Miss Brandeis, terribly sorry. You see, you +interest me very much. Very much." + +"Thanks," dryly. + +"Don't go just yet. Please. I'm not a villain. Really. +That is, not a deliberate villain. But when I find +something very fine, very intricate, very fascinating and +complex--like those etchings, for example--I am intrigued. +I want it near me. I want to study it." + +Fanny said nothing. But she thought, "This is a dangerously +clever man. Too clever for you. You know so little about +them." Fenger waited. Most women would have found refuge +in words. The wrong words. It is only the strong who can +be silent when in doubt. + +"Perhaps you will dine with Mrs. Fenger and me at our home +some evening? Mrs. Fenger will speak to you about it." + +"I'm afraid I'm usually too tired for further effort at the +end of the day. I'm sorry----" + +"Some Sunday night perhaps, then. Tea." + +"Thank you." And so out, past the spare secretary, the +anxious-browed stenographer, the academic office boy, to the +hallway, the elevator, and finally the refuge of her own +orderly desk. Slosson was at lunch in one of the huge +restaurants provided for employees in the building across +the street. She sat there, very still, for some minutes; +for more minutes than she knew. Her hands were clasped +tightly on the desk, and her eyes stared ahead in a puzzled, +resentful, bewildered way. Something inside her was saying +over and over again: + +"You lied to him on that very first day. That placed you. +That stamped you. Now he thinks you're rotten all the way +through. You lied on the very first day." + +Ella Monahan poked her head in at the door. The Gloves +were on that floor, at the far end. The two women rarely +saw each other, except at lunch time. + +"Missed you at lunch," said Ella Monahan. She was a pink- +cheeked, bright-eyed woman of forty-one or two, prematurely +gray and therefore excessively young in her manner, as women +often are who have grown gray before their time. + +Fanny stood up, hurriedly. "I was just about to go." + +"Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious." And strolled +off down the aisle that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. + +Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though +meaning to call her back. But she must have changed her +mind, because she said, "Oh, nonsense!" aloud. And went +across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And enjoyed it. + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A +thin, querulous voice over the telephone prepared one for +the thin, querulous Mrs. Fenger herself. A sallow, +plaintive woman, with a misbehaving valve. The valve, she +confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also it made +her susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a +scarf that was constantly slipping and constantly being +retrieved by Michael Fenger. The sight of this man, a +physical and mental giant, performing this task ever so +gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity through +Fanny, as Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived +in an apartment on the Lake Shore Drive--an apartment such +as only Chicago boasts. A view straight across the lake, +rooms huge and many-windowed, a glass-enclosed sun-porch gay +with chintz and wicker, an incredible number of bathrooms. +The guests, besides Fanny, included a young pair, newly +married and interested solely in rents, hangings, linen +closets, and the superiority of the Florentine over the +Jacobean for dining room purposes; and a very scrubbed +looking, handsome, spectacled man of thirty-two or three who +was a mechanical engineer. Fanny failed to catch his name, +though she learned it later. Privately, she dubbed him +Fascinating Facts, and he always remained that. His +conversation was invariably prefaced with, "Funny thing +happened down at the works to-day." The rest of it sounded +like something one reads at the foot of each page of a +loose-leaf desk calendar. + +At tea there was a great deal of silver, and lace, but Fanny +thought she could have improved on the chicken a la king. +It lacked paprika and personality. Mrs. Fenger was +constantly directing one or the other of the neat maids in +an irritating aside. + +After tea Michael Fenger showed Fanny his pictures, not +boastfully, but as one who loves them reveals his treasures +to an appreciative friend. He showed her his library, too, +and it was the library of a reader. Fanny nibbled at it, +hungrily. She pulled out a book here, a book there, read a +paragraph, skimmed a page. There was no attempt at +classification. Lever rubbed elbows with Spinoza; Mark +Twain dug a facetious thumb into Haeckel's ribs. Fanny +wanted to sit down on the floor, legs crossed, before the +open shelves, and read, and read, and read. Fenger, +watching the light in her face, seemed himself to take on a +certain glow, as people generally did who found this girl in +sympathy with them. + +They were deep in book talk when Fascinating Facts strolled +in, looking aggrieved, and spoiled it with the thoroughness +of one who never reads, and is not ashamed of it. + +"My word, I'm having a rotten time, Fenger," he said, +plaintively. "They've got a tape-measure out of your wife's +sewing basket, those two in there, and they're down on their +hands and knees, measuring something. It has to do with +their rug, over your rug, or some such rot. And then you +take Miss Brandeis and go off into the library." + +"Then stay here," said Fanny, "and talk books." + +"My book's a blue-print," admitted Fascinating Facts, +cheerfully. "I never get time to read. There's enough +fiction, and romance, and adventure in my job to give me all +the thrill I want. Why, just last Tuesday--no, Thursday it +was--down at the works----" + +Between Fanny and Fenger there flashed a look made up of +dismay, and amusement, and secret sympathy. It was a +look that said, "We both see the humor of this. Most people +wouldn't. Our angle is the same." Such a glance jumps the +gap between acquaintance and friendship that whole days of +spoken conversation cannot cover. + +"Cigar?" asked Fenger, hoping to stay the flood. + +"No, thanks. Say, Fenger, would there be a row if I smoked +my pipe?" + +"That black one? With the smell?" + +"The black one, yes." + +"There would." Fenger glanced in toward his wife, and +smiled, dryly. +Fascinating Facts took his hand out of his pocket, +regretfully. + +"Wouldn't it sour a fellow on marriage! Wouldn't it! First +those two in there, with their damned linen closets, and +their rugs--I beg your pardon, Miss Brandeis! And now your +missus objects to my pipe. You wouldn't treat me like that, +would you, Miss Brandeis?" + +There was about him something that appealed--something +boyish and likeable. + +"No, I wouldn't. I'd let you smoke a nargileh, if you +wanted to, surrounded by rolls of blue prints." + +"I knew it. I'm going to drive you home for that." + +And he did, in his trim little roadster. It is a fairy road +at night, that lake drive between the north and south sides. +Even the Rush street bridge cannot quite spoil it. Fanny +sat back luxuriously and let the soft splendor of the late +August night enfold her. She was intelligently +monosyllabic, while Fascinating Facts talked. At the door +of her apartment house (she had left the Mendota weeks +before) Fascinating Facts surprised her. + +"I--I'd like to see you again, Miss Brandeis. If you'll let +me." + +"I'm so busy," faltered Fanny. Then it came to her that +perhaps he did not know. "I'm with Haynes-Cooper, you +know. Assistant buyer in the infants' wear department." + +"Yes, I know. I suppose a girl like you couldn't be +interested in seeing a chap like me again, but I thought +maybe----" + +"But I would," interrupted Fanny, impulsively. "Indeed I +would." + +"Really! Perhaps you'll drive, some evening. Over to the +Bismarck Gardens, or somewhere. It would rest you." + +"I'm sure it would. Suppose you telephone me." + +That was her honest, forthright, Winnebago Wisconsin self +talking. But up in her apartment the other Fanny Brandeis, +the calculating, ambitious, determined woman, said: "Now +why did I say that! I never want to see the boy again. + +"Use him. Experiment with him. Evidently men are going to +enter into this thing. Michael Fenger has, already. And +now this boy. Why not try certain tests with them as we +used to follow certain formulae in the chemistry laboratory +at high school? This compound, that compound, what +reaction? Then, when the time comes to apply your +knowledge, you'll know." + +Which shows how ignorant she was of this dangerous phase of +her experiment. If she had not been, she must have known +that these were not chemicals, but explosives with which she +proposed to play. + +The trouble was that Fanny Brandeis, the creative, was not +being fed. And the creative fire requires fuel. Fanny +Brandeis fed on people, not things. And her work at Haynes- +Cooper was all with inanimate objects. The three months +since her coming to Chicago had been crowded and eventful. +Haynes-Cooper claimed every ounce of her energy, every atom +of her wit and resourcefulness. In return it gave--salary. +Not too much salary. That would come later, perhaps. +Unfortunately, Fanny Brandeis did not thrive on that +kind of fare. She needed people. She craved contact. +All these millions whom she served--these unseen, unheard +men and women, and children--she wanted to see them. She +wanted to touch them. She wanted to talk with them. It was +as though a lover of the drama, eager to see his favorite +actress in her greatest part, were to find himself viewing +her in a badly constructed film play. + +So Fanny Brandeis took to prowling. There are people who +have a penchant for cities--more than that, a talent for +them, a gift of sensing them, of feeling their rhythm and +pulse-beats, as others have a highly developed music sense, +or color reaction. It is a thing that cannot be acquired. +In Fanny Brandeis there was this abnormal response to the +color and tone of any city. And Chicago was a huge, +polyglot orchestra, made up of players in every possible +sort of bizarre costume, performing on every known +instrument, leaderless, terrifyingly discordant, yet with an +occasional strain, exquisite and poignant, to be heard +through the clamor and din. + +A walk along State street (the wrong side) or Michigan +avenue at five, or through one of the city's foreign +quarters, or along the lake front at dusk, stimulated her +like strong wine. She was drunk with it. And all the time +she would say to herself, little blind fool that she was: + +"Don't let it get you. Look at it, but don't think about +it. Don't let the human end of it touch you. There's +nothing in it." + +And meanwhile she was feasting on those faces in the crowds. +Those faces in the crowds! They seemed to leap out at her. +They called to her. So she sketched them, telling herself +that she did it by way of relaxation, and diversion. One +afternoon she left her desk early, and perched herself on +one of the marble benches that lined the sunken garden just +across from the main group of Haynes-Cooper buildings. +She wanted to see what happened when those great buildings +emptied. Even her imagination did not meet the actuality. +At 5:30 the streets about the plant were empty, except for +an occasional passerby. At 5:31 there trickled down the +broad steps of building after building thin dark streams of +humanity, like the first slow line of lava that crawls down +the side of an erupting volcano. The trickle broadened into +a stream, spread into a flood, became a torrent that +inundated the streets, the sidewalks, filling every nook and +crevice, a moving mass. Ten thousand people! A city! +Fanny found herself shaking with excitement, and something +like terror at the immensity of it. She tried to get a +picture of it, a sketch, with the gleaming windows of the +red brick buildings as a background. Amazingly enough, she +succeeded in doing it. That was because she tried for broad +effects, and relied on one bit of detail for her story. It +was the face of a girl--a very tired and tawdry girl, of +sixteen, perhaps. On her face the look that the day's work +had stamped there was being wiped gently away by another +look; a look that said release, and a sweetheart, and an +evening at the movies. Fanny, in some miraculous way, got +it. + +She prowled in the Ghetto, and sketched those patient Jewish +faces, often grotesque, sometimes repulsive, always mobile. +She wandered down South Clark street, flaring with purple- +white arc-lights, and looked in at its windows that +displayed a pawnbroker's glittering wares, or, just next +door, a flat-topped stove over which a white-capped magician +whose face smacked of the galley, performed deft tricks with +a pancake turner. "Southern chicken dinner," a lying sign +read, "with waffles and real maple syrup, 35@." Past these +windows promenaded the Clark street women, hard-eyed, high- +heeled, aigretted; on the street corners loafed the Clark +street men, blue-shaven, wearing checked suits, soiled +faun-topped shoes, and diamond scarf pins. And even as she +watched them, fascinated, they vanished. Clark street +changed overnight, and became a business thoroughfare, lined +with stately office buildings, boasting marble and gold-leaf +banks, filled with hurrying clerks, stenographers, and +prosperous bond salesmen. It was like a sporting man who, +thriving in middle age, endeavors to live down his shady +past. + +Fanny discovered Cottage Grove avenue, and Halsted street, +and Jefferson, and South State, where she should never have +walked. There is an ugliness about Chicago's ugly streets +that, for sheer, naked brutality, is equaled nowhere in the +world. London has its foul streets, smoke-blackened, +sinister. But they are ugly as crime is ugly--and as +fascinating. It is like the ugliness of an old hag who has +lived a life, and who could tell you strange tales, if she +would. Walking through them you think of Fagin, of Children +of the Ghetto, of Tales of Mean Streets. Naples is +honeycombed with narrow, teeming alleys, grimed with the +sediment of centuries, colored like old Stilton, and +smelling much worse. But where is there another Cottage +Grove avenue! Sylvan misnomer! A hideous street, and +sordid. A street of flat-wheeled cars, of delicatessen +shops and moving picture houses, of clanging bells, of +frowsy women, of men who dart around corners with pitchers, +their coat collars turned up to hide the absence of linen. +One day Fanny found herself at Fifty-first street, and there +before her lay Washington Park, with its gracious meadow, +its Italian garden, its rose walk, its lagoon, and drooping +willows. But then, that was Chicago. All contrast. The +Illinois Central railroad puffed contemptuous cinders into +the great blue lake. And almost in the shadow of the City +Hall nestled Bath-House John's groggery. + +Michigan Avenue fascinated her most. Here was a street +developing before one's eyes. To walk on it was like +being present at a birth. It is one of the few streets in +the world. New York has two, Paris a hundred, London none, +Vienna one. Berlin, before the war, knew that no one walked +Unter den Linden but American tourists and German +shopkeepers from the provinces, with their fat wives. But +this Michigan Boulevard, unfinished as Chicago itself, +shifting and changing daily, still manages to take on a +certain form and rugged beauty. It has about it a gracious +breadth. As you turn into it from the crash and thunder of +Wabash there comes to you a sense of peace. That's the +sweep of it, and the lake just beyond, for Michigan avenue +is a one-side street. It's west side is a sheer mountain +wall of office buildings, clubs, and hotels, whose ground +floors are fascinating with specialty shops. A milliner +tantalizes the passer-by with a single hat stuck knowingly +on a carved stick. An art store shows two etchings, and a +vase. A jeweler's window holds square blobs of emeralds, on +velvet, and perhaps a gold mesh bag, sprawling limp and +invertebrate, or a diamond and platinum la valliere, +chastely barbaric. Past these windows, from Randolph to +Twelfth surges the crowd: matinee girls, all white fox, and +giggles and orchids; wise-eyed saleswomen from the smart +specialty shops, dressed in next week's mode; art students, +hugging their precious flat packages under their arms; +immigrants, in corduroys and shawls, just landed at the +Twelfth street station; sightseeing families, dazed and +weary, from Kansas; tailored and sabled Lake Shore Drive +dwellers; convention delegates spilling out of the +Auditorium hotel, red-faced, hoarse, with satin badges +pinned on their coats, and their hats (the wrong kind) stuck +far back on their heads; music students to whom Michigan +Avenue means the Fine Arts Building. There you have the +west side. But just across the street the walk is as +deserted as though a pestilence lurked there. Here the Art +Institute rears its smoke-blackened face, and Grant +Park's greenery struggles bravely against the poisonous +breath of the Illinois Central engines. + +Just below Twelfth street block after block shows the solid +plate glass of the automobile shops, their glittering wares +displayed against an absurd background of oriental rugs, +Tiffany lamps, potted plants, and mahogany. In the windows +pose the salesmen, no less sleek and glittering than their +wares. Just below these, for a block or two, rows of +sinister looking houses, fallen into decay, with slatternly +women lolling at their windows, and gas jets flaring blue in +dim hallways. Below Eighteenth still another change, where +the fat stone mansions of Chicago's old families (save the +mark!) hide their diminished heads behind signs that read: + +"Marguerite. Robes et Manteaux." And, "Smolkin. Tailor." + +Now, you know that women buyers for mail order houses do not +spend their Saturday afternoons and Sundays thus, prowling +about a city's streets. Fanny Brandeis knew it too, in her +heart. She knew that the Ella Monahans of her world spent +their holidays in stayless relaxation, manicuring, mending a +bit, skimming the Sunday papers, massaging crows'-feet +somewhat futilely. She knew that women buyers do not, as a +rule, catch their breath with delight at sight of the pock- +marked old Field Columbian museum in Jackson Park, softened +and beautified by the kindly gray chiffon of the lake mist, +and tinted by the rouge of the sunset glow, so that it is a +thing of spectral loveliness. Successful mercantile women, +seeing the furnace glare of the South Chicago steel mills +flaring a sullen red against the lowering sky, do not draw a +disquieting mental picture of men toiling there, naked to +the waist, and glistening with sweat in the devouring heat +of the fires. + +I don't know how she tricked herself. I suppose she +said it was the city's appeal to the country dweller, +but she lied, and she knew she was lying. She must have +known it was the spirit of Molly Brandeis in her, and of +Molly Brandeis' mother, and of her mother's mother's mother, +down the centuries to Sarah; repressed women, suffering +women, troubled, patient, nomadic women, struggling now in +her for expression. + +And Fanny Brandeis went doggedly on, buying and selling +infants' wear, and doing it expertly. Her office desk would +have interested you. It was so likely to be littered with +the most appealing bits of apparel--a pair of tiny, +crocheted bootees, pink and white; a sturdy linen smock; a +silken hood so small that one's doubled fist filled it. + +The new catalogue was on the presses. Fanny had slaved over +it, hampered by Slosson. Fenger had given her practically a +free hand. Results would not come in for many days. The +Christmas trade would not tell the tale, for that was always +a time of abnormal business. The dull season following the +holiday rush would show the real returns. Slosson was +discouragement itself. His attitude was not resentful; it +was pitying, and that frightened Fanny. She wished that he +would storm a little. Then she read her department +catalogue proof sheets, and these reassured her. They were +attractive. And the new baby book had turned out very well, +with a colored cover that would appeal to any one who had +ever been or seen a baby. + +September brought a letter from Theodore. A letter from +Theodore meant just one thing. Fanny hesitated a moment +before opening it. She always hesitated before opening +Theodore's letters. While she hesitated the old struggle +would rage in her. + +"I don't owe him anything," the thing within her would say. +"God knows I don't. What have I done all my life but give, +and give, and give to him! I'm a woman. He's a man. +Let him work with his hands, as I do. He's had his share. +More than his share." + +Nevertheless she had sent him one thousand of the six +thousand her mother had bequeathed to her. She didn't want +to do it. She fought doing it. But she did it. + +Now, as she held this last letter in her hands, and stared +at the Bavarian stamp, she said to herself: + +"He wants something. Money. If I send him some I can't +have that new tailor suit, or the furs. And I need them. +I'm going to have them." + +She tore open the letter. + +"Dear Old Fan: + +"Olga and I are back in Munich, as you see. I think we'll +be here all winter, though Olga hates it. She says it isn't +lustig. Well, it isn't Vienna, but I think there's a +chance for a class here of American pupils. Munich's +swarming with Americans--whole families who come here to +live for a year or two. I think I might get together a very +decent class, backed by Auer's recommendations. Teaching! +Good God, how I hate it! But Auer is planning a series of +twenty concerts for me. They ought to be a success, if +slaving can do it. I worked six hours a day all summer. I +wanted to spend the summer--most of it, that is--in +Holzhausen Am Ammersee, which is a little village, or +artist's colony in the valley, an hour's ride from here, and +within sight of the Bavarian Alps. We had Kurt Stein's +little villa for almost nothing. But Olga was bored, and +she wasn't well, poor girl, so we went to Interlaken and it +was awful. And that brings me to what I want to tell you. + +"There's going to be a baby. No use saying I'm glad, +because I'm not, and neither is Olga. About February, +I think. Olga has been simply wretched, but the doctor says +she'll feel better from now on. The truth of it is she +needs a lot of things and I can't give them to her. I told +you I'd been working on this concerto of mine. Sometimes I +think it's the real thing, if only I could get the leisure +and the peace of mind I need to work on it. You don't know +what it means to be eaten up with ambition and to be +handicapped " + +"Oh, don't I!" said Fanny Brandeis, between her teeth, and +crumpled the letter in her strong fingers. "Don't I!" She +got up from her chair and began to walk up and down her +little office, up and down. A man often works off his +feelings thus; a woman rarely. Fenger, who had not been +twice in her office since her coming to the Haynes-Cooper +plant, chose this moment to visit her, his hands full of +papers, his head full of plans. He sensed something wrong +at once, as a highly organized human instrument responds to +a similarly constructed one. + +"What's wrong, girl?" + +"Everything. And don't call me girl." + +Fenger saw the letter crushed in her hand. + +"Brother?" She had told him about Theodore and he had been +tremendously interested. + +"Yes." + +"Money again, I suppose?" + +"Yes, but----" + +"You know your salary's going up, after Christmas." + +"Catalogue or no catalogue?" + +"Catalogue or no catalogue." + +"Why?" + +"Because you've earned it." + +Fanny faced him squarely. "I know that Haynes-Cooper isn't +exactly a philanthropic institution. A salary raise +here usually means a battle. I've only been here three +months." +Fenger seated himself in the chair beside her desk and ran a +cool finger through the sheaf of papers in his hand. "My +dear girl--I beg your pardon. I forgot. My good woman +then--if you like that better--you've transfused red blood +into a dying department. It may suffer a relapse after +Christmas, but I don't think so. That's why you're getting +more money, and not because I happen to be tremendously +interested in you, personally." + +Fanny's face flamed scarlet. "I didn't mean that." + +"Yes you did. Here are those comparative lists you sent me. +If I didn't know Slosson to be as honest as Old Dog Tray I'd +think he had been selling us to the manufacturers. No +wonder this department hasn't paid. He's been giving 'em +top prices for shoddy. Now what's this new plan of yours?" + +In an instant Fanny forgot about Theodore, the new winter +suit and furs, everything but the idea that was clamoring to +be born. She sat at her desk, her fingers folding and +unfolding a bit of paper, her face all light and animation +as she talked. + +"My idea is to have a person known as a selector for each +important department. It would mean a boiling down of the +products of every manufacturer we deal with, and skimming +the cream off the top. As it is now a department buyer has +to do the selecting and buying too. He can't do both and +get results. We ought to set aside an entire floor for the +display of manufacturers' samples. The selector would make +his choice among these, six months in advance of the season. +The selector would go to the eastern markets too, of course. +Not to buy. Merely to select. Then, with the line chosen +as far as style, quality, and value is concerned, the buyer +would be free to deal directly with the manufacturer as to +quantity, time, and all that. You know as well as I +that that's enough of a job for any one person, with the +labor situation what it is. He wouldn't need to bother +about styles or colors, or any of that. It would all have +been done for him. The selector would have the real +responsibility. Don't you see the simplicity of it, and the +way it would grease the entire machinery?" + +Something very like jealousy came into Michael Fenger's face +as he looked at her. But it was gone in an instant. "Gad! +You'll have my job away from me in two years. You're a +super-woman, do you know that?" + +"Super nothing! It's just a perfectly good idea, founded on +common sense and economy." + +"M-m-m, but that's all Columbus had in mind when he started +out to find a short cut to India." + +Fanny laughed out at that. "Yes, but see where he landed!" + +But Fenger was serious. "We'll have to have a meeting on +this. Are you prepared to go into detail on it, before Mr. +Haynes and the two Coopers, at a real meeting in a real +mahogany directors' room? Wednesday, say?" + +"I think so." + +Fenger got up. "Look here, Miss Brandeis. You need a day +in the country. Why don't you run up to your home town over +Sunday? Wisconsin, wasn't it?" + +"Oh, no! No. I mean yes it was Wisconsin, but no I don't +want to go." + +"Then let me send you my car." + +"Car! No, thanks. That's not my idea of the country." + +"It was just a suggestion. What do you call going to the +country, then?" + +"Tramping all day, and getting lost, if possible. Lying +down under a tree for hours, and letting the ants amble +over you. Dreaming. And coming back tired, hungry, dusty, +and refreshed." + +"It sounds awfully uncomfortable. But I wish you'd try it, +this week." + +"Do I look such a wreck?" Fanny demanded, rather pettishly. + +"You!" Fenger's voice was vibrant. "You're the most +splendidly alive looking woman I ever saw. When you came +into my office that first day you seemed to spark with +health, and repressed energy, and electricity, so that you +radiated them. People who can do that, stimulate. That's +what you are to me--a stimulant." + +What can one do with a man who talks like that? After all, +what he said was harmless enough. His tone was quietly +sincere. One can't resent an expression of the eyes. Then, +too, just as she made up her mind to be angry she remembered +the limp and querulous Mrs. Fenger, and the valve and the +scarf. And her anger became pity. There flashed back to +her the illuminating bit of conversation with which +Fascinating Facts had regaled her on the homeward drive that +night of the tea. + +"Nice chap, Fenger. And a wiz in business. Get's a king's +salary; Must be hell for a man to be tied, hand and foot, +the way he is." + +"Tied?" + +"Mrs. Fenger's a semi-invalid. At that I don't believe +she's as helpless as she seems. I think she just holds him +by that shawl of hers, that's forever slipping. You know he +was a machine boy in her father's woolen mill. She met him +after he'd worked his way up to an office job. He has +forged ahead like a locomotive ever since." + +That had been their conversation, gossipy, but tremendously +enlightening for Fanny. She looked up at him now. + +"Thanks for the vacation suggestion. I may go off +somewhere. Just a last-minute leap. It usually turns +out better, that way. I'll be ready for the Wednesday +discussion." + +She sounded very final and busy. The crumpled letter lay on +her desk. She smoothed it out, and the crumple transferred +itself to her forehead. Fenger stood a moment, looking down +at her. Then he turned, abruptly and left the office. +Fanny did not look up. + +That was Friday. On Saturday her vacation took a personally +conducted turn. She had planned to get away at noon, as +most office heads did on Saturday, during the warm weather. +When her 'phone rang at eleven she answered it mechanically +as does one whose telephone calls mean a row with a tardy +manufacturer, an argument with a merchandise man, or a +catalogue query from the printer's. + +The name that came to her over the telephone conveyed +nothing to her. + +"Who?" Again the name. "Heyl?" She repeated the name +uncertainly. "I'm afraid I--O, of course! Clarence Heyl. +Howdy-do." + +"I want to see you," said the voice, promptly. + +There rose up in Fanny's mind a cruelly clear picture of the +little, sallow, sniveling school boy of her girlhood. The +little boy with the big glasses and the shiny shoes, and the +weak lungs. + +"Sorry," she replied, promptly, "but I'm afraid it's +impossible. I'm leaving the office early, and I'm swamped." +Which was a lie. + +"This evening?" + +"I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a +rule." + +"Too tired to drive?" + +"I'm afraid so." + +A brief silence. Then, "I'm coming out there to see you." + +"Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl. +I'm terribly sorry, but I can't----" + +"Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you +it will be over your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him. +I'm coming. Good-by." + +"Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!" + +A jiggling of the hook. "Number, please?" droned the voice +of the operator. + +Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her +work, lips compressed, a frown forming a double cleft +between her eyes. + +Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in +his card, as she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that +it was the wrong kind of card. She would show him what +happened to pushers who pestered business women during +office hours. + +"Bring him in in twenty minutes," she said, grimly. Her +office boy (and slave) always took his cue from her. She +hoped he wouldn't be too rude to Heyl, and turned back to +her work again. Thirty-nine seconds later Clarence Heyl +walked in. + +"Hello, Fan!" he said, and had her limp hand in a grip that +made her wince. + +"But I told----" + +"Yes, I know. But he's a crushed and broken office boy by +now. I had to be real harsh with him." + +Fanny stood up, really angry now. She looked up at Clarence +Heyl, and her eyes were flashing. Clarence Heyl looked down +at her, and his eyes were the keenest, kindest, most gently +humorous eyes she had ever encountered. You know that +picture of Lincoln that shows us his eyes with much that +expression in them? That's as near as I can come to +conveying to you the whimsical pathos in this man. They +were the eyes of a lonely little boy grown up. And they had +seen much in the process. + +Fanny felt her little blaze of anger flicker and die. + +"That's the girl," said Heyl, and patted her hand. "You'll +like me--presently. After you've forgotten about that +sniveling kid you hated." He stepped back a pace and threw +back his coat senatorially. "How do I look?" he demanded. + +"Look?" repeated Fanny, feebly. + +"I've been hours preparing for this. Years! And now +something tells me--This tie, for instance." + +Fanny bit her lip in a vain effort to retain her solemnity. +Then she gave it up and giggled, frankly. "Well, since you +ask me, that tie!----" + +"What's the matter with it?" + +Fanny giggled again. "It's red, that's what." + +"Well, what of it! Red's all right. I've always considered +red one of our leading colors." + +"But you can't wear it." + +"Can't! Why can't I?" + +"Because you're the brunest kind of brunette. And dark +people have a special curse hanging over them that makes +them want to wear red. It's fatal. That tie makes you look +like a Mafia murderer dressed for business." + +"I knew it," groaned Heyl. "Something told me." He sank +into a chair at the side of her desk, a picture of mock +dejection. "And I chose it. Deliberately. I had black +ones, and blue ones, and green ones. And I chose--this." +He covered his face with a shaking hand. + +Fanny Brandeis leaned back in her chair, and laughed, and +laughed, and laughed. Surely she hadn't laughed like that +in a year at least. + +"You're a madman," she said, finally. + +At that Heyl looked up with his singularly winning smile. +"But different. Concede that, Fanny. Be fair, now. +Refreshingly different." + +"Different," said Fanny, "doesn't begin to cover it. Well, +now you're here, tell me what you're doing here." + +"Seeing you." + +"I mean here, in Chicago." + +"So do I. I'm on my way from Winnebago to New York, and I'm +in Chicago to see Fanny Brandeis." + +"Don't expect me to believe that." + +Heyl put an arm on Fanny's desk and learned forward, his +face very earnest. "I do expect you to believe it. I +expect you to believe everything I say to you. Not only +that, I expect you not to be surprised at anything I say. +I've done such a mass of private thinking about you in the +last ten years that I'm likely to forget I've scarcely seen +you in that time. Just remember, will you, that like the +girl in the sob song, `You made me what I am to-day?'" + +"I! You're being humorous again." + +"Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly, +sickly little boy you fought for in the street, that day in +Winnebago, showed every sign of growing up a cowardly, +sickly man. You're the real reason for his not doing so. +Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, I +guess. Sickly ones are apt to be. I worshiped you and +hated you from that day. Worshiped you for the blazing, +generous, whole-souled little devil of a spitfire that you +were. Hated you because--well, what boy wouldn't hate a +girl who had to fight for him. Gosh! It makes me sick to +think of it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!" + +"What nonsense! I'd forgotten all about it." + +"No you hadn't. Tell me, what flashed into your mind when +you saw me in Temple that night before you left Winnebago? +The truth, now." + +She learned, later, that people did not lie to him. She +tried it now, and found herself saying, rather shamefacedly, +"I thought `Why, it's Clarence Heyl, the Cowardy-Cat!'" + +"There! That's why I'm here to-day. I knew you were +thinking that. I knew it all the time I was in +Colorado, growing up from a sickly kid, with a bum +lung, to a heap big strong man. It forced me to do things I +was afraid to do. It goaded me on to stunts at the very +thought of which I'd break out in a clammy sweat. Don't you +see how I'll have to turn handsprings in front of you, like +the school-boy in the McCutcheon cartoon? Don't you see how +I'll have to flex my muscles--like this--to show you how +strong I am? I may even have to beat you, eventually. Why, +child, I've chummed with lions, and bears, and wolves, and +everything, because of you, you little devil in the red cap! +I've climbed unclimbable mountains. I've frozen my feet in +blizzards. I've wandered for days on a mountain top, lost, +living on dried currants and milk chocolate,--and Lord! how +I hate milk chocolate! I've dodged snowslides, and slept in +trees; I've endured cold, and hunger and thirst, through +you. It took me years to get used to the idea of passing a +timber wolf without looking around, but I learned to do it-- +because of you. You made me. They sent me to Colorado, a +lonely kid, with a pretty fair chance of dying, and I would +have, if it hadn't been for you. There! How's that for a +burst of speech, young woman! And wait a minute. Remember, +too, my name was Clarence. I had that to live down." + +Fanny was staring at him eyes round, lips parted. "But +why?" she said, faintly. "Why?" + +Heyl smiled that singularly winning smile of his. "Since +you force me to it, I think I'm in love with that little, +warm-hearted spitfire in the red cap. That's why." + +Fanny sat forward now. She had been leaning back in her +chair, her hands grasping its arms, her face a lovely, +mobile thing, across which laughter, and pity, and sympathy +and surprise rippled and played. It hardened now, and set. +She looked down at her hands, and clasped them in her lap, +then up at him. "In that case, you can forsake the +strenuous life with a free conscience. You need never climb +another mountain, or wrestle with another--er--hippopotamus. +That little girl in the red cap is dead." + +"Dead?" + +"Yes. She died a year ago. If the one who has taken her +place were to pass you on the street today, and see you +beset by forty thieves, she'd not even stop. Not she. +She'd say, `Let him fight it out alone. It's none of your +business. You've got your own fights to handle.'" + +"Why--Fanny. You don't mean that, do you? What could have +made her like that?" + +"She just discovered that fighting for others didn't pay. +She just happened to know some one else who had done that +all her life and--it killed her." + +"Her mother?" + +"Yes." + +A little silence. "Fanny, let's play outdoors tomorrow, +will you? All day." + +Involuntarily Fanny glanced around the room. Papers, +catalogues, files, desk, chair, typewriter. "I'm afraid +I've forgotten how." + +"I'll teach you. You look as if you could stand a little of +it." + +"I must be a pretty sight. You're the second man to tell me +that in two days." + +Heyl leaned forward a little. "That so? Who's the other +one?" + +"Fenger, the General Manager." + +"Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I +don't know what he had in mind, but you're going to spend +Sunday at the dunes of Indiana with me." + +"Dunes? Of Indiana?" + +"There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In +September that combination of yellow sand, and blue +lake, and the woods beyond is--well, you'll see what it is. +It's only a little more than an hour's ride by train. And +it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, Fan." +He stood up. "I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, +or thereabouts. That's early for Sunday, but it's going to +be worth it." + +"I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to. +I----" + +"I promise not to lecture on Nature, if that's what's +worrying you." He took her hand in a parting grip. "Bring +some sandwiches, will you? Quite a lot of 'em. I'll have +some other stuff in my rucksack. And wear some clothes you +don't mind wrecking. I suppose you haven't got a red tam o' +shanter?" + +"Heavens, no!" + +"I just thought it might help to keep me humble." He was at +the door, and so was she, somehow, her hand still in his. +"Eight o'clock. How do you stand it in this place, Fan? +Oh, well--I'll find that out to-morrow. Good-by." + +Fanny went back to her desk and papers. The room seemed all +at once impossibly stuffy, her papers and letters dry, +meaningless things. In the next office, separated from her +by a partition half glass, half wood, she saw the top of +Slosson's bald head as he stood up to shut his old-fashioned +roll-top desk. He was leaving. She looked out of the +window. Ella Monahan, in hat and suit, passed and came back +to poke her head in the door. + +"Run along!" she said. "It's Saturday afternoon. You'll +work overtime enough when the Christmas rush begins. Come +on, child, and call it a day!" + +And Fanny gathered papers, figures, catalogue proofs into a +glorious heap, thrust them into a drawer, locked the drawer, +pushed back her chair, and came. