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 thing