This war. And she hasn't any money. I
know. Look here. We've got to send her money. Cable it."
"I will. Just leave it all to me."
"If she's here, in this country, and you're lying to me----"
"She isn't. My word of honor, Ted."
He relaxed.
Life was a very complicated thing for Fanny these days.
Ted was leaning on her; Mizzi, Otti, and now Fenger. Nathan
Haynes was poking a disturbing finger into that delicate and
complicated mechanism of System which Fenger had built up in
the Haynes-Cooper plant. And Fenger, snarling, was trying
to guard his treasure. He came to Fanny with his grievance.
Fanny had always stimulated him, reassured him, given him
the mental readjustment that he needed.
He strode into her office one morning in late September.
Ordinarily he sent for her. He stood by her desk now, a
sheaf of papers in his hand, palpably stage props, and
lifted significant eyebrows in the direction of the
stenographer busy at her typewriter in the corner.
"You may leave that, Miss Mahin," Fanny said.
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