you weariness and worry. Use us."

Fanny surveyed the book with pardonable pride. But she was
not satisfied. "We lack style," she said. "The practical
garments are all right. But what we need is a little snap.
That means cut and line. And I'm going to New York to get
it." That had always been Slosson's work.

She and Ella Monahan were to go to the eastern markets
together. Ella Monahan went to New York regularly every
three weeks. Fanny had never been east of Chicago. She
envied Ella her knowledge of the New York wholesalers and
manufacturers. Ella had dropped into Fanny's office for a
brief moment. The two women had little in common, except
their work, but they got on very well, and each found the
other educating.

"Seems to me you're putting an awful lot into this,"
observed Ella Monahan, her wise eyes on Fanny's rather tense
face.

"You've got to," replied Fanny, "to get anything out of it."

"I guess you're right," Ella agreed, and laughed a rueful
little laugh. "I know I've given 'em everything I've got--
and a few things I didn't know I had. It's a queer game--
life. Now if my old father hadn't run a tannery in Racine,
and if I hadn't run around there all the day, so that I got
so the smell and feel of leather and hides were part of me,
why, I'd never be buyer of gloves at Haynes-Cooper.