unwarranted. In the same way it was not only the exterior
likeness of the man which she was catching now--the
pompadour that stood stiffly perpendicular like a brush; the
square, yellow peasant teeth; the strong, slender hands and
wrists; the stocky figure; the high cheek bones; the square-
toed, foreign-looking shoes and the trousers too wide at the
instep to have been cut by an American tailor. She caught
and transmitted to paper, in some uncanny way, the
simplicity of the man who was grinning at the jack-in-the-
box that smirked back at him. Behind the veneer of poise
and polish born of success and adulation she had caught a
glimpse of the Russian peasant boy delighted with the crude
toy in his hand. And she put it down eagerly, wetting her
pencil between her lips, shading here, erasing there.

Mrs. Brandeis, bustling up to the desk for a customer's
change, and with a fancy dish to be wrapped, in her hand,
glanced over Fanny's shoulder. She leaned closer. "Why,
Fanny, you witch!"

Fanny gave a little crow of delight and tossed her head in a
way that switched her short curls back from where they had
fallen over her shoulders. "It's like him, isn't it?"

"It looks more like him than he does himself." With which
Molly Brandeis unconsciously defined the art of cartooning.

Fanny looked down at it, a smile curving her lips. Mrs.
Brandeis, dish in hand, counted her change expertly from the
till below the desk, and reached for the sheet of wrapping