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