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +Fanny told herself, before she went to bed Saturday night, +that she hoped it would rain Sunday morning from seven to +twelve. But when Princess woke her at seven-thirty, as per +instructions left in penciled scrawl on the kitchen table, +she turned to the window at once, and was glad, somehow, to +find it sun-flooded. Princess, if you're mystified, was +royal in name only--a biscuit-tinted lady, with a very black +and no-account husband whose habits made it necessary for +Princess to let herself into Fanny's four-room flat at seven +every morning, and let herself out at eight every evening. +She had an incredibly soft and musical voice, had Princess, +and a cooking hand. She kept Fanny mended, fed and +comfortable, and her only cross was that Fanny's taste in +blouses (ultimately her property) ran to the severe and +tailored. + +"Mawnin', Miss Fanny. There's a gep'mun waitin' to see +yo'." + +Fanny choked on a yawn. "A what!" + +"Gep'mun. Says yo-all goin' picnickin'. He's in the +settin' room, a-lookin' at yo' pictchah papahs. Will Ah fry +yo' up a li'l chicken to pack along? San'wiches ain't no +eatin' fo' Sunday." + +Fanny flung back her covers, swung around to the side of the +bed, and stood up, all, seemingly, in one sweeping movement. +"Do you mean to tell me he's in there, now?" + +From the sitting room. "I think I ought to tell you I can +hear everything you're saying. Say. Fanny, those sketches +of yours are---- Why, Gee Whiz! I didn't know +you did that kind of thing. This one here, with that girl's +face in the crowd----" + +"For heaven's sake!" Fanny demanded, "what are you doing +here at seven-thirty? And I don't allow people to look at +those sketches. You said eight-thirty." + +"I was afraid you'd change your mind, or something. +Besides, it's now twenty-two minutes to eight. And will you +tell the lady that's a wonderful idea about the chicken? +Only she'd better start now." + +Goaded by time bulletins shouted through the closed door, +Fanny found herself tubbed, clothed, and ready for breakfast +by eight-ten. When she opened the door Clarence was +standing in the center of her little sitting room, waiting, +a sheaf of loose sketches in his hand. + +"Say, look here! These are the real thing. Why, they're +great! They get you. This old geezer with the beard, +selling fish and looking like one of the Disciples. And +this. What the devil are you doing in a mail order house, +or whatever it is? Tell me that! When you can draw like +this!" + +"Good morning," said Fanny, calmly. "And I'll tell you +nothing before breakfast. The one thing that interests me +this moment is hot coffee. Will you have some breakfast? +Oh, well, a second one won't hurt you. You must have got up +at three, or thereabouts." She went toward the tiny +kitchen. "Never mind, Princess. I'll wait on myself. You +go on with that chicken." + +Princess was the kind of person who can fry a chicken, wrap +it in cool, crisp lettuce leaves, box it, cut sandwiches, +and come out of the process with an unruffled temper and an +immaculate kitchen. Thanks to her, Fanny and Heyl found +themselves on the eight fifty-three train, bound for the +dunes. + +Clarence swung his rucksack up to the bundle rack. He took +off his cap, and stuffed it into his pocket. He was +grinning like a schoolboy. Fanny turned from the window and +smiled at what she saw in his face. At that he gave an +absurd little bounce in his place, like an overgrown child, +and reached over and patted her hand. + +"I've dreamed of this for years." + +"You're just fourteen, going on fifteen," Fanny reproved +him. + +"I know it. And it's great! Won't you be, too? Forget +you're a fair financier, or whatever they call it. Forget +you earn more in a month than I do in six. Relax. Unbend. +Loosen up. Don't assume that hardshell air with me. Just +remember that I knew you when the frill of your panties +showed below your skirt." + +"Clarence Heyl!" + +But he was leaning past her, and pointing out of the window. +"See that curtain of smoke off there? That's the South +Chicago, and the Hammond and Gary steel mills. Wait till +you see those smokestacks against the sky, and the iron +scaffoldings that look like giant lacework, and the slag +heaps, and the coal piles, and those huge, grim tanks. Gad! +It's awful and beautiful. Like the things Pennell does." +"I came out here on the street car one day," said Fanny, +quietly. "One Sunday." + +"You did!" He stared at her. + +"It was hot, and they were all spilling out into the street. +You know, the women in wrappers, just blobs of flesh trying +to get cool. And the young girls in their pink silk dresses +and white shoes, and the boys on the street corners, calling +to them. Babies all over the sidewalks and streets, and the +men who weren't in the mills--you know how they look in +their Sunday shirtsleeves, with their flat faces, and high +cheekbones, and their great brown hands with the broken +nails. Hunkies. Well, at five the motor cars began +whizzing by from the country roads back to Chicago. +You have to go back that way. Just then the five o'clock +whistles blew and the day shift came off. There was a great +army of them, clumping down the road the way they do. Their +shoulders were slack, and their lunch pails dangled, empty, +and they were wet and reeking with sweat. The motor cars +were full of wild phlox and daisies and spiderwort." + +Clarence was still turned sideways, looking at her. "Get a +picture of it?" + +"Yes. I tried, at least." + +"Is that the way you usually spend your Sundays?" + +"Well, I--I like snooping about." + +"M-m," mused Clarence. Then, "How's business, Fanny?" + +"Business?" You could almost feel her mind jerk back. "Oh, +let's not talk about business on Sunday." + +"I thought so," said Clarence, enigmatically. "Now listen +to me, Fanny." + +"I'll listen," interrupted she, "if you'll talk about +yourself. I want to know what you're doing, and why you're +going to New York. What business can a naturalist have in +New York, anyway?" + +"I didn't intend to be a naturalist. You can tell that by +looking at me. But you can't have your very nose rubbed up +against trees, and rocks, and mountains, and snow for years +and years without learning something about 'em. There were +whole weeks when I hadn't anything to chum with but a +timber-line pine and an odd assortment of mountain peaks. +We just had to get acquainted." + +"But you're going back, aren't you? Don't they talk about +the spell of the mountains, or some such thing?" +"They do. And they're right. And I've got to have them six +months in the year, at least. But I'm going to try spending +the other six in the bosom of the human race. Not only +that, I'm going to write about it. Writing's my job, +really. At least, it's the thing I like best." + +"Nature?" + +"Human nature. I went out to Colorado just a lonesome +little kid with a bum lung. The lung's all right, but I +never did quite get over the other. Two years ago, in the +mountains, I met Carl Lasker, who owns the New York Star. +It's said to be the greatest morning paper in the country. +Lasker's a genius. And he fries the best bacon I ever +tasted. I took him on a four-weeks' horseback trip through +the mountains. We got pretty well acquainted. At the end +of it he offered me a job. You see, I'd never seen a chorus +girl, or the Woolworth building, or a cabaret, or a broiled +lobster, or a subway. But I was interested and curious +about all of them. And Lasker said, `A man who can humanize +a rock, or a tree, or a chipmunk ought to be able to make +even those things seem human. You've got what they call the +fresh viewpoint. New York's full of people with a scum over +their eyes, but a lot of them came to New York from +Winnebago, or towns just like it, and you'd be surprised at +the number of them who still get their home town paper. One +day, when I came into Lee Kohl's office, with stars, and +leading men, and all that waiting outside to see him, he was +sitting with his feet on the desk reading the Sheffield, +Illinois, Gazette.' You see, the thing he thinks I can do +is to give them a picture of New York as they used to see +it, before they got color blind. A column or so a day, +about anything that hits me. How does that strike you as a +job for a naturalist?" + +"It's a job for a human naturalist. I think you'll cover +it." + +If you know the dunes, which you probably don't, you know +why they did not get off at Millers, with the crowd, but +rode on until they were free of the Sunday picnickers. +Then they got off, and walked across the tracks, past +saloons, and a few huddled houses, hideous in yellow paint, +and on, and on down a road that seemed endless. A stretch +of cinders, then dust, a rather stiff little hill, a great +length of yellow sand and--the lake! We say, the lake! like +that, with an exclamation point after it, because it wasn't +at all the Lake Michigan that Chicagoans know. This vast +blue glory bore no relation to the sullen, gray, turbid +thing that the city calls the lake. It was all the blues of +which you've ever heard, and every passing cloud gave it a +new shade. Sapphire. No, cobalt. No, that's too cold. +Mediterranean. Turquoise. And the sand in golden contrast. +Miles of sand along the beach, and back of that the dunes. +Now, any dictionary or Scotchman will tell you that a dune +is a hill of loose sand. But these dunes are done in +American fashion, lavishly. Mountains of sand, as far as +the eye can see, and on the top of them, incredibly, great +pine trees that clutch at their perilous, shifting foothold +with frantic root-toes. And behind that, still more +incredibly, the woods, filled with wild flowers, with +strange growths found nowhere else in the whole land, with +trees, and vines, and brush, and always the pungent scent of +the pines. And there you have the dunes--blue lake, golden +sand-hills, green forest, in one. + +Fanny and Clarence stood there on the sand, in silence, two +ridiculously diminutive figures in that great wilderness of +beauty. I wish I could get to you, somehow, the clear +sparkle of it, the brilliance of it, and yet the peace of +it. They stood there a long while, those two, without +speaking. Then Fanny shut her eyes, and I think her lower +lip trembled just a little. And Clarence patted her hand +just twice. + +"I thank you," he said, "in the name of that much-abused +lady known as Nature." + +Said Fanny, "I want to scramble up to the top of one of +those dunes--the high one--and just sit there." + +And that is what they did. A poor enough Sunday, I suppose, +in the minds of those of you who spend yours golfing at the +club, or motoring along grease-soaked roads that lead to a +shore dinner and a ukulele band. But it turned Fanny +Brandeis back a dozen years or more, so that she was again +the little girl whose heart had ached at sight of the pale +rose and, orange of the Wisconsin winter sunsets. She +forgot all about layettes, and obstetrical outfits, and +flannel bands, and safety pins; her mind was a blank in the +matter of bootees, and catalogues, and our No. 29E8347, and +those hungry bins that always yawned for more. She forgot +about Michael Fenger, and Theodore, and the new furs. They +scrambled up dunes, digging into the treacherous sand with +heels, toes, and the side of the foot, and clutching at +fickle roots with frantic fingers. Forward a step, and back +two--that's dune climbing. A back-breaking business, unless +you're young and strong, as were these two. They explored +the woods, and Heyl had a fascinating way of talking about +stones and shrubs and trees as if they were endowed with +human qualities--as indeed they were for him. They found a +hill-slope carpeted with dwarf huckleberry plants, still +bearing tiny clusters of the blue-black fruit. Fanny's +heart was pounding, her lungs ached, her cheeks were +scarlet, her eyes shining. Heyl, steel-muscled, took the +hills like a chamois. Once they crossed hands atop a dune +and literally skated down it, right, left, right, left, +shrieking with laughter, and ending in a heap at the bottom. +"In the name of all that's idiotic!" shouted Heyl. "Silk +stockings! What in thunder made you wear silk stockings! +At the sand dunes! Gosh!" + +They ate their dinner in olympic splendor, atop a dune. +Heyl produced unexpected things from the rucksack--things +that ranged all the way from milk chocolate to +literature, and from grape juice to cigarettes. They ate +ravenously, but at Heyl's thrifty suggestion they saved a +few sandwiches for the late afternoon. It was he, too, who +made a little bonfire of papers, crusts, and bones, as is +the cleanly habit of your true woodsman. Then they +stretched out, full length, in the noon sun, on the warm, +clean sand. + +"What's your best price on one-sixth doz. flannel vests?" +inquired Heyl. + +And, "Oh, shut up!" said Fanny, elegantly. Heyl laughed as +one who hugs a secret. + +"We'll work our way down the beach," he announced, "toward +Millers. There'll be northern lights to-night; did you know +that? Want to stay and see them?" + +"Do I want to! I won't go home till I have." + +These were the things they did on that holiday; childish, +happy, tiring things, such as people do who love the +outdoors. + +The charm of Clarence Heyl--for he had charm--is difficult +to transmit. His lovableness and appeal lay in his +simplicity. It was not so much what he said as in what he +didn't say. He was staring unwinkingly now at the sunset +that had suddenly burst upon them. His were the eyes of one +accustomed to the silent distances. + +"Takes your breath away, rather, doesn't it? All that +color?" said Fanny, her face toward the blaze. + +"Almost too obvious for my taste. I like 'em a little more +subdued, myself." They were atop a dune, and he stretched +himself flat on the sand, still keeping his bright brown +eyes on lake and sky. Then he sat up, excitedly. "Heh, try +that! Lie flat. It softens the whole thing. Like this. +Now look at it. The lake's like molten copper flowing in. +And you can see that silly sun going down in jerks, like a +balloon on a string." + +They lay there, silent, while the scarlet became orange, the +orange faded to rose, the rose to pale pink, to salmon, to +mauve, to gray. The first pale star came out, and the +brazen lights of Gary, far to the north, defied it. +Fanny sat up with a sigh and a little shiver. + +"Fasten up that sweater around your throat," said Heyl. +"Got a pin?" They munched their sandwiches, rather soggy by +now, and drank the last of the grape juice. "We'll have a +bite of hot supper in town, at a restaurant that doesn't +mind Sunday trampers. Come on, Fan. We'll start down the +beach until the northern lights begin to show." + +"It's been the most accommodating day," murmured Fanny. +"Sunshine, sunset, northern lights, everything. If we were +to demand a rainbow and an eclipse they'd turn those on, +too." + +They started to walk down the beach in the twilight, keeping +close to the water's edge where the sand was moist and firm. +It was hard going. They plunged along arm in arm, in +silence. Now and again they stopped, with one accord, and +looked out over the great gray expanse that lay before them, +and then up at the hills and the pines etched in black +against the sky. Nothing competitive here, Fanny thought, +and took a deep breath. She thought of to-morrow's work, +with day after to-morrow's biting and snapping at its heels. + +Clarence seemed to sense her thoughts. "Doesn't this make +you feel you want to get away from those damned bins that +you're forever feeding? I watched those boys for a minute, +the other day, outside your office. Jove!" + +Fanny dug a heel into the sand, savagely. "Some days I feel +that I've got to walk out of the office, and down the +street, without a hat, and on, and on, walking and walking, +and running now and then, till I come to the horizon. +That's how I feel, some days." + +"Then some day, Fanny, that feeling will get too strong for +you, and you'll do it. Now listen to me. Tuck this away in +your subconscious mind, and leave it there until you need +it. When that time comes get on a train for Denver. From +Denver take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky +Mountains, and they're your destination, because that's +where the horizon lives and has its being. When you get +there ask for Heyl's place. They'll just hand you from one +to the other, gently, until you get there. I may be there, +but more likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied +to a string. You'll find a fire already laid, in the +fireplace, with fat pine knots that will blaze up at the +touch of a match. My books are there, along the walls. The +bedding's in the cedar chest, and the lamps are filled. +There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And the mountains are +there, girl, to make you clean and whole again. And the +pines that are nature's prophylactic brushes. And the sky. +And peace. That sounds like a railway folder, but it's +true. I know." They trudged along in silence for a little +while. "Got that?" + +"M-m," replied Fanny, disinterestedly, without looking at +him. + +Heyl's jaw set. You could see the muscles show white for an +instant. Then he said: "It has been a wonderful day, +Fanny, but you haven't told me a thing about yourself. I'd +like to know about your work. I'd like to know what you're +doing; what your plan is. You looked so darned definite up +there in that office. Whom do you play with? And who's +this Fenger--wasn't that the name?--who saw that you looked +tired?" + +"All right, Clancy. I'll tell you all about it," Fanny +agreed, briskly. + +"All right--who!" + +"Well, I can't call you Clarence. It doesn't fit. So just +for the rest of the day let's make it Clancy, even if +you do look like one of the minor Hebrew prophets, minus the +beard." + +And so she began to tell him of her work and her aims. I +think that she had been craving just this chance to talk. +That which she told him was, unconsciously, a confession. +She told him of Theodore and his marriage; of her mother's +death; of her coming to Haynes-Cooper, and the changes she +had brought about there. She showed him the infinite +possibilities for advancement there. Slosson she tossed +aside. Then, rather haltingly, she told him of Fenger, of +his business genius, his magnetic qualities, of his career. +She even sketched a deft word-picture of the limp and +irritating Mrs. Fenger. + +"Is this Fenger in love with you?" asked Heyl, startlingly. + +Fanny recoiled at the idea with a primness that did credit +to Winnebago. + +"Clancy! Please! He's married." + +"Now don't sneak, Fanny. And don't talk like an ingenue. +So far, you've outlined a life-plan that makes Becky Sharp +look like a cooing dove. So just answer this straight, will +you?" + +"Why, I suppose I attract him, as any man of his sort, with +a wife like that, would be attracted to a healthily alert +woman, whose ideas match his. And I wish you wouldn't talk +to me like that. It hurts." + +"I'm glad of that. I was afraid you'd passed that stage. +Well now, how about those sketches of yours? I suppose you +know that they're as good, in a crude, effective sort of +way, as anything that's being done to-day." + +"Oh, nonsense!" But then she stopped, suddenly, and put +both hands on his arm, and looked up at him, her face +radiant in the gray twilight. "Do you really think they're +good!" + +"You bet they're good. There isn't a newspaper in the +country that couldn't use that kind of stuff. And there +aren't three people in the country who can do it. It isn't +a case of being able to draw. It's being able to see life +in a peculiar light, and to throw that light so that others +get the glow. Those sketches I saw this morning are life, +served up raw. That's your gift, Fanny. Why the devil +don't you use it!" + +But Fanny had got herself in hand again. "It isn't a gift," +she said, lightly. "It's just a little knack that amuses +me. There's no money in it. Besides, it's too late now. +One's got to do a thing superlatively, nowadays, to be +recognized. I don't draw superlatively, but I do handle +infants' wear better than any woman I know. In two more +years I'll be getting ten thousand a year at Haynes-Cooper. +In five years----" + +"Then what?" + +Fanny's hands became fists, gripping the power she craved. +"Then I shall have arrived. I shall be able to see the +great and beautiful things of this world, and mingle with +the people who possess them." + +"When you might be making them yourself, you little fool. +Don't glare at me like that. I tell you that those pictures +are the real expression of you. That's why you turn to them +as relief from the shop grind. You can't help doing them. +They're you." + +"I can stop if I want to. They amuse me, that's all." + +"You can't stop. It's in your blood. It's the Jew in you." + +"The---- Here, I'll show you. I won't do another sketch +for a year. I'll prove to you that my ancestors' religion +doesn't influence my work, or my play." + +"Dear, you can't prove that, because the contrary has been +proven long ago. You yourself proved it when you did that +sketch of the old fish vender in the Ghetto. The one with +the beard. It took a thousand years of suffering and +persecution and faith to stamp that look on his face, +and it took a thousand years to breed in you the genius to +see it, and put it down on paper. Fan, did you ever read +Fishberg's book?" + +"No," said Fanny, low-voiced. + +"Sometime, when you can snatch a moment from the +fascinations of the mail order catalogue, read it. Fishberg +says--I wish I could remember his exact words--`It isn't the +body that marks the Jew. It's his Soul. The type is not +anthropological, or physical; it's social or psychic. It +isn't the complexion, the nose, the lips, the head. It's +his Soul which betrays his faith. Centuries of Ghetto +confinement, ostracism, ceaseless suffering, have produced a +psychic type. The thing that is stamped on the Soul seeps +through the veins and works its way magically to the +face----'" + +"But I don't want to talk about souls! Please! You're +spoiling a wonderful day." + +"And you're spoiling a wonderful life. I don't object to +this driving ambition in you. I don't say that you're wrong +in wanting to make a place for yourself in the world. But +don't expect me to stand by and let you trample over your +own immortal soul to get there. Your head is busy enough on +this infants' wear job, but how about the rest of you--how +about You? What do you suppose all those years of work, and +suppression, and self-denial, and beauty-hunger there in +Winnebago were meant for! Not to develop the mail order +business. They were given you so that you might recognize +hunger, and suppression, and self-denial in others. The +light in the face of that girl in the crowd pouring out of +the plant. What's that but the reflection of the light in +you! I tell you, Fanny, we Jews have got a money-grubbing, +loud-talking, diamond-studded, get-there-at-any-price +reputation, and perhaps we deserve it. But every now and +then, out of the mass of us, one lifts his head and stands +erect, and the great white light is in his face. And that +person has suffered, for suffering breeds genius. It +expands the soul just as over-prosperity shrivels it. You +see it all the way from Lew Fields to Sarah Bernhardt; from +Mendelssohn to Irving Berlin; from Mischa Elman to Charlie +Chaplin. You were a person set apart in Winnebago. Instead +of thanking your God for that, you set out to be something +you aren't. No, it's worse than that. You're trying not to +be what you are. And it's going to do for you." + +"Stop!" cried Fanny. "My head's whirling. It sounds like +something out of `Alice in Wonderland.'" + +"And you," retorted Heyl, "sound like some one who's afraid +to talk or think about herself. You're suppressing the +thing that is you. You're cutting yourself off from your +own people--a dramatic, impulsive, emotional people. By +doing those things you're killing the goose that lays the +golden egg. What's that old copy-book line? `To thine own +self be true,' and the rest of it." + +"Yes; like Theodore, for example," sneered Fanny. + +At which unpleasant point Nature kindly supplied a +diversion. Across the black sky there shot two luminous +shafts of lights. Northern lights, pale sisters of the +chromatic glory one sees in the far north, but still weirdly +beautiful. Fanny and Heyl stopped short, faces upturned. +The ghostly radiance wavered, expanded, glowed palely, like +celestial searchlights. Suddenly, from the tip of each +shaft, there burst a cluster of slender, pin-point lines, +like aigrettes set in a band of silver. Then these slowly +wavered, faded, combined to form a third and fourth slender +shaft of light. It was like the radiance one sees in the +old pictures of the Holy Family. Together Fanny and Heyl +watched it in silence until the last pale glimmer faded and +was gone, and only the brazen lights of Gary, far, far down +the beach, cast a fiery glow against the sky. + +They sighed, simultaneously. Then they laughed, each at the +other. + +"Curtain," said Fanny. They raced for the station, despite +the sand. Their car was filled with pudgy babies lying limp +in parental arms; with lunch baskets exuding the sickly +scent of bananas; with disheveled vandals whose moist palms +grasped bunches of wilted wild flowers. Past the belching +chimneys of Gary, through South Chicago, the back yard of a +metropolis, past Jackson Park that breathed coolly upon +them, and so to the city again. They looked at it with the +shock that comes to eyes that have rested for hours on long +stretches of sand and sky and water. Monday, that had +seemed so far away, became an actuality of to-morrow. + +Tired as they were, they stopped at one of those frank +little restaurants that brighten Chicago's drab side +streets. Its windows were full of pans that held baked +beans, all crusty and brown, and falsely tempting, and of +baked apples swimming in a pool of syrup. These flanked by +ketchup bottles and geometrical pyramids of golden grape- +fruit. + +Coffee and hot roast beef sandwiches, of course, in a place +like that. "And," added Fanny, "one of those baked apples. +Just to prove they can't be as good as they look." + +They weren't, but she was too hungry to care. Not too +hungry, though, to note with quick eye all that the little +restaurant held of interest, nor too sleepy to respond to +the friendly waitress who, seeing their dusty boots, and the +sprig of sumac stuck in Fanny's coat, said, "My, it must +have been swell in the country today!" as her flapping +napkin precipitated crumbs into their laps. + +"It was," said Fanny, and smiled up at the girl with her +generous, flashing smile. "Here's a bit of it I brought +back for you." And she stuck the scarlet sumac sprig into +the belt of the white apron. + +They finished the day incongruously by taking a taxi +home, Fanny yawning luxuriously all the way. "Do you know," +she said, as they parted, "we've talked about everything +from souls to infants' wear. We're talked out. It's a +mercy you're going to New York. There won't be a next +time." + +"Young woman," said Heyl, forcefully, "there will. That +young devil in the red tam isn't dead. She's alive. And +kicking. There's a kick in every one of those Chicago +sketches in your portfolio upstairs. You said she wouldn't +fight anybody's battles to-day. You little idiot, she's +fighting one in each of those pictures, from the one showing +that girl's face in the crowd, to the old chap with the +fish-stall. She'll never die that one. Because she's the +spirit. It's the other one who's dead--and she doesn't know +it. But some day she'll find herself buried. And I want to +be there to shovel on the dirt." + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +From the first of December the floor of the Haynes-Cooper +mail room looked like the New York Stock Exchange, after a +panic. The aisles were drifts of paper against which a +squad of boys struggled as vainly as a gang of snow- +shovelers against a blizzard. The guide talked in terms of +tons of mail, instead of thousands. And smacked his lips +after it. The Ten Thousand were working at night now, +stopping for a hasty bite of supper at six, then back to +desk, or bin or shelf until nine, so that Oklahoma and +Minnesota might have its Christmas box in time. + +Fanny Brandeis, working under the light of her green-shaded +desk lamp, wondered, a little bitterly, if Christmas would +ever mean anything to her but pressure, weariness, work. +She told herself that she would not think of that Christmas +of one year ago. One year! As she glanced around the +orderly little office, and out to the stock room beyond, +then back to her desk again, she had an odd little feeling +of unreality. Surely it had been not one year, but many +years--a lifetime--since she had elbowed her way up and down +those packed aisles of the busy little store in Winnebago-- +she and that brisk, alert, courageous woman. + +"Mrs. Brandeis, lady wants to know if you can't put this +blue satin dress on the dark-haired doll, and the pink +satin. . . . Well, I did tell her, but she said for me to +ask you, anyway." + +"Mis' Brandeis, this man says he paid a dollar down on a go- +cart last month and he wants to pay the rest and take it +home with him." + +And then the reassuring, authoritative voice, "Coming! I'll +be right there." + +"Coming!" That had been her whole life. Service. And now +she lay so quietly beneath the snow of the bitter northern +winter. + +At that point Fanny's fist would come down hard on her desk, +and the quick, indrawn breath of mutinous resentment would +hiss through her teeth. + +She kept away from the downtown shops and their crowds. She +scowled at sight of the holly and mistletoe wreaths, with +their crimson streamers. There was something almost +ludicrous in the way she shut her eyes to the holiday +pageant all around her, and doubled and redoubled her work. +It seemed that she had a new scheme for her department every +other day, and every other one was a good one. + +Slosson had long ago abandoned the attempt to keep up with +her. He did not even resent her, as he had at first. "I'm +a buyer," he said, rather pathetically, "and a pret-ty good +one, too. But I'm not a genius, and I never will be. And I +guess you've got to be a genius, these days, to keep up. It +used to be enough for an infants' wear buyer to know +muslins, cottons, woolens, silks, and embroideries. But +that's old-fashioned now. These days, when you hire an +office boy you don't ask him if he can read and write. You +tell him he's got to have personality, magnetism, and +imagination. Makes me sick!" + +The Baby Book came off the presses and it was good. Even +Slosson admitted it, grudgingly. The cover was a sunny, +breezy seashore picture, all blue and gold, with plump, +dimpled youngsters playing, digging in the sand, romping +(and wearing our No. 13E1269, etc., of course). Inside were +displayed the complete baby outfits, with a smiling mother, +and a chubby, crowing baby as a central picture, and each +piece of each outfit separately pictured. Just below this, +the outfit number and price, and a list of the pieces +that went to make it up. From the emergency outfit at $3.98 +to the outfit de luxe (for Haynes-Cooper patrons) at $28.50, +each group was comprehensive, practical, complete. In the +back of the book was a personal service plea. "Use us," it +said. "We are here to assist you, not only in the matter of +merchandise, but with information and advice. Mothers in +particular are in need of such service. This book will save +you weariness and worry. Use us." + +Fanny surveyed the book with pardonable pride. But she was +not satisfied. "We lack style," she said. "The practical +garments are all right. But what we need is a little snap. +That means cut and line. And I'm going to New York to get +it." That had always been Slosson's work. + +She and Ella Monahan were to go to the eastern markets +together. Ella Monahan went to New York regularly every +three weeks. Fanny had never been east of Chicago. She +envied Ella her knowledge of the New York wholesalers and +manufacturers. Ella had dropped into Fanny's office for a +brief moment. The two women had little in common, except +their work, but they got on very well, and each found the +other educating. + +"Seems to me you're putting an awful lot into this," +observed Ella Monahan, her wise eyes on Fanny's rather tense +face. + +"You've got to," replied Fanny, "to get anything out of it." + +"I guess you're right," Ella agreed, and laughed a rueful +little laugh. "I know I've given 'em everything I've got-- +and a few things I didn't know I had. It's a queer game-- +life. Now if my old father hadn't run a tannery in Racine, +and if I hadn't run around there all the day, so that I got +so the smell and feel of leather and hides were part of me, +why, I'd never be buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper. +And you----" + +"Brandeis' Bazaar." And was going on, when her office boy +came in with a name. Ella rose to go, but Fanny stopped +her. "Father Fitzpatrick! Bring him right in! Miss +Monahan, you've got to meet him. He's"--then, as the great +frame of the handsome old priest filled the doorway--"he's +just Father Fitzpatrick. Ella Monahan." + +The white-haired Irishman, and the white-haired Irish woman +clasped hands. + +"And who are you, daughter, besides being Ella Monahan?" + +"Buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper, Father." + +"You don't tell me, now!" He turned to Fanny, put his two +big hands on her shoulders, and swung her around to face the +light. "Hm," he murmured, noncommittally, after that. + +"Hm--what?" demanded Fanny. "It sounds unflattering, +whatever it means." +"Gloves!" repeated Father Fitzpatrick, unheeding her. +"Well, now, what d'you think of that! Millions of dollars' +worth, I'll