Part 30 (2/2)

The first week in June found her back in New York. That month of absence had worked a subtle change. The two weeks spent in crossing and recrossing had provided her with a let-down that had been almost jarring in its completeness. Everything compet.i.tive had seemed to fade away with the receding sh.o.r.e, and to loom up again only when the skyline became a thing of smoke-banks, spires, and shafts. She had had only two weeks for the actual transaction of her business. She must have been something of a revelation to those Paris and Berlin manufacturers, accustomed though they were to the brisk and irresistible methods of the American business woman. She was, after all, absurdly young to be talking in terms of millions, and she was amazingly well dressed. This last pa.s.sed unnoticed, or was taken for granted in Paris, but in Berlin, home of the frump and the flour-sack figure, she was stared at, appreciatively. Her business, except for one or two unimportant side lines, had to do with two factories on whose product the Haynes-Cooper company had long had a covetous eye. Quant.i.ty, as usual, was the keynote of their demand, and f.a.n.n.y's task was that of talking in six-figure terms to these conservative and over-wary foreign manufacturers. That she had successfully accomplished this, and that she had managed to impress them also with the important part that time and promptness in delivery played in a swift-moving machine like the Haynes-Cooper concern, was due to many things beside her natural business ability. Self-confidence was there, and physical vigor, and diplomacy. But above all there was that sheer love of the game; the dramatic sense that enabled her to see herself in the part. That alone precluded the possibility of failure.

She knew how youthful she looked, and how glowing. She antic.i.p.ated the look that came into their faces when she left polite small-talk behind and soared up into the cold, rarefied atmosphere of business. She delighted in seeing the admiring and tolerant smirk vanish and give way to a startled and defensive attentiveness.

It might be mentioned that she managed, somehow, to spend almost half a day in Petticoat Lane, and its squalid surroundings, while in London.

She actually prowled, alone, at night, in the evil-smelling, narrow streets of the poorer quarter of Paris, and how she escaped unharmed is a mystery that never bothered her, because she had never known fear of streets. She had always walked on the streets of Winnebago, Wisconsin, alone. It never occurred to her not to do the same in the streets of Chicago, or New York, or London, or Paris. She found Berlin, with its Adlon, its appalling cleanliness, its overfed populace, and its omnipresent Kaiser forever scudding up and down Unter den Linden in his chocolate-colored car, incredibly dull, and unpicturesque. Something she had temporarily lost there in the busy atmosphere of the Haynes-Cooper plant, seemed to have returned, miraculously.

New York, on her return, was something of a shock. She remembered how vividly fresh it had looked to her on the day of that first visit, months before. Now, to eyes fresh from the crisp immaculateness of Paris and Berlin, Fifth avenue looked almost grimy, and certainly shabby in spots.

Ella Monahan, cheerful, congratulatory, beaming, met her at the pier, and f.a.n.n.y was startled at her own sensation of happiness as she saw that pink, good-natured face looking up at her from the crowd below. The month that had gone by since last she saw Ella standing just so, seemed to slip away and fade into nothingness.

”I waited over a day,” said Ella, ”just to see you. My, you look grand!

I know where you got that hat. Galeries Lafayette. How much?”

”I don't expect you to believe it. Thirty-five francs. Seven dollars. I couldn't get it for twenty-five here.”

They were soon clear of the customs. Ella had engaged a room for her at the hotel they always used. As they rode uptown together, happily, Ella opened her bag and laid a little packet of telegrams and letters in f.a.n.n.y's lap.

”I guess Fenger's pleased, all right, if telegrams mean anything. Not that I know they're from him. But he said--”

But f.a.n.n.y was looking up from one of them with a startled expression.

”He's here. Fenger's here.”

”In New York?” asked Ella, rather dully.

”Yes.” She ripped open another letter. It was from Theodore. He was coming to New York in August. The Russian tour had been a brilliant success. They had arranged a series of concerts for him in the United States. He could give his concerto there. It was impossible in Russia, Munich, even Berlin, because it was distinctly Jewish in theme--as Jewish as the Kol Nidre, and as somber. They would have none of it in Europe. Prejudice was too strong. But in America! He was happier than he had been in years. Olga objected to coming to America, but she would get over that. The little one was well, and she was learning to talk.

Actually! They were teaching her to say Tante f.a.n.n.y.

”Well!” exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. She read bits of the letter aloud to Ella. Ella was such a satisfactory sort of person to whom to read a letter aloud. She exclaimed in all the right places. Her face was as radiant as f.a.n.n.y's. They both had forgotten all about Fenger, their Chief. But they had been in their hotel scarcely a half hour, and Ella had not done exclaiming over the bag that f.a.n.n.y had brought her from Paris, when his telephone call came.

He wasted very little time on preliminaries.

”I'll call for you at four. We'll drive through the park, and out by the river, and have tea somewhere.”

”That would be wonderful. That is, if Ella's free. I'll ask her.”

”Ella?”

”Yes. She's right here. Hold the wire, will you?” She turned away from the telephone to face Ella. ”It's Mr. Fenger. He wants to take us both driving this afternoon. You can go, can't you?”

”I certainly CAN,” replied Miss Monahan, with what might have appeared to be undue force.

f.a.n.n.y turned back to the telephone. ”Yes, thanks. We can both go. We'll be ready at four.”

f.a.n.n.y decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have been what she thought it was.

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