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One saw the dingy outlines of the chimneys opposite quite distinctly, and then a sky of such brown as only London can display. "I saw a placard," I said: "'More Ponderevity." "That's Boom," he said. "Boom and his damned newspapers. He's trying to fight me down. Ever since I offered to buy the Daily Decorator he's been at me. And he thinks consolidating Do Ut cut down the ads.
A tale of the night heart of the city, where the vein of Forty-Second touches the artery of Broadway; where, amid the constellations of chewing-gum ads and tooth paste and memory methods, rise the incandescent façades of "dancing academies" with their "sixty instructresses," their beat of brass and strings, their whisper of feet, their clink of dimes.
There he goes. Funny little beggar. Wonder where he lives. Belfry up there. Very likely. Hanging by his heels in the odour of sanctity. Bell scared him out, I suppose. Mass seems to be over. Could hear them all at it. Pray for us. And pray for us. And pray for us. Good idea the repetition. Same thing with ads. Buy from us. And buy from us. Yes, there's the light in the priest's house.
"Well, I have troubles enough over the news part of the paper, without censoring the ads. When an advertiser tries to control news or editorial policy, I step in. Otherwise, I keep out. There's my platform." Hale nodded. "Let me know how I can help on the epidemic matter," said he, and took his leave.
Pa had two manias: the movies, and a passion for purchasing new and complicated household utensils cream-whippers, egg-beaters, window-clamps, lemon-squeezers, silver-polishers. He haunted department store basements in search of them. He opened his paper now and glanced at the head-lines and at the Monday morning ads. "I see the Fair's got a spring housecleaning sale.
But, naturally, the most distinguished of all was T. Cholmondeley Frink, who was not only the author of "Poemulations," which, syndicated daily in sixty-seven leading newspapers, gave him one of the largest audiences of any poet in the world, but also an optimistic lecturer and the creator of "Ads that Add."
"I'm afraid these touring agencies wouldn't like to have you write their ads for them, Mr. Blaisdell!" "Well, they hadn't better ask me to," smiled the other grimly. "But that ain't all. Since I come back I've been working even harder trying to enjoy myself here at home knockin' silly little balls over a ten- acre lot in a game a healthy ten-year-old boy would scorn to play."
Winfield & Camby's office force were surprised to find the manager on the job when they reached the salesrooms. "Send me Mr. Black." Mr. Dupont's orders were crisp and the publicity man hurried to obey his bidding. "Bring me those clippings on that Legonia Fish Cannery stuff, Black. Also the ads in to-day's papers.
Thatcher can print anything he wants to about me in my own town; but it will cost him some money; those people up there don't think I'm so wicked, and the 'Fraser County Democrat' won't have any advertisements for a while but fake medical ads. But Ike will have more room for the exploitation of his own peculiar brand of homely Hoosier humor."
He said we were not as agreable as we might be, so he picked up a magazine and looked at the Automobile advertizments. "I can't aford a car," he said. "Don't listen to me, either of you. I'm only talking to myself. But I like to read the ads. Hello, here's a snappy one for five hundred and fifty. Let me see.
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