ted 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 b