"I'm not!" said Fanny hotly, like a school-girl.

"That's a thing that can't be argued, child. Beauty's
subjective, you know."

"I don't see what difference it makes, anyway."

"Oh, yes, you do." He stopped. "Or perhaps you don't,
after all. I forget how young you are. Well, now, Miss
Brandeis, you and your woman's mind, and your masculine
business experience and sense are to be turned loose on our
infants' wear department. The buyer, Mr. Slosson, is going
to resent you. Naturally. I don't know whether we'll get
results from you in a month, or six months or a year. Or
ever. But something tells me we're going to get them.
You've lived in a small town most of your life. And we want
that small-town viewpoint. D'you think you've got it?"

Fanny was on her own ground here. "If knowing the
Wisconsin small-town woman, and the Wisconsin farmer woman--
and man too, for that matter--means knowing the Oregon, and
Wyoming, and Pennsylvania, and Iowa people of the same
class, then I've got it."

"Good!" Michael Fenger stood up. "I'm not going to load you
down with instructions, or advice. I think I'll let you
grope your own way around, and bump your head a few times.
Then you'll learn where the low places are. And, Miss
Brandeis, remember that suggestions are welcome in this
plant. We take suggestions all the way from the elevator