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@@ -0,0 +1,11091 @@ +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] + +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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