wager, in your time." + +"Two million and a half in my department last year," replied +Ella, without the least trace of boastfulness. One talked +only in terms of millions at Haynes-Cooper's. + +"What an age it is! When two slips of women can earn +salaries that would make the old kings of Ireland look like +beggars." He twinkled upon the older woman. "And what a +feeling it must be--independence, and all." + +"I've earned my own living since I was seventeen," said Ella +Monahan. "I'd hate to tell you how long that is." A murmur +from the gallant Irishman. "Thanks, Father, for the +compliment I see in your eyes. But what I mean is this: +You're right about independence. It is a grand thing. At +first. But after a while it begins to pall on you. Don't +ask me why. I don't know. I only hope you won't think I'm a +wicked woman when I say I could learn to love any man who'd hang a +silver fox scarf and a string of pearls around my neck, and ask me +if I didn't feel a draft." + +"Wicked! Not a bit of it, my girl. It's only natural, and +commendable--barrin' the pearls." + +"I'd forego them," laughed Ella, and with a parting +handshake left the two alone. + +Father Fitzpatrick looked after her. "A smart woman, that." +He took out his watch, a fat silver one. "It's eleven- +thirty. My train leaves at four. Now, Fanny, if you'll get +on your hat, and arrange to steal an hour or so from this +Brobdingnagian place a grand word that, my girl, and nearer +to swearing than any word I know--I'll take you to the +Blackstone, no less, for lunch. How's that for a poor +miserable old priest!" + +"You dear, I couldn't think of it. Oh, yes, I could get +away, but let's lunch right here at the plant, in the +grill----" + +"Never! I couldn't. Don't ask it of me. This place scares +me. I came up in the elevator with a crowd and a guide, and +he was juggling millions, that chap, the way a newsboy flips +a cent. I'm but a poor parish priest, but I've got my +pride. We'll go to the Blackstone, which I've passed, +humbly, but never been in, with its rose silk shades and its +window boxes. And we'll be waited on by velvet-footed +servitors, me girl. Get your hat." + +Fanny, protesting, but laughing, too, got it. They took the +L. Michigan avenue, as they approached it from Wabash, was +wind-swept and bleak as only Michigan avenue can be in +December. They entered the warm radiance of the luxurious +foyer with a little breathless rush, as wind-blown +Chicagoans generally do. The head waiter must have thought +Father Fitzpatrick a cardinal, at least, for he seated them +at a window table that looked out upon the icy street, +with Grant Park, crusted with sooty snow, just across the +way, and beyond that the I. C. tracks and the great gray +lake. The splendid room was all color, and perfume, and +humming conversation. A fountain tinkled in the center, and +upon its waters there floated lily pads and blossoms, +weirdly rose, and mauve, and lavender. The tables were +occupied by deliciously slim young girls and very self- +conscious college boys, home for the holidays, and marcelled +matrons, furred and aigretted. The pink in Fanny's cheeks +deepened. She loved luxury. She smiled and flashed at the +handsome old priest opposite her. + +"You're a wastrel," she said, "but isn't it nice!" And +tasted the first delicious sip of soup. + +"It is. For a change. Extravagance is good for all of us, +now and then." He glanced leisurely about the brilliant +room, then out to the street, bleakly windswept. He leaned +back and drummed a bit with his fingers on the satin-smooth +cloth. "Now and then. Tell me, Fanny, what would you say, +off-hand, was the most interesting thing you see from here? +You used to have a trick of picking out what they call the +human side. Your mother had it, too." + +Fanny, smiling, glanced about the room, her eyes +unconsciously following the track his had taken. About the +room, and out, to the icy street. "The most interesting +thing?" Back to the flower-scented room, with its music, +and tinkle, and animation. Out again, to the street. "You +see that man, standing at the curb, across the street. He's +sort of crouched against the lamp post. See him? Yes, +there, just this side of that big gray car? He's all drawn +up in a heap. You can feel him shivering. He looks as if +he were trying to crawl inside himself for warmth. Ever +since we came in I've noticed him staring straight across at +these windows where we're all sitting so grandly, lunching. +I know what he's thinking, don't you? And I wish I +didn't feel so uncomfortable, knowing it. I wish we hadn't +ordered lobster thermidor. I wish--there! the policeman's +moving him on." + +Father Fitzpatrick reached over and took her hand, as it lay +on the table, in his great grasp. "Fanny, girl, you've told +me what I wanted to know. Haynes-Cooper or no Haynes- +Cooper, millions or no millions, your ravines aren't choked +up with ashes yet, my dear. Thank God." + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +From now on Fanny Brandeis' life became such a swift-moving +thing that your trilogist would have regarded her with +disgust. Here was no slow unfolding, petal by petal. Here +were two processes going on, side by side. Fanny, the woman +of business, flourished and throve like a weed, arrogantly +flaunting its head above the timid, white flower that lay +close to the soil, and crept, and spread, and multiplied. +Between the two the fight went on silently. + +Fate, or Chance, or whatever it is that directs our +movements, was forever throwing tragic or comic little life- +groups in her path, and then, pointing an arresting finger +at her, implying, "This means you!" Fanny stepped over +these obstructions, or walked around them, or stared +straight through them. + +She had told herself that she would observe the first +anniversary of her mother's death with none of those ancient +customs by which your pious Jew honors his dead. There +would be no Yahrzeit light burning for twenty-four hours. +She would not go to Temple for Kaddish prayer. But the +thing was too strong for her, too anciently inbred. Her +ancestors would have lighted a candle, or an oil lamp. +Fanny, coming home at six, found herself turning on the +shaded electric lamp in her hall. She went through to the +kitchen. + +"Princess, when you come in to-morrow morning you'll find a +light in the hall. Don't turn it off until to-morrow +evening at six." + +"All day long, Miss Fan! Mah sakes, wa' foh?" + +"It's just a religious custom." + +"Didn't know yo' had no relijin, Miss Fan. Leastways, Ah +nevah could figgah----" + +"I haven't," said Fanny, shortly. "Dinner ready soon, +Princess? I'm starved." + +She had entered a Jewish house of worship only once in this +year. It was the stately, white-columned edifice on Grand +Boulevard that housed the congregation presided over by the +famous Kirsch. She had heard of him, naturally. She was +there out of curiosity, like any other newcomer to Chicago. +The beauty of the auditorium enchanted her--a magnificently +proportioned room, and restful without being in the least +gloomy. Then she had been interested in the congregation as +it rustled in. She thought she had never seen so many +modishly gowned women in one room in all her life. The men +were sleekly broadclothed, but they lacked the well-dressed +air, somehow. The women were slimly elegant in tailor suits +and furs. They all looked as if they had been turned out by +the same tailor. An artist, in his line, but of limited +imagination. Dr. Kirsch, sociologist and savant, aquiline, +semi-bald, grimly satiric, sat in his splendid, high-backed +chair, surveying his silken flock through half-closed lids. +He looked tired, and rather ill, Fanny thought, but +distinctly a personage. She wondered if he held them or +they him. That recalled to her the little Winnebago Temple +and Rabbi Thalmann. She remembered the frequent rudeness +and open inattention of that congregation. No doubt Mrs. +Nathan Pereles had her counterpart here, and the +hypocritical Bella Weinberg, too, and the giggling Aarons +girls, and old Ben Reitman. Here Dr. Kirsch had risen, and, +coming forward, had paused to lean over his desk and, with +an awful geniality, had looked down upon two rustling, +exquisitely gowned late-comers. They sank into their seats, +cowed. Fanny grinned. He began his lecture +something about modern politics. Fanny was fascinated +and resentful by turns. His brilliant satire probed, cut, +jabbed like a surgeon's scalpel; or he railed, scolded, +snarled, like a dyspeptic schoolmaster. Often he was in +wretched taste. He mimicked, postured, sneered. But he had +this millionaire congregation of his in hand. Fanny found +herself smiling up at him, delightedly. Perhaps this wasn't +religion, as she had been taught to look upon it, but it +certainly was tonic. She told herself that she would have +come to the same conclusion if Kirsch had occupied a +Methodist pulpit. + +There were no Kaddish prayers in Kirsch's Temple. On the +Friday following the first anniversary of Molly Brandeis's +death Fanny did not go home after working hours, but took a +bite of supper in a neighborhood restaurant. Then she found +her way to one of the orthodox Russian Jewish synagogues on +the west side. It was a dim, odorous, bare little place, +this house of worship. Fanny had never seen one like it +before. She was herded up in the gallery, where the women +sat. And when the patriarchal rabbi began to intone the +prayer for the dead Fanny threw the gallery into wild panic +by rising for it--a thing that no woman is allowed to do in +an orthodox Jewish church. She stood, calmly, though the +beshawled women to right and left of her yanked at her coat. + +In January Fanny discovered New York. She went as selector +for her department. Hereafter Slosson would do only the +actual buying. Styles, prices, and materials would be +decided by her. Ella Monahan accompanied her, it being the +time for her monthly trip. Fanny openly envied her her +knowledge of New York's wholesale district. Ella offered to +help her. + +"No," Fanny had replied, "I think not, thanks. You've your +own work. And besides I know pretty well what I want, and +where to go to get it. It's making them give it to me that +will be hard." + +They went to the same hotel, and took connecting rooms. +Each went her own way, not seeing the other from morning +until night, but they often found kimonoed comfort in each +other's presence. + +Fanny had spent weeks outlining her plan of attack. She had +determined to retain the cheap grades, but to add a finer +line as well. She recalled those lace-bedecked bundles that +the farmer women and mill hands had born so tenderly in +their arms. Here was one direction in which they allowed +extravagance free rein. As a canny business woman, she +would trade on her knowledge of their weakness. + +At Haynes-Cooper order is never a thing to be despised by a +wholesaler. Fanny, knowing this, had made up her mind to go +straight to Horn & Udell. Now, Horn & Udell are responsible +for the bloomers your small daughter wears under her play +frock, in place of the troublesome and extravagant petticoat +of the old days. It was they who introduced smocked +pinafores to you; and those modish patent-leather belts for +children at which your grandmothers would have raised +horrified hands. They taught you that an inch of hand +embroidery is worth a yard of cheap lace. And as for style, +cut, line--you can tell a Horn & Udell child from among a +flock of thirty. + +Fanny, entering their office, felt much as Molly Brandeis +had felt that January many, many years before, when she had +made that first terrifying trip to the Chicago market. The +engagement had been made days before. Fanny never knew the +shock that her youthfully expectant face gave old Sid Udell. +He turned from his desk to greet her, his polite smile of +greeting giving way to a look of bewilderment. + +"But you are not the buyer, are you, Miss Brandeis?" + +"No, Mr. Slosson buys." + +"I thought so." + +"But I select for my entire department. I decide on our +styles, materials, and prices, six months in advance. Then +Mr. Slosson does the actual bulk buying." + +"Something new-fangled?" inquired Sid Udell. "Of course, +we've never sold much to you people. Our stuff is----" + +"Yes, I know. But you'd like to, wouldn't you?" + +"Our class of goods isn't exactly suited to your wants." + +"Yes, it is. Exactly. That's why I'm here. We'll be doing +a business of a million and a quarter in my department in +another two years. No firm, not even Horn & Udell, can +afford to ignore an account like that." + +Sid Udell smiled a little. "You've made up your mind to +that million and a quarter, young lady?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I've dealt with buyers for a quarter of a century or +more. And I'd say that you're going to get it." + +Whereupon Fanny began to talk. Ten minutes later Udell +interrupted her to summon Horn, whose domain was the +factory. Horn came, was introduced, looked doubtful. Fanny +had statistics. Fanny had arguments. She had +determination. "And what we want," she went on, in her +quiet, assured way, "is style. The Horn & Udell clothes +have chic. Now, material can't be imitated successfully, +but style can. Our goods lack just that. I could copy any +model you have, turn the idea over to a cheap manufacturer, +and get a million just like it, at one-fifth the price. +That isn't a threat. It's just a business statement that +you know to be true. I can sketch from memory anything I've +seen once. What I want to know is this: Will you make it +necessary for me to do that, or will you undertake to +furnish us with cheaper copies of your high-priced designs? +We could use your entire output. I know the small-town +woman of the poorer class, and I know she'll wear a shawl in +order to give her child a cloth coat with fancy buttons and +a velvet collar." + +And Horn & Udell, whose attitude at first had been that of +two seasoned business men dealing with a precocious child, +found themselves quoting prices to her, shipments, +materials, quality, quantities. Then came the question of +time. + +"We'll get out a special catalogue for the summer," Fanny +said. "A small one, to start them our way. Then the big +Fall catalogue will contain the entire line." + +"That doesn't give us time!" exclaimed both men, in a +breath. + +"But you must manage, somehow. Can't you speed up the +workroom? Put on extra hands? It's worth it." + +They might, under normal conditions. But there was this +strike-talk, its ugly head bobbing up in a hundred places. +And their goods were the kind that required high-class +workers. Their girls earned all the way from twelve to +twenty-five dollars. +But Fanny knew she had driven home the entering wedge. She +left them after making an engagement for the following day. +The Horn & Udell factory was in New York's newer loft- +building section, around Madison, Fifth avenue, and the +Thirties. Her hotel was very near. She walked up Fifth +avenue a little way, and as she walked she wondered why she +did not feel more elated. Her day's work had exceeded her +expectations. It was a brilliant January afternoon, with a +snap in the air that was almost western. Fifth avenue +flowed up, flowed down, and Fanny fought the impulse to +stare after every second or third woman she passed. They +were so invariably well-dressed. There was none of the +occasional shabbiness or dowdiness of Michigan Avenue. +Every woman seemed to have emerged fresh from the hands of +masseuse and maid. Their hair was coiffed to suit the +angle of the hat, and the hat had been chosen to enhance the +contour of the head, and the head was carried with regard +for the dark furs that encircled the throat. They were +amazingly well shod. Their white gloves were white. (A +fact remarkable to any soot-haunted Chicagoan.) Their +coloring rivaled the rose leaf. And nobody's nose was red. + +"Goodness knows I've never pretended to be a beauty," Fanny +said that evening, in conversation with Ella Monahan. "But +I've always thought I had my good points. By the time I'd +reached Forty-second street I wouldn't have given two cents +for my chances of winning a cave man on a desert island." + +She made up her mind that she would go back to the hotel, +get a thick coat, and ride outside one of those fascinating +Fifth avenue 'buses. It struck her as an ideal way to see +this amazing street. She was back at her hotel in ten +minutes. Ella had not yet come in. Their rooms were on the +tenth floor. Fanny got her coat, peered at her own +reflection in the mirror, sighed, shook her head, and was +off down the hall toward the elevators. The great hall +window looked toward Fifth avenue, but between it and the +avenue rose a yellow-brick building that housed tier on tier +of manufacturing lofts. Cloaks, suits, blouses, petticoats, +hats, dresses--it was just such a building as Fanny had come +from when she left the offices of Horn & Udell. It might be +their very building, for all she knew. She looked straight +into its windows as she stood waiting for the lift. And +window after window showed women, sewing. They were sewing +at machines, and at hand-work, but not as women are +accustomed to sew, with leisurely stitches, stopping to pat +a seam here, to run a calculating eye along hem or ruffle. +It was a dreadful, mechanical motion, that sewing, a +machine-like, relentless motion, with no waste in it, no +pause. Fanny's mind leaped back to Winnebago, with its +pleasant porches on which leisurely women sat stitching +peacefully at a fine seam. + +What was it she had said to Udell? "Can't you speed up the +workroom? It's worth it." + +Fanny turned abruptly from the window as the door of the +bronze and mirrored lift opened for her. She walked over to +Fifth avenue again and up to Forty-fifth street. Then she +scrambled up the spiral stairs of a Washington Square 'bus. +The air was crisp, clear, intoxicating. To her Chicago eyes +the buildings, the streets, the very sky looked startlingly +fresh and new-washed. As the 'bus lurched down Fifth avenue +she leaned over the railing to stare, fascinated, at the +colorful, shifting, brilliant panorama of the most amazing +street in the world. Block after block, as far as the eye +could see, the gorgeous procession moved up, moved down, and +the great, gleaming motor cars crept, and crawled, and +writhed in and out, like nothing so much as swollen angle +worms in a fishing can, Fanny thought. Her eye was caught +by one limousine that stood out, even in that crush of +magnificence. It was all black, as though scorning to +attract the eye with vulgar color, and it was lined with +white. Fanny thought it looked very much like Siegel & +Cowan's hearse, back in Winnebago. In it sat a woman, all +furs, and orchids, and complexion. She was holding up to +the window a little dog with a wrinkled and weary face, like +that of an old, old man. He was sticking his little evil, +eager red tongue out at the world. And he wore a very smart +and woolly white sweater, of the imported kind--with a +monogram done in black. + +The traffic policeman put up his hand. The 'bus rumbled on +down the street. Names that had always been remotely +mythical to her now met her eye and became realities. +Maillard's. And that great red stone castle was the +Waldorf. Almost historic, and it looked newer than the +smoke-grimed Blackstone. And straight ahead--why, that must +be the Flatiron building! It loomed up like the giant prow +of an unimaginable ship. Brentano's. The Holland House. +Madison Square. Why there never was anything so terrifying, +and beautiful, and palpitating, and exquisite as this Fifth +avenue in the late winter afternoon, with the sky ahead a +rosy mist, and the golden lights just beginning to spangle +the gray. At Madison Square she decided to walk. She +negotiated the 'bus steps with surprising skill for a +novice, and scurried along the perilous crossing to the +opposite side. She entered Madison Square. But why hadn't +O. Henry emphasized its beauty, instead of its squalor? It +lay, a purple pool of shadow, surrounded by the great, +gleaming, many-windowed office buildings, like an amethyst +sunk in a circle of diamonds. "It's a fairyland!" Fanny +told herself. "Who'd have thought a city could be so +beautiful!" + +And then, at her elbow, a voice said, "Oh, lady, for the +lova God!" She turned with a jerk and looked up into the +unshaven face of a great, blue-eyed giant who pulled off his +cap and stood twisting it in his swollen blue fingers. +"Lady, I'm cold. I'm hungry. I been sittin' here hours." + +Fanny clutched her bag a little fearfully. She looked at +his huge frame. "Why don't you work?" + +"Work!" He laughed. "There ain't any. Looka this!" He +turned up his foot, and you saw the bare sole, blackened and +horrible, and fringed, comically, by the tattered leather +upper. + +"Oh--my dear!" said Fanny. And at that the man began to +cry, weakly, sickeningly, like a little boy. + +"Don't do that! Don't! Here." She was emptying her purse, +and something inside her was saying, "You fool, he's only a +professional beggar." + +And then the man wiped his face with his cap, and +swallowed hard, and said, "I don't want all you got. I +ain't holdin' you up. Just gimme that. I been sittin' +here, on that bench, lookin' at that sign across the street. +Over there. It says, `EAT.' It goes off an' on. Seemed +like it was drivin' me crazy." + +Fanny thrust a crumpled five-dollar bill into his hand. And +was off. She fairly flew along, so that it was not until +she had reached Thirty-third street that she said aloud, as +was her way when moved, "I don't care. Don't blame me. It +was that miserable little beast of a dog in the white +sweater that did it." + +It was almost seven when she reached her room. A maid, in +neat black and white, was just coming out with an armful of +towels. + +"I just brought you a couple of extra towels. We were short +this morning," she said. + +The room was warm, and quiet, and bright. In her bathroom, +that glistened with blue and white tiling, were those +redundant towels. Fanny stood in the doorway and counted +them, whimsically. Four great fuzzy bath towels. Eight +glistening hand towels. A blue and white bath rug hung at +the side of the tub. Her telephone rang. It was Ella. + +"Where in the world have you been, child? I was worried +about you. I thought you were lost in the streets of New +York." + +"I took a 'bus ride," Fanny explained. + +"See anything of New York?" + +"I saw all of it," replied Fanny. Ella laughed at that, but +Fanny's face was serious. + +"How did you make out at Horn & Udell's? Never mind, I'm +coming in for a minute; can I?" + +"Please do. I need you." + +A moment later Ella bounced in, fresh as to blouse, pink as +to cheeks, her whole appearance a testimony to the +revivifying effects of a warm bath, a brief nap, clean +clothes. + +"Dear child, you look tired. I'm not going to stay. You +get dressed and I'll meet you for dinner. Or do you want +yours up here?" + +"Oh, no!" + +"'Phone me when you're dressed. But tell me, isn't it a +wonder, this town? I'll never forget my first trip here. I +spent one whole evening standing in front of the mirror +trying to make those little spit-curls the women were +wearing then. I'd seen 'em on Fifth avenue, and it seemed +I'd die if I couldn't have 'em, too. And I dabbed on rouge, +and touched up my eyebrows. I don't know. It's a kind of a +crazy feeling gets you. The minute I got on the train for +Chicago I washed my face and took my hair down and did it +plain again." + +"Why, that's the way I felt!" laughed Fanny. "I didn't care +anything about infants' wear, or Haynes-Cooper, or anything. +I just wanted to be beautiful, as they all were." + +"Sure! It gets us all!" + +Fanny twisted her hair into the relentless knob women assume +preparatory to bathing. "It seems to me you have to come +from Winnebago, or thereabouts, to get New York--really get +it, I mean." + +"That's so," agreed Ella. "There's a man on the New York +Star who writes a column every day that everybody reads. +If he isn't a small-town man then we're both wrong." + +Fanny, bathward bound, turned to stare at Ella. "A column +about what?" + +"Oh, everything. New York, mostly. Say, it's the humanest +stuff. He says the kind of thing we'd all say, if we knew +how. Reading him is like getting a letter from home. I'll +bet he went to a country school and wore his mittens sewed +to a piece of tape that ran through his coat sleeves." + +"You're right," said Fanny; "he did. That man's from +Winnebago, Wisconsin." + +"No!" + +"Yes." + +"Do you mean you know him? Honestly? What's he like?" + +But Fanny had vanished. "I'm a tired business woman," she +called, above the splashing that followed, "and I won't +converse until I'm fed." + +"But how about Horn & Udell?" demanded Ella, her mouth +against the crack. + +"Practically mine," boasted Fanny. + +"You mean--landed!" + +"Well, hooked, at any rate, and putting up a very poor +struggle." + +"Why, you clever little divil, you! You'll be making me +look like a stock girl next." + +Fanny did not telephone Heyl until the day she left New +York. She had told herself she would not telephone him at +all. He had sent her his New York address and telephone +number months before, after that Sunday at the dunes. Ella +Monahan had finished her work and had gone back to Chicago +four days before Fanny was ready to leave. In those four +days Fanny had scoured the city from the Palisades to Pell +street. I don't know how she found her way about. It was a +sort of instinct with her. She seemed to scent the +picturesque. She never for a moment neglected her work. +But she had found it was often impossible to see these New +York business men until ten--sometimes eleven--o'clock. She +awoke at seven, a habit formed in her Winnebago days. +Eight-thirty one morning found her staring up at the dim +vastness of the dome of the cathedral of St. John the +Divine. The great gray pile, mountainous, almost ominous, +looms up in the midst of the dingy commonplaceness of +Amsterdam avenue and 110th street. New Yorkers do not know +this, or if they know it, the fact does not interest them. +New Yorkers do not go to stare up into the murky shadows +of this glorious edifice. They would if it were +situate in Rome. Bare, crude, unfinished, chaotic, it gives +rich promise of magnificent fulfillment. In an age when +great structures are thrown up to-day, to be torn down to- +morrow, this slow-moving giant is at once a reproach and an +example. Twenty-five years in building, twenty-five more +for completion, it has elbowed its way, stone by stone, into +such company as St. Peter's at Rome, and the marvel at +Milan. Fanny found her way down the crude cinder paths that +made an alley-like approach to the cathedral. She entered +at the side door that one found by following arrows posted +on the rough wooden fence. Once inside she stood a moment, +awed by the immensity of the half-finished nave. As she +stood there, hands clasped, her face turned raptly up to +where the massive granite columns reared their height to +frame the choir, she was, for the moment, as devout as any +Episcopalian whose money had helped make the great building. +Not only devout, but prayerful, ecstatic. That was partly +due to the effect of the pillars, the lights, the +tapestries, the great, unfinished chunks of stone that +loomed out from the side walls, and the purple shadow cast +by the window above the chapels at the far end; and partly +to the actress in her that responded magically to any mood, +and always to surroundings. Later she walked softly down +the deserted nave, past the choir, to the cluster of +chapels, set like gems at one end, and running from north to +south, in a semi-circle. A placard outside one said, "St. +Saviour's chapel. For those who wish to rest and pray." +All white marble, this little nook, gleaming softly in the +gray half-light. Fanny entered, and sat down. She was +quite alone. The roar and crash of the Eighth avenue L, the +Amsterdam cars, the motors drumming up Morningside hill, +were softened here to a soothing hum. + +For those who wish to rest and pray. + +Fanny Brandeis had neither rested nor prayed since that +hideous day when she had hurled her prayer of defiance at +Him. But something within her now began a groping for +words; for words that should follow an ancient plea +beginning, "O God of my Fathers----" But at that the +picture of the room came back to her mental vision--the room +so quiet except for the breathing of the woman on the bed; +the woman with the tolerant, humorous mouth, and the +straight, clever nose, and the softly bright brown eyes, all +so strangely pinched and shrunken-looking now---- + +Fanny got to her feet, with a noisy scraping of the chair on +the stone floor. The vague, half-formed prayer died at +birth. She found her way out of the dim, quiet little +chapel, up the long aisle and out the great door. She +shivered a little in the cold of the early January morning +as she hurried toward the Broadway subway. + +At nine-thirty she was standing at a counter in the infants' +wear section at Best's, making mental notes while the +unsuspecting saleswoman showed her how the pink ribbon in +this year's models was brought under the beading, French +fashion, instead of weaving through it, as heretofore. At +ten-thirty she was saying to Sid Udell, "I think a written +contract is always best. Then we'll all know just where we +stand. Mr. Fenger will be on next week to arrange the +details, but just now a very brief written understanding to +show him on my return would do." + +And she got it, and tucked it away in her bag, in triumph. + +She tried to leave New York without talking to Heyl, but +some quiet, insistent force impelled her to act contrary to +her resolution. It was, after all, the urge of the stronger +wish against the weaker. + +When he heard her voice over the telephone Heyl did not say, +"Who is this?" Neither did he put those inevitable +questions of the dweller to the transient, "Where are you? +How long have you been here?" What he said was, "How're you +going to avoid dining with me to-night?" + +To which Fanny replied, promptly, "By taking the Twentieth +Century back to Chicago to-day." + +A little silence. A hurt silence. Then, "When they get the +Twentieth Century habit they're as good as lost. How's the +infants' wear business, Fanny?" + +"Booming, thank you. I want to tell you I've read the +column every day. It's wonderful stuff." + +"It's a wonderful job. I'm a lucky boy. I'm doing the +thing I'd rather do than anything else in the world. There +are mighty few who can say that." There was another +silence, awkward, heavy. Then, "Fanny, you're not really +leaving to-day?" + +"I'll be in Chicago to-morrow, barring wrecks." + +"You might have let me show you our more or less fair city." + +"I've shown it to myself. I've seen Riverside Drive at +sunset, and at night. That alone would have been enough. +But I've seen Fulton market, too, and the Grand street +stalls, and Washington Square, and Central Park, and Lady +Duff-Gordon's inner showroom, and the Night Court, and the +Grand Central subway horror at six p. m., and the gambling +on the Curb, and the bench sleepers in Madison Square-- Oh, +Clancy, the misery----" + +"Heh, wait a minute! All this, alone?" + +"Yes. And one more thing. I've landed Horn & Udell, which +means nothing to you, but to me it means that by Spring my +department will be a credit to its stepmother; a real +success." + +"I knew it would be a success. So did you. Anything you +might attempt would be successful. You'd have made a +successful lawyer, or cook, or actress, or hydraulic +engineer, because you couldn't do a thing badly. It +isn't in you. You're a superlative sort of person. But +that's no reason for being any of those things. If you +won't admit a debt to humanity, surely you'll acknowledge +you've an obligation to yourself." + +"Preaching again. Good-by." + +"Fanny, you're afraid to see me." + +"Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be?" + +"Because I say aloud the things you daren't let yourself +think. If I were to promise not to talk about anything but +flannel bands----" + +"Will you promise?" + +"No. But I'm going to meet you at the clock at the Grand +Central Station fifteen minutes before train time. I don't +care if every infants' wear manufacturer in New York had a +prior claim on your time. You may as well be there, because +if you're not I'll get on the train and stay on as far as +Albany. Take your choice." + +He was there before her. Fanny, following the wake of a +redcap, picked him at once from among the crowd of clock- +waiters. He saw her at the same time, and started forward +with that singularly lithe, springy step which was, after +all, just the result of perfectly trained muscles in +coordination. He was wearing New York clothes--the right +kind, Fanny noted. + +Their hands met. "How well you look," said Fanny, rather +lamely. + +"It's the clothes," said Heyl, and began to revolve slowly, +coyly, hands out, palms down, eyelids drooping, in delicious +imitation of those ladies whose business it is to revolve +thus for fashion. + +"Clancy, you idiot! All these people! Stop it!" + +"But get the grace! Get the easy English hang, at once so +loose and so clinging." + +Fanny grinned, appreciatively, and led the way through the +gate to the train. She was surprisingly glad to be +with him again. On discovering that, she began to talk +rapidly, and about him. + +"Tell me, how do you manage to keep that fresh viewpoint? +Everybody else who comes to New York to write loses his +identity. The city swallows him up. I mean by that, that +things seem to strike you as freshly as they did when you +first came. I remember you wrote me an amazing letter." + +"For one thing, I'll never be anything but a foreigner in +New York. I'll never quite believe Broadway. I'll never +cease to marvel at Fifth avenue, and Cooper Union, and the +Bronx. The time may come when I can take the subway for +granted, but don't ask it of me just yet." + +"But the other writers--and all those people who live down +in Washington Square?" + +"I never see them. It's sure death. Those Greenwichers are +always taking out their own feelings and analyzing them, and +pawing them over, and passing them around. When they get +through with them they're so thumb-marked and greasy that no +one else wants them. They don't get enough golf, those +Greenwichers. They don't get enough tennis. They don't get +enough walking in the open places. Gosh, no! I know better +than to fall for that kind of thing. They spend hours +talking to each other, in dim-lighted attics, about Souls, +and Society, and the Joy of Life, and the Greater Good. And +they know all about each other's insides. They talk +themselves out, and there's nothing left to write about. A +little of that kind of thing purges and cleanses. Too much +of it poisons, and clogs. No, ma'am! When I want to talk I +go down and chin with the foreman of our composing room. +There's a chap that has what I call conversation. A +philosopher, and knows everything in the world. Composing +room foremen always are and do. Now, that's all of that. +How about Fanny Brandeis? Any sketches? Come on. +Confess. Grand street, anyway." + +"I haven't touched a pencil, except to add up a column of +figures or copy an order, since last September, when you +were so sure I couldn't stop." + +"You've done a thousand in your head. And if you haven't +done one on paper so much the better. You'll jam them back, +and stifle them, and screw the cover down tight on every +natural impulse, and then, some day, the cover will blow off +with a loud report. You can't kill that kind of thing, +Fanny. It would have to be a wholesale massacre of all the +centuries behind you. I don't so much mind your being +disloyal to your tribe, or race, or whatever you want to +call it. But you've turned your back on yourself; you've +got an obligation to humanity, and I'll nag you till you pay +it. I don't care if I lose you, so long as you find +yourself. The thing you've got isn't merely racial. God, +no! It's universal. And you owe it to the world. Pay up, +Fanny! Pay up!" + +"Look here!" began Fanny, her voice low with anger; "the +last time I saw you I said I'd never again put myself in a +position to be lectured by you, like a schoolgirl. I mean +it, this time. If you have anything else to say to me, say +it now. The train leaves"--she glanced at her wrist--"in +two minutes, thank Heaven, and this will be your last +chance." + +"All right," said Heyl. "I have got something to say. Do +you wear hatpins?" + +"Hatpins!" blankly. "Not with this small hat, but what----" + +"That means you're defenseless. If you're going to prowl +the streets of Chicago alone get this: If you double your +fist this way, and tuck your thumb alongside, like that, and +aim for this spot right here, about two inches this side of +the chin, bringing your arm back, and up, quickly, like a +piston, the person you hit will go down, limp. There's a +nerve right here that communicates with the brain. +That blow makes you see stars, bright lights, and fancy +colors. They use it in the comic papers." + +"You ARE crazy," said Fanny, as though at last assured of +a long-suspected