"Yes."

"Well, I've dealt with buyers for a quarter of a century or
more. And I'd say that you're going to get it."

Whereupon Fanny began to talk. Ten minutes later Udell
interrupted her to summon Horn, whose domain was the
factory. Horn came, was introduced, looked doubtful. Fanny
had statistics. Fanny had arguments. She had
determination. "And what we want," she went on, in her
quiet, assured way, "is style. The Horn & Udell clothes
have chic. Now, material can't be imitated successfully,
but style can. Our goods lack just that. I could copy any
model you have, turn the idea over to a cheap manufacturer,
and get a million just like it, at one-fifth the price.
That isn't a threat. It's just a business statement that
you know to be true. I can sketch from memory anything I've
seen once. What I want to know is this: Will you make it
necessary for me to do that, or will you undertake to
furnish us with cheaper copies of your high-priced designs?
We could use your entire output. I know the small-town
woman of the poorer class, and I know she'll wear a shawl in
order to give her child a cloth coat with fancy buttons and
a velvet collar."

And Horn & Udell, whose attitude at first had been that of
two seasoned business men dealing with a precocious child,
found themselves quoting prices to her, shipments,
materials, quality, quantities. Then came the question of
time.