Part 20 (1/2)

f.a.n.n.y faced him squarely. ”I know that Haynes-Cooper isn't exactly a philanthropic inst.i.tution. A salary raise here usually means a battle.

I've only been here three months.” Fenger seated himself in the chair beside her desk and ran a cool finger through the sheaf of papers in his hand. ”My dear girl--I beg your pardon. I forgot. My good woman then--if you like that better--you've transfused red blood into a dying department. It may suffer a relapse after Christmas, but I don't think so. That's why you're getting more money, and not because I happen to be tremendously interested in you, personally.”

f.a.n.n.y's face flamed scarlet. ”I didn't mean that.”

”Yes you did. Here are those comparative lists you sent me. If I didn't know Slosson to be as honest as Old Dog Tray I'd think he had been selling us to the manufacturers. No wonder this department hasn't paid.

He's been giving 'em top prices for shoddy. Now what's this new plan of yours?”

In an instant f.a.n.n.y forgot about Theodore, the new winter suit and furs, everything but the idea that was clamoring to be born. She sat at her desk, her fingers folding and unfolding a bit of paper, her face all light and animation as she talked.

”My idea is to have a person known as a selector for each important department. It would mean a boiling down of the products of every manufacturer we deal with, and skimming the cream off the top. As it is now a department buyer has to do the selecting and buying too. He can't do both and get results. We ought to set aside an entire floor for the display of manufacturers' samples. The selector would make his choice among these, six months in advance of the season. The selector would go to the eastern markets too, of course. Not to buy. Merely to select.

Then, with the line chosen as far as style, quality, and value is concerned, the buyer would be free to deal directly with the manufacturer as to quant.i.ty, time, and all that. You know as well as I that that's enough of a job for any one person, with the labor situation what it is. He wouldn't need to bother about styles or colors, or any of that. It would all have been done for him. The selector would have the real responsibility. Don't you see the simplicity of it, and the way it would grease the entire machinery?”

Something very like jealousy came into Michael Fenger's face as he looked at her. But it was gone in an instant. ”Gad! You'll have my job away from me in two years. You're a super-woman, do you know that?”

”Super nothing! It's just a perfectly good idea, founded on common sense and economy.”

”M-m-m, but that's all Columbus had in mind when he started out to find a short cut to India.”

f.a.n.n.y laughed out at that. ”Yes, but see where he landed!”

But Fenger was serious. ”We'll have to have a meeting on this. Are you prepared to go into detail on it, before Mr. Haynes and the two Coopers, at a real meeting in a real mahogany directors' room? Wednesday, say?”

”I think so.”

Fenger got up. ”Look here, Miss Brandeis. You need a day in the country.

Why don't you run up to your home town over Sunday? Wisconsin, wasn't it?”

”Oh, no! No. I mean yes it was Wisconsin, but no I don't want to go.”

”Then let me send you my car.”

”Car! No, thanks. That's not my idea of the country.”

”It was just a suggestion. What do you call going to the country, then?”

”Tramping all day, and getting lost, if possible. Lying down under a tree for hours, and letting the ants amble over you. Dreaming. And coming back tired, hungry, dusty, and refreshed.”

”It sounds awfully uncomfortable. But I wish you'd try it, this week.”

”Do I look such a wreck?” f.a.n.n.y demanded, rather pettishly.

”You!” Fenger's voice was vibrant. ”You're the most splendidly alive looking woman I ever saw. When you came into my office that first day you seemed to spark with health, and repressed energy, and electricity, so that you radiated them. People who can do that, stimulate. That's what you are to me--a stimulant.”

What can one do with a man who talks like that? After all, what he said was harmless enough. His tone was quietly sincere. One can't resent an expression of the eyes. Then, too, just as she made up her mind to be angry she remembered the limp and querulous Mrs. Fenger, and the valve and the scarf. And her anger became pity. There flashed back to her the illuminating bit of conversation with which Fascinating Facts had regaled her on the homeward drive that night of the tea.

”Nice chap, Fenger. And a wiz in business. Get's a king's salary; Must be h.e.l.l for a man to be tied, hand and foot, the way he is.”

”Tied?”