truth. The train began to move, almost +imperceptibly. "Run!" she cried. + +Heyl sped up the aisle. At the door he turned. "It's +called an uppercut," he shouted to the amazement of the +other passengers. And leaped from the train. + +Fanny sank into her seat, weakly. Then she began to laugh, +and there was a dash of hysteria in it. He had left a paper +on the car seat. It was the Star. Fanny crumpled it, +childishly, and kicked it under the seat. She took off her +hat, arranged her belongings, and sat back with eyes closed. +After a few moments she opened them, fished about under the +seat for the crumpled copy of the Star, and read it, +turning at once to his column. She thought it was a very +unpretentious thing, that column, and yet so full of +insight, and sagacity, and whimsical humor. Not a guffaw in +it, but a smile in every fifth line. She wondered if those +years of illness, and loneliness, with weeks of reading, and +tramping, and climbing in the Colorado mountains had kept +him strangely young, or made him strangely old. + +She welcomed the hours that lay between New York and +Chicago. They would give her an opportunity to digest the +events of the past ten days. In her systematic mind she +began to range them in the order of their importance. Horn +& Udell came first, of course, and then the line of +maternity dresses she had selected to take the place of the +hideous models carried under Slosson's regime. And then the +slip-over pinafores. But somehow her thoughts became +jumbled here, so that faces instead of garments filled her +mind's eye. Again and again there swam into her ken the +face of that woman of fifty, in decent widow's weeds, who +had stood there in the Night Court, charged with +drunkenness on the streets. And the man with the frost- +bitten fingers in Madison Square. And the dog in the +sweater. And the feverish concentration of the piece-work +sewers in the window of the loft building. + +She gave it up, selected a magazine, and decided to go in to +lunch. + +There was nothing spectacular about the welcome she got on +her return to the office after this first trip. A firm that +counts its employees by the thousands, and its profits in +tens of millions, cannot be expected to draw up formal +resolutions of thanks when a heretofore flabby department +begins to show signs of red blood. + +Ella Monahan said, "They'll make light of it--all but +Fenger. That's their way." + +Slosson drummed with his fingers all the time she was giving +him the result of her work in terms of style, material, +quantity, time, and price. When she had finished he said, +"Well, all I can say is we seem to be going out of the mail +order business and into the imported novelty line, de luxe. +I suppose by next Christmas the grocery department will be +putting in artichoke hearts, and truffles and French +champagne by the keg for community orders." + +To which Fanny had returned, sweetly, "If Oregon and Wyoming +show any desire for artichokes and champagne I don't see why +we shouldn't." + +Fenger, strangely enough, said little. He was apt to be +rather curt these days, and almost irritable. Fanny +attributed it to the reaction following the strain of the +Christmas rush. + +One did not approach Fenger's office except by appointment. +Fanny sent word to him of her return. For two days she +heard nothing from him. Then the voice of the snuff-brown +secretary summoned her. She did not have to wait this time, +but passed directly through the big bright outer room +into the smaller room. The Power House, Fanny called it. + +Fenger was facing the door. "Missed you," he said. + +"You must have," Fanny laughed, "with only nine thousand +nine hundred and ninety-nine to look after." + +"You look as if you'd been on a vacation, instead of a test +trip." + +"So I have. Why didn't you warn me that business, as +transacted in New York, is a series of social rites? I +didn't have enough white kid gloves to go round. No one +will talk business in an office. I don't see what they use +offices for, except as places in which to receive their +mail. You utter the word `Business,' and the other person +immediately says, `Lunch.' No wholesaler seems able to +quote you his prices until he has been sustained by half a +dozen Cape Cods. I don't want to see a restaurant or a rose +silk shade for weeks." + +Fenger tapped the little pile of papers on his desk. "I've +read your reports. If you can do that on lunches, I'd like +to see what you could put over in a series of dinners." + +"Heaven forbid," said Fanny, fervently. Then, for a very +concentrated fifteen minutes they went over the reports +together. Fanny's voice grew dry and lifeless as she went +into figures. + +"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic," Fenger said, +when they had finished, "considering that you've +accomplished what you set out to do." + +"That's just it," quickly. "I like the uncertainty. It was +interesting to deal directly with those people, to stack +one's arguments, and personality, and mentality and power +over theirs, until they had to give way. But after that! +Well, you can't expect me to be vitally interested in gross +lots, and carloads and dating." + +"It's part of business." + +"It's the part I hate." + +Fenger stacked the papers neatly. "You came in June, didn't +you?" + +"Yes." + +"It has been a remarkable eight-months' record, even at +Haynes-Cooper's, where records are the rule. Have you been +through the plant since the time you first went through?" + +"Through it! Goodness, no! It would take a day." + +"Then I wish you'd take it. I like to have the heads of +departments go through the plant at least twice a year. +You'll find the fourteenth floor has been cleared and is +being used entirely by the selectors. The manufacturers' +samples are spread on the tables in the various sections. +You'll find your place ready for you. You'll be amused at +Daly's section. He took your suggestion about trying the +blouses on live models instead of selecting them as he used +to. You remember you said that one could tell about the +lines and style of a dress merely by looking at it, but that +a blouse is just a limp rag until it's on." + +"It's true of the flimsy Georgette things women want now. +They may be lovely in the box and hideously unbecoming when +worn. If Daly's going in for the higher grade stuff he +can't risk choosing unbecoming models." + +"Wait till you see him!" smiled Fenger, "sitting there like +a sultan while the pinks and blues, and whites and plaids +parade before him." He turned to his desk again. "That's +all, Miss Brandeis. Thank you." Then, at a sudden thought. +"Do you know that all your suggestions have been human +suggestions? I mean they all have had to do with people. +Tell me, how do you happen to have learned so much about +what people feel and think, in such a short time?" + +The thing that Clarence Heyl had said flashed through her +mind, and she was startled to find herself quoting it. "It +hasn't been a short time," she said. + +"It took a thousand years." And left Fenger staring, +puzzled. + +She took next morning for her tour of the plant as Fenger +had suggested. She went through it, not as the startled, +wide-eyed girl of eight months before had gone, but +critically, and with a little unconscious air of authority. +For, this organization, vast though it was, actually showed +her imprint. She could have put her finger on this spot, +and that, saying, "Here is the mark of my personality." And +she thought, as she passed from department to department, +"Ten thousand a year, if you keep on as you've started." Up +one aisle and down the next. Bundles, bundles, bundles. +And everywhere you saw the yellow order-slips. In the hands +of the stock boys whizzing by on roller skates; in the +filing department; in the traffic department. The very air +seemed jaundiced with those clouds of yellow order-slips. +She stopped a moment, fascinated as always before the main +spiral gravity chute down which the bundles--hundreds of +them, thousands of them daily--chased each other to--to +what? Fanny asked herself. She knew, vaguely, that hands +caught these bundles halfway, and redirected them toward the +proper channel, where they were assembled and made ready for +shipping or mailing. She turned to a stock boy. + +"Where does this empty?" she asked. + +"Floor below," said the boy, "on the platform." + +Fanny walked down a flight of iron stairs, and around to +face the spiral chute again. In front of the chute, and +connected with it by a great metal lip, was a platform +perhaps twelve feet above the floor and looking very much +like the pilot's deck of a ship. A little flight of steps +led up to it--very steep steps, that trembled a little under +a repetition of shocks that came from above. Fanny climbed +them warily, gained the top, and found herself standing next +to the girl whose face had gleamed out at her from among +those thousands in the crowd pouring out of the plant. +The girl glanced up at Fanny for a second--no, for the +fraction of a second. Her job was the kind that permitted +no more than that. Fanny watched her for one breathless +moment. In that moment she understood the look that had +been stamped on the girl's face that night; the look that +had cried: "Release!" For this platform, shaking under the +thud of bundles, bundles, bundles, was the stomach of the +Haynes-Cooper plant. Sixty per cent of the forty-five +thousand daily orders passed through the hands of this girl +and her assistants. Down the chutes swished the bundles, +stamped with their section mark, and here they were caught +deftly and hurled into one of the dozen conveyers that +flowed out from this main stream. The wrong bundle into the +wrong conveyer? Confusion in the shipping room. It only +took a glance of the eye and a motion of the arms. But that +glance and that motion had been boiled down to the very +concentrated essence of economy. They seemed to be working +with fury, but then, so does a pile-driver until you get the +simplicity of it. + +Fanny bent over the girl (it was a noisy corner) and put a +question. The girl did not pause in her work as she +answered it. She caught a bundle with one hand, hurled one +into a conveyer with the other. + +"Seven a week," she said. And deftly caught the next +slithering bundle. + +Fanny watched her for another moment. Then she turned and +went down the steep stairs. + +"None of your business," she said to herself, and continued +her tour. "None of your business." She went up to the new +selectors' floor, and found the plan running as smoothly as +if it had been part of the plant's system for years. +The elevator whisked her up to the top floor, where she met +the plant's latest practical fad, the new textile chemist--a +charming youth, disguised in bone-rimmed glasses, who did +the honors of his little labratory with all the manner +of a Harvard host. This was the fusing oven for silks. +Here was the drying oven. This delicate scale weighed every +ounce of the cloth swatches that came in for inspection, to +get the percentage of wool and cotton. Not a chance for the +manufacturer to slip shoddy into his goods, now. + +"Mm," said Fanny, politely. She hated complicated processes +that had to do with scales, and weights, and pounds, and +acids. She crossed over to the Administration Building, and +stopped at the door marked, "Mrs. Knowles." If you had been +an employee of the Haynes-Cooper company, and had been asked +to define Mrs. Knowles's position the chances are that you +would have found yourself floundering, wordless. Haynes- +Cooper was reluctant to acknowledge the need of Mrs. +Knowles. Still, when you employ ten thousand people, and +more than half of these are girls, and fifty per cent of +these girls are unskilled, ignorant, and terribly human you +find that a Mrs. Knowles saves the equivalent of ten times +her salary in wear and tear and general prevention. She +could have told you tragic stories, could Mrs. Knowles, and +sordid stories, and comic too; she knew how to deal with +terror, and shame, and stubborn silence, and hopeless +misery. Gray-haired and motherly? Not at all. An +astonishingly young, pleasingly plumpish woman, with nothing +remarkable about her except a certain splendid calm. Four +years out of Vassar, and already she had learned that if you +fold your hands in your lap and wait, quietly, asking no +questions, almost any one will tell you almost anything. + +"Hello!" called Fanny. "How are our morals this morning?" + +"Going up!" answered Esther Knowles, "considering that it's +Tuesday. Come in. How's the infant prodigy, I lunched with +Ella Monahan, and she told me your first New York trip +was a whirlwind. Congratulations!" + +"Thanks. I can't stop. I haven't touched my desk to-day. +I just want to ask you if you know the name of that girl who +has charge of the main chute in the merchandise building." + +"Good Lord, child! There are thousands of girls." + +"But this one's rather special. She is awfully pretty, and +rather different looking. Exquisite coloring, a +discontented expression, and a blouse that's too low in the +neck." + +"Which might be a description of Fanny Brandeis herself, +barring the blouse," laughed Mrs. Knowles. Then, at the +startled look in Fanny's face, "Do forgive me. And don't +look so horrified. I think I know which one you mean. Her +name is Sarah Sapinsky--yes, isn't it a pity!--and it's +queer that you should ask me about her because I've been +having trouble with that particular girl." + +"Trouble?" + +"She knows she's pretty, and she knows she's different, and +she knows she's handicapped, and that accounts for the +discontented expression. That, and some other things. She +gets seven a week here, and they take just about all of it +at home. She says she's sick of it. She has left home +twice. I don't blame the child, but I've always managed to +bring her back. Some day there'll be a third time--and I'm +afraid of it. She's not bad. She's really rather splendid, +and she has a certain dreadful philosophy of her own. Her +theory is that there are only two kinds of people in the +world. Those that give, and those that take. And she's +tired of giving. Sarah didn't put it just that way; but you +know what she means, don't you?" + +"I know what she means," said Fanny, grimly. + +So it was Sarah she saw above all else in her trip through +the gigantic plant; Sarah's face shone out from among +the thousands; the thud-thud of Sarah's bundle-chute beat a +dull accompaniment to the hum of the big hive; above the +rustle of those myriad yellow order-slips, through the buzz +of the busy mail room; beneath the roar of the presses in +the printing building, the crash of the dishes in the +cafeteria, ran the leid-motif of Sarah-at-seven-a-week. +Back in her office once more Fanny dictated a brief +observation-report for Fenger's perusal. + +"It seems to me there's room for improvement in our, card +index file system. It's thorough, but unwieldy. It isn't a +system any more. It's a ceremony. Can't you get a corps of +system sharks to simplify things there?" + +She went into detail and passed on to the next suggestion. + +"If the North American Cloak & Suit Company can sell mail +order dresses that are actually smart and in good taste, I +don't see why we have to go on carrying only the most +hideous crudities in our women's dress department. I know +that the majority of our women customers wouldn't wear a +plain, good looking little blue serge dress with a white +collar, and some tailored buttons. They want cerise satin +revers on a plum-colored foulard, and that's what we've been +giving them. But there are plenty of other women living +miles from anywhere who know what's being worn on Fifth +avenue. I don't know how they know it, but they do. And +they want it. Why can't we reach those women, as well as +their shoddier sisters? The North American people do it. +I'd wear one of their dresses myself. I wouldn't be found +dead in one of ours. Here's a suggestion: + +"Why can't we get Camille to design half a dozen models a +season for us? Now don't roar at that. And don't think +that the women on western ranches haven't heard of Camille. +They have. They may know nothing of Mrs. Pankhurst, +and Lillian Russell may be a myth to them, but I'll swear +that every one of them knows that Camille is a dressmaker +who makes super-dresses. She is as much a household word +among them as Roosevelt used to be to their men folks. And +if we can promise them a Camille-designed dress for $7.85 +(which we could) then why don't we?" + +At the very end, to her stenographer's mystification, she +added this irrevelant line. + +"Seven dollars a week is not a living wage." + +The report went to Fenger. He hurdled lightly over the +first suggestion, knowing that the file system was as simple +as a monster of its bulk could be. He ignored the third +hint. The second suggestion amused, then interested, then +convinced him. Within six months Camille's name actually +appeared in the Haynes-Cooper catalogue. Not that alone, +the Haynes-Cooper company broke its rule as to outside +advertising, and announced in full-page magazine ads the +news of the $7.85 gowns designed by Camille especially for +the Haynes-Cooper company. There went up a nationwide shout +of amusement and unbelief, but the announcement continued. +Camille (herself a frump with a fringe) whose frocks were +worn by queens, and dancers and matrons with millions, and +debutantes; Camille, who had introduced the slouch, revived +the hoop, discovered the sunset chiffon, had actually +consented to design six models every season for the mail +order millions of the Haynes-Cooper women's dress +department--at a price that made even Michael Fenger wince. + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +Fanny Brandeis' blouses showed real Cluny now, and her hats +were nothing but line. A scant two years before she had +wondered if she would ever reach a pinnacle of success lofty +enough to enable her to wear blue tailor suits as smart as +the well-cut garments worn by her mother's friend, Mrs. Emma +McChesney. Mrs. McChesney's trig little suits had cost +fifty dollars, and had looked sixty. Fanny's now cost one +hundred and twenty-five, and looked one hundred and twenty- +five. Her sleeves alone gave it away. If you would test +the soul of a tailor you have only to glance at shoulder- +seam, elbow and wrist. Therein lies the wizardry. Fanny's +sleeve flowed from arm-pit to thumb-bone without a ripple. +Also she moved from the South side to the North side, always +a sign of prosperity or social ambition, in Chicago. Her +new apartment was near the lake, exhilaratingly high, +correspondingly expensive. And she was hideously lonely. +She was earning a man-size salary now, and she was working +like a man. A less magnificently healthy woman could not +have stood the strain, for Fanny Brandeis was working with +her head, not her heart. When we say heart we have come to +mean something more than the hollow muscular structure that +propels the blood through the veins. That, in the +dictionary, is the primary definition. The secondary +definition has to do with such words as emotion, sympathy, +tenderness, courage, conviction. She was working, now, as +Michael Fenger worked, relentlessly, coldly, indomitably, +using all the material at hand as a means to an end, with +never a thought of the material itself, as a +builder reaches for a brick, or stone, and fits it into +place, smoothly, almost without actually seeing the brick +itself, except as something which will help to make a +finished wall. She rarely prowled the city now. She told +herself she was too tired at night, and on Sundays and +holidays, and I suppose she was. Indeed, she no longer saw +things with her former vision. It was as though her soul +had shriveled in direct proportion to her salary's +expansion. The streets seldom furnished her with a rich +mental meal now. When she met a woman with a child, in the +park, her keen eye noted the child's dress before it saw the +child itself, if, indeed, she noticed the child at all. + +Fascinating Facts, the guileless, pink-cheeked youth who had +driven her home the night of her first visit to the Fengers, +shortly after her coming to Haynes-Cooper's, had proved her +faithful slave, and she had not abused his devotion. +Indeed, she hardly considered it that. The sex side of her +was being repressed with the artist side. Most men found +her curt, brisk, businesslike manner a little repellent, +though interesting. They never made love to her, in spite +of her undeniable attractiveness. Fascinating Facts drove +her about in his smart little roadster and one night he +established himself in her memory forever as the first man +who had ever asked her to marry him. He did it haltingly, +painfully, almost grudgingly. Fanny was frankly amazed. +She had enjoyed going about with him. He rested and soothed +her. He, in turn, had been stimulated by her energy, her +humor, her electric force. Nothing was said for a minute +after his awkward declaration. + +"But," he persisted, "you like me, don't you?" + +"Of course I do. Immensely." + +"Then why?" + +"When a woman of my sort marries it's a miracle. I'm +twenty-six, and intelligent and very successful. A +frightful combination. Unmarried women of my type +aren't content just to feel. They must analyze their +feelings. And analysis is death to romance." + +"Great Scott! You expect to marry somebody sometime, don't +you, Fanny?" + +"No one I know now. When I do marry, if I do, it will be +with the idea of making a definite gain. I don't mean +necessarily worldly gain, though that would be a factor, +too." +Fascinating Facts had been staring straight ahead, his hands +gripping the wheel with unnecessary rigidity. He relaxed a +little now, and even laughed, though not very successfully. +Then he said something very wise, for him. + +"Listen to me, girl. You'll never get away with that +vampire stuff. Talons are things you have to be born with. +You'll never learn to grab with these." He reached over, +and picked up her left hand lying inertly in her lap, and +brought it up to his lips, and kissed it, glove and all. +"They're built on the open-face pattern--for giving. You +can't fool me. I know." + +A year and a half after her coming to Haynes-Cooper Fanny's +department was doing a business of a million a year. The +need had been there. She had merely given it the impetus. +She was working more or less directly with Fenger now, with +an eye on every one of the departments that had to do with +women's clothing, from shoes to hats. Not that she did any +actual buying, or selling in these departments. She still +confined her actual selecting of goods to the infants' wear +section, but she occupied, unofficially, the position of +assistant to the General Merchandise Manager. They worked +well together, she and Fenger, their minds often marching +along without the necessity of a single spoken word. There +was no doubt that Fenger's mind was a marvelous piece of +mechanism. Under it the Haynes-Cooper plant functioned with +the clockwork regularity of a gigantic automaton. System +and Results--these were his twin gods. With his mind +intent on them he failed to see that new gods, born of +spiritual unrest, were being set up in the temples of Big +Business. Their coming had been rumored for many years. +Words such as Brotherhood, Labor, Rights, Humanity, Hours, +once regarded as the special property of the street corner +ranter, were creeping into our everyday vocabulary. And +strangely enough, Nathan Haynes, the gentle, the bewildered, +the uninspired, heard them, and listened. Nathan Haynes had +begun to accustom himself to the roar of the flood that had +formerly deafened him. He was no longer stunned by the +inrush of his millions. The report sheet handed him daily +had never ceased to be a wildly unexpected thing, and he +still shrank from it, sometimes. It was so fantastic, so +out of all reason. But he even dared, now and then, to put +out a tentative hand to guide the flood. He began to +realize, vaguely, that Italian Gardens, and marble pools, +educational endowments and pet charities were but poor, +ineffectual barriers of mud and sticks, soon swept away by +the torrent. As he sat there in his great, luxurious +office, with the dim, rich old portraits gleaming down on +him from the walls, he began, gropingly, to evolve a new +plan; a plan by which the golden flood was to be curbed, +divided, and made to form a sub-stream, to be utilized for +the good of the many; for the good of the Ten Thousand, who +were almost Fifteen Thousand now, with another fifteen +thousand in mills and factories at distant points, whose +entire output was swallowed up by the Haynes-Cooper plant. +Michael Fenger, Super-Manager, listened to the plan, smiled +tolerantly, and went on perfecting an already miraculous +System. Sarah Sapinsky, at seven a week, was just so much +untrained labor material, easily replaced by material +exactly like it. No, Michael Fenger, with his head in the +sand, heard no talk of new gods. He only knew that the +monster plant under his management was yielding the +greatest possible profit under the least possible outlay. + +In Fanny Brandeis he had found a stimulating, energizing +fellow worker. That had been from the beginning. In the +first month or two of her work, when her keen brain was +darting here and there, into forgotten and neglected +corners, ferreting out dusty scraps of business waste and +holding them up to the light, disdainfully, Fenger had +watched her with a mingling of amusement and a sort of fond +pride, as one would a precocious child. As the months went +on the pride and amusement welded into something more than +admiration, such as one expert feels for a fellow-craftsman. +Long before the end of the first year he knew that here was +a woman such as he had dreamed of all his life and never +hoped to find. He often found himself sitting at his office +desk, or in his library at home, staring straight ahead for +a longer time than he dared admit, his papers or book +forgotten in his hand. His thoughts applied to her +adjectives which proved her a paradox: Generous, +sympathetic, warm-hearted, impulsive, imaginative; cold, +indomitable, brilliant, daring, intuitive. He would rouse +himself almost angrily and force himself to concentrate +again upon the page before him. I don't know how he thought +it all would end--he whose life-habit it was to follow out +every process to its ultimate step, whether mental or +mechanical. As for Fanny, there was nothing of the +intriguant about her. She was used to admiration. She was +accustomed to deference from men. Brandeis' Bazaar had +insured that. All her life men had taken orders from her, +all the way from Aloysius and the blithe traveling men of +whom she bought goods, to the salesmen and importers in the +Chicago wholesale houses. If they had attempted, +occasionally, to mingle the social and personal with the +commercial Fanny had not resented their attitude. She had +accepted their admiration and refused their invitations +with equal good nature, and thus retained their friendship. +It is not exaggeration to say that she looked upon Michael +Fenger much as she had upon these genial fellow-workers. A +woman as straightforward and direct as she has what is known +as a single-track mind in such matters. It is your soft and +silken mollusc type of woman whose mind pursues a slimy and +labyrinthine trail. But it is useless to say that she did +not feel something of the intense personal attraction of the +man. Often it used to puzzle and annoy her to find that as +they sat arguing in the brisk, everyday atmosphere of office +or merchandise room the air between them would suddenly +become electric, vibrant. They met each other's eyes with +effort. When their hands touched, accidentally, over papers +or samples they snatched them back. Fanny found herself +laughing uncertainly, at nothing, and was furious. When a +silence fell between them they would pounce upon it, +breathlessly, and smother it with talk. + +Do not think that any furtive love-making went on, +sandwiched between shop talk. Their conversation might have +taken place between two men. Indeed, they often were +brutally frank to each other. Fanny had the vision, Fenger +the science to apply it. Sometimes her intuition leaped +ahead of his reasoning. Then he would say, "I'm not sold on +that," which is modern business slang meaning, "You haven't +convinced me." She would go back and start afresh, covering +the ground more slowly. + +Usually her suggestions were practical and what might be +termed human. They seemed to be founded on an uncanny +knowledge of people's frailties. It was only when she +touched upon his beloved System that he was adamant. + +"None of that socialistic stuff," he would say. "This isn't +a Benevolent Association we're running. It's the biggest +mail order business in the world, and its back-bone is +System. I've been just fifteen years perfecting that +System. It's my job. Hands off." + +"A fifteen year old system ought to be scrapped," Fanny +would retort, boldly. "Anyway, the Simon Legree thing has +gone out." + +No one in the plant had ever dared to talk to him like that. +He would glare down at Fanny for a moment, like a mastiff on +a terrier. Fanny, seeing his face rage-red, would flash him +a cheerful and impudent smile. The anger, fading slowly, +gave way to another look, so that admiration and resentment +mingled for a moment. + +"Lucky for you you're not a man." + +"I wish I were." + +"I'm glad you're not." + +Not a very thrilling conversation for those of you who are +seeking heartthrobs. + +In May Fanny made her first trip to Europe for the firm. It +was a sudden plan. Instantly Theodore leaped to her mind +and she was startled at the tumult she felt at the thought +of seeing him and his child. The baby, a girl, was more +than a year old. Her business, a matter of two weeks, +perhaps, was all in Berlin and Paris, but she cabled +Theodore that she would come to them in Munich, if only for +a day or two. She had very little curiosity about the woman +Theodore had married. The memory of that first photograph +of hers, befrizzed, bejeweled, and asmirk, had never effaced +itself. It had stamped her indelibly in Fanny's mind. + +The day before she left for New York (she sailed from there) +she had a letter from Theodore. It was evident at once that +he had not received her cable. He was in Russia, giving a +series of concerts. Olga and the baby were with him. He +would be back in Munich in June. There was some talk of +America. When Fanny realized that she was not to see him +she experienced a strange feeling that was a mixture of +regret and relief. All the family love in her, a +racial trait, had been stirred at the thought of again +seeing that dear blond brother, the self-centered, willful, +gifted boy who had held the little congregation rapt, there +in the Jewish house of worship in Winnebago. But she had +recoiled a little from the meeting with this other unknown +person who gave concerts in Russia, who had adopted Munich +as his home, who was the husband of this Olga person, and +the father of a ridiculously German looking baby in a very +German looking dress, all lace and tucks, and wearing +bracelets on its chubby arms, and a locket round its neck. +That was what one might expect of Olga's baby. But not of +Theodore's. Besides, what business had that boy with a +baby, anyway? Himself a baby. + +Fenger had arranged for her cabin, and she rather resented +its luxury until she learned later, that it is the buyers +who always occupy the staterooms de luxe on ocean liners. +She learned, too, that the men in yachting caps and white +flannels, and the women in the smartest and most subdued of +blue serge and furs were not millionaires temporarily +deprived of their own private seagoing craft, but buyers +like herself, shrewd, aggressive, wise and incredibly +endowed with savoir faire. Merely to watch one of them +dealing with a deck steward was to know for all time the +superiority of mind over matter. + +Most incongruously, it was Ella Monahan and Clarence Heyl +who waved good-by to her as her ship swung clear of the +dock. Ella was in New York on her monthly trip. Heyl had +appeared at the hotel as Fanny was adjusting her veil and +casting a last rather wild look around the room. Molly +Brandeis had been the kind of woman who never misses a train +or overlooks a hairpin. Fanny's early training had proved +invaluable more than once in the last two years. +Nevertheless, she was rather flustered, for her, as the +elevator took her down to the main floor. She told +herself it was not the contemplation of the voyage itself +that thrilled her. It was the fact that here was another +step definitely marking her progress. +Heyl, looking incredibly limp, was leaning against a gaudy +marble pillar, his eyes on the downcoming elevators. Fanny +saw him just an instant before he saw her, and in that +moment she found herself wondering why this boy (she felt +years older than he) should look so fantastically out of +place in this great, glittering, feverish hotel lobby. Just +a shy, rather swarthy Jewish boy, who wore the right kind of +clothes in the wrong manner--then Heyl saw her and came +swiftly toward her. + +"Hello, Fan!" + +"Hello, Clancy!" They had not seen each other in six +months. + +"Anybody else going down with you?" + +"No. Ella Monahan had a last-minute business appointment, +but she promised to be at the dock, somehow, before the boat +leaves. I'm going to be grand, and taxi all the way." + +"I've an open car, waiting." + +"But I won't have it! I can't let you do that." + +"Oh, yes you can. Don't take it so hard. That's the +trouble with you business women. You're killing the +gallantry of a nation. Some day one of you will get up and +give me a seat in a subway----" + +"I'll punish you for that, Clancy. If you want the Jane +Austen thing I'll accommodate. I'll drop my handkerchief, +gloves, bag, flowers and fur scarf at intervals of five +minutes all the way downtown. Then you may scramble around +on the floor of the cab and feel like a knight." + +Fanny had long ago ceased to try to define the charm of this +man. She always meant to be serenely dignified with him. +She always ended by feeling very young, and, somehow, +gloriously carefree and lighthearted. There was about him a +naturalness, a simplicity, to which one responded in kind. + +Seated beside her he turned and regarded her with +disconcerting scrutiny. + +"Like it?" demanded Fanny, pertly. And smoothed her veil, +consciously. + +"No." + +"Well, for a man who looks negligee even in evening clothes +aren't you overcritical?" + +"I'm not criticizing your clothes. Even I can see that that +hat and suit have the repressed note that means money. And +you're the kind of woman who looks her best in those plain +dark things." + +"Well, then?" + +"You look like a buyer. In two more years your face will +have that hard finish that never comes off." + +"I am a buyer." + +"You're not. You're a creator. Remember, I'm not +belittling your job. It's a wonderful job--for Ella +Monahan. I wish I had the gift of eloquence. I wish I had +the right to spank you. I wish I could prove to you, +somehow, that with your gift, and heritage, and racial right +it's as criminal for you to be earning your thousands at +Haynes-Cooper's as it would have been for a vestal virgin to +desert her altar fire to stoke a furnace. Your eyes are +bright and hard, instead of tolerant. Your mouth is losing +its graciousness. Your whole face is beginning to be +stamped with a look that says shrewdness and experience, and +success." + +"I am successful. Why shouldn't I look it?" + +"Because you're a failure. I'm sick, I tell you--sick with +disappointment in you. Jane Addams would have been a +success in business, too. She was born with a humanity +sense, and a value sense, and a something else that can't be +acquired. Ida Tarbell could have managed your whole Haynes- +Cooper plant, if she'd had to. So could a dozen other +women I could name. You don't see any sign of what you call +success on Jane Addams's face, do you? You wouldn't say, on +seeing her, that here was a woman who looked as if she might +afford hundred-dollar tailor suits and a town car. No. All +you see in her face is the reflection of the souls of all +the men and women she has worked to save. She has covered +her job--the job that the Lord intended her to cover. And +to me she is the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever +seen." + +Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand +in the grip of the other, as she had since childhood, when +deeply disturbed. And suddenly she began to cry--silently, +harrowingly, as a man cries, her shoulders shaking, her face +buried in her furs. + +"Fanny! Fanny girl!" He was horribly disturbed and +contrite. He patted her arm, awkwardly. She shook free of +his hand, childishly. "Don't cry, dear. I'm sorry. It's +just that I care so much. It's just----" + +She raised an angry, tear-stained face. "It's just that you +have an exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just +that you've grown up from what they used to call a bright +little boy to a bright young man, and you're just as +tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, except +when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all +those years. Why, I'll never get over being thrilled at the +idea of being able to go to the theater, or to a concert, +whenever I like. Actually whenever I want to. And to be +able to buy a jabot, or a smart hat, or a book. You don't +know how I wanted things, and how tired I got of never +having them. I'm happy! I'm happy! Leave me alone!" + +"It's an awful price to pay for a hat, and a jabot, and a +book and a theater ticket, Fan." + +Ella Monahan had taken the tube, and was standing in the +great shed, watching arrivals with interest, long +before they bumped over the cobblestones of Hoboken. +The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had sent +champagne--six cosy pints in a wicker basket. + +"They say it's good for seasickness," she announced, +cheerfully, "but it's a lie. Nothing's good for +seasickness, except death, or dry land. But even if you do +feel miserable--and you probably will--there's something +about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne +alone, by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing." + +Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and +exclamatory over her books and flowers. + +"Of course it's my first trip," she explained, "and an event +in my life, but I didn't suppose that anybody else would +care. What's this? Candy? Glace fruit." She glanced +around the luxurious little cabin, then up at Heyl, +impudently. "I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy, +but I must say I like this very, very much. Sorry." + +They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full +of parting instructions. "And be sure to eat at +Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty cents for lobster. And +caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as codfish. And +don't forget to order mai-bowle. It tastes like +champagne, but isn't, and it has the most delicious dwarf +strawberries floating on top. This is just the season for +it. You're lucky. If you tip the waiter one mark he's +yours for life. Oh, and remember the plum compote. +You'll be disappointed in their Wertheim's that they're +always bragging about. After all, Field's makes 'em all +look like country stores." + +"Wertheim's? Is that something to eat, too?" + +"No, idiot. It's their big department store." Ella turned +to Heyl, for whom she felt mingled awe and liking. "If this +trip of hers is successful, the firm will probably send her +over three or four times a year. It's a wonderful chance +for a kid like her." + +"Then I hope," said Heyl, quietly, "that this trip may be a +failure." + +Ella smiled, uncertainly. + +"Don't laugh," said Fanny, sharply. "He means it." + +Ella, sensing an unpleasant something in which she had no +part, covered the situation with another rush of +conversation. + +"You'll get the jolt of your life when you come to Paris and +find that you're expected to pay for the lunches, and all +the cab fares, and everything, of those shrimpy little +commissionaires. Polite little fellows, they are, in +frock coats, and mustaches, and they just stand aside, as +courtly as you please, while you pay for everything. Their +house expects it. I almost passed away, the first time, but +you get used to it. Say, imagine one of our traveling men +letting you pay for his lunch and taxi." + +She rattled on, genially. Heyl listened with unfeigned +delight. Ella found herself suddenly abashed before those +clear, far-seeing eyes. "You think I'm a gabby old girl, +don't you?" + +"I think you're a wonderful woman," said Heyl. "Very wise, +and very kind." + +"Why--thanks," faltered Ella. "Why--thanks." + +They said their good-bys. Ella hugged Fanny warm-heartedly. +Then she turned away, awkwardly. Heyl put his two hands on +Fanny's shoulders and looked down at her. For a breathless +second she thought he was about to kiss her. She was amazed +to find herself hoping that he would. But he didn't. +"Good-by," he said, simply. And took her hand in his steel +grip a moment, and dropped it. And turned away. A +messenger boy, very much out of breath, came running up to +her, a telegram in his hand. + +"For me?" Fanny opened it, frowned, smiled. "It's from Mr. +Fenger. Good wishes. As if all those flowers weren't +enough." + +"Mm," said Ella. She and Heyl descended the gang-way, and +stood at the dock's edge, looking rather foolish and +uncertain, as people do at such times. There followed a few +moments of scramble, of absurdly shouted last messages, of +bells, and frantic waving of handkerchiefs. Fanny, at the +rail, found her two among the crowd, and smiled down upon +them, mistily. Ella was waving energetically. Heyl was +standing quite still, looking up. The ship swung clear, +crept away from the dock. The good-bys swelled to a roar. +Fanny leaned far over the rail and waved too, a sob in her +throat. Then she saw that she was waving with the hand that +held the yellow telegram. She crumpled it in the other +hand, and substituted her handkerchief. Heyl still stood, +hat in hand, motionless. + +"Why don't you wave good-by?" she called, though he could +not possibly hear. "Wave good-by!" And then the hand with +the handkerchief went to her face, and she was weeping. I +think it was that old drama-thrill in her, dormant for so +long. But at that Heyl swung his hat above his head, three +times, like a schoolboy, and, grasping Ella's plump and +resisting arm, marched abruptly away. + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +The first week in June found her back in New York. That +month of absence had worked a subtle change. The two weeks +spent in crossing and recrossing had provided her with a +let-down that had been almost jarring in its completeness. +Everything competitive had seemed to fade away with the +receding shore, and to loom up again only when the skyline +became a thing of smoke-banks, spires, and shafts. She had +had only two weeks for the actual transaction of her +business. She must have been something of a revelation to +those Paris and Berlin manufacturers, accustomed though they +were to the brisk and irresistible methods of the American +business woman. She was, after all, absurdly young to be +talking in terms of millions, and she was amazingly well +dressed. This last passed unnoticed, or was taken for +granted in Paris, but in Berlin, home of the frump and the +flour-sack figure, she was stared at, appreciatively. Her +business, except for one or two unimportant side lines, had +to do with two factories on whose product the Haynes-Cooper +company had long had a covetous eye. Quantity, as usual, +was the keynote of their demand, and Fanny's task was that +of talking in six-figure terms to these conservative and +over-wary foreign manufacturers. That she had successfully +accomplished this, and that she had managed to impress them +also with the important part that time and promptness in +delivery played in a swift-moving machine like the Haynes- +Cooper concern, was due to many things beside her natural +business ability. Self-confidence was there, and +physical vigor, and diplomacy. But above all +there was that sheer love of the game; the dramatic sense +that enabled her to see herself in the part. That alone +precluded the possibility of failure. She knew how youthful +she looked, and how glowing. She anticipated the look that +came into their faces when she left polite small-talk behind +and soared up into the cold, rarefied atmosphere of +business. She delighted in seeing the admiring and tolerant +smirk vanish and give way to a startled and defensive +attentiveness. + +It might be mentioned that she managed, somehow, to spend +almost half a day in Petticoat Lane, and its squalid +surroundings, while in London. She actually prowled, alone, +at night, in the evil-smelling, narrow streets of the poorer +quarter of Paris, and how she escaped unharmed is a mystery +that never bothered her, because she had never known fear of +streets. She had always walked on the streets of Winnebago, +Wisconsin, alone. It never occurred to her not to do the +same in the streets of Chicago, or New York, or London, or +Paris. She found Berlin, with its Adlon, its appalling +cleanliness, its overfed populace, and its omnipresent +Kaiser forever scudding up and down Unter den Linden in his +chocolate-colored car, incredibly dull, and unpicturesque. +Something she had temporarily lost there in the busy +atmosphere of the Haynes-Cooper plant, seemed to have +returned, miraculously. + +New York, on her return, was something of a shock. She +remembered how vividly fresh it had looked to her on the day +of that first visit, months before. Now, to eyes fresh from +the crisp immaculateness of Paris and Berlin, Fifth avenue +looked almost grimy, and certainly shabby in spots. + +Ella Monahan, cheerful, congratulatory, beaming, met her at +the pier, and Fanny was startled at her own sensation of +happiness as she saw that pink, good-natured face looking up +at her from the crowd below. The month that had gone +by since last she saw Ella standing just so, seemed to slip +away and fade into nothingness. + +"I waited over a day," said Ella, "just to see you. My, you +look grand! I know where you got that hat. Galeries +Lafayette. How much?" + +"I don't expect you to believe it. Thirty-five francs. +Seven dollars. I couldn't get it for twenty-five here." + +They were soon clear of the customs. Ella had engaged a +room for her at the hotel they always used. As they rode +uptown together, happily, Ella opened her bag and laid a +little packet of telegrams and letters in Fanny's lap. + +"I guess Fenger's pleased, all right, if telegrams mean +anything. Not that I know they're from him. But he said--" + +But Fanny was looking up from one of them with a startled +expression. +"He's here. Fenger's here." + +"In New York?" asked Ella, rather dully. + +"Yes." She ripped open another letter. It was from +Theodore. He was coming to New York in August. The Russian +tour had been a brilliant success. They had arranged a +series of concerts for him in the United States. He could +give his concerto there. It was impossible in Russia, +Munich, even Berlin, because it was distinctly Jewish in +theme--as Jewish as the Kol Nidre, and as somber. They +would have none of it in Europe. Prejudice was too strong. +But in America! He was happier than he had been in years. +Olga objected to coming to America, but she would get over +that. The little one was well, and she was learning to +talk. Actually! They were teaching her to say Tante Fanny. + +"Well!" exclaimed Fanny, her eyes shining. She read bits of +the letter aloud to Ella. Ella was such a satisfactory +sort of person to whom to read a letter aloud. She +exclaimed in all the right places. Her face was as radiant +as Fanny's. They both had forgotten all about Fenger, their +Chief. But they had been in their hotel scarcely a half +hour, and Ella had not done exclaiming over the bag that +Fanny had brought her from Paris, when his telephone call +came. + +He wasted very little time on preliminaries. + +"I'll call for you at four. We'll drive through the park, +and out by the river, and have tea somewhere." + +"That would be wonderful. That is, if Ella's free. I'll +ask her." + +"Ella?" + +"Yes. She's right here. Hold the wire, will you?" She +turned away from the telephone to face Ella. "It's Mr. +Fenger. He wants to take us both driving this afternoon. +You can go, can't you?" + +"I certainly CAN," replied Miss Monahan, with what might +have appeared to be undue force. + +Fanny turned back to the telephone. "Yes, thanks. We can +both go. We'll be ready at four." + +Fanny decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have +been what she thought it was. + +Ella busied herself with the unpacking of a bag. She showed +a disposition to spoil Fanny. "You haven't asked after your +friend, Mr. Heyl. My land! If I had a friend like that--" +"Oh, yes," said Fanny, vaguely. "I suppose you and he are +great chums by this time. He's a nice boy." + +"You don't suppose anything of the kind," Ella retorted, +crisply. "That boy, as you call him--and it isn't always +the man with the biggest fists that's got the most fight in +him--is about as far above me as--as--" she sat down on the +floor, ponderously, beside the open bag, and gesticulated +with a hairbrush, at loss for a simile "as an eagle is above +a waddling old duck. No, I don't mean that, either, +because I never did think much of the eagle, morally. But +you get me. Not that he knows it, or shows it. Heyl, I +mean. Lord, no! But he's got something--something kind of +spiritual in him that makes you that way, too. He doesn't +say much, either. That's the funny part of it. I do all +the talking, seems, when I'm with him. But I find myself +saying things I didn't know I knew. He makes you think +about things you're afraid to face by yourself. Big things. +Things inside of you." She fell silent a moment, sitting +cross-legged before the bag. Then she got up, snapped the +bag shut, and bore it across the room to a corner. "You +know he's gone, I s'pose." + +"Gone?" + +"To those mountains, or wherever it is he gets that look in +his eyes from. That's my notion of a job. They let him go +for the whole summer, roaming around being a naturalist, +just so's he'll come back in the winter." + +"And the column?" Fanny asked. "Do they let that go, too?" + +"I guess he's going to do some writing for them up there. +After all, he's the column. It doesn't make much difference +where he writes from. Did you know it's being syndicated +now, all over the country? Well, it is. That's the secret +of its success, I suppose. It isn't only a column written +about New York for a New York paper. It's about everything, +for anybody. It's the humanest stuff. And he isn't afraid +of anything. New York's crazy about him. They say he's +getting a salary you wouldn't believe. I'm a tongue-tied +old fool when I'm with him, but then, he likes to talk about +you, mostly, so it doesn't matter." + +Fanny turned swiftly from the dressing-table, where she was +taking the pins out of her vigorous, abundant hair. + +"What kind of thing does he say about me, Ellen girl. H'm? +What kind of thing?" + +"Abuse, mostly. I'll be running along to my own room now. +I'll be out for lunch, but back at four, for that airing +Fenger's so wild to have me take. If I were you I'd lie +down for an hour, till you get your land-legs." She poked +her head in at the door again. "Not that you look as if you +needed it. You've got a different look, somehow. Kind of +rested. After all, there's nothing like an ocean voyage." + +She was gone. Fanny stood a moment, in the center of the +room. There was nothing relaxed or inert about her. Had +you seen her standing there, motionless, you would still +have got a sense of action from her. She looked so +splendidly alive. She walked to the window, now, and stood +looking down upon New York in early June. Summer had not +yet turned the city into a cauldron of stone and steel. +From her height she could glimpse the green of the park, +with a glint of silver in its heart, that was the lake. Her +mind was milling around, aimlessly, in a manner far removed +from its usual orderly functioning. Now she thought of +Theodore, her little brother--his promised return. It had +been a slow and painful thing, his climb. Perhaps if she +had been more ready to help, if she had not always waited +until he asked the aid that she might have volunteered--she +thrust that thought out of her mind, rudely, and slammed the +door on it. . . . Fenger. He had said, "Damn!" when she +had told him about Ella. And his voice had been--well--she +pushed that thought outside her mind, too. . . . Clarence +Heyl. . . . "He makes you think about things you're afraid +to face by yourself. Big things. Things inside of +you. . . ." + +Fanny turned away from the window. She decided she must be +tired, after all. Because here she was, with everything to +make her happy: Theodore coming home; her foreign trip a +success; Ella and Fenger to praise her and make much of +her; a drive and tea this afternoon (she wasn't above these +creature comforts)--and still she felt unexhilarated, dull. +She decided to go down for a bit of lunch, and perhaps a +stroll of ten or fifteen minutes, just to see what Fifth +avenue was showing. It was half-past one when she reached +that ordinarily well-regulated thoroughfare. She found its +sidewalks packed solid, up and down, as far as the eye could +see, with a quiet, orderly, expectant mass of people. +Squads of mounted police clattered up and down, keeping the +middle of the street cleared. Whatever it was that had +called forth that incredible mass, was scheduled to proceed +uptown from far downtown, and that very soon. Heads were +turned that way. Fanny, wedged in the crowd, stood a- +tiptoe, but she could see nothing. It brought to her mind +the Circus Day of her Winnebago childhood, with Elm street +packed with townspeople and farmers, all straining their +eyes up toward Cherry street, the first turn in the line of +march. Then, far away, the blare of a band. "Here they +come!" Just then, far down the canyon of Fifth avenue, +sounded the cry that had always swayed Elm street, +Winnebago. "Here they come!" + +"What is it?" Fanny asked a woman against whom she found +herself close-packed. "What are they waiting for?" + +"It's the suffrage parade," replied the woman. "The big +suffrage parade. Don't you know?" + +"No. I haven't been here." Fanny was a little +disappointed. The crowd had surged forward, so that it was +impossible for her to extricate herself. She found herself +near the curb. She could see down the broad street now, and +below Twenty-third street it was a moving, glittering mass, +pennants, banners, streamers flying. The woman next her +volunteered additional information. + +"The mayor refused permission to let them march. But +they fought it, and they say it's the greatest suffrage +parade ever held. I'd march myself, only--" + +"Only what?" + +"I don't know. I'm scared to, I think. I'm not a New +Yorker." + +"Neither am I," said Fanny. Fanny always became friendly +with the woman next her in a crowd. That was her mother in +her. One could hear the music of the band, now. Fanny +glanced at her watch. It was not quite two. Oh, well, she +would wait and see some of it. Her mind was still too +freshly packed with European impressions to receive any real +idea of the value of this pageant, she told herself. She +knew she did not feel particularly interested. But she +waited. + +Another surging forward. It was no longer, "Here they +come!" but, "Here they are!" + +And here they were. + +A squad of mounted police, on very prancy horses. The men +looked very ruddy, and well set-up and imposing. Fanny had +always thrilled to anything in uniform, given sufficient +numbers of them. Another police squad. A brass band, on +foot. And then, in white, on a snow-white charger, holding +a white banner aloft, her eyes looking straight ahead, her +face very serious and youthful, the famous beauty and +suffrage leader, Mildred Inness. One of the few famous +beauties who actually was a beauty. And after that women, +women, women! Hundreds of them, thousands of them, a river +of them flowing up Fifth avenue to the park. More bands. +More horses. Women! Women! They bore banners. This +section, that section. Artists. School teachers. Lawyers. +Doctors. Writers. Women in college caps and gowns. Women +in white, from shoes to hats. Young women. Girls. Gray- +haired women. A woman in a wheel chair, smiling. A man +next to Fanny began to jeer. He was a red-faced young man, +with a coarse, blotchy skin, and thick lips. He smoked +a cigar, and called to the women in a falsetto voice, +"Hello, Sadie!" he called. "Hello, kid!" And the women +marched on, serious-faced, calm-eyed. There came floats; +elaborate affairs, with girls in Greek robes. Fanny did not +care for these. More solid ranks. And then a strange and +pitiful and tragic and eloquent group. Their banner said, +"Garment Workers. Infants' Wear Section." And at their +head marched a girl, carrying a banner. I don't know how +she attained that honor. I think she must have been one of +those fiery, eloquent leaders in her factory clique. The +banner she carried was a large one, and it flapped +prodigiously in the breeze, and its pole was thick and +heavy. She was a very small girl, even in that group of +pale-faced, under-sized, under-fed girls. A Russian Jewess, +evidently. Her shoes were ludicrous. They curled up at the +toes, and the heels were run down. Her dress was a sort of +parody on the prevailing fashion. But on her face, as she +trudged along, hugging the pole of the great pennant that +flapped in the breeze, was stamped a look.--well, you see +that same look in some pictures of Joan of Arc. It wasn't +merely a look. It was a story. It was tragedy. It was the +history of a people. You saw in it that which told of +centuries of oppression in Russia. You saw eager groups of +student Intellectuals, gathered in secret places for low- +voiced, fiery talk. There was in it the unspeakable misery +of Siberia. It spoke eloquently of pogroms, of massacres, +of Kiev and its sister-horror, Kishineff. You saw mean and +narrow streets, and carefully darkened windows, and, on the +other side of those windows the warm yellow glow of the +seven-branched Shabbos light. Above this there shone the +courage of a race serene in the knowledge that it cannot +die. And illuminating all, so that her pinched face, +beneath the flapping pennant, was the rapt, uplifted +countenance of the Crusader, there blazed the great glow of +hope. This woman movement, spoken of so glibly as +Suffrage, was, to the mind of this over-read, under-fed, +emotional, dreamy little Russian garment worker the glorious +means to a long hoped for end. She had idealized it, with +the imagery of her kind. She had endowed it with promise +that it would never actually hold for her, perhaps. And so +she marched on, down the great, glittering avenue, proudly +clutching her unwieldy banner, a stunted, grotesque, +magnificent figure. More than a figure. A symbol. + +Fanny's eyes followed her until she passed out of sight. +She put up her hand to her cheek, and her face was wet. She +stood there, and the parade went on, endlessly, it seemed, +and she saw it through a haze. Bands. More bands. +Pennants. Floats. Women. Women. Women. + +"I always cry at parades," said Fanny, to the woman who +stood next her--the woman who wanted to march, but was +scared to. +"That's all right," said the woman. "That's all right." +And she laughed, because she was crying, too. And then she +did a surprising thing. She elbowed her way to the edge of +the crowd, past the red-faced man with the cigar, out to the +street, and fell into line, and marched on up the street, +shoulders squared, head high. + +Fanny glanced down at her watch. It was quarter after four. +With a little gasp she turned to work her way through the +close-packed crowd. It was an actual physical struggle, +from which she emerged disheveled, breathless, uncomfortably +warm, and minus her handkerchief, but she had gained the +comparative quiet of the side street, and she made the short +distance that lay between the Avenue and her hotel a matter +of little more than a minute. In the hotel corridor stood +Ella and Fenger, the former looking worried, the latter +savage. + +"Where in the world--" began Ella. + +"Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was-- +it was--glorious!" She was shaking hands with Fenger, and +realizing for the first time that she must be looking +decidedly sketchy and that she had lost her handkerchief. +She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when Fenger +released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said: + +"What's the matter with your eyes?" + +"I've been crying," Fanny confessed cheerfully. + +"Crying!" + +"The parade. There was a little girl in it--" she stopped. +Fenger would not be interested in that little girl. Now +Clancy would have--but Ella broke in on that thought. + +"I guess you don't realize that out in front of this hotel +there's a kind of a glorified taxi waiting, with the top +rolled back, and it's been there half an hour. I never +expect to see the time when I could enjoy keeping a taxi +waiting. It goes against me." + +"I'm sorry. Really. Let's go. I'm ready." + +"You are not. Your hair's a sight; and those eyes!" + +Fenger put a hand on her arm. "Go on up and powder your +nose, Miss Brandeis. And don't hurry. I want you to enjoy +this drive." + +On her way up in the elevator Fanny thought, "He has lost +his waistline. Now, that couldn't have happened in a month. +Queer I didn't notice it before. And he looks soft. Not +enough exercise." + +When she rejoined them she was freshly bloused and gloved +and all traces of the tell-tale red had vanished from her +eyelids. Fifth avenue was impossible. Their car sped up +Madison avenue, and made for the Park. The Plaza was a jam +of tired marchers. They dispersed from there, but there +seemed no end to the line that still flowed up Fifth avenue. +Fenger seemed scarcely to see it. He had plunged at once +into talk of the European trip. Fanny gave him every +detail, omitting nothing. She repeated all that her +letters and cables had told. Fenger was more excited than +she had ever seen him. He questioned, cross-questioned, +criticized, probed, exacted an account of every +conversation. Usually it was not method that interested +him, but results. Fanny, having accomplished the thing she +had set out to do, had lost interest in it now. The actual +millions so glibly bandied in the Haynes-Cooper plant had +never thrilled her. The methods by which they were made +possible had. + +Ella had been listening with the shrewd comprehension of one +who admires the superior art of a fellow craftsman. + +"I'll say this, Mr. Fenger. If I could make you look like +that, by going to Europe and putting it over those foreign +boys, I'd feel I'd earned a year's salary right there, and +quit. Not to speak of the cross-examination you're putting +her through." + +Fenger laughed, a little self-consciously. "It's just that +I want to be sure it's real. I needn't tell you how +important this trick is that Miss Brandeis has just turned." +He turned to Fanny, with a boyish laugh. "Now don't pose. +You know you can't be as bored as you look." + +"Anyway," put in Ella, briskly, "I move that the witness +step down. She may not be bored, but she certainly must be +tired, and she's beginning to look it. Just lean back, +Fanny, and let the green of this park soak in. At that, it +isn't so awfully green, when you get right close, except +that one stretch of meadow. Kind of ugly, Central Park, +isn't it? Bare." + +Fanny sat forward. There was more sparkle in her face than +at any time during the drive. They were skimming along +those green-shaded drives that are so sophisticatedly +sylvan. + +"I used to think it was bare, too, and bony as an old maid, +with no soft cuddly places like the parks at home; no +gracious green stretches, and no rose gardens. But somehow, +it grows on you. The reticence of it. And that stretch of +meadow near the Mall, in the late afternoon, with the mist +on it, and the sky faintly pink, and that electric sign-- +Somebody's Tires or other--winking off and on--" + +"You're a queer child," interrupted Fenger. "As wooden as +an Indian while talking about a million-a-year deal, and +lyrical over a combination of electric sign, sunset, and +moth-eaten park. Oh, well, perhaps that's what makes you as +you are." + +Even Ella looked a little startled at that. + +They had tea at Claremont, at a table overlooking the river +and the Palisades. Fenger was the kind of man to whom +waiters always give a table overlooking anything that should +be overlooked. After tea they drove out along the river and +came back in the cool of the evening. Fanny was very quiet +now. Fenger followed her mood. Ella sustained the +conversation, somewhat doggedly. It was almost seven when +they reached the plaza exit. And there Fanny, sitting +forward suddenly, gave a little cry. + +"Why--they're marching yet!" she said, and her voice was +high with wonder. "They're marching yet! All the time +we've been driving and teaing, they've been marching." + +And so they had. Thousands upon thousands, they had flowed +along as relentlessly, and seemingly as endlessly as a +river. They were marching yet. For six hours the thousands +had poured up that street, making it a moving mass of white. +And the end was not yet. What pen, and tongue, and sense of +justice had failed to do, they were doing now by sheer, +crude force of numbers. The red-faced hooligan, who had +stood next to Fanny in the crowd hours before, had long ago +ceased his jibes and slunk away, bored, if not impressed. +After all, one might jeer at ten, or fifty, or a hundred +women, or even five hundred. But not at forty +thousand. + +Their car turned down Madison Avenue, and Fenger twisted +about for a last look at the throng in the plaza. He was +plainly impressed. The magnitude of the thing appealed to +him. To a Haynes-Cooper-trained mind, forty thousand women, +marching for whatever the cause, must be impressive. Forty +thousand of anything had the respect of Michael Fenger. His +eyes narrowed, thoughtfully. + +"They seem to have put it over," he said. "And yet, what's +the idea? Oh, I'm for suffrage, of course. Naturally. And +all those thousands of women, in white--still, a thing as +huge as this parade has to be reduced to a common +denominator, to be really successful. If somebody could +take the whole thing, boil it down, and make the country see +what this huge demonstration stands for." + +Fanny leaned forward suddenly. "Tell the man to stop. I +want to get out." + +Fenger and Ella stared. "What for?" But Fenger obeyed. + +"I want to get something at this stationer's shop." She had +jumped down almost before the motor had stopped at the curb. + +"But let me get it." + +"No. You can't. Wait here." She disappeared within the +shop. She was back in five minutes, a flat, loosely wrapped +square under her arm. "Cardboard," she explained briefly, +in answer to their questions. + +Fenger, about to leave them at their hotel, presented his +plans for the evening. Fanny, looking up at him, her head +full of other plans, thought he looked and sounded very much +like Big Business. And, for the moment at least, Fanny +Brandeis loathed Big Business, and all that it stood for. + +"It's almost seven," Fenger was saying. "We'll be +rubes in New York, this evening. You girls will just +have time to freshen up a bit--I suppose you want to--and +then we'll have dinner, and go to the theater, and to supper +afterward. What do you want to see?" + +Ella looked at Fanny. And Fanny shook her head, "Thanks. +You're awfully kind. But--no." + +"Why not?" demanded Fenger, gruffly. + +"Perhaps because I'm tired. And there's something else I +must do." + +Ella looked relieved. Fenger's eyes bored down upon Fanny, +but she seemed not to feel them. She held out her hand. + +"You're going back to-morrow?" Fenger asked. "I'm not +leaving until Thursday." + +"To-morrow, with Ella. Good-by. It's been a glorious +drive. I feel quite rested." + +"You just said you were tired." + +The elevator door clanged, shutting out the sight of +Fenger's resentful frown. + +"He's as sensitive as a soubrette," said Ella. "I'm glad +you decided not to go out. I'm dead, myself. A kimono for +the rest of the evening." + +Fanny seemed scarcely to hear her. With a nod she left +Ella, and entered her own room. There she wasted no time. +She threw her hat and coat on the bed. Her suitcase was on +the baggage stand. She turned on all the lights, swung the +closed suitcase up to the table, shoved the table against +the wall, up-ended the suitcase so that its leather side +presented a smooth surface, and propped a firm sheet of +white cardboard against the impromptu rack. She brought her +chair up close, fumbled in her bag for the pens she had just +purchased. Her eyes were on the blank white surface of the +paper. The table was the kind that has a sub-shelf. It +prevented Fanny from crossing her legs under it, and that +bothered her. While she fitted her pens, and blocked her +paper, she kept on barking her shins in unconscious +protest against the uncomfortable conditions under which she +must work. + +She sat staring at the paper now, after having marked it off +into blocks, with a pencil. She got up, and walked across +the room, aimlessly, and stood there a moment, and came +back. She picked up a thread on the floor. Sat down again. +Picked up her pencil, rolled it a moment in her palms, then, +catching her toes behind either foreleg of her chair, in an +attitude that was as workmanlike as it was ungraceful, she +began to draw, nervously, tentatively at first, but gaining +in firmness and assurance as she went on. + +If you had been standing behind her chair you would have +seen, emerging miraculously from the white surface under +Fanny's pencil, a thin, undersized little figure in sleazy +black and white, whose face, under the cheap hat, was +upturned and rapturous. Her skirts were wind-blown, and the +wind tugged, too, at the banner whose pole she hugged so +tightly in her arms. Dimly you could see the crowds that +lined the street on either side. Vaguely, too, you saw the +faces and stunted figures of the little group of girls she +led. But she, the central figure, stood out among all the +rest. Fanny Brandeis, the artist, and Fanny Brandeis, the +salesman, combined shrewdly to omit no telling detail. The +wrong kind of feet in the wrong kind of shoes; the absurd +hat; the shabby skirt--every bit of grotesquerie was there, +serving to emphasize the glory of the face. Fanny Brandeis' +face, as the figure grew, line by line, was a glorious +thing, too. + +She was working rapidly. She laid down her pencil, now, and +leaned back, squinting her eyes critically. She looked +grimly pleased. Her hair was rather rumpled, and her cheeks +very pink. She took up her pen, now, and began to ink her +drawing with firm black strokes. As she worked a little +crow of delight escaped her--the same absurd crow of triumph +that had sounded that day in Winnebago, years and years +before, when she, a school girl in a red tam o' shanter, had +caught the likeness of Schabelitz, the peasant boy, under +the exterior of Schabelitz, the famous. +There sounded a smart little double knock at her door. +Fanny did not heed it. She did not hear it. Her toes were +caught behind the chair-legs again. She was slumped down on +the middle of her spine. She had brought the table, with +its ridiculously up-ended suitcase, very near, so that she +worked with a minimum of effort. The door opened. Fanny +did not turn her head. Ella Monahan came in, yawning. She +was wearing an expensive looking silk kimono that fell in +straight, simple folds, and gave a certain majesty to her +ample figure. + +"Well, what in the world--" she began, and yawned again, +luxuriously. She stopped behind Fanny's chair and glanced +over her shoulder. The yawn died. She craned her neck a +little, and leaned forward. And the little girl went +marching by, in her cheap and crooked shoes, and her short +and sleazy skirt, with the banner tugging, tugging in the +breeze. Fanny Brandeis had done her with that economy of +line, and absence of sentimentality which is the test +separating the artist from the draughtsman. + +Silence, except for the scratching of Fanny Brandeis's pen. + +"Why--the poor little kike!" said Ella Monahan. Then, after +another moment of silence, "I didn't know you could draw +like that." + +Fanny laid down her pen. "Like what?" She pushed back her +chair, and rose, stiffly. The drawing, still wet, was +propped up against the suitcase. Fanny walked across the +room. Ella dropped into her chair, so that when Fanny came +back to the table it was she who looked over Ella's +shoulder. Into Ella's shrewd and heavy face there had come +a certain look. + +"They don't get a square deal, do they? They don't get a +square deal." + +The two looked at the girl a moment longer, in silence. +Then Fanny went over to the bed, and picked up her hat and +coat. She smoothed her hair, deftly, powdered her nose with +care, and adjusted her hat at the smart angle approved by +the Galeries Lafayette. She came back to the table, picked +up her pen, and beneath the drawing wrote, in large print: + + THE MARCHER. + + +She picked up the drawing, still wet, opened the door, and +with a smile at the bewildered Ella, was gone. + +It was after eight o'clock when she reached the Star +building. She asked for Lasker's office, and sent in her +card. Heyl had told her that Lasker was always at his desk +at eight. Now, Fanny Brandeis knew that the average young +woman, standing outside the office of a man like Lasker, +unknown and at the mercy of office boy or secretary, +continues to stand outside until she leaves in +discouragement. But Fanny knew, too, that she was not an +average young woman. She had, on the surface, an air of +authority and distinction. She had that quiet assurance of +one accustomed to deference. She had youth, and beauty, and +charm. She had a hat and suit bought in Paris, France; and +a secretary is only human. + +Carl Lasker's