Delphi Complete Works of Stephen Leacock, page 196
It is now an open secret among all those who have anything to do with the making of the magazines that the advertising pages have come to be more interesting than the rest of the text. They are written by more highly trained and highly paid people, they are better illustrated and carry all through a higher interest, more punch, — in short, any business man turns to the advertising pages first, and only when he has exhausted them does he fall back on the duller pages of romance and fiction which fill up the middle of the magazine. The situation is one which threatens our literature, and I think the time has come when our story writers must create a new interest.
It seems to me that this can best be done by borrowing from the advertising pages the glow of idealization which we have seen them to possess and at the same time that exactness of information as to costumes, materials and prices in which they excel. Out of this a new school of fiction may evolve such stories as: —
No. I
Alfred of the Advertisements
A Romance of the Back Pages
The earliest recollections of Alfred Ellicott, whose life forms the subject of this chronicle, were of his family home in New England on the banks of the Stickemupabit, a stream noted today for its attraction to tourists, being within easy motor ride from both New York and Boston and reached also by the Boston and Maine Railway, whose admirable dining car service makes access to the district and egress from it a sustained pleasure and which welcomes any complaint from its patrons in regard to the incivility of its employees. Here Alfred passed his boyhood. The house in which he lived was a typical colonial mansion, known in the neighborhood as “The Ads”: It was built in the colonial style (See booklet) with a tall portico and wide sloping roof shingled everywhere with the new LAY-EASY shingles, the principal advantage in which is represented by reducing labour cost, two men being able easily to lay three squares (30 x 10 ft.) in one morning. In fact these are the shingles of which Mr. P. O. Woodhead (see insert) the well-known builder of Potsdam, New Hampshire, has said in his impressive way “They reduce cost.”
Here Alfred spent a solitary boyhood, his time spent largely in reverie and day dreams. When not able to sleep naturally he found that two grains of sleep-tight inhaled up his nose brought on a delightful slumber from which he awoke completely refreshed at fifty cents a packet.
It was when Alfred had reached the age of nineteen years that Lovely Louisa, a distant relative, came to live at The Ads. The girl had been left an orphan, by the death of parents who had not known that ten minutes’ exercise on the PRAKTO System done on the floor of their bedroom would have preserved the lives of both of them. She had moreover been rendered penniless by the folly of a guardian who had never understood that investment is now a science that can be learned in seven lessons post paid by applying at once.
Penniless as she was Lovely Louisa on her arrival at The Ads made an instant impression on the young and susceptible heart of Alfred. When she alighted from a motor car the tyres of which were guaranteed to carry her 20,000 miles and which rolled with excellent softness over the driveway which had been treated with ASPALTOMIX which can be laid on by a child, the young girl presented a picture that charmed the eye. She was wearing one of the new BERSAGLIERI tailored suits which combine smartness with comfort and which have the special advantage that they come in all sizes and can be fitted not only to a frame as slender as Lovely Louisa’s but also on ladies of fuller figure. A set of measurements and directions being given with each suit we may be sure that Louisa had such a set with her when she alighted. She wore her suit under one of the new Fascisti hats which kill at a hundred yards and over a pair of tall tan boots which combine grace with comfort by being designed by an expert to fit easily on the instep and to move in harmony with the bones on the anthrax. Under her suit, again, — far under, — Louisa wore one of this year’s SKINFIT combinations which was imported directly from Lyons and without which no lady should be. When we say that the girl in alighting made a picture that would have pleased the eye of a hermit or a lobster or an undergraduate, we are not overstating it.
Alfred who was wearing one of the new NOW-OR-NEVER tailored gray suits over brown boots as he stepped forth to meet the girl, felt that his heart was no longer in his own keeping.
