rations
over the entire plant. Slosson, incidentally, was no longer of the
infants' wear. He had been transferred to a subordinate position in the
grocery section.

"Well," said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling radiantly
upon her brother. "Well, what do you think of us?"

And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the blind, said a
most amazing thing.

"Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions that are lying
about everywhere in this country. And then I'll take you out of this. I
promise you."

Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment.

"Why, you talk as if you were--sorry for me!"

"I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you, somehow."

It was the first time in all her dashing and successful career that
Fanny Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She resented it, hotly. And
from Theodore, the groper, the--"But at any rate," something within her
said, "he has always been true to himself."

Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat, on which he
had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin with three others. Kurt
Stein was German born, but American bred, and he had the American love
of luxurious travel. He was still testy when he reached Chicago and his
charge.

"How goes the work?" he demanded at once, of Theodore. He eyed him
sharply. "That's better. You have lost some of the look you had when you
left Wien. The ladies would have liked that look, here in America. But
it is bad for the work."

He took Fanny aside before he left. His face was serious. It was
plain that he was disturbed. "That woman," he began. "Pardon me, Mrs.
Brandeis. She came to me. She says she is starving. She is alone there,
in Vienna. Her--well, she is alone. The war is everywhere. They say it
will last for years. She wept and pleaded with me to take her here."

"No!" cried Fanny. "Don't let him hear it. He mustn't know. He----"

"Yes, I know. She is a paradox, that woman. I tell you, she almost
prevailed on me. There is something about her; something that repels
and compels." That struck him as being a very fine phrase indeed, and he
repeated it appreciatively.

"I'll send her money, somehow," said Fanny.

"Yes. But they say that money is not reaching them over there. I don't
know what becomes of it. It vanishes." He turned to leave. "Oh, a
message for you. On my boat was Schabelitz. It looks very much as if his
great fortune, the accumulation of y