private office was the bare, bright, +newspaper-strewn room of a man who is not only a newspaper +proprietor, but a newspaper man. There's a difference. +Carl Lasker had sold papers on the street when he was ten. +He had slept on burlap sacks, paper stuffed, in the basement +of a newspaper office. Ink flowed with the blood in his +veins. He could operate a press. He could manipulate a +linotype machine (that almost humanly intelligent piece of +mechanism). He could make up a paper single handed, +and had done it. He knew the newspaper game, did Carl +Lasker, from the composing room to the street, and he was a +very great man in his line. And so he was easy to reach, +and simple to talk to, as are all great men. + +A stocky man, decidedly handsome, surprisingly young, well +dressed, smooth shaven, direct. + +Fanny entered. Lasker laid down her card. "Brandeis. +That's a good name." He extended his hand. He wore evening +clothes, with a white flower in his buttonhole. He must +have just come from a dinner, or he was to attend a late +affair, somewhere. Perhaps Fanny, taken aback, +unconsciously showed her surprise, because Lasker grinned, +as he waved her to a chair. His quick mind had interpreted +her thought. + +"Sit down, Miss Brandeis. You think I'm gotten up like the +newspaper man in a Richard Harding Davis short story, don't +you? What can I do for you?" + +Fanny wasted no words. "I saw the parade this afternoon. I +did a picture. I think it's good. If you think so too, I +wish you'd use it." + +She laid it, face up, on Lasker's desk. Lasker picked it up +in his two hands, held it off, and scrutinized it. All the +drama in the world is concentrated in the confines of a +newspaper office every day in the year, and so you hear very +few dramatic exclamations in such a place. Men like Lasker +do not show emotion when impressed. It is too wearing on +the mechanism. Besides, they are trained to self-control. +So Lasker said, now: + +"Yes, I think it's pretty good, too." Then, raising his +voice to a sudden bellow, "Boy!" He handed the drawing to a +boy, gave a few brief orders, and turned back to Fanny. +"To-morrow morning every other paper in New York will have +pictures showing Mildred Inness, the beauty, on her snow- +white charger, or Sophronisba A. Bannister, A.B., Ph.D., in +her cap and gown, or Mrs. William Van der Welt as +Liberty. We'll have that little rat with the banner, and +it'll get 'em. They'll talk about it." His eyes narrowed a +little. "Do you always get that angle?" + +"Yes." + +"There isn't a woman cartoonist in New York who does that +human stuff. Did you know that?" + +"Yes." + +"Want a job?" + +"N-no." + +His knowing eye missed no detail of the suit, the hat, the +gloves, the shoes. + +"What's your salary now?" + +"Ten thousand." + +"Satisfied?" + +"No." + +"You've hit the heart of that parade. I don't know whether +you could do that every day, or not. But if you struck +twelve half the time, it would be enough. When you want a +job, come back." + +"Thanks," said Fanny quietly. And held out her hand. + +She returned in the subway. It was a Bronx train, full of +sagging faces, lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, +black-eyed girls in soiled white shoes; of stoop-shouldered +men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew script; of smells and +sounds and glaring light. + +And though to-morrow would bring its reaction, and common +sense would have her again in its cold grip, she was radiant +to-night and glowing with the exaltation that comes with +creation. And over and over a voice within her was saying: + +These are my people! These are my people! + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +The ship that brought Theodore Brandeis to America was the +last of its kind to leave German ports for years. The day +after he sailed from Bremen came the war. Fanny Brandeis +was only one of the millions of Americans who refused to +accept the idea of war. She took it as a personal affront. +It was uncivilized, it was old fashioned, it was +inconvenient. Especially inconvenient. She had just come +from Europe, where she had negotiated a million-dollar deal. +War would mean that she could not get the goods ordered. +Consequently there could be no war. + +Theodore landed the first week in August. Fanny stole two +days from the ravenous bins to meet him in New York. I +think she must have been a very love-hungry woman in the +years since her mother's death. She had never admitted it. +But only emotions denied to the point of starvation could +have been so shaken now at the thought of the feast before +them. She had trained herself to think of him as Theodore +the selfish, Theodore the callous, Theodore the voracious. +"An unsuccessful genius," she told herself. "He'll be +impossible. They're bad enough when they're successful." + +But now her eyes, her thoughts, her longings, her long-pent +emotions were straining toward the boat whose great prow was +looming toward her, a terrifying bulk. The crowd awaiting +the ship was enormous. A dramatic enough scene at any time, +the great Hoboken pier this morning was filled with an +unrehearsed mob, anxious, thrilled, hysterical. The morning +papers had carried wireless news that the ship had been +chased by a French gunboat and had escaped only through +the timely warning of the Dresden, a German gunboat. That +had added the last fillip to an already tense situation. +Tears were streaming down half the faces upturned toward the +crowded decks. And from every side: + +"Do you see her?" + +"That's Jessie. There she is! Jessie!" + +"Heh! Jim, old boy! Come on down!" + +Fanny's eyes were searching the packed rails. "Ted!" she +called, and choked back a sob. "Teddy!" Still she did not +see him. She was searching, womanlike, for a tall, blondish +boy, with a sulky mouth, and humorous eyes, and an unruly +lock of hair that would insist on escaping from the rest and +straggling down over his forehead. I think she was even +looking for a boy with a violin in his arms. A boy in +knickers. Women lose all sense of time and proportion at +such times. Still she did not see him. The passengers were +filing down the gangplank now; rushing down as quickly as +the careful hands of the crew would allow them, and hurling +themselves into the arms of friends and family crowded +below. Fanny strained her eyes toward that narrow +passageway, anxious, hopeful, fearful, heartsick. For the +moment Olga and the baby did not exist for her. And then +she saw him. + +She saw him through an unimaginable disguise. She saw him, +and knew him in spite of the fact that the fair-haired, +sulky, handsome boy had vanished, and in his place walked a +man. His hair was close-cropped, German-fashion; his face +careworn and older than she had ever thought possible; his +bearing, his features, his whole personality stamped with an +unmistakable distinction. And his clothes were appallingly, +inconceivably German. So she saw him, and he was her +brother, and she was his sister, and she stretched out her +arms to him. + +"Teddy!" She hugged him close, her face buried in his +shoulder. "Teddy, you--you Spitzbube you!" She laughed +at that, a little hysterically. "Not that I know what a +Spitzbube is, but it's the Germanest word I can think of." +That shaven head. Those trousers. That linen. The awful +boots. The tie! "Oh, Teddy, and you're the Germanest thing +I ever saw." She kissed him again, rapturously. + +He kissed her, too, wordlessly at first. They moved aside a +little, out of the crowd. Then he spoke for the first time. + +"God! I'm glad to see you, Fanny." There was tragedy, not +profanation in his voice. His hand gripped hers. He +turned, and now, for the first time, Fanny saw that at his +elbow stood a buxom, peasant woman, evidently a nurse, and +in her arms a child. A child with Molly Brandeis' mouth, +and Ferdinand Brandeis' forehead, and Fanny Brandeis' eyes, +and Theodore Brandeis' roseleaf skin, and over, and above +all these, weaving in and out through the whole, an +expression or cast--a vague, undefinable thing which we call +a resemblance--that could only have come from the woman of +the picture, Theodore Brandeis' wife, Olga. + +"Why--it's the baby!" cried Fanny, and swung her out of the +nurse's protesting arms. Such a German-looking baby. Such +an adorably German-looking baby. "Du kleine, du!" Fanny +kissed the roseleaf cheek. "Du suszes--" She turned +suddenly to Theodore. "Olga--where's Olga?" + +"She did not come." + +Fanny tightened her hold of the little squirming bundle in +her arms. "Didn't come?" + +Theodore shook his head, dumbly. In his eyes was an agony +of pain. And suddenly all those inexplicable things in his +face were made clear to Fanny. She placed the little Mizzi +in the nurse's arms again. "Then we'll go, dear. They +won't be a minute over your trunks, I'm sure. Just follow +me." + +Her arm was linked through Theodore's. Her hand was on his. +Her head was up. Her chin was thrust out, and she never +knew how startlingly she resembled the Molly Brandeis who +used to march so bravely down Norris street on her way to +Brandeis' Bazaar. She was facing a situation, and she +recognized it. There was about her an assurance, a +composure, a blithe capability that imparted itself to the +three bewildered and helpless ones in her charge. Theodore +felt it, and the strained look in his face began to lift +just a little. The heavy-witted peasant woman felt it, and +trudged along, cheerfully. The baby in her arms seemed to +sense it, and began to converse volubly and unintelligibly +with the blue uniformed customs inspector. + +They were out of the great shed in an incredibly short time. +Fanny seemed equal to every situation. She had taken the +tube to Hoboken, but now she found a commodious open car, +and drove a shrewd bargain with the chauffeur. She bundled +the three into it. Of the three, perhaps Theodore seemed +the most bewildered and helpless. He clung to his violin +and Fanny. + +"I feel like an immigrant," he said. "Fan, you're a wonder. +You don't know how much you look and act like mother. I've +been watching you. It's startling." + +Fanny laughed and took his hand, and held his hand up to her +breast, and crushed it there. "And you look like an +illustration out of the Fliegende Blaetter. It isn't only +your clothes. Your face is German. As for Mizzi here--" +she gathered the child in her arms again--"you've never +explained that name to me. Why, by the way, Mizzi? Of all +the names in the world." + +Theodore smiled a wry little smile. "Mizzi is named after +Olga's chum. You see, in Vienna every other--well, chorus +girl I suppose you'd call them--is named Mizzi. Like +all the Gladyses and Flossies here in America. Well, Olga's +special friend Mizzi--" + +"I see," said Fanny quietly. "Well, anything's better than +Fanny. Always did make me think of an old white horse." +And at that the small German person in her arms screwed her +mouth into a fascinating bunch, and then unscrewed it and, +having made these preparations said, "Tante Fanny. Shecago. +Tante Fanny." + +"Why, Mizzi Brandeis, you darling! Teddy, did you hear +that! She said `Tante Fanny' and `Chicago' just as +plainly!" +"Did I hear it? Have I heard anything else for weeks?" + +The plump person on the opposite seat, who had been shaking +her head violently all this time here threatened to burst if +not encouraged to speak. Fanny nodded to her. Whereupon +the flood broke. + +"Wunderbar, nicht war! Ich kuss' die handt, gnadiges +Fraulein." She actually did it, to Fanny's consternation. +"Ich hab' ihr das gelernt, Gnadige. Selbst. Ist es nicht +ganz entzuckend! Tante Fanny. Auch Shecago." + +Fanny nodded a number of times, first up and down, +signifying assent, then sideways, signifying unbounded +wonder and admiration. She made a gigantic effort to summon +her forgotten German. + +"Was ist Ihre Name?" she managed to ask. + +"Otti." + +"Oh, my!" exclaimed Fanny, weakly. "Mizzi and Otti. It +sounds like the first act of the `Merry Widow.'" She turned +to Theodore. "I wish you'd sit back, and relax, and if you +must clutch that violin case, do it more comfortably. I +don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is ghastly +in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My +apartment in Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the +lake is in the front yard, practically. To-night, perhaps, +we'll talk about--things. And, oh, Teddy, how glad I +am to see you--to have you--to--" she put out a hand and +patted his thin cheek--"to touch you." + +And at that the man became a boy again. His face worked a +moment, painfully and then his head came down in her lap +that held the baby, and so she had them both for a moment, +one arm about the child, one hand smoothing the boy's close- +cropped hair. And in that moment she was more splendidly +maternal than either of the women who had borne these whom +she now comforted. + +It was Fanny who attended to the hotel rooms, to the baby's +comfort, to the railroad tickets, to the ordering of the +meals. Theodore was like a stranger in a strange land. Not +only that, he seemed dazed. + +"We'll have it out to-night," Fanny said to herself. "He'll +never get that look off his face until he has told it all. +I knew she was a beast." + +She made him lie down while she attended to schedules, +tickets, berths. She was gone for two hours. When she +returned she found him looking amused, terrified and +helpless, all at once, while three men reporters and one +woman special writer bombarded him with questions. The +woman had brought a staff artist with her, and he was now +engaged in making a bungling sketch of Theodore's face, with +its ludicrous expression. + +Fanny sensed the situation and saved it. She hadn't sold +goods all these years without learning the value of +advertising. She came forward now, graciously (but not too +graciously). Theodore looked relieved. Already he had +learned that one might lean on this sister who was so +capable, so bountifully alive. + +"Teddy, you're much too tired to talk. Let me talk for +you." + +"My sister, Miss Brandeis," said Teddy, and waved a rather +feeble hand in an inclusive gesture at the interrogatory +five. + +Fanny smiled. "Do sit down," she said, "all of you. Tell +me, how did you happen to get on my brother's trail?" + +One of the men explained. "We had a list of ship's +passengers, of course. And we knew that Mr. Brandeis was a +German violinist. And then the story of the ship being +chased by a French boat. We just missed him down at the +pier--" + +"But he isn't a German violinist," interrupted Fanny. +"Please get that straight. He's American. He is THE +American violinist--or will be, as soon as his concert tour +here is well started. It was Schabelitz himself who +discovered my brother, and predicted his brilliant career. +Here"--she had been glancing over the artist's shoulder-- +"will you let me make a sketch for you--just for the fun of +the thing? I do that kind of thing rather decently. Did +you see my picture called `The Marcher,' in the Star, at +the time of the suffrage parade in May? Yes, that was mine. +Just because he has what we call a butcher haircut, don't +think he's German, because he isn't. You wouldn't call +Winnebago, Wisconsin, Germany, would you?" + +She was sketching him swiftly, daringly, masterfully. She +was bringing out the distinction, the suffering, the +boyishness in his face, and toning down the queer little +foreign air he had. Toning it, but not omitting it +altogether. She was too good a showman for that. As she +sketched she talked, and as she talked she drew Theodore +into the conversation, deftly, and just when he was needed. +She gave them what they had come for--a story. And a good +one. She brought in Mizzi and Otti, for color, and she saw +to it that they spelled those names as they should be +spelled. She managed to gloss over the question of Olga. +Ill. Detained. Last minute. Too brave to sacrifice her +husband's American tour. She finished her sketch and gave +it to the woman reporter. It was an amazingly compelling +little piece of work--and yet, not so amazing, perhaps, +when you consider the thing that Fanny Brandeis had put into +it. Then she sent them away, tactfully. They left, knowing +all that Fanny Brandeis had wanted them to know; guessing +little that she had not wanted them to guess. More than +that no human being can accomplish, without the advice of +his lawyer. + +"Whew!" from Fanny, when the door had closed. + +"Gott im Himmel!" from Theodore. "I had forgotten that +America was like that." + +"But America IS like that. And Teddy, we're going to +make it sit up and take notice." + +At that Theodore drooped again. Fanny thought that he +looked startlingly as she remembered her father had looked +in those days of her childhood, when Brandeis' Bazaar was +slithering downhill. The sight of him moved her to a sudden +resolve. She crossed swiftly to him, and put one heartening +hand on his shoulder. + +"Come on, brother. Out with it. Let's have it all now." + +He reached up for her hand and held it, desperately. "Oh, +Fan!" began Theodore, "Fan, I've been through hell." + +Fanny said nothing. She only waited, quietly, +encouragingly. She had learned when not to talk. Presently +he took up his story, plunging directly into it, as though +sensing that she had already divined much. + +"She married me for a living. You'll think that's a joke, +knowing what I was earning there, in Vienna, and how you and +mother were denying yourselves everything to keep me. But +in a city that circulates a coin valued at a twentieth of a +cent, an American dollar looms up big. Besides, two of the +other girls had got married. Good for nothing officers. +She was jealous, I suppose. I didn't know any of that. I +was flattered to think she'd notice me. She was awfully +popular. She has a kind of wit. I suppose you'd call it +that. The other girls were just coarse, and heavy, +and--well--animal. You can't know the rottenness of life +there in Vienna. Olga could keep a whole supper table +laughing all evening. I can see, now, that that isn't +difficult when your audience is made up of music hall girls, +and stupid, bullet-headed officers, with their damned high +collars, and their gold braid, and their silly swords, and +their corsets, and their glittering shoes and their +miserable petty poverty beneath all the show. I thought I +was a lucky boy. I'd have pitied everybody in Winnebago, if +I'd ever thought of anybody in Winnebago. I never did, +except once in a while of you and mother when I needed +money. I kept on with my music. I had sense enough left, +for that. Besides, it was a habit, by that time. Well, we +were married." + +He laughed, an ugly, abrupt little laugh that ended in a +moan, and turned his head and buried his face in Fanny's +breast. And Fanny's arm was there, about his shoulder. +"Fanny, you don't--I can't--" He stopped. Another silence. +Fanny's arm tightened its hold. She bent and kissed the top +of the stubbly head, bowed so low now. "Fan, do you +remember that woman in `The Three Musketeers'? The hellish +woman, that all men loved and loathed? Well, Olga's like +that. I'm not whining. I'm not exaggerating. I'm just +trying to make you understand. And yet I don't want you to +understand. Only you don't know what it means to have you +to talk to. To have some one who"--he clutched her hand, +fearfully--"You do love me, don't you, Fanny? You do, don't +you, Sis?" + +"More than any one in the world," Fanny reassured him, +quietly. "The way mother would have, if she had lived." + +A sigh escaped him, at that, as though a load had lifted +from him. He went on, presently. "It would have been all +right if I could have earned just a little more money." +Fanny shrank at that, and shut her eyes for a sick +moment. "But I couldn't. I asked her to be patient. But +you don't know the life there. There is no real home life. +They live in the cafes. They go there to keep warm, in the +winter, and to meet their friends, and gossip, and drink +that eternal coffee, and every coffee house--there are +thousands--is a rendezvous. We had two rooms, comfortable +ones, for Vienna, and I tried to explain to her that if I +could work hard, and get into concert, and keep at the +composing, we'd be rich some day, and famous, and happy, and +she'd have clothes, and jewels. But she was too stupid, or +too bored. Olga is the kind of woman who only believes what +she sees. Things got worse all the time. She had a temper. +So have I--or I used to have. But when hers was aroused it +was--horrible. Words that--that--unspeakable words. And +one day she taunted me with being a ---- with my race. The +first time she called me that I felt that I must kill her. +That was my mistake. I should have killed her. And I +didn't." + +"Teddy boy! Don't, brother! You're tired. You're excited +and worn out." + +"No, I'm not. Just let me talk. I know what I'm saying. +There's something clean about killing." He brooded a moment +over that thought. Then he went on, doggedly, not raising +his voice. His hands were clasped loosely. "You don't know +about the intolerance and the anti-Semitism in Prussia, I +suppose. All through Germany, for that matter. In Bavaria +it's bitter. That's one reason why Olga loathed Munich so. +The queer part of it is that all that opposition seemed to +fan something in me; something that had been smoldering for +a long time." His voice had lost its dull tone now. It had +in it a new timbre. And as he talked he began to interlard +his English with bits of German, the language to which his +tongue had accustomed itself in the past ten years. His +sentences, too, took on a German construction, from time to +time. He was plainly excited now. "My playing began +to improve. There would be a ghastly scene with Olga-- +sickening--degrading. Then I would go to my work, and I +would play, but magnificently! I tell you, it would be +playing. I know. To fool myself I know better. One +morning, after a dreadful quarrel I got the idea for the +concerto, and the psalms. Jewish music. As Jewish as the +Kol Nidre. I wanted to express the passion, and fire, and +history of a people. My people. Why was that? Tell me. +Selbst, weiss ich nicht. I felt that if I could put into +it just a millionth part of their humiliation, and their +glory; their tragedy and their triumph; their sorrow, and +their grandeur; their persecution, their weldtschmerz. +Volkschmerz. That was it. And through it all, weaving in +and out, one great underlying motif. Indestructibility. +The great cry which says, `We cannot be destroyed!'" + +He stood up, uncertainly. His eyes were blazing. He began +to walk up and down the luxurious little room. Fanny's eyes +matched his. She was staring at him, fascinated, trembling. + +She moistened her lips a little with her tongue. "And +you've done it? Teddy! You've done--that!" + +Theodore Brandeis stood up, very straight and tall. "Yes," +he said, simply. "Yes, I've done that." + +She came over to him then, and put her two hands on his +shoulders. "Ted--dear--will you ever forgive me? I'll try +to make up for it now. I didn't know. I've been blind. +Worse than blind. Criminal." She was weeping now, broken- +heartedly, and he was patting her with little comforting +love pats, and whispering words of tenderness. + +"Forgive you? Forgive you what?" + +"The years of suffering. The years you've had to spend with +her. With that horrible woman--" + +"Don't--" He sucked his breath between his teeth. His face +had gone haggard again. Fanny, direct as always, made +up her mind that she would have it all. And now. + +"There's something you haven't told me. Tell me all of it. +You're my brother and I'm your sister. We're all we have in +the world." And at that, as though timed by some miraculous +and supernatural stage manager, there came a cry from the +next room; a sleepy, comfortable, imperious little cry. +Mizzi had awakened. Fanny made a step in the direction of +the door. Then she turned back. "Tell me why Olga didn't +come. Why isn't she here with her husband and baby?" + +"Because she's with another man." + +"Another--" + +"It had been going on for a long time. I was the last to +know about it. It's that way, always, isn't it? He's an +officer. A fool. He'll have to take off his silly corsets +now, and his velvet collar, and his shiny boots, and go to +war. Damn him! I hope they'll kill him with a hundred +bayonets, one by one, and leave him to rot on the field. +She had been fooling me all the time, and they had been +laughing at me, the two of them. I didn't find it out until +just before this American trip. And when I confronted her +with it she laughed in my face. She said she hated me. She +said she'd rather starve than leave him to come to America +with me. She said I was a fiddling fool. She--" he was +trembling and sick with the shame of it--"God! I can't tell +you the things she said. She wanted to keep Mizzi. Isn't +that strange? She loves the baby. She neglects her, and +spoils her, and once I saw her beat her, in a rage. But she +says she loves my Mizzi, and I believe she does, in her own +dreadful way. I promised her, and lied to her, and then I +ran away with Mizzi and her nurse." + +"Oh, I thank God for that!" Fanny cried. "I thank God for +that! And now, Teddy boy, we'll forget all about those +miserable years. We'll forget all about her, and the +life she led you. You're going to have your chance here. +You're going to be repaid for every minute of suffering +you've endured. I'll make it up to you. And when you see +them applauding you, calling for you, adoring you, all those +hideous years will fade from your mind, and you'll be +Theodore Brandeis, the successful, Theodore Brandeis, the +gifted, Theodore Brandeis, the great! You need never think +of her again. You'll never see her again. That beast! +That woman!" + +And at that Theodore's face became distorted and dreadful +with pain. He raised two impotent, shaking arms high above +his head. "That's just it! That's just it! You don't know +what love is. You don't know what hate is. You don't know +how I hate myself. Loathe myself. She's all that's +miserable, all that's unspeakable, all that's vile. And if +she called me to-day I'd come. That's it." He covered his +shamed face with his two hands, so that the words came from +him slobberingly, sickeningly. "I hate her! I hate her! +And I want her. I want her. I want her!" + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +If Fanny Brandeis, the deliberately selfish, the +calculatingly ambitious, was aghast at the trick fate had +played her, she kept her thoughts to herself. Knowing her, +I think she must have been grimly amused at finding herself +saddled with a helpless baby, a bewildered peasant woman, +and an artist brother both helpless and bewildered. + +It was out of the question to house them in her small +apartment. She found a furnished apartment near her own, +and installed them there, with a working housekeeper in +charge. She had a gift for management, and she arranged all +these details with a brisk capability that swept everything +before it. A sunny bedroom for Mizzi. But then, a bright +living room, too, for Theodore's hours of practice. No +noise. Chicago's roar maddened him. Otti shied at every +new contrivance that met her eye. She had to be broken in +to elevators, electric switches, hot and cold faucets, +radiators. + +"No apartment ever built could cover all the requirements," +Fanny confided to Fenger, after the first harrowing week. +"What they really need is a combination palace, houseboat, +sanatorium, and creche." + +"Look here," said Fenger. "If I can help, why--" a sudden +thought struck him. "Why don't you bring 'em all down to my +place in the country? We're not there half the time. It's +too cool for my wife in September. Just the thing for the +child, and your brother could fiddle his head off." + +The Fengers had a roomy, wide-verandaed house near +Lake Forest; one of the many places of its kind that dot the +section known as the north shore. Its lawn sloped gently +down to the water's edge. The house was gay with striped +awnings, and scarlet geraniums, and chintz-covered chairs. +The bright, sparkling, luxurious little place seemed to +satisfy a certain beauty-sense in Fenger, as did the +etchings on the walls in his office. Fanny had spent a +week-end there in July, with three or four other guests, +including Fascinating Facts. She had been charmed with it, +and had announced that her energies thereafter would be +directed solely toward the possession of just such a house +as this, with a lawn that was lipped by the lake, awnings +and geraniums to give it a French cafe air; books and +magazines enough to belie that. + +"And I'll always wear white," she promised, gayly, "and +there'll be pitchers on every table, frosty on the outside, +and minty on the inside, and you're all invited." + +They had laughed at that, and so had she, but she had been +grimly in earnest just the same. + +She shook her head now at Fenger's suggestion. "Imagine +Mrs. Fenger's face at sight of Mizzi, and Theodore with his +violin, and Otti with her shawls and paraphernalia. +Though," she added, seriously, "it's mighty kind of you, and +generous--and just like a man." + +"It isn't kindness nor generosity that makes me want to do +things for you." + +"Modest," murmured Fanny, wickedly, "as always." + +Fenger bent his look upon her. "Don't try the ingenue on +me, Fanny." + +Theodore's manager, Kurt Stein, was to have followed him in +ten days. The war changed that. The war was to change many +things. Fanny seemed to sense the influx of musicians that +was to burst upon the United States following the first few +weeks of the catastrophe, and she set about forestalling it. +Advertising. That was what Theodore needed. She had +faith enough in his genius. But her business sense told her +that this genius must be enhanced by the proper setting. +She set about creating this setting. She overlooked no +chance to fix his personality in the kaleidoscopic mind of +the American public--or as much of it as she could reach. +His publicity man was a dignified German-American whose +methods were legitimate and uninspired. Fanny's enthusiasm +and superb confidence in Theodore's genius infected Fenger, +Fascinating Facts, even Nathan Haynes himself. Nathan +Haynes had never posed as a patron of the arts, in spite of +his fantastic millions. But by the middle of September +there were few of his friends, or his wife's friends, who +had not heard of this Theodore Brandeis. In Chicago, +Illinois, no one lives in houses, it is said, except the +city's old families, and new millionaires. The rest of the +vast population is flat-dwelling. To say that Nathan +Haynes' spoken praise reached the city's house-dwellers +would carry with it a significance plain to any Chicagoan. + +As for Fanny's method; here is a typical example of her +somewhat crude effectiveness in showmanship. Otti had +brought with her from Vienna her native peasant costume. It +is a costume seen daily in the Austrian capital, on the +Ring, in the Stadt Park, wherever Viennese nurses convene +with their small charges. To the American eye it is a +musical comedy costume, picturesque, bouffant, amazing. +Your Austrian takes it quite for granted. Regardless of the +age of the nurse, the skirt is short, coming a few inches +below the knees, and built like a lamp shade, in color +usually a bright scarlet, with rows of black velvet ribbon +at the bottom. Beneath it are worn skirts and skirts, and +skirts, so that the opera-bouffe effect is complete. The +bodice is black velvet, laced over a chemise of white. The +head-gear a soaring winged affair of stiffly starched +white, that is a pass between the Breton peasant +woman's cap and an aeroplane. Black stockings and slippers +finish the costume. + +Otti and Mizzi spent the glorious September days in Lincoln +park, Otti garbed in staid American stripes and apron, Mizzi +resplendent in smartest of children's dresses provided for +her lavishly by her aunt. Her fat and dimpled hands +smoothed the blue, or pink or white folds with a complacency +astonishing in one of her years. "That's her mother in +her," Fanny thought. + +One rainy autumn day Fanny entered her brother's apartment +to find Otti resplendent in her Viennese nurse's costume. +Mizzi had been cross and fretful, and the sight of the +familiar scarlet and black and white, and the great winged +cap seemed to soothe her. + +"Otti!" Fanny exclaimed. "You gorgeous creature! What is +it? A dress rehearsal?" Otti got the import, if not the +English. + +"So gehen wir im Wien," she explained, and struck a killing +pose. + +"Everybody? All the nurses? Alle?" + +"Aber sure," Otti displayed her half dozen English words +whenever possible. + +Fanny stared a moment. