dull accompaniment to the hum of the big hive; above the
rustle of those myriad yellow order-slips, through the buzz
of the busy mail room; beneath the roar of the presses in
the printing building, the crash of the dishes in the
cafeteria, ran the leid-motif of Sarah-at-seven-a-week.
Back in her office once more Fanny dictated a brief
observation-report for Fenger's perusal.

"It seems to me there's room for improvement in our, card
index file system. It's thorough, but unwieldy. It isn't a
system any more. It's a ceremony. Can't you get a corps of
system sharks to simplify things there?"

She went into detail and passed on to the next suggestion.

"If the North American Cloak & Suit Company can sell mail
order dresses that are actually smart and in good taste, I
don't see why we have to go on carrying only the most
hideous crudities in our women's dress department. I know
that the majority of our women customers wouldn't wear a
plain, good looking little blue serge dress with a white
collar, and some tailored buttons. They want cerise satin
revers on a plum-colored foulard, and that's what we've been
giving them. But there are plenty of other women living
miles from anywhere who know what's being worn on Fifth
avenue. I don't know how they know it, but they do. And
they want it. Why can't we reach those women, as well as
their shoddier sisters? The North American people do it.
I'd wear one of their dresses myself. I wouldn't be found
dead in one of ours. Here's a suggestion: