shoulder. Into Ella's shrewd and heavy face there had come
a certain look.

"They don't get a square deal, do they? They don't get a
square deal."

The two looked at the girl a moment longer, in silence.
Then Fanny went over to the bed, and picked up her hat and
coat. She smoothed her hair, deftly, powdered her nose with
care, and adjusted her hat at the smart angle approved by
the Galeries Lafayette. She came back to the table, picked
up her pen, and beneath the drawing wrote, in large print:

THE MARCHER.


She picked up the drawing, still wet, opened the door, and
with a smile at the bewildered Ella, was gone.

It was after eight o'clock when she reached the Star
building. She asked for Lasker's office, and sent in her
card. Heyl had told her that Lasker was always at his desk
at eight. Now, Fanny Brandeis knew that the average young
woman, standing outside the office of a man like Lasker,
unknown and at the mercy of office boy or secretary,
continues to stand outside until she leaves in
discouragement. But Fanny knew, too, that she was not an
average young woman. She had, on the surface, an air of
authority and distinction. She had that quiet assurance of
one accustomed to deference. She had youth, and beauty, and