During the days which followed the youthful Alfred became the constant companion and, in addition, the guide and mentor of the lovely girl. Himself a keen golfer he had soon initiated his beautiful cousin into the mysteries of golf, and taught her to appreciate a good elastic ball such as the 1924 SMACKO of which the outer case is guaranteed never to chip or crumble. Under the same tutelage the mysteries of MAH JONG, an excellent set of which has now been placed on the market direct from China (remember the words direct from China), afforded the young people a fascinating refuge from thought.
It was a great pleasure to Alfred during these sweet hours of companionship to watch the gradual unfolding of the girl’s mind. To help it to unfold the young man purchased and read out loud to Louisa a correspondence course in Political Economy and Municipal Taxation, such as would enable the girl to fill a position of trust as tax-assessor, municipal expert, or consulting town engineer. Together also they read over a course on Cost Accounting and Overhead Reckoning by which Louisa would have fitted at any moment to act as an insurance appraiser or to take over bankrupt stock. Then with every day the girl acquired new power of mind and a wider outlook. Indeed as Prof. O. J. Hootch, D.F., organizer of the World’s Correspondence School in Room 6 Avenue 4718 Omaha, says: “Outlook means look out.”
We need not denote in full the blissful but anxious days during which Alfred, conscious of his love, hung suspended between hopes and fears. We will only say that the suspenders that he used were of the new HAUL-OVER type with the central pulley adjusted to the play of his shoulders. No doubt this delicate adjustment helped the young man through the most troubled period of life, keeping his shoulders flat and putting no pressure on his abdomen. In short they are the very braces which Mr. J. O. P. Bughouse of Wichita, Kansas, whose picture is usually annexed, has said— “They are the only ones I ever use!”
During this enchanted period of courtship Alfred contrived in various ways to convey the feelings which he dared not utter. Knowing that flowers can now be sent by telegraphic order to any address he had them expressed to Louisa from all parts of the country. These orders which were received at any hour of the day or night were filled under the direction of a staff of trained experts on whose taste and discretion the customer may place the utmost reliance. In short it is of these orders that the well-known florist Mr. J. Q. W. Mud of Wastabula, Wash., has said, in that terse language which he uses “Let us send them.” In addition to the flowers Alfred also sent seeds, bulbs, and shoots for which the charge is exactly the same and no greater.
The inevitable time drew near when Alfred of The Ads felt that he must know his fate and must hazard all on an avowal of his love. For this however he had prepared himself. He had overcome the natural diffidence of youth by purchasing and perusing a little manual called Why be Diffident, Self Confidence Acquired By A New System Of Treatment in two lessons at Fifty cents each. Alfred in sending for this little book enclosed U. S. Postage Stamps but it is important to notice that bills, express orders or any form of legal tender are similarly accepted for it.
Nor was lovely Louisa unprepared. She too had studied a little manual entitled What a young girl ought to know, and she knew it.
The fateful moment came. Kneeling on one knee in front of Louisa, — a thing which he was enabled to do without risk by wearing NEVER CREASE trousers, — Alfred declared his love in a few easy sentences selected from his manual. The deep blush which coloured the face of the lovely Louisa was answer enough. Alfred rose to his feet with an easy movement of his suspenders and clasped the girl to his heart.
There is no need here to describe the charming home wedding with which the marriage of Alfred and Louisa was celebrated at The Ads. The good old place was cleaned and redecorated from cellar to basement, Alfred using for this purpose the new PNEUMO-WHEEZE Vacuum Cleaner, which can be had on free trial for ten days and which is guaranteed to remove dust from every corner and crevice. It is of this cleaner that Mr. X. Q. Overhead, himself a T. Q. of Yale, the well-known expert has said “They are the Best Cleaner That I Know.”
The catering was placed in the hands of a catering firm. The invitations were printed and issued by an invitation firm. The officiating clergyman was engaged on a simple basis of cost plus. Louisa looked charming in a wedding gown which could have been returned without charge if not satisfactory. Alfred’s costume was guaranteed by the maker himself. And as the happy pair sank back luxuriously on the seat of the landau (a shock absorber with every car) Alfred placed his arm twice round Louisa’s waist and murmured, “It pays to Advertise.”