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. +"To-morrow's Saturday," she said, in German. "If it's fair +and warm you put on that costume and take Mizzi to the +park. . . . Certainly the animal cages, if you want to. If +any one annoys you, come home. If a policeman asks you why +you are dressed that way tell him it is the costume worn by +nurses in Vienna. Give him your name. Tell him who your +master is. If he doesn't speak German--and he won't, in +Chicago--some one will translate for you." + +Not a Sunday paper in Chicago that did not carry a startling +picture of the resplendent Otti and the dimpled and smiling +Mizzi. The omnipresent staff photographer seemed to sniff +his victim from afar. He pounced on Theodore Brandeis' +baby daughter, accompanied by her Viennese nurse (in +costume) and he played her up in a Sunday special that was +worth thousands of dollars, Fanny assured the bewildered and +resentful Theodore, as he floundered wildly through the +billowing waves of the Sunday newspaper flood. +Theodore's first appearance was to be in Chicago as soloist +with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, in the season's opening +program in October. Any music-wise Chicagoan will tell you +that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra is not only a musical +organization functioning marvelously (when playing +Beethoven). It is an institution. Its patrons will admit +the existence, but not the superiority of similar +organizations in Boston, Philadelphia and New York. On +Friday afternoons, during the season, Orchestra Hall, +situate on Michigan Boulevard, holds more pretty girls and +fewer men than one might expect to see at any one gathering +other than, perhaps, a wholesale debutante tea crush. A +Friday afternoon ticket is as impossible of attainment for +one not a subscriber as a seat in heaven for a sinner. +Saturday night's audience is staider, more masculine, less +staccato. Gallery, balcony, parquet, it represents the +city's best. Its men prefer Beethoven to Berlin. Its women +could wear pearl necklaces, and don't. Between the audience +and the solemn black-and-white rows on the platform there +exists an entente cordiale. The Konzert-Meister bows to +his friend in the third row, as he tucks his violin under +his chin. The fifth row, aisle, smiles and nods to the +sausage-fingered 'cellist. + +"Fritz is playing well to-night." + +In a rarefied form, it is the atmosphere that existed +between audience and players in the days of the old and +famous Daly stock company. + +Such was the character of the audience Theodore was to face +on his first appearance in America. Fanny explained +its nature to him. He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture +as German as it was expressive. + +Theodore seemed to have become irrevocably German during the +years of his absence from America. He had a queer stock of +little foreign tricks. He lifted his hat to men +acquaintances on the street. He had learned to smack his +heels smartly together and to bow stiffly from the waist, +and to kiss the hand of the matrons--and they adored him for +it. He was quite innocent of pose in these things. He +seemed to have imbibed them, together with his queer German +haircut, and his incredibly German clothes. + +Fanny allowed him to retain the bow, and the courtly hand- +kiss, but she insisted that he change the clothes and the +haircut. + +"You'll have to let it grow, Ted. I don't mean that I want +you to have a mane, like Ysaye. But I do think you ought to +discard that convict cut. Besides, it isn't becoming. And +if you're going to be an American violinist you'll have to +look it--with a foreign finish." +He let his hair grow. Fanny watched with interest for the +appearance of the unruly lock which had been wont to +straggle over his white forehead in his schoolboy days. The +new and well-cut American clothes effected surprisingly +little change. Fanny, surveying him, shook her head. + +"When you stepped off the ship you looked like a German in +German clothes. Now you look like a German in American +clothes. I don't know--I do believe it's your face, Ted. I +wouldn't have thought that ten years or so in any country +could change the shape of one's nose, and mouth and +cheekbones. Do you suppose it's the umlauts?" + +"Cut it out!" laughed Ted, that being his idea of modern +American slang. He was fascinated by these crisp phrases, +but he was ten years or so behind the times, and he +sometimes startled his hearers by an exhibition of slang so +old as to be almost new. It was all the more startling in +contrast with his conversational English, which was as +carefully correct as a born German's. + +As for the rest, it was plain that he was interested, but +unhappy. He practiced for hours daily. He often took Mizzi +to the park and came back storming about the dirt, the +noise, the haste, the rudeness, the crowds, the +mismanagement of the entire city. Dummheit, he called it. +They profaned the lake. They allowed the people to trample +the grass. They threw papers and banana skins about. And +they wasted! His years in Germany had taught him to regard +all these things as sacrilege, and the last as downright +criminal. He was lonesome for his Germany. That was plain. +He hated it, and loved it, much as he hated and loved the +woman who had so nearly spoiled his life. The maelstrom +known as the southwest corner of State and Madison streets +appalled him. + +"Gott!" he exclaimed. "Es ist unglaublich! Aber ganz +unglaublich! Ich werde bald veruckt." He somehow lapsed +into German when excited. + +Fanny took him to the Haynes-Cooper plant one day, and it +left him dazed, and incredulous. She quoted millions at +him. He was not interested. He looked at the office +workers, the mail-room girls, and shook his head, dumbly. +They were using bicycles now, with a bundle rack in the +front, in the vast stock rooms, and the roller skates had +been discarded as too slow. The stock boys skimmed around +corners on these lightweight bicycles, up one aisle, and +down the next, snatching bundles out of bins, shooting +bundles into bins, as expertly as players in a gymkhana. + +Theodore saw the uncanny rapidity with which the letter- +opening machines did their work. He watched the great +presses that turned out the catalogue--the catalogue +whose message meant millions; he sat in Fenger's office and +stared at the etchings, and said, "Certainly," with +politeness, when Fenger excused himself in the midst of a +conversation to pick up the telephone receiver and talk to +their shoe factory in Maine. He ended up finally in Fanny's +office, no longer a dingy and undesirable corner, but a +quietly brisk center that sent out vibrations over the +entire plant. Slosson, incidentally, was no longer of the +infants' wear. He had been transferred to a subordinate +position in the grocery section. + +"Well," said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling +radiantly upon her brother. "Well, what do you think of +us?" + +And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the +blind, said a most amazing thing. + +"Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions +that are lying about everywhere in this country. And then +I'll take you out of this. I promise you." + +Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment. + +"Why, you talk as if you were--sorry for me!" + +"I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you, +somehow." + +It was the first time in all her dashing and successful +career that Fanny Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She +resented it, hotly. And from Theodore, the groper, the-- +"But at any rate," something within her said, "he has always +been true to himself." + +Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat, +on which he had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin +with three others. Kurt Stein was German born, but American +bred, and he had the American love of luxurious travel. He +was still testy when he reached Chicago and his charge. + +"How goes the work?" he demanded at once, of Theodore. He +eyed him sharply. "That's better. You have lost some +of the look you had when you left Wien. The ladies would +have liked that look, here in America. But it is bad for +the work." + +He took Fanny aside before he left. His face was serious. +It was plain that he was disturbed. "That woman," he began. +"Pardon me, Mrs. Brandeis. She came to me. She says she is +starving. She is alone there, in Vienna. Her--well, she is +alone. The war is everywhere. They say it will last for +years. She wept and pleaded with me to take her here." + +"No!" cried Fanny. "Don't let him hear it. He mustn't +know. He----" + +"Yes, I know. She is a paradox, that woman. I tell you, +she almost prevailed on me. There is something about her; +something that repels and compels." That struck him as +being a very fine phrase indeed, and he repeated it +appreciatively. + +"I'll send her money, somehow," said Fanny. + +"Yes. But they say that money is not reaching them over +there. I don't know what becomes of it. It vanishes." He +turned to leave. "Oh, a message for you. On my boat was +Schabelitz. It looks very much as if his great fortune, the +accumulation of years, would be swept away by this war. +Already they are tramping up and down his lands in Poland. +His money--much of it--is invested in great hotels in Poland +and Russia, and they are using them for barracks and +hospitals." + +"Schabelitz! You mean a message for Theodore? From him? +That's wonderful." + +"For Theodore, and for you, too." + +"For me! I made a picture of him once when I was a little +girl. I didn't see him again for years. Then I heard him +play. It was on his last tour here. I wanted to speak to +him. But I was afraid. And my face was red with weeping." + +"He remembers you. And he means to see Theodore and you. +He can do much for Theodore in this country, and I +think he will. His message for you was this: `Tell her I +still have the picture that she made of me, with the jack- +in-the-box in my hand, and that look on my face. Tell her I +have often wondered about that little girl in the red cap +and the black curls. I've wondered if she went on, catching +that look back of people's faces. If she did, she should be +more famous than her brother."' + +"He said that! About me!" + +"I am telling you as nearly as I can. He said, `Tell her it +was a woman who ruined Bauer's career, and caused him to end +his days a music teacher in--in--Gott! I can't remember the +name of that town----" + +"Winnebago." + +"Winnebago. That was it. `Tell her not to let the brother +spoil his life that way.' So. That is the message. He +said you would understand." + +Theodore's face was ominous when she returned to him, after +Stein had left. + +"I wish you and Stein wouldn't stand out there in the hall +whispering about me as if I were an idiot patient. What +were you saying?" + +"Nothing, Ted. Really." + +He brooded a moment. Then his face lighted up with a flash +of intuition. He flung an accusing finger at Fanny. + +"He has seen her." + +"Ted! You promised." + +"She's in trouble. This war. And she hasn't any money. I +know. Look here. We've got to send her money. Cable it." + +"I will. Just leave it all to me." + +"If she's here, in this country, and you're lying to me----" + +"She isn't. My word of honor, Ted." + +He relaxed. + +Life was a very complicated thing for Fanny these days. +Ted was leaning on her; Mizzi, Otti, and now Fenger. Nathan +Haynes was poking a disturbing finger into that delicate and +complicated mechanism of System which Fenger had built up in +the Haynes-Cooper plant. And Fenger, snarling, was trying +to guard his treasure. He came to Fanny with his grievance. +Fanny had always stimulated him, reassured him, given him +the mental readjustment that he needed. + +He strode into her office one morning in late September. +Ordinarily he sent for her. He stood by her desk now, a +sheaf of papers in his hand, palpably stage props, and +lifted significant eyebrows in the direction of the +stenographer busy at her typewriter in the corner. + +"You may leave that, Miss Mahin," Fanny said. Miss Mahin, a +comprehending young woman, left it, and the room as well. +Fenger sat down. He was under great excitement, though he +was quite controlled. Fanny, knowing him, waited quietly. +His eyes held hers. + +"It's come," Fenger began. "You know that for the last year +Haynes has been milling around with a herd of sociologists, +philanthropists, and students of economics. He had some +scheme in the back of his head, but I thought it was just +another of his impractical ideas. It appears that it +wasn't. Between the lot of them they've evolved a savings +and profit-sharing plan that's founded on a kind of +practical universal brotherhood dream. Haynes's millions +are bothering him. If they actually put this thing through +I'll get out. It'll mean that everything I've built up will +be torn down. It will mean that any six-dollar-a-week +girl----" + +"As I understand it," interrupted Fanny, "it will mean that +there will be no more six-dollar-a-week girls." + +"That's it. And let me tell you, once you get the ignorant, +unskilled type to believing they're actually capable of +earning decent money, actually worth something, they're +worse than useless. They're dangerous." + +"You don't believe that." + +"I do." + +"But it's a theory that belongs to the Dark Ages. We've +disproved it. We've got beyond that." + +"Yes. So was war. We'd got beyond it. But it's here. I +tell you, there are only two classes: the governing and the +governed. That has always been true. It always will be. +Let the Socialists rave. It has never got them anywhere. I +know. I come from the mucker class myself. I know what +they stand for. Boost them, and they'll turn on you. If +there's anything in any of them, he'll pull himself up by +his own bootstraps." + +"They're not all potential Fengers." + +"Then let 'em stay what they are." + +Fanny's pencil was tracing and retracing a tortured and +meaningless figure on the paper before her. "Tell me, do +you remember a girl named Sarah Sapinsky?" + +"Never heard of her." + +"That's fitting. Sarah Sapinsky was a very pretty, very +dissatisfied girl who was a slave to the bundle chute. One +day there was a period of two seconds when a bundle didn't +pop out at her, and she had time to think. Anyway, she +left. I asked about her. She's on the streets." + +"Well?" + +"Thanks to you and your system." + +"Look here, Fanny. I didn't come to you for that kind of +talk. Don't, for heaven's sake, give me any sociological +drivel to-day. I'm not here just to tell you my troubles. +You know what my contract is here with Haynes-Cooper. And +you know the amount of stock I hold. If this scheme of +Haynes's goes in, I go out. Voluntarily. But at my own +price. The Haynes-Cooper plant is at the height of its +efficiency now." He dropped his voice. "But the mail order +business is in its infancy. There's no limit to what can be +done with it in the next few years. Understand? Do you get +what I'm trying to tell you?" He leaned forward, tense and +terribly in earnest. + +Fanny stared at him. Then her hand went to her head in a +gesture of weariness. "Not to-day. Please. And not here. +Don't think I'm ungrateful for your confidence. But--this +month has been a terrific strain. Just let me pass the +fifteenth of October. Let me see Theodore on the way----" + +Fenger's fingers closed about her wrist. Fanny got to her +feet angrily. They glared at each other a moment. Then the +humor of the picture they must be making struck Fanny. She +began to laugh. Fenger's glare became a frown. He turned +abruptly and left the office. Fanny looked down at her +wrist ruefully. Four circlets of red marked its smooth +whiteness. She laughed again, a little uncertainly this +time. + +When she got home that night she found, in her mail, a +letter for Theodore, postmarked Vienna, and stamped with the +mark of the censor. Theodore had given her his word of +honor that he would not write Olga, or give her his address. +Olga was risking Fanny's address. She stood looking at the +letter now. Theodore was coming in for dinner, as he did +five nights out of the week. As she stood in the hallway, +she heard the rattle of his key in the lock. She flew down +the hall and into her bedroom, her letters in her hand. She +opened her dressing table drawer and threw them into it, +switched on the light and turned to face Theodore in the +doorway. + +"'Lo, Sis." + +"Hello, Teddy. Kiss me. Phew! That pipe again. How'd the +work go to-day?" + +"So--so. Any mail for me?" + +"No." + +That night, when he had gone, she took out the letter and +stood turning it over and over in her hands. She had no +thought of reading it. It was its destruction she was +contemplating. Finally she tucked it away in her +handkerchief box. Perhaps, after the fifteenth of October. +Everything depended on that. + +And the fifteenth of October came. It had dragged for +weeks, and then, at the end, it galloped. By that time +Fanny had got used to seeing Theodore's picture and name +outside Orchestra Hall, and in the musical columns of the +papers. Brandeis. Theodore Brandeis, the violinist. The +name sang in her ears. When she walked on Michigan Avenue +during that last week she would force herself to march +straight on past Orchestra Hall, contenting herself with a +furtive and oblique glance at the announcement board. The +advance programs hung, a little bundle of them, suspended by +a string from a nail on the wall near the box office, so +that ticket purchasers might rip one off and peruse the +week's musical menu. Fanny longed to hear the comment of +the little groups that were constantly forming and +dispersing about the box office window. She never dreamed +of allowing herself to hover near it. She thought sometimes +of the woman in the businesslike gray skirt and the black +sateen apron who had drudged so cheerfully in the little +shop so that Theodore Brandeis' name might shine now from +the very top of the program, in heavy black letters: + +Soloist: MR. THEODORE BRANDEIS, Violin + +The injustice of it. Fanny had never ceased to rage at +that. + +In the years to come Theodore Brandeis was to have that +adulation which the American public, temperamentally so +cold, gives its favorite, once the ice of its reserve is +thawed. He was to look down on that surging, tempestuous +crowd which sometimes packs itself about the foot of +the platform in Carnegie Hall, demanding more, more, more, +after a generous concert is concluded. He had to learn to +protect himself from those hysterical, enraptured, wholly +feminine adorers who swarmed about him, scaling the platform +itself. But of all this there was nothing on that Friday +and Saturday in October. Orchestra Hall audiences are not, +as a rule, wildly demonstrative. They were no exception. +They listened attentively, appreciatively. They talked, +critically and favorably, on the way home. They applauded +generously. They behaved as an Orchestra Hall audience +always behaves, and would behave, even if it were confronted +with a composite Elman-Kreisler-Ysaye soloist. Theodore's +playing was, as a whole, perhaps the worst of his career. +Not that he did not rise to magnificent heights at times. +But it was what is known as uneven playing. He was torn +emotionally, nervously, mentally. His playing showed it. + +Fanny, seated in the auditorium, her hands clasped tight, +her heart hammering, had a sense of unreality as she waited +for Theodore to appear from the little door at the left. He +was to play after the intermission. Fanny had arrived late, +with Theodore, that Friday afternoon. She felt she could +not sit through the first part of the program. They waited +together in the anteroom. Theodore, looking very slim and +boyish in his frock coat, walked up and down, up and down. +Fanny wanted to straighten his tie. She wanted to pick an +imaginary thread off his lapel. She wanted to adjust the +white flower in his buttonhole (he jerked it out presently, +because it interfered with his violin, he said). She wanted +to do any one of the foolish, futile things that would have +served to relieve her own surcharged feelings. But she had +learned control in these years. And she yielded to none of +them. + +The things they said and did were, perhaps, almost +ludicrous. + +"How do I look?" Theodore demanded, and stood up before her. + +"Beautiful!" said Fanny, and meant it. + +Theodore passed a hand over his cheek. "Cut myself shaving, +damn it!" + +"It doesn't show." + +He resumed his pacing. Now and then he stopped, and rubbed +his hands together with a motion we use in washing. +Finally: + +"I wish you'd go out front," he said, almost pettishly. +Fanny rose, without a word. She looked very handsome. +Excitement had given her color. The pupils of her eyes were +dilated and they shone brilliantly. She looked at her +brother. He stared at her. They swayed together. They +kissed, and clung together for a long moment. Then Fanny +turned and walked swiftly away, and stumbled a little as she +groped for the stairway. + +The bell in the foyer rang. The audience strolled to the +auditorium. They lagged, Fanny thought. They crawled. She +told herself that she must not allow her nerves to tease her +like that. She looked about her, with outward calm. Her +eyes met Fenger's. He was seated, alone. It was he who had +got a subscription seat for her from a friend. She had said +she preferred to be alone. She looked at him now and he at +her, and they did not nod nor smile. The house settled +itself flutteringly. + +A man behind Fanny spoke. "Who's this Brandeis?" + +"I don't know. A new one. German, I guess. They say he's +good. Kreisler's the boy who can play for me, though." + +The orchestra was seated now. Stock, the conductor, came +out from the little side door. Behind him walked Theodore. +There was a little, impersonal burst of applause. Stock +mounted his conductor's platform and glanced paternally +down at Theodore, who stood at the left, violin and bow in +hand, bowing. The audience seemed to warm to his +boyishness. They applauded again, and he bowed in a little +series of jerky bobs that waggled his coat-tails. Heels +close together, knees close together. A German bow. And +then a polite series of bobs addressed to Stock and his +orchestra. Stock's long, slim hands poised in air. His +fingertips seemed to draw from the men before him the first +poignant strains of Theodore's concerto. Theodore stood, +slim and straight. Fanny's face, lifted toward him, was a +prayerful thing. Theodore suddenly jerked back the left +lapel of his coat in a little movement Fanny remembered as +typical in his boyish days, nuzzled his violin tenderly, and +began to play. + +It is the most excruciating of instruments, the violin, or +the most exquisite. I think Fanny actually heard very +little of his playing. Her hands were icy. Her cheeks were +hot. The man before her was not Theodore Brandeis, the +violinist, but Teddy, the bright-haired, knickered schoolboy +who played to those people seated in the yellow wooden pews +of the temple in Winnebago. The years seemed to fade away. +He crouched over his violin to get the 'cello tones for +which he was to become famous, and it was the same hunched, +almost awkward pose that the boy had used. Fanny found +herself watching his feet as his shifted his position. He +was nervous. And he was not taken out of himself. She knew +that because she saw the play of his muscles about the jaw- +bone. It followed that he was not playing his best. She +could not tell that from listening to him. Her music sense +was dulled. She got it from these outward signs. The woman +next to her was reading a program absorbedly, turning the +pages regularly, and with care. Fanny could have killed her +with her two hands. She tried to listen detachedly. The +music was familiar to her. Theodore had played it for +her, again and again. The last movement had never +failed to shake her emotionally. It was the glorious and +triumphant cry of a people tried and unafraid. She heard it +now, unmoved. + +And then Theodore was bowing his little jerky bows, and he +was shaking hands with Stock, and with the First Violin. He +was gone. Fanny sat with her hands in her lap. The +applause continued. Theodore appeared again. Bowed. He +bent very low now, with his arms hanging straight. There +was something gracious and courtly about him. And foreign. +He must keep that, Fanny thought. They like it. She saw +him off again. More applause. Encores were against the +house rules. She knew that. Then it meant they were +pleased. He was to play again. A group of Hungarian dances +this time. They were wild, gypsy things, rising to frenzy +at times. He played them with spirit and poetry. To listen +sent the blood singing through the veins. Fanny found +herself thinking clearly and exaltedly. + +"This is what my mother drudged for, and died for, and it +was worth it. And you must do the same, if necessary. +Nothing else matters. What he needs now is luxury. He's +worn out with fighting. Ease. Peace. Leisure. You've got +to give them to him. It's no use, Fanny. You lose." + +In that moment she reached a mark in her spiritual career +that she was to outdistance but once. + +Theodore was bowing again. Fanny had scarcely realized that +he had finished. The concert was over. + +". . . the group of dances," the man behind her was saying +as he helped the girl next him with her coat, "but I didn't +like that first thing. Church music, not concert." + +Fanny found her way back to the ante-room. Theodore was +talking to the conductor, and one or two others. He looked +tired, and his eyes found Fanny's with appeal and +relief in them. She came over to him. There were +introductions, congratulations. Fanny slipped her hand over +his with a firm pressure. + +"Come, dear. You must be tired." + +At the door they found Fenger waiting. Theodore received +his well-worded congratulations with an ill-concealed scowl. + +"My car's waiting," said Fenger. "Won't you let me take you +home?" + +A warning pressure from Theodore. "Thanks, no. We have a +car. Theodore's very tired." + +"I can quite believe that." + +"Not tired," growled Theodore, like a great boy. "I'm +hungry. Starved. I never eat before playing." + +Kurt Stein, Theodore's manager, had been hovering over him +solicitously. "You must remember to-morrow night. I should +advise you to rest now, as quickly as possible." He, too, +glared at Fenger. + +Fenger fell back, almost humbly. "I've great news for you. +I must see you Sunday. After this is over. I'll telephone +you. Don't try to come to work to-morrow." All this is a +hurried aside to Fanny. + +Fanny nodded and moved away with Theodore. + +Theodore leaned back in the car, but there was no hint of +relaxation. He was as tense and vibrant as one of his own +violin strings. + +"It went, didn't it? They're like clods, these American +audiences." It was on the tip of Fanny's tongue to say that +he had professed indifference to audiences, but she wisely +refrained. "Gad! I'm hungry. What makes this Fenger hang +around so? I'm going to tell him to keep away, some day. +The way he stares at you. Let's go somewhere to-night, Fan. +Or have some people in. I can't sit about after I've +played. Olga always used to have a supper party, or +something." + +"All right, Ted. Would you like the theater?" + +For the first time in her life she felt a little whisper of +sympathy for the despised Olga. Perhaps, after all, she had +not been wholly to blame. + +He was to leave Sunday morning for Cleveland, where he would +play Monday. He had insisted on taking Mizzi with him, +though Fanny had railed and stormed. Theodore had had his +way. + +"She's used to it. She likes to travel, don't you, Mizzi? +You should have seen her in Russia, and all over Germany, +and in Sweden. She's a better traveler than her dad." + +Saturday morning's papers were kind, but cool. They used +words such as promising, uneven, overambitious, gifted. +Theodore crumpled the lot into a ball and hurled them across +the room, swearing horribly. Then he smoothed them out, +clipped them, and saved them carefully. His playing that +night was tinged with bravado, and the Saturday evening +audience rose to it. There was about his performance a +glow, a spirit that had been lacking on the previous day. + +Inconsistently enough, he missed the antagonism of the +European critics. He was puzzled and resentful. + +"They hardly say a word about the meaning of the concerto. +They accept it as a piece of music, Jewish in theme. It +might as well be entitled Springtime." + +"This isn't France or Russia," said Fanny. "Antagonism here +isn't religious. It's personal, almost. You've been away +so many years you've forgotten. They don't object to us as +a sect, or a race, but as a type. That's the trouble, +Clarence Heyl says. We're free to build as many synagogues +as we like, and worship in them all day, if we want to. But +we don't want to. The struggle isn't racial any more, but +individual. For some reason or other one flashy, loud- +talking Hebrew in a restaurant can cause more ill feeling +than ten thousand of them holding a religious mass meeting +in Union Square." + +Theodore pondered a moment. "Then here each one of us is +responsible. Is that it?" + +"I suppose so." + +"But look here. I've been here ten weeks, and I've met your +friends, and not one of them is a Jew. How's that?" + +Fanny flushed a little. "Oh, it just worked out that way." + +Theodore looked at her hard. "You mean you worked it out +that way?" + +"Yes." + +"Fan, we're a couple of weaklings, both of us, to have +sprung from a mother like ours. I don't know which is +worse; my selfishness, or yours." Then, at the hurt that +showed in her face, he was all contrition. "Forgive me, +Sis. You've been so wonderful to me, and to Mizzi, and to +all of us. I'm a good-for-nothing fiddler, that's all. +You're the strong one." + +Fenger had telephoned her on Saturday. He and his wife were +at their place in the country. Fanny was to take the train +out there Sunday morning. She looked forward to it with a +certain relief. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, +as Chicago Octobers sometimes do. Up to the last moment she +had tried to shake Theodore's determination to take Mizzi +and Otti with him. But he was stubborn. + +"I've got to have her," he said. + +Michael Fenger's voice over the telephone had been as +vibrant with suppressed excitement as Michael Fenger's dry, +hard tones could be. + +"Fanny, it's done--finished," he said. "We had a meeting +to-day. This is my last month with Haynes-Cooper." + +"But you can't mean it. Why, you ARE Haynes-Cooper. How +can they let you go?" + +"I can't tell you now. We'll go over it all to-morrow. +I've new plans. They've bought me out. D'you see? At +a price that--well, I thought I'd got used to juggling +millions at Haynes-Cooper. But this surprised even me. +Will you come? Early? Take the eight-ten." + +"That's too early. I'll get the ten." + +The mid-October country was a lovely thing. Fanny, with the +strain of Theodore's debut and leave-taking behind her, and +the prospect of a high-tension business talk with Fenger +ahead, drank in the beauty of the wayside woods gratefully. + +Fenger met her at the station. She had never seen him so +boyish, so exuberant. He almost pranced. + +"Hop in," he said. He had driven down in a runabout. +"Brother get off all right? Gad! He CAN play. And +you've made the whole thing possible." He turned to look at +her. "You're a wonder." + +"In your present frame of mind and state of being," laughed +Fanny, "you'd consider any one a wonder. You're so pleased +with yourself you're fairly gummy." + +Fenger laughed softly and sped the car on. They turned in +at the gate. There was scarlet salvia, now, to take the +place of the red geraniums. The gay awnings, too, were +gone. + +"This is our last week," Fenger explained. "It's too cold +out here for Katherine. We're moving into town to-morrow. +We're more or less camping out here, with only the Jap to +take care of us." + +"Don't apologize, please. I'm grateful just to be here, +after the week I've had. Let's have the news now." + +"We'll have lunch first. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse +Katherine. She probably won't be down for lunch." The Jap +had spread the luncheon table on the veranda, but a brisk +lake breeze had sprung up, and he was busy now transferring +his table from the porch to the dining room. "Would you +have believed it," said Fenger, "when you left town? +Good old lake. Mrs. Fenger coming down?" to the man. + +The Jap shook his head. "Nossa." + +Their talk at luncheon was all about Theodore and his +future. Fenger said that what Theodore needed was a firm +and guiding hand. "A sort of combination manager and slave- +driver. An ambitious and intelligent wife would do it. +That's what we all need. A woman to work for, and to make +us work." + +Fanny smiled. "Mizzi will have to be woman enough, I'm +afraid. Poor Ted." + +They rose. "Now for the talk," said Fenger. But the +telephone had sounded shrilly a moment before, and the +omnipresent little Jap summoned Fenger. He was back in a +minute, frowning. "It's Haynes. I'm sorry. I'm afraid +it'll take a half hour of telephoning. Don't you want to +take a cat-nap? Or a stroll down to the lake?" + +"Don't bother about me. I'll probably take a run outdoors." + +"Be back in half an hour." + +But when she returned he was still at the telephone. She +got a book and stretched luxuriously among the cushions of +one of the great lounging chairs, and fell asleep. When she +awoke Fenger was seated opposite her. He was not reading. +He was not smoking. He evidently had been sitting there, +looking at her. + +"Oh, gracious! Mouth open?" + +"No." + +Fanny fought down an impulse to look as cross as she felt. +"What time? Why didn't you wake me?" The house was very +quiet. She patted her hair deftly, straightened her collar. +"Where's everybody? Isn't Mrs. Fenger down yet?" + +"No. Don't you want to hear about my plans now?" + +"Of course I do. That's what I came for. I don't see +why you didn't tell me hours ago. You're as slow in action +as a Chinese play. Out with it." + +Fenger got up and began to pace the floor, not excitedly, +but with an air of repression. He looked very powerful and +compelling, there in the low-ceilinged, luxurious room. +"I'll make it brief. We met yesterday in Haynes's office. +Of course we had discussed the thing before. You know that. +Haynes knew that I'd never run the plant under the new +conditions. Why, it would kill every efficiency rule I've +ever made. Here I had trimmed that enormous plant down to +fighting weight. There wasn't a useless inch or ounce about +the whole enormous billionaire bulk of it. And then to have +Haynes come along, with his burdensome notions, and his +socialistic slop. They'd cripple any business, no matter +how great a start it had. I told him all that. We didn't +waste much time on argument, though. We knew we'd never get +together. In half an hour we were talking terms. You know +my contract and the amount of stock I hold. Well, we +threshed that out, and Haynes is settling for two million +and a half." + +He came to a stop before Fanny's chair. + +"Two million and a half what?" asked Fanny, feebly. + +"Dollars." He smiled rather grimly. "In a check." + +"One--check?" +"One check." + +Fanny digested that in her orderly mind. "I thought I was +used to thinking in millions. But this--I'd like to touch +the check, just once." + +"You shall." He drew up a chair near her. "Now get this, +Fanny. There's nothing that you and I can't do with two +millions and a half. Nothing. We know this mail order game +as no two people in the world know it. And it's in its +infancy. I know the technical side of it. You know the +human side of it. I tell you that in five years' time you +and I can be a national power. Not merely the heads of +a prosperous mail order business, but figures in finance. +See what's happened to Haynes-Cooper in the last five years! +Why, it's incredible. It's grotesque. And it's nothing to +what you and I can do, working together. You know people, +somehow. You've a genius for sensing their wants, or +feelings, or emotions--I don't know just what it is. And I +know facts. And we have two million and a half--I can make +it nearly three millions--to start with. Haynes, fifteen +years ago, had a couple of hundred thousand. In five years +we can make the Haynes-Cooper organization look as modern +and competent as a cross-roads store. This isn't a dream. +These are facts. You know how my mind works. Like a cold +chisel. I can see this whole country--and Europe, too, +after the war--God, yes!--stretched out before us like a +patient before expert surgeons. You to attend to its heart, +and I to its bones and ligaments. I can put you where no +other woman has ever been. I've a hundred new plans this +minute, and a hundred more waiting to be born. So have you. +I tell you it's just a matter of buildings. Of bricks and +stone, and machinery and people to make the machinery go. +Once we get those--and it's only a matter of months--we can +accomplish things I daren't even dream of. What was Haynes- +Cooper fifteen years ago? What was the North American Cloak +and Suit Company? The Peter Johnston Stores, of New York? +Wells-Kayser? Nothing. They didn't exist. And this year +Haynes-Cooper is declaring a twenty-five per cent dividend. +Do you get what that means? But of course you do. That's +the wonder of it. I never need explain things to you. +You've a genius for understanding." + +Fanny had been sitting back in her chair, crouching almost, +her eyes fixed upon the man's face, so terrible in its +earnestness and indomitable strength. When he stopped +talking now, and stood looking down at her, she rose, +too, her eyes still on his face. She was twisting the +fingers of one hand in the fingers of the other, in a +frightened sort of way. + +"I'm not really a business woman. I--wait a minute, +please--I have a knack of knowing what people are thinking +and wanting. But that isn't business." +"It isn't, eh? It's the finest kind of business sense. +It's the thing the bugs call psychology, and it's as +necessary to-day as capital was yesterday. You can get +along without the last. You can't without the first. One +can be acquired. The other you've got to be born with." + +"But I--you know, of late, it's only the human side of it +that has appealed to me. I don't know why. I seem to have +lost interest in the actual mechanics of it." + +Fenger stood looking at her, his head lowered. A scarlet +stripe, that she had never noticed before, seemed to stand +out suddenly, like a welt, on his forehead. Then he came +toward her. She raised her hand in a little futile gesture. +She took an involuntary step backward, encountered the chair +she had just left, and sank into it coweringly. She sat +there, looking up at him, fascinated. His hand, on the wing +of the great chair, was shaking. So, too, was his voice. + +"Fanny, Katherine's not here." + +Fanny still looked up at him, wordlessly. + +"Katherine left here yesterday. She's in town." Then, at +the look in her face, "She was here when I telephoned you +yesterday. Late yesterday afternoon she had one of her +fantastic notions. She insisted that she must go into town. +It was too cold for her here. Too damp. Too--well, she +went. And I let her go. And I didn't telephone you again. +I wanted you to come." + +Fanny Brandeis, knowing him, must have felt a great qualm of +terror and helplessness. But she was angry, too, a +wholesome ingredient in a situation such as this. The thing +she said and did now was inspired. She laughed--a little +uncertainly, it is true--but still she laughed. And she +said, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +"Well, I must say that's a rather shabby trick. Still, I +suppose the tired business man has got to have his little +melodrama. What do I do? H'm? Beat my breast and howl? +Or pound on the door panel?" + +Fenger stood looking at her. "Don't laugh at me, Fanny." + +She stood up, still smiling. It was rather a brilliant +piece of work. Fenger, taken out of himself though he was, +still was artist enough to appreciate it. + +"Why not laugh," she said, "if I'm amused? And I am. Come +now, Mr. Fenger. Be serious. And let's get back to the +billions. I want to catch the five-fifteen." + +"I AM serious." +"Well, if you expect me to play the hunted heroine, I'm +sorry." