That was Friday. On Saturday her vacation took a personally conducted
turn. She had planned to get away at noon, as most office heads did on
Saturday, during the warm weather. When her 'phone rang at eleven she
answered it mechanically as does one whose telephone calls mean a row
with a tardy manufacturer, an argument with a merchandise man, or a
catalogue query from the printer's.

The name that came to her over the telephone conveyed nothing to her.

"Who?" Again the name. "Heyl?" She repeated the name uncertainly. "I'm
afraid I--O, of course! Clarence Heyl. Howdy-do."

"I want to see you," said the voice, promptly.

There rose up in Fanny's mind a cruelly clear picture of the little,
sallow, sniveling school boy of her girlhood. The little boy with the
big glasses and the shiny shoes, and the weak lungs.

"Sorry," she replied, promptly, "but I'm afraid it's impossible. I'm
leaving the office early, and I'm swamped." Which was a lie.

"This evening?"

"I rarely plan anything for the evening. Too tired, as a rule."

"Too tired to drive?"

"I'm afraid so."

A brief silence. Then, "I'm coming out there to see you."

"Where? Here? The plant! That's impossible, Mr. Heyl. I'm terribly
sorry, but I can't----"

"Yes, I know. Also terribly sure that if I ever get to you it will be
over your office boy's dead body. Well, arm him. I'm coming. Good-by."

"Wait a minute! Mr. Heyl! Clarence! Hello! Hello!"

A jiggling of the hook. "Number, please?" droned the voice of the
operator.

Fanny jammed the receiver down on the hook and turned to her work, lips
compressed, a frown forming a double cleft between her eyes.

Half an hour later he was there. Her office boy brought in his card, as
she had rehearsed him to do. Fanny noted that it was the wrong kind of
card. She would show him what happened to pushers who pestered business
women during office hours.

"Bring him in in twenty minutes," she said, grimly. Her office boy (and
slave) always took his cue from her. She hoped he wouldn't be too rude
to Heyl, and turned back to her work again. Thirty-nine seconds later
Clarence Heyl walked in.

"Hello, Fan!" he said, and had her limp hand in a grip that made her
wince.

"But I told----"

"Yes, I know. But he's a crushed and broken office boy by now. I had to
be real harsh with him."

Fanny stood up, really angry now. She looked up at Clarence Heyl, and
her eyes were flashing. Clarence Heyl looked down at her, an