No. II
Tom Lachford Promoter
A Story which carries with it what is called an Atmosphere of Business and which may safely be read without loss of efficiency.
In the little factory town of Smudgeville the five o’clock whistles blew. The machines stopped. The steam died. The hands quit. The doors closed. The factories shut. Work was over.
Seth Lachford shut the door of the tumbledown place that was called Lachford’s Works, and went and sat on a pile of shingles, thinking of his overhead costs. The Lachford business was so undermined by overhead that with any further depression it would go up altogether.
All around Seth as he sat were the great piles of crumbled gray dust that represented his five years’ efforts to make cement. The old Lachford farm on the outskirts of the factory town had been all torn up and scarred with the fruitless attempt.
As Seth sat there, one might have looked twice, or even three times, at the man without noticing anything especial about him. But if one looked four times one observed more than one has remarked in three times. The face and the attitude were those of a man who had failed. But there was something, too, in the hard-bitten, tight-lipped, close-nipped, short-necked appearance of the man that showed that in his case failure, after all, meant little more than lack of success.
Seth Lachford rose, painfully, from the bunch of shingles, locked the door of the mean place that he called his Works, and walked across the lot to the house he called his home, where the woman he called his wife was cooking supper for the things he called his children.
“Things any better today?” she queried.
Seth head-shook dejectedly.
“Are your overhead expenses per unit of output still disproportionate to the selling cost of the product?” asked the sad-eyed woman as she helped her husband to the fried potatoes.
“Yes, Min,” desponded Seth, “The capital cost of operation shows an ascending curve right along.”
“I see,” said Min, thoughtfully, as she poured out molasses for the children, “and each further increment of outlay merely agglomerates your differential.”
“It does,” said Seth.
There was a silence and Seth rose.
“Where y’ going?” throbbed his wife.
“Out to sit on the shingles,” Seth glumped, “and think about my overhead and my differential cost.”
“All right,” said Min; then, suddenly, her face sanguinated, “Oh Seth,” she said, “I forgot, there’s a letter from brother Tom. He’ll be here in the morning, and he says he can straighten everything out.”
II
Next morning Tom Lachford, promoter, blew into Smudgeville, and together Tom and Seth walked round the “plant” and looked at the crumbling piles of gray dust.
The brothers were a contrast — Seth bent and hesitant, Tom square-built, bull-chested, ox-necked, box-jawed, pop-eyed, in short, a hundred and fifty per cent American all through.
“See here, Seth,” said Tom, “you’ve tried five years to make cement and you’ve failed?”
Seth desponded assent.
“You’ve crushed up all the rocks on the old place, and you’ve nothing for it but these piles of dirt.”
Seth ingurgitated but without speaking.
“Well, look here,” Tom went on, “I’ve got an idea and it’s a big thing. If we can pull it off and bring it down, I believe we can put it over.”
“What y’ going to do?” asked Seth.
“Going to make a fortune out of this dirt. But, first of all, I want a thousand dollars cash.”
“I haven’t got it,” exhaled Seth, “and the bank won’t lend it. I’ve tried them.”
“Pshaw!” said Tom, “show me the way to that bank. I’ll get it.”
Tom Lachford walked straight to the Smudgeville First National Bank, straight into it, and straight through it to the manager’s room. There was something compelling about the man, something dynamic in the way he sat down, and something almost titanic or teutonic in the way he laid his hat on the table.
“See here, Mr. Beanhead,” he said. “I want the loan of a thousand dollars.”
The manager spasmed. “On what security?” he winced.
“None,” said Lachford.
The manager brightened.
“You offer no collateral at all?” he said.
“Not a cent,” said Tom, “except my personality.”
“Good!” said the banker, delighted. “You shall have it. The personal element, Mr. Lachford, has become the ne plus ultra of business. I recognize in you one of those full-blooded, high-pepped, long-sighted, wide-eyed men who are entitled to bank loans. This bank will back you.”
