to a boy, gave a few brief
orders, and turned back to Fanny. "To-morrow morning every other paper
in New York will have pictures showing Mildred Inness, the beauty, on
her snow-white charger, or Sophronisba A. Bannister, A.B., Ph.D., in her
cap and gown, or Mrs. William Van der Welt as Liberty. We'll have that
little rat with the banner, and it'll get 'em. They'll talk about it."
His eyes narrowed a little. "Do you always get that angle?"

"Yes."

"There isn't a woman cartoonist in New York who does that human stuff.
Did you know that?"

"Yes."

"Want a job?"

"N-no."

His knowing eye missed no detail of the suit, the hat, the gloves, the
shoes.

"What's your salary now?"

"Ten thousand."

"Satisfied?"

"No."

"You've hit the heart of that parade. I don't know whether you could do
that every day, or not. But if you struck twelve half the time, it would
be enough. When you want a job, come back."

"Thanks," said Fanny quietly. And held out her hand.

She returned in the subway. It was a Bronx train, full of sagging faces,
lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, black-eyed girls in soiled
white shoes; of stoop-shouldered men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew
script; of smells and sounds and glaring light.

And though to-morrow would bring its reaction, and common sense would
have her again in its cold grip, she was radiant to-night and glowing
with the exaltation that comes with creation. And over and over a voice
within her was saying:

These are my people! These are my people!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The ship that brought Theodore Brandeis to America was the last of
its kind to leave German ports for years. The day after he sailed from
Bremen came the war. Fanny Brandeis was only one of the millions of
Americans who refused to accept the idea of war. She took it as a
personal affront. It was uncivilized, it was old fashioned, it was
inconvenient. Especially inconvenient. She had just come from Europe,
where she had negotiated a million-dollar deal. War would mean that she
could not get the goods ordered. Consequently there could be no war.

Theodore landed the first week in August. Fanny stole two days from the
ravenous bins to meet him in New York. I think she must have been a very
love-hungry woman in the years since her mother's death. She had never
admitted it. But only emotions denied to the point of starvation could
have been so shaken now at the thought of the feast before them. She had