"I mean here, in Chicago."

"So do I. I'm on my way from Winnebago to New York, and I'm
in Chicago to see Fanny Brandeis."

"Don't expect me to believe that."

Heyl put an arm on Fanny's desk and learned forward, his
face very earnest. "I do expect you to believe it. I
expect you to believe everything I say to you. Not only
that, I expect you not to be surprised at anything I say.
I've done such a mass of private thinking about you in the
last ten years that I'm likely to forget I've scarcely seen
you in that time. Just remember, will you, that like the
girl in the sob song, `You made me what I am to-day?'"

"I! You're being humorous again."

"Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly,
sickly little boy you fought for in the street, that day in
Winnebago, showed every sign of growing up a cowardly,
sickly man. You're the real reason for his not doing so.
Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, I
guess. Sickly ones are apt to be. I worshiped you and
hated you from that day. Worshiped you for the blazing,
generous, whole-souled little devil of a spitfire that you
were. Hated you because--well, what boy wouldn't hate a
girl who had to fight for him. Gosh! It makes me sick to
think of it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!"