III
That night Seth and Min and Tom sat in consultation over their buttermilk and pancakes at the supper table.
“What do you mean to do with the money, Tom?” asked Min.
Tom buttermilked a minute, and then, “Going to get a gang of men and treat that dirt.”
“Treat it?”
“Yes, treat it; run it into vats and out again, sluice it, pulverize it, sling it round — anything—”
Seth stopped pancaking and earlifted.
“What’s that for?” he exuded.
“I’ll tell you,” said Tom, “I’m going to raise bonds on it and float a company and make a clean up.”
“But it’s only dirt!” said Seth, “somehow we failed every time to make it harden into cement.”
“I don’t want cement,” said the promoter. “Dirt’ll do. Here’s the idea, I’m going to give it a name — something high-sounding, see! Something that seems to mean value. Did you ever hear of Molybdenum? Well, what is it? You don’t know. Or carborundum or tellurium — you don’t know what they are. The public don’t know what they are. But they mean money. Find a deposit of any of them and your fortune’s made.”
Seth headnodded silent.
“I’ll have an assayer come,” Tom went on, “and make an assay of all that dirt and crushed rock. That’s only for appearance, of course I don’t care what he calls it. I’ll give it a name that sounds good and announce it as a big discovery. See? The name I’ve settled on is palladium. We’ll announce a find of palladium, and form a company to work it.”
Min looked up from the little pile of children’s clothing that she was sewing. “Issuing common stock,” she said, as she bit off a piece of thread, “on a basis of prospective earnings capitalized.”
“But what then?” said Seth. “If we sell the stock and it’s no good?”
“We don’t need to worry. We sell it and then we clear out.”
“Where to?”
The sad-eyed woman looked up from the little garment in her lap.
“Havana,” she said.
IV
Within a week it was known all over Smudgeville that heavy deposits of palladium had been found on the old Lachford place. Gangs of men were at work. Derricks, cranes, vats, and sluices rose all over the place. Little crowds of people stood round to watch. The palladium was put into a converter and carried from there to a container from which it passed to a disturber. It was then put into a hopper. “What is it?” asked the people. “Palladium,” was the answer. The Smudgeville Intelligence explained that palladium was a graminiferous amygdaloid and that its calcareous properties rendered it of great commercial value. It was practically impervious to collusion which made it a high soporific.
An assayer was brought, a real one, and he walked round over the Lachford place and carried off samples. The promoter let all the town know that the assayer had been on the property. But the report of the analysis of the dirt Tom Lachford showed to no one. He shoved it into the drawer of the kitchen dresser unopened. It was the assayer he wanted, not the report.
Then Tom Lachford called again upon the banker.
“Mr. Beanhead,” he said, “my brother and I have made a find of igniferous palladium. It runs at least 48 per cent to the kilowatt and we want to raise money for incorporation and material.”
“Mr. Lachford,” said the banker, “I congratulate you on your discovery. I recognize in you one of those wide-visioned, broad-sighted, frog-eyed men that make this country what it is. How much money do you want?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” said Tom.
V
That evening when Tom came home he told Seth and Min that he had arranged the incorporation at thirty thousand dollars and was going to order ten thousand dollars’ worth of machinery.
“What machinery?” asked his brother.
“Any machinery,” said the promoter, “it doesn’t matter: as long as it’s bulky.”
“The mere assemblage and erection of machinery,” added Min thoughtfully as she helped the brothers to fried eggplant, “conveys to the investor a guarantee of bona fides.”
But after supper Seth Lachford went to the kitchen dresser and took out of it the assayer’s report upon the dirt, that lay in an envelope unopened. He ripped open the envelope and for a long while stood looking at the document with a frown upon his face. “I’ll not sell stuff like that,” he muttered. “No, sir, I’ll go broke before I’ll sell it.” Then he went out in the gathering dusk and walked among the piles of dirt, kicking it with his feet and picking it up in his hands.
