d relax, and if you must clutch that violin case, do it
more comfortably. I don't want you to tell me a thing, now. New York is
ghastly in August. We'll get a train out of here to-morrow. My apartment
in Chicago is cool, and high, and quiet, and the lake is in the front
yard, practically. To-night, perhaps, we'll talk about--things. And, oh,
Teddy, how glad I am to see you--to have you--to--" she put out a hand
and patted his thin cheek--"to touch you."

And at that the man became a boy again. His face worked a moment,
painfully and then his head came down in her lap that held the baby,
and so she had them both for a moment, one arm about the child, one hand
smoothing the boy's close-cropped hair. And in that moment she was more
splendidly maternal than either of the women who had borne these whom
she now comforted.

It was Fanny who attended to the hotel rooms, to the baby's comfort, to
the railroad tickets, to the ordering of the meals. Theodore was like a
stranger in a strange land. Not only that, he seemed dazed.

"We'll have it out to-night," Fanny said to herself. "He'll never
get that look off his face until he has told it all. I knew she was a
beast."

She made him lie down while she attended to schedules, tickets, berths.
She was gone for two hours. When she returned she found him looking
amused, terrified and helpless, all at once, while three men reporters
and one woman special writer bombarded him with questions. The woman
had brought a staff artist with her, and he was now engaged in making a
bungling sketch of Theodore's face, with its ludicrous expression.

Fanny sensed the situation and saved it. She hadn't sold goods all these
years without learning the value of advertising. She came forward now,
graciously (but not too graciously). Theodore looked relieved. Already
he had learned that one might lean on this sister who was so capable, so
bountifully alive.

"Teddy, you're much too tired to talk. Let me talk for you."

"My sister, Miss Brandeis," said Teddy, and waved a rather feeble hand
in an inclusive gesture at the interrogatory five.

Fanny smiled. "Do sit down," she said, "all of you. Tell me, how did you
happen to get on my brother's trail?"

One of the men explained. "We had a list of ship's passengers, of
course. And we knew that Mr. Brandeis was a German violinist. And then
the story of the ship being chased by a French boat. We just missed him
down at the pier--"

"But he isn't a G