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Updated: June 24, 2025
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.
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.
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.
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.
Little blood was lost on account of an elastic cord tied about the neck of the tumor, and secured by successful removal of a scrotal tumor weighing 56 pounds. Fenger describes a case of the foregoing nature in a German of twenty-three, a resident of Chicago. The growth had commenced eight years previously, and had progressively increased.
"She could have chosen no more fitting name," writes Fenger, "than that of the famous townsman of Columbus.... The Andrea Doria may have attracted but little attention as she appeared in the offing ... but, with the quick eyes of seafarers, the guests of Howard's Tavern had probably left their rum for a moment to have their first glimpse of a strange flag which they all knew must be that of the new republic.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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