we are to see her at the head of a magnificent business
establishment, with buyers and department heads below her,
and a private office done up in mahogany, and stenographers
and secretaries. No, she was Mrs. Brandeis, of Brandeis'
Bazaar, to the end. The bills she bought were ridiculously
small, I suppose, and the tricks she turned on that first
trip were pitiful, perhaps. But they were magnificent too,
in their way. I am even bold enough to think that she might
have made business history, that plucky woman, if she had
had an earlier start, and if she had not, to the very end,
had a pack of unmanageable handicaps yelping at her heels,
pulling at her skirts.

It was only a six-hour trip to Chicago. Fanny Brandeis'
eyes, big enough at any time, were surely twice their size
during the entire journey of two hundred miles or more.
They were to have lunch on the train! They were to stop at
an hotel! They were to go to the theater! She would have
lain back against the red plush seat of the car, in a swoon
of joy, if there had not been so much to see in the car
itself, and through the car window.

"We'll have something for lunch," said Mrs. Brandeis when
they were seated in the dining car, "that we never have at
home, shall we?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Fanny in a whisper of excitement.
"Something--something queer, and different, and not so very
healthy!"