He could operate a press. He could manipulate a
linotype machine (that almost humanly intelligent piece of
mechanism). He could make up a paper single handed,
and had done it. He knew the newspaper game, did Carl
Lasker, from the composing room to the street, and he was a
very great man in his line. And so he was easy to reach,
and simple to talk to, as are all great men.
A stocky man, decidedly handsome, surprisingly young, well
dressed, smooth shaven, direct.
Fanny entered. Lasker laid down her card. "Brandeis.
That's a good name." He extended his hand. He wore evening
clothes, with a white flower in his buttonhole. He must
have just come from a dinner, or he was to attend a late
affair, somewhere. Perhaps Fanny, taken aback,
unconsciously showed her surprise, because Lasker grinned,
as he waved her to a chair. His quick mind had interpreted
her thought.
"Sit down, Miss Brandeis. You think I'm gotten up like the
newspaper man in a Richard Harding Davis short story, don't
you? What can I do for you?"
Fanny wasted no words.
Pages:
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438