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Updated: June 24, 2025
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.
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.
"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."
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."
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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