The Wit and Humor of America Volume III Part 12

I was afraid she would try to run the talk into literary lines and Ibsen and Gorky, where I would have been swamped in a minute, but she didn't, and, although I had wondered how to break the subject of money when conversing with one who must be thinking of n.o.bler things, I found she was less shy when on that subject than when talking about her book.

"Well now," I said, as soon as I had got her seated, "we have decided to buy this novel of yours. Can you recommend it as a thoroughly respectable and intellectual production?"

She said she could.

"Haven't you read it?" she asked in some surprise.

"No," I stammered. "At least, not yet. I'm going to as soon as I can find the requisite leisure. You see, we are very busy just now--very busy. But if you can vouch for the story being a first-cla.s.s article--something, say, like 'The Vicar of Wakefield' or 'David Harum'--we'll take it."

"Now you're talking," she said. "And do I get the check now?"

"Wait," I said; "not so fast. I have forgotten one thing," and I saw her face fall. "We want the privilege of publis.h.i.+ng the novel under a t.i.tle of our own, and anonymously. If that is not satisfactory the deal is off."

She brightened in a moment.

"It's a go, if that's all," she said. "Call it whatever you please, and the more anonymous it is the better it will suit yours truly."

So we settled the matter then and there, and when I gave her our check for a thousand she said I was all right.

III

Half an hour after Miss Vincent had left the office Perkins came in with his arms full of bundles, which he opened, spreading their contents on my desk.

He had a pair of suspenders with nickel-silver mountings, a tie, a lady's belt, a pair of low shoes, a s.h.i.+rt, a box of cigars, a package of cookies, and a half-dozen other things of divers and miscellaneous character. I poked them over and examined them, while he leaned against the desk with his legs crossed. He was beaming upon me.

"Well," I said, "what is it--a bargain sale?"

Perkins leaned over and tapped the pile with his long fore-finger.

"Aftermath!" he crowed, "aftermath!"

"The d.i.c.kens it is," I exclaimed, "and what has aftermath got to do with this truck? It looks like the aftermath of a notion store."

He tipped his "Air-the-Hair" hat over one ear and put his thumbs in the armholes of his "ready-tailored" vest.

"Genius!" he announced. "Brains! Foresight! Else why Perkins the Great?

Why not Perkins the n.o.body?"

He raised the suspenders tenderly from the pile and fondled them in his hands.

"See this?" he asked, running his finger along the red corded edge of the elastic. He took up the tie and ran his nail along the red stripe that formed the selvedge on the back, and said: "See this?" He pointed to the red laces of the low shoes and asked, "See this?" And so through the whole collection.

"What is it?" he asked. "It's genius! It's foresight."

He waved his hand over the pile.

"The aftermath!" he exclaimed.

"These suspenders are the Crimson Cord suspenders. These shoes are the Crimson Cord shoes. This tie is the Crimson Cord tie. These crackers are the Crimson Cord brand. Perkins & Co. get out a great book, 'The Crimson Cord!' Sell five million copies. Dramatized, it runs three hundred nights. Everybody talking Crimson Cord. Country goes Crimson Cord crazy.

Result--up jump Crimson Cord this and Crimson Cord that. Who gets the benefit? Perkins & Co.? No! We pay the advertising bills and the other man sells his Crimson Cord cigars. That is usual."

"Yes," I said, "I'm smoking a David Harum cigar this minute, and I am wearing a Carvel collar."

"How prevent it?" asked Perkins. "One way only,--discovered by Perkins.

Copyright the words 'Crimson Cord' as trade-mark for every possible thing. Sell the trade-mark on royalty; ten per cent. of all receipts for 'Crimson Cord' brands comes to Perkins & Co. Get a cinch on the aftermath!"

"Perkins!" I cried, "I admire you. You _are_ a genius. And have you contracts with all these--notions?"

"Yes," said Perkins, "that's Perkins' method. Who originated the Crimson Cord? Perkins did. Who is ent.i.tled to the profits on the Crimson Cord?

Perkins is. Perkins is wide awake _all_ the time. Perkins gets a profit on the aftermath and the math and the before the math."

And so he did. He made his new contracts with the magazines on the exchange plan--we gave a page of advertising in the "Crimson Cord" for a page of advertising in the magazine. We guaranteed five million circulation. We arranged with all the manufacturers of the Crimson Cord brands of goods to give coupons, one hundred of which ent.i.tled the holder to a copy of "The Crimson Cord." With a pair of Crimson Cord suspenders you get five coupons; with each Crimson Cord cigar, one coupon; and so on.

IV

On the first of October we announced in our advertis.e.m.e.nt that "The Crimson Cord" was a book; the greatest novel of the century; a thrilling, exciting tale of love. Miss Vincent had told me it was a love story. Just to make everything sure, however, I sent the ma.n.u.script to Professor Wiggins, who is the most erudite man I ever met. He knows eighteen languages, and reads Egyptian as easily as I read English. In fact his specialty is old Egyptian ruins and so on. He has written several books on them.

Professor said the novel seemed to him very light and trashy, but grammatically O.K. He said he never read novels, not having time, but he thought that "The Crimson Cord" was just about the sort of thing a silly public that refused to buy his "Some Light on the Dynastic Proclivities of the Hyksos" would scramble for. On the whole I considered the report satisfactory.

We found we would be unable to have Pyle ill.u.s.trate the book, he being too busy, so we turned it over to a young man at the Art Inst.i.tute.

That was the fifteenth of October, and we had promised the book to the public for the first of November, but we had it already in type and the young man, his name was Gilkowsky, promised to work night and day on the ill.u.s.trations.

The next morning, almost as soon as I reached the office, Gilkowsky came in. He seemed a little hesitant, but I welcomed him warmly, and he spoke up.

"I have a girl to go with," he said, and I wondered what I had to do with Mr. Gilkowsky's girl, but he continued:

"She's a nice girl and a good looker, but she's got bad taste in some things. She's too loud in hats, and too trashy in literature. I don't like to say this about her, but it's true and I'm trying to educate her in good hats and good literature. So I thought it would be a good thing to take around this 'Crimson Cord' and let her read it to me."

I nodded.

"Did she like it?" I asked.

Mr. Gilkowsky looked at me closely.

"She did," he said, but not so enthusiastically as I had expected.

"It's her favorite book. Now, I don't know what your scheme is, and I suppose you know what you are doing better than I do; but I thought perhaps I had better come around before I got to work on the ill.u.s.trations and see if perhaps you hadn't given me the wrong ma.n.u.script."

"No, that was the right ma.n.u.script," I said. "Was there anything wrong about it?"

Mr. Gilkowsky laughed nervously.

"Oh, no!" he said. "But did you read it?"

I told him I had not because I had been so rushed with details connected with advertising the book.