Silence, except for the scratching of Fanny Brandeis's pen.
"Why--the poor little kike!" said Ella Monahan. Then, after
another moment of silence, "I didn't know you could draw
like that."
Fanny laid down her pen. "Like what?" She pushed back her
chair, and rose, stiffly. The drawing, still wet, was
propped up against the suitcase. Fanny walked across the
room. Ella dropped into her chair, so that when Fanny came
back to the table it was she who looked over Ella's
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.
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