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "I know +now. You're quitting Haynes-Cooper for the movies. And +this is a rehearsal for a vampire film." + +"You nervy little devil, you!" He reached out with one +great, irresistible hand and gripped her shoulder. "You +wonderful, glorious girl!" The hand that gripped her +shoulder swung her to him. She saw his face with veins she +had never noticed before standing out, in knots, on his +temples, and his eyes were fixed and queer. And he was +talking, rather incoherently, and rapidly. He was saying +the same thing over and over again: "I'm crazy about you. +I've been looking for a woman like you--all my life. I'm +crazy about you. I'm crazy----" + +And then Fanny's fine composure and self control fled, and +she thought of her mother. She began to struggle, too, and +to say, like any other girl, "Let me go! Let me go! +You're hurting me. Let me go! You! You!" + +And then, quite clearly, from that part of her brain where +it had been tucked away until she should need it, came +Clarence Heyl's whimsical bit of advice. Her mind released +it now, complete. + +"If you double your fist this way, and tuck your thumb +alongside, like that, and aim for this spot right here, +about two inches this side of the chin, bringing your arm +back and up quickly, like a piston, the person you hit will +go down, limp. There's a nerve right here that communicates +with the brain. The blow makes you see stars, and bright +lights----" + +She went limp in his arms. She shut her eyes, flutteringly. +"All men--like you--have a yellow streak," she whispered, +and opened her eyes, and looked up at him, smiling a little. +He relaxed his hold, in surprise and relief. And with her +eyes on that spot barely two inches to the side of the chin +she brought her right arm down, slowly, slowly, fist +doubled, and then up like a piston--snap! His teeth came +together with a sharp little crack. His face, in that +second, was a comic mask, surprised, stunned, almost +idiotic. Then he went down, as Clarence Heyl had predicted, +limp. Not with a crash, but slowly, crumpingly, so that he +almost dragged her with him. + +Fanny stood looking down at him a moment. Then she wiped +her mouth with the back of her hand. She walked out of the +room, and down the hall. She saw the little Jap dart +suddenly back from a doorway, and she stamped her foot and +said, "S-s-cat!" as if he had been a rat. She gathered up +her hat and bag from the hall table, and so, out of the +door, and down the walk, to the road. And then she began to +run. She ran, and ran, and ran. It was a longish stretch +to the pretty, vine-covered station. She seemed unconscious +of fatigue, or distance. She must have been at least a +half hour on the way. When she reached the station the +ticket agent told her there was no train until six. So she +waited, quietly. She put on her hat (she had carried it in +her hand all the way) and patted her hair into place. When +the train came she found a seat quite alone, and sank into +its corner, and rested her head against her open palm. It +was not until then that she felt a stab of pain. She looked +at her hand, and saw that the skin of her knuckles was +bruised and bleeding. + +"Well, if this," she said to herself, "isn't the most +idiotic thing that ever happened to a woman outside a near- +novel." + +She looked at her knuckles, critically, as though the hand +belonged to some one else. Then she smiled. And even as +she smiled a great lump came into her throat, and the bruise +blurred before her eyes, and she was crying rackingly, +relievedly, huddled there in her red plush corner. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +It was eight o'clock when she let herself into her +apartment. She had given the maid a whole holiday. When +Fanny had turned on the light in her little hallway she +stood there a moment, against the door, her hand spread flat +against the panel. It was almost as though she patted it, +lovingly, gratefully. Then she went on into the living +room, and stood looking at its rosy lamplight. Then, still +as though seeing it all for the first time, into her own +quiet, cleanly bedroom, with its cream enamel, and the +chaise longue that she had had cushioned in rose because it +contrasted so becomingly with her black hair. And there, on +her dressing table, propped up against the brushes and +bottles, was the yellow oblong of a telegram. From Theodore +of course. She opened it with a rush of happiness. It was +like a loving hand held out to her in need. It was a day +letter. + + "We sail Monday on the St. Paul. Mizzi is with + me. I broke my word to you. But you lied to me about + the letters. I found them the week before the concert. + I shall bring her back with me or stay to fight for + Germany. Forgive me, dear sister." + + +Just fifty words. His thrifty German training. + +"No!" cried Fanny, aloud. "No! No!" And the cry quavered +and died away, and another took its place. and it, too, +gave way to another, so that she was moaning as she stood +there with the telegram in her shaking hand. She read it +again, her lips moving, as old people sometimes +read. Then she began to whimper, with her closed fist over +her mouth, her whole body shaking. All her fine courage +gone now; all her rigid self-discipline; all her iron +determination. She was not a tearful woman. And she had +wept much on the train. So the thing that wrenched and +shook her now was all the more horrible because of its +soundlessness. She walked up and down the room, pushing her +hair back from her forehead with the flat of her hand. From +time to time she smoothed out the crumpled yellow slip of +paper and read it again. Her mind, if you could have seen +into it, would have presented a confused and motley picture. +Something like this: But his concert engagements? . . . +That was what had happened to Bauer. . . . How silly he had +looked when her fist met his jaw. . . . It had turned cold; +why didn't they have steam on? The middle of +October. . . . Teddy, how could you do it! How could you +do it! . . . Was he still lying in a heap on the floor? +But of course the sneaking little Jap had found him. . . . +Somebody to talk to. That was what she wanted. Some one to +talk to. . . . + +Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her +lamp-lighted living room, and she held out her hands in +silent appeal. Some one to talk to. In her mind she went +over the list of those whose lives had touched hers in the +last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, Ella +Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women +she had met from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating +Facts. Not one of them could she turn to now. + +Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence +Heyl. He had helped her once, to-day. And now, for the +second time, something that he had said long before came +from its hiding place in her subconscious mind. She had +said: + +"Some days I feel I've got to walk out of the office, +and down the street, without a hat, and on and on, +walking and walking, and running and running till I come to +the horizon." + +And Heyl had answered, in his quiet, reassuring way: "Some +day that feeling will get too strong for you. When that +time comes get on a train marked Denver. From there take +another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky Mountains, where +the horizon lives and has its being. Ask for Heyl's place. +They'll hand you from one to the other. I may be there, but +more likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a +string. You'll find a fire laid with fat pine knots. My +books are there. The bedding's in the cedar chest. And the +mountains will make you clean and whole again; and the +pines . . ." + +Fanny went to the telephone. Trains for Denver. She found +the road she wanted, and asked for information. She was on +her own ground here. All her life she had had to find her +own trains, check her own trunks, plan her journeys. +Sometimes she had envied the cotton-wool women who had had +all these things done for them, always. + +One-half of her mind was working clearly and coolly. The +other half was numb. There were things to be done. They +would take a day. More than a day, but she would neglect +most of them. She must notify the office. There were +tickets to be got. Reservations. Money at the bank. +Packing. When the maid came in at eleven Fanny had +suitcases and bags out, and her bedroom was strewn with +shoes, skirts, coats. + +Late Monday afternoon Fenger telephoned. She did not +answer. There came a note from him, then a telegram. She +did not read them. Tuesday found her on a train bound for +Colorado. She remembered little of the first half of her +journey. She had brought with her books and magazines, and +she must have read hem, but her mind had evidently retained +nothing of what she had read. She must have spent +hours looking out of the window, for she remembered, long +afterward, the endlessness and the monotony of the Kansas +prairies. They soothed her. She was glad there were no +bits of autumnal woodland, no tantalizing vistas, nothing to +break the flat and boundless immensity of it. Here was +something big, and bountiful, and real, and primal. Good +Kansas dirt. Miles of it. Miles of it. She felt she would +like to get out and tramp on it, hard. + +"Pretty cold up there in Estes Park," the conductor had +said. "Been snowing up in the mountains." + +She had arranged to stop in Denver only long enough to +change trains. A puffy little branch line was to take her +from Denver to Loveland, and there, she had been told, one +of the big mountain-road steam automobiles would take her up +the mountains to her destination. For one as mentally alert +as she normally was, the exact location of that destination +was very hazy in her mind. Heyl's place. That was all. +Ordinarily she would have found the thought ridiculous. But +she concentrated on it now; clung to it. + +At the first glimpse of the foot-hills Fanny's listless gaze +became interested. If you have ever traveled on the jerky, +cleanly, meandering little road that runs between Denver +and the Park you know that it winds, and +curves, so that the mountains seem to leap about, friskily, +first confronting you on one side of the car window, then +disappearing and seeming to taunt you from the windows of +the opposite side. Fanny laughed aloud. The mountain +steam-car was waiting at Loveland. There were few +passengers at this time of year. The driver was a great +tanned giant, pongee colored from his hair to his puttees +and boots. Fanny was to learn, later, that in Estes Park +the male tourist was likely to be puny, pallid, and +unattractive when compared to the tall, slim, straight, +khaki-clad youth, browned by the sun, and the wind, and +the dust, who drives his steamer up and down the perilous +mountain roads with more dexterity than the charioteering +gods ever displayed on Olympus. + +Fanny got the seat beside this glorious person. The steamer +was a huge vehicle, boasting five rows of seats, and looking +very much like a small edition of the sightseeing cars one +finds in tourist-infested cities. + +"Heyl's place," said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work! + +Said the blond god, "Stopping at the Inn overnight, I +s'pose." + +"Why--I don't know," faltered Fanny. "Can't I go right on +to--to--Heyl's place?" + +"Can." Mountain steamer men are not loquacious. "Sure. +Better not. You won't get to the Inn till dark. Better +stay there over night, and go on up to Heyl's place in the +morning." + +Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what +appeared to Fanny's eyes to be a maze of handles, brakes, +valves; and the great car glided smoothly off, without a +bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long breath. + +There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they +are futile. And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the +aspens are turning! Well, aspens turn gold in October. +People who have seen an aspen grove in October believe in +fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive +passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen +it? There shall be no poor weaving together of words. +There shall be no description of orange and mauve and flame- +colored sunsets, no juggling with mists and clouds, and +sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain dwellers and +mountain lovers are a laconic tribe. They know the futility +of words. + +But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. +That is within our province. In the first place, they +made her hungry. That was the crisp, heady air. The +mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a thing +of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous +ribbon of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road +all horseshoe curves and hairpin twists. Fanny found +herself gasping. But that passed after a time. Big +Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the +pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so +angularly graceful among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole +a side glance at him now and then. He looked straight +ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do look +straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely +to mean death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that +foams and rushes below. + +Fanny ventured a question. "Do you know Mr. Heyl?" + +"Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday." + +"Down?" + +"To the village. He's gone back east." + +Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was +relief or consternation. + +At Estes village the blond god handed her over to a twin +charioteer who would drive her up the mountain road to the +Inn that nestled in a valley nine thousand feet up the +mountain. It was a drive Fanny never forgot. Fenger, Ted, +Haynes-Cooper, her work, her plans, her ambitions, seemed to +dwindle to puny insignificance beside the vast grandeur that +unfolded before her at every fresh turn in the road. Up +they went, and up, and up, and the air was cold, but without +a sting in it. It was dark when the lights of the Inn +twinkled out at them. The door was thrown open as they +swung up the curve to the porch. A great log fire glowed in +the fireplace. The dining room held only a dozen people, or +thereabouts--a dozen weary, healthy people, in +corduroys and sweaters and boots, whose cleanly talk was all +about climbing and fishing, and horseback rides and trails. +And it was fried chicken night at the Inn. Fanny thought +she was too utterly tired to eat, until she began to eat, +and then she thought she was too hungry ever to stop. After +dinner she sat, for a moment, before the log fire in the +low-ceilinged room, with its log walls, its rustic benches, +and its soft-toned green and brown cushions. She forgot to +be unhappy. She forgot to be anything but deliciously +drowsy. And presently she climbed the winding stair whose +newel post was a fire-marked tree trunk, richly colored, and +curiously twisted. And so to her lamp-lighted room, very +small, very clean, very quiet. She opened her window and +looked out at the towering mass that was Long's Peak, and at +the stars, and she heard the busy little brook that scurries +through the Inn yard on its way from the mountain to the +valley. She undressed quickly, and crept into bed, meaning +to be very, very miserable indeed. And the next thing she +knew it was morning. A blue and gold October morning. And +the mountains!--but there is no describing a mountain. One +uses words, and they are futile. Fanny viewed them again, +from her window, between pauses in dressing. And she meant, +privately, to be miserable again. But she could only think, +somehow, of bacon and eggs, and coffee, and muffins. + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +Heyl's place. Fanny stood before it, key in hand (she had +found it in the mail box, tied to a string), and she had a +curious and restful feeling, as if she had come home, after +long wanderings. She smiled, whimsically, and repeated her +lesson to herself: + +"The fire's laid in the fireplace with fat pine knots that +will blaze up at the touch of a match. My books are there, +along the wall. The bedding's in the cedar chest, and the +lamps are filled. There's tinned stuff in the pantry. And +the mountains are there, girl, to make you clean and whole +again. . . ." + +She stepped up to the little log-pillared porch and turned +the key in the lock. She opened the door wide, and walked +in. And then she shut her eyes for a moment. Because, if +it shouldn't be true---- + +But there was a fire laid with fat pine knots. She walked +straight over to it, and took her box of matches from her +bag, struck one, and held it to the wood. They blazed like +a torch. Books! Along the four walls, books. Fat, +comfortable, used-looking books. Hundreds of them. A lamp +on the table, and beside it a pipe, blackened from much use. +Fanny picked it up, smiling. She held it a moment in her +hand, as though she expected to find it still warm. + +"It's like one of the fairy tales," she thought, "the kind +that repeats and repeats. The kind that says, `and she went +into the next room, and it was as the good fairy had said.'" + +There's tinned stuff in the pantry. She went into the tiny +kitchen and opened the pantry door cautiously, +being wary of mice. But it met her eye in spotless +array. Orderly rows of tins. Orderly rows of bottles. +Coffee. Condensed milk. Beans. Spaghetti. Flour. +Peaches. Pears. + +Off the bedroom there was an absurdly adequate little +bathroom, with a zinc tub and an elaborate water-heating +arrangement. + +Fanny threw back her head and laughed as she hadn't laughed +in months. "Wild life in the Rockies," she said aloud. She +went back to the book-lined living room. The fire was +crackling gloriously. It was a many-windowed room, and each +window framed an enchanting glimpse of mountain, flaming +with aspens up to timber-line, and snow-capped at the top. +Fanny decided to wait until the fire had died down to a +coal-bed. Then she banked it carefully, put on a heavy +sweater and a cap, and made for the outdoors. She struck +out briskly, tenderfoot that she was. In five minutes she +was panting. Her heart was hammering suffocatingly. Her +lungs ached. She stopped, trembling. Then she remembered. +The altitude, of course. Heyl had boasted that his cabin +stood at an altitude of over nine thousand feet. Well, she +would have to get used to it. But she was soon striding +forward as briskly as before. She was a natural mountain +dweller. The air, the altitude, speeded up her heart, her +lungs, sent the blood dancing through her veins. +Figuratively, she was on tip-toe. + +They had warned her, at the Inn, to take it slowly for the +first few days. They had asked no questions. Fanny learned +to heed their advice. She learned many more things in the +next few days. She learned how to entice the chipmunks that +crossed her path, streak o' sunshine, streak o' shadow. She +learned to broil bacon over a fire, with a forked stick. +She learned to ride trail ponies, and to bask in a sun- +warmed spot on a wind-swept hill, and to tell time by the +sun, and to give thanks for the beauty of the world +about her, and to leave the wild flowers unpicked, to put +out her campfire with scrupulous care, and to destroy all +rubbish (your true woodsman and mountaineer is as +painstakingly neat as a French housewife). + +She was out of doors all day. At night she read for a while +before the fire, but by nine her eyelids were heavy. She +walked down to the Inn sometimes, but not often. One +memorable night she went, with half a dozen others from the +Inn, to the tiny one-room cabin of Oscar, the handy man +about the Inn, and there she listened to one of Oscar's far- +famed phonograph concerts. Oscar's phonograph had cost +twenty-five dollars in Denver. It stood in one corner of +his cabin, and its base was a tree stump just five hundred +years old, as you could tell for yourself by counting its +rings. His cabin walls were gorgeous with pictures of +Maxine Elliott in her palmy days, and blonde and +sophisticated little girls on vinegar calendars, posing +bare-legged and self-conscious in blue calico and +sunbonnets. You sat in the warm yellow glow of Oscar's lamp +and were regaled with everything from the Swedish National +Anthem to Mischa Elman's tenderest crooning. And Oscar sat +rapt, his weather-beaten face a rich deep mahogany, his eyes +bluer than any eyes could ever be except in contrast with +that ruddy countenance, his teeth so white that you found +yourself watching for his smile that was so gently sweet and +childlike. Oh, when Oscar put on his black pants and issued +invitations for a musical evening one was sure to find his +cabin packed. Eight did it, with squeezing. + +This, then, was the atmosphere in which Fanny Brandeis found +herself. As far from Haynes-Cooper as anything could be. +At the end of the first week she found herself able to think +clearly and unemotionally about Theodore, and about Fenger. +She had even evolved a certain rather crude philosophy out +of the ruins that had tumbled about her ears. It was +so crude, so unformed in her mind that it can hardly be set +down. To justify one's own existence. That was all that +life held or meant. But that included all the lives that +touched on yours. It had nothing to do with success, as she +had counted success heretofore. It was service, really. It +was living as--well, as Molly Brandeis had lived, helpfully, +self-effacingly, magnificently. Fanny gave up trying to +form the thing that was growing in her mind. Perhaps, after +all, it was too soon to expect a complete understanding of +that which had worked this change in her from that afternoon +in Fenger's library. + +After the first few days she found less and less difficulty +in climbing. Her astonished heart and lungs ceased to +object so strenuously to the unaccustomed work. The Cabin +Rock trail, for example, whose summit found her panting and +exhausted at first, now seemed a mere stroll. She grew more +daring and ambitious. One day she climbed the Long's Peak +trail to timberline, and had tea at Timberline Cabin with +Albert Edward Cobbins. Albert Edward Cobbins, Englishman, +erstwhile sailor, adventurer and gentleman, was the keeper +of Timberline Cabin, and the loneliest man in the Rockies. +It was his duty to house overnight climbers bound for the +Peak, sunrise parties and sunset parties, all too few now in +the chill October season-end. Fanny was his first visitor +in three days. He was pathetically glad to see her. + +"I'll have tea for you," he said, "in a jiffy. And I baked +a pan of French rolls ten minutes ago. I had a feeling." + +A magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet tall slim, +broad-shouldered, long-headed, and scrubbed-looking as only +an Englishman can be, there was something almost pathetic in +the sight of him bustling about the rickety little kitchen +stove. + +"To-morrow," said Fanny, over her tea, "I'm going to get an +early start, reach here by noon, and go on to Boulder Field +and maybe Keyhole." + +"Better not, Miss. Not in October, when there's likely to +be a snowstorm up there in a minute's notice." + +"You'd come and find me, wouldn't you? They always do, in +the books." + +"Books are all very well, Miss. But I'm not a mountain man. +The truth is I don't know my way fifty feet from this cabin. +I got the job because I'm used to loneliness, and don't mind +it, and because I can cook, d'you see, having shipped as +cook for years. But I'm a seafaring man, Miss. I wouldn't +advise it, Miss. Another cup of tea?" + +But Long's Peak, king of the range, had fascinated her from +the first. She knew that the climb to the summit would be +impossible for her now, but she had an overwhelming desire +to see the terrifying bulk of it from a point midway of the +range. It beckoned her and intrigued her, as the difficult +always did. + +By noon of the following day she had left Albert Edward's +cabin (he stood looking after her in the doorway until she +disappeared around the bend) and was jauntily following the +trail that led to Boulder Field, that sea of jagged rock a +mile across. Soon she had left the tortured, wind-twisted +timberline trees far behind. How pitiful Cabin Rock and +Twin Sisters looked compared to this. She climbed easily +and steadily, stopping for brief rests. Early in the week +she had ridden down to the village, where she had bought +climbing breeches and stout leggings. She laughed at Albert +Edward and his fears. By one o'clock she had reached +Boulder Field. She found the rocks glazed with ice. Just +over Keyhole, that freakish vent in a wall of rock, the blue +of the sky had changed to the gray of snow-clouds. +Tenderfoot though she was, she knew that the climb over +Boulder Field would be perilous, if not impossible. +She went on, from rock to rock, for half an hour, then +decided to turn back. A clap of thunder, that roared and +crashed, and cracked up and down the canyons and over the +peaks, hastened her decision. She looked about her. Peak +on peak. Purple and black and yellow masses, fantastic in +their hugeness. Chasms. Canyons. Pyramids and minarets. +And so near. So grim. So ghastly desolate. And yet so +threatening. And then Fanny Brandeis was seized with +mountain terror. It is a disease recognized by mountain men +everywhere, and it is panic, pure and simple. It is fear +brought on by the immensity and the silence of the +mountains. A great horror of the vastness and ruggedness +came upon her. It was colossal, it was crushing, it was +nauseating. + +She began to run. A mistake, that, when one is following a +mountain trail, at best an elusive thing. In five minutes +she had lost the trail. She stopped, and scolded herself +sternly, and looked about her. She saw the faint trail line +again, or thought she saw it, and made toward it, and found +it to be no trail at all. She knew that she must be not +more than an hour's walk from Timberline Cabin, and Albert +Edward, and his biscuits and tea. Why be frightened? It +was absurd. But she was frightened, horribly, harrowingly. +The great, grim rock masses seemed to be shaking with silent +laughter. She began to run again. She was very cold, and a +piercing wind had sprung up. She kept on walking, doggedly, +reasoning with herself quite calmly, and proud of her +calmness. Which proves how terrified she really was. Then +the snow came, not slowly, not gradually, but a blanket of +it, as it does come in the mountains, shutting off +everything. And suddenly Fanny's terror vanished. She felt +quite free from weariness. She was alive and tingling to +her fingertips. The psychology of fear is a fascinating +thing. Fanny had reached the second stage. She was +quite taken out of herself. She forgot her stone- +bruised feet. She was no longer conscious of cold. She ran +now, fleetly, lightly, the ground seeming to spur her on. +She had given up the trail completely now. She told herself +that if she ran on, down, down, down, she must come to the +valley sometime. Unless she was turned about, and headed in +the direction of one of those hideous chasms. She stopped a +moment, peering through the snow curtain, but she could see +nothing. She ran on lightly, laughing a little. Then her +feet met a projection, she stumbled, and fell flat over a +slab of wood that jutted out of the ground. She lay there a +moment, dazed. Then she sat up, and bent down to look at +this thing that had tripped her. Probably a tree trunk. +Then she must be near timberline. She bent closer. It was +a rough wooden slab. Closer still. There were words carved +on it. She lay flat and managed to make them out painfully. + +"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest, and died alone, April +26, 1893." + +Fanny had heard the story of Sarah Cannon, a stern spinster +who had achieved the climb to the Peak, and who had met with +mishap on the down trail. Her guide had left her to go for +help. When the relief party returned, hours later, they had +found her dead. + +Fanny sprang up, filled with a furious energy. She felt +strangely light and clear-headed. She ran on, stopped, ran +again. Now she was making little short runs here and there. +It was snowing furiously, vindictively. It seemed to her +that she had been running for hours. It probably was +minutes. Suddenly she sank down, got to her feet again, +stumbled on perhaps a dozen paces, and sank down again. It +was as though her knees had turned liquid. She lay there, +with her eyes shut. + +"I'm just resting," she told herself. "In a minute I'll go +on. In a minute. After I've rested." + +"Hallo-o-o-o!" from somewhere on the other side of the snow +blanket. "Hallo-o-o-o!" +Fanny sat up, helloing shrilly, hysterically. She got to +her feet, staggeringly. And Clarence Heyl walked toward +her. + +"You ought to be spanked for this," he said. + +Fanny began to cry weakly. She felt no curiosity as to his +being there. She wasn't at all sure that he actually was +there, for that matter. At that thought she dug a frantic +hand into his arm. He seemed to understand, for he said, +"It's all right. I'm real enough. Can you walk?" + +"Yes." But she tried it and found she could not. She +decided she was too tired to care. "I stumbled over a +thing--a horrible thing--a gravestone. And I must have hurt +my leg. I didn't know----" + +She leaned against him, a dead weight. "Tell you what," +said Heyl, cheerfully. "You wait here. I'll go on down to +Timberline Cabin for help, and come back." + +"You couldn't manage it--alone? If I tried? If I tried to +walk?" + +"Oh, impossible." His tone was brisk. "Now you sit right +down here." She sank down obediently. She felt a little +sorry for herself, and glad, too, and queer, and not at all +cold. She looked up at him dumbly. He was smiling. "All +right?" + +She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from +sight at once. + +"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April +26, 1893." + +She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew +that this was the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all +sad. Happy, if anything. + +"You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?" + +She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and +lifted her lightly to her feet. "Timberline Cabin's +not a hundred yards away. I just did it to try you." + +She had spirit enough left to say, "Beast." + +Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He +carried her, not in his arms, as they do it in books and in +the movies. He could not have gone a hundred feet that way. +He carried her over his shoulder, like a sack of meal, by +one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy scout knows +that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most +effectual carrying method known, though unromantic. + +And so they came to Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward +Cobbins was in the doorway. Heyl put her down gently on the +bench that ran alongside the table. The hospitable table +that bore two smoking cups of tea. Fanny's lips were +cracked, and the skin was peeled from her nose, and her hair +was straggling and her eyes red-rimmed. She drank the tea +in great gulps. And then she went into the tiny bunkroom, +and tumbled into one of the shelf-bunks, and slept. + +When she awoke she sat up in terror, and bumped her head +against the bunk above, and called, "Clancy!" + +"Yep!" from the next room. He came to the door. The acrid +smell of their pipes was incense in her nostrils. "Rested?" + +"What time is it?" + +"Seven o'clock. Dinner time. Ham and eggs." + +She got up stiffly, and bathed her roughened face, and +produced a powder pad (they carry them in the face of +danger, death, and dissolution) and dusted it over her scaly +nose. She did her hair--her vigorous, abundant hair that +shone in the lamplight, pulled down her blouse, surveyed her +torn shoes ruefully, donned the khaki skirt that Albert +Edward had magically produced from somewhere to take the +place of her breeches. She dusted her shoes with a bit of +rag, regarded herself steadily in the wavering mirror, and +went in. + +The two men were talking quietly. Albert Edward was moving +deftly from stove to table. They both looked up as she came +in, and she looked at Heyl. Their eyes held. + +Albert Edward was as sporting a gentleman as the late dear +king whose name he bore. He went out to tend Heyl's horse, +he said. It was little he knew of horses, and he rather +feared them, as does a sailing man. But he went, +nevertheless. + +Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him. + +"It's absurd," said Fanny. "It's the kind of thing that +doesn't happen." + +"It's simple enough, really," he answered. "I saw Ella +Monahan in Chicago, and she told me all she knew, and +something of what she had guessed. I waited a few days and +came back. I had to." He smiled. "A pretty job you've +made of trying to be selfish." + +At that she smiled, too, pitifully enough, for her lower lip +trembled. She caught it between her teeth in a last sharp +effort at self-control. "Don't!" she quavered. And then, +in a panic, her two hands came up in a vain effort to hide +the tears. She sank down on the rough bench by the table, +and the proud head came down on her arms so that there was a +little clatter and tinkle among the supper things spread on +the table. Then quiet. + +Clarence Heyl stared. He stared, helplessly, as does a man +who has never, in all his life, been called upon to comfort +a woman in tears. Then instinct came to his rescue. He +made her side of the table in two strides (your favorite +film star couldn't have done it better), put his two hands +on her shoulders and neatly shifted the bowed head from the +cold, hard surface of the table top to the warm, rough, +tobacco-scented comfort of his coat. It rested there quite +naturally. Just as naturally Fanny's arm crept up, and +about his neck. So they remained for a moment, until he +bent so that his lips touched her hair. Her head came +up at that, sharply, so that it bumped his chin. They both +laughed, looking into each other's eyes, but at what they +saw there they stopped laughing and were serious. + +"Dear," said Heyl. "Dearest." The lids drooped over +Fanny's eyes. "Look at me," said Heyl. So she tried to +lift them again, bravely, and could not. At that he bent +his head and kissed Fanny Brandeis in the way a woman wants +to be kissed for the first time by the man she loves. It +hurt her lips, that kiss, and her teeth, and the back of her +neck, and it left her breathless, and set things whirling. +When she opened her eyes (they shut them at such times) he +kissed her again, very tenderly, this time, and lightly, and +reassuringly. She returned that kiss, and, strangely +enough, it was the one that stayed in her memory long, long +after the other had faded. + +"Oh, Clancy, I've made such a mess of it all. Such a +miserable mess. The little girl in the red tam was worth +ten of me. I don't see how you can--care for me." + +"You're the most wonderful woman in the world," said Heyl, +"and the most beautiful and splendid." + +He must have meant it, for he was looking down at her as he +said it, and we know that the skin had been peeled off her +nose by the mountain winds and sun, that her lips were +cracked and her cheeks rough, and that she was red-eyed and +worn-looking. And she must have believed him, for she +brought his cheek down to hers with such a sigh of content, +though she said, "But are we at all suited to each other?" + +"Probably not," Heyl answered, briskly. "That's why we're +going to be so terrifically happy. Some day I'll be passing +the Singer building, and I'll glance up at it and think how +pitiful it would look next to Long's Peak. And then I'll be +off, probably, to these mountains " + +"Or some day," Fanny returned, "we'll be up here, and I'll +remember, suddenly, how Fifth Avenue looks on a bright +afternoon between four and five. And I'll be off, probably, +to the Grand Central station." + +And then began one of those beautiful and foolish +conversations which all lovers have whose love has been a +sure and steady growth. Thus: "When did you first begin to +care," etc. And, "That day we spent at the dunes, and you +said so and so, did you mean this and that?" + +Albert Edward Cobbins announced his approach by terrific +stampings and scufflings, ostensibly for the purpose of +ridding his boots of snow. He entered looking casual, and +very nipped. + +"You're here for the night," he said. "A regular blizzard. +The greatest piece of luck I've had in a month." He busied +himself with the ham and eggs and the teapot. "Hungry?" + +"Not a bit," said Fanny and Heyl, together. + +"H'm," said Albert Edward, and broke six eggs into the +frying pan just the same. + +After supper they aided Albert Edward in the process of +washing up. When everything was tidy he lighted his most +malignant pipe and told them seafaring yarns not necessarily +true. Then he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and fell +asleep there by the fire, effacing himself as effectually as +one of three people can in a single room. They talked; low- +toned murmurings that they seemed to find exquisitely +meaningful or witty, by turn. Fanny, rubbing a forefinger +(his) along her weather-roughened nose, would say, "At least +you've seen me at my worst." + +Or he, mock serious: "I think I ought to tell you that I'm +the kind of man who throws wet towels into the laundry +hamper." + +But there was no mirth in Fanny's voice when she said, +"Dear, do you think Lasker will give me that job? You +know he said, `When you want a job, come back.' Do you +think he meant it?" + +"Lasker always means it." + +"But," fearfully, and shyly, too, "you don't think I may +have lost my drawing hand and my seeing eye, do you? As +punishment?" + +"I do not. I think you've just found them, for keeps. +There wasn't a woman cartoonist in the country--or man, +either, for that matter--could touch you two years ago. In +two more I'll be just Fanny Brandeis' husband, that's all." + +They laughed together at that, so that Albert Edward Cobbins +awoke with a start and tried to look as if he had not been +asleep, and failing, smiled benignly and drowsily upon them. + + + + + +The end of Project Gutenberg Etext of "Fanny Herself" + + + diff --git a/old/fnher10.zip b/old/fnher10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..baa3ccf --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fnher10.zip |