y was a very pretty, very dissatisfied
girl who was a slave to the bundle chute. One day there was a period
of two seconds when a bundle didn't pop out at her, and she had time to
think. Anyway, she left. I asked about her. She's on the streets."

"Well?"

"Thanks to you and your system."

"Look here, Fanny. I didn't come to you for that kind of talk. Don't,
for heaven's sake, give me any sociological drivel to-day. I'm not here
just to tell you my troubles. You know what my contract is here with
Haynes-Cooper. And you know the amount of stock I hold. If this scheme
of Haynes's goes in, I go out. Voluntarily. But at my own price. The
Haynes-Cooper plant is at the height of its efficiency now." He dropped
his voice. "But the mail order business is in its infancy. There's no
limit to what can be done with it in the next few years. Understand?
Do you get what I'm trying to tell you?" He leaned forward, tense and
terribly in earnest.

Fanny stared at him. Then her hand went to her head in a gesture of
weariness. "Not to-day. Please. And not here. Don't think I'm ungrateful
for your confidence. But--this month has been a terrific strain.
Just let me pass the fifteenth of October. Let me see Theodore on the
way----"

Fenger's fingers closed about her wrist. Fanny got to her feet angrily.
They glared at each other a moment. Then the humor of the picture they
must be making struck Fanny. She began to laugh. Fenger's glare became a
frown. He turned abruptly and left the office. Fanny looked down at her
wrist ruefully. Four circlets of red marked its smooth whiteness. She
laughed again, a little uncertainly this time.

When she got home that night she found, in her mail, a letter for
Theodore, postmarked Vienna, and stamped with the mark of the censor.
Theodore had given her his word of honor that he would not write Olga,
or give her his address. Olga was risking Fanny's address. She stood
looking at the letter now. Theodore was coming in for dinner, as he did
five nights out of the week. As she stood in the hallway, she heard
the rattle of his key in the lock. She flew down the hall and into her
bedroom, her letters in her hand. She opened her dressing table drawer
and threw them into it, switched on the light and turned to face
Theodore in the doorway.

"'Lo, Sis."

"Hello, Teddy. Kiss me. Phew! That pipe again. How'd the work go
to-day?"

"So--so. Any mail for me?"

"No."

That night, when he had gone, she took