t Fenger shook his head. "Slosson's due now. And he has got to take
his medicine. This is business, Miss Brandeis. You ought to know what
that means. For that matter, it may be that you haven't hit upon an
idea. In that case, Slosson would have the laugh, wouldn't he?"

Slosson entered at that moment. And there was a chip on his shoulder.
It was evident in the way he bristled, in the way he seated himself.
His fingers drummed his knees. He was like a testy, hum-ha stage father
dealing with a willful child.

Fenger took out his watch.

"Now, Miss Brandeis."

Fanny took a chair facing the two men, and crossed her trim blue serge
knees, and folded her hands in her lap. A deep pink glowed in her
cheeks. Her eyes were very bright. All the Molly Brandeis in her was
at the surface, sparkling there. And she looked almost insultingly
youthful.

"You--you want me to talk?"

"We want you to talk. We have time for just three-quarters of an hour of
uninterrupted conversation. If you've got anything to say you ought to
say it in that time. Now, Miss Brandeis, what's the trouble with the
Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department?"

And Fanny Brandeis took a long breath

"The trouble with the Haynes-Cooper infants' wear department is that it
doesn't understand women. There are millions of babies born every year.
An incredible number of them are mail order babies. I mean by that they
are born to tired, clumsy-fingered immigrant women, to women in mills
and factories, to women on farms, to women in remote villages. They're
the type who use the mail order method. I've learned this one thing
about that sort of woman: she may not want that baby, but either before
or after it's born she'll starve, and save, and go without proper
clothing, and even beg, and steal to give it clothes--clothes with
lace on them, with ribbon on them, sheer white things. I don't know why
that's true, but it is. Well, we're not reaching them. Our goods are
unattractive. They're packed and shipped unattractively. Why, all this
department needs is a little psychology--and some lace that doesn't
look as if it had been chopped out with an ax. It's the little, silly,
intimate things that will reach these women. No, not silly, either.
Quite understandable. She wants fine things for her baby, just as the
silver-spoon mother does. The thing we'll have to do is to give her
silver-spoon models at pewter prices."

"It can't be done," said Slosson.

"Now, wait a minu